Unbidden visitors
„From thee alone, which on us both at once/ the enemy, though bold, will hardly dare/ or daring, first on me th' assault shall light."
Paradise Lost
I revolved, looking at my door which quivered a little under the impact of the knocking.
„Mr. `olmes?"
There was no reply. What was the matter, I thought with a sudden tinge of fear. These heavy steps, this loud rapping…that did not sound like him at all! Could there be several people outside my door? And why was there no reply?
My eyes returned to the precious object in my hand. I rapidly stuffed it into the pocket of my skirt, retreating into the farthest corner of my tiny apartment, when the rapping accelerated, and the quiver of the door grew more perceptible. They were forcing it in…!
My worst apprehensions were confirmed when the wood started flying into flinders. With a scream, I clapped my hands to my face, pressing even more into my corner, as if the wall behind my back could absorb me, get me beyond the reach of the hands that were now visible to me as they grappled with the remains of my door. They were large hands, gloved in black leather, and the fingers curled and grasped at thin air through the demolished laths.
I looked around in a panic, but there was just nowhere left to flee to. My tiny bathroom was a dead end, and the windows were aslant and high up in the wall. I was trapped.
Then the door gave in, crashing onto the banks of the floor, frame, door leaf and all. My heart was beating its way up in my chest, I could feel it even in my throat. Oh why, why had I come! Why had I not remained with Holmes, Holmes who meant protection!
There were two of them, forcing their way into my room. But my lord! What a sight they were! Black clothing covered their bodies, down to toes and fingertips, not an inch of skin to be seen. Over their heads, they had drawn black skins of a fine-meshed material, and apart from the approximate outline of their skulls, there was nothing to distinguish of their heads, hair, or faces. It was horrifying to look at, and I gasped with the shock of it, but the worst thing was their utter silence. They ignored me, and they did not even stop to exchange a word amongst themselves. They just seized the nearest piece of furniture - the closet with my wardrobe - and overturned it, scrunching its rear side to as many pieces as the poor door.
I held my breath, watching them. When their work was done and the closet was in splinters, they bent down, rifling though the debris, throwing my belongings to the left and right. It kept them fairly busy, and I began inching along the wall. Maybe, just, maybe I could reach the gap where the door had opened into the staircase without their notice!
But my hope proved treacherous. Their heads jerked up as one when, inadvertently, I stepped on the shards of the tea glass with an ugly, crunching sort of noise. We started at each other for the fraction of a second. Then, with the other man carrying on his work of destruction, one of them rose slowly and came at me. Though I could discern nothing of his expression, it was obvious he knew my lack of chances - therefore his unhurried appearance. Only his hands were raised, as if in anticipation. Maybe they longed to fasten around my neck.
I looked at the faceless man, and screamed.
oooOOOooo
He could hear the scream at the very bottom of the stairwell, and it accelerated his step considerably. Those devils were at her!
With his feet pattering the stairs, he reached into his pockets, reviewing quickly what he was carrying on his person and what might be used as a weapon. Beside his cane, there was still Madame Zhao's gimlet in one of the pockets of his outer wear, among an abundance of matches. He withdrew it, shedding his coat behind him on the stairs.
On the top landing, a hole yawned in the wall where a door used to be. He had just time to take in the scene in one glance - one man threshing Fanny's furniture on the floor, the other one threatening the girl, who cowered against the wall, quite defenseless. Then, they were there, barring his way, shoulder to shoulder.
The landing was small, too constricted a place to draw his stick. If he took one step too many, he would trip over the top stair, and probably break his neck somewhere between stories three and four. He quickly calculated his options. On the bright side, the narrow landing prevented him getting caught up between the two of them - it was impossible for them to encircle him here. If they wanted to step out of the door-hole, they would have to do it one by one, giving him time to act.
He spread his fingers wide, palms facing down, as one of the men raised his fists to protect the middle of his body, and stepped through the opening in the wall. He knew this to be an effective psychological trick, because the unfamiliar fighting attitude would unsettle the attacker. The first punch, he evaded by diving away to the side, and the man had just time to regain his equilibrium before he received a vicious kick that made him fall over backwards, down the stairs.
However, Holmes had no time to celebrate his victory. A brawny arm had locked around his neck from behind, a headlock that both impeded his aspiration and got him off his feet fairly quick. His hand dove into his pocket, fingers gripped around the gimlet. But before he could land it somewhere, the first man had recovered and was running up the stairs again. He retaliated on him with a punch in the stomach that bereft him of what breath he still had. Holmes dimly hoped no rib had been broken, the pain was so intense it was hard to tell.
His arm swung up through 90 degrees and the tip of the gimlet bore into the offender's upper arm. He drew back, howling. At the same time, the headlock seemed to loosen considerably: There was a crash, a rain of glass splinters and other debris, and the heavy form of the man sagged to the side beneath a pair of female eyes that seemed astonished at the outcome of hitting somebody over the head with a glass container.
But his gimlet had not been brought home with sufficient force, for the skipjack of an attacker was at him again. His arms locked around his chest, and Holmes felt coerced into stabbing backwards with his elbow, a thing he did not like to do because due to his height, it usually meant running it into the other person's face.
So it was this time. He reacted quickly, taking advantage of the attacker's agony, and snatched his arm. Yanking it over his shoulder, he got the man off his feet, and with a movement that resembled a bow, he brought him down right in front of Fanny's feet.
She whimpered a little.
He quickly stepped his foot on the chest of the prostrate man.
„Who are you?" He barked at him, still out of breath. „What did you want here?"
The man groaned as a reply.
„Well?" He dug the tip of his shoe into the intruder's throat.
„Mr. `olmes - "
The man struggled for breath, spluttering.
