Pride's Treasure: Episode 11: Wherein Molvander Proves Not to Be Faultless
You pass half a dozen potted plants—which makes you nervous now that you know Victorian gentlemen hide behind them—and the open door of a smoky library with an overstuffed mantelpiece.
Just like Uriel said, the restroom is easy to find, though once inside, you realise it’s not like any restroom you’ve seen before. A pyramid of rolled-up cotton towels sits on a marble counter beside a row of washbasins, which are reflected in the mirrored wall behind them.
The wall-to-wall carpet is plush and dark red, which immediately makes you think of blood spatter, and how easy it would be to hide a murder. The lighting is excessive for a room so dim, which is when you realise there is only one window, which you can just about see above the stall at the end.
If you find yourself desperate to escape Molvander, you could always climb on the toilet seat and throw yourself through the window.
The room is L-shaped, and you wrinkle your nose at the line of urinals set in a decoratively tiled corridor through an archway at the end of the row of washbasins. Why has someone got an entire public toilet in their own house? Even if you regularly held balls with hundreds of people in attendance, you can’t imagine doing anything so drastic. Then again, the house is ridiculously large. It's not like anyone would miss the space.
You head into a stall and wait for the door to open, your heart beating frantically, its pulse loud in your ears.
This is it.
You’re going to catch a killer.
And if you don’t? Well, the killer might just catch you instead. The only indication that the door is opening is a slight rise in outside noise, which cuts off again several seconds later. It’s followed by the distinct sound of a lock engaging.
You rub your sweating palms on your jacket, readying yourself to make your move.
Muffled footsteps brush across the thick carpet, but wherever Molvander hides himself, he definitely didn’t lock a stall door. Good manners insist you flush even though the noise will obscure Molvander’s approach. What you don’t expect is how loud it is, like the toilet’s about to regurgitate everything it’s ever been fed. The toilet flush has come a long way in the last century or so.
You unlock the door, heading straight for the washbasins, so you’ll see any approach from behind in the mirror.
“I knew it,” the man drawls.
You stop momentarily before continuing on, reaching for a small round soap from the dish on the counter. You see Molvander over your shoulder, lounging in the doorway of the cubicle two to the left of the one you just came out of. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You forgot to limp,” the man says, a gleeful smile spreading across his face. “You’ve given yourself away to the last person you should have. To the one person who could destroy you.”
