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The Fulham Fiend: Chapter 13

“Oh, what a chill evening it is,” said Miss Henderson, “and me a poor flower girl alone on the street. Will no-one buy my flowers?”

From across the street, in an alleyway, someone made a downward waving motion. From further down and round a corner, three figures looked at the girl.

“Do you think anyone will believe she’s a flower girl,” said Sir John. “She’s been standing on an empty street for hours. Won’t the Fiend get suspicious?”

“Don’t ask me!” said Phlebotomous, “I’m not that kind of vampire.”

Sir John unwrapped a device from the bag he had been carrying.

“What’s that?” asked Phlebotomous.

“You should be careful of this,” said Sir John, “ it’s a Soluminescinator. It fires off a bright light at the same wavelength of sunlight, but ten times the intensity. Just in case.”

“Fascinating,” said Phlebotomous. “You must show me …”

“Quiet!” said Marie, “Something is happening.”

The door of the building opposite the flower girl was opening and a tall, dark, hooded figure with a pale face emerged.

ff-ch-13“Excuse Me!”

“Is that him?” said Phlebotomous.

“Well, unless it’s a boarding house for undead gentlemen who’ve fallen on hard times, I would say so,” said Sir John.

The Fiend gazed along the street before looking across at Miss Henderson. He started to walk towards her.

“Will you buy a lily sir?” said Miss Henderson as the figure crossed towards her silently.

“I said, WOULD YOU BUY A LILY SIR?” said Miss Henderson emphatically.  Suddenly policemen came running from two alleyways beside the ’s building. Directed by Dawlish and Symonds, and with whistles blaring, they attacked the Fiend. The left flank arrived first, three policeman grabbing the Fiend’s arm. The Fiend flung out his arm and the three fell backwards. He turned to face three on the other side along with the two detectives. The policemen drew truncheons and hit the Fiend but he seemed impervious to the blows. In return, he punched out at the men. They fell to the floor unconscious.

The three policemen who attacked first  got up from the floor and ran at the Fiend’s back. Dawlish and Symonds, more adept fighters, were trading blows at the front, but they were getting the worse of the deal. Symonds fell first and an impressive backhand sent Dawlish to the ground. The Fiend turned his attention to the police on his back, pulling two over his head and adding them to the pile of unconscious constabulary. Then, the Fiend turned and grabbed the last policeman’s hand, holding it fast for a moment. The man instantly stopped hitting the Fiend and wandered drunkenly away. The Fiend turned back to Miss Henderson and walked forward

“Good lord!” said Sir John. He ran forward with the Soluminescinator and pointed it at the Fiend.

“Hey! I say!” said Sir John, “Excuse me!”

The Fiend turned to look at Sir John and there was a violent burst of light from Sir John’s hand. When it passed the Fiend still stood there. He took a few steps to Sir John and swept him aside with one hand. Sir John fell to the floor.

There was a sound then like a strangled cat. It came from Phlebotomous as a sort of roar as he ran full speed at the Fiend, his teeth bared. Phlebotomous jumped up at the taller creature and sank his fangs into its neck. There was an unpleasant clang and Phlebotomous grabbed his teeth with one hand. One blow from the Fiend sent him flying.

Marie stepped forward and shouted “ARRETER!”. The Fiend stopped, then looked at Marie. It picked up one of the constables truncheons and threw it at her. Marie tried to avoid the truncheon,  but it caught her in the stomach, winding her.

The Fiend turned again to Miss Henderson. He walked lazily toward her. The maid screamed.

The Fulham Fiend: Chapter 14

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The Fulham Fiend: Chapter 12

Sir John and Marie were sitting in the parlour when Miss Henderson opened the door.

“Your guests are here Sir and Mrs Jennings,” she said. Sir John glanced at Marie who looked a little surprised. Symonds, Dawlish, and Phlebotomous came into the room.

