by Mike Resnick
“I will need one assistant,” said Von Horst.
“Professor Melanoma, perhaps?” said House, arching an eyebrow sardonically.
“I need no one else to help me plan the theft,” said Von Horst. “To prove it, I will accept someone from the audience, if you will promise that he or she will not be prosecuted.”
“That is acceptable,” said House. “I will speak to Inspector McIlvoy, and I'm sure he will agree.” He paused. “Who do you choose?”
Von Horst looked straight at me and smiled. “It makes no difference,” he said. “It might as well be the gentleman from Paris.”
“Done, sir,” said House. He now turned to the announcer. “Will you be good enough to hold the stakes?”
“Gladly, Mr. House,” replied the announcer. House pulled out a checkbook and began scribbling while Von Horst approached the stage and handed over a huge wad of bills.
“It does not bother you that I have seen your face?” asked House.
“Not in the least,” said Von Horst confidently, “for you shall never see it again.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said House, “I hope you will forgive me, but I must postpone this lecture while I prepare to apprehend this villain. If the management will agree, your tickets will be honored for a week from tonight, at which time I shall tell you exactly how I captured him and saved the Crown Jewels.”
That brought a standing ovation, and then House walked off the stage and everyone except Von Horst started filing out.
“Good evening, Doctor Jones,” said Von Horst when we were alone in the theater. “Fancy meeting you here, of all places. What a small world it is.”
“Crowded is more the word for it,” I said bitterly.
“Ah,” he said. “You're still mad about our little venture in Italy.”
“You might say that.”
“Then this is my chance to put things right between us,” he said. “I'll let you in for one-third.”
“Things ain't been right between us since the day I first met you back in Dar-es-Salaam, and they didn't get no better in Morocco or Algeria or Mozambique or Italy. Just get out of my life.”
“What kind of attitude is that for a man of the cloth?” he said. “How can I atone for my past sins if you turn your back on me?”
“Von Horst,” I said, “there's probably a couple of hundred things I might do to you, but turning my back on you ain't one of ’em.”
“How can I prove my sincerity?” he said. “I have a foolproof plan to steal the Crown Jewels. I'm so sure it will work that I put up five thousand pounds against the greatest detective in the world. You will be working for me. You'll know all the details of my plan, the location of my headquarters, everything you need to turn me in if you should decide that I'm trying to deceive you in any way. Furthermore, Sherringford House has given his personal guarantee that you will not be held culpable if I succeed. What more could you possibly want?”
“Everything always sounds good when you lay it out,” I said, “but somehow or other you always get the money and I always wind up in the hoosegow.”
“But you can't wind up in jail this time!” he said. “If I'm caught, you go scot free, and if I succeed, you get a third of the Crown Jewels.”
I mulled on it for a couple of minutes.
“What makes you so sure you can outwit Sherringford House?” I said. “Even I've heard of him, and I ain't never been in England before today.”
“Doctor Jones,” he said, “this plan simply cannot fail. I don't care how brilliant House is, I don't care if the Tower of London is entirely surrounded by police, I will come away with the Crown Jewels.” He paused. “And the beauty of the scheme is that it requires no special skills whatsoever. I don't have to be able to climb the up the sides of buildings or pick complex combination locks or fight my way past an army of policemen. It took a genius to conceive it, but any fool could carry it out.”
It was at that very instant that my own plan occurred to me. If any fool could carry out the theft of the Crown Jewels, well, I could be every bit as much of a fool as the next man. I figured that I'd go along with him until I learned all the details of his scheme. Then I'd tell House just enough so he'd be waiting for Von Horst, and while he was carting Von Horst off to the calaboose, I'd use the plan to help myself to a couple of generous handfuls of the Crown Jewels and finally get around to building me a tabernacle worthy of my preaching talents.
“Well,” said Von Horst, “what do you say? Are you in or out?”
“In.”
“Good,” he said. “I knew I could count on you. And you won't regret it.”
“Actually, I got a good feeling about this here enterprise,” I allowed. “Like you said, there's no way I can lose.”
“Shall we shake on it?” he asked.
“Just a minute,” I said, slipping off my watch and putting it on my left wrist. “Okay.”
“Somehow I have the feeling you still don't entirely trust me, Doctor Jones,” he said, shaking my hand.
“Maybe I will after you explain your plan to me,” I said.
“Fair enough,” he agreed. “But not here. There's too much chance that we'll be overheard.” He looked around. “Do you know the Garroted Goose?”
“It's a kid's nursery rhyme, right?”
“It's a pub on Bond Street. Be there at noon tomorrow.”
He turned and walked out of the theater, and a minute later I hunted up a phone book and found Sherringford House's address, and half an hour after that I was introducing myself to his landlady, who showed me up the steps to his apartment. I heard fiddle music coming through the door, and commented that it sounded right pretty.
“Oh, Mr. House is a great one for the violin,” said the landlady. “The house is filled with music whenever he's thinking.”
“He thinks a lot, does he?” I asked.
“Practically all the time,” she said. Then she whispered, “Just between us, I do wish he'd vary the melody every now and then.” We reached the landing. “Well, here we are. It's the first door to your left.”
