She rose, and for a moment, I could see in her defiance and disdain a great deal of her ancestress. With the barest of nods to me, Miss Hartley moved past with a rustle of silk satin. At the door, she weakened. We ran to her aid, and she would have fallen had I not caught her.
She thanked me, squeezing my hand with a sad smile, and fled before I could ascertain her illness.
“Bravo, Holmes,” I said angrily. “She’s clearly still unwell!”
“Watson, please.” He patted his pockets, frowning. “She knew that I am working for Mr. Sewall.”
“What of it?”
“And yet she waited to bring it up as a way to exit.”
“What do you mean?”
“Simply this: Why meet us, if she wants to avoid Mr. Sewall?” He cocked his head. “Much more sensible to make up some excuse to us and hide herself away again. And there’s the question of why Mycroft would want me to keep me my distance from her. I think, Watson, she wanted to . . . show herself to me. To let me read her history in her words and in her person. Communicate something to me.”
One of Wiggins’s troop of mercenaries ran in. “Mr. Holmes, come quick!”
“What is it, Mr. Coupe?”
“Mr. Deering’s office—it’s on fire!”
We got there too late. The conflagration kept everyone far back; it was not known if Mr. Deering was alive or dead.
“There is more at stake here than money,” Holmes murmured. “This is an act of rage.”
“But how—?”
We were interrupted by a shout. Another of the Irregulars ran across the busy thoroughfare, skillfully dodging omnibuses and hansoms, reaching us, out of breath.
“Mr. Holmes! I came as fast as I could!” It was the young man got up as a clerk doing research for Holmes.
“What have you found, Mr. Morris?”
“Miss Morris—my twin brother can’t read as well as me,” she said; I belatedly realized that her hair was tucked under her collar and cap. “I’ve found the location of the house!” She held up a scrap of paper with an address. “It’s in Sussex! On the South Downs, near Eastbourne.”
“Very well done, Miss Morris!”
When I saw the way the young lady’s face lit up, I could not help but think Holmes was correct in giving the Irregulars the chances he did. With her ink-stained fingers and third-hand clothing, Miss Morris was as proud as an empress at her achievement.
“Shall I find you a cab, Mr. Holmes?” she said, her breath returning.
“No need. But you’ve earned this.” He handed her a coin. “Go find the others, tell them to keep up the fine work.”
“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”
We immediately found a cab and rushed to the station. “I’m afraid we’ve missed the good train to Eastbourne, Watson.”
“I’m not sure what we’ll do when we get there. Our client is Mr. Sewall, but you’re saying that Miss Hartley wants our aid?” I reached into my pocket for a cigarette. My fingers brushed across a small scrap of paper. Frowning, I pulled it and read it. “Isaiah 56:5? Where on earth did this come from?”
Holmes’s face cleared, and I knew he’d discovered the solution to some part of our puzzle. “I thought I was wrong about Miss Hartley, when she didn’t pass me a note. She put the clue into your pocket, because you were there first.”
“What?”
“She’s given us the location of the treasure. She is indeed asking for our help.”
We barely made the next train to Eastbourne. As I caught my breath, I could not imagine what conclusions Holmes had reached.
“I believe Chercover himself was the unfaithful ‘attachment’ Miss Hartley formed, or possibly she broke it off when she discovered his true nature. The foreign cut of her garments and particularly the Silesian iron jewelry she wore—I’m much better at identifying contemporary fashion, Watson!—suggests a long stay in central Europe. When she received news of the Hoyt treasure, she realized she might find the means to flee him. That Egyptian fellow I spoke with last night? He is the porter for her hotel; he confirmed her luggage had stamps from Prague.”
Holmes continued. “She knew my reputation, and she knew that if I was investigating this case, I might be able to assist her. She relied on me reading her situation from her person, and her version of the story. She could not be plainer about Chercover or the location of the treasure for fear we were spied upon, or might give her up.”
“Chercover burned down the law offices,” I said, remembering Holmes’s mention of “rage.”
“Yes. He followed her to London, perhaps having read the letter she’d received. And when we were beset by that ruthless gang, I knew it might not only be Mr. Sewall she hid from. But I think Chercover has another purpose here: meeting Mr. Habakkuk Sewall.”
“What!”