by Hayes, Steve
‘Now, these are just grand words – at the moment. And unless you call for the resignation of M’sieur de Freycinet and vote for the Independent Republicans, all they will ever be are empty promises. You must choose simply between what you already know to be a failed system of government, and find the courage to install a new one. My friends – thank you!’
Again the crowd erupted, and again the band started playing Le Marseillaise. As Fournier waved to his audience, Watson leaned close to Holmes and said: ‘Well, you certainly cannot argue with his policies.’
‘Not at all,’ Holmes replied. ‘If he is sincere in his desire to carry them through. But promises are cheap, and it has been the sad experience of one electorate after another that politicians will say anything to acquire the votes needed to bring them to power. Then they practise selective amnesia.’
Fournier turned and started to leave the stage. Holmes turned to Verne and said: ‘Call to him!’
Earlier they had agreed that this was their best chance to obtain an audience with the man. Had they requested a meeting beforehand, Fournier’s staff could have simply fobbed them off, even someone as famous as Verne. But to use the politician’s own trick against him – to buttonhole a man when he least expected it – was to give him no chance to refuse.
‘François!’ called Verne. And again: ‘François!’
At first Fournier seemed not to hear the writer. Then Verne called his name a little louder. Fournier glanced around blankly, then down towards the sound of the voice. Recognizing Verne, he promptly stopped. Holmes watched his expression. In it he seemed to read surprise, then alarm, then – and this was the last thing he had been expecting – undisguised pleasure.
To the astonishment of the crowd, Fournier hurried to the edge of the platform and leapt down to the ground. He clasped Verne by the forearms, his smile making him look even more boyish.
‘Jules! I read about what happened. My God, man, how are you?’
‘I am improving by the day,’ Verne said, adding: ‘François, please allow me to introduce my friends Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson.’
Fournier’s eyes widened. ‘The Sherlock Holmes?’
‘I do not believe there is another,’ said Holmes.
‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance, sir. Yours too, Docteur. But what are you doing here, Jules?’
‘We would be grateful if you would give us a few moments,’ said Verne.
Fournier grimaced. ‘I wish I had those moments to spare, but my campaign manager is keeping me on the move. I have to shake hands and kiss babies in just a moment, and then I am off to Châtillon-sur-Marne to deliver another speech.’
‘I am afraid I must insist,’ Verne said firmly.
Fournier frowned, puzzled by his old friend’s insistence. But before he could reply, the white-haired man came hurrying across the stage and looked down at them in an impatient way that made Watson believe he was used to getting his own way. ‘Is there something the matter here, François?’ he barked.
Fournier looked up at him. ‘Non. Alexandre, this is my very good friend Jules Verne, and his friends Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson. Gentlemen, this is my campaign manager, Alexandre Absalon.’
Absalon continued to glare down at them. He paid particular attention to Holmes. ‘I am afraid I must remind you of our schedule,’ he said to Fournier.
‘Of course. Nevertheless, I should like to spare these men a few moments.’
‘Alone,’ said Holmes.
Fournier frowned at him. ‘Of course. Gentlemen, please come this—’
‘François,’ said Absalon, a hint of censure in his tone. ‘This is highly irregular.’
‘Perhaps. But I do not believe these gentlemen have been sent by the Opportunist Republicans to convert me to their cause, have you, gentlemen?’ He smiled again, adding: ‘Please, step this way.’
He led them into one of the marquees that had been erected behind the stage and was now decked out as a crude temporary office. There, he asked his campaign staff to leave them alone. As he pulled the flap down behind them, the sounds of the cheering crowds and their brass band accompaniment were suddenly muted.
‘Jules,’ Fournier said again, ‘what is the meaning of all this?’
It was Holmes who answered. ‘We have come to issue an ultimatum, M’sieur Fournier. We know practically everything about the activities of the Knaves and their attempt upon M’sieur Verne’s life, and we have taken steps, in the form of a comprehensive dossier upon the activities of the group, to make sure they leave him alone.’
Fournier scowled at him. ‘You have me at a disadvantage, m’sieur.’
‘Then I shall make it as simple as it can be,’ Holmes said. ‘In the event of M’sieur Verne’s death by any other than natural means, as well as those of Dr Watson and myself, certain trusted parties have instructions to make the aforesaid dossier known to the police agencies both in France and across Europe.’
It was, of course, a bluff, but Holmes was hoping that it would serve a dual purpose – to afford Verne a degree of safety, and to force the Knaves into doing something rash that he, Holmes, might then use to his advantage.
But again Fournier surprised him. ‘I am sorry, m’sieur, but I have no idea what you are talking about. Who or what are the Knaves? What has this dossier got to do with me?’
Holmes stared at him for a long moment. He had the sense that Fournier was being completely honest with them. He remembered what Verne had said about the man. You are wrong about Fournier. I am sure of it! He was always a man of honour, and he would never do anything to harm his beloved France.
He said: ‘Who is backing your campaign, M’sieur Fournier? Who is really behind the Independent Republicans?’