“Ah, Mrs Jennings,” said Dawlish, “let me introduce…”

“We’ve met,” said Marie and Phlebotomous almost instantaneously.

“So sorry about our previous encounter,” said Phlebotomous to Marie.

“A perfectly understandable mistake,” said Marie, “but one best not repeated, perhaps.”

Phlebotomous opened his mouth, stopped then closed it again. Dawlish shot a quizzical look at Symonds who looked embarrassed. At Sir John’s indication all three men sat down.

“We thought Mr Bosch may be able to help with his … specialist knowledge,” said Symonds.

“Since I’m a vampire!” said Phlebotomous.

“Indeed,” said Symonds. “It was quite some effort to get him here. And no small expense in drapery.”

Sir John looked puzzled.

“To protect Mr Bosch from sunlight,” explained Symonds.

“But congratulations are in order, Mrs Jennings,” said Dawlish. “You have found the fiend.”

“Indeed, Inspector Dawlish,” said Marie. “More accurately, I have located the building where I believe he resides. After the incident last night I was able to track him until he entered. It didn’t seem safe to enter the building itself.”

“Remarkable,” said Dawlish. “How did you accomplish this, this swine has given my men the slip for weeks.”

“I was … lucky, I suppose,” said Marie.

“Yes,” blurted Phlebotomous, “that’s why! She is very lucky!”

Dawlish and Symonds looked puzzled at the vampire.

“Well, however it was done, I have a man watching the building, but one man won’t be enough. If only we knew when he was going to strike. The killings are getting more frequent.”

“Tell us the dates,” said Sir John, “we may be able to see a pattern.”

“At first it was around once a month, then almost once a week and now we’ve had 2 in 2 days.”

“Around a month?” said Sir John. “Is it a lunar pattern?”

“Are vampires affected by moonlight?” asked Symonds.

“It’s still sunlight,” said Phlebotomous, “just reflected. I get a headache when it’s full moon.”

“Here are the dates,” said Dawlish, passing Sir John a note. Sir John dug an almanac from the bookshelf and compared.

“The first four are all on a new moon,” said Sir John. “Then, the next four are the quarters of a moon. The ninth, the one that occurred when we went to, er, meet Mr Bosch, was less than a week after that. Then yesterday the murder Marie witnessed.”

“Once a moon, once a quarter, once a day,” said Phlebotomous.

“Does that mean something?” said Symonds, “to a vampire?”

“Not really,” said Phlebotomous. “But it has a ring to it.”

“I think it means that the fiend is getting to the end of his killing, for whatever purpose it is,” said Sir John. “And the next murder will be tonight.”

“If we lay a trap, we can catch the swine,” said Dawlish. “If we had a suitable lady to tempt him…”

“You can’t use Marie!” said Sir John.

“Well, obviously,” said Symonds.

“Why obviously?” said Sir John, looking put out.

“Well … I presume obviously,” said Symonds looking embarrassed. Sir John still looked puzzled so Marie leaned toward Sir John and whispered in his ear.

“Oh!” said Sir John turning red. “Of course.”

“Why obviously?” asked Phlebotomous. Symonds leaned forward and whispered into his ear. Phlebotomous went a light shade of pink.

Just then, Miss Henderson arrived with some tea and biscuits. The room was deep in thought as she placed them on a small table, keeping away from Phlebotomous. When she had finished laying out the cups, saucers and plate, the vampire extended an arm towards the items. A small mechanical grab, on the end of an extendable arm, came out of his sleeve and headed for the biscuit plate. When it arrived, it tipped the plate over onto the floor, spilling the contents under the table.

“Hmm,” said Phlebotomous, “needs calibration.”

Mrs Henderson bent under the table to pick up the biscuits. The room was still silent when Phlebotomous leaned forward excitedly.

“Is your maid a virgin?” he said.

There was a crash from the table as Miss Henderson tried to stand up quickly. She crawled slowly out from underneath.

