Gibbous House 86

On removing the repeater watch from my pocket, I reflected that it still seemed not quite mine own; the engraving showing the unlucky Reverend's name was no part of this feeling. The damned thing fit poorly in the fob; when Maccabi's sewing monkey finally appeared with my new wardrobe, I hoped sincerely that it was more generous in the matter of pockets. Much might be concealed in pockets, should they be sufficiently capacious. The hands showed that – as cursory as some of my reading had been – some hours had dissolved in it, for the time was five of the afternoon. The diary I placed in a simulacrum -as near as I could make it- of its aspect on my earlier entry to the chamber. It was whim, caprice; nothing more. I doubted that Miss Pardoner – if indeed it had been she - would be so bold as to invade my sanctum twice in one day. Why had she left the book so? She surely could not think that I would credit so recent a reading of it? In hindsight, I believed that Miss Pardoner had hinted at some knowledge of Arabella before that afternoon.

Downstairs, I made once more the journey from the atrium to the library: puzzling once more over the existence of the hidden room. The internal dimensions of each room gave no clew to any entrance hidden or otherwise; nor indeed to the very existence of such a room. Of course, had I been in possession of a norma or a plumb-bob, I could have satisfied myself that such were the case. However, the condition of certain parts of the House precluded the ministrations in recent times of any tradesman at all, much less that of a carpenter and his square or mason and his lead.

Several things gave me pause in the room containing the nightmare bestiary of the taxidermist's imagination. In one corner, behind a phantastical beast possessing a supernumery number of crane's legs, a preposterous dragon's body and an elephant's head, I caught the glint of some light on glassware. Behind the chimerical beast were five sealed jars: they contained the major organs of a human being, save the skin. I was sure I knew where the missing item might be found. Whereby the light had penetrated the dark and dust-covered room I knew not. All drapes had been drawn against the daylight and there was not so much as a candlestub in any sconce. It seemed to me that there might be some marking on the wax sealed lids of the jars. There was sufficent light to descry the hieroglyphs depicting the identity of the likely victim of this pharaonic disembowelling. My fingers traced the letters H and C.

Heathfield Cadwallader.