„Mr. `olmes!" She sharply exclaimed, and he lifted his gaze to her eyes…clear grey eyes, like pebbles in the bed of a rivulet, with fresh clean water bubbling over them. „I fink…I knows what they was doin` `ere."
More words were not necessary. He extended his hand, and helped her step across the motionless body of the masqued man she had brought down, out of the wrecked apartment.
She shot another glance at him, wondering whether she had killed him maybe, maybe afraid he would come to and snatch at her ankle. Then she began hurrying down the stairs, hands raised to her eyes that suddenly had become very watery.
Holmes withdrew his foot from the still defeated, yet still conscious offender. He picked up his cane as a precaution, then approached again to yank the stocking mask from the head of the stertorously breathing individual.
Thought as much.
Turning his back on him, he descended on the stairs after Fanny, stopping only to pick up the discarded coat from the steps.
oooOOOooo
I struggled in vain to present a cool, composed exterior to him, as we drove away in a cab. The water was streaming from my eyes as if from twin fountains. Why was I so damned close to water, always?
He was very gracious about it, forbearing comment, but laying his arm across my shoulders. It was only when I had calmed down that he told me, with his lips close to my ear, that I had done well. I flashed him a glance and smiled bitterly.
„Not quite so cowardly this time? Not too bad for somebody who likes playing it safe, right?"
He abstained from replying, and I shook my head despondently. „I'm - sorry, Mr. `olmes. You jus' saved my life. I s' ppose I ought to say: Thank you."
„That is quite unnecessary. I would be more gratified to hear what those scoundrels were doing in your flat. From what I was able to make out, they seemed to be searching it, and thoroughly, too."
„I can only guess they came for the Orb, Mr. `olmes."
„The - ?" He arched a brow, and I remembered he must be thinking of the paste-bedecked object we had taken from locker Nr. 115.
I reached into the pocket of my skirt. A warm feeling of relief expanded in my chest when I could still feel it there, and a soupçon of triumph, too…they had not been able to snatch it from me, after all!
„I mean - this Orb, Mr. `olmes. The real one."
oooOOOooo
I had explained everything to Holmes by the time we reached the Meurice, and his surprise was beyond measure. So deeply did it precipitate him into thought that I did not even dare to suggest I remain in the cab. Moreover, I did not want to provoke his dissatisfaction with me again by pointing out my discomfort with entering the Meurice again. And last but not least, where else had I to take refuge? The afternoon's events had shown me clearly that I was no longer safe, that I needed his protection. My flat, devastated and violated, was off limits.
We walked up the flat stairs to the entrance, side by side. To my surprise and relief, the odious concierge did not look at us twice. Maybe, he was usefully occupied, for once. The lift boy was a different one than on Sunday morning, and I was grateful for this, too. Holmes opened the door to his suite for me, and discreetly let me in first.
I hesitatingly sat down on a pouf, nervously kneading my fingers, while he strode toward the safe and unlocked it with a few turns of the wheel. He exchanged the fake orb for the real one and locked it again, then tossed the fake into the air, catching it one-handed with a short laugh.
„What a remarkable comedy of errors. Frances, I apologize for this display of blatant failure. Clearly, you encounter me in one of those instances where my professional identity as a detective is a trifle hard to discern. I ought to consider a career as a baggage porter, or a court jester!"
I dropped my hands into my lap impatiently. „Mr. `olmes, `ow can you say so? Nobody could `ave anticipated this turn o` events. If anything, I ought to `ave known Madame would go fer a ruse like that, though what she aimed to achieve through it, I don't know…"
„No, no." He ran his hand through his hair. „I should have been able to tell, from the tools and materials present in her workshop. But naturally, I assumed they had been used in the restoration of the Orb, not for the production of a complete doublet. Now, as for the reason why she did it -„
He sighed. „Fanny, I had thought to act in Madame's interest in keeping the recovery of the Orb - what we then took to be the Orb - to ourselves. You see, if her abductors are still interested in retrieving it - as it would seem they are - her chances at survival would be good as long as the thing had not been found. Now, I see she had intended an opposite effect. She had hoped the recovery of the faux Orb would become known soon, so that her abductors would be lured onto a false track. The real gem, meanwhile, would be safe with you, who didn't know you possessed it, until one day you either made up your mind to drink the tea, or to break the glass as you did."
„But - what about her safety under the actual circumstances?" I urged.
He slowly, regretfully, raised his shoulder. „That seems to be a point either absent from Madame's attention, or, as I think more likely, her priorities".
I looked at him, and he slowly, hardly perceptibly, nodded. I averted my face.
„No, Fanny, you must not despair." He sat beside me quickly, as if he did not dare to do this if he stopped to think about it. „These men, in whatever way they are affiliated to the enemy, do not know of the existence of two Orbs. It is only we who know that - or at least, let us presume that. But they know we have it, and that is why we will go away from this place first thing in the morning…leaving the imitation here for them."
And he set it down on the coffee table, where it sparkled like an entire jeweler's display.
„But Madame?" I demurred.
„Have no fear. If I don't mistake our enemy, he will know it for a forgery as soon as he holds it in his hands. Meanwhile, we are far away."
„Where will we be?"
„In England", he said, and it sounded like the end of the discussion. „And now, it is time for dinner. I am fairly starved, how about you? And as to sleeping", he added, and I felt myself color a little. „There is an extra room to the suite, which I propose to occupy tonight."
I nodded mutely, and he got up to make preparations.
Holmes and Fanny are taking to flight! But who is the foe and where can they be actually safe from him? Is Sussex the answer? And what will happen to the captive restorer?
Keep looking on in! We will find out!
Love, Mrs. F