“Mr Bosch!” said Marie.

“Oh dear, my head,” Miss Henderson said. “I’m sure I must be hearing things.”

Marie went over to help the maid and escorted her out of the room.

Wooden box and chess pieces“Too Apt!”

“Badly put, but he has a point,” said Dawlish half to himself. “Sir John, I want to show you the layout of the area, and what I have in mind. Do you have something I might use so I can demonstrate on this table top?”

Sir John looked around the bottom of the bookshelf.

“Will this help?” he said. Dawlish’s moustache twitched in amusement.

“Almost too apt,” he said. “Alright, imagine this piece is the maid and this box is the house. My men will hide, in the alleyways with crucifixes and water. You and Mr Bosch can be here, at a safe distance, but ready to offer advice if needed.”

“Maybe we should bring Mrs Jennings?” said Phlebotomous. “Er … for luck?”

Dawlish frowned. Symonds coughed and nodded.

“I … shall ask”, said Sir John, “and see if she is feeling … lucky.”

Dawlish frowned some more.

“Well, whoever comes, when the fiend comes out to catch our bait then my men come left and right. And we have him.”

Marie came in the room.

“Miss Henderson is both capable and willing to assist this evening,” she said.

“The game’s afoot!” said Dawlish.

The Fulham Fiend: Chapter 13

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The Fulham Fiend: Chapter 11

“Marie … I …” said Sir John.

He looked down from the mirror and sighed.  Then he looked up again.

“Marie! I!” he said then looked down and shook his head. There was a knock at the door. He span round to face it.

“Come in!” he said with a tremulous voice. The door swung open.

“Marie? I …” said Sir John. Behind the door was a young maid.

“Sir Jennings?” said the girl. “There’s a French lady at the front door to see you.”

“Ah, that will be my wife,” said Sir John. “I hope. Show her in please.”

The maid started to leave the room when Sir John said,

“Wait! Who are you?”

“I’m Miss Henderson,” said the maid. “Mrs Flitwick, she’s my cousin’s aunt’s best friend, she said you would need some help as she had become spontaneously indisposed.”

“I see, very good,” said Sir John. “Please send in my wife. Oh … wait!”

Miss Henderson turned back into the room.

“What did you call me?” asked Sir John.

“Sir Jennings?” said the maid. “Have I got your name wrong, sir?”

“No, not at all,” said Sir John. “Welcome to my home.”

ff-ch11“Sir Jennings?”

Miss Henderson did a sort of curtsy then left. Shortly after, Marie came hesitantly into the room. She dropped her hat on the sideboard and looked at her husband.

“Marie, I…” started Sir John, then paused. There was silence.

“Marie. I.” said Sir John and paused again. Marie’s eyes started to water, and her chin trembled a little.

“Marie! I don’t care what you are,” said Sir John. “You’re my wife. We belong together.”

He moved to Marie and held her.  She gave a couple of little sobs.

“Je t’aime,” she said.

“And I t’aime you too,” said Sir John, “with all my heart.”

“I want to explain, mon cher,” said Marie, “but first you must call the police. The fiend has struck again and …  I …  I found where he lives.”

“He has? You did? How?” said Sir John. Marie looked down.

“I’ll tell you later. I’ll tell you everything later,” she said. “But please, let Dawlish know. Farm Lane.”

Sir John left the room and Marie sat down. She looked at the crochet and picked it up absently, her fingers working as she stared into space. Presently, Sir John came back in the room and Marie stood up.

“All done, they’ll come over in the morning,” he said.

There was a pause.

“You could have told me,” said Sir John quietly.

“I … I could not,” said Marie, “I was afraid.”

“Of me?” said Sir John.

“No, not of you,” she said. “Maybe a little of what you would think. But mostly of me. Of what I can do … I … I barely know.”

Sir John stepped close to her and smiled warmly.

“We can do experiments!” he said excitedly.