“Do come in,” said House's voice, just before I could knock on the door.
“Howdy, Mr. House,” I said, entering his apartment, which was filled with books and chemicals in equal proportion.
“Ah, the gentleman from the theater,” he said, turning off his Victrola and putting the record back in its package. “Please sit down.”
“Thank you,” I said, pulling up a chair.
“You have come to me because of the proposed burglary of the Crown Jewels, have you not?” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “How did you know that?”
An amused smile crossed his face. “What other business could we possibly have to discuss?”
“Well, it seems simple when you explain it,” I said, “but for the life of me, I still don't know how you figured out I had just got here from Paris and was in the service of the Lord.”
“Elementary,” he said. “On the sole of your left shoe there remains a trace of horse manure. Beneath your fingernails is the sort of grime that is most easily accrued by working with animals. Your accent is American. Your bearing and demeanor is something less than aristocratic, and I therefore deduce that far from being a sportsman you are a common laborer. Now, where would an American be most likely to find work on a horse farm? In Paris, Kentucky, the breeding capital of the thoroughbred industry. And why would you suddenly come to England? Because Lord Pemberton has only this week moved his racing operation from the Blue Grass country to Britain, and since he is well-known for rewarding loyalty in his employees, it stands to reason that he has relocated all of his American help here in London. Therefore, it was a simple matter to conclude that you have recently arrived from Paris, and that you remain in the service of your Lord.” He leaned back and puffed smugly on his pipe.
“Well, if that don't beat all!” I said.
“It's nothing,” he said, getting to his feet. “Let me observe you further fo
r a moment.”
I sat still like I was posing for a picture, until he walked once around me, nodded his head, and plumped himself back down on the sofa.
“You are left-handed, your mother died during childbirth, you are a crack shot with a .38-caliber revolver, and your fondest desire is to translate Shakespeare into Serbo-Croatian.”
“Truth to tell,” I said, “I'm right-handed, last time I heard from my mother she was serving hard time in Colorado for running a bawdy house, I ain't never shot a pistol in my life, and my fondest desire is to raise enough money to build the Tabernacle of Saint Luke.”
“Well,” he said with a shrug, “it had to be one or the other.” He took another puff of his pipe. “And now, what can I do for you, Mr...?”
“Reverend,” I said. “The Right Reverend Doctor Lucifer Jones.”
“Doctor?” he said, suddenly alert. “I don't suppose you'd have access to ... well, no, never mind. Please continue.”
“Well, Mr. House,” I said, “I been a law-abiding citizen and a God-fearing Christian all my life, and I just don't feel right helping Erich Von Horst steal the Crown Jewels out from under your nose, so to speak, and while I appreciate the fact that no one's going to arrest me no matter what happens, I'd feel a lot better about things if I knew I was helping to uphold the law rather than bust it.”
“A most commendable attitude,” he said.
“So I got to thinking on it,” I continued, “and I figured that the very best thing to do would be to find out exactly what Von Horst's plan is, and to pass it on to you so you'd be ready and waiting for him.”
“Well, I thank you very much for your concern, Reverend Jones,” said House, “but it would hardly be sporting, now that we've made our bet.”
“What's sporting got to do with anything?” I said. “This man has stolen and finagled his way all up and down Africa without getting caught, and now he's going after the Crown Jewels.”
“Africa?” he said with a laugh. “Not a chance, Reverend Jones. I studied him carefully when he came up to the stage, and I can tell you with total confidence that he has spent the last seventeen years as a bookkeeper in Brisbane, Australia. He is henpecked by his wife, devoted to his seven children—two boys and five girls—and spends his Sundays watching cricket matches from a seat that faces north-north-east.”
“I tell you he swindled his way across the length and breadth of Africa,” I said.
“Poor fellow,” he said sympathetically. “I fear that when that horse kicked you in the head last November—or was it October? No, November—it must have jarred loose some of your memory.”
“Can we just agree that wherever he's been, he's here now, and the main thing is to stop him from stealing the Crown Jewels?”
“Certainly,” said House. “And prevent him I shall.”
“Wouldn't it be a lot easier if you knew his plan?” I asked him.
House shot me a confident smile. “But I already do,” he said.
“You do?”
“Certainly,” he said. “The man is obviously a master of disguise. At precisely eleven o'clock three nights hence, when they change the guards in front of the jewel room, he will present himself for duty, dressed as a sergeant in the Tower Guard. He will take his post outside the door, snap to attention, and patiently wait for us to lose interest in him and direct our attention elsewhere on the assumption that he has not yet gained access to the Tower. Then, when the corridor is deserted, he will dispatch his fellow guard with a single blow to the back of the neck—the man is obviously an expert at karate; brown belt, I should think—and will enter the jewel room, prepared to make off with millions of pounds of Britain's greatest treasures. But I, Sherringford House, will be hidden inside that room, waiting for him.”
“Well, that sure sounds like you got it figured out,” I said. “But if you're right, what does he need me for?”
