Sherlock Holmes (14 page)

Mycroft nodded. “Thank you, Charles. I will
join you later at the Reform Club.”

On our return to Baker Street we sat for an
hour, smoking a final pipe before retiring. Holmes, I noticed, had
been somewhat withdrawn. Sitting in his old leather armchair, his
knees drawn up to his chest and eyes half closed.

“Do you think they will try again, Holmes?” I
asked.

Holmes breathed out a thin ribbon of smoke
and, in a quiet voice, said, “Yes, I fear so… and soon. They will
want to maintain the pressure and not miss an opportunity to gain
kudos! This masked ball could be an ideal place to strike.”

In preparation for the ball, I had gleaned
from Holmes that it was to be a renaissance of the Venetian style,
with fine, flowing robes and jewelled masks. The following morning
I was despatched to a costumiers in Bond Street in order to hire
two costumes. Obtaining them, however, proved to be quite difficult
as the Venetian style had fallen from fashion. Never the less, I
finally succeeded and returned triumphant to Baker Street.

Holmes always gained great pleasure from
disguises and, since my acquaintance with him, I have marvelled at
the variety of personas he has effected. Opening the parcels, I
could see Holmes’ eyes light up. “Splendid! Watson. You have done
us proud.”

I beamed, saying, “Yes, nobody will recognise
us in these!”

On hearing this, Holmes’ smile faded
somewhat. “You are, of course, correct. However, a disguise is a
two edged sword, old friend. It is imperative that we are at the
top of our game this evening, Watson. Be sure to bring your service
revolver, it may be of some use.”

For Holmes to have the need to remind me of
this meant that the 'game' was, indeed, serious.

With nothing more that could be done, we ate
a light meal and dressed in our costumes. We both looked
resplendent in our finery but finding a place to unobtrusively hide
a revolver in my costume was, indeed, troublesome.

Holmes saw me fumbling and chuckled. “Ah,
Watson. You see the limitations of modern weaponry married to
clothes from a past era. At the time of this fashion, the
assassin's choice of weapon would have been the stiletto, easily
concealed in the commodious jacket sleeve and slim enough to be
invisible. I fear that the Webley in your coat pocket is somewhat
more conspicuous.”

I admit I was a little piqued by this and
retorted, “How, then, are you arming yourself this evening?” Holmes
proceeded to the umbrella stand and selected a fine, silver topped
cane. This, I grudgingly observed, complemented his attire
perfectly. I goaded him a little by saying, “Hmm, there is little
protection there, I think, Holmes.”

His response was but to smile. There was a
flash of silver as in one, swift, movement, Holmes had drawn a
slender sword from the cane and was in the 'en garde' position,
ready to strike. Raising an eyebrow, Holmes replied, “I believe
this will suffice, Watson.”

Dressing in our warm coats and mufflers, we
took a Hansom and followed the same route as before. Approaching
the rear courtyard door, Holmes paused, bending down to retrieve
something. “Hello, what have we here?” He moved to where the light
from the gas lamp was brightest and examined the object.

I peered at what Holmes was holding and saw
that it was a small, silk tassel. “Ha! It must have fallen from
someone's costume” said I.

Holmes looked more closely. “Not fallen,
Watson, torn off … and there is blood on it.” Crouching down,
Holmes examined the cobblestones. “There were three people here and
they were fighting, Watson. I can see the different scrape patterns
as they jostled.” Holmes stood up and hurried to the door. He
raised his cane to knock but saw there was a chink of light at the
edge of the door frame. Cautiously, he pushed with his gloved hand
and the heavy door swung open.

There was no sign of the doorkeeper and
Holmes stood, motionless, like an English Setter, every sense
alert. Upon one wall there was a distinct smear of blood and, on
looking down at the floor, Holmes detected more. It glistened like
a long string of rubies leading to what appeared to be a large
pantry. At this point, I drew my revolver. I had travelled with it
in my coat pocket, that being the most comfortable place for
it.

Holmes crept forward and listened intently at
the door. Leaning close to me, he whispered, “I can hear
breathing.” I positioned myself to one side of the door frame in
order to get a clear shot and mindful not to present too much of a
target. I nodded my readiness to Holmes, who, at my signal, threw
open the door.

