Sherlock Holmes and the King of Clubs (9 page)

Holmes studied her sharply. ‘This … difficulty … of Mr Houdini's. Is it of a criminal nature?'

‘I would rather he explained it to you himself.'

‘Very well. Mr Houdini is staying at the Royal, I believe?'

She nodded. ‘On the Stephansplatz.' Then, suspiciously, ‘How did you know that?'

‘It is in the paper,' Holmes replied simply.

Her lashes fluttered. ‘Yes … yes, of course. Forgive me, gentlemen, my nerves have got the better of me. The Royal. Room 414.'

‘Splendid,' Holmes said. ‘Now, finish your tea and then make your way back there. Oh, and take this with you,' he said, handing
her the newspaper he had bought earlier. ‘It may not be the best disguise, but it will suggest to whoever you believe is watching you that you left your hotel in order to do nothing more daring that buy an evening newspaper.'

‘Y-Yes, all right.'

‘Watson and I will give you fifteen minutes and then set out for the Royal. I should be very surprised if a hotel which has been so recently refurbished has not installed at least one fire exit. When you reach your destination, locate the exit and wait there. When we knock, you may let us in, and in this manner we shall be able to enter the hotel and talk to Mr Houdini unobserved.'

She nodded again, too agitated to calm herself. ‘I understand.'

She got to her feet and they rose with her. Impulsively Watson squeezed her hand and said, ‘Take heart, Miss Lane. If there is anything Holmes and I can do to help you, rest assured it will be done.'

‘Thank you, gentlemen,' she said tremulously. Then, turning, she walked out of the lobby without a backward glance.

Watching her go, Watson felt his pulses begin to race. ‘Good Lord,' he breathed. ‘This … it's just like the old days, Holmes! I wonder what Houdini's problem is?'

Holmes reached for his hat. ‘We shall know that soon enough, my friend. That is, if you are up to it?'

‘I would not miss this for anything … whatever it is.'

‘Then let us go.'

‘But … but you said we would wait fifteen minutes.'

‘So I did. But I think it would pay us to keep a close eye on Miss Lane, to make sure that she really
has
eluded her pursuers … if indeed they were ever there.'

CHAPTER ELEVEN

… and a Flat Rejection

I
T WAS NOW
snowing lightly and the persistent wind was colder than ever. Shunning a cab, for the Royal was only a ten-minute walk from the Grand, Frances Lane hurried through Vienna's wintry streets with her head down, the very picture of torment.

Holmes and Watson kept well back, but made sure to keep the attractive American in sight at all times. However, she appeared not to be being followed by anyone other than themselves.

‘Do you imagine she only thinks she was being followed, Holmes?' asked Watson.

‘You know that I never guess,' came the crisp reply.

Watson rolled his eyes. ‘Of course. Let me see now … Ah, yes. “It is a shocking habit, destructive to the logical faculty.”'

‘I am glad to see that you have not forgotten
all
my teachings.'

‘How could I? It was I who committed most of them to paper.'

Her pace quickening, Frances Lane followed the Burgring past the Academy of Fine Arts. To her left, the Volksgarten lay in eerie darkness; its world-famous rose beds, monuments and large imitation Theseus temple were quiet and still.

Presently she turned right, onto the Shottenring. The snow began to fall slightly harder, and the cold wind made it spiral and dance. It was now a little after 6.30. The roads were still reasonably busy, but pedestrian traffic was growing noticeably thinner.

As she turned right again onto Franz-Josefs-Kai, Watson could just discern the dark waters of the Danube rising and
falling sluggishly on the far side of a small park. A trolley bus clanked past, seeming almost to glide along the tracks in the centre of the wide thoroughfare.

Frances Lane vanished around another corner into the Rotenturmstrasse it was here that Holmes led Watson across the narrow street, so that they might observe Miss Lane's progress from the opposite pavement.

Another three-minute walk brought her out onto the bustling Stephansplatz. The Royal stood almost directly opposite St Stephen's Cathedral, an impressive brown stone basilica built in the thirteenth century whose architecture still looked remarkable even in these snowy conditions.

As the Royal came into sight, Holmes quickly sidestepped into the recessed doorway of an otherwise faceless office building, giving Watson no choice but to follow him.

‘What is it?'

Craning his neck, Holmes peered cautiously along the street. ‘That man there, do you see?' he replied. ‘Standing outside that closed cafe on the other side of the road, just a short distance up from the Royal, pretending he is waiting to meet someone.'

