“A what?”
“A catalyst. It’s an agent that accelerates a chemical reaction. It’s not directly responsible for the results, just for how quickly they get out of hand.”
“You mean like a mysterious pale man who nudges a few key elements into place until, before we know it, we’ve got a life-sized dragon blowing up over our heads?”
“You’re becoming remarkably astute, Miss Rook. I do believe I’ve been a positive influence on you. The real question is why?”
“Well, it did destroy the crime scene, and any hopes we had of finding evidence.”
“But he couldn’t predict that it would end like that. So why give Hudson the bone in the first place?”
I froze. “Because he wasn’t giving Hudson a bone. He was throwing one for us.”
Jackaby raised his eyebrows curiously.
“Poor Mrs. Pendleton knew the answer ages ago. You don’t throw a dog a bone because it’s got any real meat left on it—you throw a dog a bone to keep it busy. The stranger knew about the chameleomorphs because he knew about Mrs. Beaumont, so he knew exactly what Hudson had in his hands when he gave him the bone. It didn’t matter what happened then, because whatever it was, it was going to be bad, and we were sure to go investigate. The murders, the stolen fossils, the impossible beasts—can you think of a more perfect bone to keep us busy? And we’ve been biting from the start.”
Jackaby considered this with a scowl. I waited for him to tell me I was being foolish and explain it all away, but he only nodded solemnly. “Someone has gone to great lengths to cause this havoc.”
“To what end?” I wondered aloud.
“And to what beginning?” Jackaby amended. “If our mysterious stranger engineered this dragon ordeal and the Campbell Street chameleomorphs, what else is he behind? Dangerous irregularities have been occurring with alarming . . . regularity. It is troubling to consider a criminal manufacturing paranormal mayhem. How long has he been at it? Did he orchestrate the reclusive redcap’s rise to become a predator in public office? Plant the swarm of brownies on the mayor’s lawn? Promote adoption of the Dewey decimal system in libraries across the continent? It’s the not knowing I find most irksome.”
“The Dewey decimal system?”
“It’s gaining popularity. I don’t trust it.”
“We’ll catch him, sir,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”
“I very much agree, Miss Rook. Now that we know whom we’re looking for, we can do more than flounder in his wake. This spectacular failure of ours may prove to be just the catalyst we needed to propel ourselves toward the greater triumph.” He nodded contentedly. “It makes sense, now. Oh, I feel much better knowing that there is a malevolent force out there, working directly against us at every turn, don’t you?”
I smiled feebly. “It’s a bright new world, sir.”
“Indeed. Speaking of which, you should be happy to hear that Douglas has done a fine job of looking after our little transformative pests. They’re all present and accounted for as slightly hairy Gerridae—and the house is still standing, which is nice.”
I nodded. “Don’t look in Miss Cavanaugh’s room any time soon,” I said. “Still a bit of progress to be made there. Although she did manage to pick up some of the flowers, so at least she’s found her gloves, wherever you hid them,” I said.
Jackaby paused with a hand on the door to his office. He scowled and reached into his satchel. “You mean these?” He pulled out a bundle of ladies’ gloves. There were two or three pairs in varying states of wear.