Chapter 30
By the time they finally arrived in Blackpool, John was almost glad that Sherlock wasn't with them. If all that sitting in a car bored him out of his mind, he really didn't want to know in what state the detective would be. "Alright, let's find this shop," he said to Ian.
Ian nodded. "Just give the address to the driver," he said and yawned.
"Didn't sleep well last night?" John asked after he had done what Ian said.
"No, fine," Ian said, looking a bit sheepish. "It's just all this sitting still. It kind of wears me down."
"Yeah, same here. It's a good thing we've had the adrenalin rush of catching Elton this morning."
Ian nodded. "I wasn't much use though, was I?"
"It's okay. You're just not used to this kind of situations, but you did quite well - just a little slowly," John said with a good-natured smile.
Ian smiled. "Maybe I'll learn in time," he said with a distant look in his eyes.
John frowned and cleared his throat. "Who knows," he said neutrally.
"You're used to that kind of thing, right? I mean, working with Sherlock, you probably chase down criminals like that all the time."
"Yeah, well, it has happened before, now and then," John shrugged.
Ian smiled and seemed lost in contemplation for a while.
"Here we are," the driver said.
John was just going to ask if he was sure, because he didn't see any shops, but then he saw the small, shabby sign on one of the houses that said 'Antiques'. "They're not exactly drawing the attention of their customers," he mumbled.
"It must be the kind of shop that relies on word-of-mouth," Ian said, as he got out of the car. "It's not unusual in antiques and rare collectibles."
John nodded. "Probably. We'll just walk in and pretend we're generally interested in antique stuff. Sherlock asked us to observe the people who work there."
"Sure." Ian opened the door to the shop and held it for John.
They walked in and an old shop bell sounded. The place was a little messy; John bumped his shin into one of the lower handles of a wooden chest of drawers when he walked in. There was no-one in, and they had had two full minutes of looking around before there were stumbling sounds from the back of the shop.
The man who made his way through the clutter seemed to be in his late fifties. His hair was white but his beard still had streaks of dark in it. The eyes behind the round glasses looked tired and a bit confused. "Can I help you?" he asked.
"Just looking around, if that's okay," John said. "You seem to have quite the collection here." He nodded at an expensive-looking mahogany table.
"Yes," the man said, looking at them intently.
"So, ehm, have you had this shop for long? We love antiquities, you see, but we only recently heard about it from a friend," John said.
"Yes," the man said. "I've been here for fifteen years now. Used to have a partner, but he died last year."
"Oh, I'm sorry," John said. "It must be quite a change to work alone after all this time. Or perhaps you have some assistance in the shop now?"
"No," the man shook his head. "Are you looking for anything in particular?"
"No, just looking. I always think it's comforting to walk between aged furniture. It's like sniffing an old book," John said with a reassuring smile. He went to join Ian. "Seen anything interesting yet?" he asked softly.
Ian smiled at him. "Oh, plenty," he said. "But not anything I need."
For a moment, John wondered if Ian was really talking about the bloody furniture, or if he had actually understood that playing a role they would be less suspicious. He walked through to a large bookcase that contained about a dozen old-looking books. The brown backs didn't tell him much, and he waited until Ian had got this far too. "Anything familiar?"
Ian studied the books. "No," he said in a hushed voice. He leaned in a little closer. "What should we do?"
"I think we've seen all we can get from here. We only draw attention to ourselves if we ask him for other books. We should go and tell Sherlock what we've learned. If this man has the book, we need to think out a strategy to find it."
"Okay," Ian said in a hushed voice before turning away from the books. "That really is a lovely vase," he said, going over to have a closer look. "It would look so fetching on the mantelpiece, don't you think?" He glanced quickly at John, then turned to the man who was still watching them. "How much is it, Mr ...?"
"Fitzroy," the man grumbled. "And the vase is 20 pounds."
Ian turned to John with a smile. "Can we get it? Please?"
John frowned for a moment, but quickly cleared his face. "Of course. 20 certainly doesn't seem too much for it," he said, giving it a good look as if he knew quite a lot more about antiques than he actually did. "Can you pack it for us, please?" he asked Fitzroy.
