Sherlock Holmes and the Knave of Hearts (17 page)

Watson's face grew grimmer still. ‘We are indeed dealing with clever men and subtle means.' He gestured to the liquid on the slide he had just examined. ‘What we have here is an exudate, taken in all likelihood from an abscess.'

‘You mean that it is …
pus
?'

‘Yes,' Watson confirmed. ‘Our “attendant”, this man whose name is Valentin, doubtless drained it from a patient at your nearest hospital earlier this very morning.'

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

La Fôret Domaniale de Malvoisine

A
s Holmes expected, Lydie left her hotel early the following morning, hailed a cab and drove away.

He did not follow her immediately, and was wise not to do so, for as he had suspected, a second cab came around a nearby corner a few moments later and went in pursuit of her.

In the mouth of an alley across the road from the hotel, Holmes narrowed his eyes as the second cab went past. He could see nothing of the passenger, but it was only to be expected that an organization such as the Knaves would leave nothing to chance. Just as Lydie had been sent here to ensure that Gaston carried out his mission, just as she had been able to locate and order Sergeant Bessette to finish the job, and then later order Bessette's ‘lawyer', Prideaux, to kill him before he cracked and spilled whatever he knew about them, so it followed that she too had been shadowed. Holmes realized that Knave agents must be everywhere, each with orders to watch another and ensure that discretion and secrecy were observed at all times.

As the sounds of hoofs and wheels diminished, Holmes returned to his own waiting cab, climbed inside and tapped his cane against the roof. The driver dutifully clucked the horse into motion and set off in pursuit. He was anxious to collect the ten francs Holmes had promised him for following the other cabs without making it obvious.

Lydie's first destination was the telegraph office on Rue
Gambetta. Here she stayed just long enough to send a telegram. Then she climbed back into her cab, her driver turned his vehicle around in the middle of the still largely deserted street and returned the way he had come.

From around the next corner, the second cab dutifully followed after her.

Again Holmes rapped softly on the roof of his cab; again the driver went after them both at a discreet distance.

This time Lydie made directly for Gare du Nord. She alighted before the station, paid the fare and then, pausing only to lift the hem of her grey dress a little so that it would not brush against the ground, hurried inside.

The second cab pulled in behind the first. A tall, long-limbed man in a black suit that was far too short in the arms and legs paid his driver and strode into the station behind her. He was chunky and yet cadaverous, with a long, heavy-featured face, waxy skin and a black derby set atop his close-cropped black hair.

Holmes paid off his own cabbie and waited for a time outside the station. Only when he heard the tell-tale blast of whistles and the slamming of carriage doors did he slip inside. He quickly bought a third-class ticket to Paris – it was the final destination of the only train in the station at this
still-early
hour – and hopped aboard even as it began to draw slowly away from the platform.

The rail-yards fell behind them and the train picked up speed. At length they crossed the valley of the Oise by way of a bridge with three arches. A long, deep cutting took them on through the stone quarries of St Maximin, and thence across a magnificent viaduct and past a ruined abbey.

But Holmes hardly noticed the scenery. His job today was twofold – to follow Lydie and discover where she was going, and at the same time avoid detection by his target or the man who was following her.

Two hours later the train arrived in Paris. Holmes
deliberately
hesitated a while before leaving his compartment. When at last he did, he saw with satisfaction that Lydie was just passing through the gates at the far end of the platform, her tall, pale-faced follower not far behind.

Holmes had been right in his assumption that Lydie would travel first-class, and that the man following her would travel by second. Travelling by third-class had ensured that he would not possibly meet up with either of them, even by chance.

The station was all hustle and bustle, but still he was careful to keep his distance and as much as possible remain invisible to those he was following. Outside the station Lydie hurried to an awaiting coach that was black with red
wheel-spokes
. The driver did not even acknowledge her, but sat on his high seat with his head facing forward. As soon as she got in and closed the coach door, he shook his reins and his two-horse team pulled out into one of the capital's busy thoroughfares.

This time, however, her hulking, cadaverous shadow made no move to follow her. He had doubtless known her destination all along, but had followed her to make sure he was correct. Now apparently he was convinced. Holmes watched him look around, then cross the tree-lined boulevard and enter a post and telegram office. He would now report to his master,
doubtless
the man Absalon … wherever he might be.

Only when he was sure he would not possibly be spotted by the cadaverous man did Holmes finally make his own move. Much to the protests of the drivers lined up ahead of him, he chose the very last cab in the rank and gave the cabbie
instructions
to follow the black coach. Eager to please, the driver got them moving almost before Holmes was settled in his seat.

They followed the coach through picturesque streets and across bridges, always heading east. About half an hour later they were in the suburbs and the traffic had thinned
considerably
. Ten minutes after that he rapped on the cab roof and the vehicle slowed to a halt, allowing the coach ahead to vanish into thick woodland.

The driver's pinched face appeared in the trapdoor above him. ‘What lies beyond those trees?' asked Holmes.

The driver thought for a moment. ‘That is la Forêt Domaniale de Malvoisine,' he replied.

‘Yes, but what lies
beyond
it?'