“In case the police remain in the vicinity of the jewel room after he has taken up his position, he will need you to create a commotion on one of the lower levels, drawing the police away so that he can have a few necessary moments alone to perpetrate his foul crime.” He paused and relit his pipe, which kept going out. “It is a brilliant scheme, as he said it was, and it is indeed almost foolproof. He forgot to take only one single factor into consideration.”
“Yeah?” I said. “And what was that?”
“He forgot that he would be trying to fool the greatest consulting detective in the world,” said House, who sure wasn't weighted down by no false modesty. “So you see, Reverend Jones, the situation is already well in hand. I thank you for your concern, but Von Horst will be in jail before the Tower clock strikes midnight three days hence.”
“You're absolutely sure you ain't made a mistake?” I said.
“A mistake?” he said. "Me?"
Well, I could see we didn't have nothing more to talk about, so I took my leave of him and wandered on back to Basil Street. I woke up about ten in the morning, found out that nobody in London knew how to make a good cup of coffee, and when it was getting on toward noon I moseyed over to the Garroted Goose, where Von Horst was waiting for me at a table in the back.
“Good morning, Doctor Jones,” he said. “I trust you slept well?”
“Passably,” I said. “I had a pretty comfortable room, except maybe for the bed and the mattress and the springs and the pillow.”
“Well, three days from now, you can stay in the Royal Suite at the Dorchester,” he said. Suddenly he grinned. “And Sherringford House will never even know he's been bested!”
“You keep saying that,” I pointed out, “but you don't say how.”
“I'm about to,” said Von Horst. “Have you been to the Tower of London yet, Doctor Jones?”
“Nope,” I said. “I thought I'd take a gander at it this afternoon.”
“Well, when you do, you will see that the jewels are kept in a heavily guarded room at the very top of the Tower,” said Von Horst. “There are guards on duty around the clock, the door has a lock that it said to be unbreakable, and the only way down is by a single staircase. Every great thief on the history of crime has attempted to steal the Crown Jewels,” he added, “but none has ever succeeded—until now.”
“If I was a betting man, I'd go with the run,” I said.
“Ah—but I know something that even Sherringford House doesn't know,” said Von Horst with a grin.
“Yeah?”
He nodded. “Most of the jewels on display in the Tower are fake. The real jewels are locked away in a vault below ground level—and that vault can be cracked. The government has no desire to call attention to it, so it is not guarded, not marked in any way, and indeed looks like any storage room. While House and the police are waiting in the Tower, I shall be directly below them, where I will have all night to steal the unprotected Crown Jewels at my leisure.”
“You sure of this?” I asked.
“Would I have bet five thousand pounds if I had any doubts?” replied Von Horst. “I got it from an embittered woman who once thought she had a chance to marry Edward and become the Queen of all England. He toyed with her affections and then left her, and for years she has been nursing her bitterness and waiting for her revenge. It was after we were introduced by a mutual friend and I admitted some of my youthful indiscretions to her that she decided to impart this knowledge to me, in the hope that after I had accomplished my mission I would make it public and thus make fools of the entire Royal Family.” He smiled. “And what better way to publicize it than to defeat and humiliate England's favorite son, Sherringford House?”
“Just where do I enter into these here plans?” I said.
“You must convince House that, for some unfathomable reason, you have taken a strong dislike to me and wish to thwart me. You will give him some cock-and-bull story that we will concoct about how I plan to sneak into the jewel room, so that all his efforts are concentrated there, and he never realizes that while he is waiting for me, I have arrived a
nd stolen the real jewels directly below where he is standing.”
“And that's it?” I asked.
“That's it,” he said. “What do you think?”
What I thought was that he'd be out of the country with the jewels while I was stuck in the Tower and he had never had any intention of paying me my one-third, but I just grinned at him and said, “You were right; it sounds foolproof to me.”
“I'm staying at the Savoy,” he said. “Come by tomorrow night and we'll work out the bogus plan that you can relate to House and which will keep all his efforts and attentions confined to the Tower.”
“What time?” I asked.
“Shall we say eight o'clock?” suggested Von Horst. “We could do it sooner, of course, but I want House to think it took me a full two days to confide in you. It seems more realistic this way.”
I got up and told him that I'd see him the next night. Then I went right to a bookstore and bought a map of the Tower of London. The real jewel room wasn't on it, but I found the stairs leading down to its level, and it looked like Von Horst had figured things out pretty well. There were plenty of escape routes, and if things got really tense, he could open a window and just jump into the Thames. In fact, it was such a good plan that I decided I'd keep it for myself.
I spent the rest of the day getting my first good look at London, which was real long and strong on museums and stuff, but right short on gambling houses. I figured I might take in a little culture, so I went to a theater in the evening, but instead of moving pictures they had a bunch of real live people on stage. Still, it was a pretty entertaining comedy, and when this here prince started talking to a skull, of all things, I broke right out laughing, which led me to the realization that Londoners ain't got no sense of humor because everyone else just turned and stared at me and began trying to shush me up, so I got up, real dignified-like, and walked out, feeling right sorry for all them poor actors who were probably wondering why no one else appreciated all their jokes.