Laurie King - The Beekeeper's Apprentice

I was pleased to hear his mood so improved.

The evening that followed was a lovely, sparkling interval, set off in my mind by what went before and what came after as a jewel set into mud. I fell asleep twice and woke with my hat in Holmes' ear, but he seemed not to notice. In fact, so carried away was he by the music that I believe he forgot I was there, forgot where he was, forgot to breathe, even, at certain passages. I have never been a great lover of the operatic voice, but that night — I cannot tell you what we saw, unfortunately — even I could begin to see the point. (Incidentally, I feel that this is one place where I must contradict the record of Holmes' late biographer and protest that I never, ever witnessed Holmes "gently waving his fingers about in time to the music," as Watson once wrote. The good doctor, on the other hand, was wont earnestly to perform this activity of the musically obtuse, particularly when he was tipsy.)

We drank champagne at the intermission and took to a quiet corner lest he be recognised. Holmes could be charming when he so desired, but that evening he positively scintillated, during the intermission with stories about the primary cast members, and over supper later talking about his conversations with the lamas in Tibet, his most recent monographs on varieties of lipstick and the peculiarities of modern tyre marks, the changes occasioned by the disappearance of castrati from the music world, and the analysis of some changes in rhythm in one of the arias we had just heard. I was quite dazzled by this rarely seen Holmes, a distinguished-looking, sophisticated bon vivant without a care in the world (who could also spend hours in a grey, biting mood, write precise monographs on the science of detection, and paint blobs on the backs of bees to track them across the Sussex Downs). "Holmes," I asked as we stepped into the street, "I realise the question sounds sophomoric, but do you find that there are aspects of yourself with which you feel most comfortable? I only ask out of curiosity; you needn't feel obliged to answer." He offered me his arm and, formally, I took it.

"'Who am I?' you mean." He smiled at the question and gave what was at first glance a most oblique answer. "Do you know what a fugue is?"

"Are you changing the subject?"

"No."

I thought in silence for some distance before his answer arranged itself sensibly in my mind. "I see. Two discrete sections of a fugue may not appear related, unless the listener has received the entire work, at which time the music's internal logic makes clear the relationship."

"A conversation with you is most invigourating, Russell. That might have taken twenty frustrating minutes with Watson. Hello, what is this?" He pulled me to a halt in the shadow of the building we had just rounded, and we gazed across to the area where the cab and Billy had been left, seeing with sinking hearts the flicker of naphtha flares and the distinctive milling outline of many constabulary helmets and capes. Loud voices called to one another, and as we watched an ambulance pulled swiftly away. Holmes slumped against the building, stunned. "Billy?" he whispered hoarsely. "How could they track us? Russell, am I losing my grip? I have never come across a mind that could do this. Even Moriarty." He shook his head as if to clear it. "I must see the evidence before those oafs obliterate it." "Wait, Holmes. This could be a trap. There may be someone waiting with an airgun or a rifle."

Holmes studied the scene before us through narrowed eyes and shook his head again, slowly. "We were excellent targets a number of times this evening. With all these police here it would be a great risk for him. No, we will go. I only hope that someone with a bit of sense is in charge here."

I followed his vigorous stride as best I could in my heeled shoes, and as I came up behind him I saw a small, wiry man of about thirty-five thrust out his hand and greet Holmes.

"Mr. Holmes, good to see you up and about. I wondered if you might not make an appearance. I figured you must be behind this somewhere."

"What precisely is 'this', Inspector?"

"Well, as you can see, Mr. Holmes, the cab — May I help you, Miss?" This last was to me.

"Ah, Russell, I should like to introduce to you an old friend of mine. This is Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. His father was a colleague of mine on a number of cases. Lestrade, this is my — " A quick smile touched his lips. "My associate, Miss Mary Russell."

Lestrade stared at the two of us for a moment, then to my dismay burst into raucous laughter. Was this to be the reaction of every policeman we met?

"Oh, Mr. Holmes, always the comedian, you were. I forgot your little jokes for a minute."

Holmes drew himself up to his full height and glared at the man in icy hauteur.

"Have you ever known me to jest about my profession, Lestrade? Ever?" The last word cracked through the cold air like a shot, and Lestrade's humour was cut off in an instant. The remnant of the smile made his face sour and slightly ratlike, and he glanced at me quickly and cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, well, Mr. Holmes, I presume you'd like to see what they left of your cab. One of the men recognised Billy from the old days and thought to give me a ring on it. He'll get a promotion out of tonight's work, I don't doubt. And don't worry about your man — he'll be all right in a day or two, I imagine. It looked like a clout on the head followed by a bit of chloroform. He was already coming around when they took him off."

"Thank you for that, Inspector. Have you already gone over the cab?" His voice held little hope.

"No, no, we haven't touched it. Looked inside, that's all. I told you the man'd get a promotion. Quick-thinking, he is." I noticed one of the uniformed men nearby fiddling needlessly with the horse's reins, his head tilted slightly in our direction. I nudged Holmes and addressed Lestrade.

"Inspector, that I believe is the individual over there?" The man started and moved away guiltily, busying himself elsewhere. Lestrade and Holmes followed my eyes.

"Why yes, how did you guess?"

Holmes interrupted. "I believe you will find, Lestrade, that Miss Russell never guesses. She may occasionally reach tentative hypotheses without absolute proof, but she does not guess."

"I am glad," I added, "that the gentleman is working his way back up to his former position of responsibility.

Men with his background can be a valuable model for younger members of the force." I had Lestrade's full attention now.

"Do you know him then, Miss?"

"As far as I know I've never seen him before tonight."

Holmes allowed his eyes to wander off to the cab, his face inscrutable.

"Then how —?"

"Oh, but it is too obvious. An older man in a low position can either have got there by being, shall we say, of limited mental resource, which according to you he is not, or by backsliding. It could not have been a criminal act that pushed him down the ladder, or he would not still be in uniform. Which personality flaw it is can readily be ascertained by the broken veins in his face, while the deep furrows around his mouth indicate either pain or sorrow in recent years. I should suspect, as his body seems unimpaired, that the latter is to blame, which would explain the abuse of alcohol, and that in turn accounts for the demotion in rank. However, his general competency and the fact that you mention the possibility of promotion tell me that he has passed through the crisis, and will now serve as an example to the men around him." I gave the flabbergasted Lestrade my most innocent of smiles. "It's really quite elementary, Inspector."

The little man gaped and burst out laughing again. "Yes, sir, Mr. Holmes, I do see what you mean. I don't know how you've done it, but it could have been you saying that. You're absolutely right, Miss. His wife and daughter were killed four years ago, and he took to drinking, even at work. We kept him on at a desk job where he'd do no one any harm, and a year ago he pulled himself together. He'll be back up there in no time, I think. Come now, I'll get a lamp so we can look at your cab." He went off shouting for a light.