The Affair of the Porcelain Dog Read Online Free PDF Page B

the street. Someone mounted our front steps and rang the bell. I heard the front door open and muted voices. Collins thanked the visitor--one of Goddard's messengers, I'd have wagered from the brevity of the exchange--and shut the door.
    "I'll get the dog back," I said.
    "You're damned right you will." Goddard turned. Some of the color was coming back to his face, and the familiar arrogance returning to his voice. "But first, Dr. Hendricks will have a look at that bruise."
    I opened my mouth to protest, but the door opened. The room filled with the rich aroma of coffee that Goddard chose himself, and which Collins roasted and ground to specification.
    "Just put it on the bedside table," Goddard said.
    Goddard walked over to the wardrobe and opened it, sighing as if he'd expected something other than the row of identical white silk shirts facing him. Laying out the day's clothing was Collins's job, and before remembering the tray in his hands the manservant started toward the wardrobe.
    "On the table, please, Collins," I said.
    The manservant regarded me with a disdainful flick of his eyes, but eventually crossed to the bedside table. He reverently placed the Literary Quarterly into the table drawer before setting down a small pot and a single china cup, sparing me not so much as a sneer. Goddard and I had shared a bed for two years. The manservant had to have seen me in that very spot a hundred times, in a hundred different states of undress. Yet each time he addressed Goddard as if they were the only ones in the room. Like his adamant refusal to call me "Mr. Ira," which would have indicated he considered me a member of the household rather than a fellow employee, pretending that I wasn't actually in Goddard's bed was a subtle but unmistakable snub.
    "Sir," Collins began.
    "I thought I said..."
    Goddard's voice trailed off when he saw the envelope that Collins was tapping against his fleshy palm: white stationery with dark ink. My heart stopped.
    "Good God, not another one," Goddard said.
    "No, sir," Collins replied, his tone reflecting pleasant surprise. "Actually, it arrived just now from the chancellor's office."
    Goddard sucked in a sharp breath.
    "Then that's it," he said. "They've decided."
    "I daresay it appears that way...Professor."
    Though Goddard's criminal enterprises had brought him wealth beyond measure, he'd always felt that his proper place was in the ivory tower of academia. It sounds strange, I know. And yet he'd undertaken my own education with such thoroughness and patience that he'd convinced me as well. It was a shame the rest of the world didn't see it that way. Since his dismissal from Cambridge he'd spent as much time trying to insinuate himself back into the academic fold as he had buying judges and brothels. Yet no matter how many brilliant monographs he produced, it seemed clear that he was never going to go further than occasional evening lectureship at King's.
    Until now.
    "Phillips is retiring after this term," Goddard said as I pushed my way between them. "They have to give his post to me. The rest of them have five years' experience between them, and a handful of articles, if that. I can't look, Ira. Read it to me."
    He thrust the paper into my hand. My heart raced as I took in the symbol of the college--the shield with its blue bar, red cross, and the tome at the top, covers splayed out like wings.
    "'Esteemed Dr. Goddard,'" I began. I smiled at him. "That sounds promising."
    He began pacing, his crimson dressing gown billowing behind him. I tried to read ahead, to soften any blows before they came.
    "Well?" Goddard demanded.
    "He wants you to meet with him at ten o'clock this morning in his office."
    He stopped."That's all?"
    I held up the letter. His dark eyes darted over the lines once, twice.
    "Of course. He would want to tell me the news in person. Yes, quite."
    Goddard raked his fingers through his rumpled hair. Between his avid pursuit of the fighting arts and his meticulous diet, he