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I grabbed the inspector by his coat collar and pulled him inside, slamming the door in the faces of his companions. I kept my foot against the door as I bolted it shut.
“No more of your games! You let my team in!” the inspector demanded.
By the light of a nearby gas-bracket, I glared at him. “Understand this, Mr. Symonds, I won’t tolerate any more nonsense from you.” He tried to whistle through his fingers, so I grabbed his wrist and pinned him against the wall. “Watch yourself, or you’ll get hurt.”
Through clenched teeth, he gasped, “I’ll make you pay for this! Let my team in!”
“They stay out until we’ve had a chat,” I insisted.
The lady intervened. “Don’t harm him!”
“I won’t unless he forces me to. Symonds, there’s been a big mix-up.”
“I’m not listening. Open that door!”
Again, I had to restrain him from whistling. “No signals from you. We’ve been chasing the wrong lead. Edwin Lawrence isn’t dead.”
“Stop your stories.”
“Stories? Lawrence can speak for himself.”
Lawrence, standing nearby, seemed amused by the commotion. Symonds turned to him. “Who’s this?”
“I’m the supposed murder victim.”
“Don’t play games with me.”
“I’m Edwin Lawrence, at your service. Although, currently, I’m at the service of another—a lady, tied to her in ways you can’t imagine.”
Symonds looked to me for confirmation. “Is this true?”
The lady immediately backed up my claim. Symonds remained uncertain.
“If this is some trick, who do you say the dead man is?” Symonds asked.
Lawrence chuckled, a sound tinged with a touch of madness.
“Who’s the dead man? Ah, that’s the puzzle—and the joke! The dead man must be me. It’s in the papers, on everyone’s lips—the talk of the town. The police are hunting for the person who supposedly killed me—the coroner and jury have inspected my body. It’s clear the dead man must be me. And yet, strangely enough, he isn’t. It’s the most bizarre prank ever played—and all her doing.” He gestured down the passage. “It’s her idea, from start to finish. And how she’s enjoyed it! All she’s done since is laugh. Can’t you hear her? She’s laughing now!”
We all heard a woman’s laughter through the door at the end of the passage. The lady moved closer to me; I clenched my teeth; the inspector, still unaware of the context, treated it as if it were nothing unusual.
“Who do you have in there?” Symonds asked.
Lawrence raised his hands dramatically. “A goddess! Truly divine—a demon straight from hell!” He fiddled with his shirt collar, as if it were choking him. “That’s why she enjoyed her little prank more than I did. I lack the qualities needed to fully appreciate the jokes she plays. The laughter she evokes has a quality that doesn’t sit well with me. It gets into my head, disturbs my sleep, squeezes my heart, and fills the world with faces—grinning faces, like his. So, I’m going to tell the joke, and I promise not to ruin it in the telling.” He smiled, a hint of madness in his eyes once more. He threw his arms out wildly. “Let them all come in—the whole street, the entire city! Let as many people as possible gather to enjoy the joke!”
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Symonds and I exchanged glances. I whispered to him quietly. “Listen to what he has to say. By the time he’s done, the whole story will come out.”
There had been knocks on the door all along. Now, someone outside stood out above the rest. A voice shouted through the door.
“Symonds! Is that you in there? Should we break down the door?”
It was Hume’s voice. I made a suggestion to Symonds.
“Dr. Hume should come in. He can confirm if this is Mr. Edwin Lawrence. Keep your men outside for now; they can come in if needed.”
Symonds eyed me suspiciously, unsure of my role in the unfolding drama.
“You’re quite the character, Mr. Ferguson. You seem to have your own rules about how justice is served in England. Let Dr. Hume in. My team will stay outside until needed.”
I unbolted the door, keeping my foot against it to prevent a sudden rush. The crowd outside had grown larger. As they saw the door open, there were shouts and exclamations. Hume stood just outside, ready to enter. His friends with him made a move to push the door open wider, misunderstanding the situation. I struggled to keep it closed against their push.
“Hume, come in. Symonds, instruct your team.”
“Gray, stay put for now. We may need you soon. Send someone to disperse the crowd.”
“Understood, sir. Are you all right in there?”
“For now, I am. Stay alert. If I give the signal, come in immediately—even if you have to break down the door.”
“Got it, sir!”
I secured the door again, eliciting boos and groans from the crowd outside as they realized they were being shut out from whatever was happening inside. Hume had entered and was looking around, clearly puzzled by the situation.
“Symonds, what’s going on here? Ferguson, what new madness have you stirred up? Miss Moore, why are you here? This isn’t a place for you!”
“I believe it is.”
“No, it’s not. You should be in bed. Who allowed you to leave your room?”
“I gave myself permission. I can take care of myself, and Mr. Ferguson is here.”
“Mr. Ferguson! He needs someone to take care of him.” Hume turned to me. “If you brought Miss Moore here, you should be ashamed of yourself. Your sense of decency, if you have any, should have told you this is no place for her. What is this place you’ve brought her to?”
“Someone else can explain better than I can. Ask him.”
Lawrence burst into laughter. “There you have it, Ferguson. Hume, ask the corpse.”
Hume stared at Lawrence, half-believing him to be a specter. “Lawrence! Edwin Lawrence! Is it really you, or some demonic impersonation, or a ghost? My God! Is it a ghost?”
Again, Lawrence laughed. He approached Hume, eyes blazing, growing more animated as he spoke. “A ghost, Hume, write it down—a ghost! Can I convince myself that I’m a ghost? Hume, you’re an expert on madness. Look at me; do you think I’m mad? It’s a question I’ve been asking since...she started being funny. I see things, hear things, like the thirsty men. There’s a face that stares at me—cut, slashed, torn into ribbons. Blood streams down, teeth grin inside the broken jaws, saying, ‘This is the end after all I’ve done!’ I hit it, but it won’t go away; it’s always there. I can’t sleep, afraid to close my eyes, because I see it clearer. I can’t escape the face and words, no matter what I do or where I go. I’ve been drinking, but it doesn’t help; I can’t get drunk. And she...she laughs, finds it all amusing. It’s her idea of a joke. I hope I’m mad, that it’s just a madman’s fancy, and when I regain my sanity, they’ll disappear—the face and words. Tell me, Hume, am I mad?”
Hume turned to me, looking pale. “What’s going on?”
Lawrence answered as if the question had been directed at him.
“That’s exactly it—a devil’s trick! Her doing! She’s like a demon! I’ll—I’ll explain how it happened. She’s got me—completely under her control. But I don’t care; I’ll get even. She won’t have all the power; I’ll make a move, even if it means she drags me down to hell with her. Let her drag! I feel like I’m already in hell. It can’t be worse—wherever she’s come from.”
Lawrence grabbed Hume’s shoulder, looking intense and tormented. With his other hand, he gestured towards the door at the end of the passage. He was a frightening sight, as if he was already enduring hellish torments.
“She’s in there—behind that door. But even though she’s inside, she’s with me here, always. Wherever I go, it’s her, the face, and the words. You might think I’m making this up, that it’s the ramblings of a madman. I wish that were true. I wish these were just delusions of my own making. Come with me; see for yourself. I’ll show you how this devil’s trick was pulled off.”
He led us down the passage, and we followed. I couldn’t guess what was going through everyone else’s minds, but I felt an intense unease. The lady held my hand, her touch cold and trembling. I wanted to shield her from what we were about to witness, but I couldn’t stop it. It was like we were being swept along in a surreal dream. I sensed that Inspector Symonds was the most composed among us, while Hume seemed like a man resigned to witnessing something dreadful.