The Martian Ambassador (5 page)

‘Where did you get this from?’ Blackwood asked.

‘The cogitator? Cottingley’s of Mayfair. We have a contract with them. Why do you ask?’

Blackwood shrugged. ‘Just curious.’

Dr Cutter flexed his fingers and began to tap commands into the keyboard. ‘Do you have a cogitator, Mr Blackwood?’ he asked as he worked.

‘Yes. In fact, I bought one earlier today... from Cottingley’s, as it happens.’

‘Which model?’

‘A Tara III.’

Cutter glanced at him. ‘Really? Must have set you back a pretty penny.’

‘It did.’

‘It uses the new De Danann control system, doesn’t it?’

‘So I believe,’ Blackwood replied, wishing he hadn’t started this conversation.

Cutter smiled wistfully. ‘I’d love one of those, but our budget won’t stretch to it, I’m afraid.’

You’re not missing much
, Blackwood thought.

‘Ah! Here we are,’ said Cutter, indicating the scrying glass. ‘As I mentioned, I retrieved this information from the Æther not long ago.’

Within the oval glass, black characters were forming against the pale background, gradually resolving themselves into words.

‘What is this?’ Blackwood asked, leaning forward.

‘It’s the text of a paper delivered to the Royal Society a couple of years ago, by a gentleman named Andrew Crosse.’

Blackwood read the title aloud. ‘“The Creation of Life from Lifelessness”.’ His eyes moved rapidly back and forth as he scanned the text. ‘Good grief, this seems to be describing precisely the method by which you accidentally created the
Acarus
mites!’

‘Quite so,’ Cutter nodded. ‘Mr Crosse even provides his own binomial classification for the little blighters: he calls them
Acarus galvanicus
.’

‘Who is Andrew Crosse? I’ve never heard of him.’

‘There are few who have – at least outside the Quantock Hills, where he has his home.’

‘Somerset?’

‘Yes. He’s something of a recluse, I believe.’

‘But he isn’t a professional scientist.’

‘Oh dear me, no!’ Cutter laughed. ‘He’s an amateur – an enthusiastic one, but an amateur nevertheless. That’s why his paper was dismissed in such short time by the Royal Society: the consensus was that he had inadvertently allowed his experimental apparatus to become contaminated by dust- or cheese-mites. No one took his results seriously, and he was sent home with his tale between his legs.’

‘Poor chap,’ said Blackwood. ‘That must have been terribly humiliating for him.’

‘Humiliating? Well, yes... I suppose so. Although it’s difficult to imagine what other conclusion the Society could have come to. After all, his claims were quite outrageous...’

‘Not
that
outrageous, Dr Cutter,’ said Blackwood pointedly.

‘Well, no... in light of what I’ve discovered today, I suppose I would have to say that they have more than a passing acquaintance with fact.’

‘And so instead of attempting to replicate Crosse’s experiments in their own laboratories, they simply dismissed him as a buffoon and a charlatan.’ Blackwood shook his head in disgust. ‘How very broadminded of them!’

Dr Cutter regarded his guest in silence for a few moments, then said, ‘Do you think that Mr Crosse may be a suspect in this case?’

‘It does sound rather outrageous, doesn’t it? But it’s the only lead I have to go on so far – although it is, of course, early days. Even if he didn’t place the
Acarus
larvae in the Ambassador’s breathing apparatus himself – and the security arrangements in the Martian Embassy make it a virtual certainty that he didn’t – he may have supplied the creatures to whoever did.’

Cutter sat back. ‘You know, Mr Blackwood, even though the evidence points towards foul play, it’s difficult to believe. What is the reason behind it? Why would anyone wish to assassinate the Martian Ambassador? And why choose such a bizarre method?’

Blackwood gave him a grim smile. ‘That, sir, is what I must endeavour to find out.’

The driver brought his vehicle to a halt and called down, ‘This is the place, your Ladyship. The Alsop residence.’

‘Thank you, John.’

Lady Sophia Harrington opened the door and climbed down from the carriage. She looked around briefly, taking in the small, neat house with its well-tended garden, the surrounding fields and the sleepy village of Old Ford which lay a little way off in the distance at the far end of Bearbinder Lane. The morning sun was struggling to penetrate the overcast sky, its feeble rays lending an air of melancholy to the scene. From a nearby stand of trees, a lone meadow pipit sang, a little forlornly, Sophia thought. She reflected that on a warmer, brighter day, the Alsop house would have presented a charming picture of bucolic peace and tranquillity.

But not today.

She sighed, drew the collar of her black woollen coat tighter around her neck to ward off the chill that promised to linger for the rest of the day, and glanced up at the driver. ‘Would you please wait here for me, John? I shouldn’t be much more than half an hour or so.’

‘Of course, your Ladyship,’ he replied, tugging at the brim of his cap.

She smiled her thanks, walked across the shallow ruts of the lane to the garden gate and rang the bell. At first, there was no answer, and Sophia wondered if the family were out. She knew that she should have sent a message requesting an interview before she came here, but in cases such as this, time was of the utmost importance, and the longer one delayed in gathering testimony, the less likely it was that people’s recollections would remain accurate.

