“Interesting you should use that word ‘fear’,” said Julian, who had dropped the case down to reveal the wicked pistol in his right hand that had been hidden behind it. Four barrels of hell were aimed directly at the Prussian’s forehead. “It’s my middle name. Put your hands behind your head and back into the room, please.”

The man’s eyes seemed to Matthew to have sunken down even further into his face and if possible had gotten even blacker. The thin mouth curled. “If this is a robbery, you should know—”

The Prussian ceased talking when his own case was slammed into his mouth. He staggered backward, making a choking sound, and fell full-length upon the floor’s polished oak timbers.

At once Julian and Matthew were inside the room and Matthew had shut the door. “Latch it!” Julian said, but Matthew had already known to do so. In for a penny, in for a pound, Matthew thought, but he feared a pound of flesh might be in the offing.

The man sat up from the floor, his face contorted with rage and blood already staining his mouth from a split lower lip. Suddenly the second, taller and thinner Prussian came into the room from the suite’s second chamber; he was also wearing a sleepgown, this one white with a black diamond design, a large lace-puffed collar and as near to a clown’s costume as Matthew could imagine. This man had been removing his white makeup and had been interrupted with only half of the task finished, for the left side of his face was the ghastly color of a fish-belly and over the eye on that side remained the crimson arc of an eyebrow. He had a small brown skullcap of hair and ears that were best covered by his gigantic white wig, which currently burdened a wigstand upon the room’s central table and had the selfsame bruise-colored tricorn perched atop it.

Clown Face took one look at the intruders and sprang for the corner of the room, where Matthew saw the red-and-gold embroidered bellpull ready to be used to summon a servant from below. As the man reached for the pull, Matthew had no choice but to throw the case he was holding. It was not a direct hit to the head but enough of a glancing blow to the shoulder to knock the man spinning, at which point when he righted himself he saw more clearly the pistol Julian was brandishing and he became a clown-dressed statue.

Julian stood over the man on the floor. “Count Pellegar, I’m guessing?” There was no reply. “I think so, since you seem to be the one in charge. Count, I just hate it when people don’t do as they’re instructed. It makes things turn messy very quickly.”