“Mon cher?” said Marie, a little taken aback.

“Nothing surgical, obviously, “ said Sir John, making a scissor motion absently with his fingers. Marie looked down in shock at his hand and Sir John followed her gaze. He jumped back in horror and shoved his hand in his pocket.

“I mean,” he said, “we can work this out together.  As a couple. As we should.”

Marie’s face softened and she moved close to him again.

“We certainly have all the equipment!” he said and held Marie in his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder.

There was another pause.

“What do we do now?” said Sir John.

“Something else for which we have all the equipment,” said Marie. Sir John looked puzzled.

“What’s that exactly?” he said. Marie whispered in his ear.

“Oh!” he said and turned red.

The Fulham Fiend: Chapter 12

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On the Origins of Admiral Isaac Cadwaddler

victorian-name-generatorA Random Name Generator – as we imagine it to look

During an interesting writing session this week, the Benthic Times found itself uncharacteristically stuck for a name for one of our characters. Whilst a ten-mile walk through the countryside would be the normal cure for this malaise, time was of the essence. As such, we turned to that modern miracle, the internet and found this little gem:

Victorian Name Generator

Amongst the many humorous names that we derived is the one that currently graces the title above.

We wish you a most pleasant weekend.

Hermine Moriarty, Temporary Editor

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The Fulham Fiend: Chapter 10

The street was filled with shops and with people. The gaudy windows were acting like a magnet and their warm glow was an even greater invite in the dark winter’s evening.  On the pavement itself, shoppers were milling about, looking in windows, comparing wares or just conversing.   

One young woman was not, though.  She was dressed in an inexpensive plain dress and her bags had been abandoned. She stood nervously at the mouth of a dark alleyway just off the busy street. She kept glancing into the alleyway then back to the street.

“Nancy!” Prudence Woodside hissed into the alleyway. “Nancy, I have to go. Are you coming?”

Suddenly a woman ran round the corner into the street, looking around. She muttered something dire sounding in a foreign language then ran past the young woman.

“Nancy!” hissed Prudence into the alleyway again. “Nancy, please.”

The foreign woman stopped and walked back to Prudence, who didn’t notice her until she spoke. Even in shock Prudence saw how expensive and fashionable were the other woman’s clothes.

“Your friend,” said the fashionable woman in a French accent, “‘as gone down this alley?”

Prudence looked surprised at the woman then made a decision. She nodded.

“She is there with a man? A tall man, with an ‘ood?” asked the French woman.

“She’s not like that…” said Prudence, looking shocked.

“Please, there is not much time,” said the French woman. “She is in grave danger.”

“Danger?” said Prudence, “What danger?”

“You saw her with the the man?” implored the French woman, “She looked … drunk, perhaps? Unsteady?”

“Yes, I went in the shop and she waited outside. When I come out she was with this tall gentleman. He had hold of her arm and she was staggering, like, like she had some liquor. I don’t know why, she don’t do that sort of thing. She’s a good girl,” said Prudence. “They went down that alley together. Not two minutes ago.”

ff-ch10-dark-alley“What Danger?”

Just then a tall figure emerged from the darkness of the alley. His face was hidden underneath a large hood, even though there was neither rain nor snow. The French woman quickly pulled Prudence out of the mouth of the alleyway as the tall man walked away.

“Go to the constabulary,” said the French woman quickly. “Ask for Dawlish. I’m sorry about your friend.”

Prudence  glanced back into the alleyway.

“Cacher,” said the French woman quietly.

“What is it madam? What’s happened to her?” said Prudence still staring into the dark. She  turned round to ask the other woman, but couldn’t see her anywhere. Prudence looked confused then looked again into the alley. She made a frightened little noise then walked into the darkness.

From the alleyway came the sound of slow, soft footsteps. There were whispers of “Nancy” that became more urgent. Then there was silence, a sharp intake of breath and a scream. Prudence appeared at the entrance to alleyway, running into the street, terror and tears on her face.

