The Devil's Ribbon by D. E. Meredith

which could demand a high price. For example …’
    And from a small side table, Roumande picked up a detailed black-and-white portrait of a flayed male cadaver – a gaping torso,head thrown back, mouth slightly open (as if in post-mortem ecstasy), its entire chest fully exposed.
    ‘This is astonishing, Albert.’ Hatton took it, held the sketch up to the light. ‘This is from
Grey’s Anatomy
, surely? But I don’t recall this plate. Where did you get such a thing?’
    ‘He’s done an excellent job, don’t you think?’
    ‘This work’s been done by Patrice? Already? Can it be possible?’
    Roumande took a quill and tapped at the bottom of the page, where the assistant’s name was clearly signed in a tidy hand.
    ‘I asked him to do the entire cadaver, last night, and he’s been drawing all day at incredible speed, for there are more here. The infant’s alimentary canal we asked for, a bloater’s eyes, the unborn fetus of a dogfish. Look around you, Professor. He’s done nearly everything on our shelves. All of our treasured specimens in a matter of hours, snatching the time to draw when he’s not busy with other, more pedestrian things.’
    Hatton looked at his pocket watch and repeated, ‘Incredible …’
    Over the years, Hatton and Roumande had put together an impressive collection of organs pickled in laboratory glass, some of them displayed, others hidden from view, kept bolted down in the basement. The dissected brains of criminals, the lungs of a two-headed dog, the genitals of rapists, fish gills, frog spawn, lizards the colour of milk.
    ‘He’s a rare talent. And he has already caught the attention of Dr Buchanan. You may recall our director has a governor’s meeting coming up? A fundraiser for the hospital? With a number of Americans coming?’
    Hatton nodded.
    ‘Well, Dr Buchanan is preparing a leaflet to give them on the history of St Bart’s, and I have suggested a flat fee of ten guineas for illustrations by Patrice. And you know how very vain Buchanan is, so I suggested a portrait of our hospital director for the front cover. Dr Buchanan is beside himself in anticipation of a masterpiece. With your agreement, of course.’
    Roumande looked rather pleased with himself.
    ‘And you would like a slap on the back, my friend? A round of applause from our cadavers? Well, you shall have it. As long as Patrice doesn’t get ideas above his station – his work at the morgue comes first.’
    ‘My thoughts exactly. The young lad, by the way, is turning out to be the most excellent student. He’s done a range of errands for me, with speed and accuracy. He is very self-reliant and has a great enthusiasm for pathology. We must hold on to him, and this extra work will be a way of showing him we value his talent.’
    ‘And it’s ten guineas a throw, you say?’
    ‘Ten guineas, yes, but a retainer would offer us more. Times are hard, Professor, and I can understand Grey’s reasoning for wanting to keep McCarthy’s murder quiet for as long as possible. It’s a tinderbox in the slums.’
    At that moment, a large horsefly settled on Roumande’s bare arm; he slapped it hard. ‘Damned flies!’
    ‘Are you sure you won’t come with me to Verrey’s?’ asked Hatton, a little more gently. ‘It might do you good to get out of the morgue.’
    ‘Sadly, it’s out of the question,’ said Roumande. ‘McCarthy will need embalming tonight before we deliver him tomorrow, and I’ve got somenew methods to try. It’s quite the fashion in Vienna to mix a little morphine with the other preservatives. It makes the waxy pallor creamier, and from what you’ve said, we should do our best for the widow.’
    ‘Point taken, but what we really need to crack is the ribbon, Albert. Is there anything distinctive in the weave? What dye was used to get such a vibrant green? Where was it bought? Questions, Albert, always questions.’
    Roumande followed Hatton back through to the mortuary where the ribbon was pinned on