The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

Roger Bascombe. It was evidently sewn into the lining of his uniform. But you said you discovered—”
    But Elöise was still thinking. “Was there anything within it that seemed particularly…secret? That would justify concealing it—protecting it—so?”
    “I should say not, save for the part containing
me
—except—well, except the very final moment, where I am sure one can glimpse Lydia Vandaariff on an examination table with the Comte d’Orkancz—well, you know,
examining
her.”
    “What?”
    “Yes,” said Miss Temple. “I only realized it now—when I saw the tables, and then of course I remembered seeing Lydia—and at the time I saw the card I did not know who Lydia was—”
    “But, Celeste”—Miss Temple frowned, as she was not entirely sure of her companion even now, and certainly not comfortable with being so familiar—“that the card remained sewn into the Colonel’s coat meant that no one had found it! It means that what he knew—what the card proved—died with him!”
    “But it did not die at all. The Doctor has the card, and we the secret.”
    “Exactly!”
    “Exactly what?”
    Elöise nodded seriously. “So what I’ve found may be even more important—”
    Miss Temple could only bear this for so long, for she was not one who stinted from absolutely shredding the wrapping paper around a present.
    “Yes, but you have not said what it
is
.”
    Elöise pointed to the blue card on Miss Temple’s lap. “At the end of the cycle,” she said, “you will recall that the woman—”
    “Mrs. Marchmoor.”
    “Her head turns, and one sees
spectators
. Among them I have recognized Francis Xonck, Miss Poole, Doctor Lorenz—others I do not know, though I’m sure you might. Yet beyond these people…is a
window
—”
    “But it is
not
a window,” said Miss Temple, eagerly, inching forward. “It is a
mirror
! The St. Royale’s private rooms are fitted with Dutch glass mirrors that serve as windows on the lobby. Indeed, it was recognizing the outer doors of the hotel through this mirror that sent the Doctor to the St. Royale in the first place—”
    Elöise nodded impatiently, for she had finally reached her news.
    “But did he note who was
in
the lobby? Someone who had quite obviously stepped out of the private room for a chance to speak apart from those remaining in it, distracted by the, ah,
spectacle
?”
    Miss Temple shook her head.
    “Colonel Arthur Trapping,” whispered Elöise, “speaking most earnestly…with Lord Robert Vandaariff!”

    Miss Temple placed a hand over her mouth.
    “It
is
the Comte!” she exclaimed. “The Comte plans to use Lydia—use the marriage, I can’t say exactly how—in another part of Oskar Veilandt’s alchemical scheme—”
    Elöise frowned. “Who is—”
    “A painter—a mystic—the discoverer of the blue glass! We were told he was dead—killed for his secrets—but now I wonder if he lives, if he might even be a prisoner—”
    “Or his memories drained into a book!”
    “O yes! But the point is—do the
others
know what the Comte truly intends for Lydia? More importantly, did her
father
know? What if Trapping found Roger’s card and recognized Lydia and the Comte? Is it possible that the Colonel did not understand the truth of his associates’ villainy and threatened them with exposure?”
    “I am afraid you never met Colonel Trapping,” said Elöise.
    “Not to actually exchange words, no.”
    “It is more likely he understood exactly what the card meant and went to the one person with even deeper pockets than his brother-in-law.”
    “And we have not
seen
Lord Vandaariff—perhaps even now he weaves his own revenge against the Comte? Or does he even know—if Trapping promised him information but was killed before he could reveal it?”
    “Blenheim had not seen Lord Robert,” said Elöise.
    “And the Comte’s plan for Lydia remains in motion,” said Miss Temple. “I have seen her drinking his poisons. If Trapping was killed to keep her father in ignorance—”
    “He must have been killed by the Comte!” said Elöise.
    Miss Temple frowned. “And yet…I am certain the Comte was as curious as anyone as to the Colonel’s fate.”
    “Lord Robert must at least be warned by his secret agent’s demise,” reasoned Elöise. “No wonder he is in hiding. Perhaps it is he who now holds this missing painter—seeking some sort of exchange? Perhaps he now weaves his own plot against them all!”
    “Speaking