Sherlock Holmes in New York
Page 15
The Italian and German representatives, who were familiar with the vaults, saw nothing out of the ordinary. As expected, there were the neat rows of cells, each door tightly shut, the dull glint of gold visible through the bars on each, the whole culminating in a very solid and unbreached rear wall.
The effect on Lafferty, McGraw, and the three Exchange employees was considerably different. Though, in varying ways, they all expressed stupefied surprise, it was quickly controlled, lest it raise questions in the minds of the foreign bankers which they would find it awkward to answer.
Holmes, clearly savoring all this, leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Last night, round about midnight, I slipped into the false chamber and removed the bars that kept the lift from descending to its rightful place. Good job no one saw me, eh? Think what the papers would have made of that!”
He turned to the still-speechless Lafferty and McGraw. “Well, gentlemen,” he half whispered. “All present and accounted for? No delusion, no sleight-of-hand, no mirage? If you’re satisfied the gold has been returned, Dr. Watson and I have a busy day ahead of us, as it will be our last one before returning home.”
“Surely,” said McGraw, confusion and wonderment still written on his face, “you’ll do me the honor of dining with me?”
“I fear not, Mr. McGraw. This evening, we—and a young lad of our acquaintance—have tickets for The Second Mrs. Tanqueray.”
He made as if to re-enter the lift, and Inspector Lafferty stepped in front of him, nearly frantic with curiosity. “Mr. Holmes! Aren’t you going to explain how you did this?”
The detective gave him a gentle smile. “No. But I expect one day Dr. Watson will.”
———«»——————«»——————«»———
After the curtain had fallen on that night’s performance of The Second Mrs. Tanqueray, its leading lady sat at her dressing table, removing her stage make-up. The light-framed mirror showed her a tall man in evening dress standing behind her.
To the image, she said, “Must you really leave at once?”
“I’m afraid so. So many things in England demand my attention just now.”
“All of which you abandoned to race to my rescue. Sherlock, now that I’m rescued, can’t you stay a while to enjoy your success?”
Holmes shook his head. “I wish I could. But the Etruria sails at midnight, and Watson will soon be along in a carriage to fetch me.”
“What are you running from, Sherlock?”
“Running from? Inactivity, I suppose … boredom …”
The last of the make-up creamed away, she turned to face him directly. “Are you certain it’s not … fear?”
“Fear? Of what?”
“Perhaps the unknown.”
Holmes gave a mirthless chuckle. “My dear Irene, it’s the known I fear! I seek the unknown. An unknown mystery, an unknown peril. I long for the unknown!”
“And for nothing else?” She looked intently up into his eyes. “Sherlock—is there nothing you would like to ask me?”
The man was silent for a moment, then spoke hesitantly. “Yes … but I cannot.”
“Why?”
“Because of the answer I might receive.”
“I see.” Irene Adler turned back to her mirror, her face a little more set in its lines than a moment before. “Well, then, if you cannot ask it, I cannot answer it.”
Holmes regarded her concentratedly.
“And if I were to ask it?” he asked quietly.
Her gaze came to him through the mirror. “And if the answer were the wrong one?” She smiled ruefully. “You see, perhaps I too am in fear of … the known.” She inspected her face in the mirror, and appeared to find a trace of cosmetic missed before. “Shall we meet again, do you think?”
“I should be happy to believe so. Shall I continue to receive theater tickets?”
“So long as I continue to perform.”
“And perhaps with a word or two included about the boy?”
“I’d be most happy to.”
“Likable little chap, you know,” Holmes said carelessly.
“Do you think so?” Irene Adler’s brows arched slightly in wry amusement.
“What are his interests, mainly?”
She was silent a moment, and then said evenly, “He seems to have a fondness for music … and for solving problems.”
“I see. Would you, perhaps, have an extra … picture of the lad?”
She turned once more to face Holmes. Then she opened the locket that hung at her throat, extracted a small oval of stiff paper, and handed it to him. “Take this one.”
Holmes studied the miniature photograph. “But this must be your favorite.”
“It is.”
“Thank you. I shall treasure it.” Holmes pulled out his watch, opened the cover, and placed the picture inside. Then he looked at the face of the watch. Irene Adler followed his glance, then nodded.
“I know,” she said.
She rose and held out both hands to him. Sherlock Holmes grasped them, and stood silently for a moment. Their gazes met fully.
“Irene … ?”
“Yes?”
Holmes took a deep breath, then let it go. “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Sherlock.”
———«»——————«»——————«»———
Rattling along in the four-wheeler that should set us down at the Etruria‘s pier in a few moments, I felt both exhilarated and let down. It had certainly been an eventful few days in New York, and I had found much to admire in the city. But, after all, it wasn’t London! And, while new experiences are all very well, I find that the old ones, and the old, familiar ways of doing things, suit best in the end.
I noticed Holmes consulting his watch, and commented on it.
“Yes, by Jove,” I said, “two hours and we’re out to sea, a few more days and we’re back in Baker Street—back where you can drink a proper cup of tea, even travel by Underground if it suits your purpose. This is said to be a splendid city, Holmes, and I dare say it is in many ways. But when it comes down to it, does it have anything worthwhile that we don’t have in London?”
Holmes looked down again at his watch, and ran the tip of his forefinger gently over something in the case.
“Perhaps not, Watson. Perhaps not.”