“I don’t think so,” she said. “Mary can open it. You’re bossy enough as it is.”
“Diana!” said Mary. But she was rather pleased to be the one to take the envelope. After all, this was her mystery, more than it was the detective’s. He wasn’t personally involved. She was. It was her father who had been a member of the Société des Alchimistes, and who had done . . . what? Committed murder, certainly. But there must have been more. After all, that murder had not been connected to the society, as far as she knew. Who were its members? What were its goals and aims? The envelope was addressed to John Seward, M.D., at the Purfleet Asylum. “It’s to the director,” she said. “Not to Dr. Balfour. This must have been one of the letters he was sorting for Dr. Seward.” She opened the flap, breaking the seal with a pang of guilt. But didn’t she have a right to know what was in the letter, what this mystery was all about? Surely if anyone had a right to open that letter, she did. She pulled out a sheet of paper and read the rather florid handwriting.
My dear friend John,
Thank you for sending me your so interesting paper, which I think is almost ready for presentation before the meeting of the Société in Budapest. There are a few points—I do not question your methodology, my friend, but your conclusions may be challenged by those who are more conservative than we are. Anticipate and be prepared for their criticism. I will send you some notes on your paper once I have completed my own manuscript, later this week. Please do you the same, and tell me what you think of mine. I would welcome your suggestions.
It is most important, at this juncture, for the Société to support our line of research. When I began working on the biological problem, as our colleague Moreau called it, our members did not approve of my goals and methods. But acceptance has been growing, and after the setbacks of the last few years, we can finally show results. Research is ever like this, friend John! If only our goals had not been discredited by our predecessor, if such a word can be used for him. You know of whom I speak. I confess to you, my friend, that I was concerned about my own experiment for some time. The change did not seem to be taking effect, and when it did, the alteration was so drastic that I thought I would lose her altogether. But in the last month, all has worked as I have wished, and I believe my results will be persuasive, at least to the majority of our members. I assume you will be traveling with Mr. Prendick? Poor man, I hope he may someday be ready to participate fully in our community again. I cannot tell you how I mourn the loss of Moreau. You and Prendick belong to a younger generation. You do not know what it was like for us old fogeys, as you may call us, resurrecting the Société from the decrepitude into which it had fallen and redirecting its energies to biology, to the material of life itself! I am proud of the organization we have built, but distressed to have lost some of our most important men. Alas, scientific exploration has a price! More than once, my friend, I have nearly lost my own life in the pursuit of truth.
I know we can count on the support of my friend Professor Arminius, of Budapest University. I look forward to introducing you to him at last. I am not so certain that our president will look upon our research benevolently! Alas that even our elected leader is prejudiced, conservative, thinking the old ways are best. But we are not living in the eighteenth century! This is the age of Herbert Spencer, of Francis Galton. Well, we shall have to be convincing, and your paper will be instrumental in that endeavor. I look forward to seeing you, and to introducing you also to some excellent Tokaj that Arminius brought me when he came to observe my methods. I hope your voyage goes well, and give my regards to Mr. Prendick, whom I also look forward to seeing.
Yours most truly,
Abraham Van Helsing
Mary put the letter down on her lap. She stared at Holmes and Watson. “What does it all mean?”
Watson shook his head but did not answer. Even Holmes was silent.
“Is anyone not a member of this society?” asked Diana. “We seem to be running into it wherever we go.”
“Van Helsing and this Arminius he mentioned, Seward and his friend Prendick, Rappaccini, Moreau, and the president of the society, whoever that might be,” said Mary. “We’re up to seven, but there are certainly more. You can’t have a scientific society, even a secret one, with only seven members. And if there’s a conference . . .”
“It seems as though Moreau is dead,” said Holmes. “But clearly the others are continuing the work of the society—amid some controversy, it seems. How that work is linked to the murders, if it is, I do not know. Van Helsing and Seward could scarcely have been murdering women in Whitechapel if they are in Amsterdam, as Balfour told us. And that would explain this unopened letter. Presumably it was sent before a situation arose that necessitated Seward’s presence. Clearly it does not anticipate his trip to Amsterdam. Let me see it for a moment, if you please, Miss Jekyll.”
Mary handed him the letter.
“Van Helsing writes, The change did not seem to be taking effect, and when it did, the alteration was so drastic that I thought I would lose her altogether. But in the last month, all has worked as I have wished. Perhaps it stopped working, and that’s why Seward was summoned, likely by telegram.”
“What stopped working?” asked Diana. “And who’s she? Are they poisoning another girl?”
“Perhaps they have confederates in England,” said Watson.
“Or perhaps they’re not in Amsterdam at all, and the summons was a ruse. Perhaps they’re the ones who are really killing women in Whitechapel,” said Mary.
Diana frowned. “You’re giving me a headache.”
“One thing can’t be denied,” said Watson. “Wherever we turn, we run up against this society. What now, Holmes?”
“Well, at least that’s obvious,” said Diana. “We need Poison Breath to tell us what’s going on. We need to break her out.”
“Yes,” said Holmes. “That does seem to be indicated. And as Watson has pointed out, we can scarcely show up at the lady’s residence before dark. Miss Jekyll, could you oblige us with dinner, whatever your cook can provide? It would allow us to look through your father’s papers more closely—if you will allow it.”