1888 October. London.
My Dear Isabel,
I woke up this fine morning with Mr. Forester's radiograph (about which I wrote in my last letter) on my mind. Both Voronika and Penrington had had their eyes closed. I can't help but think that that means something.
I'd told you that we all had taken rooms at Mrs. Oliver's boarding house; Voronika shares a small suite with me. I'd forgotten to mention that Mr. Smith does not room here; rather, he has quarters somewhere on Lord Franks' estate, I do believe. We shall have to send to him if Mr. Steele malfunctions.
We met this morning over the breakfast table. Mr. Blake mentioned to Mr. Forester (who spent the night with him) that it would be good to compare his strange figurine with historical documents. Voronika volunteered to check what the Museum Reading Room had to offer; Mr. Steele offered to compare the composition of the statuette with samples in the Museum's mineral collection. Penrington suggested that he pick up rumours in the Explorer's Lounge of the Society for Geography and Foreign Studies. He is the only one of us yet privileged to enter that sanctum sanctorum.
Then Po suggested that Someone tag along with the young tutor, as a safeguard against possible attack. Mr. Blake added,"I think it would be wise in case someone is too interested in you." I hated being party to such a notion, but it seemed obvious that young Po could take the role of observer and bodyguard relatively inconspicuously, as he himself suggested. "Normally, the parents arrange..." poor Mr. Forester started to protest. Po turned to me, the cheeky imp, and said, "Do you have a shift today, Doctor?" Before I could think I said, "I could manage..." and then realized what he was implying. Thankfully, before I turned too terribly scarlet, Mr. Blake gallantly stepped in with a stern "Your father and I will be sufficient."
You, dear friend, no doubt, remember how we tend to scatter and rejoin. I fear I write in much the same manner.
The headmaster of Smithee School (where Mr. Forester teaches) is a Mr. Andrews and - you will scarce believe it! - speaks Chinese! With an Anglish accent, Po says. But still, can you imagine! It seems his school caters to Embassy Row and many children of foreign extraction are enrolled there. Unfortunately there seemed to be a bit of a problem about enrolling Po for only a short time. Mr. Blake tried to tell Headmaster Andrews, "His father may become involved with a Society expedition" but, I fear, punctuated his statement such that various, possibly unfavourable, inferences could be drawn. So, instead, Po had Mr. Blake buy out Mr. Forester's contract for the semester for £20! Apparently Po could have enrolled for some £10, but now must pay a tutor's fee. Not but what it might be justified: the poor child simply must learn to read sometime and the headmaster seemed unaware that Mr. Forester's talents go rather beyond simple Anglish grammar. Imagine! I would certainly have thought he would be teaching in the sciences. Still, it seems all for the best as that rather rumpled pedagogue (I think of him as a young man, but he must be near my own age!) could use some looking after until this unpleasantness is cleared up.
Po was sent to Mr. Forester's classroom to fetch him, and walked in just as a dark-complexioned fellow was taking leave of the tutor. Po remembered the subsequent conversations, "It's entirely possible that you'll be hired as my private tutor." "We're not allowed to take on private students." "A bag of money was involved." "But this is a good position." "I think you'll be able to come back. I suggest you work that out before you accept our offer." By then they were in front of the headmaster who effused, "Mr. Blake is very persuasive and young Master Po is very important. He has decided that you're the perfect choice of tutor and we've arranged to relax you, uh, release you from your contract this semester. I believe they intend to offer you £10 per month." I do wonder just how persuasive our Mr. Blake was. Then a message boy interrupted, "We'll need a substitute for the afternoon. Mr. Foster just ran off." Mr. Foster, my dear, was the dark-complexioned man. He'd taught history in the room next to Mr. Forester's for as long as the latter had been there. They quickly realized that Something Was Afoot, so Po and Mr. Blake brought Mr. Forester out of the school.
Apparently Mr. Foster had started his last conversation with Mr. Forester by bringing up the rumour of a strange dead fellow outside the school. Our acquaintance had affirmed that the victim was an "Arabic fellow". Foster had asked the manner of death. Forester told of the knife in the back. Then Foster had asked if the knife handle had been plain or black. Forester remembered that it had been black with a red jewel. At that point the man had left. Perhaps from fear, as Mr. Blake considered; but perhaps as an agent to deliver information. To whom I know not.
