LITMIR.BIZ

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the evidence, while circumstantial, I agree, is suggestive. We both know that Jicky is the signature scent of a certain Mademoiselle Emmeline La Victoire.’

      Vidocq smirked. ‘In France this is hardly a scandal.’

      ‘Perhaps you do not know that the lady is engaged. Her fiancé is as well connected in France as he is in England. The gentleman is a schoolboy friend of M. Reynaud, who is, I believe, your current employer.’

      Vidocq’s smile fell away and he stepped back in surprise.

      ‘A word to this fine man and your lucrative connections will vanish,’ said Holmes. ‘May I suggest you drop both your affair, and the dangerous game you are playing here, lest I find it necessary to intrude on your own personal liberties?’

      Vidocq’s retort was interrupted by the bronzed French policeman, who cut through a gathering crowd to stand with us. He spoke sharply in French, but Vidocq held up a hand.

      Holmes smiled and leaned forward. ‘Oh, and you are careless, Vidocq,’ he whispered. ‘Your coat pocket? The right one. Here, let me.’

      His arm flashed forward and he pulled a stick of dynamite from Vidocq’s pocket. The policeman started, and turned to Vidocq, grasped him suddenly by the arm, and called out for reinforcements.

      As several gendarmes ran forward to assist, Vidocq shook his head in annoyance.

      Holmes smiled, turned on his heel, and despite his ludicrous white countenance managed a dignified exit. I paused only a moment longer to enjoy Vidocq’s discomfiture, gave him a small salute, and followed my friend.

      The level of Holmes’s research never failed to surprise me. But then, it has always been a hallmark of his methods.

      Our return train to Nice that afternoon was less than pleasant. Unable to fully remove the dust from our clothing, we were forced to travel in the baggage car, seated on boxes covered with sheets and warned severely not to get our dusty selves on anything else.

      As the purser slammed the door shut behind us Holmes looked at me and burst out laughing. ‘Watson, you look like a man who has been frustrated by an encounter with the pastry dough.’

      ‘Holmes, this trip has been something of a disappointment. As despicable as Jean Vidocq is, I am appalled that you would stoop to planting evidence on him. It strikes me as beneath you.’

      Holmes looked at me strangely. ‘How could you think so, Watson?’ He took his handkerchief, and reached into his pocket and withdrew the stick of dynamite. ‘Notice this was lit, and put out. That one had not been. Had we not been here, he would have set off a third. Really, Watson, you must sharpen your skills.’

      ‘But why would Vidocq himself set off the explosions?’

      ‘Many reasons. Primarily it ensures his job, and probably raises his fee.’

      ‘But might he not continue with this plan?’

      ‘He would not dare to do so right at present. We are not finished on this count, however.’

      ‘He exceeds even my low opinion of him. I apologize, Holmes.’ I eyed the stick of dynamite. ‘Is that safe?’

      ‘Reasonably so. It takes a detonator to set these off. That is Nobel’s contribution to the art of explosives. There is a binding agent with the nitroglycerin which—’

      ‘Really, I do not care to know. But why is it here? Why did you not hand it over to the police?’

      ‘I will test it myself for fingerprints. The bronzed fellow we met in Montpellier is in Vidocq’s pocket.’

      ‘I thought he was arresting Vidocq!’

      ‘They wished it to appear so. The fellow did not know I speak fluent French. Even their fast-paced argot.’

      ‘Argot?’

      ‘Slang.’

      ‘And if the fingerprints are Vidocq’s …’

      ‘I am certain they will prove to be so. This will show he is behind, or at least complicit with the threats to Docteur Janvier. Mycroft will have what he needs, and Monsieur Reynaud, through our old friend in Tours, will most certainly relieve Vidocq of his exalted position. The universe will align, Watson, providing science prevails. Those fingerprints will be key.’

      ‘Are they admissible in court?’

      ‘They will certainly be so in the future, but sadly not at present. The die will be cast, however, and Monsieur Reynaud will play his part, I am sure of it. Vidocq will get his just desserts.’

      We were silent for a time as the train rumbled on. It was hot in the car, with no windows to relieve us. I wiped my sweating brow with my handkerchief, and it came away filthy.

      ‘There is something troubling me,’ said I. ‘Mycroft—’

      Holmes sighed. ‘I intended to help the British government all along, Watson. Mycroft had been imploring me for some time. You saw that I had been studying the subject.’

      ‘But then why the little dance with your brother? Why refuse his advance?’

      ‘A useless gesture, Watson, I will admit. It is difficult to erase old patterns. You would not understand.’

      ‘Yes, well why let some ghost of your past—’

      ‘Watson! This from a man whose own ghosts wake him shouting in the night.’

      ‘Lingering effects from battle are well known, Holmes! You are squabbling with an older brother. Why? Did he steal your toast and marmalade as a child?’

      I expected a sharp retort, but instead Holmes was silent for a moment. ‘You misjudge me, again,’ he said quietly. ‘Watson, there are those rare people who elicit behaviour from us that others may not. Let me suggest that you were one man on the battlefield, another with your patients, a third altogether with Mary and perhaps a fourth in my company, for example?’

      ‘No, Holmes. I am always myself. Well, perhaps I smoke less around Mary.’

      He smiled at this.

      ‘But whatever the situation, I try always to be the best man I can be.’

      He paused.

      ‘Of course you do, and how well you succeed. My apologies, Watson.’

      As we spent an uncomfortable six hours on the train I ruminated that it would take effort to continue being the best man that I could. But I was determined to stay the course.

       CHAPTER 8

       Ahead of the Game

      n the following day, the expected dinner invitation arrived, not from Isla McLaren, but from Laird Robert McLaren himself, and at five minutes past seven our carriage, fees charged to our hotel, pulled up at the Grand Hôtel du Cap in nearby Antibes. I was never particularly comfortable in my formal attire, though Holmes seemed quite at ease. The letter was flattering and had indicated that the laird wished to make use of Holmes’s ‘renowned skills’. It would be a case, we presumed.

      ‘Whatever the task may be, Watson, we must stay on our guard. The McLarens are not yet entirely cleared of any connection to that bombing, and may in fact wish to draw us into their fold for their own reasons.’

      ‘Surely they can intend no violence at this dinner.’

      ‘Unlikely. But you have your Webley with you?’

      I nodded.

      The Grand Hôtel du Cap was a far cry from the Beau Soleil. Ensconced in a

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