Before they left, Holmes insisted on giving Joe a half-crown. “Thank you, sir,” said Joe. “And if I think of anything else, I’ll let you know. I hope they deal with old Renfield kindly when they catch him. I don’t believe he murdered those women. He was always a gentle soul, excepting to spiders and flies.”
Holmes and Mary walked away from Joe’s house in a thoughtful mood. “You’re both awfully quiet,” said Mrs. Poole, tucking away the recipe for homemade washing powder that Mrs. Abernathy had given her.
“Do you think—?” said Mary, looking at Holmes.
“I think it’s a distinct possibility,” he said. “You were right, everyone does seem to belong to this blasted society. If Renfield was once a member . . .”
“He might know some of the others,” said Mary. “Although if he had once been a member, surely Dr. Seward would have been aware of it? We know he’s a member himself.”
“Ah, that Dr. Seward was lying through his teeth,” said Mrs. Poole. “You can always tell when people are lying. It’s when they look at you too straight, as though they were angels here on Earth. And indignant, as though they can’t believe you would doubt them.”
“Perhaps,” said Holmes. “If he knew that Renfield was once a member of the Alchemical Society, he would certainly have reason to lie.”
It was a perfect spring day, not raining for once, and as they walked back to the train station, Mary imagined they were simply three people going for a walk in a country town. The sun shone down on the cottages and shops of Purfleet, and in the gardens she could see poppies and the tall blue spikes of larkspur. But then she remembered Molly Keane, dead on the streets of Whitechapel, lying in a pool of her own blood. It could not make her enjoy the day less, but it reminded her that there were still murders to investigate.
CHAPTER XIV
The Twisted Man
Mary wondered if the train ride back to London would be like the one that morning. Would Holmes spend it discussing domestic details with Mrs. Poole? But no, he and Mary went over the details of the case. If Renfield had not killed those women, who had? Evidence seemed to indicate that it was someone connected with the Société des Alchimistes, but whom? Dr. Seward’s letter had made clear that he had no knowledge of the murders—indeed, he was alarmed by them. But it was also clear that there were various factions in the society. Could this be the work of a faction that opposed Seward and his friends? Who then were they? It seemed as though they were in contact with Renfield, without Seward’s knowledge.
“So on the one hand,” said Mary, “we have my father, Dr. Rappaccini, and Dr. Moreau, who all knew each other, and who are all dead. And then we have Dr. Seward and his friend Professor Van Helsing, who knows Mr. Prendick, who knew Dr. Moreau! And then we have Renfield, and the implication that he may at one time have seen Hyde. Three different groups of people. Are they friends? Enemies? In league with one another? And who among them would be murdering women? Beatrice said it was an ancient experiment, the same process that had created Frankenstein’s monster a hundred years ago. Why would anyone want to re-create that?”
“Then there is the question of whether this is all connected to the Magdalen Society,” said Holmes. “Is it merely a coincidence that four of the murdered women had been inmates of the society? I wonder whether Miss Moreau has any information for us. Perhaps there will be a message when we return.”
“What about Mr. Prendick?” asked Mary. “Don’t we need to find him—and follow him? Deerborne Hotel in Soho. It shouldn’t be hard to find.”
“Oh no, you don’t,” said Mrs. Poole. “Neither of you seems to have noticed that you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. First we go back to the house—it’s almost tea time. Anyway, you need to check for messages, don’t you? And then you can go following whoever you please.”
But when they arrived at 11 Park Terrace, there was no message. As soon as they stepped out of the cab from the station, Mrs. Poole said, “The door’s open.” And sure enough, the front door was almost imperceptibly open, as though it had been closed by a person who was not very careful.
“Beatrice! Justine!” Mary called as soon as they entered the house. Her words echoed down the hall. There was no response. Then all three of them called, even the respectable Mrs. Poole, who as far as Mary knew had never shouted before in her life.
MRS. POOLE: Of course I’ve shouted before. I’m human, aren’t I?
DIANA: Scolded isn’t the same as shouted.
There was no response. The house was empty—except, of course, for the Beast Man lying on the floor of Justine’s room, but being dead, he scarcely counted. Mary almost tripped over him when she ran upstairs, in a panic, to see why Beatrice, at least, wasn’t answering. She screamed just a little, more in surprise than fright, when she saw him on the carpet. The sound brought Mrs. Poole and Holmes upstairs after her. She stood in the entrance to the room, looking at the dead Beast Man. He lay amid a tangle of bed curtains—someone, whether a Beast Man or Justine, had torn them from the bed. And the rest of the room was a shambles. Chairs were overturned, the shaving stand had been knocked over, and its mirror was covered with a spiderweb of cracks. The clock and spill vase had been swept off the mantelpiece. They lay, smashed into pieces, on the hearth.
“Dear Lord,” said Mrs. Poole.
“They put up a fight,” said Mary. She did not know what else to say.
“They did indeed,” said Holmes. “Look at this man’s face. Although man is a generous term to use for him. Judging by his hairiness and the shape and size of his teeth, he was once a bear. He seems clumsily made. I wonder . . . well, no time for speculation now.”
On his cheeks, the Bear Man had two marks, as though he had been grasped by two red hands.
“That must have been Beatrice,” said Mary. “She told us her touch could burn.”
Holmes walked around the room, examining the overturned furniture, the tangled curtains. “I want to go outside and check for footprints. No, Miss Jekyll, you may not come with me.” Mary opened her mouth to protest. “More of them may be lurking about. So, if you please.”
She shut her mouth again, but was not in fact pleased. If there were Beast Men lurking about, two together would be safer than one. And surely she could be of help? But Holmes was already gone. She waited impatiently as Mrs. Poole walked around the room, surveying the damage. “Look at this clock. It came with your mother when she married your father, all the way from Yorkshire. It stood on this mantle for more than twenty years, and I was always grateful, miss, that you couldn’t sell it because it ran a bit slow. Well, it won’t be keeping time now, that’s for certain.”
“Surely that’s less important than Justine and Beatrice?” said Mary.