Po then climbed the school to look "for the gentleman I saw him [Forester] with or a silver bird." Despite his rapid movements, our little Chinaman spotted nothing extraordinary, save for a crowd of children who watched him in fascination.
Meanwhile, at the Museum, Mr. Steele spoke to the Keeper of the Hall of Minerals, a Mr. Robert Etheridge, I believe, who examined (non-destructively, at our mechanical man's insistence) the statuette. "Some kind of vitrification has occurred. Something has filled in between the grains. It was not first glassified and then scored; yet normal vitrification would cause a softening of the edges of the patterned scoring which is not the case." They did Refractometry readings to measure the whiteness and then used that data to compare against the Museum's collection of sand samples from around the world. I suspect that the Keeper was disappointed that such a search did not noticeably stress the computing powers of the Nasmyth Engine. Poor Mr. Steele told us that it was tedious. Still, at the end, they'd come down to two samples: one from the western coast of the Indian subcontinent; the other from southern Arabia.
At the same time our dear Voronika was going through all the original picture books from India in the Museum's collection - both of them. (As she is now a Scholar, she has access to such things!) The illustrations of women seemed to portray the same sort of dress she had seen on the dark-skinned woman in her vision, but otherwise they were paeans to some vainglorious rajah. Then she turned to the more abundant Arabian literature that is not as well illustrated. Therein she found a story from 1000 Nights translated from the French, which told of a "City of Brass". A woman on the Spice Route, following a djinn and directed by a brass horse, found a city of stone statues 1000-feet high. Voronika said that the story was disjointed, but that, after some adventures, the woman fled the city because of some destruction vented upon it.
I myself spoke to Inspector Grigg of Scotland Yard (I do apologize for bringing up uncomfortable memories, my dear friend) and got an introduction to the coroner, Dr.Wynne E. Baxter. He was kind enough to show me the "Arabic fellow's" body. There was a distortion of the 5th and 6th ribs by a single blow with a knife used at incredible strength. Dr. Baxter even brought up the term "machine-like strength". He pointed out signs of a struggle. The man had had time to get his own belt knife into his hand. Oddly, the victim, in life, was cross-eyed. There was no identification and no embassy owned to him. The motive was not robbery, as change and a gold neck chain were still on the body. No one was seen running away. Dr. Baxter felt the man was likely a Hadrumut - a tribe from the mid-western Arabian peninsula, as you may know, my friend - or an Omani. Dr. Baxter says there are simply more Hadrami in London.
Of course we shared all this information at dinner, in which John Smith joined us. We came to two conclusions, as you no doubt have guessed. (1) Penrington and our Voronika should check out Mr. Forester's former flat and, if there seemed no signs that it was still under surveillance, to bring out the clothes and personal items with which he failed to provide himself; (2) We all should investigate the construction area near Smithee School, where the Arabic fellow's body was found. (Mr. Penrington, in fact, made that suggestion before I could make it.) I noted that if another mechanical man or some such apparatus had delivered the death blow, the Underground would make an ideal storage space.
The former task was accomplished adroitly and Mr. Penrington even managed to deliver a brace of pigeon to Cook! Voronica assures me that the flat had been "tossed" but Po said it matched Mr. Blake's description.
Once dark had fallen we made ourselves armed and ready, and so passed the construction barricades. Mr. Steele figured out how to work the lift, taking us down some 50 feet. We found a station chamber with temporary track in the E and SW directions. I suggested that the latter direction was towards Embassy Row. As we followed the SW track, Voronika pointed out a mud print from an adult human foot - unshod - four feet up one wall. It would seem "he" hopped from ledge to ledge along that level. The construction ended in another station area without surface egress. Voronika and I were carrying the lanterns, and, by their light, someone noticed a 2.5 foot crack in the north wall. Voronika was able to spot footprints leading into that crack. Mr. Steele valiantly went first, scraping his metal parts and roughing his clothes badly, I fear, due to his size. Mr. Penrington followed, rifle at ready. The rest of us filed in as best we could, Smith coming last and making slow work of it, poor man, as he seems even bigger than Mr. Steele.
