Sherlock Holmes and the Boulevard Assassin

by John Hall

  Holmes seemed to be considering his response to this, so I said, ‘For myself, I have always thought that the redistribution of wealth on a global scale – though laudable enough in theory – was an ambitious undertaking. It would be so much easier to begin on a small scale, and redistribute some small portion of it to oneself.’

  ‘Well said!’ added Holmes, laughing.

  Constantine laughed with him. ‘We are of one mind,’ said he. ‘I will be frank, Messieurs – I did not attend last night’s meeting merely to spout nonsense, but to see whether there might not be there a man, or men, whom I could use in my own enterprises. I believe that you may be the very men I sought. By the by,’ he added casually, ‘you will not have seen this morning’s newspapers,’ and he took a couple of newspapers from a table that stood by his elbow, and threw them across to us.

  ‘NEW ANARCHIST OUTRAGE’ shouted one headline; and ‘TWO POLICEMEN MURDERED: ONE STRUGGLING FOR HIS LIFE!’ screamed the other. I glanced over the report – ‘Assassins flee justice,’ said one sub-heading; and ‘Big police operation,’ another.

  ‘They have a description of the wanted men, you observe,’ said Constantine. ‘But I do not think that anyone could recognize the two of you from them.’

  I looked for the details of which he spoke. Sure enough, there was a lurid and very misleading description of Holmes and myself. Doubtless Dubuque and Lefevre had had a highly amusing time thinking up descriptions of us – descriptions which, I knew well enough, were intended to allow us to move about freely without attracting the attention of such members of the police force as were not in the secret. In that way, the only people we had to fear were the members of the gang – and they were, for me at any rate, more than enough to be going on with.

  ‘It seems that we are safe enough,’ said Holmes, with an audible sigh of relief.

  ‘So it seems,’ said Constantine, a curious tone in his voice. ‘But tell me,’ he went on more normally, ‘you say you would not be troubled by pangs of conscience to live in a house such as this, to have money in the bank – to be governor of a bank! But would you truly like to live in such a fashion? It is, I assure you, a very pleasant thing to snap one’s fingers – so! – and have servants run to do one’s bidding. It is pleasant to have good food, fine wines – beautiful women, perhaps?’ he added, looking at me as he said it – though I really cannot imagine why. ‘It is agreeable to know that one’s pleasures are limited only by one’s imagination, I can assure you!’

  I have said that he was a persuasive man, and so he was. I knew that he was talking nonsense, that he was preaching greed, and theft, and all the rest of the catalogue of evil. I knew all that. And yet somehow – do not ask me how – it seemed to strike a chord in the innermost darkness of my soul, seemed to appeal to all that was petty and selfish and hateful within me. After all, this man was only doing what many a ‘businessman’ in the City has done; and at least he was not being hypocritical about it! Yes, thought I, why should I not have some of the good things of life? I had worked hard enough, Lord knows, and for precious little reward! And fought and been injured, too, for an ungrateful country. Did all that count for nothing? Yes; but why should it, when the remedy was within my grasp, there for the taking? There were other thoughts, too, when he spoke of women – darker thoughts yet, thoughts of stories whispered in smoking rooms, thoughts –

  At my side, Holmes coughed ostentatiously, and I recollected where I was.

  Constantine was saying, ‘Well, and does that appeal to you, Messieurs? Would you like to know how it might be done?’

  ‘Just show me the trick!’ said I. ‘I’ll learn it soon enough!’

  Holmes was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘It might be an interesting change of employment.’

  Constantine smiled. ‘It might be dangerous.’

  ‘So much the better!’ I said boastfully.

  ‘Of course, one does not mind taking risks,’ added Holmes, ‘if there is some prospect of reward at the end.’

  ‘And it may occasionally be unpleasant,’ said Constantine.

  Holmes shrugged his shoulders. ‘After all, we have neither of us had it particularly easy thus far.’

  ‘And,’ said Constantine, ‘it may sometimes be necessary to – how shall I say this? – to remove obstacles to one’s wishes. To ensure that one’s plans are not impeded by officious fools.’

