Sherlock Holmes and the Knave of Hearts (8 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Orange Blossom, Lavender and Honeysuckle

T
he darkly handsome police inspector flopped into the chair behind his messy desk and heaved a heartfelt sigh. It had been a long night, but not necessarily a profitable one. He looked at Holmes, who was seated in the visitor’s chair across from him, and said: ‘There can be no doubt about it; there is indeed more to this affair than seemed obvious at the outset. But Bessette –
Bessette
, of all people, the very last man I would have expected to double as an assassin! – isn’t going to talk any time soon. He has made that all too clear.’

Mathes had been understandably sceptical when Holmes had first intercepted him as he left the police station at dusk. Anxious to keep their meeting secret, Holmes had asked if they might speak in private. When the puzzled policeman agreed, he had taken him to Amiens Cathedral, the most public and yet at the same time private place he could think of.

The cathedral was one of the city’s most imposing sights, and certainly the tallest in all of France. Construction had started in 1220, following a fire that destroyed its predecessor at the same location, and now, in addition to being a place of worship, it also contained works of art and decoration that had been accumulated over the seventy years it had taken to build.

At that time of the early evening, the church was largely deserted. Holmes looked around to make sure no one was watching them, then led Mathes into the Chapel of St Thomas
of Canterbury. They sat beside each other on a pew facing the impressive altar, and it was here that Holmes confided his suspicions.

‘I have great respect for you and your methods,
m’sieur
,’ Mathes replied softly once Holmes had finished, ‘but this time I think you may be mistaken, for the very simple reason that Gaston Verne himself has at last confessed his motive … well, after a fashion, at least.’

Holmes was immediately attentive. ‘What did he say?’

Mathes hesitated. ‘I can rely upon your discretion?’

‘Of course.’

‘He blamed “family affairs of such sensitivity that I am unable to divulge them”. His exact words.’

‘And that was
all
he said?’

‘He would be drawn no further,
m’sieur
.’

‘Nevertheless, I must ask you to indulge me, Inspector. It is my conviction that Gaston Verne was somehow “primed” by person or persons unknown to make the attempt upon his uncle’s life. Those same perpetrators might make another attempt, not only upon Jules Verne but also his nephew.’

‘Why the nephew?’

‘Because Gaston is a link to them, and may even be privy to their true motive. He has already given me what may or may not be a vital clue, and since he is mentally unstable, they cannot guarantee that he will not, sooner or later, tell all.’

Mathes frowned for a moment, his mind racing. Then he said: ‘I should find it most embarrassing to be made a fool of,
m’sieur
. But equally, I should find it most embarrassing to lose a prisoner in my care.’

‘Then you’ll give me the benefit of the doubt?’

Mathes nodded grimly. ‘Where do you suggest we begin?’

‘Firstly, we must exercise extreme discretion. We do not know yet who else is involved, or where they are, or what they will do next. May I rely upon
your
discretion?’

‘Of course.’

‘I thought as much. Inspector, this is what I have in mind.’

So it was that Mathes, acting entirely alone and without official sanction, had removed Gaston Verne from one cell and placed him in the one next door. And so it was that he
smuggled
Holmes into the building shortly thereafter and allowed him to take Gaston’s place. After that there was nothing to do but watch and wait.

‘But Bessette, of all people,’ Mathes said, taking a cigarette from a packet on his cluttered desk. ‘I never much cared for the man, but I never thought him capable of murder.’

‘That, I fear, is one of the problems,’ Holmes said. ‘There is no way to tell just whom we may trust. If the people behind the attempt on Verne’s life are as powerful as I suspect, they
probably
have agents everywhere.’

‘At least now we have two leads to them – Gaston and Bessette.’

‘Yes. But as you rightly said just now, Bessette is not about to betray them.’

At first, as they handcuffed him, the brawny sergeant had tried to protest his innocence. He claimed to have returned to the station simply to check on the prisoner. But the dropped knife, together with Holmes’s testimony to the contrary, was damning; and when Bessette realized it, he refused to make any further comment, other than to demand a lawyer.

‘I’m not getting anyone out of bed at this time of night for your benefit,’ Mathes replied harshly. He gestured for the two
gendarmes
who had witnessed the interrogation to take their sergeant away. ‘You can see your lawyer in the morning.’

‘There is just one other thing,’ Holmes had added.

Bessette gave him a surly glare.

‘What do the letters
VDC
stand for?’

Bessette’s bloodshot eyes betrayed his surprise, but only for an instant. Then he replied in a low growl: ‘I have no idea.’

