“Hm!” Fell’s head cocked slightly to one side. “Now wouldn’t that be interesting? If after recovering from a drug that intensifies fear, the subject becomes immune to it. You see, Hudson, you may have delivered a service to mankind.”

“What service is Berry supplying? How a young woman of intelligence can become a mindless doll?”

Fell gave no response. His face showed not a flicker of emotion. For a while he simply sat in silence and stared down the table into Hudson’s eyes. At last he picked up the silver bell and rang it. “Let’s get started, shall we?” he said.

A heavy-set woman with a tight bun of brown hair and wearing an apron entered through another door at the rear of the room. She carried a silver tray, and from it set down green ceramic bowls of cream-colored soup before first the professor and then Hudson. “Thank you, Noreen,” Fell said to her. “We’ll have the wine now, if you please.”

When the woman had departed the room, Fell picked up his soup spoon and said in a quieter voice, “I have to say, Noreen is proficient but not as good an attendant as my last one, and also the gentleman who used to be my cook was injured in a little incident we recently had here, so the new man is still under evaluation. But go ahead and eat up, Hudson; you can be sure it’s just cuttlefish chowder, and nothing more exotic.”

Hudson dipped his spoon into the chowder and smelled it. Fresh enough, and no scent of drugs, but what would that matter? Maybe the professor was correct, and his sense of fear had evaporated. Anyway, he was hungry, and that finished the internal debate. He ate the first spoonful and found it very good indeed.

“I expected Mother Deare to be joining us for dinner,” Hudson said.

“Two days ago Mother Deare was the dinner,” Fell answered. “The sharks that prowl our harbor at the bottom of the cliff appreciated her body being fed to them in pieces.”

Hudson paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. He said, “I think I’ve missed a lot.”

“Indeed you have. Oh good, here’s our wine. A nice soft white, to go with our baked halibut.” Noreen, carrying another tray, had emerged from what Hudson presumed was the kitchen; she placed a wine glass before Hudson and another before the professor, and then went about uncorking the bottle. She poured each of them about a half-glassful and left the bottle on the table as she returned to the kitchen. Fell took a drink and nodded. “Very fine, as always. Unfortunately it’s my last bottle of this, as recent vibrations to the house caused some breakage in my cellar.”

“All right,” Hudson said. He put his spoon into the soup and left it there. “I appreciate the dinner and the attempts at gentlemanly manners, but where the hell is Matthew Corbett?”

“Not here,” came the reply. “He left three days ago with one of my men, Julian Devane by name. Matthew volunteered for a mission to be undertaken, and I sincerely hope he has not been by this time killed in trying to carry it out.”