“Humph! Bowler!”

“Bowler?”

Monckton Milnes interjected, “It’s the latest thing. All the rage with the up-and-coming. Detective Inspector Trounce is obviously quite the man about town.”

Trounce removed the headgear and punched it. “Up-and-coming? More like down-and-out. I may well be a detective inspector but I’m still the village idiot as far as my colleagues are concerned.”

“Fashion always evokes merriment before it catches on,” Monckton Milnes observed. “My pegtop trousers had the same effect. Now every blighter is wearing them, which, I regret to say, renders them far too fashionable to be fashionable, if you get my drift.”

“Eh?” Trounce said.

“Never mind,” Burton interrupted. “What can I do for you, Trounce?”

“I just came by to say thank you, sir.”

“No need for the ‘sir.’ Plain old Burton will do, or captain, if you prefer. Thank me for what?”

“For whatever you said to the home secretary. The chief commissioner has given me the—um—” He glanced at Monckton Milnes and shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“It’s all right. My friend works closely with the government and knows all about it.”

“Oh, I see. Well then. Slaughter and I are to work the abductions case together.”

“Good show!”

“I bid you good hunting, gentlemen,” Monckton Milnes said. “Richard, if I find anything of relevance in my library, I shall post it to you at once.” He shook his friend’s hand, and the detective inspector’s, stepped down to the pavement, and strolled away.

“Your arrival is propitious, Trounce,” Burton said. “Can you accompany me to Kent?”

“In relation to the case?”

“Yes. Have you heard of Charles Darwin?”

“No.”

“He’s related to Francis Galton.”

Trounce gave a start. “By Jove! A police alert was just issued for an escaped lunatic called Galton. The same man?”

“The same,” Burton confirmed. “He was aided in his escape by Burke and Hare. It’s possible that Darwin was involved.”

“Then we must confront him at once.”

“Indeed. But first, come upstairs. I’ve decided to take you fully into my confidence. You need to know the remaining details of the case.”

Forty minutes later, as they left the house, Burton asked, “Are we to take to the air again?”

“If you don’t object, and if you can manage it without destroying another of the Yard’s rotorchairs.”

Burton winked at Bram Stoker as they passed the little newsboy. “Object to another adventure with Mr. Macallister Fogg?” he said. “Of course not!”

They flew fifteen miles or so southeast, landed in Downe Village, asked directions, then flew another quarter of a mile south and put down in the large and well-tended gardens of Down House. The rumble of their machines’ engines had hardly ceased before they were surrounded by a horde of excited children, all eagerly asking about the rotorchairs and begging for a ride.

A middle-aged woman emerged from the house and shooed away the youngsters.

“Mrs. Darwin?” Burton asked.

“Yes,” she replied, prising a small boy from her skirts. “Run along, Leo. Into the house with you.”

“My sincere apologies for descending upon you unannounced,” Burton continued as the boy scampered off. “If we’ve come at an inconvenient time—”

“There’s no other such in this house, I’m afraid. You gentlemen are?”

“Sir Richard Francis Burton and Detective Inspector William Trounce. Is your husband at home, ma’am?”

“He is, but I’d rather he wasn’t disturbed. He’s in bad health and is dealing with some rather pressing matters. What is this about?”

“Francis Galton. He’s escaped from Bethlem Asylum.”

Mrs. Darwin put a hand to the small crucifix that was hanging from her necklace. Her eyes widened. “Oh, Lord! Is Charles in danger?”

“I couldn’t say. I know he regularly corresponded with Mr. Galton.”

“Yes, he did. They are half-cousins and family is extremely important to Charles.”

“And I understand they also share scientific interests?”

“I wouldn’t—that is to say—Francis has ideas that—his thinking is not—is not—” She stopped and frowned.

Burton waited for her to clarify her thoughts.

“Francis has some very strange notions,” she finally continued, “which my husband humours but does not approve of. I think—I think, under the circumstances—” She stopped again, then said, more assertively, “I shall fetch Charles. This news is the last thing he needs, but it would be wrong of me to keep it from him. Will you wait here? I’ll send him out. A little fresh air will do him good, at least.”

She left them and ran across the lawn and into the house.

“What do you make of that?” Trounce asked.

“She appears very tense,” Burton replied. “More so, perhaps, than can be attributed to the mothering of so many children. Lord knows, that must place her under enough pressure, but I suspect there’s some other issue at play. Did you notice how she repeatedly touched her crucifix?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. What of it?”

“My fiancée also wears the cross. I’ve noted her touching it to draw on her faith for comfort. Mrs. Darwin’s action was quite different. There was a sort of desperation about it, as if the solace she was seeking was no longer there.”

Trounce gave a non-committal grunt and nodded toward the house. Burton looked and saw a casually dressed man emerging from it, walking stick in hand. He was about fifty years old, an inch or so under six feet tall—but a little stooped—stockily built, and bald-headed. His brows, which jutted craggily, buried his eyes in deep shadow, and his jaw, bordered by curly sideburns, might have been carved from rock, so solid was it. However, as he drew closer and the sunlight illuminated his eyes, Burton noted an intense torment in them, and realised that the man’s back was bent not from physical causes but from an emotional burden.

“I am Charles Darwin,” the scientist said. “Sir Richard, I regret that we’ve never run into one another. I have followed your exploits with much interest. My profoundest congratulations. Your solving of the Nile question is as impressive a feat as I have ever heard of.”

“Thank you, sir,” Burton responded. “It is indeed unfortunate that our paths haven’t crossed until now—though not an uncommon circumstance within the RGS. An organisation of travellers inevitably finds its headquarters more than half-empty for most of the time. This is my colleague, Detective Inspector Trounce.”

“Good day to you, sir. Colleague?”

Burton smiled. “A geographer and a policeman—a strange combination, but it so happens that I’ve been commissioned to investigate a certain matter, and it has thrown Detective Inspector Trounce and I together.”

Darwin used his stick to indicate a path that led from his garden into the fields beyond. When he spoke again, he stuttered a little. “Sh-shall we walk? You can tell me all about it. Th-this matter concerns Francis, does it not? My wife said he’s escaped.”

“That’s correct,” Burton responded as they set off down the path. “And he was assisted by Burke and Hare.”

“The—the—the traitors? B-but what has he to do with them?”

Trounce said, “That’s what we were hoping you could tell us, Mr. Darwin.”

They skirted a hedgerow, thick with the billowy flowers of white snakeroot, and entered a meadow that had been neatly cropped by sheep. Rabbits raced away from them and vanished into their burrows.

Darwin waved his stick from side to side in an extravagant gesture of negation. “No, no, no!” he cried out. “Francis has never once mentioned the rogues. I cannot believe he has any connection with them. W-w-when they fled the country back in ’forty-one, he was still at Trinity College and so deeply involved in his research that he barely saw a soul. By mid ’forty-five, his Irish experiment had failed, he’d suffered a severe breakdown, and had been incarcerated. As far as anyone knows, Burke and Hare were somewhere on the continent during those years.”