Sherlock Holmes and the Boulevard Assassin

by John Hall

  All this had happened quickly – much more quickly than it takes to write, or to read, my account – and I confess that I had not the slightest notion of what to do next. Left to my own devices, I should probably have stood at the head of the stairs until the police reached me, but Holmes grabbed my arm and fairly dragged me after him.

  I was aware of a confusion in the doorway of the room where the meeting had been held – it seemed for all the world as if the large man and Lefevre had both been trying to get through the door at the same time, and were now both stuck there – and then Holmes dragged me into another room, and threw the door shut. I heard a key being turned in the lock – it was now dark, and there was no lighting in this room – then a second door at the other end of the room was opened, and again Holmes pulled me to it, and through it.

  I heard the sound of a bolt being thrown in this second door, and then the man whom I still thought of as ‘the speaker’, for I had not the slightest inkling as to what his name might be, told us, ‘This way!’

  We followed him down a short passage, lit only by a grimy window, then into yet another room. This again had a window which our guide threw open. ‘Quickly!’ he said, and stepped outside. Holmes followed, then I climbed through the window and found myself on an iron balcony of sorts, from which a rusty stair led down to the street – a fire-escape, I suppose.

  I still had no time to think about what had happened, but hastily scrambled down after Holmes and the other man, who did not pause when once we had reached the street, but led the way at a run.

  We passed through a grimy alley, a vile courtyard, and emerged on to a somewhat broader street, where the man who had been the main speaker paused. ‘We must not run here,’ he told us, ‘for it would arouse suspicion.’

  For answer, Holmes pointed up the street to where a couple of policemen were running towards us. ‘It looks as if we must run,’ said he drily.

  Our companion looked baffled for a moment, then turned on his heel, not running, but walking at a fast pace. Back through the courtyard we went, into the alley, but then we turned in a new direction, and plunged into a veritable maze of narrow lanes and squalid streets, keeping up a pace which soon tired me out. I was grateful when at last we slowed down somewhat, and seemed to be entering more respectable surroundings.

  The speaker suddenly drew up in front of a decent enough looking carriage. ‘Please get inside, quickly,’ said he.

  I confess that I hesitated, but Holmes showed not the slightest indecision. He climbed into the carriage at once, and I followed.

  Our new-found friend climbed in last, and gave a peculiar double knock on the roof with his cane, as a signal to the coachman. Off we went at a good speed. I tried to look out of the window, but the blinds were down, and I had no idea as to where we might be heading. We certainly seemed to be taking no short cuts, for once or twice I fancied that we had gone around in a long loop – probably to confuse pursuers, or perhaps to confuse Holmes and myself, I suspected. Neither Holmes nor the erstwhile speaker – and I still had to think of him in those terms, or as ‘our new friend,’ or something of that kind, for he made not the least attempt to introduce himself – ventured on any conversation, and I kept silent as well.

  At length we drew up. Our new friend got down and held the door open for us. ‘If you would be so kind,’ said he.

  Holmes got down, and I followed. We were pretty clearly inside a kind of courtyard, for there were stables no great way off, while the side wall of a large house was not six feet from where we got out of the carriage. Our friend produced a key. ‘You must stay here until things have quietened down,’ he told us. He unlocked the door, then stood aside to let us in.

  I confess that I would have hesitated, but Holmes did not. He led the way inside, and I followed him into a small and plainly furnished entrance hall, looking rather like a servants’ entrance, which I suppose it was, since we had entered by a side door. The gas jets were lit, but not turned up, and we stood there, not knowing what might happen, while the man whom I still called ‘the speaker,’ ludicrous though the appellation now was, for we had scarcely exchanged a half-dozen words since the excitement at the meeting, locked the door.

  He put the key in his coat pocket, and when he turned to face us there was a revolver in his hand. ‘You will, I am sure, excuse an obvious precaution,’ he said. He turned up the light, and motioned towards the door. We went through into a long passage with a flight of stairs at the end.

