Sherlock Holmes and the Boulevard Assassin

by John Hall

  Jean-Paul, standing at the door, shouted, ‘Quickly! The police!’

  Holmes ran to the door, and I followed him. As we reached the door, one of the customers, an elderly and respectable businessman, made as if to attack us with his rolled-up umbrella. I fired a shot over the man’s head; while Holmes – a better marksman than I – shot the umbrella out of his very hand! The elderly gentleman made use, I regret to say, of some very ungentlemanly language as he rubbed his arm.

  Jean-Paul looked round as we fired, then set off at a run down the street, with Holmes and me hard on his heels. We attracted some odd looks, but there was no attempt at pursuit that I could see. Jean-Paul turned into an alley, and slowed down. He pulled the scarf from his face, and adjusted it, so that he looked as respectable as was possible. He grinned happily at us. ‘That wasn’t half bad, was it?’ said he.

  ‘You could have warned us what you planned!’ I grumbled.

  ‘Ah, but I wanted to know how you would react to the unexpected!’

  ‘I saw no police, either!’ I told him.

  ‘Well, it was time to go anyway! You didn’t do half bad, I must say.’ And he led us back to the little bistro. The back room was empty – the others were evidently out on business, as it were – and the smoke was starting to clear.

  ‘Now,’ said Jean-Paul, lighting a cigarette, ‘let’s see what we have.’ He cast a critical eye over Holmes’ booty. ‘Cash, is it? Big notes, too! That’s not half bad! And a handful of mandats. Well, we can make use of those. And good old Henri here has got – yes, I see it’s a sheaf of stamps. Two-centime stamps.’

  ‘I could have done better had I had more warning!’ said I. ‘Anyway, you can use these when you next write a letter!’

  ‘Merde, so I could!’ said Jean-Paul with a great roar of laughter. ‘That is, if anyone had ever bothered to teach me to write!’

  ‘Oh,’ said I. ‘Please forgive me – I could not have known – look here, Jean-Paul, if ever you need to write to anyone, just say the word.’

  Jean-Paul looked at me intently. ‘Would you? I have often wished – my old mother, you know – in the country – she worries about me – and I did promise – but, well – ’

  ‘Any time,’ said I, embarrassed at this entirely unsuspected show of emotion. ‘Just tell me what you want to say, and – well – we have plenty of stamps, anyway!’

  To my horror, Jean-Paul grabbed me. I thought for a moment that he intended to kiss me, but he settled for a hug like the embrace of a grizzly bear. ‘You’re a good fellow, Henri,’ he told me. ‘And you’re not half bad either, Pierre. Let’s have a drink!’

  ‘Shall I ask the owner for a bottle of red wine?’ I asked.

  Jean-Paul made a rude noise. ‘That dishwater?’ I paraphrase slightly; he did not actually say ‘dishwater’ – he was something of a rough diamond, though his heart was undoubtedly in the right place – but ‘dishwater’ conveys the general meaning of what he did say. ‘No,’ said he, ‘I have some good stuff here,’ and he took a bottle from a tall cupboard, and poured us each a generous measure.

  As I say, his heart was in the right place, but if that was his ‘good stuff,’ I dread to think what the bad might have tasted like. Jean-Paul had evidently acquired a liking for it, though, and he helped himself to another glass.

  ‘And then perhaps we ought to think about dividing the spoils?’ suggested Holmes, waving a hand at the loot spread out before us.

  ‘Ah.’ Jean-Paul looked as nearly embarrassed as was possible for him. ‘The thing is – I know that you took all the risks, and all that sort of thing – but – well, that isn’t the way it works with us. Everything goes into the kitty, you see, and the lads – me, too – we get a regular wage at the end of each week.’

  Holmes looked astonished at this. ‘But then one might just as well be working in a factory, or behind a desk!’

  ‘No, no,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘It’s not that bad, I assure you. You can work your own hours, more or less; so that if you really want a regular job, you might take one, and do this part-time, as it were. And then there’s the bonuses.’

  ‘Bonuses?’

  ‘If there’s a big job, you see – you get a bonus, according to how much work you put in to it, how much risk you took, that sort of thing.’

  ‘A proper fixed scale!’ I muttered.

