Mark Gatiss - The Vesuvius Club

«Over here! Mr Box!»

I turned at Charlie’s cry and moved swiftly to where he stood, swinging one of the French windows open and shut. He stepped outside and pointed to the exterior lock. A swift examination told me all I needed to know.

Striding to the fireplace I again folded my handkerchief over my hand and began to root about in the blackened embers.

«Ah!» I cried, my fingers fastening upon a small fragment of charred mauve paper. « Here is that enclosure, Stint. Or what remains of it.»

I held the scrap of paper close to my face. A strong odour at once assailed me. It was pungent and familiar.

«D’you smell that, Charlie?» I cried, waving it under the boy’s nose. «I’d say… I’d say this paper has been impregnated. Impregnated with a chemical with which you and I have had some little acquaintance!»

«Good grief!» gasped Stint. «You mean you are addicted to some drug ?»

«Eh? No, no!» I stood up straight. «This is what I believe happened here this morning. The letter in the mauve envelope was a lure, containing some bogus message and instructions that it was to be burnt upon receipt. Your master did as he was told and was then overcome by the noxious substance in which the letter had been soaked.»

Stint bit his lip anxiously. «And then he threw open the windows in an effort to clear the fumes?»

«Nay, for the windows have been forced open from the outside as Mr Jackpot here discovered! Whoever sent this letter lay out there in wait. When they saw that their plans were working they broke open the windows and grabbed Sir Emmanuel. They then left the windows ajar to allow the toxin to escape.»

«But who, sir? Who would do such a thing?»

The odour of that vile chemical contained in the mauve letter was unmistakable. The purplish dust on Verdigris’s desk! The charred paper in Sash’s grate! All three must have received a mauve envelope. Whatever had been written therein must also have contained instructions to burn its deadly enclosure.

Now I knew how — just not by whom.

It was time to test just what Stint had absorbed. I took the scrap from my waistcoat pocket. «What do you make of that, Stint?»

The butler peered at it.

I thrust my hands into my pockets. «A cross-section of some kind. I wonder if you could point us to a volume or two on the structures of modern machines?»

Stint shook his head. «Oh no, sir.»

«No? Why not?»

«It’s not a machine, sir. It is a volcano,» he said.

«IS it, by George!»

I looked over his shoulder and indicated a double line that had been inked into the shape on the chart. «And this?»

«I believe it is known as a vent, sir. A fissure in the rock through which the magma flows to the surface.»

Charlie took the fragment from him. A series of arrows had been drawn by hand inside the lines. «Then why are these arrows pointing towards the inside of the volcano?»

«I really cannot say,» sniffed the butler.

We advanced towards the book shelves. «Tell me, Stint. Do you think, by any chance, we could track down the particular volcano?»

A smile fluttered over his pale lips. «Every chance, I should think, sir. I’m sure Sir Emmanuel would be very happy to know his collection is being put to good use. I believe we shall need the steps, sir, if you’d be so kind.»

Charlie pulled the revolving library steps from their shadowy niche. Before I could protest, he had mounted the steps and began pushing his way along the shelves. The steps’ wheels squealed appallingly.

«Hmmph,» said Stint, disapprovingly. «Now then,» he said and pointed upwards. «Third shelf. What do you see?»

In the feeble light Charlie passed treatise after dreary treatise. There were atlases, text-books…

« Manlove’s Tectonic Activity ,» Charlie read. « Vulcanism in the Pacific Rim … The Lava Bomb …»

«We’re getting warmer, you might say.»

Charlie had stopped with one hand on the shelf, preparing to push himself off again when a hefty book in a cloth-bound cover seemed to catch his attention. « Magnetic Viscosity ?» he called hopefully.

«That’s the one,» said Stint.

«Maxwell Morraine,» I cried.

Stint looked over at me. «Yes, sir? What of him?»

«It never occurred to me to ask you , Stint. What do you know of your late master’s colleague, Morraine? He threw me out of the house at the very mention of his name.»

Stint shrugged. He seemed suddenly weary. Charlie came down the steps and stood by him, handing him the book. Stint began to flick through it as he spoke. «You are far too young to remember, sir, but it was quite a tragedy. Professor Morraine went… funny.»

«Funny?»

«In the head, sir. They do say it was on account of his wife running off with some gent but Sir Emmanuel told me Mr Morraine had always been a little touched. Even when they were students together.»

«Yes. I had heard they attended the same college. And they came out here, didn’t they, to work?»

Stint nodded vigorously, then paused, comparing the fragment of chart with an illustration within the great book. «Sir Emmanuel’s father had this house and he always loved the Italian countryside. Seemed like a natural place to pursue their researches. All Greek or Italian to you and me, I suppose, sir, but Professor Morraine had theories about the massive potential energy contained within the lava, within the very stuff of the earth’s core! But it all came to naught. Then there was the fire and poor Mrs Morraine… well. Aha! I have found the volcano, sir.»

He held the book aloft, the piece of chart pressed against the relevant page. To no one’s great surprise, it was a cross-section of Mount Vesuvius.

Emmanuel Quibble’s extraordinary library was proving to be invaluable. Following the positive identification of the geological chart, we began digging for a clue as to the identity of the strange chemical used on the old man.

Charlie sat down and put his feet up on the desk, pulled off his boots and began to pick at his toes, earning fierce stares from Stint.

«Make yourself useful,» I ordered, tossing him a copy of Arsenical Poisoning and its Causes .

«I am. Being useful, I mean. I’m thinking.»

«Ha! I am on His Majesty’s service. You are on mine.»

He put his hands behind his head. Is it possible to swagger whilst sitting down?

«Seems to me there is a connection between this purple stuff and what I told you about Venus’s fella.»

«What about him?»

«The House of the Lightning Tree. Remember?»

His face dimpled into a cock-eyed smile.

«Opium?» I cried.

And within a very few minutes, thanks to Stint’s cross-referencing, we had it. «A distillation of the seeds of the manganese poppy,» I read, tracing a finger over the delicate colour-plate showing the flower.

«Never heard of it.»

«I don’t doubt it. Grows only in certain parts of the Himalayas. Now, get your boots on, Charlie, you’re going back out.»

«I am?»

«Yes. Arrange some transport for our visit to this den. We’ll reconvene in the lobby of the Santa Lucia at ten.»

«Righto, chief.» Charlie got up and struggled into his boots, holding the door frame for support.

«Oh, and Charlie?»

«Yes?»

«Do mind out for yourself. I fear you are becoming indispensable.»

The boy smiled and I felt a curious twinge as he closed the door after him. I thought at first it must be some undigested fancy from the Café Gambrinus but I finally recognized it as an almost alien emotion. Fondness .

I took my leave of Stint and returned to the hotel. Quibble, Verdigris, Bella, Reynolds, Charlie — my head was spinning. After a long bath I soon felt more like myself. I felt myself so much, in fact, that I ended up having one off the wrist, imagining the wondrous Bella wrapped in my fevered embrace.