The Further Adventure of The Master Thief
"It is not him!" exclaimed Holmes, suddenly. "Or, it wasn't him."
"What on earth are you talking about?" asked I, putting down the early morning edition of The Times, which I was engaged in reading, while Holmes was engaged behind me in the depths of a scientific study of some sort. He had dedicated a corner of his rooms with Bunsen burners, and bulb flasks and all sorts of other scientific paraphernalia pertaining toward chemistry and biology. It was much to the chagrin of his landlady Mrs. Hudson, and on more than one occasion had resulted in minor explosions. Indeed, a black stain upon the adjacent wall of this area marked these occasions.
"Arsène Lupin. The man we arrested for attempting to poison me and steal those loan documents. I do believe I was hasten in my conclusion. And since the man never denied or confirmed his identity, the conclusion went unchallenged."
"And how do you come to this conclusion now?" asked I.
"I have conducted a few interviews with the man and he seems to know little of Arsène's previous exploits, or, at least, was very vague with the details, he positively shuns the subject if I bring it up and he calls for an end to our visits. This and fingerprints. I am yet to prove it definitively, but it is only a question of time and a question of proof. Come here, look."
I tossed the paper aside and joined him at the desk, much intrigued by this idea of fingerprinting. And I now note Holmes had previously told me of this scientific study, in our failed adventure concerning the Eiffel tower. The science of it escaped me at the time and I had many doubts of its validity.
"See here, these ink imprints I have taken of the man's digits. Take note of the distinct semi circles and lines and patterns left in the ink. I have a basis for a match, all I need is to find some item on which Arsène has definitely left his fingers upon and a method upon which to uncover those marks. This was a distinct and pertinent problem that left itself unsolved for weeks. Until I realised the paintings and art works were perfect."
"Paintings and art works?" asked I.
"Yes, the ones he stole from the Marquis and, ever since, has been donating periodically to numerous museums and art galleries in and around London and some even further afield. I have been noting these incidents with some interest, they are most singular, as is our friend Arsène."
"Friend? The man is a criminal Holmes, he tried to kill you."
"A mere technicality. May I continue?" he asked wryly, and lit his pipe.
"Please."
"A most singular man, and a most singular thief. His motives do not merely concern themselves with the acquisition of wealth, but the redistribution of it. Perhaps he is some sort revolutionary, a socialist, or communist? Take this business with the Marquis's art collection. Although not all of the works are as yet accounted for, the vast majority are being donated, for no fee and no financial restitution on Arsène's part."
"A modern Robin Hood, perhaps?" I interrupted.
"Perhaps. And there is a distinct pattern to it. Near the beginning of every month three paintings are donated to the Tate National Gallery, in the second week of the month the Mussé D'Louvre, the third a small boutique gallery in Bruges and the fourth week he donates to a gallery in Berlin. The stories of these anonymous donations have been appearing in the small headlines of The Times for the past six months. 'Mystery man donates again' and such like. Most organised and most methodical and I believe it will be his undoing."
"I take it, you plan to track him down, perhaps confront the man in front of the Tate in a showy display of chivalry," I remarked, in a somewhat sarcastic fashion.
"Hardly," said Holmes and turned his attentions back to his studies and one of the smaller works of art from the Marquis' collection. I leaned over Holmes' shoulder, intrigued as to which painting he had acquired.
"How did you come about this painting?"
"The curator at the Tate has loaned it to me for a time. Please Watson, do stand back, you crowd my thoughts."
"Soz."
"Soz?"
"Yes, a northern English colloquialism I heard, I thought it was amusing."
"Mmm." Holmes said, arching his eye brow in a highly dubious expression. "Linguistics, not a field I have much interest in."
I turned and took my seat across the room leaving Holmes to his study but as I turned my shirt sleeve caught one of the many containers strewn about his desk. The white powder contained within fell upon the frame of the painting. Holmes growled aggressively at my clumsiness and was about to remonstrate with me but stopped upon noticing the picture frame, his eyes lit up with revelation and pounced upon the picture frame, where a small section was littered with the white powder.
"Holmes, I am sorry. I..."
"Shhh Watson." he then proceed to pick up a brush and delicately brushed at the frame. Using a magnifying glass he peered closer at the frame.
"My God, Watson I think you've solved my problem!"
"I have?"
