Sherlock Holmes and The Other Woman (20 page)

Such joy.

Chapter Twenty

Monday 16 May 1898 - London

Watson and I arrived back in Baker Street a little after two. He is in much better spirits and has completely recovered from his injuries. I left him to unpack and indulge Mrs Hudson's need for gossip, while I took a cab to Scotland Yard.

In recent years, I have observed a marked change in how I am greeted by the detectives and policemen there. When I first began work as a consulting detective, the policemen were suspicious and comments were disdainful. Now when I enter I hear, “Oh, Mr Holmes, how good to see you... Fetch you a cup of coffee, Mr Holmes? What can I do for you, Mr Holmes?” Watson finds this delightful, of course, and says it shows how highly I am esteemed by these men. All the same, it is a little embarrassing. What is worse than the, yes, sycophantic greetings are the whispers: “That's Sherlock Holmes, that is...”

Today I reached, as Watson might say, a new high in lows: One young upstart at being told who I was declared, “Really? That's Sherlock Holmes? I thought he was just a myth.”

A myth! Ha!

I hurried through the aisle of desks and chairs to Lestrade's dingy office at the back. The inspector was on the telephone when I entered the room, but he waved for me to come in and take a seat. A moment later, he set down the instrument and shook my hand.

“Nice to see you, Mr Holmes. Can I get you some coffee?”

“Thank you, no. You look well, Lestrade.”

“So, you'd like an update on that Rickman chap, I suppose?” Lestrade said. “Well, I'm sorry to have so little to report but the fact is I have nothing new to tell you. The fellow has vanished. Completely vanished. I suspect he's done a bunk and fled the country.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Well, we have the entire Metropolitan force looking for the man. Someone like him, with such a distinctive appearance, surely cannot hide forever.”

“Any man can hide in a metropolis of this size if he chooses, Lestrade. He may well be lying low until the hue-and-cry have died down.”

“Perhaps. We shall not forget him though, of that you may be sure. If he is still in London we will find him.” He opened a tin of biscuits, offered me one which I declined, and closed the lid. “I hope Dr Watson is feeling better?”

“He is much improved, thank you, Lestrade. I shall pass on your regards to him. Tell me, what news from the diamond district?”

“Nothing much. Glaser has it all in hand. He always does, of course. He wants to keep young Stevens permanently, but I don't know.”

“You have other plans for my young friend?”

“The boy has the makings of a star and no mistake; seems a shame to waste him on the Jews. I want him to get as much experience as he can and he'll learn a lot from Glaser. But he'll be quite an addition to my own team in due course. Of course, Hill has his eye on him, too.”

“Leave the boy in Hatton Garden for now, Lestrade. All my instincts tell me Rickman's interest in that area has not ended. There will be more developments and you may be very glad to have two such exceptional policemen on hand when they occur.”

“If you think so, Mr Holmes, then I shall of course take your advice.” His narrow eyes glinted. “Any mistakes I've ever made in my career have been because I did not listen to you. Well, at least I've learned from those mistakes, eh?”

Belatedly I realised he was looking for approbation. I am not good at spotting these things and usually Watson has to give me a nudge. However, this time, and I think it is to my credit, I saw exactly what he was after.

“We have both benefited from our long association, Inspector,” I said genially. I feared to say any more. As it was, the man looked like he might float away, so puffed up was he at my words. I anchored him with another question.

“What news of Watteau? I understand the jury convicted him in less than half an hour?”

“Closer to ten minutes, I should say. He is in Newgate and will face the hangman next Tuesday.”

“I would like to see him.”

“Of course, if you wish. But is it - forgive me - is it wise?”

“I will not rest easy in my mind unless I try. I have no great expectations of his cooperation, but perhaps he will surprise me.”

“He's a villain of the worst order and no mistake.” Lestrade stood up and put on his coat. “Come on then,” he said.

“You mean to come with me?”

