“Tut, tut. It is knowledge I’m interested in, not sensation. In return, I offer the benefit of my experience in tracking down your pannyman and his ill-gotten gains.”
“The only experience I need to call on is my own. I have no intention-”
John broke off abruptly, and Sabina saw his expression alter and a wicked light brighten his hazel eyes. She knew that look all too well. It meant a devious notion had come to him and his wily brain was busy concocting mischief.
He said through a wolfish smile, “I had a message from Andrew Costain this morning requesting a meeting. I’ve just come from his offices.”
“Ah. A matter pertaining to the burglaries?”
“Yes. He’s afraid of being the burglar’s next victim and wants his home put under surveillance until the yegg is caught.”
Sabina said, “You didn’t accept?”
“I did, and why not? There is no conflict of interest in accepting payment from more than one client to perform the same task, as Costain himself pointed out.”
“Still, it’s not quite ethical.…”
“Ethics be damned. A fee is a fee for services rendered, and that includes providing peace of mind to nervous citizens. Eh, Holmes?”
“Indubitably.”
“We’re to begin tonight. Costain’s home is near South Park, not as large a property as banker Truesdale’s but nonetheless substantial, and with both front and rear entrances. I explained to the lawyer that proper surveillance will require two operatives, and he agreed to the extra fee.”
Now Sabina understood the nature of the mischief he’d hatched. She said his name warningly, but he pretended not to hear. He continued to address the Englishman.
“There are a number of operatives I could call upon, but I wonder, given your interest in this case and your eagerness to return to the game, if you might be willing to join me at the task?”
Another noxious cloud erupted from Holmes’s pipe. Sabina smothered a cough and turned her head toward the window for fresh air.
“Splendid suggestion!” Holmes said. “I would be honored. In return for my services, I ask only that you acquaint me with the Barbary Coast as you know it.”
“Agreed. You’ll see the Coast as few ever have.”
Holmes smiled.
John smiled.
Sabina grimaced.
The two men made arrangements to meet at Hoolihan’s Saloon at seven o’clock, after which Holmes finally departed. When she and John were alone, Sabina let her exasperation with his cavalier and less-than-scrupulous behavior bubble to the surface. “You’ve taken leave of your senses, John Quincannon. You’re as daft as the Englishman.”
“Daft? Sly as a fox, you mean. Now there’s no need to pay another operative for the work of an evening or two. Andrew Costain’s fees belong entirely to us.”
“Holmes only believes himself to be a trained detective. He could do more harm than good on a night’s surveillance.”
“Poppycock. I’ll see to it he doesn’t interfere if Dodger Brown comes skulking again tonight.”
“The way you didn’t let him interfere two nights ago?”
John looked pained. “That won’t happen again.”
“Don’t be too sure. Dodger Brown may be more dangerous than you think.”
“A scrawny yegg like him? Faugh.”
“Not only a yegg-possibly a murderer.”
“What’s that? Who would he have murdered?”
“Clara Wilds. I found her dead in her rooms earlier this afternoon. Stabbed in the throat with her hatpin.”
Quickly she related her activities of the day, ending with her discovery of the hiding place of the pickpocket’s spoils and her removal of them to the security of their office safe. John listened without interruption, tugging at his whiskers as he considered the news.
When she finished, he said, “Was there any evidence of who committed the deed?”
“None of a specific nature. But it could have been Dodger Brown.”
“Did you find anything to suggest he had been visiting Wilds in her rooms?”
“No.”
“None of the people you spoke to were able to verify whether or not she was still consorting with him?”
“Not willingly, at least.”
“Then he’s no more a suspect in her murder than anyone else.”
“Except that he does have brown hair,” Sabina said. “Do you recall if it’s fine and on the curly side?”
“I believe it is. We’ll know if he’s guilty when he’s found.”
“I take it you failed to get a line on his whereabouts?”
“In my rounds today, yes, but it’s only a matter of time. Ezra Bluefield agreed to put the word out on him.”
“I hope for your sake that it produces rapid results.”
John waved that away. “You were well advised to confiscate the swag from Clara Wilds’s crimes before the blue coats could steal it. Have you notified Charles Ackerman yet?”
“No, but I will soon. I haven’t had time to telephone for an appointment.”
“You don’t propose to tell him how and where you recovered the loot?”
“Of course not. I’ve no intention of mentioning Clara Wilds by name, or revealing the fact that she’s dead.”
“And the valuables?”
“I’ll return them to their rightful owners personally. Assuming I can identify what belongs to whom. There are some that are not on the lists of stolen items from the Chutes and Wilds’s other recent forays.”
“Let’s have a look.”
Sabina opened the safe and removed the valuables, though she left the roll of greenbacks in the drawer where she’d tucked it. John examined the silver money clip with a covetous eye. But even if she weren’t in the office with him, he would not have considered appropriating it; her partner sometimes walked the borderline between honesty and illegality, but a healthy contempt for crooks of all types was too strong for him to descend to their level. His greed, fortunately, was limited to money received for services rendered.
He sifted among the other items, then opened and looked inside Henry Holbrooke’s purse, as she’d known he would. “Empty,” he said. “Why did you bring the purse? It has no value.”
“Perhaps it does.”
“To the owner?”
“No. To the owner’s widow. Let me worry about this matter, John. You’d do well to keep your mind on Dodger Brown.”
15
SABINA
Before John left the office, she again argued against what he called his “evening’s entertainment with Mr. Sherlock Holmes.” To no avail. He could be infuriatingly stubborn when taken with one of his perverse notions, and this was such an instance. He simply refused to believe that using the Englishman as he was planning to do, for sport as well as for the saving of a few dollars, was both foolish and potentially dangerous.
She had learned ways to curb his more outrageous behavior, but they required considerable effort and guile and she reserved them for matters of greater importance than this. And yet, this was not necessarily a minor matter. If something went awry tonight, and serious mistakes were made and-God forbid-John or the Englishman or some innocent party were harmed, the agency’s reputation would be severely damaged. Carpenter and Quincannon, Professional Detective Services, was known for conducting successful investigations with discretion and a minimum of trouble and publicity. Employing a man whose faculties were suspect was a risky undertaking; if their important clients were to hear of it, some or all might decide to patronize another agency.
But it was too late now to renew her efforts to change his mind. She had several other items of business to occupy her time and her concerns. She would just have to hope for the best where John and the poor deluded Englishman were concerned.
Clara Wilds’s murder still troubled her. If Dodger Brown was the killer, he would bear the marks of Wilds’s nails when he was found and captured and a confession would be wrung from him as a result. But she was not convinced that he was guilty; there was no evidence that he was still consorting with Wilds, and the circumstances of the pickpocket’s death didn’t seem to fit either his nature or his past crimes.