  ‘You have it,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘And I can tell you that those kind of big jobs come up pretty frequently – far more often than you or I alone could manage. The chief sees to that. So you get a bit extra, even though you may not have to do any work! Not half bad, is it?’

  ‘The chief ? You mean Monsieur Constantine?’ said Holmes.

  Jean-Paul looked round anxiously, even though the place was deserted. ‘We don’t bandy names around too much in here,’ said he. ‘Most of the lads prefer a nickname, in fact.’ He glanced at Holmes’s shoes. ‘I think we’ll have to call you “The Fancy Man”.’

  Holmes gave a mirthless grin. ‘I knifed the last man who made a slighting remark about these shoes,’ he said.

  Jean-Paul looked at him with a new respect. ‘No offence,’ said he hastily. ‘Have another drink! No, I see it’s empty – never mind, we’ll try another bottle,’ and he reached up into the cupboard as he spoke. ‘Now, about this money – I’m told you’re both down on your luck just at the moment, so I’ll give you a small advance.’ He picked some notes from the heap that lay in front of him, and handed them to us. ‘Mind, now! This is nothing more than an advance, and it’ll be deducted from this week’s wages – I may not read or write as well as you fellows, but I can reckon up all right! Well, that’s settled. Drink up, and we’ll have another!’

  ‘You were saying about Monsieur Constant – about “the chief”, that is to say?’ asked Holmes casually, accepting another glass.

  ‘No, no. He – the man you mentioned, he isn’t the chief,’ said Jean-Paul, refilling his glass.

  ‘No?’

  Jean-Paul shook his tousled head. ‘Not a bit of it! Just a glorified foreman, same as me, if the truth be known. The chief, he’s another thing altogether – you wouldn’t want to cross him, I can tell you! Not that you’d want to cross the other one either, but the chief, he’s worse.’ He glanced around the empty room yet again, and grew confidential. ‘Known him for years, me. From the very start.’ He glanced round again. ‘In the old days, we called him “The Boulevard Assassin”. But nobody dares call him that now, I can tell you!’

  ‘And why did anyone call him that?’ asked Holmes in an off-hand tone. ‘It seems even more droll than “The Fancy Man”, when all is said and done!’

  ‘You wouldn’t think that if you knew him,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘As for the name – why, he’s a man about town, a boulevardier, a real gent. Coat of arms, and all that, one has no doubt. But a killer, too, and there’s certainly no two ways about that. I’ve caught a glimpse of him two or three times – no more than that, in all these years! – but he was always muffled up, a scarf round his chops so you couldn’t see his face properly, but you could see his eyes.’ He shuddered. ‘Weird, dead eyes. No – what’s the word? – no emotion. Like those things – what do you call ’em? With dead eyes?’

  ‘Camel?’ I suggested. ‘They have strange eyes – ’

  ‘A camel? Merde, non! A shark! That’s what I meant to tell you – eyes just like a shark! And he’d rip your belly open just as easy, too.’ He lowered his voice yet further. ‘They say he’s killed a dozen men – maybe two dozen – with his own hands! Well, you’ll say the dogs always exaggerate, and that’s true, they’ll say anything – but, with him, I could believe it.’

  ‘But you never saw his face?’ asked Holmes casually. ‘You do not know his name, let us say?’

  The thought seemed to horrify Jean-Paul. He took a long pull at his glass before answering. ‘Not I! If I had seen him, or could guess his name, I tell you, I wouldn’t be around to talk about it! He is a man who guards his privacy, I can tell you! And he knows
everything! Indeed, I think he must be in league with the devil – that is, if he is not the very devil himself ! You can be sure that he will take a look at you – but you’ll never see him!’

  ‘What, he visits here? And in disguise?’ asked Holmes.

  Jean-Paul shrugged. ‘Maybe. Who knows? All I can tell you is, he knows everything that goes on here.’

  ‘And he runs the whole show?’ asked Holmes. ‘For all the world as if it were his own little business? A private army?’

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’ Jean-Paul looked round again before continuing, ‘Don’t kid yourselves, though! There’s a lot more to it than this den of cheap crooks! Plans, big plans – that’s what the chief’s got, big plans. Why, I shouldn’t be surprised if one day he wasn’t – wasn’t – ’

  ‘President?’ suggested Holmes.

