Watson saw everything Holmes did but could never make it add up. Dr. Roylott was obviously the bad guy—a dangerous man, as he said himself during the poker-twisting scene. So the question was how. How had he killed the sister of the terrified Miss Stoner? How was he planning to kill her?
What did Holmes observe? The dummy bell rope and the strange ventilator—must be vent—in Miss Stoner’s room; the little saucer of milk and the dog lash in Dr. Roylott’s room. Ruby read the part about the lash three times.
Lash
must be “leash.” It was tied to make a loop. So? Did the baboon somehow crawl through the ventilator, or the cheetah? Ruby leafed back a few pages. Miss Stoner’s sister had died without a mark on her, frightened to death, Miss Stoner believed, by the speckled band. Was a cheetah speckled? Maybe you could say that; and cheetahs were cats and cats liked milk. But cheetahs were big and this was a little saucer, as Holmes pointed out. Ruby was stumped.
She turned the page.
A ventilator is made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the bed dies.
Watson saw no connection. Neither, maddeningly, did Ruby. Holmes and Watson took up their late-night vigil in the complete darkness of Miss Stoner’s bedroom. Ruby’s bedroom was completely dark, too. Her light wasn’t a light, just part of the book in some way, and she felt suspended in midair, wrapped in absolute silence.
Then: a soft sound like steam escaping, and Holmes was on his feet, lashing at the bell rope with his cane. Watson saw nothing. Holmes was deadly pale. Through the ventilator came a horrible cry. Ruby felt icy all up and down her spine, and her heart beat fast. Holmes and Watson entered Dr. Roylott’s room. The words went by so fast Ruby hardly caught them: Turkish slippers, the looped-up lash, Dr. Roylott’s dreadful rigid stare. What was this? A peculiar yellow band with brownish speckles around his head. Another bit of Turkish clothing? And then the speckled headband moved, and there reared up in the dead man’s hair
the squat diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.
Ruby cried out, jerked her head up from the book, glanced wildly around her room, saw nothing but woolly darkness, full of movement. She slammed the book shut, sat up, breathing fast, close to panting. A snake! She hated snakes, couldn’t bear the sight of them, not even the thought.
Ruby picked up the book, holding it at arm’s length, as though the snake might be trapped inside, took it out into the hall, laid it on the floor. The house was quiet and dark, except for her reading light. She closed her door, went back to bed, leaving the light on. After a minute or two—or more, or less, she’d lost all track of time—she got back up, opened her closet, looked inside, checked under the bed, and climbed back in, pulling the duvet—blue with yellow sun faces—up high.
Ruby had made up a peaceful dream she sometimes used to get to sleep. In it she was a cavewoman, sitting in the mouth of a nice dry cave. Outside, only a few feet away, blew a wild storm, sometimes rain, sometimes snow. She sat there, safe and warm. The snow variation worked best. Ruby tried it now, a raging screaming whiteness, and her just out of reach.
D ewey did have a vial—he showed it around—but Brandon didn’t want to try it, so he stayed on a log overlooking the pond with a few other kids, including Trish. It was cold and dark in the woods, but they were warm inside, at least Brandon was. They drank out of two bottles, one Coke, the other a forty-ouncer of Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum. They mixed them in their bodies. Never a problem getting booze when Frankie J was around, and there was plenty more tonight. Frankie J was the captain of the football team and the coach’s son. None of the liquor stores in West Mill ever carded him. He sold to the kids in the woods for a five-dollar premium per bottle, plus drinking free.
“You went to New York?” Trish
What did Holmes observe? The dummy bell rope and the strange ventilator—must be vent—in Miss Stoner’s room; the little saucer of milk and the dog lash in Dr. Roylott’s room. Ruby read the part about the lash three times.
Lash
must be “leash.” It was tied to make a loop. So? Did the baboon somehow crawl through the ventilator, or the cheetah? Ruby leafed back a few pages. Miss Stoner’s sister had died without a mark on her, frightened to death, Miss Stoner believed, by the speckled band. Was a cheetah speckled? Maybe you could say that; and cheetahs were cats and cats liked milk. But cheetahs were big and this was a little saucer, as Holmes pointed out. Ruby was stumped.
She turned the page.
A ventilator is made, a cord is hung, and a lady who sleeps in the bed dies.
Watson saw no connection. Neither, maddeningly, did Ruby. Holmes and Watson took up their late-night vigil in the complete darkness of Miss Stoner’s bedroom. Ruby’s bedroom was completely dark, too. Her light wasn’t a light, just part of the book in some way, and she felt suspended in midair, wrapped in absolute silence.
Then: a soft sound like steam escaping, and Holmes was on his feet, lashing at the bell rope with his cane. Watson saw nothing. Holmes was deadly pale. Through the ventilator came a horrible cry. Ruby felt icy all up and down her spine, and her heart beat fast. Holmes and Watson entered Dr. Roylott’s room. The words went by so fast Ruby hardly caught them: Turkish slippers, the looped-up lash, Dr. Roylott’s dreadful rigid stare. What was this? A peculiar yellow band with brownish speckles around his head. Another bit of Turkish clothing? And then the speckled headband moved, and there reared up in the dead man’s hair
the squat diamond-shaped head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent.
Ruby cried out, jerked her head up from the book, glanced wildly around her room, saw nothing but woolly darkness, full of movement. She slammed the book shut, sat up, breathing fast, close to panting. A snake! She hated snakes, couldn’t bear the sight of them, not even the thought.
Ruby picked up the book, holding it at arm’s length, as though the snake might be trapped inside, took it out into the hall, laid it on the floor. The house was quiet and dark, except for her reading light. She closed her door, went back to bed, leaving the light on. After a minute or two—or more, or less, she’d lost all track of time—she got back up, opened her closet, looked inside, checked under the bed, and climbed back in, pulling the duvet—blue with yellow sun faces—up high.
Ruby had made up a peaceful dream she sometimes used to get to sleep. In it she was a cavewoman, sitting in the mouth of a nice dry cave. Outside, only a few feet away, blew a wild storm, sometimes rain, sometimes snow. She sat there, safe and warm. The snow variation worked best. Ruby tried it now, a raging screaming whiteness, and her just out of reach.
D ewey did have a vial—he showed it around—but Brandon didn’t want to try it, so he stayed on a log overlooking the pond with a few other kids, including Trish. It was cold and dark in the woods, but they were warm inside, at least Brandon was. They drank out of two bottles, one Coke, the other a forty-ouncer of Captain Morgan’s Spiced Rum. They mixed them in their bodies. Never a problem getting booze when Frankie J was around, and there was plenty more tonight. Frankie J was the captain of the football team and the coach’s son. None of the liquor stores in West Mill ever carded him. He sold to the kids in the woods for a five-dollar premium per bottle, plus drinking free.
“You went to New York?” Trish
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