She rang the bell again, noting the pale yellow glow in one of the downstairs windows, which suggested that there was indeed someone at home.

Presently, the front door opened a little way, and a man peered out.

‘Mr Alsop?’ Sophia called. ‘Mr James Alsop?’

The man hesitated for a moment, then stepped out onto his porch. ‘I’m James Alsop. How may I assist you, madam?’

Sophia rested a gloved hand on the gate. ‘May I?’

Alsop nodded stiffly, and Sophia opened the gate and walked up the garden path towards him. As she approached, she took in his appearance. He was slightly below average height and stocky in build. He was unshaven, and the collar of his shirt was unbuttoned, giving him an unkempt look which contrasted sharply with the neatness and order of his house. Sophia reflected that this was quite understandable in view of what the man and his family had experienced just a few hours ago.

‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ she said. ‘I am Lady Sophia Harrington, Secretary of the Society for Psychical Research.’ She offered him her hand, which, after another hesitation, he shook reluctantly.

‘James Alsop,’ he muttered. ‘A pleasure.’

In a soft tone, Sophia said, ‘Please forgive me for calling on you unannounced, Mr Alsop, but I would greatly appreciate a few minutes of your time.’

‘May I ask for what purpose, Lady Sophia?’

She took a deep breath and replied, ‘We at the SPR are aware that something frightful happened here last night. I would be most grateful if you would allow me the opportunity to discuss it with you.’

Alsop frowned at her. ‘How can that be? We have told no one except the police...’

‘And that is how we came to hear of it,’ she replied.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘We have an arrangement with New Scotland Temple, whereby information pertaining to the Society’s interests is routinely shared with us. In cases such as this, the Temple acknowledges our greater experience and resources and engages us as consultant investigators. We were notified as soon as you spoke to the police early this morning.’

Alsop’s frown remained as he continued to meet Sophia’s gaze. He was clearly debating with himself whether to admit her to his home or respectfully ask her to be on her way. After a few moments, his eyes dropped, and his hand went to his open collar. He briefly touched his unshaven chin, clearly embarrassed at his appearance, and Sophia felt a surge of sympathy rising in her breast. She had the sudden desire to reach out and give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze but refrained, understanding the impropriety of such a gesture.

Instead, she offered him a smile and, clutching the collar of her coat, said, ‘If nothing else, I would appreciate the chance to warm myself a little.’

This caused Alsop’s good manners to reassert themselves. Evidently, he realised how remiss of him it was to keep a young lady of clearly impeccable upbringing standing on his doorstep in the cold, for he said, ‘Forgive me,’ and moved aside to allow her to enter.

‘Thank you, Mr Alsop.’

As she passed him, Sophia noted the state of the front door, which appeared to have been violently gouged: the dark maroon paint was split in numerous long swathes, revealing the pale hardwood beneath. It was as if some wild beast, such as a lion or bear, had raked its claws along the surface.

Alsop led her into the sitting room, which Sophia noted was simply yet tastefully furnished. She also noted the two young women sitting on the Chesterfield across from the fireplace, whom Alsop introduced as his daughters, Sarah and Mary. Sophia guessed Sarah to be in her mid-twenties and Mary in her late teens, and she smiled warmly at them as she shook their hands. Of Alsop’s wife and remaining daughter there was no sign. Sophia knew the reason.

‘How is Jane?’ she asked, as Alsop indicated his own armchair and invited her to sit.

‘Her condition is stable, so the doctors say. We took her to St Thomas’s Hospital last night, after... after it happened. My wife, Elizabeth, is at her bedside as we speak.’

‘I see,’ Sophia nodded. ‘Although of course she doesn’t know me, I would be most grateful if you would pass on to Mrs Alsop my sincere wishes for Jane’s speedy recovery.’

‘Thank you,’ said Alsop, his voice catching slightly.

Sarah glanced at her father and then turned to Sophia. ‘May I bring you some tea, your Ladyship?’

‘I would like that very much, Sarah. And please, I would much rather you called me Sophia.’

The two girls glanced at each other in surprise at this, and Sophia smiled. ‘I’m afraid I’ve never much cared for titles, my own included, and in any event, I believe that such formalities are of little consequence here.’

When Sarah had left the room, Sophia turned to Alsop. ‘May I enquire as to your profession, sir?’

‘I work for the legal firm of Horton, Giles and Winston,’ Alsop replied, taking a seat opposite her. ‘I sent word to them this morning, explaining what has happened. Mr Horton paid us a visit not an hour ago, to express his concern and assure me that I should not think of returning to work until Jane has recovered enough to come home.’

‘That was kind of him.’

‘Indeed. He is a good man.’

‘May I ask how long have you lived here?’

‘A little over three years.’

‘You have a very charming home.’

‘Thank you. We’ve been very happy here.’

‘I’ve no doubt. Now... I know how difficult this must be for you, but could you describe to me the events of last night?’

Alsop sighed. ‘I really don’t see what good it will do. I’ve already reported the incident to the police – they have my statement, which I’m sure they’ve given to you. Forgive me, but what more do you require?’

