The Mechanical Messiah (56 page)

‘Don’t go out without your scarf, dear,’ said his loving wife.

The driver of the electric Maria did not need a scarf. It was nice and warm inside the cockpit.

‘We’re here, your lordship,’ he called to Mr Bell. ‘The Electric Alhambra, sir.’

Cameron Bell stepped out into the empty street.

‘Do you want me to wait?’ asked the driver.

‘No,’ said the private detective. ‘Go home to your loved ones. Tell them that you care.

‘Fair enough, your lordship.’ The driver put the vehicle into gear. ‘What a strange fellow, that Lord Bell,’ he said to himself as he drove off home to his loved ones. ‘And even with the moustache he does bear an uncanny resemblance to the evil criminal Cameron Bell. I wonder perhaps if they might be related.’

Alone in the street, Cameron Bell looked up at the Electric Alhambra. The most dangerous part of his mission was accomplished, he considered, with the destruction of the evil being. But there would be danger in the apprehension of the world’s greatest criminal mastermind. He would not give himself up willingly. But Cameron Bell considered that as he, the private detective,
did
have certain tricks up his sleeve, so to speak, he
would
succeed in this criminal genius’s capture.

‘As long as there are no further complications,’ said Mr Cameron Bell. And he entered the Electric Alhambra.

The Chancellor of the Exchequer hailed the single hansom that was moving down the road.

The Chancellor had removed himself from a fawning congregation of onlookers who had taken to the touching of his raiments when he walked unscathed from what should surely have been a fiery grave. He had taken himself along the road apiece.

Fire appliances passed him by and he had hailed the cab.

He flung himself into the hansom’s seat.

The driver enquired as to his destination.

‘I was on me way ‘ome,’ said the driver. ‘You was lucky to catch me.

‘Lucky, yes,’ said the Chancellor.

‘So, where to?’

The figure in black took from his pocket something that glittered in the moonlight. Held it before his face. It was a piece of
Magoniam.

‘Lead me to the ring,’ he hissed at this golden mineral. ‘I asked you before but you have not aided me. But you have experienced the baptism of fire. We have experienced it together. Now aid me, I command you.

The
Magoniam
shivered upon the leather-clad palm. Then rose in the air, swung several degrees and then halted.

The driver looked down aghast through his little hatchway.

‘That way,’ said the being in black. ‘Towards, I believe, the Electric Alhambra.’

The driver stirred up Shergar and drove him like a bats-man out of Hell.

he lighting in the great auditorium of the Electric Alhambra was, as Cameron Bell had set it earlier in the day, subdued. It was muted. Inspiring of a certain moodiness. Things of that ambient nature, generally.

There was silence in the great theatre as the private detective climbed the stairs, passed along a corridor and entered the Royal Box. Here he uncorked the champagne he had placed there, and although it was warm, the ice having melted, poured himself a glass.

And then he called, ‘Hello there. Won’t you step from the shadows?’

Cameron Bell gazed towards the stage. The curtains were open, but it was in darkness. ‘Come,’ he called, ‘step into the light. There is no need to be shy.’

A scuffle of footsteps sounded upon the boards, but no one stepped forward to be seen. But then a voice called out to Mr Cameron Bell.

‘Who are you?’ called out this voice. ‘Do I know you, sir?’

Cameron Bell leaned forwards in the box, cast away his false moustache and smiled.

‘You,’ said the voice. ‘The assassin.’

‘I am unarmed,’ said Cameron Bell. One hand held high and empty. The other displaying his champagne glass.

‘You are surely a dead man,’ came the voice. ‘The one I am to meet here will kill you in a most terrible fashion.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Mr Bell and he sipped champagne. ‘The Chancellor of the Exchequer. Pray step into the light.’

‘I would prefer to retain my anonymity.’

‘You are not anonymous to me,’ said Mr Bell. ‘Your name is Mark Rowland Ferris and you are the Fifth Earl of Hove.’

Mark Rowland Ferris stepped into the light. A handsome young man in top hat and tails.

‘And I see you have brought your dogs,’ said Mr Bell. ‘Your three French bulldogs, Ninja, Yoda and Groucho.’

‘How do you know me?’ asked Mark Rowland Ferris. ‘Our paths have never crossed.’

‘No,’ replied Cameron Bell. ‘But I have seen your hand at work everywhere. You are the owner of this fine establishment and of The Spaceman’s Club and of so many other enterprises. The manufacture of armaments. The commission of a spaceship that travelled to a forbidden place upon an illegal mission.’

‘I do not answer to you,’ said Mark Rowland Ferris. ‘But you will answer to me.’

Cameron Bell reached slowly into his top pocket, withdrew from it a calling card, read from it aloud.

‘MINGUS LARKSPUR

Special Representative of

The Ferris Engineering Works.’

‘I vaguely recall that individual,’ said the Fifth Earl of Hove. ‘Although I do not know whatever became of him.’

‘That fellow is literally all over the place,’ said Mr Bell. ‘His head orbits Venus, I think.’

‘You are either a very brave man or a very stupid one,’ said Mark Rowland Ferris.

‘In truth I believe myself to be neither.’ Cameron Bell sipped warm champagne. ‘This is far better chilled,’ said he, ‘but would you care for a glass?’

‘Enough,’ said Mark Rowland Ferris. ‘I will leave you to the untender mercies of the Chancellor. I will have him bring me
your
head in a bucket.’

‘I regret to tell you,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘that the Chancellor will not be making an appearance here tonight.
I
sent you the telegram, requesting a confidential and discreet meeting here between him and yourself. Requesting that you came alone. You really will do anything he tells you.’

