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The crowd surged forward, pushing someone towards the entrance. Despite his loud shouting, he wasn’t resisting but seemed to be treating the whole thing as a joke. Mr. Bernstein’s voice cut through the commotion.

“Can you believe him? Isn’t he a piece of work? And that’s the guy who’s taken so much money from me! And this is how he behaves!”

I didn’t care about Mr. Bernstein’s complaints. As the crowd got closer, I started to wonder if I was dreaming, or if I was about to experience another nightmare. I turned to Miss Moore.

“Shouldn’t we go? Shouldn’t I get you out of here?”

My voice sounded hoarse. Hers was clear and strong, rising above the noise without being loud.

“Go? Now? When everything’s coming to light, and I’m finally starting to see clearly? No way. I’ll stay and see this through to the end. Missing that train was meant to happen.”

The crowd was almost upon us. Was I dreaming? Was I losing my mind? What was making everything spin? Who was this man they were pushing, the one yelling and screaming? Was he real or a figment of my imagination?

Recognition came from the girl at my side first.

“It’s him!” she cried. “It’s him!”

It was him—the man who had thrown all our lives into chaos; who had deceived us all; who had played a final trick I still didn’t understand. I pushed my way into the crowd.

“Let me through! Move aside!”

They moved. It was a good thing for them that they did; I felt as strong as a dozen men. I stood in front of him.

“How have you come back—from the gates of hell?”

“Ferguson! It’s you!” He laughed, a sound filled with pain, not joy. “But I haven’t come back! The fires are still burning!” He gestured to the mocking crowd around us. “Here are the demons—can’t you see them?”

I stood still, staring at him.

“It’s Edwin Lawrence, as I live. Edwin—not Philip.”

“Yes, not Philip—Edwin!” He laughed again. “Do you want to see the strawberry mark? It’s there.”

“What game have you been playing?”

“It’s a game of my own invention—and hers!” He pointed upwards. “She inspired it. She set the stakes, made the rules, started the game, and has watched every move since. Her eyes! They never sleep or blink, always watching. They’ve been on me since the game began. They’re watching now! She haunts me, follows me everywhere. She’s here now—enjoying the joke. Listen! Can’t you hear her?” He paused to listen. I heard nothing unusual, but he did. “That’s her laughter!” He laughed discordantly. “I’m Echo. She owns me, body and soul, and thinks it’s hilarious!”

He spoke like a man in a fever. Some around us thought he was mad. There were those who mocked, as fools do when they see a man’s suffering laid bare. I had seen people like him before. He wasn’t mad yet, but he was close, battling his demons. He had been drinking to fend them off, but it only made them come back stronger, closing in on him. He knew what they threatened. The knowledge made sweat bead on his brow.

The railway officials must have thought he had the beginnings of delirium tremens. A man in authority addressed me.

“Are you a friend of this gentleman?”

“I know him well.”

“Are you willing to take responsibility for him? He’s not in a condition to be left alone.”

“I’ll take care of him.”

“Then please remove him from the station immediately. He’s already caused us enough trouble.”

Lawrence tried to put on a grand air.

“My dear Mr. Railway-porter, or whatever you may be, I will leave your distasteful station without your prompting. My destination was Ostend but is now Pimlico. This acquaintance here owes me £1,880, but I don’t need him to take care of me. Someone else already does that. Can’t you hear her? That’s her laughing.”

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get into a cab.”

“Thank you, but I prefer walking. Nothing like exercise when you’re feeling off. Are you alone?”

Miss Moore emerged from the crowd.

“No, I’m with him.”

He stared at her, puzzled, then suddenly recognized her.

“Ah! It’s the sister of the brother—the loving relative of our dear Tom—the beautiful Miss Moore! It’s like a scene from one of your plays where you’re the shining star. The ghosts are gathering. You were there; you saw her?”

“Who?”

“The Goddess!”

“A Goddess?”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“That’s a demon!”

“What do you mean?” She grabbed my arm. “Ask him what he means.”

Lawrence answered.

“It’s not something words can explain. Come, and you shall see; come together—Mr. Ferguson and you.”

She looked at me, her eyes questioning. I asked him.

“Where do you want to take us?”

“To a little place of mine, where the Goddess is.”

“What’s this about the Goddess?”

“Come, and you shall see.”

I glanced at her.

“Let’s go,” she said.

He caught her words.

“There speaks the woman with the spirit of inquiry.”

I repeated my suggestion.

“Let’s get into a cab.”

But he refused.

“No, I’ll have none of your cabs. I’ll walk. I feel trapped even in the open air; in a cab, I’d suffocate. There’s a hand on my heart, a grip on my throat, a weight on my head; it’s hard to breathe. I’ll be confined soon enough; I’ll stay out as long as I can.”

I turned to the officials. “Can’t you keep these people back? I don’t want them following us through the streets. The man’s not drunk; he’s ill.”

“I’d get him into a cab,” one of them suggested.

Lawrence, upon hearing the suggestion, exploded in a fit of rage, screaming, “Get me into a cab? You’d get me into a cab? I’d kill you first!” His voice grew louder with each repetition, and the man stepped back, terrified.

We left the station, a chaotic group—Lawrence leading with Miss Moore, me right behind them, and a mix of curious onlookers surrounding us. If I had my way, she wouldn’t have come along. I whispered to her as we walked:

“I don’t think you should be here. It’s dangerous.”

“I’m not scared. Are you?”

“I’m scared for you—of these people, of Lawrence’s mood, of where he’s taking us, and what might happen. I don’t know what kind of trouble he’s stirred up, but it’s bound to be bad.”

