on a show, but she knew details, things she couldn’t have known otherwise. Did she, in fact, have the same abilities as Tabby? But when Tabby searched in the ether for a Mr. Pope, there was no spirit of that name.
Mr. Whitby scoffed. “An earring? That doesn’t mean anything.”
Dr. Jameson was listening, rapt. “Richard,” he said, finally pulling his gaze from Alice. “It’s true, isn’t it.”
“You killed her for your late partner’s business,” Alice said evenly. “You killed her in the parlor, choking the life out of her, and then you stabbed her dead body again and again.”
“Miss Bellefonte, I am warning you. If you—”
But Alice continued, speaking over him. “You didn’t mean to kill her, did you? It just happened, and before you knew it, it was too late. I know that you loved her. It must have hurt to see her with the very man who had taken your business from you, as well. You stayed silent, but all the while the woman you loved cared for you no more than the most casual of acquaintances. You could never hope she would return your love, of course. How could any woman, let alone a gentle, sweet woman like Rose Hammond, love a monster such as yourself?”
In an instant he was rushing toward Alice, just as he had done to Tabby in his study. He was going to hurt her, kill her, right there in front of all those respectable men. Tabby willed her sluggish body to come to life, but she had no more feeling in her legs than she did in her heavy tongue. She was going to watch Mr. Whitby kill her sister and she was helpless to stop him.
Dr. Jameson was just stepping in front of Mr. Whitby, hands out, when there was a heavy thud from the gallery. “Open the door!” came a muffled cry. “In the name of the police, open the door!”
Mr. Whitby stopped in his tracks, his fist still raised as if he had only just stopped himself from swinging it.
“That will be Sergeant Hodsdon,” Dr. Jameson said. “Come, Richard. Be reasonable and leave the girl alone.”
She watched as a spectrum of emotions wrestled across Mr. Whitby’s face. At his outburst, all sounds had stopped in the theater. Kidnapping, coercion, and drugging were all acceptable in the name of science, but it seemed that the murder of a young woman was a bridge too far, even for the learned men gathered there.
Mr. Whitby’s expression turned introspective, as if he’d forgotten where he was. His hand trembled as he absently adjusted his crisp neckcloth. “I didn’t go there with the intent to kill her, only to talk. I had to make her understand how I felt about her, and why it was so hurtful, so disrespectful that she would continue her engagement to Caleb, the man who had inherited the business that should have been mine. But she wouldn’t listen, and things grew heated between us. I put my hands around her neck, just enough to make her listen, but she wouldn’t stop struggling. I never meant to kill her,” he repeated dully. “It was pure luck that she and Caleb were heard arguing earlier in the evening. That helped me immensely.”
Tabby somehow found the strength to hoarsely ask: “But what about the stabbing? Why stab her once you had already strangled her?”
Mr. Whitby frowned at her, then gave a little shrug. “I of all people know what can become of a pristine corpse. It was my last act of love, to save her from such men as myself.”
The old man with the cane stood up again. “When I invested in this venture, it was with the understanding that all the bodies used would be those of criminals or the insane. I will not be party to such depravity. I want my money back.” More men stood up, shouting their displeasure and waving hats in the air.
It was then that the gallery door finally gave, and Sergeant Hodsdon came storming in, a half-dozen uniformed officers behind him. Like rats scattering from a sinking ship, the men in the audience fled, no doubt afraid that their own participation would be grounds for arrest.
“I think we’ve seen enough,” Sergeant Hodsdon said, a pair of irons open and ready in his hand. “Richard Whitby, you are hereby placed under arrest for the murder of Rose Hammond.”
Mr. Whitby came back to himself. “You can’t arrest me!” he roared. “We paid you! You are just as complicit