Young Sherlock Holmes_ Red Leech - Andrew Lane [82]
The eyes that stared through the holes in the mask were not white, however. The irises were so dark that they were almost black, but the area around the irises was bloodshot. The effect, set against the pristine whiteness of the mask, was to make the eyes seem as if they were glowing red.
The man’s wrists, emerging from the cuffs of his shirt, were almost impossibly thin. Sherlock wondered if it would be possible to break his bones just by shaking his hand. Not that the man was extending his hand to be shaken. Both of his arms were pulled away from his body as he moved, with black leather leashes leading away from his wrists into the darkness of the house. And something was pulling those leashes tight.
He stopped just outside the doors. Sherlock thought he could see something moving behind him, at the ends of the leashes, but he wasn’t sure what. Some kind of dogs, presumably, but big.
‘Dr Berle,’ the man said from behind the mask. His voice was light, high and almost whispery. ‘Captain Rubinek. Mr Booth. And our distinguished guests, of course. I am afraid I do not know your names. Please, in the interests of polite conversation, would you be so kind as to introduce yourselves.’
‘I’m Virginia Crowe,’ Virginia said.
Matty scowled. ‘Matthew Arnatt.’
Ah,’ the man said. A friend from across the sea.’ He glanced at Sherlock with his red gaze. And you, sir? Who are you?’
‘Sherlock Scott Holmes,’ Sherlock replied.
Another British visitor. How . . . entertaining.’
Sherlock’s attention was drawn to the hands that held the leashes. There was something wrong with them, and it took him a moment to work out what it was. There were fingers missing from both hands – the little finger on the left hand and the fourth finger on the right hand, but the gloves had actually been tailored without those fingers, so there was no empty finger hanging loose or any material pinned back.
There was something else strange about the hands as well. They were as thin as the rest of the man, but there were lumps, pushing at the material of the gloves. What did those hands look like, beneath the gloves?
‘You have us at a disadvantage,’ Sherlock said, switching his attention back to the man’s porcelain mask and trying to keep his voice calm. ‘May I ask what your name is?’
‘I am Duke Balthassar,’ the man said, his voice as dry and papery as autumn leaves. ‘That’s “Duke” as in a first name, not “Duke” as in an honorific like “Count” or “Prince”. Now please, help yourselves to orange juice and bread rolls. I assure you, the juice is perfectly fresh and the rolls are still warm from the oven.’
Virginia reached for the decanter. ‘Let me pour,’ she said.
Duke Balthassar moved out further into the sunshine. The leashes in his hand pulled tight, and then reluctantly two animals were pulled out on to the veranda.
Virginia spilt the orange juice on the white tablecloth.
For a moment, Sherlock didn’t know what they were. They looked like sleek, brown cats, but their heads were at a level with Duke Balthassar’s waist. Their eyes were black, and their tails flicked restlessly as their gaze moved from person to person.
‘Cougars? Virginia breathed.
‘Indeed,’ Balthassar said. He sounded pleased. ‘I would say “Don’t let them scare you”, but that would be bad advice. Do let them scare you.’
‘I didn’t know,’ Virginia said, and Sherlock could hear the tremor in her voice, ‘that cougars could be tamed.’
‘Tamed?’ Balthassar said. ‘No, they cannot. But like all creatures, humans included, they respond to fear. And they fear me.’ He said something in a foreign language, and the cougars