It took Benson a moment or two to understand. “He had a Solomon bottle, and this was what was stolen,” he said.

     “Yes,” confirmed Edward Pick. “I am relieved that you know of such things, it saves a great deal of time-consuming explanation.”

     “We encountered such an object a few years back,” explained Gloom. “It comes as a considerable surprise to learn that Philip Cranston had one, though. I cannot imagine why he would have feared the judgement of God. The man was the closest thing to a saint now living in the world. He used almost all the profits from his business enterprises for charitable purposes and he was a champion of the fight against injustice. No tyrant or warlord was safe from him, not even those supported by our own government. I had the great honour and privilege to be with him when he overthrew the Opium Lords of Afghanistan, an act that earned him the eternal enmity of Lord Grenfell himself.” He turned to Edward Pick. “Have you received a ransom demand?”

     “Not yet. A kidnapping for money was our first thought. Pay us or we break the bottle and send Philip Cranston’s soul to judgement. So far, though, we have heard nothing from the culprits.”

     “When did the kidnapping take place?” asked Benson.

     “Around midnight, last night. Long enough for a ransom demand to come, if one were coming.”

     “Not necessarily,” said Gloom, though. “We have dealt with two kidnappings in the past, and in both cases the culprits waited for over a day before making their demands. They wanted the parents to reach a state of high distress so that they would give in to their demands immediately. I admit that that is less likely to be the case here, where the victim died several years ago, but we should not discount the possibility. The ransom demand may still come.”

     “Have you involved the police?” asked Benson.

     “Only to investigate the break in and the murder of the manservant. We made no mention of the bottle. We told the police that the culprits fled without taking anything. The church has a heavy influence over the police, and they consider the use of Solomon Bottles to be sin of the highest order, as I expect you know. The police would very likely break the bottle themselves if they came into possession of it, or hand it over to the church authorities.”

     “Was anything else taken?” asked Benson. “Perhaps it was a simple burglary and the theft of the bottle was purely incidental.”

     Edward Pick shook his head. “No. They ignored several items of considerable worth and went straight for the bottle. There is no doubt that that was the sole purpose of their visit.”

     “There are other possible motives we should consider,” murmured Sebastian Gloom, steepling his long, spindly fingers and tapping his lips. “How much do you know of his business dealings?” He asked at last.

     “Quite a lot, but not as much as the auditors who went through his affairs with a fine tooth comb upon his death, as part of the execution of his will. They reportedly found nothing to contradict his reputation for honesty and integrity.”

     “I am wondering whether someone wishes to extract information from him. He may be dead, but during the course of my career I have encountered a couple of genuine clairvoyants who could talk to the dead. I have no idea whether even they could communicate with a soul held within a Solomon bottle, though.”

     “There are tales of voices coming from Solomon bottles,” said Benson hesitantly.

     “Demons, yes. Remember that King Solomon created the first bottles to hold demons that he extracted from victims of possession. This is how the stories first came about of genies granting wishes to those who released them. Whether mere human souls can be communicated with, however...” His voice trailed off and a thoughtful expression came across his face.

     He leaned forward and fixed his guest with his piercing grey eyes. “Why did you come to me with this? I am an investigator, it is true, but I tend to specialise in a certain kind of case.”

     “Yes, I know,” replied Edward Pick. “I was sent by a man who is well aware of your reputation, although he regrets he has to keep his identity secret from you. He is currently going by the name of Paul.”

     “Is it the desire of this Paul that I investigate this case?”

     “Yes, it is. He wishes to meet with you so that he can discuss the matter with you in greater detail.”

     “Why did he not come himself?” asked Gloom. “Why involve you?”

     “He does not wish to be seen coming here. He wants the meeting to take place in a more discrete location.”

     “He wishes me to go to him? You can see for yourself that I am not in the best of health. I am able to go about town when necessary, but whenever possible I prefer that my business contacts come to me.”

     “All I can say is that he was very anxious that nobody find out that he is connected with this affair. Will you go to him, sir?”

     “Where does he wish the meeting to take place?”

     “Not in any public place. You will forgive me for saying that you are of a quite distinctive appearance, and your being seen meeting with him would be just as undesirable as his coming here. He requests that you meet him in the basement of the Museum of Science and Industry. It is a place you are known to visit, and so no-one will think it strange to see you going there. He would be grateful if you could make your way there at the very earliest opportunity. I believe that he is there even now, awaiting your arrival, and that he is willing to pay whatever price you think fair for the inconvenience.”

     “Then we shall make our way there immediately. Benson, please prepare my outdoor wheelchair for a little excursion.” Benson nodded and left the room.

     Edward Pick nodded his head gratefully and rose to his feet. “Thank you, Mister Gloom. You have my gratitude, as well as that of Paul.”

   ☆☆☆

     “Well, Benson,” said Gloom a few minutes later as his manservant helped him into his steam driven wheelchair in what had once been the museum's ticket office. Edward Pick had seen himself out, passing Benson as he was lighting a fire in the chair’s boiler. “What do you make of it?”