"Yes, see here, the powder reveals the previously hidden patterns of prints upon the frame." Using the brush, he then proceeded to scatter a thin layer over the entire frame.
"Have you no regard for the art Holmes?"
"Not if it sacrifices a scientific discovery."
"But might you take the canvass out of the frame?" I suggested.
"Very reasonable, Watson. Now I must be left alone for the rest of the day." And taking this prompt I gathered by things, put on my coat and hat and made for the door. "This is a marvel. A singular marvel." I heard him say with wonder in his voice and spirit.
A few days later I was eating at one of London's finer restaurants with Mary, it was during the second course and Mary was laying out plans for our wedding in the most detailed of planning, I listened attentively offering my opinion when she asked for it, for weddings a a most feminine thing and while they ask for your unbiased opinion what they are really searching for is confirmation of their choices, the caveat being that this was Holmes' good view and not my own and I was inclined to agree with him. Suddenly Holmes charged into the restaurant and made haste to our table, the maître d' at his coat tails, fussing and protesting. At one point the small man managed to block Holmes' path to our table.
"Oh look, a pheasant! Holmes cried out and the maître d' glanced to where he was pointing, providing a momentary distraction Holmes slipped past him and joined our table.
"Watson you must come with me, quickly, a matter of grave importance has arisen. The game, as it were, is most definitely afoot. The trail begins."
I shifted my glance toward Mary, searching for her permission. She nodded at me with a smile. I gave the maitre d' a large tip as I passed him, following Holmes out of the restaurant and to an awaiting Hansom.
"So what new information do you have?" asked I as the Hansom rumbled its way through the London streets our destination as yet, unknown to me.
"No new information, I have merely formulated a plan based on old information. It is the first week of the month and if, Arsène Lupin is consistent in his plan he should be delivering one of his donations to the Tate very soon and there we will catch him, identify him and put him to England's good justice.
"Oh." said I, un-enthused.
"Is there a problem?"
"Well you indicated in the restaurant that this was a matter of grave importance."
"It is, it is."
"Well hardly, it seems you could do this job without the benefit of my presence. Have you informed the police?"
"Pah, they hate me, as you well know, this is a matter of independent inquiry. And donating a painting is, in and of itself, not illegal. We have to catch him in the act."
"So you... I mean we, mean to follow him indefinitely?"
"Such a lack of confidence, we will of course catch him. If it takes us to the ends of the earth." I tightened my brow with much cynicism, reluctant to express my opinion. I studied Holmes, he seemed to have withdrawn and his head was swaying in the most unnatural fashion, beads of sweat trickled against his brow. And suddenly something occurred to me.
"Have you been drinking Holmes?"
He batted the air with his hand, dismissing my inquiry.
"I must protest! There I was enjoying a perfectly good and pleasant evening with my fiancée and you extract me without any notice on a what I can only perceive as a wild goose chase."
"PAH!" exclaimed he, and his head came to rest against the window and I swear he dropped to sleep right in front of me, snoring like some Narwhal who has lost its tusk and isn't best pleased about it.
"Holmes!" shouted I, joining it with a smack at his shoulder. "We must get you home and to bed." I was about to instruct the driver to redirect our journey when Holmes with the most aggressive of countenance stopped me.
"No! We must continue. The waiting it wears on my spirits and I indulged myself. Go forth to the Tate, find a hidden spot, a bench of some fashion and wait. Like I have been doing, for a man with clothed canvasses under his arm. Please. I sacrificed my vigilance to come and get you. All is lost if we do not spot him and catch him."
Holmes slept on a park bench beside me while I kept watch with much wary paranoia for it felt like we were 'gentlemen of the road'. All night I waited there and watched as the sun cast its dawn light upon the area and in all that time there was no sign of Arsène Lupin or any man of any description with a canvass under his arm.
"This Arsène Lupin must have the most ardent of followers," I remarked when Holmes had regained himself. Holmes gave me a sharp look, pinching his eyebrows and staring at me with his most penetrating eyes. He remained steadfast in silence. "I theorise, but what manner of man would be willing to risk imprisonment and even after remaining silent to both your questions and those of the police. What I mean to ask is, if the man serving however many years in jail is not Arsène Lupin, then who is he?"