  Holmes gave another shrug. ‘As you saw last night,’ said he carelessly, ‘I have no qualms on that score.’

  ‘And our friend here?’ said Constantine, staring at me intently.

  ‘I have killed men in my time,’ I told him as indifferently as I could – which was true enough in all conscience, though I was in uniform at the time, and acting under orders.

  ‘Well, then,’ said Constantine. ‘You may be the men I seek. Tell me, though – can you take orders? Can you act as part of an organization?’

  ‘For myself,’ said I, ‘I was in the army for some years.’

  ‘Honourably discharged, or – ?’

  ‘Honourably, Monsieur!’ said I firmly.

  ‘And you?’ – to Holmes.

  ‘I can take orders as well as the next man,’ said he.

  ‘Are you known to the police?’ asked Constantine.

  ‘Not by the names we now use,’ said Holmes with a laugh.

  Constantine looked steadily at us. ‘Then would you like to join me?’ he asked in a level tone.

  ‘Indeed, yes,’ said I.

  ‘And you, Monsieur?’

  Holmes shrugged. ‘I shall go along with Henri here. For the moment.’

  Constantine sat back in his chair, and took another cigarette from the box. ‘I am delighted to hear you say so,’ said he. He lit his cigarette, then suddenly leaned forward, all traces of cordiality gone. ‘I tell you this – had your answer been otherwise, you would never have left my house alive! And there is one little thing more, Messieurs. If you play fair with me, I shall play fair with you. You will have money, clothes, women – all that you desire shall be yours. But if you betray me, if you even think of betraying me – well, let us not dwell on that! And remember always that the police still want you for the murder of their comrades.’

  ‘But they do not have our descriptions!’ cried Holmes, managing to inject a curious mixture of despair and bravado into his voice, as if in very truth he did not care much whether he joined Constantine or not, and saw himself being dragged in against his will. I knew he was acting, of course, but for a moment even I could believe that his rejoinder was genuine.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ said Constantine. ‘But there are witnesses – for although some of those arrested last night will face the guillotine, some will not. They will go to prison, but they will still be able to testify against you. Remember that; and remember too that the police are the very least of the dangers you face if you let me down in any way.’

  ‘You have nothing to fear, Monsieur Constantine,’ said Holmes, his voice now betraying an almost pathetic desire to please. ‘We would not, I assure you, dream of betraying you.’

  ‘And especially not when the rewards of loyalty are so great,’ I added, looking round the room.

  Constantine laughed, becoming his old, urbane self again. ‘You are right, Monsieur,’ he told me. ‘It is best not to dwell on unpleasantness. But keep in mind always, that your allegiance from now on is to me alone.’ He stood up and rang the bell. ‘You will forgive the observation,’ said he, looking askance at our costumes, ‘but you are both in need of a change of linen. If you will tell Georges here – ’ he nodded at the footman, who had appeared in answer to the ring – ‘your size in clothes, he will provide what is necessary. I regret that you will not be able to visit the shops for yourselves just at the moment – it will be much better all round if you remain in the house – but you may have the utmost confidence in Georges’ taste.’ And he gave a taut smile, and made a little bow of dismissal.

  We followed Georges upstairs to the door of our room.
‘If Messieurs would be so kind as to let me have a note of their collar and shoe sizes, and the like?’ said Georges, taking out a tiny notebook and silver pencil. We did as we were asked, and Georges indicated the door. ‘And if Messieurs would now have the very great goodness to enter their room and remain there? I shall return in a very short time, I assure you.’

  We went inside, and Georges shut the door. We heard the key turn again, and Georges’ footsteps move discreetly away across the landing.

  Holmes threw himself into his armchair. ‘We must possess our souls in patience,’ said he, ‘and trust that Georges’ sartorial tastes are not too divergent from our own.’

  ‘Whatever he may choose, it must be better than those hideous brothel-creeper shoes of yours, Hol – er, Leblanc.’

  Holmes stretched out his legs, and regarded his feet critically. ‘I have rather grown to like them,’ said he.

  ‘You know,’ said I with a sort of embarrassed half-laugh, ‘this Constantine is a most persuasive fellow! Why, I half believed some of the nonsense that he was telling us, if you will credit that!’

