The Revenge of Moriarty (41 page)

‘I am so sad for you, Irene,' he said, his hand reaching out to pat hers in comfort. ‘I know what such a loss must have meant. I am a cold fish in some ways, but I can imagine the void and ache which such a bereavement leaves behind. If I can help to dull the pain, you have but to ask.'

‘I must first thank you for all you have done already. For all this.' Her hand swept in a circle round the room. ‘And for the clothes and, and everything. Have you really forgiven me for that last business?'

He discerned a small twinkle replacing the tears in her brimming eyes.

‘I have never had anything but admiration. There is nothing to forgive.'

‘But what can I give you in return for your kindness, Mr Holmes? I feel I have so little to offer.'

‘If I could offer you marriage, I would do so at once.' He moved closer. ‘But, as you know, I am a bachelor confirmed. However,' his tongue slid across his lips, as though to moisten them. ‘However, what can a woman offer to a man who has been so starved of feminine affection?'

Irene Adler's face was lifted to him as she twined her arms around his neck and pulled him down towards her.

‘Oh, Mr Holmes,' she murmured.

‘Later,' he whispered in her ear, ‘we can, perhaps, have a champagne supper at The Monico.'

‘Lovely, dear Sherlock,' she replied softly, eyes closed and mouth parted. ‘Lovely.'

Crow was running out of time, and he knew it. In the days which had gone by since Holmes' sudden and ailing departure from Paris, he had searched the length and breadth of the Mont-martre quarter for the girl known as Suzanne the Gypsy. There appeared to be plenty who knew her, yet none who had set eyes on her for some time.

There were but two days left before he was due back on duty at Scotland Yard, when the wire arrived from Holmes. It contained only four words –
TRY FOLIES BERG RE TONIGHT
. Mystified by this sudden, and yet such certain direction, Crow spent the day in some agitation, dined with less composure than usual, and set out for the Folies Bergère in high hopes.

He had already visited the place on several occasions during his quest, so was quite acclimatized to the noise and the superior quality of the performances – not to mention the young women who paraded themselves along the promenade. After an hour or so of putting hasty questions to harassed waiters, Crow steeled himself to take a turn along the promenade where he had already suffered some indignities at the hands of the night ladies who offered themselves there.

Success came quickly. A girl, dressed in the height of fashion, but with too much paint and powder for Crow's taste, seized on him almost as soon as he showed himself.

‘Were not you asking for Suzanne the other night?' she queried breathlessly, one eye on Crow, the other cocked for any passing trade which she might miss. ‘Suzanne the Gypsy?'

‘Indeed I was. Have you news?'

‘You're in luck. She's here. She only returned to Paris today.'

Crow cast around him, trying to identify the girl among the throng.

‘Over here,' cried the prostitute who had grabbed him. ‘Here,' dragging him by the sleeve and at the same time calling out, ‘Suzanne, I have a friend for you, if you have not become too fine a lady among your actress friends.'

Crow suddenly found himself face to face with the jet-haired beauty whose features undeniably showed that her veins contained gypsy blood. The girl looked him up and down, her mouth red, inviting and open in a wide smile.

‘You wish to buy me a drink?' she asked in coquettish style.

‘I have been searching all Paris for you, if you are known as Suzanne the Gypsy,' gasped Crow.

She laughed. ‘That's me, only I have not brought my tambourine with me tonight. We'll have to play other tunes.'

‘I merely wish to speak with you,' Crow answered primly. ‘It is a matter of some importance.'

‘Time is money,
chéri.'

‘You will be paid.'

‘Good, then lead me to the champagne.'

Crow took her along, found a fresh table, ordered the wine and then gave her all his attention.

‘I have been searching for you,' he started.

‘I have been out of Paris,' she giggled, shaking her elegant shoulders. ‘Monsieur Meliés has been taking moving pictures of me. You have seen the cinematograph?'

‘Yes. No. Well, I've heard of these things.'

‘I have been acting for Monsieur Meliés. In a cinematograph film he has been taking at his country house at Montreuil.'

