A Biased Judgement Page 24

  “And your marriage? Do you mean to go through with it?”

  I hesitated. “I don’t see any way out of it, Mycroft. I’ve rather committed myself.”

  “You have indeed,” he replied. His shrewd eyes studied me. “Perhaps you feel more regard for this young woman than you are willing to admit?”

  “Nonsense,” I replied.

  I continued to poke at the fire and the embers started to catch at last. I said, “How do things stand with your own vile creature?”

  “You mean Frobisher? Oh he is ever so polite and helpful. He is, on the face of it, the most dedicated man in the British government.”

  “He does not know he’s been unmasked?”

  “He has not the slightest suspicion. I suppose I should see how your own plans progress before I have him arrested?”

  “Yes. If all goes according to plan, we should be able to move within a few days. We shall know soon.”

  I rose and pulled my coat tightly around me. I was still damp and cold and, though I hate to admit it, tired.

  “What time is it?” I said.

  “Almost six. You look done in, Sherlock. Perhaps you should go back to Baker Street and sleep a couple of hours.”

  I yawned and stretched. “Yesterday was very long and today promises to be no better. Perhaps a couple of hours sleep wouldn’t go amiss. I’m sure even the redoubtable Stevens is flagging by now.

  “Very well, Mycroft. I hope to have good news for you very soon.”

  “Goodbye, Sherlock. And be careful: Porlock may try again to snuff out your life. It would be a pity if he were to succeed. Have young Stevens ferry you about - at least his mistress won’t need him for a few days. I must say, I don’t envy her having to stay at Windsor. That castle is hardly the homeliest of places and the food is never sufficient.”

  Stevens looked like he was half asleep, sitting in the driver’s seat with his head nodding on his breast. He perked up as soon as he saw me however and said, “Where to now, Mr Holmes?”

  “Back to Baker Street if you would be so kind, Stevens. I need to talk to Doctor Watson and I’ve no doubt a couple of hours sleep will do you some good. You will not object to the sofa, I trust?”

  “Bless you, Mr Holmes. I could sleep on the floor if need be. I’m that tired, though I hate to admit it.”

  The streets were starting to come to life though dawn had not yet broken. As we turned onto Baker Street I said, “We should be very careful going into the building. There may be dangerous men watching.”

  “No worries, Mr Holmes. I’ll see you safely indoors before I take care of the horses.”

  The street was quiet enough and I got inside without any difficulty. Stevens followed a short while later. He stretched out on the sofa and was asleep in seconds.

  I woke Watson to update him on all my adventures. He stared at me in complete silence for a full minute after I finished. Then he spluttered, “Engaged? Married on Tuesday? And someone shooting at you and trying to kill Lady Beatrice.? Good God, man! Did it not occur to you to telephone me?”

  “Whatever for?”

  “I could have helped. At the very least I could have kept watch to ensure your safety.”

  “But I am safe, as you see. Stevens did a splendid job, Watson. Oh, he’s sleeping on the couch so try not to wake him. You might want to have a look at his hand when he does waken. He got stabbed protecting Beatrice from the detestable Hacker.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  “There’s something else... Isaiah Collins is dead.”

  “Collins? Our friend from Simpsons? Oh, Holmes, that is dreadful. Such a gentleman and always so happy to see us. What happened?”

  “The gunman who aimed for me... Billy pulled me down in time and Collins was shot. The bullet tore through his chest and I suspect punctured his heart. He died instantly.”

  “His wife just had a son,” Watson said. “That boy they’d been hoping for. We must find this gunman, Holmes.”

  “We shall. Never fear, Watson. We shall.”

  “I’ll call upon his wife this morning and offer condolences from both of us. I’ll offer her whatever assistance she needs, poor woman. What are you going to do now?”

