A Letter of Mary - Laurie R. King [94]
"Good evening, Russell, hard at work, I see. I'll be with you in a moment." He pulled back into his room. I closed my notebook and walked over to the doorway to lean against the jamb with my arms crossed, watching him as he discarded the disguise. There was a lift to his shoulders and a gleam in his eyes that I rarely saw at home, and he looked and moved like a man twenty years younger as he tossed his clothing into an untidy heap in the bottom of the wardrobe, replacing it with his usual spotless shirt and soft dressing gown, then bent over the mirror to remove his eyebrows and scrub off the makeup. He was back in his own proper element.
My face must have reflected my thoughts, for he caught my eye in the mirror and began to smile.
"What amuses you, my wife and colleague?"
"Oh, nothing, Holmes. I was just wondering about the bees."
He looked startled for a moment, and then he began to laugh softly.
"Ah, the bees, yes, and the pottering beekeeper. Even an old hound occasionally stirs to the sound of a distant horn. I do wish you would not snort, Russell; it is really most unbecoming. I suppose you would like me to shave," he added, examining his chin thoughtfully.
"I only snort at snortworthy statements, Holmes, and yes, please do. Unless you intend to spend the night on the streets."
"There has been quite enough of that in the last week, thank you. I have been very cold without my Shunammite."
I studied him as he stropped the ivory-handled cutthroat, with a jaunty flick of the wrist at the end of each stroke.
"You must have been heartily sick of that snowstorm, Holmes. From Genesis to First Kings, just to escape the missionaries."
"Oh, no, I only reached the twenty-eighth chapter of Leviticus on that occasion. I appropriated a pair of skis as soon as the snow stopped." He reached for the shaving mug and began to whip the brush furiously about.
"I didn't know you could ski."
"I learnt. It was less hazardous duty than the missionaries."
"Coward. You might have learnt something from them, such as the fact that Leviticus has only twenty-seven chapters. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go and warm the bed."
Sometime later, I thought to ask what he had been doing that day.
"I have been reading my Bible."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sorry, was my arm over your ear?"
"It must have been— I could have sworn I heard you say you were reading your Bible. You don't even own one."
"I did, I was, and I do. Now. Thanks to your friend the colonel."
"Holmes—"
"Do not ruffle your feathers; I shall explain. I have spent the evening in the company of a number of unfortunate gentlemen who, like myself, are willing to participate in a rudimentary Bible study, provided their stomachs are not empty at the time."
I sorted this out.
"The colonel's church runs a soup kitchen."
"Got it in one. There seems to be a certain degree of affection on the part of the unfortunates towards their benefactors, judging from the way they lowered their voices for the more ribald of statements concerning King David and Abishag, his human hot-water bottle."
"That doesn't surprise me. But how did you find him? Did you follow him all day?"
"Hardly. I began in the bookstore-cum-printshop that produced the tract on women you found on the colonel's bookshelf. In the course of our conversation, the owner told me of a lecture being given in the afternoon on the topic of 'Women in the Church.' I went and sat two rows behind Colonel Edwards."
"Not dressed as one of the unfortunates, I think."
"By no means. I was a highly respectable gentleman with a neat little beard. A most informative lecture, Russell. You would have found it quite stimulating."
"No doubt," I agreed politely. "So, you followed him to the church, changed yourself into that character with the eye, and allowed him to serve you soup and try his best to save your soul."
"Essentially, yes. It