‘Nevertheless,’ Holmes now continued to Mathes, ‘he will talk sooner or later. The prospect of a meeting with
Madame la Guillotine
can be a powerful persuader.’

Mathes blew smoke towards the ceiling. ‘And if nothing else, at least we have confirmed your suspicion that there is more to this business than first appeared.’

Holmes stood and gathered his hat and cane. ‘Well, I fear we will accomplish little more tonight, Inspector.’

‘
Non
. But I will have another crack at Bessette in the morning, and let you know the minute I learn anything.’

‘Thank you.’ They shook hands. ‘Good night.’

Holmes left the building the same way Bessette had entered it; by way of the back yard. The night was still quiet but for the distant yapping of a prowling dog. Holmes knew he’d be lucky to find a cab at this late hour, and resigned himself to the long walk back to the Hotel Couronne. As soon as he stepped out onto Rue de la Republique, however, he thought he glimpsed a movement in the mouth of an alleyway across the road – a figure, startled by his sudden appearance, hurriedly backing into the shadows there.

Holmes stopped and peered closer, but saw nothing and decided he had been mistaken.

And yet….

And yet his instincts told him beyond all doubt that he was being watched.

On impulse he crossed the road and headed directly towards the alleyway, the tip of his cane tapping briskly against the cobbles.

He was halfway there when whoever was lurking in the shadows made a run for it. Holmes recognized the
unmistakable
sound of high heels and realized for the first time that his watcher was a woman.

He broke into a run, knowing that she might well be nothing more than a lady of the night, afraid of arrest, but knowing also that he could not take the chance in case she was actually something much more.

He entered the alleyway just as she reached its farthest end and vanished around the corner. In that instant he saw a woman in – it was difficult to be sure in the uncertain yellow glow of the streetlamps, but he thought it was a purple outfit. He went after her. But he had only taken a few steps when suddenly the whole world began to undulate and melt around him.

The part of his mind that still worked told him that the effects of opiate withdrawal were once again coursing through him. He cursed his luck even as he broke stride and slumped hard against a cold stone wall. He closed his eyes, hugged himself, set his teeth. He was wracked by shivers even though he burned inside. After a few more seconds the sensation reached such a pitch that he almost forgot who and where he was –

And then, mercifully, the rushing in his ears began to recede, he felt the attack passing, passing … and shivered.

Gradually he returned to his senses and forced himself to walk unsteadily to the far end of the alley. He knew the woman would be long gone by now, but hoped she had left something identifiable behind.

The cold night air was permeated with her scent: orange blossom, lavender and honeysuckle.

He had smelled those same fragrances before somewhere, and recently. But where?

Who was she? he wondered. What had she been doing there in a darkened alleyway in the small hours of a chilly March morning? Was she another part of the puzzle he was attempting to solve?

He had the strongest possible conviction that she was.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Suicide Tree

A
little before ten o’clock the following morning Holmes, who habitually slept late, was woken rudely by an urgent tapping at his hotel room door. At once he threw on his red dressing gown and answered it.

Facing him was an apologetic desk clerk holding out an envelope upon which was written his name. ‘I am sorry to disturb you,
m’sieur
, but this just came for you. The boy said it was urgent.’

Holmes took the envelope with a perfunctory nod of thanks and closed the door. He opened the envelope and quickly scanned its contents. The note read simply:

The tightening of his thin lips was his only reaction to the news.

Stuffing the note into his pocket, he quickly saw to his
ablutions
, then scribbled a message for Watson and made arrangements at the desk for a boy to deliver it to Rue de Charles Dubois. He then left the hotel, hailed a cab and went directly to the police station.

Mathes was waiting for him at the front desk when he
arrived. The inspector’s tone was as grim as his manner. ‘Come this way,
m’sieur
.’ He quickly led Holmes to the cells below ground. ‘I have left everything just as we found it. Nothing has been touched or disturbed.’

‘Good man.’

Mathes unlocked the cell and they went inside. The small room – an almost exact replica of the one in which Holmes had first interviewed Gaston – was airless and smelled sourly of vomit. Bessette lay crookedly across the cot, his eyes
half-closed
and very slightly crossed. His fists were clenched.

‘What happened?’ asked Holmes, bending to examine the dead man.

‘As you know, he wanted to see a lawyer, a man he named as Prideaux. The man was sent for. He arrived. They conversed briefly in this very cell. The guard who let Prideaux out at the end of the interview reports that Bessette was in good spirits. Then, about an hour later he started hammering on the cell door, saying he had stomach pains. The guard ignored him at first, thinking that Bessette was trying to fool him into unlocking the cell and letting him out. When the hammering abruptly stopped a few minutes later, he looked in through the eye-hole you see in the door here. Bessette had vomited, collapsed upon the cot and fallen into some kind of coma. Medical aid was summoned
immediately
, but by the time the doctor arrived Bessette was dead.’

