"Something smells good," he said. "The food they gave me in jail was disgusting."
"The best street vendors are on the middle and upper levels," I said. Since one had to pay to ascend in the lift, the better vendors knew where the most profitable customers were.
The enticing scents wafting down from the carts selling items like roasted apple puffs, vanilla-stick coffees, and flaming carrots were all the urging I needed to dig out five pence for our entrance to the street-lift. I had a particular fondness for the soft, sweet carrots on a stick.
Moments later, we stepped off the street-lift and heard the ornate brass door clang shut behind us. Mr. Eckhert led the way to a small cart of the flaming carrots, and I selected the largest of the offerings. I purchased two, as well as an egg biscuit for my companion, who claimed he was starving.
He said something about egg mick-muffins and ate the biscuit in three large bites as I held the two carrots on their sticks, waiting for the flames to burn out. I showed him where to throw the wrapping from his food into the sewer-chute and handed him his carrot with a warning: inside, beneath a thin sugary crust, the carrot would be soft, sweet, and steaming hot.
"What did you mean earlier about electrical mechanisms being illegal?" Mr. Eckhert asked, then was distracted by the sight of a Refuse-Agitator. The self-propelled vehicle was doing its duty far below at ground level by rolling through one of the small sewer canals, likely pulverizing the trash he'd just discarded. Little clouds of black smoke puffed from a duo of pipes as it chugged along.
" 'The generation, utilization, and storage of electrical or electro-magnetic power is prohibited,' " I said, quoting directly from the Moseley-Haft Act.
Mr. Eckhert stopped there on the sidewalk and nearly got himself run over by a knife-sharpener and his motorized cart. "Are you saying that electricity is illegal?"
"Yes, of course. It's a widespread safety threat."
"That's crazy! Haven't you people ever heard of Thomas Edison?"
"Yes, of course I've heard of Thomas Edison. Everyone's heard of him. It's because of him and his unsavory activities that the law was passed."
Mr. Eckhert gaped at me. "What year did you say this was?"
"It's 1889," I said, finishing the last bite of my sweet, warm carrot. "Victoria is Queen. Lord Salisbury is the prime minister. Lord Cosgrove-Pitt is the leader of Parliament. Now, shall we walk? I don't wish to dawdle any longer, and, Mr. Eckhert, the sooner you get to a washroom, the-er-less attention you'll be drawing to yourself. Which I deduce was the reason you borrowed my father's clothing-so that you could blend in with other Londoners. Incidentally, a gentleman never goes about without gloves."
"Okay, I'm walking," he said, looking at his hands as if to see whether gloves had magically appeared. "Tell me about this law. I don't remember learning anything in school about a law making electricity illegal."
At his cryptic words, a funny shiver went through my insides. Despite the fact that I'd been immersed in the problem of Miss Hodgeworth's death and the Sekhmet mystery, questions about Mr. Eckhert and his origins had never been far from my mind. I'd analyzed the facts over and over and had only come to one conclusion.
An unbelievable conclusion.
But my uncle's favorite maxim had been pounded into my head from a young age. When you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
I turned to answering his question. "Seven years ago, there was a time when it seemed as if the civilized world would adopt the use of electricity to power everything mechanical. But it became clear how dangerous it is when fifteen people were electrocuted by a wire in New Jersey during a rainstorm. Mr. Edison tried to cover up the incident, but Mr. Emmet Oligary, one of the foremost businessmen in London, made certain it was written about in the papers. The scandal was exposed, and it became obvious that widespread use of electricity was a real danger to society. Mr. Oligary led the charge to make certain all of England was aware of the insidious dangers of electrical power. His brother-in-law, Lord Moseley, consulted with Parliament to craft and pass the law in 1884."
"Let me guess," said Mr. Eckhert as we approached the wide flight of steps to the British Museum. "Mr. Oligary had a bunch of factories running on steam engines." His expression was grim. "Probably manufacturing the parts to them, even."
"Of course he did. The steam engine was just becoming popular at that time. And now we use that technology for everything. Good afternoon, sir," I said to the guard at the door of the museum.
He looked with suspicion at the disheveled Mr. Eckhert, but when I glared at him with a level gaze of my own, the guard gestured us through. The heavy glass doors, framed in brass, clicked and whirred as they folded open. I led the way through the Banksian Room to Miss Adler's office. It was nearly quarter past two.
"Good afternoon, Mina," said Miss Adler when we were given entrance to her office. She was sitting at her desk, with a small mechanical device poised over an open book. It appeared to be a magnifyer of some sort and was clicking in a pleasant rhythm. "And . . ." She looked at my companion, then back at me and rose to her feet.
"Miss Adler, I have an abundance of information to share with you in regard to the events of last night, but first I'd like you to meet Mr. Dylan Eckhert. You might recognize him from our previous encounter, over Miss Hodgeworth's body. I've learned he came to London in an unlikely fashion. I am going to help him find a way to return home."
"Mr. Eckhert, I'm pleased to officially meet you." It was to the gentlelady's credit that she showed no reaction to his disheveled and aromatic appearance-which was such a contrast to her own neat, fashionable self.
"Hello, Miss Adler. Irene Adler. Wow," he said, his voice hushed. "This is so weird."
My heart was pounding, for I was about to take a great chance. I would either be correct, or I'd humiliate myself. But of course that was impossible. My conclusions were never wrong. They simply couldn't be. "Mr. Eckhert, perhaps you would be so kind as to tell Miss Adler where you're from. Specifically, from what year you've traveled."
The others looked at me-Miss Adler with unrestrained shock and Mr. Eckhert with something like relief.
"So you've figured it out . . . and you believe me," he said, looking at me with those blue eyes again. This time, they were filled with gratitude and enough warmth to make my insides go awhirl. He straightened up, closed his eyes, and then opened them. Exhaling a deep breath, he said, "I'm from the future. The year 2016."