‘We are a political party like any other, M’sieur Holmes. We are comprised of men from all walks of life, who object to the reckless and haphazard manner in which the country is presently being governed. As for any issues of fund-raising, you will have to ask Alexandre.’
‘Very well, m’sieur. Let us lay our cards on the table – beginning with the Knave of Hearts.’
‘I do not follow.’
‘There is a group at work in this country who seek to obtain the power to rule, through you. They chose you to run for the premiership because you were the most likely candidate to give them the victory they sought. But you were doubtless the subject of certain … enquiries … before your candidacy was confirmed. These men have invested a considerable amount in getting you to the Hotel Matignon,’ he said, referring to the prime minister’s official residence. ‘They would want to ensure that you are beyond reproach.’
‘I should like to think that I am,’ said Fournier.
‘But we all have skeletons in our closets, m’sieur. Indiscretions, perhaps. Were you asked about your own?’
Fournier’s eyes moved infinitesimally towards Verne, who said gently: ‘Did they ever enquire about your relationship with me?’
Fournier paled. ‘I am sorry, gentlemen. I do not wish to be rude, but I see no reason why I should discuss—’
Verne said flatly: ‘They already know, François. And M’sieur Holmes has reason to believe that these men, these so-called Knaves, were behind the plot to kill me.’
Fournier turned even paler. ‘What?’ he whispered.
‘Was your relationship with M’sieur Verne called into question?’ demanded Holmes.
His mind elsewhere, Fournier said vaguely: ‘Yes. I explained that Jules and I had enjoyed a close friendship – no more – and they seemed satisfied with that.’
‘Nevertheless, they believed, rightly or wrongly, that there was more to it than the friendship of one man with another, and they took measures to remove the only other player in that relationship to protect you – more accurately, them – from any future embarrassment.’
‘No!’
‘I fear that M’sieur Holmes is right, François,’ Verne said in defeat. ‘He has uncovered evidence that cannot be disputed.’
‘You will say nothing,’ Holmes insisted. ‘And for one very simple reason. The agents of this group are everywhere. In all likelihood, your M’sieur Absalon is one of them. He certainly fits the description of the man who visited Gaston Verne the week before he allegedly escaped from the sanatorium where he was being held and made the attempt upon his uncle’s life. No; question them now and they will do one of two things – attempt to induct you into their organization, or kill you, taking pains to make your death appear quite natural, should you refuse. For your own safety, I advise that you feign ignorance of their true motives, until we can bring about their downfall.’
‘They have used me, then,’ said Fournier, his mind still elsewhere. ‘Damn them, they have pretended to share my vision of the future and all the time I have been nothing more than a means to an end, a puppet to be manipulated.’
‘I am afraid so,’ said Verne.
‘Well, I appreciate your advice, M’sieur Holmes,’ Fournier said, his voice now low and choked with anger, ‘and I will take it – to a point. But I cannot just allow this group to grow unchecked. They have used me as they plan to use France herself. I will not stand for that, but fight them with every breath I have.’
‘Then again, I urge you to say nothing,’ Holmes counselled. ‘You may be more valuable to us where you are.’ He paused thoughtfully and then said: ‘You have attended meetings with these men in the past?’
‘I suppose I have, albeit without realizing it.’
‘Where?’
‘All over France.’
‘Any one place in particular? They must have a headquarters somewhere. If we can discover that, the very place from which they operate, then we have a chance of breaking them.’
Fournier said hesitantly: ‘There is one place. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but it is certainly set away from prying eyes.’
‘Where is it?’ Holmes asked.
Fournier was just about to tell him when Alexandre Absalon ducked inside, an expensive fob watch in his palm. ‘I am sorry, gentlemen, but we really are on a very strict itinerary.’
Holmes looked Fournier in the eye. ‘Certainly. Well, thank you again for your time, M’sieur Fournier. I wish you luck in your campaign.’
Fournier squared his shoulders and nodded. ‘I am glad of the opportunity to meet you, M’sieur Holmes.’ And then, doubtless for the benefit of Absalon: ‘Jules knows well how much I have always enjoyed reading of your brilliant exploits. It has been a pleasure to meet the protagonist in person – and, of course, the author.’
‘We will speak again when your schedule isn’t quite so hectic,’ said Verne, shaking hands with him.
Fournier nodded. ‘Bon chance,’ he said softly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Know Your Enemy
As they made their way back to Amiens in Verne’s carriage, Watson said: ‘So – where does that leave us?’
‘I must confess, it never occurred to me that Fournier was anything other than a willing accomplice in this business,’ said Holmes. ‘But I am glad to be proved wrong, for not only does it justify your faith in him, M’sieur Verne, it also gives us an ally among our enemies.’
‘But the object of the exercise,’ Watson persisted, ‘was to convince these people that we know more about them than we actually do, and to make them leave M’sieur Verne alone. We have accomplished neither.’
‘Watson, you are usually such an optimistic fellow. Such pessimism is not becoming.’
‘Well,’ muttered Watson, ‘perhaps I have been too optimistic in the past, always ready to see the good in a person.’
Verne glared at him. ‘May I take it that that remark was directed at me, Docteur?’