  Holmes did not laugh at this. He said, very seriously, ‘He is undoubtedly an imposing personality; he has, I think, some of that curious “animal magnetism” of which Mesmer and his colleagues speak so highly.’

  ‘He could make a fortune on the stage as a hypnotist, that is certain.’

  Holmes did laugh at that. ‘But more to the point,’ he said, ‘he can impose his will on others; he can influence otherwise perfectly ordinary men to evil. That is not such a common trait, and it makes him very dangerous.’

  ‘Tell me, do you think that this is the man we seek? The head of the gang? He has surely the necessary attributes.’

  Holmes shook his head. ‘No. No, for all that he is a powerful, even an impressive, man, a strong personality. For one thing, he is quite unlike me in appearance – he could never have impersonated me at the Banque de France, as the man whom I know to be the head of the gang did. And then, with all due respect to ourselves, I scarcely think that the head of the gang would recruit new members from the gutter, as it were! Moreover, there was danger in his attending that meeting, a danger which I think the head of the gang would avoid it he could – this fellow Constantine evidently takes a pride in laughing at danger, as he takes a pride in bending others to his will – ’

  ‘You almost had me fooled,’ I interrupted.

  He laughed. ‘I thought it as well to show some reluctance at first,’ said he. ‘That would have been in character, I fancy. And besides, if he thinks we are afraid of him, he will not be quite so suspicious. But you were asking about his position in the gang. It is always possible that he is the leader, but I think it improbable. No, I do not think he is the ultimate head. I fancy that I can see this Constantine as occupying a position similar to that held by Colonel Moran. He is perhaps the chief of staff, responsible to the true leader for the day-to-day business of the organization, for recruiting new members – like ourselves! You heard him boasting – he has evidently been dishonest from a youth, or he would not, as he says, have progressed so rapidly.’

  ‘You think Moriarty had connections here that long ago, then? Why, it must have been thirty years ago – perhaps forty – that this Constantine started on his upward – or downward – path!’

  ‘I think not,’ said Holmes. ‘I rather think Constantine was already a pretty fair villain when Moriarty – or the other man, the head of the gang – found him. You see once again an instance of what I might call the “Moriarty method” – that is exactly as it was with Colonel Moran, who was already a villain of the deepest dye when Moriarty recruited him. Despite what the natural philosophers would say, in the criminal fraternity like does not repel, but attracts, like. This Constantine was obviously a good catch for the gang – director of a private bank, but with some flaws in his character – and, by the way, his being now the governor of a bank might mean that it was he who suggested the attempt upon the Bank of France, although I am certain that he himself was not in the group which made that attempt.’ He leaned forward and stared at me. ‘One thing I did take very seriously, and that was his threat to kill us if there were the slightest grounds for suspicion. You will recall that Moriarty, too, knew only one penalty for treachery, or suspected treachery – death! Yes, my boy, we are truly past the point of no return.’ He stood up, and strolled to the window. ‘I wonder what sort of cravat Georges will buy me?’

  ‘And I wonder just what Constantine has in mind for us.’ And I stared into space, unable to think about anything else but our fate.

  SIX

  Georges was as good as his word. He returned in less than two hours, bearing a couple of large parcels, which he set down on a little table, before bowing gravely to us, and leaving the room. I noticed that this time he did not bother to lock the door.

  ‘Just like your tenth birthday!’ said I, nodding towards the door as I spoke.

  Holmes quickly inclined his head, to show that he knew the door was unlocked, then just as quickly shook it, to let me know that we were to stay in the room.

  I opened the parcels, and we examined Georges’ purchases. I could not really fault his choice. The garments he had provided were good quality, but not so expensive as to attract attention. My own outfit was a touch more conservative than the garb I had sported up to now, but was still somewhat louder than I would have cared to wear in Baker Street. When once I had changed, I looked like a middle-class clerk who had just been paid a modest bonus; that, or a businessman slightly, but not significantly, down on his luck. My sole regret was that Georges had not brought us new boots. The ones I had picked to wear on this adventure were respectable enough, though an old pair, and very down at heel – but I could have wished that Georges had brought replacements for Holmes’s two-coloured monstrosities. As it was, and despite the fact that I could no longer see my reflection in his coat, I regret to say that Holmes looked more than ever like a professional dancing-partner.

