“Don’t be foolish, Colifichet,” Penrose called. “Put the gun aside.”
“I am quite aware, Lord Harrington, that you are accustomed to giving orders. But the Revolution has come and gone in France, and I need not do as you say. And, in point of fact, you must do what I say.” Colifichet adjusted his grip on the gun. “The police are already on their way. Pierre told me you would be here, you see. He is a loyal lad. Now just put that parcel aside like a good boy—oui?—and no one will be shot.”
Penrose looked at Colifichet. He looked down at the parcel in his hands and tore off the paper.
“Stop!” Colifichet cried.
“What in hell?” Penrose muttered. He held up, not a diamond stomacher, but a white, rectangular piece of cloth. One of the diapers from the clothesline in the courtyard. Penrose threw it aside.
“Fitting, given your childish meddling, non?” Colifichet said. “I shall shoot the girl, first, mmn?” He took aim.
Penrose lunged in front of Ophelia.
BANG.
Ophelia screamed. Penrose was sprawled facedown on the floor.
“Professor!” Ophelia cried.
Penrose rose to his knees, but something dark was streaming down his cheek. He reached inside his jacket. He stood.
“Pardonnez-moi,” Colifichet said. “I had meant to get the girl—who is she, anyway?” He aimed again.
Penrose aimed the revolver he’d drawn from his jacket. “Put it down, Colifichet.”
“I told you that I do not take orders fr—”
In four long strides Penrose had crossed the room and collared Colifichet with one hand. With his other hand, he pressed his revolver to Colifichet’s temple. He shoved him against a workbench. Table legs screeched and tools clattered to the floor. “Where is the marquise’s daughter, Colifichet?”
“You will not get away with this, you—”
“Where is she?” Penrose twisted his collar.
Colifichet choked for air.
Ophelia’s mouth hung open. She had never seen or heard Penrose like this.
“I told you,” Colifichet said, “I do not know of the gi—”
“And the stomacher?”
“The police will—”
“The stomacher.” Penrose pressed the pistol barrel deeper into Colifichet’s temple.
“I know not! I know not! I only came here tonight because Pierre said you meant to break in and steal my work.”
“Why would I wish to steal your work?” Penrose growled. “Toys and trinkets are not to my taste.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Miss Flax. Go, by way of the courtyard.”
“But I—”
“Go!”
Ophelia decided it was best, for once, not to argue with the professor. Some fellows transformed into frogs, but he had somehow transformed into a beast.
27
Gabriel wished for nothing more than to extract a full and detailed report from Colifichet. The little weasel knew more about the stomacher. He had to know more; he’d dressed that frightful little music box doll in a tiny stomacher.
But there was no time.
Penrose swiped Colifichet’s pistol from his trembling hand, removed his own pistol from Colifichet’s temple, and dashed after Miss Flax.
“You will not get away with this!” Colifichet screamed.
Gabriel and Miss Flax’s hired carriage raced past the darkened front of Colifichet & Fils. A police wagon was just rolling to a stop, two horses prancing, and four gendarmes piled out.
And then their carriage had passed.
*
Ophelia glanced out of the corner of her eye at the professor, bumping along on the carriage seat beside her. She felt a little wary of him after his beastly performance with Colifichet.
Penrose touched the side of his head and winced.
“Oh!” she said. “I’d clean forgotten he’d shot you. Allow me to look.”
“It’s only my ear.” Penrose dug his handkerchief from his jacket and held it over his ear.