“Murder!” she shouted, “Call the constabulary! There’s been a murder!”

The Fulham Fiend: Chapter 11

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The Fulham Fiend: Chapter 9

“She’s a witch,” said Sir John staring blankly ahead of him.

“Perhaps,” said Symonds, shooting a glance at Phlebotomous, “we’ll finish our conversation at another time.”

He got up to leave and indicated to the vampire, who looked puzzled at him. Just then Mrs Flitwick came in wearing a hat and coat and carrying a suitcase and parasol.

“Oh, Sir Jenkins, I’m terribly sorry and I hope it isn’t inconvenient but my sister in Newcastle has just had one of her turns, and I should really go to her as my other sister is in prison.”

“She’s a witch,” said Sir John staring blankly ahead of him.

“Well, Sir Jenkins, that is a little strong, but my husband says something similar,” said Mrs Flitwick. “I shall enquire amongst my friends and family and see if anyone can come assist with your … particular needs.”

She shot a nervous glance at Phlebotomous and headed out the door with such haste that the case and parasol became stuck in the door. Symonds opened the door for her and they both left.

ff-ch-9-sepia“Quite Quickly!”

“She’s a witch,” said Sir John staring blankly ahead of him.

“So you say!” said Phlebotomous sounding cheerful. “So you keep saying!”

“Actually,” said Sir John, still looking vacant, “you said it first.”

“So I did, silly old Phlebotomous,” laughed the vampire nervously.

“How could I not know?” said Sir John.

“Well, lots of couples don’t know little facts about each other!” said Phlebotomous. “For example my sister didn’t realise for years that her husband disliked herring. It’s very similar to your situation, not knowing your wife was a supernatural creature of immense power.”

“I’m an investigator of the supernatural,” said Sir John, “I mean, I try to find supernatural creatures.”

“And look,” said Phlebotomous, “you succeeded! In fact you married one.”

“She must be laughing at me,” said Sir John.

“When she’s laughing, do tears usually pour down her face?” asked Phlebotomous. Sir John turned to look at him curiously.

“I don’t see a lot of people laughing,” explained Phlebotomous. “Mostly they look nervous … unless I’m demonstrating a device! Actually, they tend to look nervous then as well.”

“No, she doesn’t usually cry when laughing. Why?” said Sir John.

“Then she wasn’t laughing when she ran down the road,” said Phlebotomous.

“She was upset?” asked Sir John.

“When she’s upset, tears pour down her face?” asked Phlebotomous.

“Typically, yes,” said Sir John.

“Then I’d say she was upset,” said Phlebotomous.

A look of horror passed over Sir John’s face.

“Oh, what have I done?” he said. “She probably hoped I would help her, support her, with, with these powers. She was always interested in my research, and no wonder. And I practically threw her out.”

“Actually, I think she ran out,” said Phlebotomous, “quite quickly.”

“It amounts to the same,” said Sir John, “I rejected her. She’ll feel lost, abandoned. I must prepare for her return … oh … if she returns.”

Sir John stood up and opened the door and looked at Phlebotomous.

“Oh, go ahead,” said Phlebotomous. “I’ll wait here.”

“Mr Bosch,” said Sir John, “I need to be alone.”

Phlebotomous got up to leave.

“Well, it was nice having tea with you,” he said. “Well, until that business with the … when I said about … well … I’ll see myself out.”

The Fulham Fiend: Chapter 10

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Patronage and Other Charming Things

I think its fair to say that an artist likes nothing more than to be patronized. Thanks to the miracle of the modern “internet” craze, it’s now possible for artists to be patronized by not just the wealthy, but also by the hoi polloi. One artist whose work we admire greatly here at The Benthic Times is Professor Elemental. Whilst we’ve never been entirely clear on the educational establishment that granted the gentleman in question his title, we are nevertheless tremendously fond of his musical utterances. The good Professor has recently made use of this “internet” to invite people to support his work. Dear reader, we commend this to you.

prof-picsketched

Please Patronize Professor Elemental!