  Along with the change of raiment, I took the opportunity to remove the last traces of wax from my moustache, and trim the ends, so that it was back to its old – English – self.

  Holmes regarded me critically when I had done. ‘They do not know you by sight,’ said he, ‘so you should be safe enough. But I must continue to act my part.’

  And he was as good as his word. How he did it, I frankly confess I do not know. As I say, he would have nothing to do with false beards, wigs, paint and the like, and yet in some mysterious fashion he actually managed to look quite different. I can only attribute it to the fact that Holmes himself was not devoid of that ‘animal magnetism’ we had spoken of earlier, which some men have in abundance while yet others – like myself – unfortunately do not possess at all.

  An hour or so later, Georges came to take us downstairs to luncheon. Constantine was sitting at the table. He regarded us with a certain amount of approval. ‘I think that is more satisfactory,’ said he. ‘After all, one wishes one’s associates to look respectable, does one not? Now, please enjoy your meal.’

  As before we ate in almost complete silence; and once again Constantine himself ate very little, but merely watched us throughout the meal. Holmes and I made occasional attempts to engage Constantine in conversation, but he made only monosyllabic replies. When we had done, Constantine remarked, ‘You will please return to your room. I do not propose to insult you by locking you in, or anything of that sort – you have already had the opportunity to leave, had you wished – but I have callers this afternoon, and I do not wish you to see them. And, equally to the point, I do not wish them to see you. I am sure you will understand.’

  We nodded our understanding.

  ‘Georges will bring your dinner to your room this evening,’ Constantine went on, ‘for again I shall have other guests. And then when once it grows dark, Georges will set you on your way to your lodgings – you had best give me the address.’

  Holmes did so, and Constantine said, ‘You w
ill remain there tomorrow morning, if you please, and I shall send an emissary – he will mention the name “Jean-Paul”. You will obey him in all respects, as if it were me speaking. And now I must say farewell. As I say, I have engagements for the rest of the day, and you will be gone before I am free again. But – if you make good progress within our little family, as it were – we shall meet again before so very long.’

  ‘And if we do not make good progress?’ asked Holmes.

  Constantine smiled. ‘Ah – I fear that in that event, we shall not meet again. But let us not think about that very disagreeable prospect.’ He held out his hand. ‘Au revoir – that is, let us hope most sincerely that it is au revoir.’

  Holmes shook his hand. ‘I am certain that we shall meet again,’ said he.

  We returned to our room, where Holmes yet again curled himself up in his armchair. ‘I would to heaven we might catch a glimpse of this afternoon’s visitors!’ said he. ‘It might have told us a good deal. But I fear we simply do not dare to make the attempt – Georges, or one of the other servants, is sure to have been told off to keep an eye on us.’ And he lapsed into a sort of brooding silence which I did not feel inclined to disturb.

  The afternoon seemed to me to drag intolerably. I could not tell if Holmes was asleep – if he was not, then he was so immersed in his own thoughts that he was as insensible of the outside world as any Indian fakir on his bed of nails. How I wished that I had brought a book to read, or paper and pencil to play noughts and crosses with myself, anything to break the monotony. But then of course I had not imagined that I would be a bird in a gilded cage! Holmes now seemed to be asleep, and I got up and started to wander quietly around the room.

  There was a chest of drawers by the bed, and I opened the top drawer. It was empty, as was the next. But in the bottom drawer I found – concealed under some socks and handkerchiefs – a little book, nicely bound in vellum but with no title on the spine. Someone had put a piece of paper in, evidently to mark their place, and naturally enough I opened the book at that point. The book itself was a profusely illustrated work of the variety which booksellers label curiosa, or facetiae, and was very definitely ‘privately printed in Paris.’ If it were Constantine’s, then it certainly threw an interesting light on his tastes; while if it belonged to Georges, then that seemingly impeccable servant would go down greatly in my estimation.