Watson squinted through the snow. ‘I see only one man foolish enough to be out in this weather – a tall, skinny-looking fellow, just visible under the awning. He's wearing a dark-grey alpaca topcoat and what looks like a linen sporting cap. Got his hands in his pockets.'

‘He's the one.'

‘What about him?'

‘He reacted when Miss Lane came into sight … the almost imperceptible stiffening of his shoulders and the involutary twitch of his torso betraying both recognition of who she was and surprise at her return.'

‘Perhaps he
is
waiting for someone. Perhaps he thought
she
was the person he was waiting for.'

‘Then why seek to disguise his mistake so quickly behind a show of supreme nonchalance? See – he now appears to be studying the contents of that café window with a level of interest that cannot possibly be warranted. All the time, however, he is really
watching Miss Lane's reflection as she enters the hotel.'

Watson felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the weather. ‘She
was
right, then! She and or Houdini
are
being watched!'

‘Perhaps. Almost certainly he is the fellow who attempted to follow her, and whom she subsequently lost before she reached the Grand. But does that make him a villain? He could, as Miss Lane herself suggested, just as easily be a reporter looking for a story that may or may not exiSt Still, I think we shall avoid him for the time being, and retrace our steps. We can approach the Royal from the direction of the Hoher Markt – it is only a short distance back the way we have come and from there I expect we will find a way to enter the hotel from the rear.'

The Hoher Markt was a wide, cobbled area given over to shops and offices. It was largely deserted now and as they hurried through the whirling snow the glow from the hissing streetlamps sent their shadows jogging out ahead of them.

At length the rear elevation of the Royal appeared at the end of a darkened alley, looking tall, indistinct and shadowy in the churning blizzard. Holmes at once crossed the deserted, ill-lit street and went in search of a fire exit. It transpired that there were several.

Starting at one corner of the building, they began to work their way along, rapping at each one in turn. At the third fire exit they received a response. The sound of a handle being depressed mingled with the moan of the wind. Then the door opened and Frances Lane, looking thoroughly chilled, allowed them into a dingy stairwell.

There was no need for conversation. With an upward tilt of his head Holmes merely motioned for her to lead the way. A moment later the stairwell was filled with the rustling of her muslin and cotton ankle-length dress, mixed with Watson's laboured breathing as they climbed toward the fourth floor.

At last they reached a door that opened onto a well-lit, carpeted hallway with ornate doors at regular intervals on both left and right. Halfway along the hallway Miss Lane stopped opposite number 402; only then did she hesitate and give Holmes and
Watson a fearful look.

‘He isn't going to like this,' she whispered. ‘But he can't deal with … with what has happened by himself.'

Gathering her courage, she knocked on the door and called, ‘Harry … it's me, Frances.'

The door was wrenched open almost immediately. Harry Houdini, in rolled-up shirtsleeves and an unbuttoned waistcoat, with his curly, centre-parted hair thoroughly tousled, said, ‘Frankie! For God's sake, where have you—?'

Then the showman's pleasant blue eyes saw Holmes and Watson, and his whole manner changed. ‘What the—?'

Frances Lane brushed past him, unbuttoning her checkered wrap as she said, ‘Gentlemen, come in. Hurry, before anyone sees you.'

The suite itself was luxuriously appointed. The main area was furnished as a combination sitting room and office, with a bedroom and en-suite bathroom located behind a closed door in the left-hand wall. Houdini, however, looked terrible. Dark circles ringed his eyes and his collarless shirt and trousers were rumpled, almost as if slept in.

As Holmes and Watson entered and Houdini closed the door after them, he exclaimed angrily, ‘What the devil's going on here, Frankie?' Before his assistant could reply, he added to Holmes and Watson, ‘Listen, I don't mean any disrespect, but this isn't a good time for me.'

‘So I believe,' said Holmes.

Houdini's frown deepened. ‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘I've asked Mr Holmes to lend us a hand,' said Frances.

It went absolutely quiet in the softly lit room. Then: ‘You've
what?
Frankie, how dare you go against my wishes! I told you we were going to—'

‘Harry,' she said wretchedly, ‘Harry, we've got to do
something

‘That's right,' he agreed with an emphatic nod. ‘And I
am
doing something. I'm playing this straight down the line!' He turned away from her and, trying to calm himself, said to Holmes, ‘Look, whatever Frankie's told you … I can only ask you to forget it. All right?'

