The worst of days – Part 9

Sherlock:

The Supremacy Club was housed in a stately building that bordered the pompous. It was a far cry from the plain and unassuming interior of the Diogenes, with its nooks and crannies, that afforded the privacy its members valued so greatly - and even further from the cosy masculine shabbiness of the Winthrop's, with its polished wooden floors, the dark panelling on the walls and the rather dim gas lighting. The armchairs there were extremely comfortable, but it was clear that they had served many a generation, the library was a rare blend of literature and smut and while playing for money was frowned upon, the snooker tables were hard to get by.

None of this, applied to the Supremacy. This was a club where young rich men went, to gain a reckless reputation, and older ones, to keep this repute. From the rooms, that were accessible only from the back, via a sheltered mews, and that could be hired, to enjoy an amorous tête-à-tête with one's mistress, to the card tables, where the stakes were high and the losses even higher, down to the said fencing piste and the boxing ring. The furnishings were in a rich oriental style, and the walls and ceiling were worked with plaster frills and follies, that, I guessed, were supposed to imitate buildings like the Taj Mahal. - With little to no success. I had seen the original in my travels and had wondered at its breathtaking beauty. This though was so plump, it did not even speak remotely of craftsmanship.

"Lovely place," I remarked sarcastically.

"Good for gossip." my companion grinned. "If you prefer a more tasteful surrounding, I recommend the brothel down the road."

"Is there anything apart from betting, gossiping and …?" I sighed, making a suggestive gesture with my hands, leaving no doubt as to what I had meant, though making sure at the same time it was not too obvious a reference.

"No."

"I had feared as much."

"I earn my money with it." he tried to justify himself.

"Actually, you spend your money on it." I corrected him, handing the butler my hat and coat.

Showing me around, I refused to sit down at the card tables, where I spotted young Jennings amongst others, equally illustrious. The young noble was a handsome man with a lot of charisma and I was not surprised, that a man like him would manage to capture others with his wit and charm, no matter what nonsense he told them.

"Lopscombe is not here." Parker ascertained as we had made our first round through the whole of the building – apart from the said private chambers that is. But I doubted very much, he would be there, after he had not been seen at the expensive establishment in more than a year.

"Could you perhaps introduce me to a couple of men, who have been around the Lopscombe brothers?"

"There is young Jennings," he answered off hand, pointing towards the man.

"I prefer if we could leave him out of this. I know he is in league with them, but as I don't know yet, what part he has played back then, I would suggest, we try and avoid him as much as is possible for the time being."

Parker shrugged his shoulders, looking around him, but not seeing anybody who might be able to help us out.

"Let's go down to the boxing ring again. At least one of them liked this sport and I have seen him in the ring himself more than once. I just don't know which of the brothers it was."

"Be honest, you just want to humiliate me," I growled, accepting my fate, well knowing I would not be able to back out of it without suffering the consequences at one point or another. And Parker was too valuable an informant to anger. He just grinned triumphantly.

So, while I prepared for the fight that I had promised Parker in exchange for him settling our bill and helping me gather the information I required, the man himself made his enquiries. How he managed to get any information, will always remain a mystery to me, as he was neither subtle not discreet. But perhaps this indiscretion was what made people give away their knowledge so freely, so they would not find themselves in the tabloids, being misrepresented. Watching them, while taking off my frock coat, waistcoat, collar and shirt along with my shoes and socks, I thought to myself that it might just as well be likely, that most of them were too drunk already, to realise, that they were interrogated.

I was weighed and assigned to an opponent, that had yet to arrive. Some of the men eyed me suspiciously, some with a lame smile on their vacant faces. I was a good ten years older than the other athletes, and I was not in as good a shape as I had once been, but I knew, that more important than a massive bulk, a youthful stance and a big lip, was to be observant of the opponent as to foresee his actions and to know where to place one's hits, to be quick on one's feet and always to be ready to duck out of the way of the other one's fists. - And at least, I had the advantage of real-life experience.

To say I was surprised when none other than Thomas Jennings arrived and was assigned my partner would have been an understatement. I had not thought of this possibility and now I could hardly avoid the man without throwing the towel.

I had been wise enough though, to once more resort to the alias of Hendrik Sigerson and I hoped that Jennings was not a fan of Doctor Watson's publications, that on occasion could be a real bother.

