C. Archer - The Wrong Girl

"Bollard? Yes, why?"

His lips flattened and he carefully re-folded his handkerchief on his knee. "He's not what he seems, you know. He's...devious. Watch him, Miss Langley. Watch him very closely. That's my advice to you."

I was beginning to think Tate would win if there were a Mad Scientist competition between him and Langley. No wonder they'd fallen out. Two such men in a confined space would be a formula for an explosive relationship.

"We'd like to see Jack," I demanded. "Immediately."

His lips flattened. "As you wish. But first, let me tell you what I told him. I'd like the chance to defend myself. What I'm about to tell you not only eased Jack's mind, it spurred his interest in what I'm doing here. Shall we talk as we walk to the factory?"

"I don't know," Sylvia said, chewing her lip.

"I'll also tell you how I know you, Miss Smith." He smiled at me in a way that could only be described as sweet. I was no longer sure how to take Tate. My instincts were confused. One moment he was all kindness, the next he was being odd and evasive. So I set instinct aside and used my head. I wanted answers, and if I needed to follow him to get them, I would. If there was a chance that Jack was there, we had to find out for sure.

"We'll come," I said, standing. Sylvia seemed relieved to have the decision made for her.

Tate rose and indicated we should walk ahead. "I'd better begin at the beginning. No doubt August told you that he and I fell out over money, and that I stole his papers so that I could reproduce his latest remedy and sell it. He always did pretend I was the greedy one, when in truth it was he all along."

"What do you mean?" I asked. We walked slowly out of the parlor and back into the entrance hall. An Oriental rug deadened the sound of our shoes on the tiles. It was a new rug, the pile still thick, and it ran the length of the narrow hall. Another rug covered the stairs, and it too looked new, as did the hat stand, table and framed mirror. The faint smell of paint hung in the air, but I could see no artworks. The walls must have been freshly painted.

"He has always wanted that which his betters had," Tate went on. "A grand house, horses, carriages, land. To him, those things meant status and respect, two things he desired more than any...well, more than the use of his legs." He paused at the front door. "You know this to be true, don't you, Miss Langley?"

Sylvia looked down at her feet. Her nod was slight, but noticeable.

"Your uncle was the one who wanted to sell the remedy for the most money we could get. I didn't want to sell it at all."

"I don't like you besmirching my uncle's name," Sylvia said.

"Then block your ears."

"What was the remedy for?" I asked.

"To combat an insidious disease," he said. "You wouldn't have heard of it."

I was beginning to get the feeling there was more to their remedy than they were telling us.

Tate held the door open, and we walked outside once again. The small front garden had little to recommend it. It was sparse and winter-bare, with only a few low-growing herbs planted in square beds, and several dormant roses spaced precisely apart along the fence. A stone path led to the side of the house and we followed it. "Your uncle may have wanted the money, but I wanted the glory of the discovery. See, we each have our weaknesses, Miss Langley, but I'm not afraid to reveal mine. I wanted to sell the rights to manufacture the drug to another company better equipped to do it, but keep control over its dissemination and packaging. August didn't care about that since few companies with deep pockets weren't interested in a deal that didn't give them total control. He won, of course. He usually did when we disagreed. I think you both know how...immovable he can be."

"So why did you steal his research?" I asked as we slowly made our way down the side of the house. It was damp and dark beneath the shadows of the house on one side and the wall of the neighboring factory on the other. "Do you want to pass off his new drug as your own?"

"No. This time it's different. I'll admit that I have debts. I like to spend money and...unforeseen circumstances have meant a large outlay recently. But that's not why I took his papers which, I might add, didn't have everything I needed to replicate the remedy."

"Good," said Sylvia.

"Long before August and I developed the remedy that made us rich, we were working on another experiment."

"What has this to do with anything?" she asked.

Tate paused and looked at me, but I already knew. It had to do with me. "August and I belonged to a group called the Society For Supernatural Activity. It's not exactly a secret organization, but they're not very open about what they do. I won't go into the details, but suffice it to say the members like to dabble in the supernatural."

Sylvia snorted. "What rot. There's no such thing as ghosts and what not." She flapped her hand, but neither Tate nor I paid her much attention. Weren't Jack and I proof that supernatural phenomena did exist?

"Why do the members like to dabble, Mr. Tate?" I asked.

"To see if it exists or not."

"I'm surprised that it interests you. Doesn't believing in such things go against everything scientists stand for?"

"For many, yes. Not for August and me. We wanted to study these phenomena, to see how they work and try to replicate them in a laboratory environment. We thought if we could identify what caused paranormal traits in humans, we might be able to harness it."

"And sell it."

"Yes."

I stopped and put a hand to the wall of the house. The moss-covered bricks cooled my palm, but I had difficulty catching my breath. It felt like a weight was pressing down on my chest, pushing the air out of me. "What am I, Mr. Tate?"

"You are a rare fire starter," he said softly. In the dim light of the shadowy path, it was difficult to see him clearly, but his eyes sparkled with tears. "But you already knew that."

"Yes. Jack and I are the only ones."

He shook his head. "No, you're not. There's another."

"Who?"

We'd reached the factory door, and he held it open for us. The door sported thick bolts, but none were locked. The heavy wood seemed new, the paint fresh. The bricks of the small factory were blackened above the doorway and the single boarded-up window to the right. Same as the house. There were no other windows on the one-story building that I could see. No sign of Jack, either, or indeed anyone else. I spared a thought for Tommy and hoped he had not yet arrived.

"I'll tell you inside," Tate said. "Jack's in there, and he's very curious about the same things as you, Miss Smith. I'll tell you together."

"Everything?" I asked.

"Yes. The entire story, dating back almost twenty-two years."

"Wait!" Sylvia gripped my arm and pulled me back along the path, out of earshot. Tate didn't come after us, but kept on smiling. "It might be a trick," she hissed into my ear.

"There's a very good chance that it is," I said gravely.

"Then we have to leave!"

"No. Jack might be in there and in difficulty."

"I doubt it. Jack doesn't get himself into difficulties, only out of them. He at least can set things on fire at will. You can't."

"I can if I'm angry, and I can assure you I'll be furious if Tate is lying. Sylvia, I have to find out what he knows. Do you understand how important this is to me? He has the answers to questions I've longed to know, not only about my fire starting, but about my parents. Finding those answers means...everything." My throat squeezed shut with the effort not to cry. I hadn't meant to sound so vehement, nor had I expected to want answers so badly that I would walk into a suspected trap. But I did. God, how I wanted to learn what Tate knew. I suddenly felt like half a person, with a major part of my life missing. Tate could fill in the hollow spaces.