I aimed my revolver towards the interior,
ready to fire. Holmes was there at my side, ready to pounce on
anything that should emerge. Thankfully, all was still. The light
from the hallway was sufficient for us to be able to see inside.
There, in a crumpled heap, was the door keeper with a savage wound
to his head, his face bruised and streaked with blood. He was bound
and gagged and a steady flow of blood seeped from his wound. I
quickly looked around for something to compress the wound. Finding
a supply of clean, kitchen linen, I used a towel to apply pressure
and assuage the bleeding. Holmes removed the man's gag and the
doorkeeper began to stir.

It took a few moments for him to recognise us
and he started to struggle to free his bonds. I quickly removed
those securing his wrists whilst Holmes freed his ankles. He had
been badly beaten and I laid a hand on his shoulder, preventing him
from trying to rise. He struggled to speak to us and I feared that
he had several broken ribs.

 “Signori, there were two of them. They
said they were delivering costumes for the ball, I opened the door
and they leapt upon me. I tried to push them outside. We fought in
the doorway and in the courtyard but they were armed with iron
bars.” He coughed and a trickle of blood appeared at the corner of
his mouth.

Holmes placed a hand on the man’s shoulder,
saying “Steady, old fellow. Did you get a look at them?”

The doorkeeper shook his head. “No, they had
mufflers… but under their coats they were wearing costumes for the
ball. I tore open the coat of one of them as we struggled.”

Holmes gave me a knowing look. He patted the
doorkeeper on the forearm, saying, “Stay here, we will get help.”
As Holmes was about to rise, he observed the edge of a footprint in
the pool of blood from the doorkeeper. “Hello! If we are fortunate,
Watson, we may be able to identify both assailants.”

In the corner of the pantry were two
discarded overcoats and mufflers and Holmes looked at them briefly.
“There is little further to be gleaned here, Watson. We must get
help and locate the ambassador.” Leaving our coats and mufflers
behind, we exited into the embassy proper. A passing footman was
hailed and directed to aid his fallen colleague.

From the atrium, the ambassador could be seen
at the head of the stairs, welcoming his guests. His face visibly
brightened at our approach. He warmly grasped Holmes’ hand saying,
“Ah, Sherlock. I am relieved to see you. I have told His Majesty of
your presence here tonight.”

Holmes leant forward and, in low tones, began
to recount what we had found below stairs. The colour immediately
drained from the ambassador's face. He took Holmes’ arm and they
were soon in an animated conversation. From my position, I could
not fully hear what was said but I picked out the words 'blood' and
'shoes'. Finally, the ambassador nodded. I admit I was a little
bemused when the ambassador spoke quietly to his wife and then she
and Holmes left together. Holmes signed to me to remain and, after
a few minutes, he returned holding a fine, marcasite encrusted
ladies shoe that sparkled in the light from the chandeliers
overhead.

Taking me to
one side, Holmes lowered his voice. “Watson, your task is to
discover the whereabouts of the fellow with the missing tassel.
When you find him, place yourself close behind him and do not let
him out of your sight! If he approaches the King, you must be ready
to act decisively. For my part, I must search for the other one.
Now, no matter how bizarre my actions may appear, do not let
yourself become distracted. You
must
protect the King.” With
that, he slipped his mask over his face and was gone. I too put on
my mask in order to be at one with the assembled guests. As I did
so, a liveried footman approached and proffered glass of Champagne,
which I refused. My thinking being that I needed to keep both my
hands free.

Moving into the ballroom, I saw that it held
forty or so guests and I tried to circulate unobtrusively among
them. After a few minutes, I noticed a singular fellow propping
himself against a column whilst holding a glass of Champagne. I
thought this rather odd as, whilst wearing his mask, it was
impossible for him to drink it! He was staring intently into the
ballroom and I moved a little closer to follow his gaze. From my
position it became apparent that he was focused on a diminutive,
costumed figure which I knew could only be the King.

