Sherlock Holmes and the Boulevard Assassin

by John Hall

  ‘Diamonds?’

  ‘Keep your voice down! Yes, a jeweller’s in the Rue de la Paix, near the Place Vendôme.’

  ‘Very exclusive, no doubt?’ said Holmes.

  ‘Not half! Very classy, very snob. Anyway, he’s had a delivery of diamonds just lately, from Antwerp.’ Jean-Paul produced a grimy bit of paper from his pocket. ‘That’s the name of the cutter, and what have you – you’ll read it quicker than I, one has no doubt. Now, what do you think that gent is, the one in the photograph, the one you’re supposed to be?’

  Holmes shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well? What is he, then?’

  ‘A detective!’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘An English detective, very famous – none other than the famous Sherlock Holmes!’ He laughed until he almost choked, and I slapped him on the back. ‘Thanks, Henri. Yes, my lads! What do you think to that for cheek?’

  ‘And I am to impersonate this – this Shylock Holmes?’

  ‘Sherlock. Yes, indeed.’ Jean-Paul reached into his greasy coat again, and carefully took out a crisp white visiting card. I looked at it with some interest, and saw that it was one of Holmes’s own – easy enough to acquire, in all conscience, for a man hands out dozens of the things without thinking, and does not, as a rule, demand their return. I have no doubt that Moriarty, or one of his lieutenants, had obtained the card several years before, and preserved it meticulously ever since, lest it might prove useful. That one fact alone told me a great deal about the organization we were fighting.

  ‘Now,’ Jean-Paul was telling Holmes, ‘you’re to go to this shop – I’ll take you there – and spin them some yarn or the other. Identify yourself – show them your visiting card – and tell them, oh, that there’s been a tip-off, a gang of crooks is after the stones. Mention the names on that scrap of paper, talk as if you knew all about the shipment, and point out that what you know, thieves can know too. Ask to see the diamonds, to check they’re safe, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Perhaps he might hint that the stones have already been replaced by fakes?’ I suggested.

  ‘Capital!’ said Jean-Paul. ‘I knew you were the right lads! Now, however you do it, you grab the sparklers, right? Then leg it, as fast as you can.’

  ‘The jeweller will immediately call the police!’ Holmes objected.

  ‘Too true! There’ll be a couple of gendarmes standing right outside the shop! And they will, naturally, give chase at once, and catch you right away! Only – ’ and he broke off and laughed heartily – ‘they’ll be our lads, dressed up! They bundle you into a waiting cab, tell the jeweller that all’s well, and he’ll soon have his stones back – and there you are! What say you to that?’

  ‘Not half bad!’ admitted Holmes. ‘Simple,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘but perhaps more likely to work than a more elaborate plan, which would entail more that might go wrong.’

  ‘Ah, that’s the chief for you!’ said Jean-Paul, every bit as delighted as if he had thought of it himself. ‘None of your complicated ploys, where a man must be constantly troubling himself to remember details, but – my word! They get the goods, I can tell you!’

  ‘But what if the jeweller insists on going along with them?’ I wanted to know. ‘To keep an eye on his property.’

  ‘Merde! More fool him, in that case!’ said Jean-Paul, somewhat embarrassed. ‘We won’t hurt him, though – just a tap on the head, and out he goes into the gutter, eh?’ He wiped his chin, which gave some hint of his erstwhile meal, and stood up. ‘Ready, then?’

  ‘Ready,’ said Holmes.

  Jean-Paul had a cab standing in the road – I suspected then, and still suspect to this day, that the driver was in the employ of the gang, and did not ply for legitimate hire at all – and we soon crossed to the Right Bank, and headed briskly towards the Tuileries.

  Jean-Paul nodded through the window. ‘There’s our lads.’

  I followed his gaze, and saw two gendarmes standing at the corner. One raised his hand in a salute as the cab drew up, to show that all was well.

  Jean-Paul nodded to Holmes. ‘Up to you, now, Pierre,’ he said. ‘Good luck!’ he added, as Holmes descended into the street.

  I made as if to follow, but Jean-Paul’s huge arm prevented me. ‘Just watch the show,’ he advised me. ‘We’ll have our bit of excitement soon enough, you’ll see!’

  I sat back, and watched through the cab window as Holmes entered the shop, and approached an assistant. There was a short exchange, then the assistant left Holmes staring at a display case. A moment later the assistant returned, accompanied by a short, stout man with a heavy black beard.

