Devil's Workshop

Cinderhouse started to back away as Jack reached for him, but it was too late. Jack mustered all of his strength and chopped his knuckles at the base of Cinderhouse’s skull, where it connected to his spine. When the bald man stumbled and fell to his knees, Jack pulled the letter opener from his sleeve and held it to Cinderhouse’s throat. He leaned down and brought him close and whispered in the bald man’s ear.

“This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you,” he said. “Or perhaps not as much. Let’s decide when it’s done.”

Cinderhouse began to scream, wordlessly, but Jack didn’t hear him. He heard nothing but the blood pounding in his own ears.

20

They approached the little green building cautiously. Day walked straight toward it along the pathway, while March and Hammersmith split up and circled around it. March flowed through the gloom under the trees, nearly invisible. Hammersmith came at it from the road, out in plain sight, but varying his gait and direction by small increments to make it harder for anyone inside to take aim at him.

If there was anyone inside. And if they were armed.

It was still only sprinkling. The rain hadn’t come back in force yet, and Day hoped it would remain at bay. At least until they caught the missing men. He carried his Colt Navy loose in his hand, ready, but not anxious.

By the time Day reached the front door of the tea shop, he could no longer see March or Hammersmith, but he knew they were nearby, within six feet of him on either side of the building. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon and it filtered through the leaves of the trees, glanced along the rooftops of the houses. The tiny shop twinkled emerald green as raindrops pattered against the leaves overhead, moving the tree branches up and down around it, alternately dappling it with light and shadow. Day arrived at the front door and switched the revolver to his other hand. He reached out toward the doorknob, but then pulled his hand back and frowned.

“It’s locked,” he said.

He took a step back and looked around him. The street was still deserted, but it wouldn’t be for much longer. Soon, people would be coming out of those homes, men headed away to the train or the cabstand or simply walking to work, children running to school or playing in their gardens. The road would be crowded with people.

March materialized next to him from somewhere around the corner of the building.

“Surely you can unlock it, Walter,” he said.

“I can. But look.” He pointed at the heavy steel padlock, its swinging arm looped through a bolt on the outside of the door. “This has been locked from the outside, not the inside. It’s not possible for someone to be in there.” He raised his voice. “Sergeant, I think it’s clear.”

“Take a look at this,” came Hammersmith’s voice from around the corner of the shop.

Day stowed his weapon and walked around to the road. March followed him. Hammersmith was squatting, looking at something against the curb. Day leaned down and used one hand to steady himself against the wall of the building.

“Another one,” he said.

A jagged line smeared by rain, but still clearly visible in the wan light, was drawn in blue chalk on the curb. Above it was an arrow, pointing toward the wall above it.

“The rain’ll eventually wash this away,” Hammersmith said.

“We need a sketch of it. Too bad we don’t have Fiona Kingsley with us. She’s a good artist.”

“A terrific artist,” Hammersmith said. “But we hardly need her talents for this.” He pulled out his dog-eared pad of paper, turned to a blank page, and sketched a duplicate of the tiny chalk diagram with his pencil. “That’ll do, won’t it?”

“Looks just like it to me.”

“But it’s nothing,” March said. “What does it mean?”

“Well, it must be a relation to the other one we saw,” Hammersmith said. “Don’t you think?”

“I think so,” Day said.

“But what is it?” March said. “It looks like it might be a long arrow, but a piece of it’s missing. Rubbed out or washed away by rain.”

“Or maybe whoever chalked it there, maybe his hand slipped and made that gap,” Day said. “What did the other one look like?”

Hammersmith flipped a page in his notebook. “I think it was a number four, but I’ll. . Yes, a number four with an arrow below it.”

“And this might be a number one,” Day said. “With an arrow up top of it. Maybe it’s not a gap in the line. Maybe it’s two separate lines.”