The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [44]
“Is it?” the Doctor mumbled, not too reassured. “Absolutely.”
As Mr. Moore reached the Doctor’s chair, I noticed that he bent over somewhat suddenly to hand the Doctor his cocktail: and as he did, a packet of papers and letters came flying out of the inside pocket of his jacket.
“Oh, dammit,” Mr. Moore said, in a voice that might’ve sounded completely genuine if I hadn’t known that the larger purpose of the evening was to get the Doctor to sign on for the Linares case. “Laszlo,” he went on, indicating the papers and handing a drink to Lucius, “would you mind…?”
The Doctor reached to the floor and picked up the scattered documents, giving them a quick once-over as he arranged them back into a pile. He suddenly stopped when he reached something:
It was the photograph of little Ana Linares.
As I’m sure the cagey Mr. Moore knew he would, the Doctor paused to study the thing. And as he did, he began to smile.
“What a charming child,” he said quietly. “The daughter of a friend, John?”
“Hmm?” Mr. Moore noised, all innocence.
“Well, she’s entirely too beautiful to be a relation,” the Doctor went on, to which the others laughed a little: their first mistake, for the Doctor had not shown the picture to any of them. If they knew the smiling, pretty face it displayed, then something was up. The Doctor glanced at them all carefully. “Such being the case,” he said quietly, continuing to address Mr. Moore, “who is she?”
“Oh,” Mr. Moore answered, retrieving the packet of letters and folded documents, “it’s nothing, Laszlo. Forget it.”
As this little dance continued, I saw Detective Sergeant Lucius pick up the evening edition of the Times and plaster it over his face nervously, though it was obvious he wasn’t reading a word.
The Doctor leaned toward Mr. Moore. “What do you mean, ‘it’s nothing’? Have you taken to carrying pictures of anonymous children?”
“No. But it’s—well, it’s nothing you should worry about.”
“I’m not worried,” the Doctor protested. “Why should I be worried?”
“That’s right,” Mr. Moore said. “No reason.”
The Doctor eyed him. “Is it something you’re worried about?”
Mr. Moore sipped his drink and held up a hand. “Laszlo, please—you’ve got enough on your mind. Let’s just skip it.”
“John,” the Doctor answered, standing and speaking with genuine concern now, “if you’re in some kind of trouble—”
He stopped as Miss Howard reached up to touch his arm. “You needn’t press John, Doctor,” Miss Howard said. “The fact is, it’s a little matter I’m looking into. He’s been giving me some help, that’s all. I lent him the photograph.”
Leaning back and turning to Miss Howard, the Doctor grew less concerned and more intrigued. “Ah! A case, Sara?”
“Yes,” was her simple answer.
I could see that the Doctor was continuing to make much of his friends’ holding back, and his next remark was a bit more pointed: “Detective Sergeant,” he said to the ever-nervous Lucius, “I believe you’ll have more success reading that paper if you turn it right side up.”
“Oh!” Lucius answered, fixing the problem with a rustle of newsprint as Marcus let out a little sigh. “Yes, I—suppose you’re right, Doctor.”
There was another moment of silence, after which the Doctor spoke again: “I take it you two are also giving Miss Howard some help with her case.”
“Oh, not really,” Marcus answered uneasily. “Not much, that is. Still, the thing is—interesting, in a way.”
“Actually, Doctor,” Miss Howard said, “we could use your thoughts on it. Informally, I mean. If it wouldn’t be an imposition, that is.”
“Of course,” the Doctor replied; and the way he said it, it seemed to me that he was beginning to form an idea of what was going on and might be agreeing to take the first few steps down the road toward getting involved.
Sensing that they’d gotten the hook in, Mr. Moore brightened and looked at his watch. “Well! We’d better discuss all this at dinner. I’ve got a table at Mouquin’s, Kreizler, and you’re coming along.”
“Well, I …” Ordinarily,