John Adams - The Improbable Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

Madame Lestrade was a stout, handsome woman, her accent so thick I could scarcely recognize that we spoke the same tongue. She greeted us warmly and then retired to the kitchen, where we could hear her instructing her two menservants in hushed, urgent tones.

"My cousin cabled me," Lestrade said, "that you think O Jacaré rustled up an attack on a European ship? All to kidnap Janus and Harvey Holingbroke?" He clucked his tongue dismissively.

"I'll admit that it seems rather elaborate," Holmes said. "Yet the facts support it." He described the evidence in detail. By the time he was finished, the servants had dished up the promised étouffée. It was a dish of shrimp, peppers, onions, rice, and spices so flavorful and fiery that I feared poison, yet Holmes dug into it with relish.

"Even saying that someone from our city did this," Lestrade said. "Why suspect O Jacaré?"

Holmes arched an eyebrow. "Oh, come now, Lestrade," he said. "Jacaré is the current heir apparent to St. Diable. Every strand of crime committed in and from this city leads into a web, with Jacaré the spider at its center. It could be no one else."

"But why?"

Holmes took another spoonful of étouffée, then dabbed at his lips with his napkin. "I was hoping, deputy chief, that you could tell me. Do they hold some sort of power over him?"

"Janus and Harvey? Nah. They could shoot him, I suppose. They're real good at that. But they'd have to find him first, and he's a slippery one."

"You know the Holingbrokes, then?"

"Oh, sure. They're real popular, them, despite being a couple of freaks."

"Popular enough that he might prefer it not be known that he engineered an attack on them?"

Lestrade shrugged. "Maybe," he said. "They're charming, and near rich as Rockefeller."

"The gold?"

"Sure. They found a mountain of it out in California a while back."

"And their fortune is kept in a bank?"

Lestrade shifted uncomfortably. He looked toward the kitchen and snapped, "Them sausages coming out anytime soon?" He pushed his plate away. "Nah," he said. "Every once in a while, they show up with a new gold bar. Got their stash hidden away somewhere good."

Holmes smiled with satisfaction. "Motive enough," he said.

"You don't understand. O Jacaré, he doesn't need money, not that bad. He got more than he can spend."

"I understand him better than you might think," Holmes said. "It is not the gold he seeks, but the satisfaction of the mystery solved."

It was late when Lestrade pulled the hansom up to our inn. The heat hadn't subsided, and I looked forward to a bath and sleep.

"You still want to search for O Jacaré tomorrow," Lestrade said, "come down to the station and I'll help you as I can. Like as not, though, if he has them, they'll be dead."

Holmes stepped out of the cab. "We followed quickly on the heels of whatever ship Jacaré sent to Europe," he said. "They only need to hold out against his scrutiny for a short time. And I have set things in motion." He turned to me. "What time is it, Watson?"

I consulted my watch. "A quarter past ten o'clock."

"Ah, then. They shall be free by midnight."

Lestrade gaped. "You know where they are, then?"

Holmes smiled. "An assistant of mine does," he said. "He shall take care of the details on our behalf." He bowed slightly. "Good night, deputy chief."

Lestrade looked shaken as he climbed back into his carriage and snapped the reins.

"Holmes!" I said, watching Lestrade depart. "Who is this assistant you're referring to?"

Holmes walked briskly down the street. "Why, Lestrade himself, of course," he said. "He clearly knows where the brothers are being held and is now rushing to verify they are still secure. Hurry, Watson! The game is afoot!"

Holmes, it transpired, had arranged for a carriage of our own to be kept waiting just around the corner from our inn. It was a nondescript brown vehicle similar to many we'd passed on the streets earlier in the day. "Climb in and slump down, Watson," Holmes said, unhitching our horse from its post and patting the creature affectionately on the withers. "It's vital Lestrade not recognize us." He slipped on a porkpie hat and hunched his shoulders, and had I not seen the transformation or been sitting right beside him, I would have never suspected that the man beside me was my old friend. He clucked his tongue and sent our horse down the road, and when he shouted at some roustabouts to clear out of our way, his accent sounded as Cajun as a native's. Our horse was a dusky mare with a placid demeanor, padded shoes, and swift legs, and though the Appaloosa and its hansom cab had slipped out of sight, Holmes had some instinct for where he was going and we spotted them again within just a few minutes.

"I thought for a while he might poison us," I said.

Holmes smiled. "Not prepared for the Cajun spices, Watson? Remind me to tell you of the spices a friend of mine from Tibet uses to accent his yak butter and blood sausages." He slowed our mare to keep more distance from Lestrade. The traffic of Devil's Cape was not as congested at night as during the day, but it was rougher and rowdier, and we were hardly conspicuous. "But I know enough of Jacaré to dispose of poison as a concern. He is much more visceral than that-remember the poor sailors aboard the Friesland. And he knows of me from Moriarty and your own florid accounts of our adventures. A creature of his ego could not allow me to die within his own city without looking me in the eye first. No, his initial plan was to use Lestrade to put us off the scent. Failing that, he wants to encounter me face to face."

"And you him."

Holmes stared at a group of rowdies passing around bottles of whiskey and rum. "Just so," he said. "Since Reichenbach Falls, Watson, and the demise of that malignant brain who so long plagued us, I have been eager for a challenge worthy of our efforts. O Jacaré lacks Moriarty's subtlety, yet, government aside, he rules this city. Deputy Chief Lestrade is hardly his only puppet, just the most convenient one for this task because our long familiarity with his cousin might have made us set caution aside. If the mayor and chief of police don't kiss Jacaré's ring, then they at least lower their heads in his presence and allow him free rein."

We passed by closely packed homes and taverns, twisting and turning through the city's maze of streets. Holmes occasionally took a path that branched away from Lestrade's, to keep him from recognizing our approach, but could not do so with as much confidence as he might have in the streets of London. We lost sight of him for nearly five minutes and I saw creases of tension in Holmes's face, sweat along his brow. Should we lose track of Lestrade now, I realized, the brothers Holingbroke would never live to see the dawn. When eventually we spotted him again, we both sighed in relief, and Holmes pressed our calm mare forward. Any exhaustion I'd felt earlier in the night was gone. The thrill of the hunt exhilarated us both.

Lestrade eventually pulled away from the city, heading east toward a mass of marshlands and swamp that Holmes identified as Bayou Tarango. Of necessity, we dropped even farther behind him, but the route was clearer here, with fewer twists and forks. The ground grew muddy and we passed among huge trees swathed in Spanish moss. Insects hummed and chirped constantly and water bubbled in the bog. Mosquitoes and gnats swarmed around us. The swamp smelled of earth and decay, and strange lights flickered in the distance.

Lestrade turned in our direction for a moment, then pressed on.

"One way or another, Holmes, he will soon realize that he is being followed," I said.

Holmes grunted and swatted a mosquito that had landed on his jaw, and in the moonlight I saw a drop of blood roll down his face. "Be prepared for danger, Watson," he said.