THE HOURS BEFORE: A Story of Mystery and Suspense from the Belle Époque by Robert Stephen Parry

stick - whatever it takes to ensure she is excluded. Understood?’
    Beezley, pen in hand, taking notes, murmurs something to the affirmative. Sombre of face, compliant as ever, without emotion of any kind, he merely observes the clenching of his master’s fists with the faintest suggestion of one raised eyebrow. ‘Will that be all, sir?’ he checks after an appropriate minute or two of silence has ensued, removing his pince-nez and noting by the clock that his master is due to leave shortly for a luncheon appointment anyway.
    ‘Yes, for now, thank you,’ Peters replies, a little embarrassed perhaps by his own vehemence. ‘But this I will say, Joseph,’ he adds, still it seems unable to let the matter rest. ‘I have a neat little prophecy of my own regarding the celebrated Mrs Peters. My crystal ball tells me that her halcyon days of sloth and luxury are well and truly numbered. What do you think of that? Oh yes: In time, I will destroy her - you mark my words. I will destroy her utterly. And this is one prediction that will come true - at least while there is breath in my body.’
    Beezley casts his gaze downward, keeping silent until allowing himself to be dismissed by one nonchalant sweep of his master’s hand, and at which he leaves the esteemed chief of Peters Associated Publishing to his own very personal deliberations - alone at last in his seat of absolute power, gazing out at the featureless grey skies of London, plotting in silence his bitter revenge on the woman who has not only robbed him of his only child, but of his dignity and pride as well. Unforgivable.
     

Chapter 8
     

     
     
     
    With a rub of the eyes and a roll of the neck, Herman untangles his limbs from his position of meditation - a regular practice for him, something he learned from a visiting Brahmin some years ago as a student at Cambridge. With vigorous palms he rubs some renewed life back into his knees before standing and reaching his arms towards the ceiling in pleasure. So good to stretch. And so good, too, those few precious moments of repose from which he returns with the typical vitality and optimism that meditation always affords him. Now he is ready - ready even for all this nonsense this evening - for the chimes have sounded in the hall outside his study telling him it is 4 p.m. and already growing dark outside; time, therefore, to prepare for the journey to the Savoy.
    A big occasion for him. Only his best dinner suit will do - white tie and tails. And as he adds an overcoat and shiny topper to the ensemble and takes the train into town, he reminds himself to keep his thoughts peaceful and focussed - for tonight, amid what promises to be a distinguished audience of singers and comedians, he is to perform one of the most challenging tricks in his repertoire, one in which he will allow himself to be handcuffed and placed into a coffin, the lid of which will be secured down and from which he will subsequently extricate himself just in the nick of time, avoiding suffocation. Though hardly original or unique, it is still a potentially dangerous piece of illusionist magic. That his escape will owe nothing to any miraculous powers, but rather to flexible limbs combined with a handy sliding panel in the side of the coffin itself, is also neither here nor there. It is a venue that might well prove of some consequence to his future career.
    Upon reaching the Savoy and after checking his equipment has arrived safely, Herman wanders backstage - in fact not much more than a glorified bandstand, with a drop curtain set into the walls of the ballroom, and where amid the various props, and instruments of any theatrical production, large or small, he finds himself in the company of a curiously self-absorbed gathering of other performers mouthing their lines or rehearsing their routines. Here, he sets to work, assembling the trestles on which the coffin will rest; the little ring of drapes to be pulled around it and, most important of all, one