horse-drawn carriage. The man at the reins was outfitted in a black suit and cape, but Harland noticed something about him. As they passed under a streetlamp, the driver’s face was illuminated to reveal the most horrible cleft palate that Harland had ever seen. The poor man’s upper lip was drawn toward his nose in a snarl.
Harland sat back quickly against the seat that he was sharing with Bram, and hoped that the driver didn’t notice him staring. He must be another of Bram’s charity cases, the poor old sap, Harland thought.
The carriage pulled up in front of 18 St. Leonard’s Terrace, Chelsea, a few minutes later. Bram and Harland stepped down from the horse-car; Bram doffed his hat to the driver, and sent him on his way. After he unlocked the door to his flat, he paused and held the door for his bloodied friend.
“If you don’t mind Harland, I’d rather that you not touch anything until you are well cleaned up,” Bram said. “The lavatory is just down the hall there. I’ll meet you in the parlor for a drink, when you’ve made yourself presentable again, and you can fill me in on all of the details.”
Harland nodded and headed off down the hall. Bram walked into the parlor, fixed himself a Scotch, and thanked whatever God was in heaven for the fact that his wife, Florence, was starring in a play at the theater tonight. Lord only knows what she would think of Harland’s blood covered attire, Bram thought. He sighed, took some tobacco out of his pouch, filled his pipe, and tamped it down before lighting it. Bram had time for only two or three drags before Harland entered the room, wrapped in a robe.
Bram handed Harland a Scotch and walked across the room to sit down in a brown leather wingback chair, next to the fireplace. Harland took the seat opposite from him and swirled his scotch around the glass for a few moments, before speaking.
“It’s the funniest thing, Bram,” Harland said. “I innocently stopped to help a young disoriented Indian man, who had fallen down in the street. The poor lad was lying in the road in his pajamas. In any event, I managed to get the sad case into Smith’s tavern for a spot of lunch and, just after we had arrived, his employers showed up to claim him. They were the most delightful couple, I must say. They had traveled all the way from Russia, just that very day, but their clothes looked fresh as day. And their accents … so refined you’d not notice a trace of the East, unless you knew to listen for it … the Count and Countess Solovyov. I so wish that you’d had the chance to meet them Bram, quite the characters they were, and you probably could have made good use of them in your next novel. In any event …”
“Yes, Harland, please do get to the point, my man. Perhaps you could explain where all of the blood came from?” Bram said. “I’d be very worried for you right now, if I didn’t know you better. Babbling is an endearing habit of yours, old chap, but a sensible explanation is the only thing that will stop me from calling the Constable to take you to the mad house. I do not care a whit about the Count and Countess, I’d like to know how you came to be dripping with blood!”
“I was getting to the point Bram,” Harland said, “I do not know what happened to me, and I thought, if I gave you some of the background, you could help me to decipher the events that I seem to have lost in some fog in my brain.”
“Do go on, Harland,” Bram said, “I apologize.”
“In any event, I took the Count and Countess to the tailor shop, and the last thing that I remember, we were discussing going somewhere for supper. I did mention the Rose Tavern to them, since I was hoping that we would run into you there. They were such a fascinating group that I really did not want to let them get away, without you setting your eyes on them first. So, after the tailor’s, I have no idea what happened. I woke up outside of the Rose, covered in blood, but without a