Paul's Footprints

A frantic shuffling came from under the bed.

Hope tapped the side of the bed, signaling Paul to stay quiet.

"Success," someone said outside. "I thought they'd hide the keys, but they just left them on the table."

The door opened. A man in a black robe stood outside.

It wasn't Wilbur or Lavinia... He looked like a middle-aged man. Probably not Old Whateley either...

Numbers appeared at once:

Agility: 1.00, Constitution: 1.47, Eyesight: 1.03, Mana: 0

Ordinary numbers, nothing remarkable.

It sounded like he'd stolen the key to get in. Had Old Whateley not stopped him? Or was that old bastard already dead?

"Who are you?" Hope asked.

"What's with this hole?" The man in black ignored Hope and looked around without a care. "Well, look at that—a flush toilet!"

A damn flush toilet.

Hope made his tone stern. "You should introduce yourself first. This is Whateley House. You're trespassing."

"Trespassing?" Hope couldn't see his face, but he could almost imagine the expression beneath the cloak. He was probably the sort of guy who'd been to prison a few times and was proud of it.

"So you're a law-abiding citizen, huh? Then call the cops and let them deal with it."

He sounded flippant, like a hardened old hand at life.

Hope remained stern. "Of course I'll call the police, but you'd better leave first."

"And what if I don't?"

If he didn't... Hope could have Paul knock him out... No, he couldn't let Paul come out yet. What would the man think if he saw someone under the bed...

He seemed to know something about the Whateley family...

"Grandfather won't be happy," Hope said.

He meant to use Old Whateley's name to pressure the man, but the threat was vague. Hope knew nothing about the relationship between the man and Old Whateley, or Old Whateley's current condition.

The man's body swayed. Hope couldn't make out his expression beneath the black robe, but he saw him take half a step back. His back straightened, and he seemed a little taller.

That was a sign of fear... At least he really did know something about Old Whateley—more than I do, anyway... And he really had stolen the key...

"Don't be so tense," the man in black said. "And don't try to scare me with Old Whateley's name. He wouldn't dare do anything to me. You're Hope Whateley, right? And I'm Robert Miller."

All bluster, and obsessed with saving face. Hope quickly sized him up.

He'd said he wasn't afraid of Old Whateley, but he'd still introduced himself properly.

"What do you want?" Hope asked.

That was what he most wanted to know.

"Nothing." Robert spoke casually. "Just looking around."

"Just looking around?"

"I've been here plenty of times, but I haven't seen you before."

It sounded like he was saying, "I've been to the zoo plenty of times, but I've never seen the monkey."

Wait, he'd said he'd been here plenty of times... What had he come here for? Robert Miller... That name sounded familiar... The otherworldly Edison who'd invented the light bulb... Wasn't his name Carl Miller? What was he to Carl Miller...

Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe they just happened to share a surname... But Wilbur had said...

"Grandfather doesn't like electric lights, but that's only because he hates Carl Miller."

He didn't dislike electric lights because he was an old man who hated new things. He hated their inventor and held it against the lights, too...

What could an old man nearing his grave have against an inventor... An ordinary old man might not have anything, but Old Whateley was a cultist.

Maybe the Whateley family had some secret dealings with Carl Miller... A scientist working with cultists...

Well, the historical Edison seemed more like a businessman than a scientist. Maybe Carl Miller was the same—a businessman working with cultists...

Plausible, and evil enough.

Hope's thoughts raced through his mind in an instant. He looked at Robert. "Done looking? You can leave now."

"Leave?" Robert lifted his head. "That hole..."

"None of your business. This is Whateley House," Hope warned sharply.

He wanted Robert to think the hole was the Whateley family's business, not Hope Whateley's.

Robert shrugged. "I don't care either way."

He started to leave, turning halfway around before stopping.

Maybe it was his imagination, but Hope thought he'd relaxed.

"What is it?" Hope asked.

"I just had an idea," Robert said. "Let's go kill Wilbur."

"What?" Hope wondered if he'd heard wrong.

"Let's kill Wilbur. Then, when Old Whateley dies, you'll be the only one left in the Whateley family."

Kill Wilbur... That didn't sound so bad. After what had happened yesterday, if someone like Wilbur suddenly dropped dead in the street, Hope would definitely laugh... But the way Robert said it, like it was a joke...

"Leave."

"Are you sure you won't think about it? You're already having such a rough time. Things might get worse for you after Old Whateley dies."

"...You and Wilbur don't get along?"

"Don't get along?" Robert shook his head. "All I know is he's ugly. Way too ugly. I don't like him."

What a bizarre reason.

"What's your plan?"

"What plan?"

"The plan to kill Wilbur."

Hope heard fingernails scraping against the floorboards... He'd forgotten Paul was under the bed. Paul could hear everything he said.

Even if Paul didn't like Wilbur, he probably wouldn't take well to hearing Hope discuss murder with someone.

"Hmm..." Robert mused. Then he said seriously, "When Wilbur gets back, stab him with a knife."

"What?"

"Fight him to the death. Only one of you will survive."

Fight to the death?

Hope had figured out what kind of person he was dealing with.

Another lunatic, and a stupid one at that.

"Get out of here! Now!"

Robert shrugged, as if he didn't care in the slightest that Hope had rejected his suggestion. But he didn't move. Instead, he stretched out his foot and pointed at the floor.

"I said, leave!" Hope said. "Don't disturb Grandfather."

"Can't you see?" Robert asked.

See what?

"Ah, I get it. You're an albino and can't see clearly!" he said. "That's all right. I'll describe it for you. About two meters from you, there are two faint marks on the floor, made of a little bit of mud."

Mud?

"The mud forms the shape of a shoe," Robert continued. "They're a pair of footprints. Someone's been here."

Paul!

He'd found him!

Hope stayed as calm as he could, trying not to give himself away. "I went out yesterday."

Robert shook his head. "It wasn't you. You only wear a pair of worn-out leather shoes, but these are from sneakers."

Hope opened his mouth, but Robert interrupted him before he could speak. "Were you going to say you wore sneakers yesterday? I could ask the others."

I don't even know whether I own sneakers...

"No, I wasn't going to say that." Hope bit his finger. "But Wilbur wore sneakers yesterday."

"Did he?"

Robert crouched down.

"But look... Oh, you can't see. Let me explain: the dirt isn't powdery. It's clumped together because it was wet not long ago, and as far as I know, it hasn't rained in Dunwich for a long time."

"Don't say something so stupid," Hope said. "There are faucets all over the place."

Robert looked up. "I suppose that's true. But look, these two footprints are right under this hole."

He stepped back. "Funny how there are no footprints near the door."

He took two steps forward, closer to Hope. "But there are some fainter marks beside the bed."

Robert smiled. "He took the roof apart and jumped down, but you didn't call for help because you know him. What do you think Wilbur or Old Whateley would do if I told them?"