Hubris was, he conceded, an elemental flaw of his character. Dangerous to others as well as himself.
A painfully obvious truth, and yet by its very nature, it refused to let him learn from past mistakes.
He stood very still, gripping the glass so tightly that its intricate etching nearly drew blood. His gaze was drawn unwillingly to a gilt-framed painting hung in the shadows of a recessed alcove. Death seemed to take a perverse pleasure in haunting him. This time, however, it was time to break the pattern. It was time to slay its ghost.
Setting down the drink, Wrexford quietly let himself out of the salon and went to join his valet.
Intent on the charred paper beneath the lens, Tyler did not look up from the microscope when he entered the room. “Griffin did not clap you in irons?”
“Not yet. But his fingers are twitching.” He approached the worktable and angled a look at the scrap pressed between the two thin sheets of glass. “What have you discovered?”
“Stuck between the heavier notepaper was a sheet of stationery. It looks like Drummond was writing a letter to the governing board of the Institution warning them that something. . .” Tyler slid out of his chair. “Here, look for yourself.”
Wrexford took charge of the microscope and turned the brass dial to adjust the focus. The fire had darkened what was left of the paper, and heat had altered the ink, making it hard to read. Drummond’s spidery script added to the challenge. Squinting, he shifted the polished metal reflectors ever so slightly to catch the lamplight.
The scrap brightened, accentuating the charred holes that had eaten away most of the message. As the earl slowly moved the glass plates in order to view the entire contents, he saw there were only a few fragments of disconnected writing:
Golden One must be stopped . . . I appeal to the board of governors . . . discover his identity and stop his . . . dangerous discovery . . . threatens
“What do you make of it?” asked Tyler when finally he looked up from the eyepiece.
“It appears Drummond was writing a letter to Davy and the board of the Institution accusing someone of creating something dangerous.”
“So it would seem,” agreed the valet.
“Let us think,” mused Wrexford. “Combined with the other fragment we found, what more can we piece together?”
Tyler pursed his lips. “Given the reference to the philosopher’s stone and the worddiscovery, I’d say it’s reasonable to assume Drummond was talking about some sort of chemical compound.”
“Agreed.” The earl propped his elbows on the worktable and steepled his fingers. “Furthermore, based on the first scrap, you pointed out that ‘Golden One’ could be an alchemy term for a chemical substance. But based on this new evidence, I think it’s clear Drummond is referring to a person.”
“My thoughts exactly, sir. It also seems safe to say that ‘Golden One’ is a member of the Institution.”
“Drummond certainly believed he was,” amended the earl. “We know he had a penchant for eavesdropping and snooping around in the private spaces of other members. And the fact that he was murdered and his papers set afire is proof that his suspicions were all too real.”
“So we’ve learned a great deal.”
Rising from his chair, Wrexford began to pace. What were they missing? In science, it was a cardinal mistake to allow assumption, not observation, to shape a conclusion.
Water boils at 212 degrees on the scale devised by Daniel Gabriel Fahrenheit—a fact based on empirical evidence.
Right now, they were making too many leaps of logic. That bothered him.
“We’ve conjectured a great deal,” he muttered. “We may be right, but we need to prove it.”
“Unless there’s some alchemy that transmutes ash back into a pristine piece of paper, we will need to keep looking,” quipped Tyler.
Another turn of the room and still he felt as if he was spinning in circles.Logic, he chided to himself. When in doubt return to the basics and start again.
“Golden One.” He came to a sudden stop. “Can you think of any member of the Institution who has blond hair?”
“Sykes and Fairmont come to mind—and I’m sure there are others,” replied Tyler. “Shall I look into it?”
“Yes, compile a list,” said Wrexford. “Lowell would know, and he’s just as anxious as we are to have the killer caught.” He hesitated. “But let us first compile the list and look it over before bringing anyone else into the investigation. If the killer is indeed a member, we must be very careful not to warn him of our suspicions.”
“With a list we could then match the men with their area of expertise in chemistry. That would help eliminate some of the names,” suggested the valet.
But before they could muse any further on the subject, Sheffield burst into the room.