  ‘And why not? Look at Napoleon! He started off an ordinary soldier, didn’t he? Took over the whole of Europe – and would’ve taken over the rest, if he hadn’t had the devil’s own bad luck!’

  ‘This chief of yours – ours, that is – he sees himself as another Napoleon, does he?’ said Holmes dreamily. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t make a move when the President was assassinated a couple of weeks ago.’

  Jean-Paul laughed. ‘Some silly beggar jumped the gun, didn’t he? The chief was mad as hell about that, I can tell you! These damned anarchists – who can control them? The chief would like to, I can tell you! But they go their own way, half the time.’

  ‘It wasn’t in his plan, then?’

  ‘Not a bit of it! Not that I saw him, of course, but Monsieur Constantine, he came here as usual to give me my orders, and he was shaking like a leaf ! I’m not kidding – shaking like a leaf, after what the chief had said. Just as well for that damned fool that the crowd got him first, I can tell you.’ He straightened his back, and rubbed his eyes. ‘But I’m talking too much! That’s dangerous! Merde, but I’m drunk!’

  ‘Merde, but you are!’ agreed Holmes. ‘And, in that event, another drink will not do you any more harm – ’

  ‘No, no. It’s kind of you, but no.’ Jean-Paul shook his head vigorously, as if to clear the fumes from it. ‘I have to go – got to see a man about a dog. Now, my lads, this is how it works with us. You can find this place again, yes? Right. You’re to be here each morning at nine – ’

  ‘So early?’ I asked incredulously.

  ‘Like your sleep, do you? Tant pis! Nine o’clock, on the dot, I assure you! And every day, you comprehend? If you’re not here on the dot, it’s docked from that week’s wages! Now, there may be a little job, and again there may not. If there isn’t, then the rest of the day is your own. Stay out of trouble if you can, and if you can’t, then don’t look to us for help – we look after our own, right enough, but only when they’re acting on orders, understand? And if you fancy a little work on your own account, that’s fine – but remember to tip up any proceeds. Everything goes into the kitty, like I say.’

  ‘But that gives one very little incentive to act on one’s own account, surely?’ said Holmes.

  Jean-Paul nodded. ‘That’s right enough. But, you see, the idea is that the lads don’t act, except on orders from the chief, or – or the gentleman whose name we won’t mention – or even me, as a last resort. That way, you see, things are more tidy, like; everything can be kept in good order. And then you lads make sure and stay pretty much out of trouble – as much as is reasonable, that is – because our jobs are properly organized so’s you won’t be caught, see? The only danger to you is if you act on your own, and get caught! Now, Saturday’s pay day. You’ll get a little something, even if you’ve not done a stroke all week. If you have, like I told you, there’ll be an extra bonus, depending on what you did to earn it. If you want to compare pay packets with the others, that’s between yourselves, but if they won’t tell you how much they’ve got, I wouldn’t press the matter, or you’ll more likely get a knife in the ribs than an answer! I don’t tell anyone what anyone else has got, I assure you – and I don’t tell ’em what I’ve got, either! If you think you’ve not got as much as you deserve – taking into account the weeks when you got paid, but didn’t work, you don’t squabble with anyone else, right? You come and see me – and if you’re still unhappy after that, I’ll ask Monsieur Constantine to resolve the difficulty. He’s – what’s that the shyster lawyers say?’

  ‘“A court of final appeal”?’ I suggested.

  ‘Yes, just so. Although you might as well say, “a hanging judge”, because you don’t want to cross him, even if he is only Number Two. Now, clear off out of here, but be sure to be here at nine tomorrow, and no mistake!’ Holmes led the way outside and looked up and down the alley, under cover of lighting a cigarette, before setting off at a stroll. He did not say anything until we had reached a busier street, and were able to find a spot where we could see anyone who approached, but could not be overheard ourselves.

  ‘I do not think we have been followed,’ said he, ‘but it is as well not to run any risks. We must ask Lefevre if he has found out anything about this fellow Constantine, but then I think we must avoid any further contact with the official forces, unless it is absolutely necessary. What think you to Jean-Paul yonder?’

