Unquiet Spirits: Whisky, Ghosts, Murder. Bonnie MacbirdЧитать онлайн книгу.
police commissionaire rushed up to us, bristling with urgency. His blond hair was clipped short, and he was bronzed so deeply from the Mediterranean sun that he appeared almost metallic. Holmes and Janvier answered a few quick questions in French, and after a few minutes the man retreated and headed back to the site of the explosion. His accent was indecipherable and I had understood nothing.
‘Might you translate, for my colleague?’ said Holmes.
Janvier laughed, with a tinge of bitterness. ‘He attempted to apologize to me. When the letters first arrived, the director of the lab showed them to the police. They dismissed the threats as I did, but for a different reason. They thought I was simply trying to draw attention to myself!’
Holmes snorted. Janvier continued. ‘Idiots. But it alerted someone in the Chamber of Deputies, and their response was to send that horrible … et voici … here he is now. Excuse me for a moment.’ He moved quickly away to speak to two worried assistants.
A dark figure slowly approached us from the other side of the courtyard, emerging from behind the building which had suffered the blast. He was silhouetted against the bright sunlight and at first I could not make out who it was. The swagger, however, was striking.
‘Sherlock Holmes!’ exclaimed the familiar, French-accented voice. He passed out of the bright light, and into view. It was the disreputable Jean Vidocq himself.
In contrast to our dishevelled and whitened state, the tall, handsome Frenchman was the picture of elegance. He strode forward with a smile, impeccable as always in a well-tailored frock coat and jaunty cravat.
The man was a rakish charmer, to whom women seemed drawn as by a magnetic force. He was insufferable. In fact, I still felt the occasional pain in my back directly due to our contretemps at the Louvre last year. The man had knocked me down a flight of steps.
‘You!’ I said.
Vidocq responded with a cocky grin. But as he approached, Sherlock Holmes surprised me in the extreme. He rushed to embrace this rogue.
‘Jean Vidocq! Bienvenue! I am so happy to see you here!’ he gushed, clasping the Frenchman to his bosom, kissing him on both cheeks in the French manner of greeting.
Vidocq, equally surprised, recoiled and backed away in disgust, frantically brushing at the white plaster dust, which Holmes with his embrace had deposited on his pristine frock coat. Holmes hid a quick smile.
‘Mon Dieu! What the hell is the matter with you, Holmes? Is it the cocaine?’ exclaimed Vidocq.
‘Ah, non, non!’ said Holmes. ‘C’est trop de soleil!’
Too much sun? Holmes was inventive today. Janvier looked on in confusion.
‘Ah, so sorry,’ said Holmes, apparently recovering. ‘It is the shock also. Vidocq, my old friend!’
Turning from Holmes with a look of doubt, Vidocq focused on his fellow Frenchman. ‘Dr Janvier? Ça va?’ he asked. What followed was a rapid exchange in French, of which I only understood that he was ascertaining that the famous scientist was unharmed. Satisfied, he turned to us.
‘Well, Monsieur Holmes, what an interesting coincidence. And Doctor Wilson, I believe it is.’
‘You know my name, Monsieur Verdun!’ said I.
Vidocq was taken aback. ‘Ah, yes, Dr Watson, forgive me. It slipped my mind. How very strange to find you both here at this precise moment. Where were you exactly when the bomb went off?’
Holmes smiled. With a grand gesture he indicated our plaster-covered selves. In fact, we were so whitened by the dust as to look like madcap bakers in a comedy turn at the Gaieties.
Vidocq eyed us with derision. ‘A little close for comfort, n’est-ce pas? But again, why are you here, in the laboratoire? It is lunchtime.’
‘Indeed. One might ask the same of you, Vidocq,’ said Holmes brushing the white powder and bits of plaster from his own coat.
‘Police business.’
‘Excellent timing! Or are you simply prescient?’ asked Holmes.
‘Dr Janvier has received death threats. I have been sent by the government to investigate and protect. Your presence here is suspicious.’
Holmes laughed. ‘You will get nowhere with this line of thinking, Vidocq,’ said Holmes.
Dr Janvier now returned and Vidocq turned to the scientist with an expansive smile. ‘Ah, Dr Janvier. So very happy that you are unharmed!’ he gushed, grasping Janvier’s arm in what I thought was an overly familiar gesture. ‘It was thanks to God that—’
‘It was luck or miscalculation on the part of the bomber, M. Vidocq, nothing more. If you will excuse me,’ the scientist said, breaking free and turning pointedly to us. ‘Gentlemen, my staff return from lunch and I must reassure my colleagues. I believe you have learned all I can tell you now. I will see that you receive a copy of my paper on the phylloxera on your way out.’ He started to leave but turned back. ‘And I shall take your advice, Mr Holmes. We will take more care.’
He strode off, brushing at his clothes. We stood facing Vidocq.
The Frenchman’s pretence at charm dropped like a curtain. He advanced on us with a frown. ‘Holmes, I will not have you meddling in this affair. I am hired by the French government to protect this man. In fact, we have every reason to suspect British hands in these threats and … well, here you are. I should have you arrested.’
‘You are joking!’ I said.
Holmes shot me a warning look. ‘Vidocq, I do not know what your game is here, but assuredly it is financially driven. Your altruism is never what it seems.’
‘Speaking of finances, my dear friend, I understand you are currently lodging at the laughable Hôtel Du Beau Soleil. How difficult it must be to attempt to command the world stage from such undignified surroundings.’
Somehow he seemed to know of our hotel misadventures in Nice. My surprise at this must have shown on my face. Vidocq laughed.
‘Not only M. Holmes keep the track of his special friends, Doctor.’
‘Vidocq, I suggest that you stay out of our way on this and on all matters,’ said Holmes.
‘Or what?’ replied Vidocq with a sneer.
‘Or I shall make your latest indiscretion known.’
‘And what indiscretion is that?’
‘Ah, then you admit to more than one.’ Holmes smiled as he reached into his pocket and removed a train ticket which he held aloft. The Frenchman gasped and patted his waistcoat, discovering he had been neatly pick-pocketed. Furious, he snatched at it, but Holmes pulled the ticket away and waved it in the air. ‘Paris–Nice, only yesterday,’ said my companion.
I could not help but laugh. Holmes enjoyed my amusement and Vidocq’s discomfort perhaps more than was polite. ‘Ah, Paris, the city of light. And of love,’ said he. ‘You have no doubt enjoyed yourself there, Vidocq, in a particularly close encounter.’
‘Ce n’est rien!’ snarled the Frenchman. ‘I have been in Paris. The rest is wild conjecture, Holmes.’
Holmes paused. He sniffed the air pointedly.
A maelstrom of expressions crossed Vidocq’s face. And then he understood.
‘Ah, Mon Dieu. Remind me to keep my distance.’
I was still in the dark. Holmes turned to me. ‘Our friend’s frock coat collar is quite redolent of a certain perfume. Jicky, you remember, Watson?’
‘That proves nothing,’ said Vidocq. ‘That scent has taken Paris by storm. Many men and many women wear it.’
‘Really. And am I to conclude from your collar that you have been embracing