Sherlock Holmes and the King of Clubs (15 page)

‘Well, it is certain that they did not vanish into thin air, though that is the way it seemed. Tomorrow we will return to St Petronius’s and see what clues we may find in daylight. In the meantime, you may request that Mycroft open some diplomatic
channels for us. I believe we will need cooperation from the Austrian government to get what we require.’

‘And that is?’

‘The approximate time of Miss Lane’s death, according to the coroner, and the exact spot where her body was discovered. We also need to identify the enemies of the emperor and his family, and for that we will need someone who understands the political and social situation here far better than we.’

‘If anyone can point us in the right direction,’ said Purslane, ‘it is your brother.’

‘Then contact him as soon as possible and tomorrow we will begin our investigations in earnest.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Purslane rose, collected his hat and bade them both goodnight.

After he had gone, Watson finished his drink and set the empty glass back on the tray. The room was quiet but for the faint tapping of sleet at the window. ‘I think I’ll call it a night, too,’ he said. Gathering up his overcoat, he started toward the door.

‘I am sorry if I seemed to have misled you, old friend,’ Holmes said quietly.

Watson turned, said shortly, ‘That’s all right.’

‘By your tone of voice, I would say it is anything
but
all right.’

For a moment Watson hesitated. Then he said, ‘I’m sorry, Holmes, but … well, I should think that after all our years together you would have trusted me with the true purpose of this so-called “holiday”. But then,’ he added before Holmes could reply, ‘you seem to have made quite a habit of keeping secrets lately.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I believe you know what I mean.’

‘I can assure you that I do
not
.’

‘Irene,’ said Watson. ‘Mrs Hastings, or Channing, or whatever she calls herself.’

‘What about her?’

‘Don’t pretend, Holmes! I happened to see her this morning. Here – in Vienna – as free as a bird and up to her usual tricks.’

Holmes studied him intently, then said, ‘Ah.’

‘
Ah,
indeed,’ Watson replied. ‘Good Lord, man, why did you tell me she and her husband were finished, when all the time you had decided to give them a second chance? Surely I deserved better from you than that?’

‘Is that what she told you?’ asked Holmes.

‘Yes.’

‘Those were her
exact
words?’

‘More or less.’ Watson thought a moment. ‘She said you had given her a second chance, and that she would not let you down.’

‘She mentioned me by name?’

‘“Mr Holmes”, she said. Twice, as I recall.’

‘And you naturally assumed she meant me.’

‘Of course. Why would I do any…?’ Watson broke off as it dawned on him; then somewhat sheepishly he said, ‘Mycroft again?’

Holmes nodded. ‘For what it is worth, I was no happier about the Channings’ fate than you, my friend. But there is very little that Mycroft does not know. When he discovered that I was investigating them, he at once saw that he could harness their particular talents in the interest of the Crown.’

‘Turn them into
spies,
you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘But they’re
criminals!
’

‘That is certainly true. But Mycroft is in the business of information, Watson. He will gather that information in any and every way possible, no matter how distasteful it may be to the likes of you and me. If Mrs Channing can beguile someone of high political or military standing, and by doing so discover something that may be of interest to His Majesty’s Government, then as far as Mycroft is concerned it matters not one whit where the information comes from or how it was obtained.’

‘Or how it affects anyone connected to it?’

‘Or anyone connected to it.’

‘By God, it is a foul business.’

‘Of course. But like many other evils, it is also a necessary one. Whether we care for it or not, it is a business in which one bites, or is bitten.’

‘I suppose so,’ conceded Watson.

‘Of course it is!’ Holmes said with feeling. ‘Do you think the other nations of the world baulk at using similar methods whenever they spy upon their neighbours and rivals? Of course they don’t. And that is why Mycroft saw an opportunity to enlist a spy who might conceivably be more successful than most and, as you say, gave her a second chance.’

‘How noble of him.’

‘Who knows? Perhaps it
was.
Perhaps he saw something in the Channings that we missed, something that told him they would take that second chance and become better, more useful members of society because of it.’