‘Fascinating. But …'

‘Indeed it is fascinating. He wanted several girls to act at being gypsies. I am the real thing. He said so himself. You wish to hear more of how he takes the photographs?'

‘No, I wish to hear of something else.'

‘What?'

‘Suzanne, please cast your mind back to just after Christmas.'

‘Zut,' she raised her hands. ‘That is hard. Sometimes I cannot remember what happened yesterday. Christmas is a long time ago.'

‘You were at the
Moulin Rouge.'

‘I am often at the
Moulin Rouge
. I would rather talk about Monsieur Meliés, he is coming here tonight. A whole party is coming tonight, you could meet him.' She stopped suddenly, staring at him. ‘I don't know your name.'

‘My name is Crow.'

‘Good,' she bubbled, ‘I shall call you
le Corbeau
. See?' Suzanne made flapping motions with her hands, and a cawing noise from the back of her throat.

Crow considered that in all probability she had taken more than enough to drink. ‘On the night I am talking about,' he said firmly, ‘you met an American. A stout American, who, I think, was asking where he could find a gentleman called Jean Gris-ombre?'

Suzanne seemed to sober up with remarkable rapidity. ‘You want to know about Grisombre?'

‘No. Do you remember the American?'

‘I don't know. I might. It depends. Why do you wish to know?'

‘He is a friend of mine. I'm trying to find him. His name was Morningdale. There was some kind of a fracas outside the
Moulin Rouge
when he left. Something to do with a girl. A street girl.'

‘Yes, I know about that. I remember him. He was not pleasant. But his friend, Harry, he was good to me.' She shrugged. ‘The American paid.'

‘And they were looking for Grisombre?'

‘Yes.'

‘Did you help them?'

‘I sent them up to
La Maison Vide
. Jean Grisombre is there most nights. Was there most nights. I went up tonight, he is travelling somewhere, so you'll be out of luck if you want to see him.'

‘But the American would have seen him that night?'

‘If he went there, yes. No doubt at all.'

‘This American and his friend, where had they come from?'

‘London. I think it was London.' Her brow creased as though she was making a great effort to remember. ‘Yes. He said something to Harry about where they lived. It seemed strange.'

‘Try to think.'

‘Another glass of champagne.'

Crow poured, not taking his eyes from her. Around them the place was alive with music, laughter, dancing and the thick, crowded, hurly-burly of people determined to enjoy themselves whatever the cost.

‘How much are you paying me?'

‘Enough.'

‘You wish to sleep with me also?'

‘No.'

‘You do not find me attractive?'

Crow sighed. ‘My dear young woman, I find you most attractive, but I have made a small vow to myself.'

‘Vows are made to be broken.'

‘What did he say?'

‘Money.'

Crow tossed a small pile of gold coins onto the table where they disappeared like lumps of fat in a hot pan.

She gave him a quick smile and stood up.

‘Can you not remember? Or is this some fraud?' He asked with alarm.

‘I remember,' she smiled again. ‘He said … When he gave me the money to be with Harry, he said, “I will not tell your little skivvy at Albert Square. They tell me, Suzanne the Gypsy is worth every sou you spend”. And I am, Monsieur le Corbeau, worth
every
sou.'

‘Albert Square? You're sure of that?'

‘I'm worth every sou.' She gave a little mocking laugh and disappeared into the crowd.

At that moment the band struck up and the wild whoops of the cancan girls filled the salon, drowning everything else. The detective considered that he should go and find the other little fancy lady and tip her for leading him to Suzanne. Then home as fast as steam would carry him.

Crow got back to London late on the following evening, tired, but feeling that he at least had a scrap of intelligence for Holmes. It was, however, too late to call on the great detective that night. In any case Sylvia greeted him like she had when they were courting. So much so, in fact, that Crow wondered whether she was planning some new act of folly. It was a nervousness which would soon pass, for Sylvia Crow had learned her lesson, and was determined to be a dutiful wife.

The detective, enjoying the comforts of his own home, and bed, soon decided that he would visit Baker Street as quickly as possible after reporting in to Scotland Yard on the morrow.

He was up betimes, and in his office before eight-thirty. Yet not soon enough to escape the powers that be. A note on his desk told him that he was to see the Commissioner at nine o'clock sharp.