He looked surprised. “Of course... Oh, if you'd rather I didn't-”

“No, not at all... That is to say, I know how busy you are. But I should be delighted to have your company, Lestrade.”

He was still so enlarged by my compliment he took my assent at face value.

And Watson thinks I have no social graces.

It did not take us long to reach the prison and, thanks to the inspector's presence, gained entry easily enough. There was none of the customary wrangling about whether I had any right to visit a prisoner. I must say Lestrade seemed happy enough merely to be my attendant. He has, after many years practice, learned to melt into the background and let me work. As he said, we have come a long way since the early days of our association.

We were led through the sour and fetid warren of corridors to Watteau's cell. It is as dismal a place as any on earth and I might pity any man who finds himself in such straits. Under normal circumstances.

This man neither warranted nor wished any sympathy. He was sitting on his cot reading the Bible with a sardonic expression on his yellowish face.

“Oh, if it isn't my old friend, Holmes the busybody,” he said as I entered. “And who are you, sir?”

“I am Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard,” said the policeman.

“He is my friend,” I said. (I shall probably never hear the end of that.)

“Well, Monsieur,” I continued. “So you face the hangman?”

“In time. Anything might happen. I might die in my sleep.” He smirked at me. Really, he had no fear whatever. In other circumstances, I might admire his stoicism.

“Do you come here to hound me again for answers, Holmes? You shall have none from me, I vow.”

“It was merely an act of charity,” I said.

“Charity?”

“To give you the opportunity to clear your conscience before you meet your Maker.”

“I do not believe in such things.”

“A Maker? Or conscience?”

He smirked again. “Either one. Still, I am bored and happy to entertain you. I will not tell you who hired me, or what I was to do, but we may discuss other matters. Art...”

“Jewels.”

“Ah, jewels... I do rather like a well-cut diamond. There is a newer cut becoming popular, the round brilliant. Are you familiar with it? Your Jewish friends could explain it to you. I am no jeweller but I dabble... New tools allow for greater precision. You might say jewellers are now doing for gemstones what you have done for police work.”He laughed. “Some prefer the old European cut but I find it flattens the stone and does not allow for the same brilliance as this newer variant.”

“Is that how you expected to be paid? In diamonds?”

“Paid? Who said anything about payment?”

“You did. You said you had been hired. One does not accept a job without first negotiating payment.”

“Oh, very good! Very clever. I tend to forget, you know. I think of you as just an ordinary man but you are really nothing of the sort, are you? Not like the lapdogs who follow you around.” He gave Lestrade a mocking smile. Lestrade, to his credit, did not react.

“Not that you're as clever as they think you are,” Watteau continued. “You're not even as clever as you think you are.”

“And yet here you sit in gaol awaiting death.”

“Enjoy your freedom and your life, Mr Holmes.”

There was something sinister in the way he said it, and I was revolted by his malevolence. I kept my features in check, however, and said mildly, “I do and I shall. Sadly, you shall enjoy neither.”

As I reached the door, a thought struck me. I turned and said, “You are dying in any case. That is why you can face the hangman with so little regard. Why you offered no defence at trial. What is it? Liver failure?”

“Cancer.” For the briefest of instants his stoicism failed him and I could smell his terror.

“Of the bowel?” I asked.

“It started there but it has spread. I am rotten inside, but then I think you knew that.”

I cannot, even now, explain why I said it. The words spoke themselves. “Is there anything you need?”

He shook his head. The cell door was unlocked and he said, suddenly, “You should not have gone to France, you know. You make people nervous. Do be careful, my old friend.”

With that, he turned his back and picked up his book.

As we left the wretched building Lestrade said, “You cannot take anything he says to heart, Mr Holmes. It's all bluster.”

“Is it? And yet Watson only narrowly evaded death no more than a week ago. I have missed something.”

“You?” The inspector could not have sounded more astonished. “I find that hard to believe, Mr Holmes.” I was too deeply engrossed in my thoughts to pay him much heed. His yammering was just enough to irritate. Not for the first time I appreciated Watson's capacity for silence.