  “Right now? Think. So much has happened so quickly, I need to sort through it all. I’ll write my journal; that usually helps me focus. I’ll let Stevens sleep a few hours, then head off to interview Hacker and Smiley. It’s strange, Watson, given their propensity for antisocial behaviour, but that pair share a terror of prison. Perhaps a couple of hours behind bars will loosen their tongues still more. I will get their statements, and, with any luck, conclude the day by arresting Wallace Summerville.

  “If all goes well, Summerville’s arrest will encourage him to tell all he knows about Porlock. I hope, Watson, I fervently hope that by the time the sun sets this evening, Albrecht Porlock will be in chains.

  “I would be exceedingly obliged if you will accompany me today. I feel in particular need of my friend Watson’s strength. Collins’s death weighs heavily upon me, as does the planned attack against Beatrice.”

  “You know I’m your man, whatever you need, Holmes. But it wouldn’t hurt if you took a few hours rest yourself. You look all in.”

  “Well, I shall lie down for a while, but I doubt I shall sleep. I will have these creatures before the day is done, Watson. I will not rest until I have them in chains.”

  Watson said, “Well, at least try to sleep even if it’s just for a few hours. I shall take my breakfast downstairs with Mrs Hudson.”

  I rose and went to the door. Just as I was about to leave he said, “There’s an old Scottish saying, Holmes, that I think is worth remembering: There’s many a slip twixt the cup and the lip.”

  Watson’s words turned out to be prophetic.

  I woke the weary Stevens at two o’clock, had some coffee, and the three of us headed to Scotland Yard.

  Lestrade would not meet my eye and I knew at once something had gone amiss.

  “I need to see Hacker and Smiley, Inspector,” I said. “As soon as possible. Can you arrange it?”

  “Uh, no, Mr Holmes... I’m afraid there’s been a problem.”

  “Problem?”

  “The truth is... they’re dead.”

  I felt as if the floor had given way beneath my feet and I was falling, falling into some sort of bottomless pit.

  “How?” Watson said.

  “Murdered.”

  “What, both of them?” I said.

  Lestrade studied the papers on his desk. To them he said, very quietly, “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “That’s not good enough!” I cried, slamming my fist on the desk and causing his teacup to rattle. “Those two men were in custody. They were my only link to one of the most dangerous men not only in the country, but in the world. Lestrade, Lestrade, if you only knew the true horror of this news...”

  He looked up at me then, his face gaunt with misery. “It’s a terrible thing to have a man die in custody, Mr Holmes. I know it happens more often than we like to admit, but usually those deaths are due to disease or some natural cause. To have two men murdered within minutes of each other is shocking. I don’t blame you for being upset. Tavistock Hill is pretty hot about it too, and I can’t say I blame him either.”

  “What exactly happened?” Watson asked. He gave me a troubled look. He, at least, appreciates the appalling weight of this news.

  “Hacker had his throat cut and Smiley was stabbed in the heart. No one seems to know how it happened and we have no way of knowing who was responsible.”

  I balled up my fists and rubbed my eyes hard. This was no time to surrender to fatigue. I needed to think. I needed time. Everything lost. My two witnesses dead. The only hope I had of saving the queen. No... I still had another pos
sibility.

  “Lestrade,” I said. “I need you to do me a favour.”

  “Anything at all, Mr Holmes. You know that.”

  “Bring in Wallace Summerville for questioning. Have two of your biggest and ugliest policemen arrest him. I’m not sure where you’ll find him; perhaps at his home sleeping off a hangover, but he could be at Bitterne staying with his brother. Can you see to it?”

  “I certainly can. I shall see to it at once, Mr Holmes,” Lestrade said, rising. Then, more hesitantly, “He is the brother of a knight...”

  “We only want him for questioning.”

  “Regarding what crime?”

  “Regarding a number of complaints regarding his gambling debts. That should hold him until I can gather some more information.”

  With London’s police force alerted to look out for Summerville, Lestrade, Watson and I headed to Pimlico. Thanks to police bureaucracy - it is the one thing at which they excel - and two previous cautions for drunkenness and assault, we had Summerville’s address.

