“He didn’t say.”
“I’ll start there.” Quincannon jammed his derby down so hard on his head that the brim blocked his vision momentarily. When he adjusted it upward, he saw that Sabina was putting on her hat as well.
“I’m going with you,” she said.
“No, you’re not-”
“Yes, I am. To forestall any mayhem you may be contemplating, if for no other reason.”
An owl-eyed housekeeper opened the front door of Dr. Caleb Axminster’s Russian Hill home and announced that the doctor had not yet returned from his surgery. From behind her, somewhere inside, Quincannon could hear the cheerful, somewhat fantastic plucking of violin strings-no melody he had ever heard before or wanted to hear again. It only served to start his blood boiling again.
He said, “It’s that blasted … it’s Sherlock Holmes we’ve come to see.” He handed the housekeeper his card, and she carried it and his and Sabina’s names away with her. Soon the violin grew silent, and shortly after that the housekeeper returned to usher them into a sitting room off the main parlor.
The Englishman, sprawled comfortably in an armchair, his violin and bow now on a table beside him, greeted them effusively. “Well, my esteemed colleagues, I must say I’m glad you’ve come. I intended to call on you at your rooms later this evening, Quincannon. Now you’ve saved me the trouble.”
“How do you know where I live?”
Holmes smiled his enigmatic smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? You have news? Located your pannyman, perchance?”
Quincannon glowered at him in silence. Sabina said, “Located and arrested Dodger Brown, yes. And recovered the burglary loot.”
“My dear Quincannon, you surpass yourself!” Holmes assumed a sly expression. “And did he confess to the murder of Andrew Costain?”
Sabina shook her head. “No, because he’s not guilty of it. It was someone else who broke into the house and fired the shot.”
“Yes, I know.”
Quincannon growled, “You know, do you?”
“Oh, yes. Broke in, rifled the fellow’s strongbox, shot him, and then apparently vanished into thin air.”
“And you claim to know how that was accomplished, and the name of the guilty party.”
“Of course. Surely you do, too?”
“For some time now,” Quincannon lied.
“Splendid. Elementary, wasn’t it?”
Elementary. Quincannon’s basilisk gaze left the Englishman’s, slid down to his scrawny neck-a sight that made his fingers twitch. “Let’s have your theory, if you’re so all-fired sure of yourself.”
“I shall be delighted-though it’s not a theory, but certain fact. I expect you’ve arrived at the identical solution. By utilizing the same deductive methods, I wonder, or ones slightly different? It will be most interesting to compare notes, eh? Most interesting indeed.”
“The devil it will. Mrs. Carpenter tells me you plan to arrange a meeting to reveal what you claim to know.”
“Yes. Tomorrow, perhaps at the Hall of Justice. I deduce from your expression that you don’t approve?”
“I not only disapprove, I demand that you scrap the notion.”
“But why, my good fellow?” Holmes asked. “Surely you wish to have the matter resolved as quickly as possible. Mrs. Carpenter indicated as much during our talk earlier.”
“Yes, but by us as the consulting detectives, not by you. You have no right to arrange anything. You no longer work for our agency. You are nothing but a confounded-”
Sabina nudged him sharply with her elbow.
“-interloper. When arrangements are ready to be made, I’ll make them. Is that understood?”
“My intentions all along have been to aid, not hinder, your investigations. After all, I, too, am a skilled detective, if temporarily retired from the profession.”
Quincannon growled, “You’ll be permanently retired if you don’t do as I say.”
The Englishman essayed a languid shrug. “As you wish. With one caveat-that I am permitted to attend the gathering whenever and wherever it takes place.”
“Oh, you’ll be invited, never fear. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Sabina nudged him again. “We wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Excellent. I look forward to the, ah, unveiling with great anticipation.” He beamed at her, at Quincannon, and then reached for his violin and bow. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I feel the need to resume playing. Mendelssohn’s violin concerto in E minor helps to relax me after a strenuous day, though I must confess I prefer the effects of a seven percent solution. Dr. Axminster, however, has rather uncharitably asked that I not indulge my harmless habit while a guest in his home.”
The bughouse Sherlock picked up the instrument and began sawing on it. Quincannon caught hold of Sabina’s elbow and ushered her quickly out of the room; if he’d tarried, he might have given in to the impulse to create a collision between the violin and the Englishman’s skull.
26
SABINA
In the hack as it rattled away from the Axminster home, Sabina said, “Well, John?”
“Well what?”
“Is what you told Holmes the truth? Do you know the who, why, and how of the Costain homicide?”
“Do you believe he does?” John countered.
“At the least, he has a viable theory. He wouldn’t have suggested a meeting of the principals if he didn’t.”
“Bah. He’s mad as a barn owl.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“Of course I know the who, why, and how,” John said testily, but without quite meeting her eye. “Even if that pompous, preening, presumptuous popinjay has a glimmering of the truth, do you suppose I’ll allow him to outshine me in front of our client?”
“Then tell me what you suspect. Who killed Costain and how was the escape from the sealed house managed? And in what way is Clara Wilds’s murder connected?”
“All will become clear tomorrow.”
“You’re being as evasive as Holmes.”
He made grumbling noises in his beard and lapsed into a brooding silence.
Sabina sighed. There were times when her partner was a heavy cross to bear. If he would trust in her, and in turn listen to her suspicions, of which she had more than a few, they could work together to clarify the details of the affair. But no, his pride and his conceit were too great, as was his passion for drama; he was as much a glory hound as the Englishman professed to be. He did not have all the answers now, she was sure of that, but expected to by morning and without any assistance from her. Perhaps he would succeed-he had before. He had also failed before, and if that happened in this case, he would bluster and make excuses and do whatever else he deemed necessary to save face.
Well, she could play the same closemouthed game herself. If the fancied Mr. Holmes had in fact arrived at the truth through observation and deduction, and if John expected to by morning, then there was no reason why she couldn’t do the same.
The coach clattered along the cobblestones, heading downtown. Sabina hadn’t heard the directions John had given the driver, and she broke the silence by asking, “Where are we bound?”
“You’re going home. I have an errand to attend to.”
“What sort of errand?”
“For the nonce that’s my concern.”
The remark roused her ire. She stamped her foot, and said sharply, “I will not be treated like a minion! You refuse to confide in me-very well, that’s your privilege, but only up to a point. I’m as deeply involved as you are, and that means I have a right to know what you’re up to if it’s pertinent. Is it?”
“… Perhaps.”
“Your errand, then?”
“If you must know, a visit to Geary Street.”
“Andrew Costain’s law offices?”
“Yes.”
“In search of what?”
“Proof to support my deductions.”
Or to stimulate them. “The offices will surely be locked. Do you intend to break and enter?”