"They commonly are," Walton added with more than a hint of smugness.
Athelstan Helms allowed himself the barest hint of a smile. "Those who fail are seldom chronicled--the mobile vulgus clamors after success, and nothing less will do. A pity, that, when failure so often proves more instructive."
"My failure to publish accounts of your failures has been more instructive than I wish it were," Walton said feelingly.
"Let us hope that will not be the case here, then," Helms said. "Onward!--the plot thickens."
Dr. Walton was not particularly surprised to discover Sergeant Karpinski standing on the sidewalk outside the House of Universal Devotion. "We went in there, too," Karpinski said. "We didn't find anything worth knowing. You?"
"Our investigation continues." Helms' voice was bland. "When we have conclusions to impart, you may rest assured that you will be among the first to hear them."
"And what exactly does that mean?" the sergeant asked.
"What it says," the detective replied. "Not a word more; not a word less."
"If you think you can go poking your nose into our affairs, sir, without so much as a by-your-leave--"
"If Mr. Helms believes that, Sergeant, he's bloody well right," Dr. Walton broke in. "He--and I--are in your hole of a town, in your hole of a country, at the express invitation of Inspector La Strada. Without it, believe me, we should never have come. But we will thank you not to interfere with our performing our duties in the manner we see fit. Good day."
Sergeant Karpinski's countenance was eloquent of discontent. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then, shaking his head, walked off with whatever answer he might have given still suppressed.
"Pigheaded Polack," Walton muttered.
"You did not endear yourself to him," Helms said. "The unvarnished truth is seldom palatable--though I doubt whether any varnish would have made your comments appetizing."
"Too bad," the good doctor said, and, if an intensifying participle found its way into his diction, it need not be recorded here.
"I wonder what la Strada will say when word of this gets back to him, as it surely will," Helms remarked.
"The worst he can do is expel us, in which case I shall say, 'Thank you,'" Dr. Watson answered.
"I hope that is the worst he can do to us," Helms said.
"He cannot claim we shot Benjamin Morris: we have witnesses to the contrary," Walton said. "Neither can he claim we shot any of the others whom he alleges the House of Universal Devotion slew: we were safely back in England then. And the sooner we are safely back in England once more, the happier I shall be. Of that you may rest assured."
"I begin to feel the same way," Helms replied. "Nevertheless, we are here, and we must persevere. Onward, I say!"
Their course intersected with that of the police on several more occasions. Thetford's self-declared finest eyed them as if they were vultures at a feast. "I do believe we shall be hard pressed to come by any further information from official sources," Helms said.
"Brilliant deduction!" Dr. Walton said. One of Athelstan Helms' elegant eyebrows rose. Surely the good doctor could not be displaying an ironical side? Surely not...
Gun shops flourished in Thetford. They sold all manner of shotguns and rifles for hunting. That made a certain amount of sense to Walton; the countryside surrounding the city was far wilder than any English woods. Despite the almost certain extinction of honkers, other native birds still thrived there, as did turkeys imported from Terranova and deer and wild boar and foxes brought across the sea from the British Isles and Europe.
The gun shops also sold an even greater profusion of pistols: everything from a derringer small enough to be concealed in a fancy belt buckle to pistols that Dr. Walton, a large, solidly made man, would not have cared to fire two-handed, let alone with only one. "Something like that," he said, pointing to one in the window, "you're better off clouting the other bloke in the head with it. That'd put the quietus on him, by Jove!"
"I daresay," Helms replied, and then surprised his friend by going into the shop.
"Help you with something?" asked the proprietor, a wizened little man in a green eyeshade who looked more like a pawnbroker than the bluff, hearty sort one might expect to run such an establishment.
"If you would be so kind," Helms said. "I'd like to see a police pistol, if you please."
"A .465 Manstopper?" the proprietor said. Walton thought the pistol had an alarmingly forthright name. The man produced one: a sturdy revolver, if not quite so gargantuan as some of the weapons civilians here seemed to carry.
Athelstan Helms broke it down and reassembled it with a practiced ease that made the proprietor eye him with more respect than he'd shown hitherto. "A well-made weapon, sure enough," Helms said. "The action seems a bit stiff, but only a bit. And the ammunition?"
"How keen on getting rid of fouling are you?" the gunshop owner asked.
"When necessary, of course," Helms replied. "I am not averse to reducing the necessity as much as possible."
"Sensible fellow." The proprietor produced a gaudily printed cardboard box holding twenty-five rounds. "These are the cartridges the police use. Sell you this and the pistol for thirteen eagles twenty-five cents."
Dr. Walton expected Helms to decline, perhaps with scorn. Instead, the detective took from his pocket a medium-sized gold coin, three large silver ones, and one medium-sized silver one. "Here you are, and I thank you very much."
"Thank you." The proprietor stowed the money in a cash box. "You'll get good use from that pistol, if you ever need it."
"Oh, I expect I shall," Athelstan Helms replied. "Yes, I expect I shall."
"I say, Helms--this is extraordinary. Most extraordinary. Not your usual way of doing business at all," Dr. Walton said, more than a little disapproval in his voice.
"Really?" Helms said. "How is it different?"
Walton opened his mouth for a blistering reply, then shut it again. When he did speak, it was in accusing tones: "You're having me on."
"Am I?" Helms might have been innocence personified but for the hint of a twinkle in his eye and but for the setting: a large lecture hall at Bronvard University, the oldest in Atlantis, a few miles outside of Hanover. The hall was packed with reporters from the capital and from other Atlantean towns with newspapers that maintained bureaus there. Rain poured down outside. The air smelled of wool from the reporters' suits and of the cheap tobacco they smoked in extravagant quantities.
In the middle of the mob of newspapermen sat Inspector La Strada. He stared ruefully at the remains of his bumbershoot, which had blown inside out. Water dripped from the end of his nose; he resembled nothing so much as a drowned ferret.
"Shall we get on with it?" Walton inquired. At Helms' nod, the good doctor took his place behind the lectern more commonly used for disquisitions on chemistry, perhaps, or on the uses of the ablative absolute in Latin. "Gentlemen of the press, I have the high honor and distinct privilege of presenting to you the greatest detective of the modern age, my colleague and, I am lucky enough to say, my particular friend, Mr. Athelstan Helms. He will discuss with you the results of his investigations into the murders of certain opponents of the House of Universal Devotion and of Mr. Samuel Jones, otherwise known as the Preacher, and especially of his investigation into the untimely demise of Mr. Benjamin Morris in Thetford not long ago. Helms?"
"Thank you, Dr. Walton." Helms replaced his fellow Englishman behind the lectern. "I should like to make some prefatory remarks before explicating the solution I believe to be true. First and foremost, I should like to state for the record that I am not now a member of the House of Universal Devotion, nor have I ever been. I consider the House's theology to be erroneous, improbable, and misguided in every particular. Only in a land where democracy flourishes to the point of making every man's judgment as good as another's, wisdom, knowledge, and experience notwithstanding, could such an abortion of a cult come into being and, worse, thrive."