"Most thought provoking, Watson. Who is he indeed. Perhaps a confederate, perhaps he is being well compensated for his sacrifice. It leaves Arsène Lupin free to go about his business and the business of civilian life un-suspected, I wonder what value this man placed on his own freedom."
"How long is his sentence to be?" asked I.
"Five years, at the minimum."
"Such a large sacrifice, I hope the man is well compensated."
Then, out of the corner of my eye I saw a man adorned in a heavy great coat with the collar turned up to meet the brim of his hat and he was carrying none other than a number of squared and rectangular canvass' under his arm, wrapped in red cloth.
"There!" exclaimed I, pointing out the man to Holmes. I leapt to my feet with the intent of confronting the man, but Holmes, to my surprise wrenched me back. "But Holmes, he's right there."
"Not yet, Watson. We must stay back and follow him and thus he will lead us back to his base. It may not be Arsène himself, but another confederate in his employ. We can only pounce once we are sure of Arsène's identity."
I sat back upon the bench beside Holmes, who kept his eye trained on the man, I too watched him approach the entrance to the Louvre and go inside.
"Should we follow? We may loose his trail, say if he leaves through a back entrance or spends a time within the museum.
"No, no, have no fear, he will leave the way he came and promptly. Now fetch a Hansom, I feel we will have need of one."
"Whatever for?"
"To continue our pursuit of the man, see, the cab there he came from and will no doubt return to once his business in the Tate is dealt with."
"How do you know it's his cab?"
"Hansoms don't wait around after their job is done. They move on to the next fare. Unless they've been specifically requested to wait. See how the cab is waiting and refusing other fares," said he, pointing in the direction of the cab. "Therefore it is not unreasonable to assume the cab is his. This and the man's trajectory, leading away from the cab. And note the crest on the cab door, marking it as a cab from the North Lincolnshire region. One has to commission a cab to come this far. Simplicity itself."
The man did indeed conduct his business in quick fashion, left the Louvre, and crossed the courtyard back to the cab awaiting him. I hurried to find myself and Holmes a cab and paid the driver well over the standard fare and requested that he follow the Lincolnshire carriage.
We journeyed north through many a small town and village, at times the journey was rough going given the dirt tracks, farm and cobbled roads. All the while Holmes said little to nothing, sometimes dropping off to sleep, which astounded me given how much the cab was rolling, jerking and rumbling. After some hours the cab came to a halt and neither I nor Holmes had instructed the driver to do so.
"Why have we stopped?" asked I.
"Because he's stopped," replied the driver, plainly and pointed some distance ahead at the Lincolnshire horse and carriage our man had taken. Holmes exited the cab some moments later and observed the situation. Our man, still had his great coat collar turned up and the brim of his hat was lowered, further obscuring his identity as he walked through the mass of vehicles and people across the street toward a cafe.
"What do you make of the situation, Holmes?" I asked, somewhat bemused.
"This is Cambridge, is it not?"
"Yes. Why do you think he is stopping here, given the fact that we are in the Cambridge region and not North Lincolnshire."
"Well it is somewhat obvious isn't it, Watson?"
"It is?"
"Yes, given the establishment he is now entering."
"A cafe? What business would an art thief's confederate have in a Cambridge cafe?" said I and pondered the reasoning. A cold wind stirred and rustled leaves, the sounds of the busy township and it's people sang in the air and for the life of me I couldn't figure it out. Holmes smirked at me as he waited
"It isn't as complicated as It would appear."
"It isn't hmmm." I thought some more and Holmes lit a cigarette. After a brief time I came upon a conclusion, "Perhaps he is meeting with this Master thief to receive his payment."
"Perhaps, but I think you overthink the matter."
"Well damn and confound the business, Holmes what is it?
"Both our man and his driver are stopping for lunch. How about your good self, are you hungry?" I nodded. "Perhaps your brain and your deductive reasoning needs some good sustenance." He let out a laugh and bounded toward the cafe, our man had just entered. I followed feeling like the blundering fool. As we were about to enter I stopped Holmes as he pulled at the door.
"Is this advisable, won't we give ourselves away?"
"We might, but I don't think it likely, we are well out of London and I don't think he suspects he's being followed. I mean why would he? His activities are not of a criminal nature, after all. And if he challenges us, we can merely put it down to coincidence."
"Very well."
