by John Hall
There was nothing to be made of the book, so I took out the marker, and glanced at that. It was a half-sheet of notepaper, the top half evidently, for there was some sort of a crest at the head of it, and a date ‘16 April’ – but no year – and the superscription, ‘My dear Constantine,’ both written in a sort of hasty scrawl. But then the rest of the letter, if letter it had been, had been torn off and discarded. I turned it over, and on the back was that most prosaic of things, a laundry list – ‘five silk shirts, eleven collars’ and so forth. Still, it might be a clue, and I put it down carefully, intending to show it to Holmes, or to study it more intently myself, later. To pass the time – and for no other reason, I assure you – I actually started to read the book, but Holmes stirred in his chair, and, just as the previous reader had done, I hastily stuck the bit of paper in to mark my place, then put the book in my pocket.
Holmes looked at his watch. ‘It will soon be time for our dinner,’ he told me.
‘I had not realized it was so late. Tell me, Holmes, what do you think this fellow Constantine has in mind for us?’
‘Well, it is clear that we are to join his band of brigands, is it not?’
‘Oh, I had worked that much out – but I meant rather that it is surely a step backwards for us, so far as our investigation goes, that is. After all, by encountering Constantine, we have started almost at the top, as it were. If we are now reduced to the ranks, obliged to start picking pockets, or scrumping apples, then we have surely lost that initial advantage?’
Holmes laughed, then considered this more seriously. ‘I see your point, and in fact it is something which had already occurred to me. But I confess that I cannot see any quick way round it – we can hardly presume upon our very slight acquaintance with Constantine to ask for an introduction to his master, now can we? No, we must possess our souls in patience – or as close to it as we can manage – and hope to show our worth as more humble members of the gang. And thereby, of course, progress up the ladder, and perhaps catch sight of the real head of the gang. Now, that is my plan at the moment; but if that proves too tiresome, then I suggest that we might make good our escape, slip out of sight and try to find this house, and then follow Constantine wherever he leads us, in the hope that he will take us to the man we seek.’
‘It is a gamble, either way,’ said I doubtfully.
‘I quite agree with you. But, as I say, to press the matter, to ask to talk to Constantine’s chief, would arouse suspicions. No, let us see what befalls, let us give it a reasonable time – shall we say a week or so? After that time, if we are no further, we shall resume our own identities, and try to track Constantine, and, through him, the head man. Detective work is, I fear, sometimes a tedious business. You saw that for yourself in that little affair at Baskerville Hall, where you had days, or even weeks, of inaction, and then everything happened more or less at once. And my own investigations into Moriarty entailed more days – and nights – of fruitless, boring watching, with very often nothing to show at the end of it all. But, in the end, it was worth it. Naturally, your readers know little of this; they think it is all excitement, a continuous succession of rousing events, because you can gloss over the more pedestrian elements, dismiss weeks, months, years, in a couple of lines or paragraphs.’
‘It will not be years, I trust,’ I said with a laugh. ‘And I hope that I am as patient as the next man. But is there not a case to be made out for slipping away now, contacting Dubuque, and having Constantine arrested?’
‘A bird in the hand, you mean? There is always an argument for immediate action, Doctor. But in this instance, I really think it would achieve very little. For a start, on what charge could Dubuque arrest Constantine? All we know against him is that he spoke at an anarchist meeting – even if we could establish that to the satisfaction of a magistrate, for Constantine is sure to have provided himself with an alibi, so it would be our word against his, and that of his friends, who are sure to be directors of banks, and what have you, just as he himself is. In England, our word might count for something, but here – well, let us say that it would be difficult. For the rest, again there would only be our word for it that he offered us membership of a criminal organization – we might well simply be laughed out of court, if the matter even actually got that far. If the case against him did happen to hold up, we should have one bird in our net – a fine, plump bird, I agree, and the world would be better for his having his wings clipped – but the others would fly off, you may be sure. At the very least, by joining the gang, by getting to know the lesser members, we might be able to take them, or some of them, in our net, too.’ He broke off and sighed.
‘The prospect seems to bring you little cheer,’ said I.
‘To labour our ornithological metaphor, I am worried lest our catch should prove to be only a couple of sparrows and finches. The eagles – or perhaps vultures might better describe them – might break through the mesh.’
‘As happened with the Moriarty gang?’
‘Exactly as happened with the Moriarty gang,’ replied Holmes. ‘The bulk of the gang was taken, sure enough, but Moriarty and three of his closest associates escaped. Moriarty is gone now – thank heaven! – and Moran is under arrest, but there are two still at large. And, had they been just a touch cleverer, a touch quicker off the mark, Moriarty and Moran might still be at liberty. That is what I fear, Watson – that any police action will miss the really important men. I have seen it happen before. And that is why I am prepared to wait, to see just what happens. If at all possible, I want the man who heads this gang, the man to whom Constantine and his like report. If taking that man entails some of the smaller fry going free, then that is a price worth paying. Let us at least give it a couple of weeks, shall we?’
I nodded. ‘Put like that, of course I am – ’ and I broke off as Georges tapped on the door. ‘I am with you!’ I told Holmes in an undertone, as Georges entered with our dinner on a silver tray.
