Sherlock Holmes and the King of Clubs (24 page)

After a moment Houdini put his arm around Bess and pulled her close. Watson, watching them, was reminded fleetingly of Grace, the woman he had loved and now realized could never be replaced. And yet he could hardly bring himself to indulge in self-pity. At least he – they – had survived this business, unlike poor Frances Lane.

‘A heck of a day,’ Houdini said to break the silence. He looked at Watson, and Watson could see that he too was thinking about his late assistant and wishing with all his might that she could also have been here at this resolution. ‘You know, I was just thinking.’

‘Yes, Mr Houdini?’

‘Maybe we should wait until tomorrow before we drive back to Vienna.’

‘I was thinking the same thing,’ added Purslane. ‘We aren’t far from Bratislava now. It would make admirable sense to find
a hotel there, and allow both you and Mrs Houdini a chance to recover from your ordeal.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Houdini agreed. Then he gave in to it, because he simply couldn’t pretend any longer. ‘And tomorrow we’ll go back and care for Frankie, right, Bess?’

His wife nodded tearfully. ‘Bless her, she was closer than family to us,’ she managed. ‘As such, we’ll care for her and … and prepare her for her burial.’

She and Houdini followed Purslane to the Daimler, crunching through the snow and holding each other close as they went.

Holmes was about to go after them when Watson called to him.

Holmes turned. ‘Yes, Watson?’

‘Thank you,’ Watson said softly.

Holmes cocked his injured head. ‘For what?’

‘At the beginning of this adventure you promised me a chance to recapture something of our salad days. You kept your promise; thank you for that.’

‘You are entirely welcome,’ Holmes said with a smile.

Watson glanced up at the leaden sky. ‘The new century may only be thirteen years old,’ he mused, ‘but the pace of change has increased so fast that it is easy for a man to convince himself that he has outlived his usefulness.’

‘Never,’ said Holmes.

‘I see that now. And I shall let you in on what may be a terrible, selfish secret.’

‘Will you, indeed? Watson, I am all ears.’

‘I wish we could do it all over again. By God, I haven’t felt this energetic for years.’

‘You may well get your wish,’ said Holmes. ‘I must confess, I have enjoyed my retirement, but the city has been beckoning me for some time now, and I have been considering selling my place in Sussex and moving back into town – perhaps even back to Baker Street, since I understand that the late Mrs Hudson’s nephew has had no luck in attracting new lodgers for our old rooms.’

Watson stared increduously at him. ‘Are you suggesting what I
think
you’re suggesting?’

‘It was expediency that first brought us together,’ said Holmes. ‘I was an impoverished detective with not a single client to my name and you were struggling to make ends meet on your army pension. Though neither of us is exactly strapped for cash these days there is a bond of friendship between us that I would like to see continue … even flourish … and as we have just observed, there is no shortage of new and varied crimes that still warrant our attention. What do you say, Watson?’

‘I still say we are too old for such gallivanting,’ Watson said.

For an instant Holmes looked disappointed.

Then Watson grinned and offered his hand. ‘But I also say that I simply cannot wait to begin our adventures anew!’

‘Then it is settled,’ said Holmes, adding softly and with heartfelt sincerity, ‘And from this day forward may God have mercy on the criminal classes!’

POSTSCRIPT

From the Journal of John H. Watson, M.D.

I
HAVE JUST HEARD
the news concerning the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria and it has given me cause to remember the events which befell Holmes and me in that country last October.

It appears that the nephew of the aged emperor and heir to the throne was assassinated on the streets of Sarajevo yesterday afternoon. Reports indicate that he was shot once in the neck.

I understand from the papers that two attempts were made upon the archduke’s life yesterday. The first happened during the morning, while he was directing manouevres with the Austrian Army Corps. A bomb was thrown at the imperial motor car, but its occupants escaped unhurt.

Unfortunately, however, the archduke’s good fortune deserted him when, later that day, a student came close enough to the car to shoot both Franz Ferdinand and his wife.

The reports present a desperately sad scene. It appears that, at first, no one even realized that the assassination had taken place. Then, seeing blood issuing from the archduke’s throat, his wife at once threw herself upon him. In so doing, she herself was shot in the abdomen.

Despite his wounds, the archduke was heard to cry,’ Don’t die, my Sophie! Stay alive for our children!’ He then came close
to passing out, but when asked by an aide if he was in much pain was able to reply, ‘It is nothing.’ And he was still repeating that same phrase – ‘It is nothing’ – when he died a few minutes later.

It is cold comfort to know that this unhappy conclusion has for some time now been inevitable. Bosnia and Herzegovina have been under Austrian occupation since 1878, when the Treaty of Berlin authorized the dual monarchy to hold the two provinces. Austria-Hungary is, as a result of territorial divisions and constitutional differences, ruled partly by the Germans and partly by the Magyars. The Slavs, who form a great majority of the people, numbering as they do some twenty-two million or more (as against eleven million Germans and close to ten million Magyars), remain understandably hostile to such a political system. In many Serbian quarters, the archduke was considered to be one of the greatest opponents of the pan-Serbian movement.

But it is the identity of the assassin that has chilled me to the very bone. He is a nineteen-year-old student born in the Livno district of Grahovo. He has made no attempt to deny the crime of which he is accused. Indeed, he appears to revel in his notoriety, and notoriety it most surely is, for there is talk that, should Austria-Hungary declare war against Serbia as a result of the archduke’s death, it will inevitably lead to a conflict of worldwide proportions.

The assassin claims that he has been planning to kill Archduke Franz Ferdinand for some time now, and cites “nationalist motives” for his actions. Apparently, when the archduke’s car slowed down in Francis Joseph Strasse, he seized his opportunity and struck. Germany, in particular, is said to be shaken by the assassination. The papers write that its consequences for Germany are second only in significance to those that must inevitably accrue to Austria-Hungary itself. Will the dual monarchy be as trustworthy an ally without the strong hand of Archduke Franz Ferdinand guiding the army and navy? That is the question uppermost in the German mind.

For myself, I am sick to my very stomach to think that Holmes and I both knew the assassin, whose name is Princip Gavrilo … the very man – boy, rather – who Javor Vasiljavic of the Black
Hand once said would, if left to his own devices, start a world war.

I can only pray that Vasiljavic’s comment was an opinion and not a prediction. For who can tell what will happen should the clouds of war loom dark and large across the entire world?

World War I began almost a month to the day later, on 28 July 1914.

Feral

Dead End

Fanatics

Killer Smile

Under the Knife

Cast a Deadly Shadow

Tomorrow, Utopia

Blackout!

Night Creatures

Three Rode Together

Sherlock Holmes and the Queen of Diamonds

Sherlock Holmes and the Knave of Hearts