Seeing that Watson still wasn’t convinced, he shook his head. ‘I do not expect or even ask you to understand it,’ he continued. ‘But it is the way of this modern world of ours, and it will in all likelihood only get worse. In any case, we have our own matters with which to contend.  Let us be satisfied with that challenge.’

Watson allowed himself a brief smile. ‘You
do
know, of course, we are far too old to go gallivanting around as we once did.’

‘Nonsense,’ Holmes said, brightening suddenly. ‘I promised you one last great adventure, Watson. Well, now that we have it, let us play it to the hilt.’

CHAPTER TWENTY

As Silent as Sleep or Shadow

T
HEY WERE BREAKFASTING
in the hotel dining room the following morning when the maître d’ came to their corner table and, clearing his throat discreetly, said, ‘Excuse me, Herr Holmes. There is a man here to see you. He gave his name as Purslane.’

‘Ask him to join us, if you will,’ Holmes replied, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

A few moments later Purslane followed the
maître d’
up to their table, where Holmes bade him sit down and requested an extra coffee cup.

‘What do you have for us?’ he asked eagerly.

Purslane said quietly, ‘Your brother has given me the name of a journalist who might be able to clarify the political situation here in Vienna.

‘Splendid. What is his name?’

‘Walter Lenhard. He lives in the Wieden district of the city and works for various free-press newspapers. He is sympathetic to Britain through his marriage to a British woman. He can be trusted.’

‘Then we shall pay him a visit directly,’ Holmes decided. ‘What did you find out about Miss Lane?’

‘She was found outside a place called Adendorf, as I believe you know. Apparently, the poor woman’s body, while afloat, became entangled in the reeds growing alongside the river. Had it not been for that, there is no telling how far the river would have
carried her. Anyway, before being transferred to the city morgue here, she was taken to a local hospital in Adendorf, where the police surgeon performed a preliminary post-mortem and calculated the approximate time of death as ten hours before the body was discovered.’

With a sudden nod, Holmes abruptly rose to his feet. ‘Excellent work, Purslane. I can see why you were Mycroft’s first choice for this business.’

‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

‘But that, of course, is obvious,’ Holmes continued as if Purslane hadn’t spoken. ‘In every aspect of his life Mycroft only makes one choice, and that only after considerable deliberation. Now, enjoy your coffee while I go back to my suite and consult my map.’

Without another word he strode purposefully away.

Purslane watched him go, then turned to Watson and asked, ‘Is he always like this, doctor?’

‘By no means,’ replied Watson. ‘Sometimes he is much, much worse.’

They drank coffee for a moment, and then Watson said carefully, ‘Would you mind very much if I … asked you a personal question, Purslane?’

Purslane gave him a curious look, then said, ‘Not at all, sir.’

Watson hesitated, still not sure if he should share his thoughts with the younger man. Then he said, ‘This wretched cloak-and-dagger business you’re in … does it ever trouble you?’

‘Trouble me, sir? I’m not quite sure what you mean.’

Watson looked around uneasily and then lowered his voice still further. ‘Espionage. It is a dirty business, as far as I can see, and one that raises all kinds of ethical questions. I do not think I could stomach it, myself.’

Purslane considered that for a few moments, then said, ‘Nevertheless, Doctor,
someone
has to do it.’

‘Yes, of course. A necessary evil, Holmes calls it.’

‘Quite so. And generally, the ends justify the means, in all sorts of ways that the man on the street is rarely if ever aware of. If we are able to gather as much information upon our enemies
as possible and act accordingly to keep our country safe, then we have done our job to ensure the continuation of our peaceful way of life.’

‘The end justifies the means,’ Watson mused.

‘Indeed, sir.’ Purslane fell silent again, then leaned forward and said earnestly, ‘It is an irony that so many of my colleagues have risked all in the protection of our country, paid the ultimate price for it, and yet they remain anonymous, unsung heroes. And make no mistake about it, Doctor, it can be a dangerous business,
highly
dangerous – even fatal, if one’s identity is exposed to the enemy.’

