Page 34 of A Dangerous Vision

“Must my paramour be named, Inspector? It is a private matter.”

Gideon gave Callister a look that he hoped conveyed his determination to find answers, regardless of the delicacy of the gentlemen’s affairs.

“The lady can attest to where you were last evening, Mr. Callister, and since you overheard threatening Mr. Pennington only days before he died, perhaps you can understand why I must speak with her.”

Callister drained his snifter. “Her name is Eleanor Mahoney, and I was with her at the lodgings I provide for her on Charlotte Street in Fitzrovia.”

“Which number on Charlotte Street?”

“Number twenty-two.” Callister coughed, pressing a fist to his mouth, then edged forward in his chair. “I’m feeling rather poorly. May we draw this interview to a close, Inspector?”

It seemed even the question itself cost him something. Callister scowled and pursed his lips. Gideon suspected he was a man who was used to having things ordered to his wishes.

“What can you tell me about The Seven Stars, Mr. Callister?”

The man stood from his chair and all the blood seemed to seep from his face. “Who told…? That was…” Callister shook his head. “That was an accident. Youthful foolishness.”

Gideon stood. “Tell me about the accident, Mr. Callister.”

“We were on Michaelmas holiday from university, at The Seven Stars pub in Holborn, drunk and unruly. Somehow…” The older man pressed a hand to his mouth and then lowered it. “We were being foolish with our penknives and devised a trial of nerves, if you will, and during the course of that nonsense…I stabbed him.”

Gideon’s muscles tensed. “Do you still possess that knife?”

Blinking, Callister looked at him as if he’d been somewhere far off in his memories and only then recalled that Gideon remained in the room with him.

“No, of course not,” he barked. “That was over two decades ago. It has no bearing on what happened to Percival last night.” He notched his chin up. “I regretted that incident for years. Apologized to Percival until he insisted I never speak of it again.”

A rasping laugh escaped and then a tear slid down the man’s face before he reached up to swipe it away. “It is unthinkable that he is gone.”

Callister turned his back on him to hide his emotional display.

Gideon stood and collected his coat, slipping the garment on and then returning his notebook to his pocket. His fingers brushed against Electra’s calling card, and he cleared his throat.

“Have you ever consulted a psychic, Mr. Callister?”

Swinging around, Callister grimaced at Gideon as if he’d spoken the most ludicrous words he’d ever heard.

“Why in God’s name would you ask me such a question?”

“I have reason for the inquiry.”

“No, of course not. I’m a man of logic and sense and have no interest in the faddle of soothsayers.” Even after all but spitting the words, Callister wore a sour expression as if the very topic horrified him.

Gideon tried not to allow his own emotions to cloud any interaction with a witness, only logic and deduction. But Callister’s distaste felt suddenly personal when he considered how the man might view Electra.

“Thank you, Mr. Callister. Those are all the questions I have for now.”

At that, Callister coughed and dropped heavily into his chair. “Forgive me if I ask you to see yourself out. I feel quite ill. Only my cook and a housemaid remain in service at the moment, and I suspect both are engaged in the kitchen.”

“Of course.”

Callister hung his head and pressed a fist to his forehead.

“There will be an inquest tomorrow,” Gideon told him. “You may be called, as you were the last person known to speak to Percival Pennington.”

Callister lifted his head with an affronted inhale. “Do you know for certain I will be called?”

“No, but a summons will come by day’s end if your testimony is required.”