  ‘The owner!’ Jean-Paul hissed in my ear.

  The owner, for such it was, listened as Holmes spoke long and earnestly. Then the owner seemed disposed to argue with Holmes, who produced the visiting card, and pointed to it.

  ‘Clever!’ said Jean-Paul.

  The jeweller vanished, returning a moment later with a jewel case. He opened this, and indicated its contents, speaking volubly to Holmes as he did so. Holmes shrugged, and turned as if to leave in disgust. The jeweller stopped him, handed the case over. Holmes examined the stones, pointed and said something. It was now the jeweller’s turn to shrug, as if he could not believe what Holmes was saying.

  Then suddenly Holmes closed the case, pushed the jeweller out of the way, raced past the astonished assistant, and out into the street! The jeweller stumbled, bumped into the unfortunate assistant, swore at him – it was as well we could not lip-read, I fancy – and chased after Holmes.

  Holmes, meantime, had dashed into the street, then stopped, uncertain, as if he had just noticed the gendarmes lounging there. The jeweller was not long following Holmes outside, and began to shout and wave his arms. Holmes now cast caution to the winds, and started to run down the street. The gendarmes followed at once, and Jean-Paul roared with laughter. ‘Not half bad!’ said he. ‘Now, they’ll – merde!’

  I followed his gaze, and was astonished to see a third gendarme, and then a fourth, emerge from a doorway, and block Holmes’s flight! Holmes made as if to avoid them, but he was quickly seized. The first two gendarmes who had been chasing him stopped in their tracks, as if unsure what to do next.

  ‘Merde!’ repeated Jean-Paul.

  ‘Not part of the plan?’ I asked.

  ‘Merde, non! Those are real policemen! What the devil are we to do now, Henri?’

  I thought fast. I knew, of course – as Jean-Paul did not know – that Holmes had nothing to fear from the police. Dubuque would quickly sort out any silly misunderstanding. But there was a danger inasmuch as, having once been arrested Holmes could hardly reappear as if nothing had happened! This would spoil our chances of making ourselves useful to the gang, and to its mysterious chief.

  The two fake gendarmes had now recovered their wits sufficiently to make as if to assist the real policemen, who were bundling Holmes into a cab. But even from where we sat it was obvious that the real policemen were politely but firmly declining the offer of assistance – and Jean-Paul’s ‘lads’ clearly did not wish to press the matter.

  The jeweller, all out of breath and flushed with anger, had now reached the little group, and began to protest volubly. One of the real gendarmes said something in a lofty fashion, then shrugged his shoulders. Meantime, his colleague urged Holmes into the cab with the toe of his boot.

  ‘Just as in our plan!’ said Jean-Paul sadly. ‘They will have told the jeweller to go to the Palais de Justice, there to receive a receipt for the stones. Merde!’ he mumbled, as the cab moved off. ‘Any ideas, Henri?’

  ‘We can follow them,’ said I. ‘Call your men in, and let’s be off before we lose them.’

  ‘Follow them? But why? Once at the Palais de Justice – ’ and a great shrug ended the sentence.

  ‘I have no idea what we can do,’ said I, ‘but we may think of something. Certainly if we stay here, we shall never retrieve anything from this affair!’

  ‘Y
ou’re right.’ Jean-Paul leaned out of the window, and whistled at his lads, who ran over and joined us. Jean-Paul shouted an order at the cabbie, and we moved off.

  The two fake gendarmes looked unhappily at Jean-Paul. ‘Nothing we could do, boss!’ said one of them.

  ‘No, no. I can’t blame you.’ Jean-Paul leaned out of the window again. ‘Keep up, there!’ he told the cabbie. ‘Next turning left, they took.’ He looked ruefully at me. ‘Any inspiration yet?’

  ‘Well – when we reach the police station, why don’t you and I start a fight. The real gendarmes will try to separate us – they may even think that it’s some scheme to rescue Pierre! – and then these two can offer to guard Pierre whilst those two are busy with us.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Not much, I know, but that’s the best I can think of at the moment.’

  ‘It could work, you know. If we make it look convincing. Yes. It might work – anyway, we’ve nothing else, so let’s try that. Keep up, damn you!’ he added to the cabbie.