We took a table in a dark corner of the cafe, a table that allowed us with a good and a reasonably inconspicuous view of the man and his driver. And here, having taken off his great coat and hat, it allowed us our first good look at the man, all-be-it from a distance. He was the better side of his middle age and still had the air of enthusiastic youth about him. I made excuse to pass his table with the approval of Holmes and wishing to prove myself after my earlier blundering I made some observations to Holmes as we ate, a hearty Onion soup delicately flavoured with Dijon mustard and lemons along with some particularly fine baguettes.
"I believe the man was a miner or steel worker of some sort, and widowed and the father of a single daughter, six years old."
Holmes arched his eyebrow in that familiar fashion and with suspicious surprise. " Such precise conclusions, Watson how on earth did you come to them?" asked he.
"Well, while I was waiting to be served, I noticed the dirt under his finger nails and running in the grains and wrinkles of his hands and face, a particularly black kind of dirt, and while one might wash and keep oneself clean as much as one might, the years and months and days of going down into those pits and working amongst the dust and slag, it does leave its mark."
"Most impressive, Watson."
"And we find ourselves in northern England, well known for its heavy industry."
"And how do you conclude that the man is widowed?"
"He wears his wedding ring upon the forth finger of his right hand, not the left. Some widowers are known to do this in order to honour their deceased spouse. A rare practice, and an informal one at that."
"Astounding observations, Watson, simply astounding. And the daughter?"
"Well here you may be less impressed. I merely overheard him speak of her to his driver."
"No, no, no, observation includes all the senses, and listening is indeed a valid form of the art." He sipped at his soup and ate of the bread.
"Hmm it does seem or it would appear that our friend Arsène Lupin has employed this man to deliver the Marquis' paintings. And at quite the price, given his well tailored clothing and the expense of hiring a carriage to travel such a distance. And more so if Arsène is employing this gentleman to go to Paris, Berlin and Bruges."
"What are we to do once he arrives at his destination? Confront him? Perform some sort of citizen's arrest."
"Hardly. As I said previously he has done nothing remarkably criminal."
"But he has stolen paintings in his possession."
"Does he, Watson. Think man, think, before you speak. He has already delivered them and could quite easily claim ignorance concerning the stolen nature of the artworks. No, we shall merely confront him with the intent of gaining further information as to Arsène Lupin's location."
We finished dining, all the while casting observant glances toward our man and his driver at the opposite end of the cafe. On two separate occasions I caught his eye and feared that he may be growing suspicious of us as we were lingering in the cafe our meals finished waiting for the man to continue on his journey whereupon we would follow.
"It is something of a crude method," Holmes suddenly said.
"What is?"
"This tailing business. I think it might be more prudent and efficient. People do tend to realise they're being followed when they turn around and observe someone following them. They can't recognise if they're being followed if," he trailed off into silence.
"If? If what?
"If you get there first. Was there any indication of what town or village he might live in."
"None that I noticed."
"A shame. I suppose we shall have to continue in this crude fashion. Look alive, Watson, he's on the move." I began to climb out my chair. "Well wait for a time, we do not want to make ourselves completely obvious."
It was well into the early evening, when our man completed his journey and Holmes and myself found ourselves in the county of North Lincolnshire and the small town of Scunthorpe. The sun was setting on the horizon, providing something of a grim backdrop to the small lines of terrace housing and the unromantic triangular rooftops and those industrial turrets shooting up out of those grim houses and mining facilities toward the sky, smoke pouring from the tops. The air was acrid with smoke and the smell of heavy industry permeated the place, despite this the town and the community it fashioned was of a pleasant and cheery nature, people looked at us with smiles and friendly greetings and good morrows. I found it a little odd, but yet gave me a hearty feeling. Amongst these grim and sparse surroundings the people had found a way to lessen the blow. Set against the opulence and opportunity of London, the Londoners themselves would merely pass by without giving you a second glance.
We went immediately to our man's house. He lived on a small side street, and in a terrace house specifically built for the steel workers in the town. I stopped Holmes in the middle of the street.
"Holmes, surely we are not going to go right up to the man and ask him plainly and blankly."
"Yes." responded he in a matter of fact manner, as if there were no other alternative.
"But surely we could have done that back in London and saved ourselves a long haul and a long journey."
"Yes, but I needed to be sure of some details concerning the man, his identity and those details which you observed in the cafe back in Cambridge and he has fewer opportunities for escape."