  ‘If you would please to go upstairs,’ he said.

  Holmes led the way upstairs.

  ‘You must stay here tonight,’ said our host, nodding at a door.

  Holmes opened it, and went inside, and again I followed tamely enough. The lamps were lit in here, too, and showed a large and comfortably furnished bedroom.

  ‘There is a cloakroom through there,’ said our host, ‘but I am afraid you must miss your supper.’

  Holmes bowed, and the man left us, locking the door after him. Holmes’s first act was to try the door, but it was immovable. Holmes then looked carefully round the room, although I still have no idea what he was looking for – certainly there was no exit of any sort. The blinds were closed, and when we opened them we saw that the windows were barred, and there were heavy shutters outside. Holmes tried the windows, but found that they were nailed shut.

  Holmes, who had not spoken since we entered the room, threw himself down in an armchair and laughed. ‘I had hoped that we might get a glimpse of our surroundings, but this room has been pretty thoroughly closed up. I imagine that we are not by any means the first guests to be lodged here.’

  ‘You have no clue as to where we are?’

  ‘Well, we are back on the Right Bank – you heard the carriage wheels go over a bridge and the river, of course? And the house tends to suggest that we are in one of the more fashionable quarters.’

  ‘We seemed to take a long time to get here,’ said I.

  ‘Oh, that was to put us off the track.’ He frowned. ‘I have to confess that it worked – would to heaven that I knew Paris as well as I know London, for they would never have fooled me there!’

  ‘I fancy we passed round the Place de l’Etoile, though, Holmes. And I think that it cannot be too far from here, since that was one of the last circular tours that we made before we got here.’

  ‘Indeed? And what makes you say that?’

  ‘Well, we paused before going around, as if there were a good deal of traffic there which had to be negotiated. And I thought – I may be deluding myself, of course – but I fancied that some of the street noises were not altogether inconsistent with that area.’

  Holmes clapped his hands. ‘Well done, Doctor! I missed that, although I can claim that I was occupied with my own thoughts, which were none too cheerful. Which way did we turn, though? Did you mark that?’

  ‘I rather fear I did not, Holmes,’ said I, embarrassed. ‘It was so confusing.’

  ‘Ah, well, no matter. It does agree with our contention that we are in one of the fashionable quarters – towards the Bois, perhaps, or not so far from the Champs-Elysées. So we have done all that we can. It all went off rather well earlier, I thought,’ said Holmes.

  ‘The whole incident was staged, of course,’ said I. ‘Though I did not immediately realize that you were using blank cartridges.’

  ‘The two “dead” gendarmes were drafted in from Dubuque’s home town,’ said Holmes. ‘They will return tomorrow, under the most frightful oaths of silence. Dubuque himself – well, I rather think that the newspapers will carry reports that show his injuries in a very dismal light.’

  ‘I noticed Lefevre making himself a nuisance in the doorway – presumably that was to stop the rascals escaping?’

  Holmes nodded. ‘With a little luck, they will all have been arrested, Lefevre along with the rest. They will naturally be kept in separate cells, so none of them will know what may have happened to the others. Lefevre will return to work as his old self, with h
is old name – whatever that may be. It does, of course, mean that he is lost to us for the time being, although I am certain that he will be as busy as ever on the outside. Dubuque and Lefevre were apparently planning to move against that particular anarchist ring in any event, so it all worked very well.’

  ‘Two birds with the one stone?’

  ‘As you say.’ He sat up very straight and grew more serious. ‘But I told you earlier that I was preoccupied with my thoughts, and so I was. Dubuque is a good fellow, and Lefevre too, from what we have seen of him. But they are out there, and we are in here. It does mean, Watson, that we are now really alone, and in the very heart of the enemy camp.’

  FIVE

  ‘But what do you think will happen tomorrow?’ I asked Holmes after he had made his little speech about our being on our own.

  He shrugged his shoulders expressively. ‘Whatever happens, it is most unlikely to be dull,’ was all he said. He curled himself up in the armchair, rather in the manner of a cat, and in a moment he was fast asleep.