The man nodded and went to pick up the vase.
Ian beamed at John. "Thank you," he said.
John paid and they left the shop with the vase. After putting it in the trunk of the car, that had been parked in the next street, John called Sherlock and told him everything about the shop.
…
John fidgeted in the car. It wasn't the most comfortable place to stay, certainly not after what felt like a whole day sitting in it to get to Belfast, but it was the easiest way to observe the shop while they were waiting for their appointment with Mr. Fitzroy. Sherlock had advised them to do some burglary, but John had found an easier way in making a call to the shop keeper, pretending to be interested in one of the more expensive wardrobes. Fitzroy had only wanted to see them after closing time though, so John and Ian were reduced to counting the minutes.
Ian was toying with his phone, growing increasingly restless. "So," he asked. "What exactly am I supposed to do?"
"I propose you find a way in from the back of the building," John said. They had taken a walk earlier to check if there was an entry in the parallel street, which fortunately was the case. "It will be too suspicious if you disappear from the shop after you've gone in with me, so the only problem would be if he has locked the back door. I guess that in that case, you'd better come back and do nothing so we can have another attempt at getting in later - unless you know how to pick a lock?"
Ian snorted. "No, that's not exactly one of my skills. Should I wait in the car when you go in, or leave before?"
"Just wait a little, and make sure he can't see you from the shop. Get in quietly, and find the book as quickly as you can. I won't be able to distract him forever, he'll want me to buy something if I stay too long." It felt like he was giving orders to a private.
Ian nodded.
"Okay. I'll be a few minutes early, but I'm going in. Are you ready?" John asked. He still wasn't completely sure to trust Ian with finding the book, but it was the best chance they had. After all, Ian would recognise it a lot faster, and John had more experience in distracting people.
Ian did not look remotely ready, but he nodded again. "Yes. As ready as I'll ever be."
"Alright." John looked at him for a moment. "Good luck." Then he turned around and went to the shop, hoping their plan would work.
Fitzroy was waiting behind the counter, fiddling with the cash register, which seemed to be an antique too. When John entered, he looked up and nodded in greeting. "A wardrobe, right?" he asked curtly.
"Eh, yeah, good evening. You had this very nice one, a little further in the shop. I don't remember very well where it stood, but it was beautiful. I'd really like to have a second look," John said.
Fitzroy sighed, seeming a little annoyed, and came round to the front of the counter. "I think I know which one you mean," he said as he led the way to the back of the shop.
"Hmm, I'm not sure it was this one," John frowned as they arrived at the wardrobe. "It was over there, I'm quite sure..."
Fitzroy was definitely annoyed now. "Are you sure? This one is really much handsomer. And in better condition."
"Oh, but I like the fact that the other really looks old." John walked slowly to the other wardrobe.
"Yes, this was it. Let me see." He opened the doors and started inspecting the inside, taking his time.
Fitzroy just stood there, watching John as he examined the wardrobe. It was almost as if he expected John to try and sneak it into his pocket and take off with it.
Suddenly he turned his head towards the door behind the counter. "What was that?" he said. "Did you hear that?"
John had only just kept himself from flinching at the sound. Damn, Ian. "No, I didn't hear anything," he answered, innocently looking back at Fitzroy. "You know, I really love the way the figures in the door are cut out."
"Hmm?" Fitzroy was not looking at him, but took a step towards the door, clearly listening for other sounds. The faint but unmistakable sound of breaking glass could be heard.
John sighed under his breath, but put on a confused face. "Now I did hear something. Perhaps there's an accident outdoors? Should we go and look?" He pointed at the door.
"That's not from outside," Fitzroy grumbled, shooting John a suspicious look before hurrying to the door behind the counter.
John cursed wordlessly and followed him. "What do you think it was?" he asked Fitzroy.
Fitzroy didn't answer as he flung the door open and rushed through. He made his way through the bleak, nearly empty sitting room, to the kitchen, were Ian was kneeling on the floor, picking up the pieces of a large glass jar.
He looked up and whimpered as he saw the man approaching. "I... I'm sorry," he stammered.
