A False Mirror - Charles Todd [55]
It seemed to be the middle of the night when Rutledge came out of a deep sleep to hear voices in the passage outside his door.
He listened for a moment or two, and recognized the desk clerk’s as one of them.
By the time the man knocked, Rutledge was on his feet and reaching for his clothes.
Rutledge opened his door to the desk clerk, his hair disheveled and trousers thrown on with haste. Behind him was a taller man, fair and flustered but well dressed.
“Mr. Rutledge? This is Mr. Cornelius. Inspector Bennett has sent him to you.” He turned slightly to include Cornelius in the conversation.
The man said, “There’s something wrong at my house. My son’s had a shock, and my wife sent me to fetch you. Will you come?”
“What kind of shock?” Rutledge asked, swiftly finishing dressing.
“I don’t know. He was screaming the house down half an hour ago. There’s a mist coming in. My wife was concerned about that, what with the assault on Mr. Hamilton.” He stopped, seeming at a loss for words. His story hadn’t come out the way he’d intended it should.
But Rutledge followed him without argument, with Hamish alert and awake in his mind, quarreling and taunting during the silent walk to where Cornelius lived.
The mist had grown denser, and it was a strangely quiet, soft world, the sea itself hissing somewhere to his left instead of rolling in with its usual thunder.
The Cornelius house was on Mercer Street, which curved away from the center of town but still allowed a very nice view of the water. More prosperous residents lived here—Reston’s house was just down the road—and the Victorian flavor of money and respectability was reflected in the size and style of the dwellings.
Rutledge was reminded of Bennett’s comment that fish scales made for slippery social climbing.
They went up the walk to Number 4 and Cornelius let them in with his key. There was a lamp at the foot of the stairs, but the ground floor was in darkness. Carrying the lamp, Cornelius took the steps two at a time to the first floor, and Rutledge followed.
The man was annoyed that his wife had locked the bedroom door, and knocked briskly.
She came out to them, shushing them. “Jeremy’s just gone to sleep again.”
She stared uncertainly at Rutledge, and her husband hastily presented him, adding, “He’s here in Bennett’s stead.”
“What seems to be the trouble?” Rutledge asked her.
“It’s probably a wild-goose chase,” she began apologetically, confronted now with this stranger from London instead of Mr. Bennett. She was beginning to wonder if she’d been wise to call in the police. But the memory of her son’s distress kept her from making light of her fears. “Nanny tells me my son sits by his window late at night, and tonight there was something in the mist that frightened him. He began to cry and it took me some time to calm him down again. But after what happened to Matthew Hamilton—”
“Yes, you did the right thing,” Rutledge replied, cutting short the apology. “Did he describe to you what he’d seen?”
“A hunchback creature stumbling along the road at the head of the street. He believes it was a monster of some kind, but of course that’s only a child’s interpretation. I can’t think what it might actually have been.” She glanced at her husband. “Jeremy is possessed of a lively imagination, and his grandfather encourages him by reading to him books that are, well, perhaps a little mature for him. But he doesn’t make up stories. Something was there. I’m convinced of it.”
“A fisherman carrying his nets down to the boat?” Rutledge took out his watch. “When do the fishermen set sail? Before dawn, surely.”
“I hadn’t thought of that—but why should that frighten Jeremy? He must have seen them dozens of times. And this—this creature