‘One of the cabinet doors opened as I was walking past,’ Sherlock said wearily. ‘The glass smashed. I got cut. Who do I report this to?’
‘Report it to?’ the guard parroted.
‘Yes. I was injured. Who do I see for compensation?’
The guard stood back, nonplussed. ‘I suppose you see the manager,’ he said, considerably more calm than moments before.
‘Where can I find him?’
‘In his office. Just between the baboons and the hooved ungulates.’
‘Thank you.’ And with all the dignity he could muster, Sherlock left.
He strode back through the various galleries, heading for the main entrance. He had to find Amyus Crowe and tell him what had happened. Assuming, of course, that Crowe hadn’t fallen foul of some other form of attack.
He found Crowe in a small tea shop that was located on the other side of the main staircase. He was perched on a white-painted wrought iron chair, sipping from a china cup that looked like something from a doll’s house in his massive hands. Fake tree branches had been built out of the wall in plaster and covered with fabric leaves, and stuffed parrots and birds of paradise had been artfully placed amongst them. Their brilliant green, red, blue and yellow plumage shone like jewels. The tea shop was almost empty, apart from a man sitting by himself in a corner, reading a newspaper, and two elderly women nattering by a window. A young man wearing black trousers and a striped waistcoat moved among the tables, wiping barely perceptible crumbs from the tablecloths.
‘You look as if you could sink a slice of Battenberg cake,’ Crowe observed mildly, taking in Sherlock’s appearance with a swift up-and-down glance. And maybe ah could stretch to a lemonade as well.’
‘Don’t you want to know what happened?’ Sherlock groaned, slumping into a chair on the other side of the table.
‘Ah can tell most of the story just by lookin’ at you,’ Crowe rejoined. ‘You were attacked, an’ by some kind of animal, far as ah can tell. You got the better of it, but you took some damage. What was it?’ He paused. ‘No, don’t tell me.’ He frowned. ‘A bird? An eagle? No, too small. A falcon, ah guess, by the size of the tears in your clothes.’
‘I was in the birds of prey section, and I was attacked by a bird of prey.’
‘Not a stuffed one, ah presume.’
‘A real one,’ Sherlock snapped tetchily.
‘Of course,’ Crowe rumbled amiably. ‘Ah was just joshin’ with you.’
Sherlock took a closer look at his mentor. Crowe’s usually immaculate white suit looked creased around the lapels, as if someone had caught hold of them and tugged, and a button was missing from the left cuff. His hair was disarrayed, as if he had been caught in a sudden wind. ‘You don’t look too hot yourself,’ Sherlock said. ‘What happened?’
Crowe grimaced. Ah was wonderin’ if you’d spot anythin’. Ah found a door that led to some offices, an’ ah was checkin’ behind the scenes. Ah had a story ready prepared – ah was goin’ to say that ah was lookin’ for a restroom – but rather than ask me some pointed questions about my presence someone tried to cosh me from behind. Fortunately ah saw their shadow as they were swingin’ at me, an’ ah managed to duck just in time. There was somethin’ of a scuffle, durin’ which ah got swung into a door frame, but my attacker must have decided that once the element of surprise had gone ah wasn’t goin’ to be a pushover, so he retreated while ah was tryin’ to gather my wits.’ He snorted. ‘Apart from the fact that my attacker was male, large and rather well versed in usin’ a cosh, ah couldn’t tell you much about him.’
‘So we were both attacked,’ Sherlock said. ‘That implies we’re on the right track.’
‘Ah wasn’t sure if the attack on me was connected to our investigation, or whether it was just a simple muggin’ gone wrong, but in conjunction with the attack on you, we have to assume that we’ve been rumbled.’
Sherlock looked around. ‘Do you think we’re being watched now?’
Crowe nodded. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me.’ He glanced around the room, at the man who was reading a newspaper, the two gossiping women and the waiter in the striped waistcoat. ‘Prob’ly not by any of the patrons of this fine establishment, though. Not sure about the chap in the fancy clothes who takes the orders.’
‘The thing is, I didn’t find anything out,’ Sherlock said. ‘Nothing of interest, anyway.’
‘You may be surprised,’ Crowe said. ‘Knowin’ you as ah do, ah like to think that you picked up some small details along the way that might help us.’
‘Did you find anything out? Before you were attacked?’
Crowe shrugged. ‘Ah had a good look around, includin’ some areas that maybe the public aren’t supposed to be allowed in, but ah have to admit that ah’ve come up blank. If there’s anythin’ goin’ on here then ah missed the signs.’
‘Do we know enough to report this to the police?’ Sherlock asked. ‘We can’t investigate this place ourselves. Not now the Paradol Chamber know we’re here.’
Crowe nodded. ‘Both of us have been attacked. That’s good enough reason to get the police involved, an’ if we’re lucky they’ll find somethin’ incriminatin’ while they’re searchin’ the place for our attackers.’ He slammed his hand decisively on the table, making his teacup rattle against the saucer. ‘We might just have them!’
He sprang to his feet. ‘You’re goin’ to have to miss out on that Battenberg cake,’ he announced. ‘Let’s go back to Bow Street Police Station an’ make a formal complaint.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘Mr Crowe,’ Sherlock asked, ‘what’s happened to my brother. What’s happened to Mycroft?’
It was the morning after their adventure at the museum, and they were sitting at a breakfast table at the Sarbonnier Hotel, where Sherlock had stayed the last time he had visited London. Crowe had got up and left before Sherlock woke up, but as Sherlock came down for breakfast he was just re-entering the hotel.
‘The good news is that he’s been released on bail,’ Crowe replied.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that someone – in this case, the Diogenes Club – has stumped up some cash which has been deposited with the court. The court decides on the amount that needs to be deposited, an’ they make that decision based on how big a sum would dissuade a suspect from abscondin’. If your brother disappears before the trial – if there is a trial – then that money is forfeit.’ He laughed. ‘After all, if it only took five shillings to get out on bail, every criminal with a bit of cash would be out within half an hour, and most of them would go straight on the run.’
‘How much did it cost to get Mycroft out on bail?’
‘Ah believe the sum mentioned was five thousand pounds.’
Sherlock winced. ‘So where is Mycroft now?’
‘He’s in discussions with his solicitor, over a large breakfast at the Diogenes Club. Ah sent him a telegram telling him that you were safe, and that we would be here at the Sarbonnier. He may join us later.’
‘How did the Diogenes Club come up with the cash?’ Sherlock asked.
‘They apparently have a fund which members pay into which enables them to get legal advice and assistance.’ Crowe’s expression turned broody. ‘Strangely, ah don’t see his employers helpin’ out much. They’re maintainin’ a strict silence over the whole affair. Ah suppose they don’t want to be seen to be interferin’, bein’ part of the Government an’ therefore linked to the police force.’
Sherlock considered for a moment. ‘But that man we found – the one who attacked me under Waterloo Station. He admitted that Mycroft was set up. Someone else committed the murder.’
‘That’s a fact, but it’ll take the police a while to collect the evidence which clears your brother. The important thing is that the Diogenes Club’s solicitor can point them in the right direction.’ Crowe frowned. ‘What concerns me now is that the people who framed Mr Holmes are still out there, an’ we don’t know what their motives are or what they might try next.’