Behind Fitzroy's back, John had quickly taken his phone and texted 'Trouble' to Sherlock. He gave Ian a desperate look. "What are you doing here, Robert?" he asked, using the first false name that came to mind.
"Er... I ..." Ian fumbled for words. "I was looking for you?"
"In my kitchen?" Fitzroy asked enraged. "Looking for things to steal, more likely! So that's what you two are? Thiefs!" He went to the phone mounted on the wall. "I'm calling the police, I am," he said as he began dialing.
"Perhaps you want to wait with that..." John said calmly. "What if they find out that you stole something first?"
"And what might that be?" Fitzroy sneered as he turned towards John. Behind him, Ian caught John's eyes and pointed into the living room.
"A book," John said challengingly, giving a short nod to Ian to indicate that he had understood him.
"I have many books," Fitzroy answered calmly. "All bought and paid for." He listened to a voice on the other end of the line. "The police please, Miss," he said. "I need to report a burglary."
John rolled his eyes, turned around and hurried to the living room. "Ian," he hissed. They had to be quick, only having as long as Fitzroy was chained to his landline.
"Hey, where are you going?" Fitzroy called after John. As Ian passed him he reached out and grabbed his sleeve. "Oh, you're staying here, boy," he snarled.
John hesitated for a moment, but went on. He probably didn't have enough time to get Ian free. He sat on his knees in front of the bookcase, that was filled much more than the one in Fitzroy's shop. Apparently the man was too fond of old books to sell them, or maybe he had another purpose for them. No time to think about that now. John let his finger trail along the backs of oldest-looking books, until he found one with ornaments on the cover. He pulled it out to look at the front.
There was a clatter and then a thump from the kitchen. A moment later, Ian was beside him. "That's the one," he said. Then he frowned. "Wait a minute..." He reached out and pulled a book from a higher shelf. He held it next to the one John had. "Oh my god," Ian exclaimed. "He's got them both."
John gave him an appreciative look. "That proves it," he nodded. "Glad you got away from him."
Ian smiled modestly. "Wasn't exactly hard." He looked over his shoulder towards the kitchen and then suddenly gave John a hard push. "Watch out!" he cried as he let himself fall to the other side, just in time to avoid the knife that was thrust forward.
John landed painfully on his right arm, but was grateful as he looked up and saw Fitzroy, holding the kitchen knife with a too-wide grin on his face. "Mr. Fitzroy, put that down, please. This really isn't necessary."
Fitzroy turned and descended slowly on John. But then Ian's leg shot out, caught him behind the knees and sent him stumbling into the bookcase.
"Get the knife," Ian cried, as he twisted around, trying to catch hold of Fitzroy's legs.
John moved quickly, rolling over and kicking the knife out of the older man's hand, then picking it up and pointing it at him. "I'd advise you to stay calm until the police arrives, Mr. Fitzroy. Meanwhile you can explain to us why you let Mr. Elton steal the Abscondita for you, while you already had the other copy."
"It's hidden in there," Fitzroy said, his eyes taking on a strange gleam. "The truth... I looked for years. Examined every letter of that book. And then I realised... You have to have them both... Then it becomes clear..." Suddenly he lunged forward.
John leapt backwards and quickly swung his arm away so Fitzroy wouldn't get to the knife, but the other man was too fast and despite John's movement, the knife ended up in Fitzroy's stomach. The man sank down on his knees, gurgling, and for a second John was only looking in shock.
Fitzroy reached for the book in John's hand. "The truth..." he muttered, and then he collapsed.
John kneeled next to him and laid him on his back. The knife had gone rather deep, so he knew he would do more damage if he tried to get it out. He swallowed. "Give me something to stop the bleeding, Ian, and call an ambulance." He pressed his fingers to Fitzroy's neck, finding a weak pulse.
Ian nodded and got to his feet. A moment later he handed John a tea towel from the kitchen. "Will this do?" he asked as he got his phone out and started dialling.
John carefully pressed the towel around the knife. "I'm afraid I'll need some more in a minute, but make your call first. Mr. Fitzroy, can you hear me?" He blew out to compose himself. About everything that could possibly have gone wrong about this, had done so.