     “I think it could be a trap,” replied his manservant. He noted that the pile of charcoal behind the small, compact vehicle that fuelled it on his master's excursions about town was low, and made a mental note to order a delivery from the forestry. “You have many enemies, but the late Daniel Crowe discovered that you are well able to defend yourself here, in your own territory. It could be an attempt to lure you to a place where you are vulnerable.”wonderedm very much doubt it,” said Gloom, however. “And even if it is, I shall have you to protect me. Besides, it's not as though I have an immensely long life ahead of me. The doctors give me five years at most.”

     “You know my opinion of doctors. They would have written you off twenty years ago. Think of all the lives you have changed in that time.” He filled the chair’s water tank from a rubber rube running from a tap on the wall and put a couple of shovels of charcoal into the scuttle. He opened a valve above the boiler and a jet of white steam whistled out. He closed the valve again and glanced at one of the dials attached to the chair’s neck rest. The needle was rising nicely but he tapped it a couple of times with his finger anyway and nodded with satisfaction.

     “Just having you to cheer me up adds years to my life,” said Gloom. He settled himself into the chair's velvet padded seat and Benson opened the front door.

     ☆☆☆

     Sebastian Gloom, chuffing his way along the wide pavement in his steam driven wheelchair, accompanied by his manservant, was a common sight on the streets of Manchester. People made way for him without comment, some of them tipping their hats respectfully, but he still attracted many a curious stare, especially from children and visitors to the city. Gloom ignored them stoically, simply moving the tiller to steer his way past those who failed to get out of his way fast enough. One man, forced to dodge suddenly to the side, gestured angrily to the road, which he clearly considered to be the proper place for a wheeled conveyance, even such a small one, but Gloom didn't dare share the streets with the horse drawn carriages and hansom cabs which could have crushed him without even knowing he was there.

     It was getting dark as evening approached, and he flipped the switch on his armrest that turned on the electric candles attached to the front of the chair. The light wavered as the dynamo, turned by the same steam that turned the large back wheels, fed current to the tungsten filaments. A protester wearing an “Electricity is the work of the Devil” sandwich board glared at him as they passed but Gloom paid him no heed.

     The huge cherry trees that lined the street were in full bloom, their petals falling to cover the wide pavement like newly fallen pink snow. He frowned as people trod carelessly on them, crushing them into a muddy paste that coated the paved walkway like the glistening extoplasm from a botched exorcism, but then the wheels of his chair were doing the same thing so he couldn't complain. He wished it were full daylight so that he could appreciate the trees in their full splendour, but there was still enough light filtering across the sky from the setting sun for them to make a fine display and a rare smile touched his pale, thin lips as he watched then go by.

     The streetlights were beginning to come on as the gaslighters climbed ladders to open the valves and ignite the gas with electric spark lighters. Gloom frowned unhappily as the yellow light formed circles of illumination in the rapidly darkening streets. “Strange to think that all that gas comes from far off corners of the Empire," he mused thoughtfully. "Carried across continents and under oceans by great ceramic pipes. We have long since exhausted the natural gas reserves of our own little island and now plunder the world for what the natives of those far off countries would no doubt think should be lighting their own cities.”

     “We had an industrial revolution while they were still busy throwing spears at each other,” replied Benson. “We earned the right to that gas with our organised military and our scientific ingenuity.”

     “The Romans would no doubt have said the same thing as they stole our gas to light the cities of Italy, if the wonders of gas had been known then. In actual fact, there are records to suggest that the people of Babylon lit their city with gas, although there is no evidence that they stole it from their neighbours.”

     “That would have been just a few centuries after the Great Flood,” replied Benson.

     “Indeed. All the natural gas in the world comes from the decomposition of plants buried by mud and silt during the Great Flood. That is why there is no record of gas being used to light cities before the flood, even though there were mighty civilisations thriving back then.”

     “All the sins of mankind that prompted God to flood the world are therefore proving useful now,” said Benson. “Without all that sin and punishment, our cities would be in darkness at night.”

     “Just so. Even so, though, I cannot help but think about all the children who died during the Flood. What was their sin, I wonder? What had they done that they deserved to be drowned like unwanted kittens tied up in a sack and thrown into a river?”

     “If they were innocent then they reside in heaven now.”

     “So you are saying that it is acceptable to murder innocent children because their souls go straight to heaven?”

     “Of course not! If any man harmed a child I would tear him apart!”

     “And yet when God kills children we worship and praise him. And it's not just the victims of the Great Flood is It? Now many children lived in Sodom and Gomorrah? What was their crime? And many of the firstborn of Egypt must have been children. The hands of God are dripping with the blood of children, and yet if you enter any church you will see the pews packed with people praising him. Praising his justice and mercy. Why do people not apply the same standards to God as they do to other humans?”

     “I'm thinking you might want to secure a Solomon Bottle for your own use,” said Benson and then, in a softer voice that Gloom was only just able to overhear he added “And one for me as well.”