The Dead Assassin: The Paranormal Casebooks of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle by Vaughn Entwistle Page B

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the metal visor, peering in through the glass window.
    The bulb glowed, illuminating a tranquil scene: a Scottish loch in early morning, its glassy surface mirroring the surrounding mountains. She gripped the crank handle with a gloved hand and began to turn. A succession of paper photographs peeled from beneath a brass finger and the scene animated to life. An open steamer sped across the loch. And then the scene changed to show a young blond lady of great beauty wading in the shallows. Jean Leckie felt a stab of disappointment. She had expected a scene in a harem, or a butler’s eye pressed to a keyhole watching a lady in a state of undress, but the images seemed beautiful and natural and not at all lascivious. The young woman in the Mutoscope combed a long strand of blond hair from her face and turned to look behind her. A young child in a sailor’s suit stood knee-deep in the water, clutching a windup toy boat—
    A hand clamped over hers with surprising force and halted the crank’s rotation. Startled, she pulled her face away from the glass to see Jedidiah looming at her side. His grip relented in its pressure, but he insistently drew her hand away.
    “I must apologize,” he said. “The machine is here for repairs. Should you turn the handle further, irreparable harm will result.”
    “Forgive me. I did not mean to—”
    “It is nothing. A misunderstanding.” He released her hand and straightened, forcing a smile. “I really must hang a sign upon the machine.” He was standing very close and his gaze upon her grew vulpine. His head shook with a slight tremor. “But after all, who could resist touching such a beautiful thing?”
    He must have realized that his gaze had devolved into something threatening, for he took a step back, and his demeanor became avuncular once again. “But I have something that will truly delight you.” He turned and drew her along with a gesture. She timidly followed to a glass display cabinet. She looked inside and gasped.
    A doll. But not just a doll: a miniature princess in a silk gown of royal blue. Atop her head a sparkling tiara of semiprecious stones.
    “Oh,” she gushed. “It is the most beautiful doll I have ever seen!”
    “Yes,” Jedidiah agreed. He smiled mischievously and slipped the cabinet’s catch. After carefully drawing the doll from its crystal coffin, he placed it in her hands.
    The little girl in Jean Leckie was enthralled. She had never owned a doll this lovely. This remarkable. This lifelike. As she tilted it upright, the eyes glided open revealing orbs of stunning blue flecked with gold—disconcertingly lifelike under the gaslight.
    “She is beautiful is she not? My favorite creation.”
    “She is breathtaking,” Jean said, and added impetuously, “I wish to buy her. You simply must sell her to me.” She looked around. “And this also,” she added, snatching up the backflipping monkey in his red fez.
    “An excellent choice,” Jedidiah purred. “Will the gentleman be paying?” He craned to look about the shop for Conan Doyle.
    “No. I shall be paying. These are a gift for the children of my gentleman friend. I want it to be a surprise.”
    “A surprise, eh?” The shopkeeper smiled knowingly. “Everyone loves surprises and the gift of a wonderful toy earns the giver a special place in the heart of any child.”
    “Yes,” she agreed. “I’m sure you are correct. She is the most beautiful doll I have ever seen. I should have so loved to have had her as a child.”
    “And she has a secret beneath her petticoats.”
    Her eyes widened slightly at the shocking suggestion.
    Jedidiah chuckled at her concern. “A wonderful surprise,” he said and urged her to explore with a gesture.
    Jean was intrigued, but lifted the doll’s skirts to find nothing but the rounded, sexless crotch of a toy.
    “At the back.”
    When she turned the doll around she found a keyhole and, attached to the petticoats