I spent several elucidating hours with Holmes’s files; Scotland Yard ought to have as comprehensive a library of criminals and cases. Marcus Hannibal Chercover was as black a villain as they came. His criminal gang was the terror of Europe, aiding revolutionaries with guns and men for hire at a very steep price. His cunning was matched only by his unparalleled cruelty, and he grew wealthy on the warfare he helped create.
One interesting addition to these notes was a new cable from Boston that arrived as I read. Among other items of interest, Holmes’s Boston investigator had confirmed that Habakkuk Sewall had recently been in Prague, the site of Chercover’s headquarters.
When Holmes arrived home, he didn’t get two steps into the sitting room before I laid into him. “Where is it? The money you took—?”
His face was vacant; he couldn’t understand the reason for my emotion. “I left a note saying I’d replace it.”
“That’s not the same as replacing it. What did you spend it on?”
“Well, there was paying the Irregulars, and holding some aside for rewarding their success.”
“There was almost a half month’s rent in there!” I said, shocked. “You gave them all of it?”
“There was also the bribe to let my ‘secretary’ take my place in the archives, and more to buy that boy something approximating a suit. I spent a great deal on cables to America last night, after Mr. Sewall left. Then there was the investment in locating Miss Hartley here in London. That was no easy matter, for she didn’t want to be found, though the Irregulars always succeed. I’ve sent a note requesting an hour of her time tomorrow at eleven.” He paused, frowning. “She evaded me quite a while. However, one must spend money to get more in, Watson.”
He sounded so prim and marmish I would have laughed, if I hadn’t been so angry.
“Well,” I said, mollified, and not a little relieved. “What have you found out?”
Holmes’s eyes glittered like a dragon on a hoard; he loved nothing so much as information. “I’ve discovered that Mr. Sewall is a first-rate cad. He may have made a promise to his wife, but I doubt he intends to keep it. He certainly never kept any of the other vows he made to her; if my source is correct, Sewall has a string of fancy women from New York to San Francisco. And he is in very dire straits, far worse than he suggested. He’s squandered a great deal of his family money, teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, with debts coming in fast.”
I grinned; that in and of itself was gratifying. “I suspected as much. What about his claim? Is he legitimately part of the family?”
“That I believe is true, and have confirmed it with records in Boston. The question is, why come to us?”
“You said it yourself. It takes money to make more money, and if time is a factor, then it’s well spent to come to you.”
“Perhaps. But he’s up to something, Watson, and I do not like not knowing what it is.”
“What about Miss Hartley?”
“She is more difficult. My instincts are all a-tingle, what with both Sewall and brother Mycroft so set against her. She is something more than a mere ‘adventuress.’ Her claims to be a descendant seem in order, though I have not satisfactorily determined what Mistress Anna Hoyt might have been doing on this side of the Atlantic.”
“Hmm, well, if we find Sewall’s inheritance, he’d better pay us. The kitty is now quite empty.”
“I always honor my debts,” Holmes said, a trifle peevishly.
Then he looked at me, an amused smirk playing about his lips. “You do realize, Watson, that if I decide to dip into the butter and egg money to buy cocaine, I shall probably not leave a note saying I have done so?”
“I never imagined . . .” But I felt my face going red all the same and hastened to tell him of the attack. “There might have been dire consequences, Holmes.” I recounted my meeting with Dermody and his boys, Margaret’s rescue, and Aggie’s initiation into one of the household’s peculiar habits.
He frowned. “In that case, my apologies. What should have been a slight inconvenience for you was very nearly something much worse.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “I have a friend who owes me dinner at his chop-house; we’ll go there tonight, form our battle plans. But you must tell me one thing.”
“Of course.”
“How does it feel to have your lady friend save your life? Again?”
I shrugged, showing nothing but mild amusement at his jibe. “It’s rather wonderful, you know. No end of useful in, er, matters of the boudoir. Better than gin. You should look into it, Holmes—oh, my pardon. You don’t have a lady friend, do you?”
“I don’t require anything so base. Mine is a life of the mind.”
He looked so pious, I could not help but laugh, as I reached for my hat. “Ha! You only say that when you haven’t any lady friend.”