Almost half an hour passed, in which we waited for the ongoing fight to end. It had long lost its appeal to the audience as both men were almost equally strong, equally good and equally drunk and it was only, when one of them threw up inside the ring after a kick to his abdomen, that the referee and the spectators decided, that they had enough of them. A handsome maid was called to clean up the mess, all the while being grabbed by wanton men. When one of them pulled her onto his lap, shoving his tongue into her mouth and almost exposing her while sliding his hands underneath her skirt, while she tried to get away from him, I had enough – and so had Jennings. Prying her free, we both took hold of one arm and towed the blackguard out of the room and shoved him towards the stairs.

"Nice to see, I have a decent opponent," Jennings remarked as we walked back into the fighting hall, offering me his hand.

"Thomas Jennings esquire." he introduced himself.

"Hendrik Sigerson," I answered, taking his hand.

"The diplomat?" he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Yes."

"I liked your piece about the situation in Tibet. I have quite a mind to go there myself."

"Thank you," I answered politely.

"You've come with Christopher Parker?" he asked his lip curling in distaste at my companion.

"I have, we know each other from way back. I have done some boxing in my youth and he persuaded me to have a go at it once again."

"You look up to it."

"I am," I replied quietly, smiling serenely.

Jennings gave a hearty laugh, before climbing over the ropes of the ring. I followed and both of us waited for the referee to signal for the fight to begin.

Jennings was a good fighter, but he was impatient. And even though he had complimented me on my fitness, he had completely underestimated me as an opponent. Keeping a close watch on his moves, I managed to dodge the heaviest blows and only once in a while did he succeed to land a strike. I let him be, hardly moving a muscle, waiting patiently till he was exhausted by his exploits of strength. When, after about ten minutes where he had incessantly tried to either hit or kick me, he began to tire, I knew my time had come. For him, my right must have come out of the blue. I could hear the crowd gasp in unison, as the young man stumbled back, almost knocked off his feet. I moved my weight onto one foot and balancing my body out, I jumped up and onto the other foot, kicking him into his chest with the one my weight had rested on, swivelling around my own axis. Only the railing held him upright at this point, while the spectators now cheered, sitting on the edge of their chairs. They had not thought this sinewy 'old' man to be much of a fighter. Eventually, Jennings pushed forward again, running towards me, with his head lowered, which of course was a bad mistake, as he was completely unaware of what my next action might be. Stepping aside swiftly, I lifted my leg just in time to hit his upper body once again, expecting the impact, that he did not, knocking him off his feet in consequence.

Within twenty minutes he was counted out and I had enough of this spectacle. Washing sparsely and getting dressed again, Thomas Jennings came towards me, a grin on his young and bloody face.

"That teaches me to underestimate an older man. You, sir, have got it in you!"

"Thank you," I mumbled, somewhat embarrassed.

"I had a friend who was really good at this, you would have liked fighting him. He would have been a challenge."

"He died?"

"Disappeared."

"Ah." I forced myself not to show too much interest, fixing my collar and cravat.

"Can I invite you to a glass of whatever you prefer?" Jennings offered, being an astonishingly good loser.

"Then I have a draught."

He laughed as cheerful as was possible with a split lower lip and a bruised rib. "Man, you are easy to satisfy. Everyone else would have chosen the most expensive stuff possible."

"Only because it is expensive does not necessarily mean it is palatable," I replied, realising I had smeared my shirt with my own blood as my thumb had begun bleeding once more. Harriet would be thrilled and this time would be insisting on stitching it up. Oh, joy!

I looked around me, but could not spot Parker anywhere.

"Oh, that friend of yours has made it upstairs, no doubt to lose the winnings he just had on the card table. He was wise enough to bet on you."

"Typical."

xxx

"You said you knew a man who fought really well?" I asked as I sat at the bar with Jennings, drinking my well-deserved pint.

"Yes. Joe Lopscombe."

"You said he disappeared? Is that not rather unusual?"

"I suppose he had his reasons. You know, with him, his fiancée disappeared also. Perhaps he killed her and needed to leave? Who knows?"

I looked at him warily. Something was off.

"Was he jealous, then?" I asked, for lack of a better question at hand.

"Not particularly. But then, women can do that to you, I presume. Unless of course one day, Sherlock Holmes might look into the matter, I doubt we will ever find out."

His smile was most disarming. He knew! And now he was playing cat and mouse. - Or so I thought. Sighing Thomas Jennings downed his pint, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand without ceremony or pretence.

"Can we just leave this charade, Mr Holmes? I am tired of this game. I have played it for more than a year and I am sick of it."

"All right then. What do you know about Joseph Lopscombe's part in the attempted assassination of the Prime Minister?"

"He was all for it. No matter what his brother and I said. He was so keen on proving himself to be a revolutionary, he lost all sense of reason. In the end, Randolph agreed to join the group to keep a close watch on the rest of them. So he went with them, pointing out the assassins to the police when they arrived on the scene."