For those of who you expecting another episode of our ongoing series, The Fulham Fiend, we need to explain the wide-ranging and radical changes we merely hinted at last week. I shall elaborate here. In short, the regular Tuesday posting of a chapter will continue as is. What was the “Friday post” on a more miscellaneous topic (and which occasionally lapsed into Saturday and even Monday) will now float freely through the week according to the whims of the creators (and possibly The Creator). The second chapter each week will be presented here each Saturday. We trust this is clear and has not unnecessarily inconvenienced you on this fine Friday evening.

 

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The Fulham Fiend: Chapter 8

Marie ran. She ran through the rain sodden streets, past the costermongers hawking their wilted vegetables and bruised fruit. She ran past groups of women and men gawping at her as she sped past. She ran like she had in Paris, from groups of strangers filled with curiosity or rage. She ran as she had from boys in her village who threw stones at the strange girl. She ran to get away, and she ran to forget, her mind and body filled only with one purpose: keep moving.

Eventually she stopped and collapsed by a church. The breath she had needed came in great gulps.  She sat on the floor with her head down and her arms round her knees, gasping and sobbing.

From over the road a middle aged man, staggering from drink from the pub, wandered over to her.

“Everything all right, my dear?” he said. “Need any help, my darling.”

Marie’s head shot up and she stared at him. He backed away instinctively, muttering some apology as Marie watched him go.  Finally, Marie spoke.

“He knows,” she said.

“Well,” said the gargoyle a few feet above her, “that was bound to happen sooner or later.”

ff-ch-8“He Knows!”

Her head sank into her knees again.

“Ow’d he find out then, you tell him?” asked the gargoyle.

“No,” she said, “I went home after he had gone with the police. They had been to this house, the house of a vampire. I came back, and it must have been him, the vampire. He was in the room, and he just said it … said what I was.”

“You could have lied,” said the gargoyle, “told a little porky.”

“No,” she said, “I can’t lie to him. I’m just…”

“A little less than forthcoming with all the facts?” said the gargoyle.

Marie’s head sank down again.

“And now you’re thinking ‘Oh no, Sir John will never want to see me again and my life is over’ or somesuch,” said the gargoyle. There was a small nod from beneath him.

“Ain’t it ever occurred to you why you liked him, why he liked you? It weren’t a mutual appreciation of interesting cheeses.”

Marie looked up at the gargoyle, puzzled.

“Look,” he said, “it sounds like your Sir John wouldn’t know a subtle power if it sent him a telegram on a purple cushion with gold fringing. An’ he seems frightened of his own shadow. But some part of him wants all this. Wants the supernatural, wants the magic. And you, you want someone who isn’t completely boggled by all that. You want someone who can help you figure out what it is. What you can do. Dontcha?”

There was another nod. Marie’s head was up now.

“Well, this may not have been the time, manner and place that was ideal, but there’s naff all point telling me about it. You gotta go back there and talk to him, see. His head will be spinning a bit, but you’ll work it out. You belongs together.”

Marie stood up and started to walk away.

“Thassa girl,” said the gargoyle, “you go sort it out.”

“I will,” said Marie, watching a tall hooded figure moving awkwardly through the streets, “But I have something else I need to do first.”

The Fulham Fiend: Chapter 9

 

 

 

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Still Life with Cephalopod

bt-3Happy Benthic Teatime!

The Benthic Times is ecstatic to announce that as from next week, we shall be publishing not just one, but TWO chapters of our gripping, yet hilarious serialised stories.

Dear reader, you are most very welcome, and we wish you the most pleasant of weekends.

