Doctor Who_ Foreign Devils - Andrew Cartmel [28]
Zoe glanced at the Doctor. 'He presents a persuasive case.'
'Do I detect a note of sarcasm?' Suddenly Carnacki was looking directly at Zoe and the cool intelligence of his eyes immediately dispelled any image of a toast chomping buffoon. 'Yes, well I suppose so, I'm sorry.'
The Doctor interrupted smoothly. 'Zoe hasn't had quite your level of experience with the occult and outré, Mr Carnacki. She's entitled to a little sardonic scepticism.' He turned to Zoe and said, with a gentle note of reproof, 'But Mr Carnacki knows whereof he speaks.' 'And you're inclined to agree with him?'
The Doctor shook his head and smiled at Carnacki. 'I'm afraid not. I don't think things can be quite so straightforward.'
'Straightforward?' said Zoe in a scandalised tone.
There was a ringing noise from above the door and the Doctor
looked up at the servant-signalling device over the door. He read the
card indicated by the black iron arrow.
'Under maid. Zoe, isn't that you?'
Arabelle Daphne Upcott stared up at the ceiling of her bedroom, her dead eyes unseeing. The Doctor stared down at those unseeing pupils with compassion and accepted a small sealed bottle and a white cloth from Carnacki. The bottle contained methyl alcohol. The Doctor dabbed some on the rag and gently applied it to the old woman's forehead, where the livid red tattoo of the dragon flared. 'Nothing?' said Carnacki.
'It certainly doesn't appear to be coming off,' said the Doctor. He examined the unblemished white rag and then turned his gaze to the tiny red dragon, dancing rampant in triumph on the dead woman's forehead. 'I still don't believe it's a tattoo, although I must confess I don't have a better explanation. At least not yet.' He moved away from the bed and gave Carnacki room to get his camera in; it was a huge affair on a tripod that stood almost as tall as the Doctor. Carnacki ducked inside the camera's hood and framed the scene. Arabelle Upcott's body was lying where it had been found, in a wide feather bed, a four poster in her bedroom in the west corner of the house, overlooking the arboretum.
As with Colonel Marlowe in the billiard room, the Doctor and Carnacki had instructed that the murder scene should be left exactly as it was found. A fond hope with the number of servants, family members, and salaciously nosy guests who had tramped through by now. But at least the bodies remained in situ, with the Doctor's sensible suggestion that no fires be lighted in either room, to keep things as cool as possible.
Carnacki emerged from under the camera's black shroud. His breath fogged on the chilled air of the room. 'It's as cold as a crypt,' he said. The Doctor nodded. Carnacki fussed with his camera, ducked back under the hood and suddenly there was a flash of magnesium and the poor woman's face was for an instant whiter still. As the flash dissipated, the Doctor turned to see that someone was standing in the doorway of the bedroom. It was Pemberton Upcott. 'Are you quite finished with the remains of my aunt?' he said savagely. Carnacki emerged from under the hood of the camera. 'Of course,' he said. He was making allowances for his host's bad temper. The man had suffered two bereavements and he had been up all night under great strain.
Carnacki too had been up all night, but he was riding high on a fast flowing tide of adrenaline and Indian tea. It was always like this when an investigation was under way. He would hardly pause for sleep or sustenance.
He began to pack up his camera discreetly as Pemberton stood staring stonily down at the body of his aunt. Meanwhile the Doctor was at the door, in private conversation with the chief butler, Elder-Main, who had followed his master into the room like his shadow. The Doctor came over and joined Pemberton by the bed.
'Mr Upcott, was your aunt related to you by blood or by marriage?' Pemberton didn't look at the Doctor. His gazed remained fixed on the unfortunate