Kronberg Crimes 01 - The Devils Grin

Street as my official address. If anyone had tried to visit, they would have been puzzled to find my tiny dressing chamber above the cobbler’s.
    I lay down on my bed to rest a few minutes, and, after a while, I knew my priorities for today: finding an apartment and going to the barber. A new apartment for my life as Dr Anton Kronberg, criminal bacteriologist, might be necessary soon anyway.
    I walked to Bow Street and had to rest there for a while before changing into Anton. A barber wasn’t far from there and it felt odd watching him work. With my hair cropped so short, I looked like a man no matter how I dressed. In a way it was advantageous. But it still felt like giving up too much of my female identity, and that hurt.
    After spending a good part of the day reading advertisements in papers and riding cabs through half of London, I finally found a small place in Tottenham Court Road. It was walking distance from my dressing chamber, which might be useful in case I hastily needed a hiding place.
    In the evening I sent a wire to Guy’s, announcing my return to work the following day. It was probably too early if I asked my head, but it could also be rather urgent if I wanted to avoid exposure.
    The prospect of a vaccine against tetanus had spread like a fire, thanks to several papers that had reported on my work, using various mixtures of truth and codswallop. Yet, the news had spread and I should expect a visitor any time soon – someone who wanted me to provide deadly bacteria for experiments on humans.

    ~~~

    Only two days later, that visitor arrived at Guy’s.
    ‘Dr Kronberg?’ he said, approaching me with an outstretched hand; but after seeing my black eye he took two steps back again. ‘Why! What happened to you?’
    ‘A group of boys mugged me. Not worth mentioning.’ I waved my hand.
    ‘Outrageous! These thugs get bolder every day. But, oh, my apologies. I am Dr Gregory Stark, Cambridge Medical School.’ He snatched my hand with both of his and shook it heartily. ‘We heard about your isolation of tetanus germs and I wanted to congratulate you personally.’
    ‘Thank you, Dr Stark. You honour me greatly with your visit.’ A strange feeling spread in my stomach — I had heard his name before. He was an anatomist if I remembered correctly.
    ‘I was in the area and visited an old friend of mine — Professor Rowlands. He told me where to find you. I fancy myself as a hobby bacteriologist, because the study of anatomy alone does not provide much excitement and surprises these days.’ He chuckled lightly.
    The man had nerves saying things like that, considering Cambridge’s history in body trafficking. Only a second later, my brain gave an almost audible click and I took a very close look at Stark. He and I were almost standing at eye level, but his circumference was roughly three times mine. He was a little obese, but seemed agile, and was maybe forty-five years of age. His hair had a dark blond or brown colour; it was difficult to define. As was his character. He made an effort to appear warm-hearted. His handshake using both his hands somewhat collided with his calculating look. He smiled a lot, but it seemed to be the grin of an angler fish — always on display with a lot of teeth and a bait-like something hanging just in front of the death-trap.
    My brain switched into battle mode. ‘Ah, my dear Dr Stark, I know exactly what you mean. I chose my field of research mostly because I found that there are so many discoveries awaiting us.’
    He made big watery eyes and I continued, ‘Imagine how far bacteriological research advanced with the invention of good light microscopes. It is our tools that limit us today, and if we could only develop better tests and better methods for investigating germs — imagine what we could accomplish!’
    I poured all my passion for medicine into these words and saw Stark catching fire. ‘Indeed, Dr Kronberg, I feel exactly the same. And there are so few of us that still want to improve our modern methods; so few that see our limitations, the potential, and the solutions to so many problems of mankind just outside our arms’ reach!’ He stretched his arm to snatch at something imaginary and looked very happy to have met me.
    I nodded excitedly and he grabbed my shoulder rather too hard, and I started to wonder whether he wanted to dislodge the joint.
    ‘I can see we are made of the same material, my friend, if I may call you that?’ he said with his