"Good evening gentlemen, how can I help you?" said he, with flustered surprise after I had knocked upon his door.
"Yes, I... that is I mean we are looking for a man who goes by the name, Arsène Lupin." The man flinched at the name and then paused looking at both I and Holmes. When he settled his eyes upon Holmes I noted a faint glint of recognition in that look.
"No, sorry gentlemen I have never heard of him." He was about to close the door, but Holmes placed his foot in the threshold preventing him from doing so.
"That being the case might we come in and gain some warmth, it is late and we couldn't find any hotels in town. Surely it wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience?"
"I was about to put my daughter to bed and then retire myself, I've had a long day as you well know," replied he suggestively.
"Please, sir, I implore you." said Holmes, feigning a weak resolve and I suspect, playing into the man's sympathies. The man paused and then relinquished.
"Very well, but just for no more than an hour. Would you like some tea?" He stepped aside allowing us entry into his humble abode.
Holmes and I took a seat and here I had the chance to survey his house. I was surprised at its sparsity, for there wasn't a single personal touch in the entire room, no photographs, no souvenirs, no books, the room was perfectly functional and plain. It was as if the man had only lived here for a matter of weeks, yet there were no as yet unpacked boxes or suitcases indicating this suggestive new arrival. A peculiar oddity stood out amongst all this plainness, a candelabra sitting alone on a table near the fireplace.
"What is your name?" asked I, when he brought in the tea pot and cups.
"Christopherr Gaudin and you?"
"I am Dr. John Watson and this is my friend Sherlock Holmes." said I.
"Holmes? The detective from London? The gentleman detective?"
"The very same, how do you know of me?"
"I have read some of the Doctor's stories, you have become quite the legend and somewhat celebrated. I particularly enjoyed your second story, the one concerning the master thief."
"Well of course, and thank you. I hadn't realised the stories had reached this far north."
"Oh yes, I get a copy of The Strand magazine every month. I do so enjoy London and all its splendour. I hope to move there one day."
"What is stopping you?"
"I am without employment at the moment."
"You play yourself false, sir," said Holmes, in an indelicate fashion.
"Excuse me?" said he, most offended.
"I hardly think a man without employment could afford the service of a cab to take him all the way to London and back, when the cheaper option would be to take a train. And if my observations are correct, you had some business in London, and I believe you were employed or commissioned to do that business."
"I am without permanent employment." He paused and tears collected in his eyes and his countenance gave away his desperation and desperate circumstance. "I'm sorry gentlemen, I lied and you obviously have me at a disadvantage. I do indeed know who Arsène Lupin is, he is my employer, but you must understand and you must have mercy upon me, I am a man who has chanced upon hard times and sorrow, when this Arsène came with his offer of employment I could not turn it down. I did not know he was a criminal type. The man dressed as if he were a very refined gentleman. When I first happened upon him I thought he was one of the coal industry lords. And presented himself as such, he said he was the owner of the Aniche Mining Company. But he did not offer me a job in mining. But rather in one of delivery. He wanted me to delivery three paintings every week to four different galleries. The offer was undeniable, such money cannot be refused in my circumstances. I have the welfare and needs of my daughter to consider, as well as my own."
"Take heart, Mr. Gaudin, we are, after all, not acting in an official capacity and can, if we chose, not to report your activities to the police."
"Olly?" a voice interrupted from beyond the room and not a moment after his daughter entered, a happy smile upon her face and, of all things, a large cat clutched in her arms. Indeed the cat was so large she struggled to keep a hold of it, the thing was almost as big as the girl. "I found a cat, can I keep her." she said, ignoring our presence for the time being.
"Where on earth did you find it?"
"It crawled into my room just now. So can I keep her?"
"We'll decide in the morning. Say hello to the nice gentlemen. Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes"
"Hello," she said and stroked the cat, it purred and seemed quite comfortable in her arms despite the fact that it was precariously held.
"And do you know where your employer can be located? Perhaps if you gave us this information, any criminal charges that may arise against you might be ignored by the police and the courts."
"Yes, but this is only the address from where the paintings come. By special delivery, on the third of every month. The best I can tell it is a cider mill in Somerset, the village of West Quantoxhead. Beyond this I know very little."
