Doktor Glass Read Online Free PDF Page B

Mrs. Grizedale’s resting on his palms, her skin soft yet cold. “Breathe softly, Inspector. Close your eyes and forget the world outside this room. Relax.”
    Langton listened to the crackle of the fire’s coals. No sounds of traffic or people filtered through to the room. Smells drifted past: tea, coal smoke, a faint perfume like white flowers.
    “Now, Inspector, think of your wife; picture her, despite the pain I know will come. Focus on her.”
    Sarah’s image rose in Langton’s mind and made his heart race and his throat tighten. Sarah. A summer’s day among the crowds at New Brighton, with the warm breeze swirling her pale cotton dress. The flash of her blue, blue eyes. Her dappled skin. Laughter. Sarah.
    “I see…” Mrs. Grizedale whispered and gripped Langton’s hands a little tighter. “Sarah. Sarah. All is safe. Come to me. Come to me…”
    Langton opened his eyes. Mrs. Grizedale rocked slightly in her chair, her eyes closed, her skin blushing. She tightened her grip on his hands. “Darkness. Cold darkness. And pressure, something pressing in from every side. Oh, the fear. The fear. Speak, Sarah. All is safe. Speak through—”
    Langton winced as Mrs. Grizedale’s nails bit deep into his palms and drew blood. Her body snapped taut and rigid as though every muscle simultaneously contracted. The teacups and crockery shattered against the floor.
    He tried to drag his hands from Mrs. Grizedale’s grip but she would not or could not let go. He said, “Meera, quickly.”
    As the maid rushed into the room, Mrs. Grizedale’s body began to shudder; her heels drummed on the bare wooden floor. Blood trickled from her mouth.
    “Grab her,” Langton said, “before she falls.”
    Meera took the woman’s shoulders as Langton pulled his bloodied hands from her clawing grip. He helped Mrs. Grizedale to the floor and tried to slide a spoon between her teeth. He could not; the woman’s jaw was locked tight as though set in steel.
    “Missy, oh missy.” Tears rolled down Meera’s cheeks as she held the spiritualist’s head.
    “Has this happened before?”
    “Yes, sir, but not for long time. And never this bad.” Meera stared at Langton. “What you do to her?”
    Before he could answer, a terrible, guttural sound erupted from Mrs. Grizedale’s throat. Her eyes opened to reveal dilated pupils and an expression of absolute fear. Then, as suddenly as they had started, the contractions ceased. Langton felt her body go limp; her head lolled to one side.
    Fearing what he would find, Langton pressed his fingers into herneck. Her heart still beat, although erratically. As he counted, her heart gradually slowed until it seemed almost normal. Then her eyes focused on Meera and she whispered, “Brandy.”
    As Meera ran into the kitchen, Langton helped Mrs. Grizedale sit upright on the floor. He supported her back with his knee and dabbed at her mouth with his handkerchief. He stifled his questions and waited for her to catch her breath.
    Mrs. Grizedale sipped the brandy and looked at Langton. “Never again…I had hoped…”
    “Don’t talk,” Langton said, even though he longed to know what had brought this about and what she had discovered about Sarah. “Rest awhile.”
    Mrs. Grizedale shook her head. “I am sorry. So very sorry.”
    “What is it?”
    “Your wife is lost.” Mrs. Grizedale turned her bloody, frightened face to Langton. “The Jar Boys have her.”

Three
    A S HE WALKED home through the streets of fog and shadows, Langton went over everything he had ever heard about the so-called Jar Boys. The cold air numbed his face; pools of light, gas and electric, punctuated the gloom, but Langton stared straight ahead and remembered stories told around firesides and on midnight beats. For the Jar Boys inhabited that strange borderland between truth and fiction, or between hope and fear.
    The poor believed in their existence, but he had also heard of them from time-served constables and sergeants, from