The dinner was excellent, and I made a hearty meal, for I reasoned that it might be a good while before we ate anything of this standard again – indeed, it might be a long time before we ate anything, if events started to move quickly. Holmes seemed at first inclined to be up to his old tricks, and merely toyed with his food, but after I repeated his own words to him, that we could do nothing for the moment, but were playthings of Fate, so to speak, he laughed, agreed with me, and ate almost as well as I. When we had done, Georges brought coffee and a couple of excellent cigars – say what you will about Constantine, his hospitality could certainly never be faulted – and we smoked in silence for a time.
When it was late enough to be dark outside – Georges had lit the lamps, for the windows were still shuttered and we could not see for ourselves what the day might be like – Georges appeared, wearing a cloak, despite the fact that the evening was close. ‘If Messieurs would be so kind?’
We followed him out of the room. He did not take us to the main stair, but instead led us through a green baize door and down the servants’ stairs, until we reached the side entrance we had used on our arrival. Outside, it was beginning to get dark. The carriage stood waiting for us, and we set off at a smart pace.
As before, the blinds were down. Holmes casually moved as if to glance out of the window, but Georges politely but firmly prevented this. And, just as before, we took a very roundabout route. I did my best to listen for street noises and the like and to mark the direction we were taking, and once again thought I could recognize the Place de l’Etoile – but I may simply have been fooling myself that I knew Paris better than was, in fact, the case. Certainly that was the only landmark I thought I could speak to, and after that I was completely lost. After an hour or so, the carriage drew up, and Georges got down. ‘Messieurs?’
We descended into the street. ‘You recognize your surroundings?’ asked Georges.
Holmes looked round quickly. ‘The Halle aux Vins, I think? We are at no great distance from our pension. My thanks, Monsieur.’
‘I regret that I cannot take you further,’ said Georges with a bow.
‘No matter.’
‘It has been a pleasure to serve you, Messieurs.’
Holmes bowed in his turn. ‘The service was faultless.’ He stretched, like any cat. ‘It is good to taste some fresh air, is it not, Henri?’
‘It is indeed,’ said I.
Holmes took out a cigarette and lit it in a leisurely fashion. Georges remained, immobile, by the side of the carriage. I could see the badly concealed frustration on Holmes’ face. ‘Well,’ said he at last, when it was obvious that Georges had not the least intention of moving before we did, ‘we must bid you good night.’ He tipped his hat to the coachman, bowed again to Georges, and set off down the road. At the turning he glanced back. I did the same, and saw that Georges still stood there, unmoving.
‘Suspicious devil!’ said I. ‘He evidently thinks we would follow him!’
‘And he is right!’ said Holmes with a laugh. ‘It would have been unforgivable to have neglected so elementary a clue. But these men are not fools – Georges has been told not to return if there is the slightest suspicion that we are following. Still, we may console ourselves with the fact that we know something of Constantine – that he is well to do; that he lives on the Right Bank; and that his house is perhaps not too far from the Place de l’Etoile.’
‘Well, that certainly narrows it down quite considerably!’ said I.
‘And we know his name – unless it is an alias, which I strongly suspect will prove to be the case. Still, Dubuque or Lefevre may find that out for us.’
We reached the pension and Holmes leaned over the little counter, and whispered to the proprietor, ‘I was told to ask for “Marcel”.’
The fellow shrugged indifferently. ‘Monsieur Marcel, he is in your room.’
‘Indeed?’ Holmes ran up the stairs, and then stopped. He put a finger to his lips, then produced his revolver from his pocket, indicating that I should do the same. Although we had no cartridges between us, I think that we looked a fine pair of rascals as Holmes pushed open the door and strode inside.
Lefevre, or Marcel, or whatever his real name may have been, was sitting unconcerned in our best chair. I have to say that I should probably never have recognized him, were I not expecting to see him, for – although he was not in Holmes’s league in the matter of disguise – he had altered his appearance quite considerably, and now looked like a man of leisure, a man about town.
‘You’ve come up in the world!’ said I.
‘Ah, Dame Fortune, she ’as smile upon me, no?’ said Lefevre in his villainous English, adding in French, ‘But how delighted I am to see you, my good friends! I assure you, I have searched every edition of the newspapers most anxiously, expecting at any moment to hear news that two bodies have been found in the river! Tell me, have you met with the same good luck as I myself ?’
‘We have,’ said Holmes. ‘Do you know anything of a Monsieur Constantine, around sixty years of age, with something of an aristocratic bearing, but of humble origins? He is the governor of some private bank, but I cannot tell you just which. And his house is on the Right Bank.’
‘Near the Place de l’Etoile, or so we believe,’ I added.
Lefevre shrugged. ‘The name means nothing, I fear. But I shall look into it, you may be sure. You have, I take it, infiltrated this gang?’
Holmes nodded. ‘We are to remain here,’ said he, ‘and wait for this Constantine, or one of his fellows, rather, to get in touch. I have no clue as to what they propose to do with us, but I shall keep you informed. Do you stay here still?’
