Spring-heeled Jack and the President's Ring

Chapter 13 ~ Magnetron and Compost

"'Phineas, old friend!  Perhaps your preconceptions are not so ludicrous!'  Compost reached into a shoulder holster and brandished a large caliber revolver."

That voice! There was a time when the voice of Eldridge Compost was a comfort to me.  His was a voice of profound intellect and strong convictions, an impassioned voice crying out on behalf of those without a voice.  As I have come to better know Compost, his voice has taken on the cloying tones of debauchery, apostasy, and hypocrisy.  And evil.  Yes, Compost was evil personified.

Perched in the gloomy shadows at the top of the stairs, he spoke, and it was like a great blast of fetid air in my ears.  "So good of you to join me, Phineas!" he said, and laughed his peculiar chortling laugh.  "What brings you to my little arcadian sanctum?"

Boileau was petrified.  "Wh-who are y-y-you? Sh-show your f-f-face!"

"Silence, imbecile!" shouted Compost, and at that moment, my lantern's flame died out.  Compost struck a match and lit his own lantern, which cast bizarre shadows across his angular visage.  He came slowly down the stairs, lighting torches ensconced at odd intervals as he descended.  When he had reached the bottom of the staircase, he hung his lantern from a hook in the wall and burst into laughter.  Taking my hand in a theatrical two-handed grip, he welcomed us with lavish insincerity.  "Phineas Mugglesworth and his new friend François Boileau!  Simply smashing to have you visit.  Simply smashing!"  Boileau shrank back from Compost's outstretched hands and chirped indignantly.  "How do you know my name?"

"I know many things, Monsieur Boileau, many things.  That is why you have come, is it not?  Bad luck has befallen you, and you believe I can provide answers?"

"You know much about bad luck," I said, "since you are the cause of so much of it."  Compost laughed again.

"Come now, Phineas, do you ever tire of shackling yourself with your ludicrous preconceptions?  Your servant goes missing, and who do you blame?  Eldridge Compost!  The plans for your precious Hedgehog vanish, or a patent-office burns down, and who must be at fault?  Why, Eldridge Compost must certainly be to blame.  Your beloved Dr. Hogalum is killed, and again, Eldridge Compost is your prime suspect.  Why must you persecute me, dear Phineas?  Are we not friends?"

I felt violently ill, and stupid beyond redemption.  "No, Mr. Compost, you are the enemy of my friends, and the friend of my enemies.  But you have helped me greatly."

"Indeed!" said Compost.  "And how is that?"

"Until your sanctimonious oratory, I had no idea you were behind the disappearance of the Luftigel plans, and I had not yet connected you to Dr. Hogalum's death."

"I see," said Compost, frowning briefly.  "Well, it is no matter, as I intend to kill you both.  Mrhoohooohooohaaa!  Phineas, old friend!  Perhaps your preconceptions are not so ludicrous!"  He reached into a shoulder holster and brandished a large caliber revolver.  Boileau began to whimper, shuffling backward until, swooning, he fell into the pile of unfinished tribal masks.

My mind raced for some evasive gambit to delay Compost long enough that I could retrieve my Magneto-Ocu-Poke and gain the advantage over his pistol.  "What's that on your shirt?" I said, backing away from Compost.  He stepped forward.  "You'll never get away with this!  The house is surrounded!"  He matched my stride.  "I say, mightn't you provide me a blindfold?"  I finally grasped my Ocu-Poke weapon, but just as I prepared to wield it, Compost stopped and laughed.  "Mrhoohooohooohaaa!"

"Oh, that was splendid, Phineas!  Absolutely priceless!  But I won't be killing you today, no.  I have something much more satisfying in mind, old friend."  He laughed again.  "'May I have a blindfold?'  Oh, dear me, you are a gem!"

Compost held his lantern up and called to the dark recesses of the dreary basement.  "Mangaliku? Poohana tamba chuka!"

I heard a rustling sound from a far corner, and then the savage was upon me.