The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [40]
“But you haven’t told me about the other developments—”
“Later,” he answered.
The line clicked dead, leaving me with no choice but to wait until that evening to find out what in the world Mr. Moore could’ve been talking about.
CHAPTER 7
Dr. Kreizler managed to sleep until midafternoon, after which he called Cyrus into his study. I popped my head in, too, to let the Doctor know that Mr. Moore,Miss Howard, and the Isaacsons intended on coming by for cocktails, a prospect what seemed to give him some consolation. Then he and Cyrus started to sort through all the mail the Doctor hadn’t attended to in recent days. While they were closeted away with this work, I tried to get a few hours of study in, though my effort wasn’t exactly wholehearted. Excusing myself with the thought that most kids weren’t required to do schoolwork in the summertime, I headed down to the carriage house to have a secret smoke and give Frederick some more oats and another brushdown. Then it was Gwendolyn’s turn, which she waited for with her usual patience. She was a good horse, as strong as Frederick but without his spunk, and spending time with her helped to ease some of my anxiousness.
Our guests showed up at near 6:30. The sun was still bright behind the two square, squat towers of St. George’s Church on the west side of Stuyvesant Park, what with it being the longest day of the year, and all reports said that the weather would hold through most of the week. Mr. Moore and the others trotted up the stairs to the parlor, where the Doctor was reading a letter and listening to Cyrus play and sing a sad, lonely operatic number that most likely had something to do with people falling in love and then dying (such being the general concern of operas, from what little I’ve ever been able to make out about that particular musical form). I watched the scene that followed, as was my habit, from a shadowy corner at the top of the next flight of stairs.
The Doctor rose and shook each person’s hand warmly, while Mr. Moore smacked a palm against the Doctor’s back.
“Laszlo—you look like hell,” he announced, immediately making for a silver box of cigarettes that contained a nice blend of Virginia and Russian black tobaccoes.
“It’s good of you to notice, Moore,” the Doctor answered with a sigh, indicating the easy chair across from his to Miss Howard. “Sara, please.”
“As ever, John is the soul of tact,” Miss Howard said as she sat down. “All things considered, Doctor, I think you look remarkably well.”
“Hmm, yes,” the Doctor noised doubtfully. “All things considered …” Miss Howard smiled again as she realized how backhanded her compliment had been, but the Doctor smiled back, letting her off the hook and telling her he appreciated the thought. “And the detective sergeants are here as well,” he went on. “This is indeed a welcome surprise. I’ve had a letter from Roosevelt today—I’ve just been reading it.”
“Really?” Lucius said, moving closer to the Doctor’s chair with his brother. “What’s he say?”
“I bet he’s not terrorizing the sailors the way he did our beat cops,” Marcus added.
“I hate to interrupt,” Mr. Moore said from across the room, “but we did come for cocktails. Are we free to fix them ourselves, Kreizler?” He indicated a nearby glass-and-mahogany cart what was loaded down with bottles. “I trust that battle-axe downstairs isn’t going to do it. What is she, anyway, some kind of refugee or something?”
“Mrs. Leshko?” As he spoke, the Doctor nodded toward the liquor cart, and Mr.