  ‘But which way, boss? We seem to have lost them.’ The cab slowed down as he said the words.

  ‘Damnation!’ Jean-Paul leaped down into the road and stared about him. ‘Which way have the dogs taken? Anybody see them?’

  One of the fake gendarmes mumbled something.

  ‘What d’you say?’

  ‘This isn’t the way to the Palais de Justice, you know! There’s something wrong here, boss.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ said Jean-Paul. ‘Look, you two go down there – ’ he pointed, ‘and Henri, come with me.’

  We set off down a side street, and almost at once Jean-Paul pointed ahead. ‘What’s that? By the lamp post?’

  ‘Good God!’ said I. ‘It’s Hol – it’s old Pierre!’

  It was indeed Holmes, slumped in the street! He had evidently been hit hard enough to stun him, but I could see no serious injury, and he groaned and tried to stand up as we reached him. Jean-Paul and I helped him to his feet.

  He stared sorrowfully at us, then tried to laugh.

  ‘What?’ said Jean-Paul.

  ‘It is really too funny!’ Holmes was sufficiently recovered to laugh in his peculiar silent fashion.

  ‘I can’t see the joke, mon ami!’

  ‘Jupin! That was Jupin, and one of his confederates!’

  ‘What! Jupin? Then the diamonds – ’

  ‘The diamonds are gone, I fear. Unless one could persuade Jupin to share them!’

  Jean-Paul looked grim. ‘The chief won’t like this,’ said he. ‘Not one bit! You’ll have to explain this to him in person, my lads!’

  Holmes and I exchanged a glance, and I knew that we were both thinking the same thing. This turn of events meant that we should meet Jean-Paul’s “chief” at last – but the circumstances might have been slightly more favourable!

  Jean-Paul’s two gendarmes had reached us by now, and we returned, a gloomy little party, to the cab, and set off home.

  ‘It was a curious coincidence, Jupin’s being there!’ I ventured.

  ‘Coincidence be damned!’ said Jean-Paul morosely. ‘It is just the sort of theft that would appeal to him!’

  ‘But, to use fake gendarmes – ’

  ‘Now that was coincidence, I agree! But still – great minds think alike!’ And Jean-Paul lapsed into a brooding silence until we reached the little bistro.

  Jean-Paul led the way inside, only to stop suddenly in the doorway of the usual back room. ‘What the devil – oh, sorry, Monsieur Constantine,’ said he. ‘I didn’t see you there. And – oh!’ He nudged me violently in the ribs, and whispered, ‘The chief!’

  I followed him into the room, which held a half-dozen rough-looking men. I did not recognize any of them as being the men who had been there that morning, and

  Jean-Paul was evidently at as much of a loss as I, for he asked, ‘Who might these lads be, chief ? And how did you know – ’ and he stopped, and coughed, as if realizing that he had said too much already.

  The man he had addressed was standing in a gloomy corner. He was a tall man, as tall as Holmes himself, and the lower part of his face was swathed in a white silk scarf. ‘These are my own men,’ said he, in a curious sibilant tone. He went on, ‘And how did I know – what?’

  ‘Why – the diamonds!’

  ‘Ah, yes! The diamonds, to be sure! You have them?’

  Jean-Paul shrugged. ‘Alas, no! The plan went wrong! We thought they were real gendarmes – they took Pierre – but all the time it was Jupin!’

  ‘Ah!’ The mysterious “chief” nodded his head. ‘Jupin has the diamonds, then?’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘Jupin! The mysterious, ubiquitous Jupin! Jupin, who may be relied upon to be always where he is needed, at the right time!’

  ‘It was Jupin, chief !’ Jean-Paul assured him.

  ‘Of course! Tant pis, we shall discuss the diamonds later! But – Jupin always excepted, of course – the plan went well?’

  ‘Well enough,’ muttered Jean-Paul.

  ‘Thank you, Jean-Paul, that will be all. I shall take over now. You can go.’

  Jean-Paul looked rather askance at this, but he could not very well do anything other than leave, which he did with some evident reluctance.

  I confess that I was now very worried. I have no doubt whatsoever that Jean-Paul was a rogue who would cut the throat of his proverbial grandmother for the equally proverbial couple of shillings, but by his own lights he was decent enough, and the fact that he had been sent out leaving us alone with these strangers seemed to me to bode no good.

