The Doomsday Machine (Horatio Lyle) Read Online Free PDF

she led them into a small living room containing a large piano. The walls were lined top to bottom with books, at the sight of which Lyle’s eyes lit up and Tess let out a patient little sigh.
    ‘Oh, magnets,’ exclaimed Lyle, his fingers tracing the edge of one cover. ‘“A Study of the Magnetic Properties of Brass Conducted by Mr J. Krebbers, a Gentleman”,’ he read. ‘A timeless classic.’
    ‘It is?’
    ‘An exercise in perfect, scientific futility. Over the course of four hundred immaculately bound and printed pages, Mr J. Krebbers demonstrates with sweeping insight, experimental gusto and scrupulous method that there are no magnetic properties of brass whatsoever.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘At least, none worth talking about.’
    ‘So . . . so . . .’ began Tess cautiously, like a blind woman trying to work out what she’s just stood in, ‘exactly what were the point in . . .’
    ‘Good morning, sir.’
    The woman who stood in the door had a bosom that could have besieged a small castle, a nose like the rocky surface of an Alpine mountain, and hair tied up in a bun so tight it could have been used for playing the drums. Tess shuffled automatically behind Lyle ’s legs for protection, and Tate shuffled behind hers. Even Lyle, who usually refused to be intimidated by anything that wasn’t actively waving a sharpened stick, found himself tugging at his collar in the face of the woman’s expression. It wasn’t that her look was particularly hostile. It simply regarded anyone it encountered in the same manner as it would a lump of wood - an inanimate object to be assessed, shaped, ignored or discarded according to its unique, lifeless properties.
    ‘Are you the housekeeper?’
    ‘I am, sir. And you are ... ?’
    ‘Horatio Lyle,’ said Lyle, hurrying forward, hand extended. Her eyes moved to his hand, then away, while her own hands remained tightly folded in front of her. Lyle deflated. ‘Erm . . . I’m looking for Mr Berwick?’
    ‘The master is in America.’
    ‘I beg your pardon?’
    ‘Business calls him abroad; I’m sure you understand, Mister Lyle.’ Tess almost gave a start - even the housekeeper was ready with ‘mister’, as if she had instantly realized that in Lyle’s voice there weren’t quite enough good vowels to put him on the same level as other gentlemen of the town; never mind that he used long words and his coat was relatively clean.
    ‘He didn’t say anything?’
    ‘No, sir, it was very sudden.’
    ‘Will he be gone long?’
    ‘Indefinitely.’
    ‘But he left his books.’
    The housekeeper’s eyes darted to the shelf and back again, as if they’d never moved. But that had been enough for Tess to think, ah , and feel the start of a suspicious grin. Somewhere around Tess’s ankles, Tate looked up through deep, lethargic brown eyes, suddenly more interested.
    ‘He was unable to pack many books.’
    ‘I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?’
    ‘I didn’t - Mrs Cozens.’
    ‘Mrs Cozens, may I ask how long you’ve worked here?’
    ‘Nine months, sir.’ She was back on ‘sir’ now, her voice sharp and to the point.
    ‘And how long has Mr Berwick been away?’
    ‘Almost five months, sir. But I have had a letter informing me of his safe crossing - you may see it if you wish.’
    ‘Thank you, I would like that.’
    She didn’t so much walk as glide out through the door - if there were feet under her voluminous black skirt, they were doing their best not to be noticed.
    The second she was gone, Tess tugged at Lyle ’s coat. ‘Oi!’
    ‘Yes, Teresa?’ said Lyle in a tone of infinite, martyred patience.
    ‘Oi, why’s she fibbin’?’
    ‘Now let ’s not leap to conclusions about a highly suspicious and deeply implausible situation coming on top of bizarre coincidence, shall we?’
    While Tess tried to translate that into a language she understood, Mrs Cozens returned, an opened letter in her hand. Lyle took it and read. Tess fidgeted at his elbow until he