“Who is this Adam?” asked Watson. “He seems to be their leader, and the chief perpetrator of this madness.”
“Can you not guess?” said Holmes. “He is the first monstrous creation of Victor Frankenstein.”
“But the monster perished,” said Watson. “It says so in Mrs. Shelley’s account.”
“Oh yes, because everything written down is true,” said Diana. “Like the rot you write about Sherlock here.”
“We don’t have time to argue,” said Mary. “Who’s going to rescue Beatrice? She’s locked up somewhere in that warehouse.”
“If it’s a lock you’re talking about, I’m the one to pick it,” said Diana.
“I’ll go with her, to protect her,” said Charlie.
“I don’t need protecting.”
“Thank you, Charlie. And the rest of us need to rescue Justine before she goes under completely.” Mary looked around at the circle of potential rescuers. She could barely see their faces in the darkness. “Four of us against five of them—Hyde, Prendick, the monster Adam, the Bear Man, and that small shuffling one . . .”
“An Orangutan Man, if I’m not mistaken,” said Holmes. “They are—they must be—the animals stolen from Lord Avebury’s menagerie, transformed into men, or approximations of men. Lord Avebury sent me a list of the stolen animals. One of the bears and one of the boars is dead. Which leaves—well, if I remember his list correctly, I hope that cage is securely locked. If we had time, we could form a plan—rushing into that room and trusting in the element of surprise is scarcely the wisest course of action.”
“I know,” said Mary, “but what choice do we have? Our friends are in there. Who knows how long Justine has?”
“Of course we’re going in,” said Catherine. “Come on, already!”
“Miss Jekyll is right,” said Watson. “This is no time to hold back out of consideration for our safety. Although the thought of you ladies going into that warehouse . . .”
“You’re not going to dissuade us, Dr. Watson,” said Mary. Could this possibly work? It would have to.
“I was going to say, the thought of you going in weaponless . . . But I only have my revolver. Holmes?”
“I have mine,” said Holmes. “You’d better keep yours, Watson. I’ll give mine to either Miss Jekyll or Miss Moreau. And I shall fight with my fists. I have been trained in baritsu, remember. You misunderstood me, Miss Jekyll. I was certainly not going to suggest leaving Miss Frankenstein in danger.”
“I don’t need your revolver, Mr. Holmes,” said Mary. Out of her purse, she drew her father’s revolver. It was small, the sort of weapon a gentleman could carry concealed. She wondered if he had bought it for his excursions as Mr. Hyde. Who was alive . . . which meant her father was alive.
MRS. POOLE: Were you carrying a revolver all that time?
MARY: I put it in my purse before we left for Soho. I thought if Dr. Watson carried a revolver, I should as well when accompanying Mr. Holmes. One never knows when a revolver will come in handy.
MRS. POOLE: Very sensible of you, miss.
MARY: I had to leave my purse in that alley, and forgot to retrieve it afterward. At least I remembered to tuck the rest of the money and the house key into my waistband. I suppose Diana’s right—women’s clothes really aren’t made for adventures.
DIANA: Told you.
“I don’t need a weapon either,” said Catherine. “I am a weapon. Remember that I killed a man with my hands—and teeth!”
“Then follow me,” said Holmes. “I shall go in first. These are criminals, and remember, in this matter I am acting for Lestrade and Scotland Yard. I am an official representative of the law.”
Both the larger and smaller warehouse doors were locked, but Diana picked the lock of the smaller one with what looked suspiciously like one of Mary’s hatpins, which had been stuck through the underside of her lapel. “I could do this when I was seven!” she whispered to Holmes, who was standing behind her. Cautiously, she pushed open the door. It opened onto a dark hallway that ran the length of the warehouse. At its end was a window, through which a bit of moonlight shone on a spiral wrought-iron staircase up to the second floor. Holmes stepped past Diana, revolver in hand. Mary followed him in, and then the rest of them followed one by one, as silently as they could until they all stood in the hallway. Watson, who was in the rear, shut the front door behind them. On the left side of the hallway, they could see the outline of a door—that must lead to the larger loading area. On the right side were three doors, the first of which had a line of brighter light underneath it. From it they could hear the vague murmur of several voices: that must be the door to the room in which Justine was being held.
Mary whispered, “Diana, try those other doors! If Beatrice is in one of those rooms, and you can free her, you may both be able to help us. If not, try upstairs, and we’ll have to go in without you. There’s no time to wait.”
“All right,” said Diana. “Come on, Charlie.”
And now we must once again separate our narrative into two parts: one that follows Diana down the hallway, and another that stays with Mary and Catherine.
CATHERINE: I can’t write from Diana’s point of view.
MARY: Of course you can. You’re a writer; you can write anything. Just find your inner Diana.
CATHERINE: I don’t have an inner Diana.
DIANA: Ha! You wish. Everyone has an inner Diana.
Diana’s thoughts were in chaos. But then, they always were, so this was nothing new. At that moment, her inner monologue sounded something like this: That was Dad in there the bloody bastard haven’t seen him since I was a baby so he is alive after all wonder what Mum would think of that don’t know why Mary treats me like a child after all I’m fourteen I can pick locks and climb and bloody well do what the other girls do except poison people and bite them through the throat but I’m as clever as anyone tea was a long time ago I wonder if we’ll get anything to eat?
MARY: All right, you’ve made your point! Stop picking on Diana and get on with the story.
It took only a moment for Diana to pick the locks on the second and third doors. Beatrice was not in either of those rooms, which were filled with crates labeled ALDERNEY SHIPPING. She would need to look on the second floor. She waved at Mary and pointed up the staircase to indicate where she was going. The rescue would have to proceed without her. Mary waved back.
Diana mounted the spiral staircase, Charlie climbing after her. “You’re awfully good at those locks, ain’t you, miss?” he said as they reached the second floor.
She was both annoyed and pleased by his attention. Pleased because it was a fitting tribute to her skill, and annoyed because of course she was good at them. She was Diana Hyde, wasn’t she? She had always been able to pick locks and pockets, and climb into and out of windows. She had often thought that if no better opportunity presented itself, she might one day become a burglar.