I moved a little to one side of the room to
observe this fellow. Upon his head was a bejewelled turban,
fashioned in the style I had often seen worn by Maharajahs in
India. His full mask was silver and in the form of an
expressionless face. All that could be seen of the wearer were his
eyes. These seemed fixed for a time on the King before darting
around the room and then returning once more to gaze at the
King.

Looking more closely, I recoiled slightly as
I saw that, at his shoulder, his embroidered jacket had a slight
tear and was missing a silk tassel. Not only that, his cream silk
sleeve had a pale pink blush where, it would seem, he had tried to
wipe away a blood stain.

Suddenly, laughter filled the room. I turned
just in time to see a masked Jester appear in the ballroom. He made
an extravagant sweeping bow towards all the guests before then
approaching the King. I was at once alert, thinking this to be the
second assassin. I plunged my hand into my pocket for my revolver
but, before drawing it, I noticed that the Jester was bearing a
sparkling, ladies shoe.

Kneeling before the King, the Jester looked
closely at the King's shoe and then he looked at the ladies shoe.
He put his head on one side and then shook it before skipping off
to try another person. This was done in the fashion of the Prince
in a rather macabre performance of Cinderella. The King laughed...
and, of course, if the King thought it amusing, then everyone else
would join in the antics of this bizarre charade.

However, this was not a charade, its purpose
was far more serious! I realised that Holmes had devised an
exquisitely cunning way to inspect the shoes of all the guests
without raising any questions or suspicions as to why. When,
finally, the Jester reached the ambassador's wife, there was a
great cheer as she lifted her skirt a trifle to reveal that she
only had one shoe. The Jester held the shoe aloft in triumph and,
of course, it fitted perfectly. The Jester again bowed to the
assembled guests and received a great ovation.

Although not meaning to, I had stood
transfixed watching the Jester's antics. As I looked round, to my
horror, the man I was supposed to be watching had gone! Wheeling
round in panic and looking for the King, I could see that he was
now standing with his back to the large, curtained windows. After a
few moments of frantic searching, I detected my man moving slowly
towards and behind the King. I took advantage of the series of long
curtains and slid behind them, moving rapidly in the large space
between them and the recessed windows.

Moving silently, I continued to a point where
I could see the King before me through a narrow gap in the
curtains. He was almost within touching distance when suddenly my
view was obstructed. The assassin had moved directly behind the
King. He was standing a little to my left with his back to me and
mere inches from my place of concealment. As a precaution, I took
my revolver from my pocket, silently pulling back the hammer to
cock it.

As I watched, the assassin's right hand moved
into his left sleeve and I saw the glint of a steel blade. Quickly,
I transferred the Webley to my left hand and, as his right elbow
came back to make the fatal thrust, I grasped it with an iron grip.
At the same moment, I raised the Webley and thrust the muzzle hard
into the nape of the fellow's neck. In a cold, stage whisper I
said, "If you move, even a muscle, I will blow your head off." The
man froze. I had taken the precaution of slightly angling the
revolver so that if I needed to fire, the bullet would have passed
through his head and then travelled upwards towards the
ceiling.

The King, hearing something behind him,
turned. Unbeknownst to me, standing beside the King was his
bodyguard who, on seeing the stiletto, swiftly disarmed the would
be assassin.

I removed my mask but, on seeing the raised
pistol, the bodyguard was about to tackle me when a cry of
"Alessandro! No!" filled the ballroom. This, thankfully, halted him
in his tracks. The ambassador moved swiftly and talked rapidly, in
Italian, to the bodyguard. The bodyguard nodded, in thanks, towards
me and roughly led away the assailant.

The King, who was standing close by, removed
his mask and looked slightly bemused. He proffered his hand saying
"Thank you, Mr Holmes."

I bowed and took his hand, saying, "I am at
your service, Your Majesty… but I cannot claim to be he. I am his
friend and colleague, Dr John Watson."

For a moment, the King was speechless. He
blinked slightly and then laughed heartily. "I see that I have two
guardian angels this evening. Come, Dr Watson. Join me in a glass
of champagne." He took my arm and led me but a few steps to a table
filled with glasses and ice buckets, chilling bottles of
champagne.