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The Fulham Fiend: Chapter 7

Sir John, Detective Symonds, and Phlebotomous Bosch were sitting in the drawing room around a small table. Mrs Flitwick had come into the room with tea and cake on a silver plate. She was eyeing Phlebotomous warily and seemed intent on staying on the other side of the table from him as she laid out the tea, cups, and plates.

“So, Mr Bosch,” said Detective Symonds, “although you appear to be innocent of the crimes, we shall want to speak to someone who can confirm your movements on certain nights. I’m sure you understand, given your … condition.”

Mrs Flitwick seemed to start muttering some sort of prayer as Symonds said this.

“Of course I understand,” said Phlebotomous, “and please call me Phlebotomous. My friend usually does. As fortune has it, I am often demonstrating my many inventions of an evening and I can check my diary for the dates.”

He held his left hand just in front of him and opened his jacket. A small book shot out of it causing Symonds to duck. It landed close to a table with some crochet on it, dislodging the table cloth. Mrs Flitwick made the sign of the cross and quickly left the room. Symonds reached down and passed the book back to Phlebotomous.

ff-ch-7-sepia“A Witch?”

“That may need a little work,” said the vampire. He turned round to see Sir John peering at him through a small device like a telescope on a stick.

“What in the world is that?” asked Phlebotomous.

“It’s my portable ectoscope, for investigating magical artefacts,” said Sir John.

“Oh, how does that work?” asked Phlebotomous.

“Gentlemen,” said Symonds, “perhaps we can return to the matter at hand.”

“Of course,” said Phlebotomous and Sir John in unison.

“So on the night of the 14th?” asked Symonds.

“Let me see,” said Phlebotomous, opening his diary. “Ah! I dined with the Fotheringays, lovely couple, and demonstrated my patented Hair Untangler.”

“And they will vouch for you?” asked Symonds.

“I imagine so,” said Phlebotomous, “although there was an unfortunate incident with the dog.”

“What happened?” said Sir John.

“Well, I must have overcompensated for the feedback torque a little,” said Phlebotomous. “Long story short, the dog is now bald.”

“Oh, I had a similar experience with a Phantasm Trap,” said Sir John. “The medical bills were quite extensive.”

“Gentlemen…” started Symonds.

“How were you going to trap phantasms?” asked Phlebotomous. “Aren’t they largely non-corporeal?”

“I had an electromagnetic wire cage as a sort of containment device,” said Sir John. “The burns were rather nasty.”

“Gentlemen…” said Symonds again,

“How interesting,” said Phlebotomous. “And you use these devices to investigate supernatural phenomena?”

“Indeed,” said Sir John. “My wife and I, we work together, have so far successfully investigated a haunting and a case of mesmerism.”

“If we may continue…” said Symonds.

“And that’s all you’ve used? These devices?” asked Phlebotomous.

“And our deductive reasoning powers,” said Sir John. “And, Marie has, you know, a woman’s intuition.”

“I must insist…” said Symonds.

“Well, you must have great reasoning powers, sir, I’m impressed,” said Phlebotomous. “Usually these sorts of creatures and intelligences need a sort of … power … to work with them.”

“Gentlemen, please!” shouted Symonds. The two others looked at him with curiosity. Just then the door opened and Marie came in.

“Mon cher,” she started to say, then pressed herself against the wall, staring at Phlebotomous.

“Oh, of course!” he said. “Now I understand … your wife! A witch!”

“I beg your pardon!” said Sir John, “May I remind you sir that this is my house.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Phlebotomous. “Yes, I imagine it’s a secret that’s she’s a witch. I do apologise.”

“A secret?” said Sir John. “Sir, there is no secret. My wife is not a witch.”

He turned to Marie.

“My dear, I’m sorry for what this mad fellow has said. You’re clearly not a witch.”

He saw the look on her face.

“Marie?” he said.

“I’m sorry,” said Marie and fled from the room.

There was a sound of the front door closing and footsteps running down the street.

The Fulham Fiend: Chapter 8