Doctor Who_ All-Consuming Fire - Andy Lane [14]
'How remiss of me,' Ambrose said.
Holmes flicked through the volume in a cursory manner and replaced it on the shelf.
'Ludwig Prinn's De Vermiis Mysteries, German black letter edition, sixteenth century. A remarkably good copy.' He turned towards the door. 'I have seen enough,' he announced. 'I would inspect the rest of the Library.'
It took Holmes three hours to cover the entire extent of the Library of St John the Beheaded, during which time Mr Ambrose and I finished most of a bottle of sweet sherry, and I flicked through various volumes of morally suspect theology. Eventually he returned, downcast.
'He was right,' Holmes muttered. 'No concealed exits, no trapdoors, no skylights. I did, however, come across one locked room, which our host informed me was for members to entertain visitors in, should they so wish.'
'At the head of a ramp?'
'Indeed. You noticed it?'
'I saw a figure entering the room, covered from head to foot in robes of the type that monks wear. He walked strangely, as if he was deformed in some way.'
'Hmm. Well, I suppose that the Library does cater to Catholic tastes.' He smiled briefly. 'It may interest you to learn that I confirmed our host's statement to the effect that there is only one way in or out. I would suggest that we now avail ourselves of it.'
Ambrose escorted us to the egress.
'Good luck, gentlemen,' he said. We turned, blinking in the sudden sunlight, to thank him, but he had vanished into the gloom.
''Scuse us, gents,' said a voice from the alley. Standing in front of us was an oafish figure wearing stained trousers, a shirt with neither cuffs nor collar and a trilby whose band had almost become detached from its crown.
'Rules is rules,' he said and stepped forward, revealing a smaller, rat-faced man behind him. I prepared to remonstrate with him, whilst reaching in what I hoped was a surreptitious manner for the gun in my pocket, but Holmes put his hand on my arm.
The search,' he reminded me.
The oaf stepped forward and ran his hands down the outside and inside of my topcoat, barely brushing my waistcoat.
'Five guineas in loose change and a Webley revolver,' he grinned, stepping away. I could smell the rank odour of his breath: stale ale, rancid meat and dental decay. He moved to Holmes and repeated the procedure whilst Ratface - presumably a member of the rival gang - frisked me as well.
'What's this?' The ruffian searching Holmes smiled a vicious, tight little smile. His hand came away holding a book. Ratface looked downcast, and my heart sank. It was the book that Holmes had been looking at in the Library. How could he have been so stupid?
'Well, it's been a time since a cove like you tried to smug the Library there, and you a peach, or so's they say.' A knife as big as my forearm appeared in his hand as if by magic. 'You take me for a queer diver, did you? In for a chivvin' then, aint'cha?'
I made a grab for my gun, but my arms were suddenly pinioned by Ratface, who was surprisingly strong for a man of his size. The knife man raised his blade to the level of Holmes's eyes. My friend was calm, but I could see him looking from side to side, searching for some means of escape.
'Hold 'is 'ands up where's 'e can see 'em for the last time,' said the knife man.
'Let him be,' commanded a deep, authoritative voice. The knife man stepped back, contrite, his blade vanishing into thin air. The hands holding Holmes and I also disappeared.
A owner of the voice stepped into sight from beyond the edge of my vision.
He was small, with oiled hair and a long frock coat that had seen better days, but which was still better than any other clothing I had seen in the area. His face was deeply pocked and his nose was almost eaten away by syphilis.
'Testing my security,