The Beekeeper's Apprentice - Laurie R. King [100]
“You have the man who brought it?”
“Yes, he’s here. He says a man stopped him in the street an hour ago, offering two sovereigns to deliver this package. Small blond man in a heavy coat, said it was for a friend who needed it this morning but he couldn’t take it himself. Gave him a sovereign then, and took his address to send the second after he’d confirmed delivery.”
“Which will never arrive.”
“The boy expects it to. Not too bright, this one. Not even sure he knows what a sovereign’s worth, just likes the shine.”
We had watched the two men work this whole time, their strain palpable as they gently snipped twine, cut away paper, and uncovered the contents, which had the appearance of folded clothing. Gently, slowly, the package was disassembled. In the end there lay draped over the police desk one silk shirt, a soft wool jacket, matching trousers, two angora stockings, and a pair of shoes. A folded note fell out of this last set of items and fluttered to the floor.
“Use your gloves on that,” called Holmes.
The puzzled but relieved bomb man brought the note to Lestrade in a pair of surgical tweezers. He read it, handed it to Holmes, and Holmes read it aloud in a voice that slowed and climbed in dismay and disbelief.
“Dear Miss Russell [he read],
Knowing his limitations, I expect your companion will neglect to
provide you with suitable clothing this morning. Please accept these
with my compliments. You will find them quite comfortable.
—An admirer”
Holmes blinked several times and hurled the note at Lestrade. “Give this to your print man,” he snarled. “Give the clothes to the laboratory, check them for foreign objects, corrosive powder, every-thing. Find out where they came from. And, for the love of God, can someone please provide Miss Russell with ‘suitable clothing’ so this case will not come to a complete standstill?” As he turned away in a cold fury I heard him breathe, “This becomes intolerable.”
A variety of clothing appeared, part uniform, part civilian, all un-comfortable. We set off for the park in a police automobile, Lestrade in front with the driver, Holmes beside me, silent and remote and star-ing out the window while his long fingers beat a rhythm on his knee. He did not divulge his laboratory findings. At the park he dashed up and down the paths for a very few minutes, nodding to himself, then bundled us brusquely back into the car. He turned a deaf ear to Lestrade’s questions, and we rode in silence back to New Scotland Yard to make our way to Lestrade’s office, where we were left alone. Holmes went over to Lestrade’s desk, opened a drawer, took out a packet of cigarettes, removed one, lit it with a vesta, and went to the window, where he stood with his back to me, staring unseeing out onto the busy Embankment and the river traffic beyond, smoke curl-ing through the dirty glass. He smoked the cigarette to the end with-out speaking, then walked back to the desk and pressed the stub with great deliberation into the ashtray.
“I must go out,” he said curtly. “I refuse to take any of these heavy-footed friends of yours with me. They will send the wildlife scurrying for cover. While I am away, draw up a list of necessities and give it to the matron. Clothing for two or three days, nothing formal. Men’s or women’s, as you like. You’d best add a few things for me as well—you know my sizes. It will save me some time. I shall be back in a couple of hours.”
I stood up angrily. “Holmes, you can’t do this to me. You’ve told me nothing, you’ve consulted me not at all, just pushed me here and there and run roughshod over any plans I might have had and kept me in the dark as if I were Watson, and now you propose to go off and leave me with a shopping list.” He was already moving toward the door, and I followed him across the room, arguing.
“First you call me your associate, and then