Before Holmes could reply, Watson stepped forward, determined to defend the young woman. ‘Miss Lane has been careful to tell us nothing of your business,' he said sternly. ‘Aside from the fact that you are in some sort of trouble and need help, she has been the very soul of discretion.'

‘However,' Holmes added, ‘we do know
some
things, Mr Houdini. That you are dealing with a number of people who are playing a high-stakes game, for instance. And that in some way it involves your wife.'

Houdini turned on Frances. ‘God
dammit,
woman—!'

‘I didn't—'

‘Mr Houdini,' Holmes said sharply, his tone forcing Houdini to face him again. ‘Miss Lane came to us genuinely desiring help. She has told us nothing more than she had to.'

‘Then how is it that you know they've taken Bess?'

‘That, sir, was deduction at its most elementary. Your close relationship with your wife is well documented … and yet she is conspicuous by her absence in what would appear to be your hour of need.' Holmes paused briefly, then said, ‘That you have made no attempt to deny my reasoning confirms its veracity.'

‘That hardly matters now, does it?' Houdini said. ‘The damage has been done – Frankie's brought you here even though these snatchers, or whatever the hell they are,
specifically
demanded that I make no attempt to enlist the authorities or anyone
else,
for that matter!'

‘We did not accompany Miss Lane, but came alone and entered by means of the fire stairs,' Holmes said. ‘We ourselves were not observed.'

‘You
hope.

Holmes's mouth thinned. ‘I have
said
so,' he answered flatly.

Houdini turned and wandered aimlessly across the floral carpet, using his right hand to massage the nape of his neck. ‘OK, so you weren't seen – maybe. But God help us if you
were.

Frances Lane shook her head in despair. ‘Oh, Harry … why are you being so stubborn? Mr Holmes is only trying to help.'

‘Help, you say?' Houdini snorted disgustedly. ‘You just better pray that your “help” hasn't harmed Bess or jeopardized my
chances of getting her back alive.'

His words had the same effect as a slap. Fresh tears spilled from Frances Lane's green eyes, and she said throatily, ‘Oh, Harry … Harry, that's the
last
thing I want to do!'

Unable to say more, she turned and walked hurriedly to the door.

Houdini, realizing he had gone too far, called after her. ‘Wait! … Frankie, I didn't mean to—'

Ignoring him, she let herself out without a backward glance.

Again it grew quiet in the suite. Cursing himself, Houdini went to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of water; he never drank anything stronger.

‘The question now,' said Holmes, ‘is how we should get your wife back safely.'

Houdini turned on him. ‘
You,
Holmes, do nothing. Oh, I appreciate your offer, but I'm not about to do anything that'll put Bess at risk. I'm going to play it straight down the line. Still, I'll tell you this much. Once I've got Bess back safe and sound, you see if I don't make those crooks pay!'

‘Have they made any demands yet?'

‘No, damn them. They're making me sweat.'

‘Can you tell us exactly what happened, then, when your wife went missing?'

‘What does it matter? She went shopping and never came back. I waited as long as I could, growing frantic all the while, but eventually I had to leave for the theatre. When I got there Ulrich – he's the stage doorman – gave me a sealed note marked urgent. It said that if I wanted to see Bess again I had better do as they said – whoever they are. Their instructions included
not
contacting the police.'

‘They must have offered proof of their claim, otherwise you would not have been so ready to accept it.'

Houdini nodded. ‘There was a …' He cleared his throat, then continued thickly, ‘a lock of Bess's hair in the envelope. I'd have known it anywhere.'

‘Did Ulrich see who delivered the note?'

‘No. It was chaos backstage. It always is immediately before a
performance. He found it on the counter where he couldn't fail to see it.'

‘And so you cancelled the show.'

‘What did you expect me to do? The key to much of what I do lies in absolute concentration. After I read that note there was no way I could concentrate on anything but Bess.'

‘And you have been waiting here ever since, for them to contact you again.'

‘Yes. And before you get any ideas to the contrary, I'll go
on
waiting, understand me? I'm not going to do anything to put Bess in jeopardy. Whatever they want, I'll pay it.'

‘May I see the note?'

‘I told you, I don't want your help.'

‘Nevertheless, there may be some clues to be found in their demand.'

Irritably Houdini drew an envelope from his back pocket and thrust it out. Holmes took it by one edge, studied the envelope, sniffed it, then removed the note. He took out a small pocket glass, studied the top edge of the sheet, held it to the light, sniffed that as well, and then read its contents.