‘I am well aware of that,’ Watson said soberly.

‘Perhaps you are, sir. But
knowing
that, and still having the courage to take the job regardless … well, those individuals are truly the bravest of the brave.’

‘Indeed.’

Watson allowed his mind to wander briefly.
The bravest of the
brave
, he thought. It seemed difficult to imagine Irene … Violet … as a brave woman. And yet in accepting her role of spy, with all its attendant risks, was she not showing more courage that he would have given her credit for?

He remembered what she had told him yesterday, about making amends. He had found that impossible to believe at the time. But now he was prepared to accept that perhaps she really meant it.

Fifteen minutes later Holmes returned to the table, dressed for travel and seemingly invigorated. ‘Watson, get your hat and coat. Purslane, summon a cab, if you will. We are going to Enghilstrasse.’

Watson and Purslane exchanged puzzled glances.

‘May we know
why
we are to go to Enghilstrasse, wherever it is?’ Watson asked.

‘Because it was there that Miss Lane met her death,’ Holmes replied, as if the answer were obvious.

‘How can you possibly know that?’

‘Elementary, dear fellow.’ But Holmes said no more until they had signed for their breakfast and tipped the waiter; then as
they left the dining room, he explained, ‘The Danube is divided into three sections, based upon the gradients through which it has to flow. They are as one might expect, known as the upper, middle and lower basins. The middle basin flows through Vienna at a rate of approximately four and a half kilometres an hour – roughly half the speed at which it flows through the upper basin, and about twice as fast as it flows through the lower basin. If we assume that the police surgeon’s estimate as to Miss Lane’s time of death is approximately correct and that she became “entangled in the reeds” where she was found for, say, twenty minutes to half an hour, we can, therefore, identify the scene of the crime as Enghilstrasse.’

‘Because it is forty-five kilometres upriver from where the body was found,’ said Purslane, suddenly understanding. ‘Forty-five kilometres being the distance the body was carried by the current.’

‘Precisely.’

‘What do you hope to discover there, sir?’

‘That I cannot say,’ Holmes said. ‘But even the smallest, seemingly insignificant fact may act as a signpost.’

A few minutes later, they were in a cab and passing through the misty streets of Vienna, bound for Enghilstrasse. They soon found themselves dropped at one end of a long row of large, bow-fronted residential houses that faced the Danube. The day was grey but dry, and what little snow had fallen the night before had nearly melted. The river looked especially cheerless, its waters a sluggish and uninviting olive green.

Holmes paid the driver then turned to his companions. ‘Knock at each door in turn, if you will, and enquire as to whether or not the occupant noticed anything unusual the night before last,’ he instructed. ‘Anything at all, no matter how seemingly trivial. Meanwhile, I shall examine the pavement that runs along the river.’

He crossed the road at his usual brisk pace, already fully intent upon his task. Shaking his head, Purslane then turned his attention to the row of houses before them. ‘How is your German, Doctor?’

‘Nowhere near good enough for the kind of questioning Holmes has in mind.’

‘Then we’ll work together.’

While Holmes paused every so often, occasionally kneeling in order to examine the kerb or the low brick wall beyond which a chill wind rippled the surface of the Danube, Watson and Purslane walked up the path of the first house. Climbing the steps to reach the front door, Purslane rang the bell.

Their investigation quickly proved to be fruitless; they got no response at most of the houses. At others, the residents eyed them with understandable suspicion and said they had seen nothing at all.

Disappointed but persistent, they kept at it, until, near the end of the street, they came to a property that seemed to be in such poor condition that Watson assumed it must be empty. He was wrong, for when Purslane knocked at the flaking door panels the door was opened almost at once by a tall, thin woman in her seventies, whose long, wrinkled face was crowned by a wild mane of frizzy, near-white hair.

She looked from Purslane to Watson with open distrust, and said,
‘Ja?’

Purslane tipped his hat and spoke in rapid German. ‘We’re sorry to disturb you, madam, but we believe there may have been some sort of disturbance in the street here two nights ago and we are looking for information that might corroborate this.’

