The Vanishing Thief(95)

“The Duke of Blackford.”

“Bloody hell. He’s worse to negotiate with than Drake. Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. All I know is the duke said he’s giving the papers to someone else. All of the papers.”

“Who?”

“Someone who would never harm you.” My voice rattled from my shivers.

“Who?” Louder this time.

“The head of the Archivist Society. Sir Broderick duVene.”

He stared at me for a moment before speaking, and I exhaled with exhaustion. I hadn’t realized how stiffly I was holding myself in my terror over Emma’s plight.

“He’s giving all the blackmail letters to the head of the Archivist Society? After he paid good money for them? Why would he do that?”

I had captured Hancock’s attention for the moment. I hoped I could hold it until someone thought of a way to stop him or to free Emma. “Blackford only wanted a few of them that belonged to him. He doesn’t care about the rest of the letters.”

“It doesn’t matter whether it’s Blackford or Sir Broderick who reads them. Once those letters are read, I’m a dead man.” He began a crooning wail as he twisted his whole body from side to side.

“You’re a dead man? Why? What could be so terrible?” Anything to keep him talking.

“Army headquarters rejected my latest invention today. The official said not to worry. Perhaps some other time.” He gave a hysterical laugh. “And the chair of the Royal Society told me they’ll reconsider my application for full membership in the autumn. Said he was sorry. Nothing he could do. I need two useful inventions, not just one, to become a full member.”

His laugh turned into a sob. “I won’t have another chance. My creditors will seize my laboratory. I’ll hang. Anything that’s left will go to either my creditors or a distant cousin as the next Lord Hancock. I’ll miss out on the accolades and the successes that should have been mine. Mine! All my life I’ve had to take second place to someone else. My perfect older brother. Other scientists. Well, no more.” He held a match against the friction paper.

I had to say something to stop him. “Surely you haven’t done anything so terrible. And what about your niece, Daisy? Who will take care of her?”

“Who cares about Daisy? All she cares about is money and parties. I never guessed she’d kept her last letters from her parents. Stupid chit. Or that her father would write her about his discovery. She should have died with her parents.”

What a terrible man. I looked at him, furiously trying to think of something to calm him down while my own blood boiled. I tried to sound serene. “Perhaps if you talk to Sir Broderick—”

Jacob was inching his way to the left when Hancock looked at him and said, “No. Sir Broderick can do more damage than Drake. He’ll recognize the importance of those papers. He’ll give them to the police. It’s finished. All I can do now is as much damage as I can to the Archivist Society and Drake and Blackford. That’ll give me a chance to escape the country. I’ll either escape or hang, and I won’t hang.” He lit the gas and stepped away.

I dove straight down the middle of the room. Fogarty and Sumner both took the right side, after Hancock, and Jacob the left. The rope seemed to weaken almost immediately as the jelly in the saucer began to liquefy from the heat.

There was no time to cut Emma’s bonds and set her free. I ran for the chair and shoved it in front of me until we smashed into a heavy table on the far side of the room. I heard glass break and something sizzle behind me.

I stepped to the side and looked back. A puddle of glass melted into liquid steaming and bubbling on the wooden floor. I checked my skirt and shoes. Apparently I’d moved far enough away not to be splattered by the breakage.

Jacob ran down an aisle between beakers and gas jets, knocking things over in his rush to reach us. He pulled out his knife and cut Emma free as I removed her gag. She choked and coughed, but she managed to gasp out, “He covered my face with something noxious. The next thing I knew, I was tied up here.”

I looked Emma over for signs of injury. Her face and arms were bruised and she had small cuts on her hands. “Are you all right?”

“Where did he go?” she cried out frantically, whipping her head from side to side.

I glanced around. Lord Hancock, Fogarty, and Sumner had all vanished. I didn’t see any door or stairs to exit. “I don’t—oh, dear Lord. Let’s get out of here.” A fire had broken out on one of the worktables and was spreading from beaker to vial as glass shattered and acrid smoke rose.