‘He works for
me,’
said Mark Rowland Ferris.

‘Did,’
said Cameron.
‘Did
work for you. But now, I regret to tell you, he is dead.’

‘You think so, do you?’ said Mark Rowland Ferns.

‘I know so,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘for I killed him myself not half an hour ago.’

The three French bulldogs all began to howl.

Mark Rowland Ferris knelt and stroked their heads.

‘Just tell me why?’ asked Cameron Bell. ‘You have so much. You have wealth beyond the dreams of most men. You hold an earldom. You are a young and handsome gentleman. Why involve yourself with such a monster? What did you ultimately hope to gain?’

Mark Rowland Ferris looked up at the Royal Box. ‘I have read all about you, Bell,’ said he. ‘Of the cases you have solved. I have perfect recall and I know all about you.

Cameron Bell nodded and toasted with his glass. ‘And so?’ he said.

‘And so
you
answer those questions. You are supposedly the great detective who can discern a gentleman’s sexual preferences from his hat brim.
You
tell
me.’

Cameron Bell leaned forwards. ‘My eyesight is beginning to fail me again,’ said he, ‘but I will tell you this. You dined tonight at your club. The Athenaeum. Fish dish for a main course. White wine, of course. And then you visited a lady and—’

The private detective paused. ‘Oh no,’ he continued. ‘It was a gentleman. A
young
gentleman.’

Mark Rowland Ferris did pattings at himself. ‘How could you know
that?’

‘You engaged in a practice known as “taking tea with the parson, which involved—’

‘Stop,’ cried Mark Rowland Ferris.

‘It is nothing to me,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Your private life is your own business. But as to what you planned for this world and why …’ He peered and squinted, then he nodded his head. ‘Simple greed,’ said he. ‘And a need for recognition. To be admired by all.’

‘Then we share much in common, Mr Bell.’

‘Ahem. But I do not wish millions dead. Nor think to employ a Venusian freak of nature. Did you really believe that you could control such a monster?’

‘We had a certain arrangement.’

‘He would have led the Empire to war.

‘A war that the Empire would have won with the weapons that
I
sold to the military. With
my
communications equipment.
My
electrically powered airships and submersibles.’

‘And you would be a hero then, for your services to the Empire?’

Mark Rowland Ferris nodded.

‘And then once all of this world was under the governorship of the British Empire, you would turn your gaze towards the stars.’

‘My arrangement with the Chancellor ran to giving him full control over the surprise attack upon Venus. He has old scores to settle with the ecclesiastics. They persecuted his race to near extinction.’

‘So I understand. And then Jupiter would be for the taking, I suppose?’

‘Precisely. At which point a military coup would occur in Westminster. But a quiet one, unknown to the public. I would become Prime Minister. Lord Ferris, uncrowned King of the Solar System.’

‘It does have a certain ring,’ agreed Cameron Bell, decanting more champagne into his glass. ‘And I thank you for filling in all the small details. They will flesh out the essential evil in your character when I write you up in my book.’

‘I think not,’ said Mark Rowland Ferris. ‘For you will write no book.’

‘I shall,’ said Mr Bell. ‘I toyed with the idea of a ghostwriter. But I think that is cheating, don’t you?’

‘The only way that you will write a book is if you prove capable of dictating it from beyond the grave.

‘Now you are just being silly,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Silly?’ said Mark Rowland Ferris. ‘You are the fool here, Mr Bell. What are you expecting me to do? Surrender myself to you? Put my hands up and say, “Please arrest me, Mr Bell, I have been a very naughty boy “?’

‘The alternative is unpleasant,’ said Mr Bell. ‘In fact, it would be
a fatal
mistake upon your part not to comply with my wishes.’

‘You are unbelievable.’ Mark Rowland Ferris now rocked with laughter. His three French bulldogs seemingly chuckled, too. ‘You are aware of the power at my command. My wealth, my present position in society. Who would believe
your
word against mine?’

‘I am counting on your reputation,’ said Cameron Bell, ‘as a technical innovator. Ferris Engineering is top of the tree when it comes to technical innovation.’

‘Yes, it
is,’
said Mark Rowland Ferris. His three dogs nodded their heads.

‘I have always been a traditionalist,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘Somewhat set in my ways. A tad reactionary, you might say. All these new marvels of the modern age. They are not really
me,
if you understand my meaning. But once in a while something does come along that really impresses me. Usually it is the product of Ferris Engineering.’

The man upon this stage was grinning broadly.

‘I purchased
this
this afternoon,’ said Mr Bell. ‘From Harrods. I was assured that it is quite the latest thing.’

Cameron Bell lifted from the floor of the Royal Box a brass and copper contrivance, with glowing valves upon the top.

‘Quite the latest thing,’ said Cameron Bell. ‘I switched it on when I sat down in this box.’

‘That—’ said Mark Rowland Ferris. ‘
That
is one of mine.’

‘Certainly is. The
Microphone,
I believe it is called, is on the stage before you, connected by this cable to—’ Cameron Bell read from the brass contrivance’s name plate ‘—the Mark Seven Patent Ferris Audiophonicon. A remarkable contraption capable of capturing the human voice upon a wax cylinder. A startling piece of equipment. The recorded voice being so clear and recognisable. You will certainly make history, Earl Ferris. You will be the first man sent to the gallows upon the evidence of his own words, artificially recorded, as they have just been. Perhaps when they build the New Scotland Yard they will give this fine piece of Ferris Engineering pride of place in the black museum.’