Читать книгу Art in the Blood - Bonnie Macbird - Страница 11

returned home for my things and managed to make it to Victoria Station barely in time to leap aboard the train to Dover.

The man facing me across our private compartment was no longer the man who had been languishing at 221B only hours before. Clean-shaven and even elegant in his travelling costume of black and grey, Holmes was every inch the imposing figure he could be when so inspired.

Certain that his rapid transformation was due entirely to the stimulation of this new case, and nothing to do with my ministrations, I admit to feeling a bit resentful. Nevertheless, I put these thoughts from my mind and decided to be satisfied that my friend was once again returning to himself, whatever the cause.

He began an unusually voluble explanation of our situation, his eyes burning with an excitement I hoped would not turn manic.

‘The double encoding of the letter was not without interest, don’t you think Watson? She evidently needed to mention the real name of the gentleman, yet to take that kind of precaution must mean she fears him as well. But it is the secondary message which intrigues.’

‘Yes. How did she know that you would find it?’

‘My reputation of course.’

‘And so my recounting of A Study in Scarlet has done you some good, then, Holmes?’

‘You forget I am known in France. Given her interest in chemistry, I would consider her choice to hide the second message a kind of litmus test.’

I sat back in puzzlement while peeling an orange with a small knife. ‘I’ll admit the double-ink trick is a clever touch. But what about the case itself? The lady wishes to travel to you. Why, then, this haste and our trip to Paris?’

Holmes smiled mischievously. ‘Don’t you fancy a trip to Paris, Watson? Leave the gloom of London for the City of Lights? Surely you cannot object to a brief holiday. You have not yet seen the curious ongoing construction of a rather grandiose edifice called La Tour Eiffel.’

‘I have heard it is an abomination. And you do not travel for recreation, Holmes. Why do you think the danger to the lady is imminent?’

‘I believe the attack in the street, Watson, is only the tip of the iceberg. I am concerned by her connection to the Earl. My brother believes there is a well-hidden but dark cloud of violence surrounding this man.’

I felt a sudden dawning. ‘Ah, the “E/P” of Mycroft’s note to you! But I have always heard that Pellingham is a respected philanthropist, and a paragon of noblesse oblige, is he not?’

‘So goes the story. You have heard of his art collection?’

‘Yes, started by his father, as I recall.’

‘It is legendary, but currently kept private. Are you aware that no one has seen it in years?’

‘I’m afraid I do not follow these matters, Holmes.’

‘Mycroft suspects the Earl of a less than scrupulous method of obtaining his treasures. There is a recent case in particular.’

‘Why would a man of his standing risk being branded a thief over some stolen paintings?’

‘The Earl is in a position difficult to imagine. His connections render him almost untouchable. He sheds suspicion like water off a well vulcanized mackintosh, Watson; surely you know that. And the artwork in question is a sculpture, not a painting. Not merely any sculpture, but the Marseilles Nike. You have heard of it?’

‘Ah … that Greek statue discovered earlier this year! I believe there was a murder connected to—’

‘Four murders, to be exact. The Nike is considered the grandest find since the Elgin Marbles, and she is said to surpass the Winged Victory in beauty. An enormous work in excellent condition. Priceless.’

I offered Holmes a section of orange; he waved it away, continuing with enthusiasm: ‘No less than three foreign powers lay claim to her discovery and possession. She was being transferred somewhat controversially to the Louvre when she disappeared in Marseilles some months ago. Four men were killed during the theft in a particularly brutal manner. The Greek, French and British governments have been exhausting resources to trace her and solve the murders, to no avail.’

‘All three countries? Why would so many lay claim to this Nike?’

‘The discoverer – one of the four murdered men – was a titled Englishman, working on a French-funded dig in Greece.’

‘Ah, I see. And so you were asked—’

‘Mycroft did request that I look into it, and the French government as well, but I have hitherto declined.’

‘Why?’

Holmes sighed. ‘An acquisitive nobleman and a bungled art theft are not of sufficient interest to me, until the moment I received Mlle La Victoire’s note. It seems that Pellingham may have wider interests. Mycroft has been investigating rumours of business and personal transgressions in and around his estate that bear a closer look. And while Mycroft has been keeping an eye on the Earl, even he must tread carefully because of Pellingham’s immense power. He needs more data to go on.’

‘More?’

‘The mackintosh, Watson, the mackintosh. Mycroft needs to justify an investigation, and Mademoiselle Emmeline La Victoire may very well provide us with an entrée into the Earl’s world.’

We paused briefly and I stared out the window at the passing countryside growing dim in the fading light. Above were darkening, clouded skies. In the distance, lightning flashed. It did not bode well for our crossing. I turned back to Holmes.

‘And there is the matter of the child. And the attack upon the lady herself.’

‘Precisely.’

‘Well, she is certainly frightened, judging from her letter.’

‘Indeed. Her request to disguise my response indicates she is being watched. It is my opinion that we cannot reach her too quickly.’

‘But exactly who is this Emmeline La Victoire?’

‘You have not heard of the singer “Cherie Cerise”, Watson?’

‘I confess that I have not. My taste for recreation runs to bridge, and a quiet book by the fire, as you well know, Holmes.’

‘Ha! A polite fiction! You are a crack shot, with a gambling habit, a passion for the yellow-backed novel, and a penchant—’

‘Holmes!’

But my friend knew me only too well. ‘Cherie Cerise is currently the toast of Paris. She is a chanteuse extraordinaire, if one is to believe her publicity, and alternates between the Chat Noir and the Moulin de la Galette, packing that large establishment to near riot every evening she appears.’

‘The Chat Noir? The Black Chair?’

‘Cat, Watson, the Black Cat, an intimate venue of great cachet. I visited it twice last year during my work for the French. It is remarkable for the music, the clientele, and even the artwork which adorns the walls.’

‘But I still do not understand the connection.’

‘Peace, my good doctor, all will be made clear. And now rest, for there is work ahead of us. We will be hearing the lady sing, possibly this very night.’

I sighed. ‘Is she at least beautiful?’ I wondered.

Holmes smiled. ‘Ah, and this from a married man! You are not likely to be disappointed, Watson. When a Frenchwoman is not a beauty, she is yet a work of art. And when she is beautiful, there are none of her sex to surpass her.’ With that he pulled his hat low over his eyes, leaned back and was promptly asleep.