Sherlock Holmes and the Knave of Hearts (15 page)

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.’

‘And you think that I would be a party to such an outrage?’ demanded Fournier. ‘I shall summon Alexandre at once, and we will get to the truth of the matter!’

‘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

A
s 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 compliment 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.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Confirmation

A
s soon as the carriage pulled away from the Cheval Noir, a man stepped out of the shadows of a shop doorway on the other side of the road. He quickly crossed over to the hotel and vanished into a darkened alley next to the building.

The alley led to the back of the premises, where a loading bay – empty at this time of night – stood beside a yard
cluttered
with broken furniture and dustbins. Bars of light slanted through a row of small sash windows to puddle on the
flagstones
, and because the windows were all open there also came the clanking and clinking of pots and pans, waiters calling orders, the occasional hiss of some delicacy being thrown into a hot
poyle
.

The man waited a moment, then leapt lightly onto the loading bay. His shadow grew large as he approached the double doors at its far end. Then he turned slightly towards what little light there was and produced a small toolkit from the pocket of his black double-breasted frock coat. From this he selected what looked like a scalpel blade, to the end of which was attached a long, thin metal pin, and a thin tension wrench of similar dimensions.

For twenty seconds the man worked the tension wrench to left and right, testing the firmness of the stop in the lock. He worked gently and with great sensitivity until he was fairly certain which direction he had to work towards. Finally he traded the tension wrench for the pick, and went to work
locating and then pushing each individual pin up until, with a soft click, it set.

In less than a minute he had opened the door and let himself inside.

The storeroom beyond was piled high with boxes, old Christmas decorations and items of furniture that were still in good condition but surplus to requirements. He made no more noise than a thought as he crossed the room to the door in the facing wall.

He opened the door a crack.

Light from a nearby gas mantle illuminated his thin face. The face of Sherlock Holmes.

He left the storeroom and made directly for a darkened, dingy back staircase at the end of the corridor. Taking the steps two at a time, he climbed silently to the third floor, then let himself through a door into which was set a small window. Now he was in a carpeted hallway with a series of numbered doors set opposite each other in the facing walls. He stopped at a door numbered 324 and once again used his pick to force the lock.

Once in the darkened room beyond, he began a systematic and thorough search of Lydie’s belongings, but found nothing to link her to the Knaves. A soft sound of frustration escaped him. Then, doggedly, he resumed his search.

There was a slim evening purse tucked into the elasticised pocket of her tan leather suitcase. Inside were a few personal items and a scrap of paper. He took the scrap of paper across to the window and tilted it towards the gas streetlights below so that he could read it. It said:

16/3/86 09:30
Valentin

He replaced the scrap of paper in the purse and put the purse back exactly as he had found it. He reached up and felt
across the top of the wardrobe for anything she might have tried to put out of reach. There was nothing. He dropped to his knees, checked under the bed and again found nothing. There was a pine armoire on the other side of the room. He checked every shelf, with similar lack of success.

It was only as he closed the doors on the armoire that he realized it stood upon a shaped apron of wood with splayed feet. Again he dropped to his knees and felt around beneath the wardrobe.

This time the tips of his fingers came into contact with something tucked right at the very back, close to the
wainscoting
.

He managed to grasp it and slid it out for a closer
examination
. It was a box about three inches thick, measuring some fourteen inches by nine. It had brass hinges and a small brass lock.

Holmes worked quickly to open it, taking care to leave no tell-tale marks upon the metal. Within moments he was able to lift the lid to reveal two shaped compartments covered in blue velvet.

It was a gun case, constructed to hold two pistols, one of which was now missing.

Holmes recognized the remaining pistol immediately. It was a Perrin and Delmas pistol of 1859 – partner to the one with which Gaston Verne had tried to murder his uncle on 9 March.