"Who called the police?"

"I did," he told me matter of factly, ordering himself another beer.

"Then who came up with the plan in the first place?"

"Me, actually. But only as a hypothesis. Gods, never did I think they would take my ramblings serious! I was angry, yes. But kill a man? - No!"

"So who instigated to go through with it then?"

"The grey eminence."

"Beaton?" I remembered the unassuming man with the intelligent eyes and the engaging manners.

" I see you have met him."

"I have."

I lit a cigarette and offered one to my companion, who took it gratefully.

"Thank you."

"Pleasure. So, if Randolph Lopscombe helped the police, how did he end up in jail?"

"Because, as you might have been told, he and his brother are identical twins. There is but one difference to tell them apart. Joseph had broken the little finger of his left hand when a child and ever since it is permanently bent and stiff."

He held up his left hand and tried to imitate the defect.

"Joseph made the police believe he was Randolph and dashed off in his carriage, while Randolph was arrested in his brother's stead."

"Why was it not cleared up?"

"Randolph asked to leave him be. I respected his request. He claimed, that his brother had wanted to protect him and that it was really him, Randolph, who was the conspirator."

"You know he is dying?" I looked at the man closely.

"Yes. He was diagnosed with a cancerous growth affecting his liver a little more than two years back. I am surprised he has managed to cling to life for so long. - I doubt neither did he."

"The symptoms would resemble those of hepatitis, I presume?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I would not know. You'll have to ask a doctor."

"Where was Joseph living at the time? You said he dashed off in his carriage."

"He lived at Gloucester Square. I cannot remember the full address."

This was almost too good to be true. If that had been the man's address, he would most likely have taken the exact route that the carriage had taken, that had killed little Henry Watson. But still, I wanted the man! He had gotten away with the conspiracy, but I had no intention of letting him get away with manslaughter as well.

"Are you all right?" Jennings asked, looking surprised at my clenched fists and the angry expression on my face.

"Do you have any idea, why he might have disappeared? - I mean an actual idea not what you said earlier."

"There might be two possible reasons. He might have thought his brother would come clean with the police, which would have landed him in prison, of course. After all, he double-crossed him and how would he know, after that, that his brother would still back him up? And secondly, I have to admit, that I threatened him with taking matters into my own hands, should he not own up to his deeds."

"Why would Miss Decker disappear with him, though?" I wondered. Feeling none of the elation I normally felt, when a case came to its close.

"I have heard, she was in desperate need of marriage." he indicated a growing stomach.

"Was that the reason, Randolph separated from her?"

"No, he let go of her, when he heard of his diagnosis. He was of the opinion he could not do that to her. And Joseph had always been sweet on Fanny Decker. It was apparently not very difficult to persuade her, to marry the other brother. Joseph though was less of the gentleman his brother is. Randolph is a great man, Mr Holmes. I miss him."

His handsome face had clouded over and I could easily believe this to be true. Randolph Lopscombe had struck me as an upright man as well, a man of decent character and a great heart. He had every reason to be bitter about his brother. Stepping aside, so Joseph could marry the woman he wanted, trying to keep him from trouble and out of prison without as much as a thank you was something to be bitter about – more even, he had even done so, when his own brother had betrayed him.

"I think I will go home." I, at last, said, after we had sat in silence for almost a quarter of an hour. I had been wary at first, taking everything that Jennings had said with a grain of salt. But the more he had told me, the more I was convinced, that he spoke nothing but the absolute truth.

"Will I see you again?" the young man asked. "I believe you owe me a revenge."

"Not in this establishment." I answered, "But sure."

"Good, I would like to learn some of your tricks."

I chuckled. "There is only one trick, Mr Jennings – it's called patience."

xxx

"So you can now be sure that it was Joseph Lopscombe, who has caused the accident," Harriet stated, as I had finished my reminiscence.

"As good as, yes. But that still does not give me the man. I want that man to suffer, I have to admit."

"Me, too." my wife answered passionately, whilst pulling my waistcoat off my shoulder. "But how do we get to him?"

"I don't know," I admitted, feeling much better at her adept treatment of my but slight injuries.

"And you really want to fight against Jennings again?" Harriet sighed.

"I realised I need some practice, so fighting against him is as well as against any other man."

"And you need to stay in practice, because?"

"Because I can easily get into trouble in my line of work. And believe it or not, my fighting skills are the only reason, I am still alive and not at the bottom of the Reichenbach Falls."

"If that is the case, you are allowed to practise. But please, Sherlock, give me a fair warning."

I chuckled as she began massaging my strained muscles.