"We thank you, Mr. Gaudin. And don't worry yourself too much you have done nothing illegal, it is Arsène Lupin that is at fault here." Holmes flashed a disapproving look toward me as we sat up. "We would be very grateful if you could recommend a hotel or bed and breakfast that we might stay the night in."
"Yes, Mrs. Bodin takes in temporary lodgers, but you'll have to get there quickly she closes up for the evening at eight. Here, the address."
He wrote it down and as he saw us out he gave us directions.
"Well that wasn't as hard as I was expecting," said I as we ventured out into the cold night air and walked along the small side streets.
"Indeed," replied Holmes. "One might say it was a little too easy. And one might also say it was a little too odd. And remarkable."
"Remarkable?"
"Yes. The lack of decor, apart from the Louis XV candelabra, the daughter and this address."
"Address?"
"The one in Somerset, doesn't it strike you as odd that Arsène's house is referenced as a cider mill? Those things are not much more than barns, hardly something one would reference in a mailing address, sure the actual house or the nearby post office would be referenced."
"And what peculiarity did you find about the daughter. To my mind she was lovely and most typical of a child."
"The name Olly. Why did she call him that? When his name is Christopher Gaudin."
"Perhaps just an affectionate nickname."
"Perhaps." said Holmes, deep in thought.
"And maybe the sparsity of his house could be reasoned by the sale of any personal belongings, belongings superfluous to his needs. He did say he had fallen on hard times."
"Perhaps," Holmes said again. "Perfectly reasonable assumptions." We remained quite and aside from checking ourselves in to Mrs. Bodin's comfortable lodgings we said nothing and parted company to our separate rooms.
The next morning we woke early, ate breakfast and were on our way to the train station, from where we would continue our journey in the hunt of Arsène Lupin and the county of Somerset. Even after our night's rest Holmes was in contemplative mood and like many a time before I could see the gears of his mind working, a delicate pendulum ticking over logic and reason. I knew better than to interrupt him or make any small talk, as it may interrupt these most valuable of reflections.
"If Duris is the Napoleon of crime then Arsène Lupin is the chameleon!" Holmes exclaimed suddenly and loudly, alerting our fellow passengers to their attention. Holmes shot up out of his seat, when is the next stop? What is the next stop?"
I fumbled for an answer as I had no clue.
"We must get back, as soon as we can."
"Why, Holmes, why?"
"There will be no Arsène Lupin in Somerset. We had him Watson, we had him. Damn my idle mind I should've connected the dots earlier, if not straight away, at least before we boarded this damn train."
"For heaven's sake Holmes, seen what?"
"The candelabra of course, the Louis XV, it is a genuine original, owned by the man himself and until a few weeks ago was in the collection of and English Lord, John Windsor. Arsène took it."
"But surely it might have been posted to Gaudin as part of their arrangement."
"No, no, he said he received a package at the beginning of the month, we are well into said month, meaning the candelabra was stolen after the paintings were sent. And could not have been part of the package. He had just returned from his final delivery, he didn't donate the candelabra, not that he could, for the item is well marked and the theft well publicised." He continued now pacing up and down the aisle in impatient agitation. "Coupled with the erroneous daughter and this erroneous Somerset address it can only mean that this Christopher Gaudin is Arsène Lupin and Arsène Lupin is Christopher Gaudin. One and the same."
I peered at him, highly dubious. "How can you be sure, his daughter is not his daughter?"
"A child typically refers to her father as Daddy or Dad or Father, not a nickname. And did you observe the child's night gown?"
"What of it?"
"It's typical of the clothing they use at orphanages, standard fare, to be sure. Plain, white, with the name of the orphanage stitched into the lapel. He must have adopted her for the purposes of going incognito and at the same time playing on sympathy. Oh he is very clever, to the untrained eye all this looks perfectly valid and with the passage of time, his story is well built. He must've moved in, gained a job and then purposefully lost it.
"This all seems very thin, Holmes. And speculative, at best."
"You will see Watson, my theory will be proven by the time we return, Lupin will have gone. I'd lay my career on it. If he is still there claiming to be this Christopher Gaudin then I will retire and never involve myself in detective work ever again."
"Did you get any sleep last night?" Asked I becoming quite concerned about Holmes's well being and mental state.
"Sleep, what do I need sleep for? We must get off this train."
"Holmes! Settle down."