We reached Baker Street and I hopped out. I was halfway up the steps to the door when I realised I should pay Lestrade some compliment for accompanying me.

“Ah, thank you, Inspector,” I said, returning and shaking his hand. “I very much appreciate your assistance.”

“My very great pleasure, as always, Mr Holmes. May I ask what will you do next?”

“Next? I shall think. Goodbye.”

Tuesday May 17 1898

I have not been to bed. All night I sat with my knees to my chin and my pipe dangling from my lips, yet no progress have I made.

There is a piece of this story missing. Some piece that ties all these strange events together: the Camden Town ‘poltergeist', the murders in Hatton Garden, the deaths of Bashir, Jones, and Kidwell. In addition, what of the coins? No reputable Egyptologist believes in their existence and yet they seem to be at the heart of the mystery. Then, too, there's Watteau's hint about France.
You should not have gone to Paris. You make people nervous
.

Why should I not have gone to Paris? Whom do I make nervous? Those words seemed sincere insofar as anything that villain ever said could be called so. Certainly more than his well-practiced comments about diamonds. These are the puzzles that perplex me. Just when I think I have snatched them by their shrivelled spines they crumble into nothingness.

Why did Watteau put so much emphasis on diamonds? Almost I feel I am being lured to Hatton Garden, but for what purpose?

Where was I last sure of anything? Before Watson was injured... yes, I should go back to my thoughts of that period. I lost my way when I came back from Camden Town and saw all that blood. I shudder now to remember.

What did I learn that night? What was it that Watson's injuries shook out of my brain?

There was the African gentleman who moved into the area, who is so genial but so mistrusted for no better reason than his race. Tommy was right: England is just as capable of bigotry as any other nation.

I must see what I can learn about this gentleman, Mr Amun. And there was someone else new to the area, oh yes, the pretty blonde widow. If only Beatrice were here, she would do a fine job of following that particular lead. Heaven keep me from widows!

No, I must let Beatrice stay where she is, at least for the moment. At least I know she will not complain about her exile. Once she has committed to a thing she sticks with it. I received a letter from her this morning. She and Mycroft spent much of the day at the beach. The weather is pleasant and the fresh air is good for the boys. Quite a domestic arrangement they have there, with their food and long walks and intimate conversations.

Tommy continues to improve on the piano and Beatrice suggests I might teach him the violin, too, when they return to London. Me, teach violin? Does the woman not know me at all?

She has gifted me with a photograph, and a stunning work it is, too. She took it one morning when I was sitting on the Downs looking out towards the sea. I must have been completely lost in thought for I had no idea she had photographed me. The image is clear, beautifully framed, and precise. Watson, taking it from me, whistled and said, “If there was ever any doubt how that woman feels about you, Holmes, you have your proof right here.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I said.

He smirked. He never lets me forget that he has an understanding of women that I shall never attain. “She has captured you at your finest: The light on your face makes you almost handsome.”

“Almost?”

He laughed and handed the picture back to me. “Where shall you hang it?”

“In my bedroom.” He said nothing but I think he understands there is in that photograph something naked in my expression that I would not want visitors or strangers to witness.

In the normal course of events, I should like Watson to follow up on the widow, but I am reluctant to let him out of my sight. I think today we shall visit the diamond district and see if there have been any developments. Yes, overall I think that is the best course.

Wednesday May 18 1898

Watson is sleeping. Only nine o'clock and he is in bed. I forget sometimes that other men get weary. I am fortunate in my constitution.

We ended spending the night in Hatton Garden. The rabbi was delighted to see us, shook our hands, and commiserated with Watson over his injuries.

“You have not given us any new tales for some time, Doctor,” the rabbi said. “I do hope you have not given up your writing.”

“Not at all,” Watson replied. “But in recent years Holmes has been engaged on cases that tend to be far more sensitive than in the past. There are stories and I have written them, but they cannot be released until certain parties are no longer with us.”