  ‘He seems a decent enough chap. A bit rough-cut, of course, but a heart of sterling silver, if not exactly solid gold. Reminds me a bit of “Froggy” Mortimer, who was Captain when I was in the First Eleven at school. Fast bowler. “Froggy”, that is, not me – I was always more of a stone-waller, of course.’

  ‘That is really most interesting. And I suppose this youthful amphibian friend of yours is now a senior clerk in some Government office, like that other fellow – “Tadpole” Somebody-or-the-other – whose craving for a cup of cocoa caused him to mislay a valuable treaty?’

  ‘Not a bit of it! Last I heard, old “Froggy” was doing ten years penal servitude, as a result of some very shady dealings on the Kaffir Circus. Biggest crook out! I told you, this fellow reminds me of him.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘It is all highly organized, though, Holmes.’

  ‘It is indeed. I need hardly tell you who was responsible for that!’

  ‘Indeed not! But tell me – do you take seriously Jean-Paul’s suggestion that this mysterious “chief” actually comes to that sink of iniquity and spies on his minions?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, I do not entirely rule the possibility out. As we have just observed, the gang is run very much on the same lines as the Moriarty gang – one central, controlling power which directs pretty well all the activity, even what one might call the day-to-day running of the organization. I have no doubt that that central power has its finger on every pulse.’

  ‘But there may be dozens of men in the gang!’

  ‘Hundreds, more like,’ said Holmes coolly. ‘But remember that so too did the Moriarty gang have hundreds of members, yet the professor knew them all. Oh, he obviously knew those in the upper echelons more intimately, I do not mean to imply otherwise; he knew their strengths, and – far more to the point – their weaknesses. But he also knew by sight, and in many cases by name, the most humble wretches who were working for him. In that knowledge was his strength, his power.’ He lit another cigarette. ‘Let us return, and see if Lefevre has anything to tell us.’

  ‘By the way, Holmes,’ said I innocently enough, ‘you were wrong about one thing.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘You thought that the assassination of the President was in some way linked to this gang – now Jean-Paul tells us categorically that it was not!’

  Holmes shook his head as if to dismiss this slur. ‘Perhaps not directly,’ said he. ‘But it foreshadowed even worse things, did it not? It was the overall impression that I sensed. Perhaps I erred as to some minor details, but you must allow that I got all the important points correct.’

  What could one do, faced with such monstrous egotism? I fairly gasped at this colossal perversion of the facts, and Holmes – thinking no dou
bt that I was lost in admiration of his brilliance – smiled complacently and set off along the street.

  I noticed that on the way back to the pension Holmes kept a sharp look out, and I endeavoured to do the same, but I could not see anyone suspicious. Lefevre was waiting in our room once more, and Holmes told him in a very few words what we had been doing, adding finally, ‘It might be as well if we did not meet for a while. We are almost certain to be watched carefully, although I am confident that we are safe for the moment.’

  Lefevre nodded. ‘Agreed. You can contact me via the owner here in an emergency, of course.’

  ‘Did you manage to find anything about a “Monsieur Constantine”, then?’

  ‘There is a man of that name, in the right general locality.’

  ‘Excellent!’

  ‘But he is too old – almost eighty. He is an importer of carpets.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘And there is his grandson.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But he is too young,’ said Lefevre with a smile. ‘Only nineteen.’

  ‘What about the son?’ asked Holmes.

  Lefevre shook his head. ‘Dead, unfortunately. To be sure, there are half a dozen others, but they are all the wrong age, or living in the wrong locality, or there is some other obvious objection which rules them out.’

  ‘He is, we know, the head of a private bank.’

  Lefevre shrugged. ‘There are many private banks in Paris – always assuming that he told you the truth about that – and I have checked as many as I could, but without success.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Holmes. ‘Well, it was worth a try. Constantine may be a Christian name, of course, or an alias. More likely the latter. In any event, that particular scent has gone cold, for the time being.’

  ‘Do you have plans for today?’ asked Lefevre. ‘You have perhaps received some orders from the gang leaders?’

  ‘Only to report at nine tomorrow, to see what duties may be required of us. I shall give you the address of the meeting place,’ and Holmes scribbled it on a piece of paper.

  ‘We shall keep an eye on it, you may be sure,’ promised Lefevre.