The Angel of Darkness - Caleb Carr [47]
Cyrus just nodded once. “Very much, sir.”
“You’ll keep an eye on our young friend here, won’t you?” the Doctor added. “It seems that he’s already been knocking about the city at all hours of the night with the detective sergeants.” The Doctor looked up from the ashtray to Cyrus. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, I suppose?”
Cyrus only smiled, crossed his hands, and glanced at the floor. “I might know something about it, yes, Doctor.”
“I thought you might,” the Doctor answered, heading for the stairs. “Well… I, for one, intend to get some sleep. It may be in short supply soon.” He paused before heading upstairs and turned to us. “Do be careful—both of you. God knows where this thing will lead.”
Cyrus and I mumbled solemn pledges that we’d try to watch ourselves; but when the Doctor had disappeared up the stairs and into his bedroom, there was no way on earth we could keep ourselves from smiling.
CHAPTER 9
The Doctor telephoned Miss Howard, Mr. Moore, and the detective sergeants the next morning to inform them of his decision and to direct Miss Howard to set up a meeting with Señora Linares for that evening at Number 808 Broadway so that he could personally interview her. Miss Howard soon called back, saying she’d been able to schedule an appointment for 8:30. Then the Doctor withdrew into his study, to begin gathering his thoughts and assembling his research for the job ahead. He issued occasional orders to Cyrus and me, dispatching one or the other of us to various stores and libraries to track down books and journals. This activity nearly kept me from my own urgent mission of the morning: getting bets down for myself and Mr. Moore on the first real class horse race of the season, the Suburban handicap at the Coney Island Jockey Club’s track in Sheepshead Bay. But I juggled it all fine, and Mr. Moore and I finished the day with some very tidy winnings.
At about 7:45 in the evening, the Doctor announced that we’d better get ready to go, as he wanted to walk downtown. He claimed that it was on account of the fine weather, but I think he really felt much more nervous about going back to Number 808 than he’d expected to. The walk over to Broadway and then downtown did seem to calm him, though, and by the time we’d reached the old headquarters sunset was beginning, the rich golden color that spread over the rooftops making it hard to imagine that we were venturing into anything really dangerous.
Dr. Kreizler entered Number 808 much as the rest of us had two days earlier: slowly, cautiously, letting the memories take full effect before he made any definitive movement or statement. As the elevator carried us up to the sixth floor, silence abounded, though when the Doctor saw the sign that Miss Howard’d had painted on the door, he couldn’t help but laugh once quietly and shake his head.
“Sufficiently euphemistic, I should think,” he murmured. “Sara certainly knows her audience …”
Then it was inside, to find Miss Howard and the señora once again sitting in two of the easy chairs. Señora Linares wore the same black clothing, and her veil was up, showing that her wounds had healed only a little since the last time we saw her. She seemed very relieved to meet Dr. Kreizler, and as they spoke she opened up in a way she hadn’t when Mr. Moore and the Isaacsons had examined her. As for the Doctor, he stayed intensely focused on the visitor for most of the time, though his occasional quick glances around the room tipped me off to the fact that he was thinking about other things, too: things that weren’t far enough in the past yet to seem really finished.
The Doctor’s examination of the señora took just over an hour and involved, of course, questions that to most people would’ve seemed thoroughly unrelated to the matter at hand: questions about her family, her childhood, where she’d grown up, how she’d met her husband, why she’d married him. Then there were deeper inquiries about the state of that marriage over the last couple of years. The señora willingly answered these, even though she was clearly