The Alchemist in the Attic Read Online Free PDF Page B

flinched.
    “So,” Atwood said, crossing his legs in studious nonchalance. Immediately there was a flurry of frowns.
    “And here come the questions,” Lint muttered.
    “I’m a reporter,” Atwood said. “It’s my job.”
    “So’s your friend,” Horace replied. “And he’s barely spoken a word.”
    “Walter likes to concentrate when he’s playing.” Atwood patted Walter jovially on the shoulder. For his part, Walter merely grunted, but behind his cards his eyes were sharp and watching.
    “Though maybe you’d prefer it if he was distracted by asking questions,” Atwood said with a sly smile at the already growing pile in front of Walter.
    “If he wasn’t so busy taking your money,” Atwood continued, “Walter here would be mentioning that he’s heard rumors that your old pals McManus and Keeler are back, and we thought we might find them here.”
    A murmur went around the table. Bryce and Horace exchanged weighted glances. Only Mr. Ormond was unperturbed. Their return could only mean more money for him. McManus and Keeler had always been generous with their bribes.
    “Well, I’m hurt,” Malcolm McClellan said. “I thought for sure you’d come for us this time.”
    His brother nodded. “But all you ever seem to care about is McManus and Keeler. It’s a shame. We’re much more interesting.”
    “Are you?” Atwood peered at them with sudden attention. Even Walter peeked over his cards to study them. The McClellan brothers wilted under their gaze and Lint sent them a disgusted glare.
    “And where,” he asked, “did your silent friend hear that?”
    Walter transferred his gaze to Lint. “Around,” he said.
    “Around,” Lint repeated incredulously, but Walter would not elaborate, daring them to doubt him. No one seemed willing to take the challenge.
    After a moment Mr. Ormond broke the stillness and pushed all his remaining chips forward. “All in,” he said calmly. Even Walter’s habitually placid expression wavered. “And to answer your question, Mr. Atwood…”
    “Did I ask a question?”
    “You implied,” Ormond said. “I haven’t seen McManus or Keeler in months.” He glanced down meaningfully at the pot.
    “Are you sure about that?” Atwood tapped Walter on the shoulder and he immediately folded. The others quickly followed suit.
    Mr. Ormond collected the sizable pot, then shrugged. “If they’re back, then they haven’t visited my cemetery, nor any cemetery I know. They must have an alternative source.”
    Atwood glanced at Walter, who nodded, confirming what Atwood already knew. Ormond was telling the truth. They all were. None of them had seen McManus and Keeler. None of them had even known they were back. McManus and Keeler were keeping their presence secret, even from their old acquaintances, or perhaps especially from them. There was little love lost between the resurrection men. The McClellan brothers looked particularly unhappy at the news, but then they had always felt overshadowed by the more infamous pair.
    “An alternative source,” Atwood repeated.
    “Yes.”
    Mr. Ormond refused to elaborate. It was unnecessary. When a resurrection man spoke of alternative sources, they all knew what he was implying. No one ever admitted to it, of course. It was frowned upon, even in bodysnatching circles, but there were always those who were willing to arrange for particularly fresh corpses. Suspicions had swirled around Horace and Lint for years, but were never spoken. Never proved.
    Atwood had no doubt that McManus and Keeler were capable of the deed, although he would reserve judgment. There was a great leap between grave robbing and murder. He was more interested in why Ormond had even raised the possibility. He was throwing McManus and Keeler to the wolves. Atwood studied the older man, but his placid, avuncular expression never faltered.
    “If you haven’t seen them,” Atwood said, trying a new tact, “I wonder if you’ve heard rumors about a new patron, someone