Young Sherlock Holmes: Knife Edge (13 page)

‘So where is Ambrose Albano? What has happened to him?’

‘Perhaps he was taken across to the Other Side,’ von Webenau said sombrely. ‘Perhaps he was rescued by his spirit friends.’

‘What was he doing outside in the first place?’

‘He said he was worried about the attack on your brother. He wanted to leave, straight away. Sir Shadrach was attempting to calm him down and get him to stay when—’

‘May Ah ask,’ a voice interrupted them, ‘what exactly is goin’ on here? Ah was nearly decapitated by a spinnin’ wheel, then two horses nearly ran me down, then four
masked men ran past me. This ain’t exactly the kind of welcome
Ah was expectin’.’

The voice – deep and accented – sent a shiver down Sherlock’s spine. He turned towards the road outside the gates. A cart had stopped there. Stepping down from the cart was an
impressively large man in a white suit with a wide-brimmed white hat on his head. His face was tanned and creased like leather, and his eyes were a faded blue.

‘Mr Crowe,’ Sherlock said in a
voice that he hardly recognized as his own, it was so full of amazement and joy. ‘I wasn’t expecting you here.’

‘Apparently not, otherwise Ah would have expected a calmer introduction.’ He walked towards Sherlock and stuck his hand out. Sherlock did the same, and they shook hands solemnly.
‘When Ah found out that Mycroft Holmes was goin’ to be here, I guessed there was a chance you might
be turnin’ up. Glad to see Ah was right.’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘You’re a clever man. You work it out.’

The bright light of sheer logic flooded Sherlock’s mind, revealing the obvious answer. ‘You are the American representative at the bidding for Mr Albano’s services,’ he
said.

‘Exactly. Mah apologies for the late arrival, by the way.’ He indicated the cart behind him with
his thumb. ‘We missed the ferry because mah daughter just had to go
shoppin’.’

Sherlock stared over Amyus Crowe’s shoulder, at the cart that had brought him up from the town. For a moment all he could see was the driver, the horses, the cart and the luggage piled
inside it and strapped down.

And then, from behind the driver, Virginia Crowe leaned forward and looked over at him, and
his heart broke all over again.

‘Well,’ Amyus Crowe said as he settled himself into a comfortable armchair, ‘this ain’t exactly the set of circumstances Ah imagined our next
meetin’ to take place under.’ The springs creaked beneath his weight.

‘Me neither,’ Sherlock replied.

They were sitting in the castle’s reception room – the same one in which Sherlock had earlier talked to his injured brother.
The past twenty minutes had been a bustle of activity as
Crowe had presented his credentials to Sir Shadrach Quintillan, introduced his daughter, met the other representatives and overseen the transfer of their luggage to their rooms. Virginia had
avoided Sherlock all the while, although he had been painfully aware of her presence. When refreshments were offered Crowe accepted, while Virginia
pleaded tiredness after the long journey.
Sherlock remembered how sea travel had affected her on the way to and from New York, and wasn’t surprised when she went to her room to lie down.

Or maybe, a rebellious part of his mind said, she just doesn’t want to talk to you.

‘Where’s Holmes Senior?’ Crowe asked.

‘Ah. He’s resting in his room after being attacked this morning in the library.’

‘
Attacked?
’ Crowe’s face creased in concern, the leathery wrinkles almost hiding his eyes. ‘An’ is this somethin’ to do with this psychic fellow
– Albano – or is it just a random attack?’

Sherlock shrugged. ‘Probably the former, but the motive is unclear. Either someone wants to improve their chances at the auction by taking out the likely competition, or someone else wants
to force
up the price by making it look like Albano is worth fighting for. That means the pool of suspects is pretty much everyone in the house.’

Crowe nodded. ‘That’s a succinct analysis of the situation. Future events will prob’ly tell us which one it is.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, if the attack was designed to get rid of competition then there’re likely to be more attacks on other representatives.
If you want to reduce the pool of contenders then you
don’t just take out the one.’ He smiled. ‘Of course, you don’t take out
all
the contenders, because that kind of gives the game away as to who is responsible. Last
man standin’, an’ all that.’

‘What if the attack was designed to make Albano a more valuable commodity because he’s worth fighting for?’