  To be frank, this devil-may-care fatalism struck me as considerably less than satisfactory. I tried to console myself, to tell myself that Holmes was right to dismiss the morrow – for what could we do about it, locked in here as we were? – and that my best course of action was to get as decent a night’s sleep as I possibly could, for I knew that we should need all our wits about us on the next day.

  Accordingly, I settled myself on the bed, which was of a softness that could only be called opulent, and composed myself to sleep. It was a long time before I succeeded, however. I was not hungry, for we had dined well, and I had taken the – to me – elementary precaution of providing myself with a bar of chocolate, in case of emergency, and that still nestled, untouched, in my pocket. No, it was rather that my mind refused to be calm, despite my trying to reassure myself along the lines I have just noted. At last, I determined to try to recollect all that had taken place since Holmes and I started out on this adventure together. I recall that I had got as far as Victoria Station when I fell asleep.

  I awoke with a start to find Holmes standing over me, a finger to his lips. He had opened the blinds, and, despite the shutters outside the windows, it was evident from the light that it was early morning. Holmes nodded towards the door, and I heard the sound of a key being turned. I fumbled for my revolver, forgetting for the moment that it was not loaded, but before I could take it from my pocket the door swung open, and there stood – of all things – a footman!

  I am not being facetious; he was just such a servant as you would expect to find in any grand house in the better quarters of London. He was elderly and of sober appearance, clad in a smart black outfit – he did not exactly wear a powdered wig, but the look on his face was of such grave civility that even a peruke and court dress would not have seemed at all out of place. He made a stiff little bow, and said, ‘Monsieur Constantine would be pleased if you would join him for breakfast, Messieurs.’

  I glanced at Holmes, fearing some trickery, but he merely shrugged his shoulders, and followed the man out of the room and down the stairs. The windows – magnificent stained glass that would have graced any cathedral – were set too high in the staircase to afford any view of the outside world, so that we still could get no clue as to where we might be. I brought up the rear, keeping a sharp look-out, but saw nothing untoward.

  The footman held open a door for us to pass through, and we entered a large, bright room furnished in the style most associated with the fourteenth Louis. A long table was laid for breakfast – the Continental variety, but with a goodly quantity of cold meats and cheese. The man who had made such a profound impression on at least one of his listeners last night, and whose name I now knew to be Constantine – if that really were his name, I thought, and not yet another example of alias or affectation – sat at the head of the table. He waved us to chairs. ‘Please, join me,’ said he. He indicated the food spread out before us. ‘And do not hesitate to help yourselves – I know you must be hungry after last night’s adventures.’

  I needed no second urging, for I have always had an excellent appetite, and this particular morning I was indeed ready for something nourishing, whether because of last night’s excitement, as Constantine had said, or because I had passed so disturbed a night, I cannot say. I can say that I piled my plate higher than politeness might strictly require.

  I was a little surprised to note that Holmes, too, was enjoying his meal like the best of trenchermen, for he is somewhat inclined to forget his stomach whilst involved in a case. Then I bethought myself that he was acting in character. We were, after all, meant to be a couple of rough desperadoes, who did not know when our next meal would be, or from whence it might come. Very well, I could act my part every bit as convincingly as Holmes, and I took a second helping without any prompting.

  Constantine himself said nothing whilst Holmes and I ate. He ate little himself, merely making a show of playing with a croissant – indeed, now that I think about it, I am convinced that he had already breakfasted before we were released, so that he might observe us the better.

  For myself, I had a great curiosity about this man, and whilst I ate my breakfast I in my turn made a point of observing him as best I might, but still trying not to arouse his suspicions. Seen in daylight, he was older than he had appeared in the dim, smoky surroundings of the anarchist meeting, seeming nearer sixty than fifty. Older, yes, but also more muscular than I should have thought looking at him when he spoke to the meeting last night. An aristocratic enough profile and bearing, combined with a tremendous virility, made him a curious sort of compound of the nobleman and the apache. If I had to find a comparison, it would perhaps be with one of those hearty aristocrats of the last century, the Regency bucks who raced from London to Brighton with the Prince Regent, or happily went ten rounds with some bare-knuckle bruiser. I should not have cared to meet him in the ring myself, for all that he was twenty years older than I.