‘I have given up my room here, delightful though it was. But the proprietor can always reach me. You may trust him, for he – well, let us say, he knows who his friends are.’ Lefevre stood up. ‘I shall find out what there is to know about this Constantine, you may rely on me.’ He bowed to us, and left.
I was tired out. The excitement of the previous evening, and the strain of the day – for, although we had done nothing all day, the waiting had tired me more than any amount of action – conspired to make me seek my bed, and I was asleep almost before my head touched the pillow.
When I awoke, the daylight was streaming in through the open shutters, and Holmes was already up, dressed and shaved. We went downstairs, and set off for the nearest café. As we went along, I noticed an ordinary-looking man emerge from a doorway and wander along behind us.
‘I believe we are being followed!’ I told Holmes in an undertone.
‘I spotted him,’ he answered. ‘It is probably just a customary precaution.’
‘Ah, but on the part of whom?’ I wanted to know.
We reached our café and ordered coffee and rolls. The man whom I had seen earlier, and suspected of following us, came over to our table, and leaned over to us.
‘Monsieur Jean-Paul, I believe?’ said Holmes.
A quick shake of the head answered him. ‘No, but Jean-Paul has sent me. When you have finished, Messieurs, if you would follow me?’
Holmes quickly drank his coffee. ‘Ready, Henri?’
‘Perhaps another croissant? Oh, very well.’ And I followed them outside.
Our guide led us along the road for a hundred yards, then turned into a narrow alley. A couple more turnings took us into ever narrower and ever grimier courts, until our guide halted before a door whose peeling paint was only held in place by a thick coating of greasy dirt. ‘Messieurs?’ and he stood back to let us enter.
SEVEN
I followed Holmes into a tiny bistro, very dirty and with a thick pall of smoke in the air which set me coughing. A dozen men and women, all as dirty as the place itself – or dirtier – were seated around greasy tables, and as we entered they regarded us with lacklustre eyes, before going back to whatever conversations we had momentarily interrupted. Our guide followed us inside, and nodded his head to show that we were to follow him. He led the way through the little room, pushed open a door in the far side, and took us down a short passage before opening a second door, and motioning us inside.
The room we entered was even smaller than the main bar, and even smokier – perhaps that was as well, for the fumes did serve to obscure the more deep-seated grime which, I felt certain, lurked beneath the shoddy furnishings. The place looked for all the world like some thieves’ kitchen straight out of Dickens. Five or six men stood or sat around the room, all smoking, and none of them looking like the sort of man you would meet in the club – or would want to meet in a dark alleyway, for that matter.
One of the fellows stood up, and lounged over to us. ‘Jean-Paul,’ said he briefly, by way of introduction.
‘Pierre, and this is Henri,’ said Holmes.
Jean-Paul looked us up and down in an insolent fashion. He gestured at Holmes’s shoes. ‘We do sometimes need the services of a gigolo,’ he said with a leer.
‘I shall do my best to measure up,’ said Holmes calmly.
The fellow stared at me in my turn, then gave a dismissive shrug. ‘And as for Henri here – well, we always need more brawn.’
‘My experience of women – ’ I began hotly, but Jean-Paul silenced me with a rude gesture.
‘You are not here to discuss women, mon ami, but to take orders from me,’ he told me.
‘Well, I am ready enough for that!’ said I. ‘What orders have you? Command me, and you’ll see soon enough what I can do!’
He looked at me with a touch more favour than he had shown thus far. ‘You are ready to join us?’ he asked.
‘That is what we are waiting for – the reason we are here,’ I said, while Holmes stifled a yawn, as if he were being kept waiting unnecessarily.
Jean-Paul inclined his head. ‘Fine words,’ said he. ‘We shall see if you can live up to them.’ He reached into a pocket, and handed Holmes and myself a silk scarf apiece. ‘You know what these are for?’ he asked.
Holmes shook his head, whilst I strove to think of the French word for thuggee.
‘Where are we going?’ I wanted to know, but Jean-Paul did not reply until we had reached a fairly busy road. He halted in a doorway, and nodded across the street, where a little post office stood.
‘You are armed?’ asked Jean-Paul.
I showed him my revolver, under cover of my jacket, and Holmes did the same.
‘Loaded?’ asked Jean-Paul.
‘Not mine.’
‘Nor mine.’
Jean-Paul handed us two cartridges each. ‘Try not to shoot anyone, unless you have to,’ he told us.
‘And suppose we need to shoot more than twice?’ I wanted to know.
Jean-Paul used a rude expression which was intended to convey the sense that such a prospect did not bother him too much, if, indeed, at all, then led the way across the road. He pulled up his scarf to hide his face, and Holmes and I did the same.
Jean-Paul shoved open the door of the post office, and waved his revolver in the air. ‘Keep quiet, all of you!’ he roared to the astonished customers and clerks. And to Holmes and me, ‘Don’t just stand there! Help yourselves, you numskulls!’
I saw Holmes taking cash from a drawer. It was not my part to spoil the performance, I thought, and accordingly I too pulled open the nearest drawer, and grabbed whatever was in there.