‘Then Albano will reappear,’
Crowe pointed out. ‘There ain’t no point in biddin’ for something that’s vanished. He’ll come back with some kind of
cockamamie story to make himself look important and powerful.’ He paused for a moment. ‘How
is
your brother? Will he . . . recover?’

‘He was lucid and talking when he regained consciousness. The injury doesn’t look too serious. Apparently a doctor has been called in to examine
him. I don’t know whether
he’s attended yet or not – I had to walk down to the town to send a telegram on Mycroft’s behalf.’

‘Knowin’ your brother, the telegram was prob’ly somethin’ along the lines of “Send fine wines and cream cakes: the caterin’ here is not
ideal”.’

Sherlock smiled. ‘Actually the catering is very good. Certainly last night’s meal met with Mycroft’s approval.’

‘So you’ve met Ambrose Albano, an’ presumably had the chance to see his act?’

Sherlock was about to answer when he suddenly realized that he wasn’t talking to a friend any more, he was speaking with a potential competitor. He wondered with a flash of concern what
Mycroft would have wanted him to do – tell the truth, say nothing or try to make out that Albano was probably a fake in order to
reduce the likelihood that Crowe would make a serious offer on
behalf of the American Government. He shook his head. This was complicated. What was the best thing to do?

The best thing, he decided, was to tell the truth and damn the consequences. He knew and trusted Amyus Crowe; and, more to the point, so did his brother. Besides, Crowe might well wonder himself
whether Sherlock was telling
the truth or telling a lie, in which case Sherlock might as well tell the truth anyway, on the basis that whatever he said might not be believed.

‘Wise move,’ Crowe said softly. ‘Always tell the truth, if you can. It’ll confuse the hell out of your enemies – an’ you know Ah’m not an
enemy.’

‘How did you know what I was thinking?’ demanded Sherlock.

‘It’s pretty simple, although it
makes for a good parlour trick. You hesitated after Ah asked the question, indicatin’ that you were havin’ doubts about tellin’ me.
Your gaze flickered upward, to where Ah presume Mycroft’s rooms are. You were wonderin’ what he would want you to say. You looked back at me, but your eyes weren’t focusin’
on my face – they had that look that people get when they’re rememberin’ somethin’. Ah guessed
that you were rememberin’ everythin’ you an’ Ah have been
through together. You then glanced down an’ to the right, which is a sign that you were puttin’ your thoughts in order logically before tellin’ them to me. People who are
lookin’ to lie often glance down an’ to the left. It’s a strange thing, but worth knowin’. Somethin’ to do with which side of the brain you’re usin’, Ah
believe
– the analytical side, or the side that we use to construct stories.’

‘Very clever. You’ll have to teach me how to do that.’

‘If we get a chance to have any more lessons,’ Crowe said, and there was a sad tone in his voice that Sherlock didn’t like. ‘Now,’ he continued briskly, ‘your
thoughts on Mr Albano.’

‘He’s a fake,’ Sherlock said immediately. ‘I haven’t worked out how he manages
his tricks yet, but I’m certain that they
are
tricks.’

‘What kind of things has he been doin’?’

‘Chalk messages appearing on slates, wooden plaques moving to point to letters in order to spell out other messages, the production of some kind of substance that is apparently called
“ectoplasm” that can take the shape of a supposed spirit . . .’

‘The standard repertoire, then. Nothin’
cleverer than that.’

‘Exactly.’

‘An’ your brother concurs?’

‘He does.’

Crowe nodded slowly. ‘Ah suspect that Mycroft an’ Ah are in the same position, bein’ less convinced ourselves than our respective governments are. From what you’ve said
Ah can’t imagine Ah’ll be any more convinced when Ah’ve seen him in action mahself.’

‘So how did you get to be the American representative?’
Sherlock asked.

‘You tell me, son.’

Sherlock thought for a moment. ‘The invitation went out late enough that the American Government didn’t have time to send someone over from America; or perhaps they didn’t
think the likely reward was worth the expense and effort of such a trip. They looked for people they trusted who were closer geographically. There would be the Embassy staff in London,
of course,
but for some reason they chose you instead.’ Sherlock closed his eyes briefly, to help himself concentrate. ‘I presume they needed someone whom they trusted and who also had a
reputation for not being taken in by trickery, and that led them straight to you.’

