Doctor Who_ All-Consuming Fire - Andy Lane [15]
You'll be the jack from up West, then? Mr Sherlock Holmes?'
Holmes nodded.
'Well, Mr Holmes, you tell them that wants to know that Mr Jitter's turf is as tight as a drum, and always has been. You hear that? Always has been.'
He looked away, down the street. 'I've already taken steps to check out my men here, me and Mack Yeovil between us. I'll be watching out for you, and you watch out for me, hear? I want to know who's been doing me over.
Consider yourself hired.'
'Mr Yeovil's not gonna like this,' Ratface whined.
'I'll sort out Yeovil's hash,' Jitter snarled. 'Mack and I are together on this.
We've both been made monkeys of, an' we want to know who to see about it.'
Holmes glanced at me, then stepped forward to face Jitter.
'I will find the thief,' he said. 'Depend upon it.'
He extended his hand towards Jitter. The man looked down at it, and then, as quick as a striking snake, he grabbed the hand and raised it up in front of Holmes's face.
'You can keep this,' he snarled. 'Consider it to be payment in advance.'
Chapter 3
In which the Doctor is evasive and Watson cannot stand the heat.
We decided to eat luncheon at Kean's Chop House, only a short walk away from the Rookery. Every step I took away from those rat-infested tenements made the sky seem bluer and my heart lighter. And yet, as we passed the elaborate frontages of the buildings which lined Holborn, I knew that a part of my mind would always remember the decay that lay behind the ornate facade: the skull beneath the skin.
I tried to discuss our adventure with Holmes as we walked, but he did not want to be drawn.
'Holmes,' I asked eventually, 'what on Earth did you think you were playing at, stealing that book from the Library?'
Holmes made no reply. A waiter brought menus to our table, but I was intent upon getting a straight answer from Holmes.
'Although the cellar here is generally acceptable, I believe that a frothing pint of porter would grace a good English chop better than any wine. What do you say?'
His face was hidden behind the menu. I was convinced that he was deliberately avoiding the issue.
'I have seen you do some pretty hare-brained things in your time, Holmes, but that really does take the biscuit!'
'Wilma Norman-Neruda is playing at the St James's Hall this evening, Watson. Chopin, followed by dinner at Simpsons: what better way to spend an evening?'
'Holmes! For God's sake, man, have the decency to answer a straight question when it is put to you!'
Holmes lowered the menu and met my eyes. His face was pale.
'Forgive me, Watson. I had not meant that little contretemps to go as far as it did. I needed to test the Library's security. The story about its efficacy was just that - a story - until I could test its veracity. I have always found it to be a capital mistake to theorize until one has access to the facts.' He looked away, to the window onto the street. 'There was no danger. I had five different means of escape from his gang of ruffians worked out.'
I would have been more reassured had the menu not been trembling slightly in his hands.
The conversation moved to different topics - old cases, the recent death of the well known grande horizontale Cora Pearl in Paris, Holmes's research into the effect of employment on the shape of the ear, and whether or not I should abandon my medical practice. We left the restaurant happier than we had arrived.
Urchins were turning somersaults amongst the wheels of carts, buses and cabs as we made our way home. The golden light of late afternoon made the stonework of Oxford Street glow. The squalor of St Giles was fading away like a bad dream.
As we scaled the steps to our rooms, our page-boy rushed up to the foot of the stairs bearing a silver platter.
'You got a visitor, Mr 'Olmes,' he announced, all puffed up in his new blue uniform. 'E's up in your rooms, and 'e's a strange one!'
'Thank you,