The man with the scar had a knife in his hand, the partner of the one that had narrowly missed us earlier. He spun it in his hand, letting blade revolve after hilt like a deadly carriage wheel.
“Lost them,” said the dapper fellow.
“You give up too easily,” said his scarred comrade, and I noted the German accent as predicted by Holmes. “They must be hiding close by.”
“Probably.” The other man was struggling to catch his breath. “But I’m in no mood to keep chasing them. I’m not paid to run around the docks all night.”
“Lazy.”
The dapper man fixed his comrade with a mean-spirited glare. “Keep a civil tongue, Klaus,” he said. “I’m not beyond beating a bit of respect out of you should it be necessary.”
Klaus smiled and, thanks to the scar, it twisted all of his features out of kilter. It was as if a painter had swept his hand across the face of a still-wet portrait. “You don’t want to pick a fight with me, Martin, I’ll cut your pretty face off.”
“Like someone once tried to do to yours?”
“Oh no,” said Klaus, running the tip of his knife along the thick ridge of his scar, “this was me. I get bored sometimes.”
Martin shook his head. “The people I have to work with.” He reached into his pocket and removed a silver cigarette case. Taking out a cigarette, he tapped it affectedly on the case, placed it between his lips and then replaced the case in his pocket. From a different pocket he removed a box of matches, lit the cigarette and exhaled a large, blue cloud of smoke. The whole business was so theatrical and affected, clearly designed to show Klaus how singularly unconcerned he was at the man’s threats.
“Let’s go and see Kane,” he said after another draw on his cigarette. “We’ll tell him that someone was asking after him.”
“And admit we lost them?”
Martin shrugged. “I’m not ashamed of it. They obviously knew where they were going. He doesn’t pay me to run around the streets all night.”
“Fine. Then you will tell him who it was that decided they not bothered to find them.” Klaus wore his accent like a badge, a brutal club to beat his grammar with.
Martin resorted to showmanship again, tossing his half-smoked cigarette at Klaus’ feet before pushing past him and walking off along the quay. “All right then,” he shouted back. “I will.”
Klaus ground the cigarette beneath his boot with far more violence than the job warranted, and followed on behind.
Holmes waited a moment longer and then whispered in my ear. “Now we have someone who can lead us to wherever this Kane fellow conducts his business,” he said. “Far more useful than a pair of crooks with one of your bullets in them, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” I sighed. “If someone had seen fit to tell me what the plan was in the first place …”
“I’ve already told you,” said Holmes, “no explanations, you can follow at your own pace.”
He slipped out from behind the crates and began following Klaus and Martin, keeping to the shadows.
Restraining the urge to shoot him myself, I did likewise.
There was something to be said for Martin’s insufferable ego—it made him an easy man to follow. He walked with confidence and swagger, never once feeling the need to check for others around him. He was the only important man in his world. He was an idiot. This fact was not lost on Klaus but he was clearly so angry at his colleague that he was also distracted from the path of common sense. Following them along the quayside was unproblematic, and when they came to the side door of a large warehouse, we hung back and watched as they stepped inside.
“It would appear Kane has a sizeable central office,” I said, glancing up at the building. “For a new organisation, he’s doing rather well.”
“Isn’t he,” agreed Holmes.
According to the large, white letters painted on the side of the building, it belonged to E.C. Kenton & Waldemar, who offered “Animal Feed and Farming Supplies”—all suitably innocuous.
“Shall we?” asked Holmes, strolling up to the door.
I took my revolver out of my pocket and we made to step inside.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I pushed past Holmes into the doorway, determined that, if one of us should be poking his nose into the unknown, there should be a loaded firearm nearby in order to stop it being, as it were, cut off.
I could hear the retreating footsteps of Klaus and Martin, though it was so dark inside I could see nothing. There was a thick, sweet smell of grain and the ground underfoot was slightly sticky as we stepped inside and closed the door behind us.
Slowly our eyes grew accustomed to the darkness; the faint light offered through the skylights above was enough for us to get an idea of our surroundings. The open space of the warehouse was filled with stacked crates and sacks, row after row of them. Holmes climbed up the closest stack and burrowed beneath the tarpaulin. I heard him draw out a pocket knife and tear at the sack underneath. After a moment he reappeared.
“As far as I can tell,” he explained, “it’s nothing more than grain.”
“Hardly criminal.”
He looked around. “Who knows how much of this is just window-dressing?” he said. “Perhaps Messrs Kenton and Waldemar do indeed deal in animal food, with Kane working under their innocuous cover.”
He jumped down and we made our way after Klaus and Martin.
Towards the rear of the warehouse, Holmes bid me to stop as he craned to listen. Just ahead of us there was a rattle of metal and the sound of something being dragged across the floor. We could hear rushing water, accompanied by the sound of Klaus and Martin struggling. Moving closer we saw them, lit by a lantern in Martin’s hand, descending through a hole in the ground.
“I hate this,” Martin moaned. “Why I can’t work for someone who conducts business where it’s dry and clean is beyond me. Have you seen the state of the walkway down there?” He looked up at Klaus. “What am I asking? You probably feel right at home.”
Klaus nudged the man with his toe. “Keep with the talk pretty boy, I’ll send you for a swim down there. Let you float to the river with the rest of the filth.”
Martin paused in his climb down to stare back up at the German. “I have a feeling the two of us aren’t going to work well together,” he said. “I just can’t imagine I won’t end up killing you before the week is out.”
“You make big promise,” said Klaus, mangling his English more than ever.
Martin disappeared and, with a low growl like an irritated dog’s, Klaus followed on after him.
“What charming fellows,” muttered Holmes. “I might advise Kane that he would achieve a great deal more if he could only keep his staff in line.”
“Seems to me he’s doing all right,” I said. “Though, on reflection, I would aspire to a lair located somewhere other than a sewer.”
“Perfect place if you can tolerate the smell,” Holmes replied. “A whole city could be hidden beneath our feet, with invisible access to all parts of the metropolis.”
“All well and good until you die of cholera.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Holmes moved over to the grating which Klaus had slid back into place behind him. “I suggest we give them a few more moments to get clear,” he said. “I am more than capable of following their trail after all. It wouldn’t do to bump into them.”