Starcross (12 page)

Mother patted his head. ‘Don’t be glum, Mr Grindle,’ she said. ‘By this time tomorrow we’ll either be back at Modesty, or the villain whose hand we now but dimly perceive will have revealed himself –’

‘Or
herself
,’ said Myrtle.

‘… and we shall have a chance to face him –’

‘Or
her.
’

‘… and whichever happens, I shall feel very glad to have you, and Mr Munkulus, and Nipper at my side. If we all stand together, I do not think that anything very terrible can happen, can it?’

We had been walking along as we spoke, and by this time we had reached the hotel entrance and a parting of the ways: ours led inside and upstairs to our suite, while our friends must needs go round the side of the building to the servants’ quarters, where they had their beds.

Mother said that the best thing we could do was try to get some sleep, so we set our alarm clocks and turned in. But after an hour or so I came awake, and found myself seized anew by the strange urge to open the closet in the sitting room. In all the excitements of the day before I had somehow forgotten that hat box on the top shelf, but now I saw it in my mind’s eye, sharp and clear. I could imagine that fine black topper nestling inside it, and it seemed to be calling to me:
Put me on, Art! Put me on!

As if in a waking dream I rose from my bed and lit the lamp. I went out into the sitting room, opened the closet and carried the box back into my own room. I set it down upon my bed and there undid the lid, and folded back the layers of tissue paper which protected the hat. But as I reached out for the hat itself, it seemed to
twitch
. The movement was very quick, and I might easily have missed it, but the round opening within the black brim seemed to narrow slightly.

I had the oddest notion that it had just licked its lips.

I took a step back, telling myself not to be so foolish. Yet I could not help myself. Suddenly I felt most terribly afraid.

I moved closer, and looked down inside the hat. And from its depths, two small white eyes looked back at me!

Suddenly, as if I had out-stared it and its nerve had snapped, the hat sprang from its box and hurled itself at my head! I ducked, and it twirled past me and struck the wall, flattening itself like one of those collapsible opera hats before springing back at me.

I wanted to cry out, but did not wish to startle my mother and sister, who would surely hear me. So I cried out very softly, ‘Aaaah!’, while reminding myself that Britons never, never, never shall be slaves, or the victims of maneating hats, and wondering what Jack Havock would do in a position like mine.

A weapon was what I needed, I decided, as the creature darted across the room at me. I dived sideways to where a small bureau stood and snatched up a paper knife, its ornate hilt embossed with the Starcross coat of arms. As the thing readied itself for another attack I flung the knife at it, and transfixed it through the crown!
It gave a small, disappointed sigh and dropped to the floor, where it twitched for a moment and then lay still. Dead, it looked not at all like a hat. It was a strange, leathery thing, and reminded me a little of those dogfish eggs which are washed up from time to time on English beaches, and known as ‘Mermaid’s Purses’. Except that a ‘Mermaid’s Purse’ has a prong protruding from each corner, while the thing on my rug had only two protrusions, and each one ended in a tiny black hand …

Steadying myself, I quickly dressed and went to wake Mother. But as I stood outside her bedroom door, poised to tap upon it, I heard strange voices outside the suite. Several men were coming up the stairs!

‘We should wait a while longer,’ said one.

‘We have waited long enough already,’ said another. ‘She did not come last night; she has not come tonight. She is immune to our influence, and we must use more direct means, otherwise she will leap aboard that supply train
tomorrow morning and we shall lose her.’

I stared at the door. I heard the soft click of a pass key in the lock and saw the handle start to turn.

Quick as a flash, I darted behind one of the curtains beside the balcony window.

From my hiding place I saw the door open. In came Mr Titfer, in evening dress, with a tall, black hat on his head. Then another person entered, and another, and I realised with a start that I knew
all
these fellows! There was Colonel Quivering, and Mr Spinnaker, and Grindle and Mr Munkulus, looking most curious in their evening clothes and toppers. And bringing up the rear, quite the wrong shape to wear tails or a waistcoat but with a top hat perched nattily atop his shell, was dear old Nipper!

Such was my relief that I stepped out from my concealment and said, ‘Oh, I am so pleased to see you, I –’

Nipper struck me a blow with one pincer that sent me spinning backwards, knocking over the small occasional table as I fell. I think I was as much surprised as hurt. As I strove to rise, lifting a hand to staunch the blood that flowed freely from my nose, I saw that this was not the Nipper I knew. His eyes were the unseeing eyes of a sleepwalker!

Mother had heard the crash as I went down. Her
bedroom door opened. She stood there in her nightgown and cried, ‘Good Heavens, gentlemen! What is the meaning of this?’

‘Grab her!’ said Mr Titfer, and it was clear that he held the others in his power. Like a well-dressed Rugby-football scrum, they charged at Mother. She realised much faster than I had that our friends were not quite in their right minds. She felled Colonel Quivering and Mr Grindle with well-aimed blows, but the others proved too many for her. I stumbled forward to try and help her, but someone seized me, and I could only watch as Mr Munkulus pinioned Mother with his four strong arms while Mr Spinnaker pressed a pad of lint over her nose and mouth. For a moment she struggled violently, then the life seemed to go out of her; her eyes rolled upward, her lovely head drooped and she was bundled towards the door.

Good Lord!
I remember thinking.
Chloroform!

An instant later a pad of the same soft, scratchy stuff was crushed against my own face. A dreadful reek filled my nostrils. Through watering eyes I glimpsed a sliver of light widening as Myrtle’s door opened, and heard her give a piercing shriek and slam it closed again. ‘Myrtle!’ I remember shouting, or
trying
to shout, lint-muffled and fainting. I struggled against unconsciousness with all my might – and it was not enough.

The last thing I saw was Mother being manhandled down the stairs. The last thing I heard was Grindle putting his shoulder to the door of Myrtle’s room. Then I fell down and down into unutterable dark …

And there this portion of my tale must end, for I knew no more. So I shall hand over this account to another narrator, and we must all pray that she does not spend too much time going on about frocks – A.M.

Chapter Eight