Read Online Sleep and His Brother by Peter Dickinson - Free Book Online Page B

assumptions of the people who built it. The change from carved and inlaid panels to cheap stain, from exotic timber to plain deal, was startling. He could sense the ghosts of stunted tweenies who had lugged, up this cruel curve, the coals for the gentlemen’s bedrooms.
    â€œIf Rue meant anything by his joke about immortality,” he said, “I imagine that Mr. Thanatos is supporting your research in the hope that you will find proof that there is life after death.”
    Dr. Silver stopped with his foot on the top stair.
    â€œI had not realized that you knew my colleague so well,” he said. “Did he suggest to Posey that you should come?”
    â€œNo. Mrs. Dixon-Jones didn’t know I knew him. We just drink together at the Black Boot quite often, and set the universe to rights. He never talks about his work here, or yours, either.”
    â€œHa! I was surprised earlier by how quickly you appreciated the nature of my work. And now you are right about this, too.”
    He started down the stairs, still talking.
    â€œI have told the good Mr. T. that his is a most unscientific attitude, which I cannot condone, but unfortunately he has been reading books. Many serious researchers who have done good work in my field have also attempted to make this leap. They think they are Einsteins, and on the few grains of evidence that they have collected they try to construct a General Theory of Immortality … Ho! This is too bad!”
    He stopped and stared in mock dismay at the final flight of stairs. The workmen had evidently been using the scullery at the bottom as their paint store, and the last few steps as extra shelf space. Tottering columns of paint cans rose from a heap of rags and spirit bottles. There was even a twenty-gallon barrel of turpentine blocking half the door. Once again Pibble was struck by the high quality of materials which Mr. Thanatos and the Ministry of Works were paying for together.
    â€œSo we cannot sneak out after all,” said Dr. Silver. “No matter.”
    As they started to climb, Pibble bonked the wall of the stairs with his hand and heard it ring hollow.
    â€œThat’s ingenious,” he said. “One stairwell does for two sets of stairs.”
    â€œThat architect was some boy,” said Dr. Silver. “You saw the lodges by the outer gates? They have their cesspits in the foundations, to save the expense of digging two holes. Would little Mr. Costain want to preserve that, d’you think?”
    â€œNot if he had to live in one of them,” said Pibble, amused to find that Dr. Silver had deliberately called his antagonist Costard during the dispute in the passage. Pribble, too. Ah, yes—a touch of the absentminded scientist to lend authenticity to the aura of genius. Silver didn’t need it, but it was an engaging vanity. A solid man is all the better for a few ornate flourishes, just as even this monstrous building was to some extent rescued by its efflorescence of decor, whereas the Thanatos hotel on the island had been offensive as much for its starkness as for its bulk. The contrast amused Pibble all the way down the magniloquent stairway.
    Mrs. Dixon-Jones came fretfully toward them across the hall.
    â€œMarilyn’s disappeared,” she said. “She’s not in any of the usual places. I’ve asked Simon at the door, and he just said, ‘Out.’ If she goes to sleep outside, she’ll catch pneumonia.”
    â€œOK, take it easy, we’ll have a scout round. Don’t buzz me unless it’s important. Mr. T.’s car will be coming in forty minutes; buzz me then.”
    â€œIs he coming down here?” said Mrs. Dixon-Jones icily.
    â€œNot a hope. He wants to see Mr. Pibble.”
    â€œBecause he’s a policeman?”
    â€œNot any longer,” said Pibble.
    â€œBut he has a great future in telepathy,” said Dr. Silver. “A great future.”
    â€œI’m sure he has,”