  What the devil, I asked myself, had such a man as this to do with the rag-tag crowd of anarchists and rogues? As quickly as the question presented itself, the answer came – he was using them, using them for his own ends, which must needs be more villainous yet than anything those anarchists, mere tools, might envisage. This, I thought, might be that spider at the centre of the web whom Holmes had described. Aye, and Holmes and myself fairly in the web to boot!

  As I say, the meal was eaten more or less in silence. When we had done, Constantine smiled at us and said, ‘Perhaps you would care to go into the next room and smoke a cigarette, to let my fellows clear away in here?’

  He got up and led us into a smaller room, furnished in a far more English style, for all the world the sort of private room you might find in a London club. Constantine waved us to chairs, and proffered a silver cigarette box. Holmes helped himself, while I sought and obtained permission to light the ancient briar which I taken with me.

  ‘It is something of a pity that you had but three cartridges,’ said Constantine abruptly, when we were settled.

  Holmes laughed. He took out his revolver, broke it open, and shook the three empty cases on to his hand. ‘One does one’s best,’ said he. ‘Henri here is in an even worse state than I.’

  For a moment I wondered who Henri might be, then I recollected myself. I took out my pistol, and displayed the empty cylinder.

  ‘One does one’s best,’ repeated Holmes. ‘But one can do no more – to be frank, Monsieur Constantine, nous n’avons pas le sou. When it is all one can do to eat, you understand, little remains for luxuries.’

  ‘I could not help noticing – forgive me, but I could not – that you both had excellent appetites,’ said Constantine.

  To reinforce the point, I took out my bar of chocolate, held it up, and remarked, ‘Dinner. For two.’

  Constantine laughed. ‘We can perhaps do rather better than that,’ said he. He waved a hand to indicate our surroundings. ‘What think you to my humble abode?’

  I murmur
ed, ‘Delightful!’ or some such nonsense, but Holmes looked round carefully before he spoke.

  ‘One cannot help but observe that it is slightly different from last night’s venue,’ said he, with a touch of envy in his voice.

  ‘It is,’ said Constantine. He leaned forward in his chair. ‘And how do you imagine that I came by it?’ he asked.

  ‘Inherited it?’ said I.

  ‘Worked for it?’ said Holmes, with an undisguised sneer – I have to say that Holmes made a most convincing scoundrel, a perfect compound of the bully and the sneak.

  ‘Two very sensible suggestions,’ said Constantine calmly. ‘But both are wrong. I inherited nothing, Monsieur – not even my name, for my mother never knew just who my father was. When I was seven, I was working at Les Halles, sweeping the floors; at twenty, I was chief clerk in a banking house whose name would be very familiar even to you; at thirty I was a director; at forty, governor. In a sense, then, I might be said to have worked for what I have. But you are men of the world, Messieurs – you know as well as I do that a guttersnipe at Les Halles does not usually rise to be governor of a private bank, however hard he may work. But, you see, I had friends. Good friends, who opened doors for me, made things easier than they might have been.’

  ‘It is a pleasant thing to have friends,’ said Holmes. ‘Especially good friends.’

  ‘You would perhaps like friends yourselves? Friends who might be relied upon to help you on your way?’

  ‘Such friends might come a touch expensive,’ said Holmes thoughtfully.

  ‘Not at all!’ said Constantine, lighting another cigarette. ‘Hand washes hand. One’s friends help out in an emergency; and they naturally rely on one to come to their assistance if it is necessary.’ He leaned forward, and studied us intently. ‘But tell me, could you see yourself in such a house as this, with servants at your beck and call, with a clear conscience? Might it not conflict somewhat with your anarchist principles?’