Bonnie Macbird - Unquiet Spirits - Whisky, Ghosts, Adventure

Over coffee moments later, the scientist lit up a cigarette. ‘Mr Holmes, if it were sabotage, what motive would the British have for this? You are one of the largest importers of our wines, cognac and brandy. Britain would suffer from the loss.’

‘Yes, but our whisky business is profiting wildly just now,’ I said. ‘Some say—’

‘Watson!’

‘I have heard,’ said Janvier. ‘They suspect the Scots. Or some particular Scots, I do not know. I have seen no evidence. But Mr Holmes, consider the mechanics of such a plot. It is impractical, uncontrollable. Only a madman or anarchist would attempt to make such an obtuse statement in this way.’

‘But to stop your work? That might be useful. Let us return to those letters,’ said Holmes.

Janvier shrugged. ‘Mr Holmes, let me ask you this. Have you ever received vague threats from someone who seems, well, deranged? And did you alter your course because of it?’

I cleared my throat.

Holmes shook his head in irritation. ‘I take your point. But crime is my business and I am accustomed to receiving threats. Please tell me everything you remember about the letters.’

‘I can tell you only this,’ said the scientist, ‘All three were in English, anonymous, and all three on the kind of cheap paper that is available in hundreds of places all over France. The first was written in ordinary black ink, with an aged but costly pen with a flexible nib, the other in a slightly more expensive blue ink but a similar pen. And the third, in black ink like the first, on the back of a postcard with a cheap pen.’

I began to realize the remarkable similarity of the two men sitting at the table with me.

‘Was the handwriting male or female?’ asked Holmes.

‘Male, for all three, I would say. Educated. There were, however two curious things.’

‘What were those?’

‘Well, I noted that while my initial impression was that the hands were different, upon a closer look, it became apparent that they were actually written by the same person.’

‘And how did you—’

‘The looped “t”s,’ said Janvier.

‘Of course. That must have been a relief,’ remarked Holmes with a smile.

‘Just so.’

Both men sipped their coffee in contemplation of the brief exchange.

‘Wait?’ I asked. ‘Why did that relieve you, sir?’ I wondered.

‘The single writer clearly wanted Dr Janvier to think that the opposition to his work was more widespread, Watson. But it was only one person,’ said Holmes.

Janvier nodded. Of course, now it was obvious.

‘Dr Janvier, the question of the hour. What did the letters say?’ asked Holmes.

‘That I must stop my work or suffer dire consequences. The exact threat was vague. Flowery. The phylloxera was God-sent, or something, and that evil would befall me if I interfered with God’s will. Both me and also my family. But of course, I am unmarried and have no children. They also mentioned that objections to my work were rampant and in persisting, I risked awakening “a sleeping giant”, and my work would go “up in smoke”.’

‘A sleeping giant? Up in smoke?’

‘The exact words. And that is all. Would you care for some dessert?’ asked Janvier. He indicated a nearby cart on which were arrayed a tempting selection of tartes .

‘No, but a visit to your laboratory would be in order. I am still concerned for your security,’ said Holmes.

‘My pleasure, Mr Holmes.’

After a brief walk through the narrow streets of this hilly town, during which I had difficulty keeping up with my long-legged companions in the hot afternoon sun, and directly after eating a full meal, we arrived at l’École Nationale d’Agriculture de Montpellier .

We passed several low buildings in a compound with numerous garden plots, all planted with vines, which were carefully labelled and divided by string. A collection of broad, straw sun hats rested on poles throughout, evidently abandoned there by the workers at lunchtime.

We entered one of the buildings and made our way down a long hallway. The building was strangely deserted. ‘Where is everyone?’ I asked Holmes in a low voice.

‘We are in France, Watson.’ he whispered. ‘Lunch!’

But Janvier apparently possessed similarly acute hearing. He laughed. ‘Yes! Meals happen, as you say, like clockwork. In our country, we are quite sensible about refreshing mind and body. We lunched intentionally early as I wished to keep your laboratory visit private.’

‘I see no security measures here, Dr Janvier. Anyone could enter, and tamper with your work,’ said Holmes.

‘They would have to understand it to do so. Everything is done in duplicate, or triplicate, and meticulously recorded,’ Janvier smiled. ‘I am not concerned,’ said he, waving a hand.

‘What of this man they have sent to look after you – Jean Vidocq, what has he done?’

‘Yes. Ah, you know him, do you? At least Dr Watson does. Your face tells me all, Doctor. Mr Holmes, you have the gift of obfuscation but your friend here is an open book.’

I began to think I should place obfuscation on my list of attributes to cultivate.

‘This Vidocq, then—’

‘Irritating man. He does nothing but fan the flames of fear among my researchers. He comes and goes. I should like to be rid of him.’

‘I can well imagine,’ I said.

‘Whenever he is here, he attempts to worry me and my researchers with concocted scenarios. I regret burning the letters, Mr Holmes. But that man Vidocq is such a pest. He exaggerates the danger. I wanted him gone and so I scorned the entire idea of any threat and burned them in front of him. He was as angry as you are!’

‘Indeed. How close are you to a solution to the phylloxera epidemic, Dr Janvier?’

‘Very close.’

‘Is that so? Who knows this?’ asked Holmes.

‘Any number of people, in the government and elsewhere.’

‘What is it?’

‘Grafts and hybridization show promise. But at present, we have taken several batches to maturity, and they adversely affect the flavour.’

‘Then you have not found the solution. Although as you near it, you may be in more danger.’

We had rounded a corner and now progressed down another long corridor, this with doors open to reveal laboratories, their rich wood cabinets and slate-topped counters gleaming from the afternoon sun slanting in the windows.

‘We may have been looking at the wrong question’ said Holmes. ‘Might there be a more personal motive to stop your work? Have you any rivals who wish to take credit? Anyone you have specifically angered? Anyone who comes to mind that would profit directly and personally from your cure not being advanced?’

Janvier paused midstride and turned to us. We stopped.

‘And there you have me, Mr Holmes. No. My first thought was that someone deeply invested in wines that rival the French might profit. The Americans. The Germans, perhaps the Italians. But I think not. The Americans have been helpful, and the Germans and Italians now face the same plague, though to a lesser degree. Regarding jealous colleagues, I think not. This particular problem has united the larger research community to a remarkable degree.’

‘And still Britain may be suspect,’ said Holmes. ‘As Watson mentioned, our whisky business is said to be growing in leaps and bounds.’

‘I think as a scientist does. Instinct is perhaps as important in my work as observation and logic. And my instinct tells me this disaster is an accident and nothing more.’

Holmes nodded. ‘I wonder, could this divisive theory then originate from someone who profits from a deterioration of Franco-British relations?’

‘There you exceed my expertise, Mr Holmes,’ said Janvier. He turned and placed a hand on a single, closed door at the end of the hall. It was locked and he felt in his pocket for the keys.