The driver shrugged. ‘Malperthius … Saint-Augustin.'

Holmes stared thoughtfully at the clustered oaks. A line of telegraph poles followed the contours of the lane in which they found themselves, until they too vanished into the forest, just as the black carriage had. He remembered something then that François Fournier had said to them the day before.
There is one place. I didn't think much of it at the time, but it is certainly set away from prying eyes.

‘Do you want me to keep following the coach?' asked the driver.

But the chances of being spotted were now too great for that. ‘No,' Holmes replied. ‘But tell me….'

‘
Oui, m'sieur?
'

‘Are there any properties located
within
the forest?'

The cab driver gave the question a moment's thought. ‘I am not sure,' he answered at length. ‘There could be. It covers a large area, you know.'

‘Then you may take me back to Paris,' said Holmes. ‘I believe my work here is complete.'

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Forewarned is Forearmed

S
eated at the large desk in his ground-floor office, Alexandre Absalon listened in silence until Lydie had finished making her report. Even then he made no immediate response. The prolonged silence grew uncomfortable until at length he finally broke it.

‘If this man Watson is to be believed, then Sherlock Holmes is every bit as clever as his reputation suggests.’

She frowned. ‘What do you mean –
if
he is to be believed?’

‘Do you not think he is using you?’ he asked, raising one Mephistophelian eyebrow.

‘Certainly not.’

‘Then you have been blinded by his charm, Lydie. He is quite the ladies’ man, you know. By his own admission his experience of women extends over many nations and three separate
continents
.’

He watched her closely as he said this, and did not care for the flicker of hurt he saw in her eyes. ‘Did you think he was any different to any of the other men you have known?’ he asked, his tone deceptively gentle and slightly mocking. ‘Did you think he was the
one
?’

‘I know that he is a gentleman,’ she replied hotly, ‘and one who would not find it easy to use another human being.’

‘You surprise me. I did not think a woman of your experience could be quite so … naive.’

‘It is not a case of naiveté, M’sieur Absalon. I prefer to think of myself as a good judge of character.’

Although she didn’t mean to, she made the statement sound more like an attack on her employer. She thought for a moment that he would censure her, but he didn’t. She would have preferred it if he had.

Rising, Absalon walked to one of the windows and gazed out across the magnificent grounds surrounding the chateau. ‘This man Holmes knows something,’ he said. ‘This I know from my own personal experience. But he does not know as much as Watson claims. He cannot. He is bluffing, Lydie. And whether or not Watson was aware of it, he has used his companion to feed you just enough information to make you panic and report directly to me.’

He moved suddenly, quick and fluid as a panther. He crossed to her, grabbed her by her arms, dug his fingers deep into her flesh and shook her as if she were a rag doll. She had never seen him angry. But now he was beyond anger; he was absolutely incensed.

‘Were you followed?’ he demanded through clenched teeth.

‘N-no.’

‘Are you
sure
?’

‘Of course I am! Stop it! You’re hurting me, and I will not stand for that!’

He pushed her away from him. ‘You will stand for anything I tell you to stand for,’ he rasped. Then: ‘But for my foresight, you might well have led them straight to us! That was Holmes’s plan! Can’t you
see
that?’

She rubbed her arms, knowing that they would be bruised before she returned to Amiens. ‘Watson told me enough to convince me that Sherlock Holmes is on to you! I saw it as my duty to report as much at the earliest possible opportunity! Was that wrong of me? Should I have simply remained silent? Forewarned is forearmed, is it not?’

Absalon inhaled angrily. His shoulders rose and fell. He
said: ‘You were not followed. I know this, because I have a very special man in Amiens by the name of Sébastien Thayer whose job it has been to follow
you
throughout this entire mission!’

‘What?’

He shook his head pityingly at her. ‘My God, you really are naive. In this organization, everyone watches everyone else, Lydie. It is the only way to maintain secrecy – and loyalty.’

She wanted to tell him that
he
was naive, too, if he felt that loyalty could be anything other than earned, but she sensed that she was already in enough trouble as it was.

His next statement confirmed it.

‘I am all for you using your undoubted charms to carry out the work of the Knaves. That was the purpose for which you were originally recruited. But your feelings for Watson,
whatever
they may be, have clouded your judgement, and might well have brought about a serious breach of the security we hold so dear.’ He paused briefly, then said: ‘You have arranged to have Verne’s wound contaminated?’

She looked at the spelter clock on the mantelpiece. ‘It will have been done by now.’

‘Who did you choose for the task?’

‘Valentin Faure.’

He nodded, satisfied. Then turning away from her, he said: ‘Return to Amiens, collect your things and go back to your
appartement
in Lyon. Do not make any attempt to see Watson again.’

‘Why not?’

He waved off her question. ‘You are no longer associated with this matter, Lydie. Now, go back to Lyon and wait. The Knaves will find work for you elsewhere, in due course.’

‘But I—’

‘
Do it
,’ he whispered. ‘And be grateful that I have shown such leniency.’

She glared defiantly at him for a moment longer. Then deciding not to enrage him further, she silently withdrew.