‘I understand your reluctance, Mr Alsop, but over the course of many years, during which the Society has investigated an extremely wide range of paranormal phenomena, we have found that it is most important to gather testimony from witnesses directly, in face-to-face interviews. In this way, we are able to observe nuances and details that may have been missed from earlier testaments to others. It also provides us with the opportunity to examine the scene of the event...’

‘This wasn’t an “event”,’ whispered Alsop. ‘It was a
crime
, a hideous, motiveless crime!’ And with that, James Alsop buried his head in his hands and began to weep.

‘Oh, father!’ said Mary, and rushed to his side, putting her arms around him.

Alsop hugged his daughter and turned haunted eyes to Sophia. ‘You cannot know what it means... for a man to be unable to protect his family.’

Sophia looked at him in silence for several seconds, struggling to prevent the tears from welling up in her own eyes.
Yes, Mr Alsop
, she thought.
I know exactly what that means.

At that moment, Sarah returned to the sitting room, bearing a tray. While she poured tea for them all, Alsop took hold of himself and said, ‘Until last night, I’d considered Spring-Heeled Jack to be nothing more than some perverse fairy tale, a creation of the yellow press, with no basis in fact whatsoever. I had considered those who claim to have seen him to be nothing more than deluded fools or outright liars. Now I know better: he exists, and he is not human. In fact, he is very far from human.’

‘What makes you say that?’ asked Sophia, accepting a cup from Sarah.

‘The way he looked... the way he acted.’ Alsop went on to describe the events of the previous evening. Sophia maintained a neutral expression, although she felt her heart lurch at Alsop’s description of the outrage perpetrated upon his daughter by the creature. ‘We sought refuge in my wife’s and my bedroom,’ he concluded, ‘and I was reduced to opening the window and screaming for help in the direction of Old Ford.’

‘Did anyone come to your aid?’

Alsop shook his head. ‘I don’t think my voice carried that far; nevertheless, it must have deterred the fiend, for he abandoned his attempts to gain entry and made off across the fields. Good God, the way he
moved!
It was like an animal... a great jumping insect! No man could have made those leaps and bounds.’

Sophia’s gaze drifted towards the fire. ‘Almost as if he was used to a denser atmosphere,’ she said, more to herself than to her host.

‘Pardon me?’

Her eyes found his again. ‘Nothing, Mr Alsop. Merely a speculation; pay it no mind. I wonder if you would allow me to examine your doorstep and the damage to your front door.’

Alsop sighed. ‘I see no reason why not. Do you intend to search for physical evidence?’

‘I do indeed. The creature may have left something behind – some residue, perhaps. At any rate, it’s worth looking.’

‘In that case, I have no objection,’ said Alsop.

*

Sophia stood before the open front door and examined the marks. They were numerous and criss-crossed each other, as if someone had assaulted the wood with arms flailing in a windmill motion. She recalled Alsop’s description of the creature’s hands – or rather, lack of hands. He had described metal talons instead of fingers, long and razor-sharp, a description that was amply attested to by the state of the door.

Taking a small magnifying glass from her purse, Sophia slowly passed it back and forth across the damaged areas, starting at the top and working her way down. She had no idea what she was looking for but supposed that she would know it if she found it. She knew that her chances of finding anything useful were slim, since one of the most mystifying aspects of the Spring-Heeled Jack phenomenon was that he never left any evidence behind after an attack – other than the lingering terror of his victims, of course. It was as if he
were
a ghost, just as some of the lower-quality periodicals claimed. However, Sophia had seen her fair share of ghosts in the five years since she had joined the SPR, and she was quite certain that Jack’s origin lay elsewhere...

She was about to give up on the door and turn her attention to the front doorstep when something glinted beneath the magnifying glass. Her breath caught in her chest, and she moved the glass slightly to bring the object into sharper focus.

Good grief!
she thought, and, reaching into her purse, withdrew a pair of eyebrow tweezers, which she used to pluck the object from the furrow of splintered wood.

Alsop appeared in the doorway beside her. ‘Have you found something?’ he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

‘I have indeed, Mr Alsop... I have indeed!’ She held the object up to the light with the tweezers, turning the magnifying glass so that they both could see.

It was a fragment of metal, a tiny shard no more than an eighth of an inch in length. It glinted as Sophia turned it behind the glass, and as the light caught it, she and Alsop could detect tiny scintillations of a greenish-purple hue flickering across its narrow surface, almost in the manner of a film of oil on water.

‘What is it?’ asked Alsop.

‘I suspect it’s from one of the creature’s talons. Will you hold this, please?’ She handed him the magnifying glass, and then withdrew a small waxed paper envelope from a pocket of her coat, into which she placed the tiny metal shard. ‘This is a considerable breakthrough, Mr Alsop; it’s the first time anyone has ever secured a piece of Spring-Heeled Jack.’

‘Perhaps so... but what good will it do? What can such a tiny fragment tell us?’

‘That, of course, remains to be seen, but I suspect that a careful physical analysis may well yield useful information.’