But We Have Two People

He was toying with me... He'd spotted the footprints before proposing that we kill Wilbur. The whole proposal had just been a way to toy with the zoo monkeys.

Hope felt some restless movement beneath the bed. He pretended to be angered by Wilbur's words, then slammed his hand against the bed frame.

Hope took a deep breath. "Mr. Robert, why don't you just tell me what you really want?"

"Well, at first I really did just want to see what you looked like, but now... I want to see you assassinate Wilbur."

I want that too, but not yet. At least let me learn more about the Whateley House first.

Hope raised his voice and slowed his speech to make himself sound more confident. "You think you've got some huge hold over me? Don't make me laugh. Once you're gone, I can tell my grandfather myself."

Robert tilted his head indifferently. "I'm sure he won't do anything to you. But what about your friend?"

"He'll have his own way of dealing with it, just like you have yours."

Hope put extra emphasis on the second half, pointedly reminding Robert that he, too, had gotten in through underhanded means.

Robert was affected after all. He fell silent for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed again. "Want to find out?"

He walked to the door and gestured for Hope to go ahead.

A few seconds later.

"Your ass is practically glued to the bed," Robert said, standing up straight again.

There was another sound from beneath the bed. Someone was trying to come out, so Hope slammed his hand against the side of the bed once more.

"What's in it for you if I kill Wilbur?"

"What's in it for me? I think I already told you. He's too ugly—not to my taste. Of course, I don't like albinism either. It'd be great if one of you died."

Just like his earlier explanation, it was so absurd that it almost seemed believable.

"You're insane, Robert."

"Call me whatever you like. But if you don't do as I say, your friend is as good as dead, Hope." Robert swayed smugly, like a clown.

Hope thought it over for a few seconds, then nodded. "Fine. I agree. I'll do it."

He had no intention of fighting Wilbur to the death. He'd decided to pretend to agree for now and let Robert lower his guard.

"That's great," Robert said. "Then I'll stay out here another day, enjoy a solo picnic in that patch of grass, and wait for your good news."

He suspects I'm stalling, so he's staying to keep an eye on me... That works even better for me...

"Fine." Hope nodded again.

He was thinking about Old Williams's hunting rifle. Once Robert was alone, Hope could go to the Old Williams House and get it.

With a little preparation, he could appear behind Robert without anyone noticing. Killing Robert would be much easier than killing the Night Hawk or Wilbur.

Kill Robert... Hope was frightened by his own thoughts. He bit his finger, but didn't change his mind.

Robert tilted his head, apparently surprised that Hope had agreed so quickly. Suddenly, he slapped his forehead, reached into his black robe, and pulled out two things.

"Old Whateley's steel pen." Robert showed Hope the plain silver pen. "Pretty, isn't it? He just gave it to me."

He handed the pen to Hope.

"What's this, a welcome gift?"

"No, I'm just lending it to you." He showed Hope the other item, which looked like a piece of cotton cloth. "A contract paper blessed by the All-Seer. Sign your name on it."

The All-Seer... I've never heard of that name.

"Why?" Hope asked.

"So I can trust you."

"You're asking me to trust a piece of paper?"

"It's a contract paper blessed by the All-Seer. Write down what you're going to do and sign your name. Then you'll enter into a pact with their deity, the Eye of Peering Mysteries. If you break it, you'll go mad."

Go mad... So using this contract paper is like swearing an oath and calling down divine punishment if you break it... But it seems there really is a god backing this contract as a witness. I really would go mad.

The Eye of Peering Mysteries... It sounds like an Evil God... I wonder how it compares to the King of Kings... Aren't I a follower of the King of Kings? Would it need the King of Kings' permission to drive me mad...

There's no point gambling on an Evil God's sense of duty toward its followers... Looks like pretending to agree won't work.

Hope came up with a second plan on the spot and shrugged. "I admit, at first I thought you were an idiot... but you're not very smart either."

Being called an "idiot" clearly angered Robert. "You damn idiot, what do you mean by that?"

Hope got out of bed. His leg hadn't healed yet, so he had to put all his weight on his good right leg, keeping his left slightly bent.

That made him a little taller than Robert.

Hope had once read a few books on psychology. Most of what they said went in one ear and out the other.

But he still remembered a few simple, useful tricks: if you looked down on someone while talking to them, you had an advantage.

Being looked down on made people feel pressured. Sometimes, it even made them less able to see through the other person's lies.

"Use your head, Mr. Robert. If someone really snuck in by taking apart the roof, why didn't he fix the hole before leaving?"

Robert froze. "If you still want to say Old Whateley knew about the hole, we can go ask him right now."

"You misunderstand me, Mr. Robert. I want you to guess how hurried that person must have been to leave without fixing the hole. Or maybe he hasn't left at all?"

Hope's gaze drifted toward the hole, creating the impression that Paul was waiting on the roof.

Robert's expression changed. Wary, he watched the ceiling and edged along the far side of the room toward the door.

He didn't forget to threaten Hope. "Don't try anything! Old Whateley's bedroom is right below us!"

Not directly below. Hope was sure of that because he'd seen Wilbur go into that room last night to bring Lavinia some cookies and beer. It was the kitchen.

Robert had instinctively used the imprecise word "below," blurring the distance between the small room and Old Whateley. That could mean two things.

First, he was panicking and hoped to use Old Whateley to put pressure on me.

Second, maybe Old Whateley's bedroom was farther away than I thought. Otherwise, he would have said, "Old Whateley can hear everything," or something like that.

Hmm... I can't rule out that I'm overthinking it, but I don't have any other choice.

Hope tapped his foot twice, softly keeping time.

It was a signal that needed no prior explanation, as easy to understand as Paul's wink yesterday.

Then, like a scene from a horror movie, a pair of strong, muscular hands emerged from beneath his bed.

The hands gripped the bed frame, muscles bulging as they pulled off a horizontal pull-up.

With a powerful flex, an agile body emerged from beneath the bed.

It was Paul!

He'd already lined up his aim under the bed, head up and back scraping the floor. He shot out like a cannonball, hurtling straight toward Robert as he headed for the door.

Paul wasn't fast, but Robert, who was still watching the ceiling, didn't react in time.

Paul twisted his body and grabbed Robert's lower leg as he rose from the floor...

A perfect leg sweep!

Robert fell flat on his back.

"Ah..." Robert's mouth fell open in shock.

But his scream cut off abruptly. As he lost his balance and his gaze was forced toward the ceiling, Hope, who had been standing beside the bed, disappeared.

He suddenly appeared behind Robert, clasped both hands around Robert's chin, and cradled his head against his chest.

That kept Robert's head from striking the floor and stopped him from calling for help.