I had heard that tone of voice before, on occasions when her reiterated query as to whether I was satisfied with my solution had sent me scrambling for my error before she came down on me like a barbed whip. Holmes either did not perceive the threat or chose to ignore it. "Miss Donleavy, I — "
The gunshot exploded into the closed room at the same instant that something tugged gently at my upper arm and a piece of equipment disintegrated noisily on a shelf next to the door, and I just had time to hope fervently that
Mrs. Hudson would not be brought in by the noise when the pain flared. Holmes heard my gasp and turned to me as I clamped my left hand over the wound.
"Russell, are you — "
"She is fine, my dear Sherlock, and I suggest that you sit quietly or soon she will not be at all fine. Thank you.
I assure you that I hit precisely what I intend to hit with this gun. I do nothing by halves, and that includes target practice. And incidentally, you need not worry that your guard will interrupt us this evening; he and Mrs. Hudson are both sleeping very soundly. Now, take your hand away, my dear, and let us see how much you are bleeding. You see? Barely a nick. A pretty shot, I think you'll agree. You know," she said in another voice entirely, that of a woman of reason and compassion, "I am really terribly sorry that I had to do that to you, Miss Russell. I hope you realise that I am not in the habit of shooting my pupils." Her voice tried to coax a smile from me, and the terrible thing was, despite the looming panic and shock, I wanted to give it to her. Wanted to trust her.
"Now, Sherlock, my dear, to return to the topic.
What was it you were about to call me?" she said in mock coquetry.
Her voice set my skin to crawling. The surface was light mischief, but just below lay threat and contemptuous laughter and another thing that took me a minute to recognise: a coarse, sly tone of intimacy and seduction from a female completely sure of her power. It made me want to vomit, and then it began to make me angry. With the anger grew control. "I am waiting, Sherlock." The gun jiggled slightly on her knee.
Holmes' response landed in the room like a glob of spit.
"Patricia."
"That's better. We need to work on the intonation, but that will come. As I was saying, I feel that I know you very, very well by now. Do you realise that you have been my hobby since I was eighteen? Yes, quite some time now.
I was in New York. My mother was dying, and in the newsstand outside the hospital I saw a copy of a journal with your picture on the front, and inside a story of how you had not died, but how instead you had murdered my father.
It took my mother a long time to die, and I had many hours to think about how I should meet you one day. I inherited my father's business, you know, though I was really more interested in pure mathematics than the organisation.
It ran itself, really, while I went to school. My managers were very loyal. Still are, for that matter. Most of them. They occasionally consulted me at University, but for the most part I would tell them what to do, and they would work out the how. Sometimes I made requests, which they carried out most efficiently."
"Such as the unfortunate accidents that befell two of the other tutors shortly before you were hired?" I blurted out, unthinkingly letting loose a snatch of remembered conversation. I felt Holmes tighten disapprovingly beside me, and kicked myself mentally for drawing her attention.
"So you heard about that, Miss Russell? Yes, unlucky, weren't they? Still, I had the job I wanted, the job my father had been cheated out of, and I could get on with my hobby. I collected every word written by or about you.
I even have an autographed copy of your monograph on bicycle tyres, one that you presented to the police commissioner.
I assure you, I value it more highly than he did.
Over the years I have learnt everything about you. I located three of your London hideaways, though I suspect there's at least one other. The one with the Vernet is quite nice," she said casually, "though the carpet leaves something to be desired." She waited for a reaction and, getting none, went on in irritation. "Billy was too easy to find, and following him that night you went to the opera was child's play. I had thought of using him against you, blackmailing him concerning certain incidents in his sister's past, but it seemed cheating somehow." Again the pause, again no response. "Yes, there is very little I do not know about you, Sherlock. I know about why Mrs. Hudson's son emigrated so hastily to Australia, about you and the Adler woman after my father's death, about the scar on your backside and how you came to have it. I even have a rather fetching photograph of you emerging from the steam rooms at the Turkish Bathhouse on — Ha! That reached you, didn't it?" she crowed at Holmes' faint exclamation and drove it home. "I even bought the farm up the hill from you several years ago, through an employee, of course, so I might look down upon you, even through your bedroom window."
However, Holmes had recovered from his lapse, and she abandoned the attempt to goad him.
"It took me five years to bring seven of my employees into the area, but I enjoyed every move. And then — oh, the delicious irony of it! — your Miss Russell came to me for tutoring. I could not have asked for a more perfect gift: my own intimate link with the mind of my father's murderer.
Had I taken up residence in the comer of your sitting room I could not have learnt more about you than I did from Miss Russell. It was truly delicious.
"During the summer holidays I generally spend time with the business, just to keep my hand in. This last summer we decided to follow up a rumour that an important American senator was about to place himself in a remote area, so we borrowed his daughter. As you know, we were not entirely successful, but imagine my pleasure when I realised that you too were on the same job, albeit from the other end. It was almost worth the failure, having that piquant extra, a chance to meet, as it were, to work together. From that fiasco came my plan. I decided to kidnap Miss Russell, take her to a place where you would not find her, and play with you, in public, over a prolonged period of time. I laid plans. I bought clothing for her in Liverpool — quite adequate clothing, you will agree, though I gather she did not make use of the things? Pity. One of my lighter-fingered employees removed a pair of shoes from her rooms, mostly to underline the parallelism of the two kidnap cases — ah, I see you missed that point. How disappointing.
I planned to take her at the end of term, so my absences might not cause undue comment."
It was extremely disconcerting, listening to her talk about me in this matter-of-fact manner, but I did not react.
I was disappearing from her sight now, becoming a third- person reference. My right arm throbbed, and the fingers of that hand were tingling mildly.
"Then in late October everything changed. My doctor told me that I should be dead in a year, and I was forced to review my plans. Did I truly want to embark on a complex and physically demanding project, one that might take six or eight months to do properly, and should involve regular travel to some godforsaken place like the Orkneys? I decided, reluctantly, to simplify matters. I could not bring myself to forego the pleasure of a cat-and-mouse game, but I decided at the end of it I should merely kill you all and have done with it. If I could make public your failure to escape me, so much the better. I had little to lose, after all.
"By the end of term everything was in place. I arranged my medical leave, from which I will not return, hired Mr. Dickson, and, just before I left Oxford, laid some of my father's mathematical exercises in front of Miss Russell.
The next few days were marvelous, they truly were, like a complex equation falling into place. I was, as I said, really most annoyed at Mr. Dickson for knocking you about so thoroughly, and had to delay Miss Russell's bomb for a day until I could be sure you were up to defusing it. Then I sat back to see which of your paths I would pick you up on first. I did not need Dr. Watson, though that was amusing, was it not? Doddering old fool. I had a boy watching your brother's rooms all day, and I knew you were there before you went through the door. The next day I gambled, after you succeeded in throwing off my men, but I put my money on Billy, and it paid off. He led us straight to you and carried on a tedious conversation with me until he fell asleep. I was sorry about your clothes, Miss Russell. They must have cost a goodly percentage of your allowance." "The money was mine, actually," Holmes volunteered.