Steele emerged into a larger area and muttered something about seeing a warm body. Then there were a couple of clangs and thunks as rocks flew at our steel man, a furious amount of ape-like hooting, and a retort as Mr. Penrington fired (at the ceiling, I think). Then the lanterns escaped confinement and we could see a rocky room and four hunched, shaggy but man-like shapes. There was a brief battle, with Voronika and Mr. Steele engaging the ape-men hand-to-hand while both Mr. Blake and Mr. Forester got off radiological bursts. (I think the former used his familiar-to-you blast, while the latter was trying to blind our opponents.) I myself managed to take control of one ape-man's mind and had him lift his hands into the air to prevent his throwing more rocks. I fear that Mr. Steele took the brunt of our opponents' attacks, but that allowed Po -- and then Voronika -- to move towards their victim (the warm body Mr. S mentioned).
In almost no time, only my captive was alive. Once Mr. Penrington tied it up, I could give aid. Voronika had found the victim's legs were tied and his upper body almost smothered in a heavy fur robe. Released, he proved to be a young man of dark skin about fourteen years old. Unconscious. He was identified by Mr. Forester as his missing pupil Abdul. I managed to heal the lad and he awoke mumbling Arabic, which, of course, I do not speak. The boy switched to flawless Anglish and told us that he'd been walking home from school when someone grabbed him and put a hot and heavy cloth over his head. He'd then been dragged away and somehow hit his head.
When Po pointed out his captors, Abdul called them, "Troglodytes." Voronika noted that there were yet more cracks in this room and indication of much traffic by these troglodytes, so we left, taking one body in its furry armor and my captive with us. Unanswered was the question of why these - creatures - had kidnapped the boy.
Voronika, Mr. Steele, Mr. Penrington, and Smith took the troglodytes to the Museum which, of course, was closed. The night watchman obligingly sent word to Dr. Thomas, Keeper of Mammals, that there was another specimen for autopsy. Prof. Johnson, who has charge of live specimens, was unavailable. Given the struggle the troglodyte was giving our two giants, the watchman settled on leading the group down to the 2nd sub-basement to house the creature in one of 3 steel vaults, behind a combination lock. Mr. Steele volunteered to stand guard. A detailed description of all this activity was left by Voronika for Sir Edward Maunde Thompson, Principal Curator and Librarian of the Museum, before they came home.
Mr. Blake, Mr. Forester, Po and I took young Abdul back to our boarding house. There the tutor broke the news of the senior Hassans' murders. Surprisingly the boy responded, "I'll have to go home if someone's usurped..." and then he seemed to come to some realization, "Oh, the house here... those parents." Oddly he seemed more concerned than upset. Thus we discovered that young Abdul is actually son of the King of Yemen, incognito in this country to avoid kidnappers and other inconveniences. Mr. Blake offered to take him in, to thwart further such attempts. The young prince accepted.
Mr. Forester explained about the statue. Prince Abdul recognized it as one of seven statues of the Legend of Ad-Irem, but I have not yet got that legend out of him. The statues have undergone a diaspora; the prince has seen two others of them in Europe, when he was studying for a year in Paris. I will ask again their significance.
Po asked about the metallic bird, "Does your country have a history of steam mages?" Indeed the Arabian peninsula does have makers of devices; artistic-looking machines are Yemeni, ugly ones are Anglish. I was rather glad that neither Mr. Steele nor Smith were around to hear that. Apparently one "legendary" style of Yemeni machine is the mechanical woman. I am not sure that I want to hear more about that either, as you may imagine. Prince Abdul then said that he thought he really should go home to Yemen. I told him we would see what we could arrange. I had some hope that, perhaps, the odd vitrification process of the statue might be turned into something around which we could organize and, most importantly, get funding for another expedition. But I can't see my way clearly there as of yet.
Around half past 11, Mr. Forester took the prince up to bed. I - knowing scientfic curiousity like I do - determined to go to the Museum and join Dr. Thomas in his dissection laboratory. Mr. Blake offered to escort me, an - I hope - unnecessary gesture, but so kind and gentlemanly! The watchman made no trouble about the late hour, so I left Mr. Blake at the lab door with a gentle reminder that I would be "some time at it." Thus, passing in the night, we missed the return of Voronika and Mr. Penrington to the boarding house. I pulled on a mackintosh and moved to assist Dr. Thomas, who, I must confess, has very fine equipment for dissections. Better, I suspect, than at the University.