The old woman’s watery blue eyes shuttled from one face to the other. Watson smiled somewhat hesitantly in an effort to assure her of their honest intentions.

‘Are you the police?’ she demanded finally.

‘We are on official business, yes,’ Purslane replied, deciding that since he was working for the British government, he was bending the truth only slightly. ‘Have you seen or heard anything unusual?’

‘I have indeed. And a more shameful sight I have never beheld in all my life. Two women fighting like common trollops!’

Watson and Purslane exchanged a quick look. ‘What time was this, Frau…?’

‘Seidl.’

‘What time was this, Frau Seidl? And what happened, exactly?’

‘Well, I don’t know the exact time. Sometime between seven and eight o’clock, certainly,’ said the old woman. ‘I was just resting my eyes, you see. I don’t sleep well at night, I never have. I prefer to nap during the day and spend my nights reading. So there I was, just resting my eyes, when suddenly I heard a scream outside. I looked out of my window’ – she gestured vaguely towards a window on the first floor, directly above the door—’and there they were, two women, fighting with each other, as if they hadn’t got the shame they were born with.’

‘What happened?’ Purslane prodded.

‘They were struggling with each other – drunk, I daresay! Then one of them hit the other one on the head and her hat fell off. Well, I knew then that if they were going to carry on like that, one of them was going to injure the other or worse, so I decided to come down and tell them to take their differences elsewhere. I mean, the man with them wasn’t doing anything more than just standing there, watching them – useless, like all men!’

‘So you decided to break it up yourself?’

‘Yes. And I would have, too! They didn’t frighten
me!
But as I was putting on my dressing gown the girl who was doing all the screaming suddenly stopped. I went back to my window and saw that she’d passed out, and the other girl and the man were now standing over here. Dead to the world, she was!’

‘What happened then?’

‘They all got back in their car and drove away.’

Speaking slowly to allow for his less-than-fluent German, Watson said, ‘They had a car then?’

‘Oh yes,’ Frau Seidl replied. ‘Most definitely. Saw it with my own eyes, I did. They’d stopped it in the middle of the road, right where that man is … what
is
he doing, anyway?’

Watson glanced over his shoulder. There, in the middle of the street, Holmes was crouched down using his pocket glass to study some barely discernible marks in the road. ‘I think he is a surveyor of some sort,’ he said, using the first thought that came to
mind. ‘Now, if you could tell me more about this car –?’

‘Nothing to tell. It just drove right off and that was that,’ the old woman replied.

‘You mean that was the last you saw of them?’

The woman nodded.

‘So you actually saw them drive away?’

‘Yes.’

‘All of them?’

‘What kind of a question is that? Of course, all of them!’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Well, obviously I can’t be
completely
sure. It was dark, for goodness’ sake, and the weather was wretched. But they didn’t leave anyone behind, I can promise you that!’

‘Could you see what colour the car was?’ asked Purslane.

‘I didn’t notice.’

‘Was it large? Small?’

‘I know little about such contraptions,’ said Frau Steidl.

‘But surely you could tell, at least within a little, how big or small it was?’

‘Small.’

‘Are you certain?’

‘I told you so, didn’t I?’

‘Yes, of course. Can you describe the two women for us? And the man with them?’

Frau Steidl considered briefly. ‘Youngish. The man was very tall. I didn’t see much of the woman who hit her friend. She had black hair, I think. The woman who passed out, when her hat came off, I saw that she had fair hair.’

‘Blonde, you mean?’

She frowned in thought. ‘No. Light, but not blonde. Sandy or perhaps red. It was snowing, so it was difficult to see anything properly.’

‘So you didn’t see their faces?’

‘No.’

‘Very well. You have been most helpful, Frau Steidl.
Danke
schön.’

They turned and started down the steps.

The woman called after them. ‘There was one thing,’ she said.

They turned back. ‘Yes?’ Purslane asked.

‘Well, I know I’m deaf,’ the old woman said. ‘Who wouldn’t be, at my age? But I’m not
that
deaf.’