Lockwood & Co.: The Screaming Staircase

have lived with the memory ever since. But in all my efforts – and this is the bitter irony – I forgot the locket! I didn’t think of it; it slipped my mind. It was only weeks later that I recalled its existence, and realized it might one day . . . prove troublesome. And so it has. As soon as I read your newspaper article, I guessed you’d found it, and were working on a solution. Subtle enquiries revealed the police knew nothing. That gave me hope; I turned my attention to you. First I tried to steal it. When Grebe failed, I was forced to use more radical measures to ensure your silence.’ He sighed; air whistled between the silver teeth. ‘Now the ghosts of Combe Carey have let me down too, and I’m going to have to finish the job myself. However, before I do – one simple question remains. What have you done with my locket?’
    No one spoke. When I listened with my inner ear, the house was empty. The Visitors had gone. We were leftwith only mortal enemies – a killer, his henchman, and a gun.
    ‘I’m waiting,’ Fairfax said. He was completely calm. The prospect of murdering us didn’t appear to distress him in the slightest.
    Lockwood, however, seemed just as relaxed, if not more so. ‘Thanks for the story,’ he said. ‘It was most enlightening – and very useful, as it’s helped us waste a bit more time. You see, I forgot to mention earlier that we’re not going to be alone for long. Shortly before we arrived I sent word via our driver to Inspector Barnes of DEPRAC. I gave him enough information about you to excite his interest and asked him to meet us here by dawn.’
    George and I stared at him. I remembered the package, the taxi driver, the money changing hands . . .
    ‘He should arrive quite soon,’ Lockwood went on blithely. He leaned back in the chair and stretched his arms behind his head. ‘In other words, it’s all over for you, Fairfax. So we might as well relax. Why not get Grebe to make us all a cup of tea?’
    The old man’s face was ghastly to observe: hatred, fear and disbelief washed over it in waves, and for a moment he was struck dumb. Then the expression cleared. ‘You’re bluffing,’ he said. ‘And even if you’re not, who cares? By the time anyone arrives, you’ll have sadly met your end while fighting Visitors by the haunted well. One after the other, you all fell in. I’ll be terribly distraught. Barnes will be able to provenothing. So. One final time of asking: Where is the locket? ’
    No one said anything.
    ‘Percy,’ Fairfax said. ‘Shoot the girl.’
    ‘Wait!’ Lockwood and George leaped from their chairs.
    ‘OK!’ I cried. ‘OK, don’t do it! I’ll tell you.’
    All eyes turned as I stood up. Fairfax leaned forward. ‘Excellent. I thought you’d be the one to crack. So . . . where did you hide it, girl? Which room?’
    ‘Lucy—’ Lockwood began.
    ‘Oh, it’s not at Portland Row at all,’ I said. ‘I’ve got it here.’
    I was watching the old man’s face as I spoke; I saw how his eyes drew tight in pleasure, how his mouth curled sensuously into a secretive half-smile. And something about the expression, fleeting as it was, opened a cracked and dirty window for me onto his truest, deepest nature. It was something he generally kept hidden beneath the bluff, bombastic veneer of the captain of industry; it even underlay the dry regret of his long confession. I’d seen a lot that night at Combe Carey Hall, but that little gleeful smile on those old, wide lips? Yeah, it was the self-love of the murderer, and easily the most repulsive thing of all. I wondered how many others had fallen foul of him over the years, and how he had disposed of them.
    ‘Show me, then,’ he said.
    ‘Sure.’ Out of the corner of my eye I could see Lockwoodstaring at me, trying desperately to catch my attention. I didn’t meet his gaze. There was no point. I’d made my choice. I knew what I was going to do.
    I reached round the back of my neck and removed the loop of cord. As I pulled out the case, I thought I saw a flash of pale fire from beneath the glass, but the electric lights were bright in the library and I might have been mistaken. I held the case in one hand and shot aside the little bolt.
    ‘Hey, that’s silver-glass . . .’ Grebe said suddenly. ‘What’s the locket doing in there?’
    I swung the lid open and tipped the necklace out into my palm. As I did so, I heard a little gasp from George. Fairfax spoke too, but I didn’t heed him. I