‘It was a general observation, nothing more.’
‘It did not sound like one,’ said Verne.
‘Then for that I apologize,’ Watson said stiffly.
‘We still have one other link to the Knaves that we may exploit,’ Holmes said thoughtfully. ‘Mademoiselle Denier.’
‘That woman has nothing to do with this,’ Watson said stubbornly.
‘Very well,’ said Holmes. ‘Take her to dinner again – tonight. And throughout the evening feed her just enough clues to imply that we are involved in a case right here in Amiens and are closing in upon the guilty party by the moment. Puff the thing up, make it appear that we know more than we actually do, and then gauge her reaction.’
‘I do not care to use the lady in that manner.’
‘Then do it in order to prove her innocence. If she really is as blameless as you claim, there is no harm in the deception. If, on the other hand, you provoke a reaction from her, well, it is as Sun Tzu tells us – know your enemy.’
‘What about M’sieur Verne, here?’ demanded Watson. ‘I have my responsibilities as his protector – unless you will take over for this evening?’
‘I have other plans,’ said Holmes. ‘But from all I hear of the man, I should say that your son could cover for Watson this evening, sir.’
Watson considered this. ‘He is the man for the job,’ he told Verne. ‘He would give his very life for you.’
‘Let us hope it doesn’t come to that,’ said Verne.
‘Then it is agreed,’ Holmes said.
‘I’ll do it,’ Watson granted through clenched teeth. ‘But only so that I may have the satisfaction of proving you wrong, Holmes.’
Upon their return to Amiens, Watson sent a note to Lydie at the Cheval Noir, inviting her to dinner that evening. A part of him hoped she would claim a prior engagement. But her reply came within the hour; she said she would be delighted to accept, and that she would be waiting for him to collect her at 7.30.
He arrived promptly on time, and as the carriage took them towards the centre of town and a restaurant recommended by Verne, he looked at his companion and wondered again how Holmes could possibly suspect her of being in league with the Knaves. If anything, she looked even more enchanting tonight than she had at any other time during their acquaintance.
But Watson reminded himself that he was here for a dual purpose. Spending time with such a spectacularly beautiful woman was no chore, but the act of feeding her information in order to reveal whether or not she was indeed an agent of the Knaves was extremely distasteful to him.
‘I am so glad you accepted my invitation,’ he confessed.
‘I was glad to receive it,’ she replied. ‘You are fortunate, Jean. You are not here all by yourself. You have Holmes and M’sieur Verne for company. I have no one.’
‘It must be lonely for you. But when you return to Paris with your interviews, I rather suspect that M’sieur Constantin will be only too pleased to give you the career you seek.’
‘His name is Jarnett,’ she corrected automatically. If she suspected that he had deliberately made the same mistake as Holmes in an effort to catch her out, she gave no indication of it. ‘I must say, you have been most generous in allowing me to interview you.’
‘Verne, certainly,’ he replied. ‘But not I.’
‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Jean. You are a writer, and a good one.’
‘I think Holmes might disagree with you there.’
‘Holmes…. Perhaps I shouldn’t say so, but I find him a disagreeable man in every respect.’
‘Holmes is … well, Holmes, I’m afraid. But perhaps he is rather more mordant than usual because of the case he is working on.’
‘I know better than to ask you for details of the matter,’ she said, smiling.
Reluctantly he took the opportunity he had been seeking. ‘Secrecy is vital during an investigation,’ he explained. ‘But now that the investigation has been all but concluded … well, it can do no harm to give you a vague outline of the matter.’
She raised her perfect eyebrows in surprise. ‘I take it as a great co
mpliment that you would trust me so much.’
The words were like a dagger to him, but he pressed on, hating himself for it. ‘We have stumbled across a plot to seize control of the country.’
‘Non!’
‘Oh yes. There is a group of very powerful men at work here, and they are interested in nothing but accumulating wealth and power at the expense of France. Furthermore, they will stop at nothing to achieve it, including cold-blooded murder.’
She considered that for a moment, eyes wide, then said: ‘Are you telling me that the attempt upon M’sieur Verne’s life was somehow part of that plot?’
‘I can neither confirm nor deny. But let us say that we are closing in on them now. Holmes has amassed a wealth of information upon them, and expects to have the entire group apprehended before the week is out.’
‘Who are they, these people?’
‘They are known as the Knaves,’ he said, watching her closely for a reaction. In the darkened coach he saw none.
‘This all sounds thrilling,’ she allowed at last. ‘Is it the activities of these Knaves that brought you to France in the first place?’
‘Partly,’ Watson lied. ‘We have been charting their progress for a number of months now, waiting for the right moment to make our move against them.’
‘Be careful, Jean,’ she said, reaching out to lay one delicate hand on his.
He felt a tingle of pleasure that his welfare should mean so much to her. ‘Enough talk of such a dark subject,’ he said. ‘Tell me all about yourself, Lydie. I want to know everything about you.’
‘There is not that much to tell.’
He squeezed her hand again. ‘I am sure you’re being too modest. I have the feeling that a man could never stop discovering new things about you, Lydie.’