"What?" he span around and glared at me. Following this I gestured toward the other passengers who were know looking our way due to Holmes's shouting, he was creating quite the disturbance. Holmes glanced around, looking eye to eye with each passenger, he adjusted his tie, composed himself, took a breath and sat down.
"What is the next stop? And how long till we reach it?" asked he, in a perfectly measured voice.
"Sheffield station. We should reach it in a matter of minutes, fifteen at most."
"Good, good," said Holmes, he was trying to remain calm, but his countenance displayed a certain subdued agitation. And it came to the fore once we reached the station, alighted and waited on the opposite platform. He paced up and down said platform most anxiously.
"Perhaps we could take a carriage back to Scunthorpe or hire a couple of bicycles."
"It wouldn't get us there any sooner, Holmes." responded I, looking up from the newspaper I was reading.
"Perhaps not but at least we would have control, rather than being left at the mercy of the train and its driver. What, for example, would happen if the train were delayed, it would take us even longer and thus, would allow one of the most unique and dangerous criminals of our time to escape."
"Dangerous, Holmes? To be sure the man is a criminal, but I hardly think the man as dangerous. He is merely a thief and if his previous behaviour is anything to go by, a rather generous and honourable thief."
"Honourable?"
"Yes, given the fact he has donated a large part of the Marquis's collection to museums and put them back in the public domain, this and he did pay Christopher a significant amount of money to deliver those paintings."
Holmes stopped his pacing and looked at me with the most penetrating stare, arching his right eyebrow as he did so.
"Is something the matter?"
"Then you do not believe my theory that Arsène Lupin is disguising himself as this downtrodden Christopher?"
"The theory has yet to be proven, Holmes. And as I said previously, I believe it is built on sand."
"Hmm, I find your lack of faith disturbing." He paused. "But you are entitled to your own opinion, I suppose. We shall soon see, either way. Where is this damn train?" said he, peering along the tracks.
"Please, sit down, be patient, Holmes." Holmes relinquished his anxious countenanced and sat beside me crossing one leg over the other. I resumed reading the Grand Écho du Nord, trying to ignore Holmes's crossed leg, bouncing up and down in fit of impatience as it was. It was a most welcome relief to my annoyance when I heard the steam engine chug its way along the tracks and arrive at the platform. We boarded and were on our way back to Scunthorpe. As soon as the train stopped, Holmes jumped off the train and charged onward. I was at apins to keep up with him such was his speed. Scunthorpe was full of afternoon activity, it's small markets were bustling and we pusshed our way through the crowds to the small side street and row of terrace houses, Mr. Gaudin and his daughter lived in. I stopped Holmes as he was about to knock upon the door.
"You're sure about this?" asked I. He peered at me.
"Of course. It matters little as I expect no answer. It took far too long for us to get back here. Arsène is probably aboard another train, headed to who knows where."
"Very well," said I and stepped aside. Holmes then knocked upon the door with such a force I thought he might break the thing. After a moment Gaudin himself answered and when he did, Holmes flinched with much confounded surprise.
"Gentlemen, nice to see you again, what can I help you with this time?"
"J'accuse." said Holmes in an overly dramatic fashion.
"Accuse me? Accuse me of what?"
"I applaud your wit and intelligence Monsieur Lupin, your design was most meticulous and well thought out."
"Excuse me? What are you talking about?"
"You are not who you claim to be, but are in fact, the infamous Arsène Lupin."
"Have you gone mad?" said Gaudin.
"No, no, quite sensible and calm."
"What on earth has led you to this conclusion?"
"Three points. Firstly, the name by which your daughter calls you, Olly, and not Father, or Dad and I put it to you that you've adopted her, or taken her in to cement your disguise as an ordinary man fallen on hard times. I noted with interest that her night gown bears the name of the orphanage from which you adopted her. And thirdly, the Louis the XV candelabra on your mantle. It was stolen, along with some other items, a month previously and while the police have yet to identify the thief, I conclude that it was you, Arsène Lupin, burglar, art thief, social revolutionary, the chameleon of crime."
The man raised his eye brows at Holmes's proclamations and took a moment. "Much as I respect you and your adventures Mr. Holmes, the conclusions you've drawn are completely erroneous. They can be explained very simply, please come inside."
