The Clockwork Scarab (Stoker & Holmes 1)

"And a lot of other things you'd find scandalous. Like short skirts," he added with a bashful grin.

I bit my lip, holding back more questions that bubbled to the surface. It never seemed the right time to ask him all the things I wanted to know. I'd have to save my interrogation for another time-when I didn't have a friend's life to save.

"Very well," I said. "Back to the matter at hand. I'm relieved you located the diadem. It's a most fortuitous discovery, considering the development of the last twenty-four hours." I explained the events of the night before, leaving out my disastrous detour to Lady Cosgrove-Pitt's house. "And so I'm going to deliver the diadem to the Ankh."

"And I'll be going with you," Dylan said. He raised a hand at my sound of negation, his blue eyes boring into me. "I've been stuck in the darned museum for almost two weeks, and it's time I did something besides sulk. You can't go alone, Mina. And it's not because you're a woman," he added when I began to fume. "Remind me to tell you about Amelia Earhart and Jane Goodall someday. Going alone would be crazy, especially after last night. You should have taken me with you, or at least told the police. And besides all that, if the statue of Sekhmet is there, I want to see it. Maybe I can find a way to use it to get home."

I had a variety of reactions to this pronouncement. First, I found I rather liked this Dylan who spoke with such strength and passion. Who didn't think that simply being a woman was a reason not to go alone. And who liked the way I looked in trousers.

And second, I had a sudden, brilliant idea with which only he could assist me.

And third . . . I felt an unexpected pang at the thought of Dylan finding his way back to the future. Just as I was getting to know him, to feel as if we had some sort of connection, he might be leaving. I hadn't felt such kinship with another person in a long time. Perhaps ever.

"Naturally I can't tell Scotland Yard about this," I said. "The Ankh is too smart; surely she'll be watching for us when we arrive to make the exchange. If there are any authorities in the vicinity, I'm certain the deal will be off. Will you show me the diadem?"

Dylan pulled the item out of his satchel, and I examined it eagerly. It looked exactly like the drawing in the text I'd been reading. There was no doubt that, regardless whether it had actually belonged to Sekhmet or not, it was the instrument of legend. Delicate gold filigree created a very un-Egyptian-like crown. Two topazes were set in such a way in the front of the crown that they appeared to be lion's eyes, and the slender gold was wrought in the shape of a lioness's snout and whiskers.

"It was where we thought it was, wasn't it?" I couldn't allow the Ankh to have it. There had to be another way.

I'd make a copy. I had the equipment in my lab, and we had at least another hour before my acceptance of the Ankh's arrangement was delivered.

"Do you have your special telephone with you?" I asked, my mind working again on the half-formed plan I'd already been considering.

"Yes, although it's low on battery, so I've had it turned off for most of the last week. I have to find a way to charge it. But I can still use it."

"Can you force it to emit sounds and noises at will?"

"I sure can."

"Come into the laboratory. I'll tell you my plan while I work." I needed something to occupy my hands as well as my mind while we waited to hear of Evaline.

Time crawled, and it was well after five o'clock when Mrs. Raskill interrupted us.

"It's your visitor again," she said, poking her head around the ajar door. "Lands!"

Finally. I'd been unable to contain my growing apprehension for Evaline and her safety.

"At last we'll find out how to make the exchange," I said to Dylan, gesturing at the false diadem. It required only a few more adjustments, and I was confident it would easily pass muster as the instrument in question.

I hurried out of the laboratory, wiping my hands on a rag, and then stopped short. "Inspector Grayling." Drat!

"Good afternoon, Miss Holmes," he said, his voice cool and unemotional as he held his hat in a large, freckled hand. His eyes widened fractionally, however, as they swept over me in my masculine garb, bringing a warm flush to my cheeks.

Dylan might be accustomed to seeing women in trousers, but Grayling was not.

"How may I help you?" I asked as Dylan appeared from behind me.

Grayling's attention went to him and his expression turned stony. "I've come to take your statement regarding the events of last evening." He spoke to me, but seemed unable to pull his attention from Dylan.

"I'm rather busy at the moment."

"Obviously," Grayling replied crisply. He returned his attention to Dylan. "Have you been notified when you'll stand trial for the attempted break-in?"

I gawked at him, shocked by his rudeness, but Dylan didn't seem to mind. "I've been lucky. The museum isn't going to press charges, thanks to Miss Adler. She took care of it all before she left town." He glanced at me. "I meant to tell you earlier-Miss Adler had to leave unexpectedly."

I nodded and quelled an unfamiliar moment of uncertainty. My mentor was gone, and I was on my own. I'd already made one grave error. . . .

I stopped those thoughts and turned to Grayling. "I have a rather delicate project I must finish today. Perhaps we could make an appointment to speak tomorrow?"

That was assuming I'd be alive and able to speak tomorrow.

I shoved that thought away.

He fixed me with a steady look, then gave a short, sharp nod. "Very well, Miss Holmes. Good day."

We'd hardly returned to the laboratory when Mrs. Raskill thudded on the door yet again. "It's. Another. Visitor. Ye. 'Ave," she said, clearly capitalizing and punctuating each word. And the fact that she'd dropped the h in have indicated her extreme exasperation.

The same messenger who'd come earlier stood at the front door. "I've got 'nother message fer ye."

My attention swept over him once again, noting several changes to his appearance.

Gray dusty grit on the outside of left shoe only-he'd been on Pennington-street since he was here last.

A shiny dark green stain low on his trousers, the faint scent of algae-he'd been at the dockyards within the last hour.

A red-and-green paper wrapper peeked from his trouser pocket-he'd recently patronized Shertle's Meats for one of their meat pies.

"May I see the message?"

The folded packet's exterior was identical to the first. However, inside was a lock of dark, curling hair. There was no doubt to whom it belonged-Evaline's curls coiled in a clockwise direction and were a deep, shiny walnut color of this precise hue.