  ‘You had no difficulty impersonating Mr Sherlock Holmes?’ said the man whose face we could not see.

  ‘None whatsoever,’ said Holmes calmly.

  ‘No. But then, why should you? After all, there is no difficulty about impersonating oneself – is there, Mr Sherlock Holmes!’

  Holmes tensed himself to spring forward, but he was seized by two or three of the ruffians surrounding him. I, too, felt my arms grabbed from behind.

  The mysterious “chief” went on, ‘I had you fooled from the start, Holmes! I recognized you at once, of course!’

  ‘Of course you did,’ said Holmes calmly enough. ‘I had hopes that you would! For how otherwise could I get to meet you so quickly?’

  The other man seemed taken aback by this for a moment, then he said with a sneer, ‘Sheer bluff, Holmes! Your plans have gone wrong – why not simply admit as much?’

  ‘Dubuque knows everything,’ said Holmes as calmly as before.

  ‘Dubuque? But – ah, I see! Yes, that was clever. But, even though he is still alive, I rather fancy – ’ and he looked at Constantine for confirmation.

  Constantine shook his head. ‘They have had no opportunity to tell Dubuque anything,’ said he. ‘Oh, the police watch this place – we have known that all along – but that is all, and the watchers are easily eluded. They have never yet spotted me, for instance!’

  The ‘chief’ laughed. ‘I thought as much!’ To Holmes he said, ‘You have spoiled my plans – for I know this nonsense about Jupin is a lie! I should kill you now – but I shall keep you alive – for a time only, you understand, a very short time – for I see another use for you yet.’ He walked over, and studied me intently. ‘However, I regret most deeply that I cannot say the same for you, Doctor Watson.’ He stepped back, and nodded to the men who held my arms.

  I felt a sudden, searing pain in my head, and then there was only blackness.

  TEN

  ‘Doctor Watson! Doctor Watson!’

  I stirred, and groaned, conscious only of a terrible pain in my head. Then I believe I must have passed out again, and it seemed an age before I once again heard, ‘Doctor Watson!’

  I sensed, rather than saw, someone bending over me, and fearing that they intended me some further harm I struck out blindly and feebly. My arms were gripped, but not in any rough or unfriendly manner, and I finally recognized Dubuque’s voice, although it was strained and anx
ious.

  ‘Doctor Watson! Are you hurt?’

  I opened my eyes, to shut them again quickly. ‘Damned silly question, if ever I heard one!’ I protested querulously.

  ‘Ah, but then you cannot be too badly damaged!’

  ‘No, I – ouch!’ I rubbed my head ruefully. ‘No blood, though,’ I added, looking at my hand. I glanced around. We were in a narrow court or alley, which I judged – correctly in the event – must be behind the bistro. From the light, I could tell that the evening was drawing in. ‘What on earth is the time?’ I asked Dubuque.

  ‘Eight o’clock.’

  ‘Good Lord! I must have been unconscious for some four or five hours, then! I say, Dubuque, how came you to find me here? I’m glad you did, of course, but how?’

  ‘All in good time, mon vieux. I am still troubled as to whether or not you are badly injured.’

  ‘Not a bit of it!’

  Dubuque bent down and retrieved a battered object, which he handed to me. ‘Your beautiful hat – it is ruined, I think.’

  ‘I think you are right,’ said I. ‘Poor old bowler! It evidently took the worst of the blow, and incidentally saved my life. I shall keep it as a souvenir, though I shall never dare sport it in Jermyn Street again.’

  Dubuque dusted down my coat, which betrayed the fact that I had spent some time lying in the none too clean gutter. ‘And you are well enough to travel?’

  ‘Fine, fine!’ I essayed a few steps, and stumbled against Dubuque. ‘That is – perhaps it might be as well if I were to sit down for a moment?’

  Dubuque led me inside the little bistro, which was now quite deserted – oddly enough, considering the hour. I looked round, puzzled. ‘Where is everyone, then? More to the point, Dubuque – where is Holmes?’

  ‘Ah, that I cannot say – I had hopes that you might tell me, for it was partly Monsieur Holmes that I was seeking when I came here. Mostly, of course, I came to find you.’

  ‘I see.’ I confess that I did not; but I was having difficulty seeing anything for the moment, and did not feel inclined to engage in academic discussion. ‘I wonder, Dubuque – would there be a bottle of wine handy, think you?’