‘He has been examined by your judicial surgeon?’

‘
Oui
. Cause of death appears to be a thrombosis.’

‘Did he have any history of heart disease?’

‘Not to my knowledge, no. We can check with the man’s own physician.’

‘Do so,’ Holmes replied vaguely, glancing around the room. ‘Have you ever heard of this man Prideaux?’

‘No. But I sent a man to fetch him from the address Bessette gave us—’

‘—and when he got there, the bird had flown,’ guessed Holmes.

‘Exactly.’

‘Then it seems we have a simple case of murder on our hands,’ said Holmes. ‘We may assume with some confidence that Prideaux was one of Bessette’s confederates in this
enterprise
. When he was caught trying to murder Gaston Verne, Bessette demanded to see his “lawyer”. In reality I suspect that Prideaux was also in the employ of Bessette’s masters. He called upon this man for help, most probably to orchestrate a means by which he could make good his escape.’

‘But instead this man killed him in cold blood?’ Mathes asked sceptically.

‘Certainly. As we already know, Inspector, these people do not draw the line at murder. Besides, this man Bessette had become another liability. He had to be removed before he could be tempted to turn state’s evidence.’

‘But … how did it happen? The surgeon says his heart gave out.’

‘Clearly he was poisoned. Prideaux offered him a flask of brandy, perhaps to celebrate his own empty promise of arranging Bessette’s escape. You can smell the spirit upon the dead man’s lips. Bessette was only too happy to accept. The man was a drinker, as you know.’

‘I’m sorry,
m’sieur
, but I knew no such thing.’

‘Then I suggest you examine the man more closely. The diagnosis of medical conditions is more the speciality of my colleague, Dr Watson, but I know a drinker when I see one. The man’s yellowish pallor, the spider-like veins on his nose and cheeks, the redness of his palms, the premature loss of hair colour, which is suggestive of an imbalance of copper and zinc.’

‘Very well. I accept that he might have been a drinker. But what about Prideaux’s use of a hip flask?’

‘They sat at this table when they spoke,’ said Holmes with a gesture. ‘See here in the fine film of dust, there is the faintest outline of a gently curved shape approximately five inches
long and perhaps three-quarters of an inch wide. This is where Prideaux set the hip-flask down.’

‘Then we truly are dealing with ruthless men.’

‘And clever ones,’ Holmes said admiringly. ‘My feeling is that a further examination of the body in order to identify the poison used will be of no use. Not for these people the
commonplace
arsenic or potassium chloride.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because Prideaux did not want his man to become ill or die until he was well on his way out of Amiens. As you have already noted, Bessette did not become ill until an hour after Prideaux had left. Now, arsenic can be used to kill slowly, but only in small doses administered over a long period of time. As for potassium chloride, I believe an impractical amount, perhaps eight or ten ounces – forgive me, Inspector; let us say a little over two hundred grams – would be required to kill a man of Bessette’s size.

‘Based upon the facts as you have recounted them, however, I lean toward an altogether more ingenious method, namely the fruit of
Cerbera odollam
– the so-called suicide tree.’

Mathes’s frown deepened. ‘I am sorry,
m’sieur
, but again you have lost me.’

‘
Cerbera odollam
, also known as the Pong-pong or Othalanga, is a tree that flourishes throughout south-east Asia and India. Its fruit yields a potent poison that disrupts the heartbeat and mimics the symptoms of a thrombosis. It is not especially difficult to extract; the fruit is simply chopped into small pieces and its poison extracted in a solution of methanol by a method known as cold soaking. Bessette presented all the symptoms of this particular poison. It took about an hour to work on him. He suffered abdominal pain, he vomited, his heartbeat slowed and finally he lapsed into a coma.’

‘And he never suspected a thing?’

‘Obviously not. It is true that the poison has a somewhat bitter taste, but the strong brandy would have disguised that.
Bessette was finished the minute he took that celebratory drink.’

Mathes ran his fingers through his curly black hair. ‘These people must be stopped at all costs.’

‘Of course. But until we know their true motive, where do we begin?’

‘Prideaux is the obvious answer.’

‘Prideaux will be long gone by now, Inspector. And my feeling is that wherever he goes, he will lie low until this entire business dies down. However, it can do no harm to circulate the man’s description to the surrounding
départements
.’

‘And in the meantime?’

‘In the meantime, Inspector,’ Holmes said forcefully, ‘I should be most grateful if you would guard Gaston Verne with your very life.’