  I knew we would not find him there. A man who is hiding from his creditors is hardly likely to return home, but I could not pass up the opportunity to search the place.

  Wallace Summerville had apartments on the top floor of a very elegant building in Pimlico. The view of the river was breathtaking as was the spaciousness of his rooms. Sadly, his housekeeping was an offence to the fine architecture. Dirty clothes, still stinking of alcohol and something worse, lay strewn around the floor; unwashed dishes grew mould in the kitchen; and a film of grey dust covered every surface.

  Watson kept Lestrade busy, suggesting he interview the other tenants. Lestrade, who is not nearly as dull-witted as he sometimes affects, was happy to comply, knowing full well the real intent was to give me some latitude to act rather beyond the law.

  Thus left alone, I carefully and methodically went through every centimetre of the wretched place. The flat was barren of books, letters, everything that might reveal something of the man. It was evident Summerville had not been here for several weeks.

  The landlord, summoned by Lestrade, confirmed my conclusions. “He owes me twelve weeks’ rent, sir,” said the man. “Indeed, I’ve already arranged to have his things taken to the dump. Property like that won’t stand idle for long.”

  “Tell me,” I said. “Why did you wait so long? You would have been within your rights to evict him months ago.”

  “Strictly speaking that’s true, sir. But he’s a warm character, is Mr Summerville. Not someone you’d like to cross. Besides, his brother Sir Christopher could make things unpleasant... But I really cannot wait any longer. I’d be obliged if you’d let him know when you find him.”

  We left, defeated. Outside, Watson said, “Well, you were right, Holmes. It doesn’t look like he’ll be returning to Pimlico any time soon.”

  Lestrade said, “Well, I’ll post a man here for a few days, just to be sure. And his picture has been circulated all over the city. If he’s still in the country, we’ll find him.”

  “Post a man if you wish, Inspector, but I believe there is somewhere else you should look first.”

  “Yes? And where’s that, Mr Holmes?”

  “Southampton, Inspector,” I replied. “I suspect he’s staying with his brother. Send word to Baker Street as soon as he is found. I want to be present for his questioning. In the meantime, I have other avenues to explore. Stevens, will you be so kind as to drop me at Jermyn Street?”

  21

  I sent Watson, ever my touchstone for all things domestic, off with Stevens on their task.

  “You need to be very discreet,” I said. “Be sure to do nothing to arouse suspicions.”

  “No, I understand, Holmes,” Watson replied. “Although I still don’t see how you mean to pull this off. Still, you’ll let me know eventually, I suppose.”

  “Of course. Don’t I always? Stevens, do not drop your guard. I doubt you or the good doctor are at risk, but we cannot take it for granted. Be on the alert, for both your sakes.”

  “You can count on me, Mr Holmes,” he replied.

  The two set off in the carriage and I walked down Jermyn Street to my old secret flat.

  I’ve only been here twice since ‘Jack’ nursed me back to health after my attack by Gilberto Calvini; Once to drop off Derby’s papers and again to collect them. No doubt Watson would expect me to have some sentimental reaction, but I felt nothing. Well, perhaps a fleeting moment of gratitude towards the woman who saved my life.

  Half an hour after I entered the place, an old man with rheumatism and a crooked back emerged. He walked the one and three-quarter miles to Baker Street by way of Piccadilly and New Bond Street. The man sat for a moment in Portman Square and there encountered a young man called Billy.

  “Lawks, is that you, Mr ’olmes?” the lad said. “That’s a fine cough you’ve got there.” He grinned broadly.

  “You gave the Irregulars their orders as I instructed?” I asked him.

  “Yes, sir. They should be doing it right now, I’d guess.”

  “I do not want her badly hurt, just enough to lay her up for a while.”

  “You can count on Tommy and Kevin, Mr ’olmes.”

  “Good. I shall head up to Finsbury Park and see how they’ve got on. How are things on Baker Street? Any activity?”

  “Nuffink so far. Just the usual for a Saturday.”