Tanner came in as he was about to leave.

‘You look fit, sir. Quite recovered?' he asked jauntily.

‘Never felt better.' Crow remarked to himself that this was indeed true. The thrill of the chase had infused his blood, cutting out all thoughts of Harriet's treachery.

‘Better than Mr Holmes, then.' Tanner almost leered.

‘Why do you mention Mr Holmes?' he asked sharply.

‘You've met him, have you not, sir?'

‘Two or three times, yes. But what is wrong?'

‘You've not heard then?'

‘Not a word.'

‘The great Mr Holmes is making a fool of himself with a woman. It's become a proper scandal. Half London's talking of it.'

‘I don't believe …'

‘It's true enough, sir. A former singer they say. Name of Irene Adler. Goes everywhere with her.'

Crow hurried off to the Commissioner's office, anxious to have done with his interview.

‘Well, you look fit enough,' said the Commissioner tersely. ‘You think you are completely better?'

‘Ready for anything, sir.'

‘You'll need to be. It's your last chance, mind. I had a word with Moore Agar, and he assured me that you would be as good as new. I trust that he is right, for he has another patient who does not do so well, I hear.'

‘Oh?' Crow forced himself to look as blank as he could muster.

‘Don't let it go any further, mind.' The Commissioner leaned forward in a confidential manner. ‘It's Sherlock Holmes. You remember what a firm self-disciplinarian he always was? Wouldn't go near a woman?'

‘Indeed.'

‘I've seen it happen before at his age, mind you. Finds a filly and loses all sense of proportion.'

‘Mr Holmes?' Crow was genuinely disturbed now. Tanner could have been exaggerating, but not the old man.

‘Taken up with a woman who's no better than she should be.'

‘I can hardly credit it.'

‘Seen it with me own eyes. Out every night at The Monico, The Cri or The Troc. Canoodling in public as well. Disgustin' display. Fella in my club told me he'd seen the pair of them half tipsy at the Ambassadeurs, and I gather he won't even speak to his brother Mycroft. Damn shame, but it often happens. When men like that kick over the traces …' The sentence trailed off and Crow quickly changed the conversation to the duties which the Commissioner required of him.

The interview lasted a full hour and contained some disturbing news concerning an explosion in Praed Street, and an unidentified body – the only casualty in this unpleasant affair. However, no sooner had Crow been dismissed than he hurried out of the building, hailed a hansom and was off at a spanking pace towards Baker Street, dread in his heart at what he would find.

‘Thank heaven it's you, sir,' Mrs Hudson cried with relief when she opened the door to Crow's agitated knock. ‘He's left word that you are the only one he will see. I have even thought of telegraphing Dr Watson, but he has forbidden it.'

‘What on earth's the matter, Mrs Hudson?'

‘He's been that ill, sir. I've never seen him like it before. I thought he was close to death, but he would not have a doctor near. And the stories they are telling about him. All lies. But he will not listen nor say a word.'

Crow bounded up the stairs towards Holmes' chambers, from whence came the high and mournful sound of a violin. Not even waiting to knock, Crow burst into the room.

Holmes sat in his favourite chair, clad in a robe, eyes closed and his violin to his chin. Crow was aghast at the great man's appearance. His body, always lean, now appeared wasted, his cheeks gaunt and haggard, the eyes sunken. From the way he was holding the bow to his violin, Crow also deduced that his hand was not as steady as it had been.

‘Great Scot, Holmes, what is wrong with you?' he all but shouted.

Holmes opened his eyes, stopped playing, and leaned back in his chair.

‘Crow, it's good to see you. Did you get my wire? What news?'

‘I have some, but what of you?'

‘Don't worry, my good fellow. I've beaten it now. I am almost recovered.'

As he said the words his body became racked by a great shaking so that he was not able to speak for a few moments. Crow saw that huge beads of perspiration were running from his brow.

‘This is a malady of my own making, I fear, Crow,' Holmes said weakly. ‘But, truly, I am almost better. A little of Mrs Hudson's chicken broth and I'll be good as new.'