that Lincoln thinks only of the Plate? And why is it the first, as well as least valuable, object you mention on coming in here?’
Elwick hesitated, starting to feel confusion seep in. ‘I do not need to answer your questions!’
‘You don’t, sir, but please do, because I’ve got a rack of test tubes that are probably spoilt by now, but the sooner I solve this the sooner I can clear up and prevent the nitrates from . . . ’
‘Are you deaf, man? I gave you permission to leave! Tell Lincoln that the situation is being dealt with.’
‘Is it? Who’s C.R. Wells?’
‘What? I’ve never heard anything more absurd in—’
‘You don’t know Mr Wells?’
‘Absolutely not!’
There was a faint shift in the room, a change in the air. Tess realized she was staring at Lyle, who took a deep breath and leant back on the table, rubbing the bridge of his nose. No one spoke, not even Vellum.
‘Sir,’ said Lyle finally, in a weary voice, ‘Mr C.R. Wells was the individual who deposited a sarcophagus in your family vault, using a letter with your signature on it as proof of his origins. That sarcophagus contained the thief who stole the Plate, opened the vault door from inside by triggering the bolt mechanism within the door, and then disappeared with your property.’
‘A pleasant idea,’ said Vellum smoothly, stepping forward, ‘but quite implausible. How would he get past the other vault doors? They are locked on both sides.’
‘Have you found Bray yet? The missing guard?’
Silence. Elwick’s eyes were burning. ‘Mister Lyle, did you say?’
‘That ’s right.’
‘Son of Harry Lyle and a lady of . . . ’ his smile was tight, ‘dubious parentage?’
‘Dubious? Clearly not dubious enough to stop them fulfilling their necessary biological function.’
‘A police constable, are you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
And then, to Tess’s horror, Lord Elwick laughed. It was a cruel laugh that denoted some joke only he could see. ‘A policeman ?’ he sneered. Tess looked, appalled, from Elwick’s twisted face to Lyle’s utterly impassive one, then on to the boy standing behind him. His eyes were fixed on Lord Elwick’s face, and his mouth hung slightly open, as if unable to comprehend what he was seeing and hearing, utterly unaware of his own physicality in the horror of the moment. Elwick blurted between malicious peals of merriment, ‘I see now that the Bible was correct - the mighty are fallen.’ He took off his top hat in a sweep. Spinning on his heel he called, not even looking back as he did so, ‘Good day, Mister Lyle.’
Young Thomas Elwick turned to follow his father, and saw the girl looking at him with her head on one side. He hesitated. He heard his father’s laughter. He glanced back at Lyle. The man was standing with his hands in the pockets of his long coat, chewing one side of his lip. Thomas stopped. His father kept walking, bellowing at anyone who’d listen, Vellum sweeping along in his shadow, ‘I demand to speak with a Superintendent . . . ’
And Thomas turned, and faced Tess and Lyle. ‘Excuse me?’
CHAPTER 4
Tate
Lyle was never sure whether he chose Tate, or Tate chose him. He hadn’t meant to have a pet, reasoning that an animal was a hazard in any occupation where chemicals were involved. He didn’t hunt, and regarded most members of Tate ’s species as an accessory to shotguns, tweed and inbreeding of the most genetically ill-advised kind. When he had opened the door, therefore, one cold winter’s night, and found a puppy with a huge nose and a bored expression slumbering on his doorstep, his instinctive reaction had been to find it some warm fireplace where people who believed in hunting and string quartets and dog food could look after it.
The first dog expert he’d questioned had informed him flatly that he couldn’t begin to guess what Tate ’s parentage had been, but didn’t think it could have been healthy. And as soon as Tate had woken up and looked at
Elwick hesitated, starting to feel confusion seep in. ‘I do not need to answer your questions!’
‘You don’t, sir, but please do, because I’ve got a rack of test tubes that are probably spoilt by now, but the sooner I solve this the sooner I can clear up and prevent the nitrates from . . . ’
‘Are you deaf, man? I gave you permission to leave! Tell Lincoln that the situation is being dealt with.’
‘Is it? Who’s C.R. Wells?’
‘What? I’ve never heard anything more absurd in—’
‘You don’t know Mr Wells?’
‘Absolutely not!’
There was a faint shift in the room, a change in the air. Tess realized she was staring at Lyle, who took a deep breath and leant back on the table, rubbing the bridge of his nose. No one spoke, not even Vellum.
‘Sir,’ said Lyle finally, in a weary voice, ‘Mr C.R. Wells was the individual who deposited a sarcophagus in your family vault, using a letter with your signature on it as proof of his origins. That sarcophagus contained the thief who stole the Plate, opened the vault door from inside by triggering the bolt mechanism within the door, and then disappeared with your property.’
‘A pleasant idea,’ said Vellum smoothly, stepping forward, ‘but quite implausible. How would he get past the other vault doors? They are locked on both sides.’
‘Have you found Bray yet? The missing guard?’
Silence. Elwick’s eyes were burning. ‘Mister Lyle, did you say?’
‘That ’s right.’
‘Son of Harry Lyle and a lady of . . . ’ his smile was tight, ‘dubious parentage?’
‘Dubious? Clearly not dubious enough to stop them fulfilling their necessary biological function.’
‘A police constable, are you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
And then, to Tess’s horror, Lord Elwick laughed. It was a cruel laugh that denoted some joke only he could see. ‘A policeman ?’ he sneered. Tess looked, appalled, from Elwick’s twisted face to Lyle’s utterly impassive one, then on to the boy standing behind him. His eyes were fixed on Lord Elwick’s face, and his mouth hung slightly open, as if unable to comprehend what he was seeing and hearing, utterly unaware of his own physicality in the horror of the moment. Elwick blurted between malicious peals of merriment, ‘I see now that the Bible was correct - the mighty are fallen.’ He took off his top hat in a sweep. Spinning on his heel he called, not even looking back as he did so, ‘Good day, Mister Lyle.’
Young Thomas Elwick turned to follow his father, and saw the girl looking at him with her head on one side. He hesitated. He heard his father’s laughter. He glanced back at Lyle. The man was standing with his hands in the pockets of his long coat, chewing one side of his lip. Thomas stopped. His father kept walking, bellowing at anyone who’d listen, Vellum sweeping along in his shadow, ‘I demand to speak with a Superintendent . . . ’
And Thomas turned, and faced Tess and Lyle. ‘Excuse me?’
CHAPTER 4
Tate
Lyle was never sure whether he chose Tate, or Tate chose him. He hadn’t meant to have a pet, reasoning that an animal was a hazard in any occupation where chemicals were involved. He didn’t hunt, and regarded most members of Tate ’s species as an accessory to shotguns, tweed and inbreeding of the most genetically ill-advised kind. When he had opened the door, therefore, one cold winter’s night, and found a puppy with a huge nose and a bored expression slumbering on his doorstep, his instinctive reaction had been to find it some warm fireplace where people who believed in hunting and string quartets and dog food could look after it.
The first dog expert he’d questioned had informed him flatly that he couldn’t begin to guess what Tate ’s parentage had been, but didn’t think it could have been healthy. And as soon as Tate had woken up and looked at
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