“I’m safe with you.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“But I am. I want to see this through, for my own reasons. If you really think I should leave, I will. But can I stay?”

Her determination was clear, and though I felt foolish, I couldn’t refuse her. I grumbled, “Fine, take my arm.”

“I’d like that.”

I knew I should have insisted she stay behind, but when she held my arm, I couldn’t bring myself to push her away.

After a short walk from the station, Mr. Bernstein managed to push through the crowd to reach Lawrence. Though he had mustered some courage, he still seemed wary of Lawrence’s reaction.

“Ted, my boy, let’s not get too worked up. Be careful, don’t go too far. I’m your friend, always have been. Just be reasonable, please.”

Lawrence stopped and addressed the crowd.

“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce Mr. Isaac Bernstein, a usurer and fraudster. He deals in forged documents and teaches others to do the same. He’s responsible for sending many good men to prison, and one day, he’ll join them.”

Bernstein stammered, “D-don’t say that! He’s mad, absolutely mad!”

“Not yet. I’m still sane enough to expose Isaac Bernstein, the forger.”

Lawrence slapped Bernstein hard across both cheeks. The crowd laughed, and I turned to Miss Moore.

“You see? I have to go to him. I’ll have to leave you.”

“No, we’ll go together.”

She stayed close as I approached Lawrence. I half-expected him to hit Bernstein again, but instead, Bernstein stood there, gasping, almost as if he might collapse. I grabbed Bernstein by the shoulder and shoved him off the pavement, sending him stumbling away.

“Leave him alone. He’ll get what’s coming to him,” I said.

Lawrence clapped his hands like an excited child. “Bravo! Spin him around—roll him in the mud! She loves it; can’t you hear her laughing?”

He paused, raising his hand as if listening intently.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“But I do.” Miss Moore spoke from behind me. “I hear it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“The presence from the room. The sound we heard on Fulham Road just now. Listen! Can’t you hear it too?”

It might have been my imagination, but as she spoke, I thought I heard a woman’s laughter, eerie and unsettling, as if coming from right next to us. It sent chills down my spine. I turned back to Lawrence, uneasy about where this was heading.

“Let’s keep moving.”

“Gladly. Life is movement, and exercise is great for the liver,” he replied.

“What’s the address of the place you’re taking us to?”

He touched his finger to his nose. “That’s a secret. There’s a lady there—a goddess! And a demon! You expect me to just tell you? She’s with me always, never leaves me, yet waits for me at home. That’s having a familiar, if you will.”

I didn’t respond. Despite his ramblings, I sensed there was some truth behind his words. I focused on keeping the crowd at a distance from Miss Moore, who clung to my arm.

Lawrence moved at a brisk pace, his hat tilted back, his face animated, and his arms flailing as if pulled by invisible strings. He couldn’t stay still, constantly muttering to himself. Soon, he touched on a subject I wished he wouldn’t.

“So, Ferguson, you’re a humorist. I read the news—still sane enough to read—about how you locked the coroner in his court. I’d have given one of Bernstein’s forged bills to see it, even if they were sitting on my case. The Goddess, she’s still laughing about it.”

Miss Moore asked, “What’s he saying?”

“He’s rambling about something he read in the papers,” I said.

Lawrence cut in, “Nonsense, he calls it! Haven’t you heard? Has no one told you? Sweet sister of my dear friend Tom, today the coroner’s been sitting on my corpse—as I live, my corpse! Ferguson was there as a witness. They wanted him to say you had killed me—yes, you, with your own two small hands; but he wouldn’t. Said he’d see them burn first, as hot as I am now. I feel like I’m on fire inside and out. So they talked of sending him to jail.

“But they didn’t know their man. Ferguson, a fellow of infinite jest, locked them up instead. Marched right out, turned the key, and left the coroner, jury, counsel, witnesses, audience, and police—all locked inside, sitting on my corpse.”

As expected, the crowd hanging around us caught on to what Lawrence was saying and passed it along.

“That’s Ferguson, that tall bloke! He’s the one who locked up the coroner this afternoon, Imperial Mansions murder case. Didn’t you hear the other bloke? No lies! I’m telling you, it’s him!”

While the street kids squabbled and tossed my name around, the lady leaned in and whispered in my ear. Despite the noise, I heard her clearly.

“So that’s why you came to get me? Now I understand; the secret’s out. Another favor you’ve done for me! Aren’t you afraid I’ll be overwhelmed by all the obligations? But don’t worry! These are the kinds of debts I don’t mind owing you, because one day I hope to repay them all.”

“You’re exaggerating. And Lawrence is just being foolish.”

“Yes. But we’re all fools in our own way; maybe that’s what makes some of us wise.”

I liked hearing her voice, feeling her hand on my arm, but my concern was growing. The crowd was getting larger and bolder. They could rush us any second, and I didn’t want her caught in the middle of it. Lawrence was marching ahead as if he could go on forever. I started to wonder if he was leading us on another wild goose chase. Suddenly, he stopped in front of a building that looked more like a warehouse than a home.

“At last,” he cried, “we’ve arrived. The Goddess waits for us inside.”

“Is this your place?” I asked.

“It is—and hers. Enter, everyone!”

He flung the door open wide, as if inviting the whole crowd in. I stepped in front of it.

“No way it’s ‘everyone in.’ You go first.” I pushed him inside. “Now, you and I together,” I said to the lady.

We stepped over the threshold. I was about to slam the door shut when someone hurried through the crowd. A voice called out—

“Stop! Don’t shut that door! Let me in!”

It was Inspector Symonds, and it looked like he had a few friends with him.