Gaudin then proceeded to explain away Holmes's conclusions and produced identity papers to cement his identity, the name written on such was: Christopher Oliver Gaudin, which explained the nickname. It seemed when she was first learning to speak she found Christopher difficult to pronounce and instead called him by his middle name. The night gown was generously donated to him when he found himself in financial difficulty. And the candelabra was not an original Louis the XV but a copy and an item that had been handed down as a family heir loom. He had, had it evaluated some years ago after his mother passed on and discovered it to be a fake. But it had sentimental value to him.
Holmes sat quietly and flushed with embarrassment.
"We are sorry, Mr. Gaudin." I interjected after this time of stunned and awkward silence. "We shall not bother you a second longer." I got up, silently urging Holmes to do the same. And quickly, we left.
"On to Somerset then?" said I as we walked.
"Somerset?"
"Yes, since your suspicion that Gaudin was Lupin has been disproved I assume we are to continue on the trail."
"You assume incorrectly, Watson. I am a man of my word and I will hold true to it?"
I was momentarily confused. "What do you mean?"
"I believe I laid a promise on the line, back on the train. That if Gaudin was still at his house I would retire from my chosen profession. No, I shall return to London. If you feel you need to conclude the matter, do as you please."
"Surely not, this is your life's work, your obsession. I do not, can not, will not hold you to some idle promise made in the heat of the moment. I absolve you of it."
"Nevertheless I feel my abilities fail me. I have led you here and broken you away from Mary on a ridiculous wild ghost chase."
"Given the fact you haven't slept and that you have run yourself into the ground over this matter, you're entitled to make a few mistakes. After we have fully investigated, perhaps you should take a period of convalescence, in fact I insist upon it, as your doctor and as a concerned friend. That is, after we travel on to Somerset and this cider mill. I must insist that we see this thing to its end."
Holmes reluctantly agreed and we set forth once again by train to Somerset and the address Mr. Gaudin had given us. It was a long journey and Holmes caught up on some much needed rest while we travelled. Our arrival in West Quantoxhead happened upon the evening as we had to take a most convoluted of routes by varying different forms of transport and when we did arrive it felt like we had travelled to the end of the earth. The farm and the cider mill we arrived at was located atop a cliff and very near a lighthouse. One could see the vast expanse of sea and hear it's waves lap up against the rocks. We investigated the farm house and the mill, but all had been left abandoned and not merely because of the evening hour. The apple pulp in the mills had run to mold and spider webs covered the equipment, even the small farm house had run wild as well as the orchards there, overgrown with weeds as they were.
"Hmm, well he has definitely been here and it would appear he has either ran out of paintings or has moved them."
"Pardon?" said I.
"See here, the rectangular indents in the grown. I believe Arsène stockpiled the paintings here as part of his redistribution operation. Perhaps Gaudin managed to get word to him before we arrived."
"Perhaps."
With little left to conclude we left and sought out rooms for the night in a small local inn. There we inquired with the innkeeper.
"Aye, cider mill was bought up some a months ago. Some city gentleman gave Henry an obscene amount of money for it. Ain't seen the gentleman since and old Henry's gone off to explore the world. It ain't right it isn't. Least that's my opinion of the matter, leaving a good mill to run to moths and weeds. It just ain't right."
"Have you seen this gentleman at all, might you give us a description of the man?"
"Aye, seen him on a few occasions, but only at a distance mind. The man was tall and thin, always wore top hat and tails. The man moved nimble like and quick and only came by night-time hours, ne'er saw him in the day."
"And when did you last see him?"
"A week ago, brought a horse and trap with him, and a couple of handymen. He loaded some pallets or some such like onto the trap and left."
And here our trail ended, we enjoyed some of the West Quantoxhead cider native to the region and I suggested to Holmes that we might wait out the master thief, Arsène within the barn, much like we did in the adventure of the waiting man. But Holmes dismissed the idea, for it was clear Arsène's business with the paintings had run its course and that his return was unlikely.
Thus Arsène Lupin remained ever illusive to us. Holmes maintained the idea that he had disguised himself as Christopher Gaudin, so convinced was he, that during his period of convalescence he hired himself a private detective to watch the downtrodden steel worker. He engaged the detective for some weeks, receiving daily telegrams and weekly reports on Gaudin's activities and after two months Holmes gave up and reluctantly admitted that the man was not Arsène, he did however add a caveat and believed Arsène was playing "the long game", he would yet play his hand and when he did, Holmes assured me, we would pounce upon the opportunity.