‘Precisely.’

Sherlock thought about what they had been talking about for a moment. ‘That kidnapping,’ he said. ‘How
was it arranged, do you think?’

‘Ah don’t know, son – Ah wasn’t here. What did you see?’

Sherlock closed his eyes again, recalling the events and putting them into logical order, aware that Crowe had just pointed out that closing the eyes was a sign of remembering. ‘I’d
only just arrived back from town myself, so I was looking at events from out near the road. Everybody else was nearer
the castle, so between us we had a view from both sides. Albano was outside the
castle, apparently leaving. He was having some kind of argument with Sir Shadrach – with the benefit of hindsight I suspect it had something to do with the attack on Mycroft. Perhaps he was
scared. Anyway, he had just set off, walking towards where I was, when a carriage raced in from the road. The carriage stopped
by Mr Albano. Two men jumped out, but I saw a third man inside. They
all had scarves over their faces. And, of course, the driver makes four men in total. The two men knocked Albano over, put a sack on his head and threw him into the carriage. They got back in, and
the driver drove off, but the carriage seemed to veer off the path when it got outside the walls, and it crashed. Four men raced
away, and they all still had scarves over their faces. I had the
carriage in sight the whole time, from before the kidnapping until it crashed, and Mr Albano never got out, but when I and the other two representatives ran over to it he wasn’t there. The
carriage was empty.’

Crowe nodded slowly. ‘A fine and succinct account, young man. Your brain hasn’t got slack while you’ve been away.
Now, a couple of things occur to me. Coincidences, things that
stand out as being different. Firstly, it was lucky for the abductors that Mr Albano was outside the castle just at the moment they drove in. If he’d been inside, what would they have done?
Gone lookin’ for him?’

‘Good point,’ Sherlock said. ‘They had to know he was going to be outside at that exact moment, and the only person
who knew that was, I suppose, Albano himself.’

‘Precisely. The second point is: it was lucky for us that everyone just happened to be outside
watching
Mr Albano walkin’ away. Everyone got to see the abduction and, more
importantly, the vanishin’ trick. Every trick needs an audience.’

‘Again,’ Sherlock said, ‘that was down to Mr Albano. He was the one who had the argument. If it started
inside then people would have taken notice and moved to watch, then
followed him and Sir Shadrach outside. They were the perfect audience.’ He took a deep breath. ‘So, it
was
a trick, and it
was
arranged by Mr Albano himself, or at
least with his knowledge and assistance. Which means that we can expect him to reappear in a little while, as you said.’

‘There’s another point,’ Crowe said.

‘What is it?’

‘You tell me.’

Sherlock thought for a moment. ‘If we’re right, and Albano arranged the kidnapping and the disappearance himself, or at least knew that they were going to happen, then it was
important that the crash happened
inside
the grounds of the castle, because that was the only way those of us who were there would know that he had disappeared. If the crash had happened
half a mile down the road then we wouldn’t have been there, and we might, when we finally did get there, have assumed that Mr Albano had just wandered off. The mysterious disappearance only
works because it happened in front of our eyes. That means the crash was deliberately arranged to occur exactly where it did. But how?’

‘Oh, many ways.’

‘But what about the disappearance from the
carriage? How did he manage that?’

Crowe frowned in disapproval. ‘Ah’m surprised at you, Sherlock. That’s the simplest thing of all. There’s only one answer. Go figure it out yourself.’

‘Oh!’ Sherlock said suddenly, changing the subject. ‘I forgot to tell you. One of the servants died. I don’t know if there’s any connection to anything else, or
whether it was just a tragic coincidence,
but I found her outside. There wasn’t a mark on her, but she had a horrified expression on her face, and her shoes were missing.’

‘Hmm. Difficult to see how that ties in with anythin’ else. That kind of horrified expression can be a sign of a weak heart givin’ way – Ah’ve seen it before.
Let’s park that one for now.’ His gaze softened. ‘But Ah guess there’s a question you’ve been avoiding,
all the time we’ve been talkin’. You want to ask it
now, or you want to pretend there’s nothin’ wrong?’

Sherlock felt a sudden obstruction in his throat that stopped him from saying anything for a moment. He wanted to ask about Virginia, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Would
it be best just to pretend that nothing was wrong, and continue onward with a smile on his face?