  “Very well. Well, I have another job for you. That man ‘Winters’ - I need him found and watched. Spread the word.”

  “Usual rates, Mr ’olmes?”

  “Of course. I shall come back to Baker Street in a few hours. Report to Doctor Watson if you have any news; he’ll likely return before I do. If neither of us is around you may leave word with Mrs Hudson.”

  “As you say, Mr ’olmes. Ta-ra for now.”

  It was already dark by the time I shuffled up the Seven Sisters Road. Tommy and Kevin were in the park ostensibly playing ball, but keeping watch on the house.

  I coughed and sank onto a bench. It took a few minutes for the boys to realise it was me. When they did they sauntered over and sat down near me, as if they were tired from their play.

  “Well, boys,” I said. “Report.”

  “It went just as you said, Mr ’olmes,” Tommy said. “Well, almost.

  “We kicked about this old ball for a bit ’cos we knew she’d be out pretty soon. Every afternoon, regular as clockwork she takes those little ’uns out for a walk. Mr P., ’e went out in an ’ansom this mornin’ and ain’t been ’ome since. The missus is inside though and what a noise she did make when she saw they carried that lady back inside.”

  “You didn’t hurt her too badly, I hope?”

  “Well, it was a bit rougher than we’d planned,” Kevin said. “I kicked the ball good and ’ard like and it ’it ’er right upside the ’ead. I didn’t mean to do aught but knock ’er out but she fell onto the street.”

  “Good God!”

  “Right in front of a carriage,” Tommy said. “They reckon she’s got a broken leg, but she was out cold. She’s out of the game for now, that’s for sure.”

  Not for the first time I was struck by the heartlessness of youth. Then again, I could not be too dismayed. The woman had to be got out of the way, and the boys had been ruthlessly efficient.

  I paid them and told them to continue their watch.

  “Any young woman who comes to apply for the job,” I said. “Make sure you do a good job of frightening her off. Mind, most governesses are not easily alarmed so you’ll need to be pretty... unpleasant.”

  Tommy laughed. “That’s as easy as breathin’ for us, Mr ’olmes,” he said.

  Sometime later I lumbered down Baker Street and knocked on the door of my apartment.

  Mrs Hudson did no more than roll her eyes at m
e as she let me in. “Is Doctor Watson back yet?” I asked.

  “Just a few minutes ago, Mr Holmes. I was about to bring up supper.”

  “What, is it that late? Oh all right, he’ll complain if his meal is delayed. Just coffee for me, if you please.”

  “Oh, it’s you, Holmes,” Watson said as I let myself into our flat. “I thought it was Stevens. He’s just taking care of the horses.”

  “Is he staying here?”

  “Yes, unless you have other plans for him.”

  “No, no. It’s probably as well to keep him and the carriage available. Have there been any messages?”

  “A few.” He picked up his notepad and read. “Lestrade called just a few moments ago. He says Greer down in Southampton reports seeing Wallace Summerville just yesterday. Lestrade and he are going to go pick him up and question him.”

  “Damnation!” I cried. “They will not know what to ask him. They ought to have waited for me.”

  “Don’t get yourself into a lather,” Watson chided. “Lestrade knows full well you want to be present. He’s bringing Summerville back to Scotland Yard. He’ll have Tavistock Hill with him so there will be plenty to intimidate that gentleman.”

  “Gentleman,” I snorted. “Well, if they can delay him long enough he’ll miss the last train home. Excellent. That gives me a little time. Anything else?”

  “Your brother called. He’s been in touch with Bigge and they have agreed to say nothing to the queen for the moment about her danger. I, uh, don’t think Mycroft is very happy about it. And I don’t think Lady Beatrice is very happy either.”

  “No?”

  “No. According to your brother, the queen has been making all sorts of arrangements for her - that is for your and the lady’s - wedding.”

  “Beatrice won’t like that. She’s not a woman to make a fuss. Nothing else? Splendid. Now, tell me, how did you get on?”