Unfortunately for Mr. Steele, the doctors Frick and Frack had not quite ended their day at the Museum. He managed to get them in a discussion about the impossibility of bird-like mechanical flight. They provided enough distraction that it took some time for the mechanical man to realize that the soft thumping from inside the vault meant that the troglodyte had freed himself and was battering against the steel door. Eventually there was a last soft thump and silence.
Come morning back at our boarding house, Forester and his two pupils prepared lesson plans. Voronika slept in and Mr. Penrington became concerned that neither Mr. Blake nor I had returned from wherever we had gone. We had, I regret to say, neglected to leave a note as to our intentions. Eventually our Hunter decided to check in with Mr. Steele. At the museum, upon opening the vault, it had just been discovered that the live troglodyte was so no longer. He had struck the door so hard with his head that his neck snapped. Penrington managed to whisper to Steele the story of the incognito prince before Sir Edward Maunde Thompson and a covey of attendants converged on the scene, led by a short, rotund, bearded man with dark quick eyes. Spotting Steele, he commented with a nod, "Ah, Nasmyth's mechanical man" and then "Ah, the thing they brought in." According to Steele, he examined the troglodyte's robe, nails, cranium, and the dent put in the door. Then they all headed towards Dr. Thomas' lab, Steele and Penrington merging with the crowd.
The first thing they saw was poor Mr. Blake slumped in a chair near the door. For a moment I think Mr. Penrington imagined foul play, wrought up as he had become over our absence. And I suppose it is possible that assassins with black handled knives could find their way into the Museum. However, Mr. Blake was only asleep. That poor dear man had waited all night, and his first words to Steele and Penrington were for the time. Of course Steele could answer, "8:17 and 43 seconds."
"What have you found on this troglodyte!?" the command rang through our work-wearied brains - and the entire laboratory. So Dr. Thomas and I took turns telling of the tough soles and skin; the long, wide cranium with a 13% greater capacity than modern humans, sloping forehead, receding chin, heavy brow ridges; the moderate degree of rickets, etc.. Our interrogator shot back, "Do you realize what this is?" I ventured, "A missing link." "Very nearly, very nearly," he chortled. "This is the same creature as the fossilized bones found in the Feldhof Cave of the Neander Valley and described by Johan Karl Fuhlrott and Herman Schaaffhausen. Rudolph Virchow tried to say that they were simply humans who had had rickets, but my friend Charles and I agree, this is Homo sapiens neanderthalensis." "Brilliant, Professor Challenger," I replied wearily.
"Unfortunately," the professor continued, "these were found in the Underground which, I maintain, is a key advancement necessary for modern society. To transport passengers quickly and without disturbing the city skyline is paramount. And now we must chase off a set of Neanderthal primitives still surviving after all these years."
A discussion ensued about the Neanderthals' adaptation to low light conditions, their immense strength and sturdy build, the possibility that they might be slower than moderns (which Steele did not feel was necessarily true). As it became clear that the famous professor was discounting the possibility that these creatures had more than rudimentary intelligence, I - you may think unwisely, and you may be correct - felt impelled to speak. "They are capable of planning and executing a kidnapping, sir. We found a victim." The professor, of course, pressed me for details and, unwilling to speak of Prince Abdul in such a public setting, I could not satisfy him other than to say that I'd found the child tied and smothered. I did point out that, utilizing someone with appropriate mental talents, we might interrogate the living Neanderthal prisoner. I was shocked when the professor retorted that I would "need someone who could speak with ghosts, as the creature had battered its brains out."
I, of course, have sent around a note asking for a more private meeting with Professor Challenger in which I can more fully explain myself. As I suspect that he has taken me in disgust, I do not know what to expect from that quarter. I am very tired and will write again when I know more. And you must write me and tell me all of your doings. I understand that Mr. Penrington has already had opportunity to recommend your guide services to interested parties in the Explorers Lounge.
Your dear friend,
Madeline Davis
(a) Cumulative (b) Cumulative since Volume II
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