Chapter 3 #2
‘If that were true, he wouldn’t have revealed her name at all.’ Oliver pounced, as she knew he would. ‘Everything rests on Polly herself. Nothing will become clear until we discover whether she has truly disappeared. I’ll see what I can find out.’
‘I’ve asked Beth to put some feelers out too. She might get quicker results.’
Oliver’s gaze sharpened. ‘I’m not sure that’s wise. If there is a link between Polly’s possible disappearance and Mildred, then we know what kind of people we’re dealing with.’
His words gave Harry a momentary flicker of doubt. Was she putting Beth in danger by asking her to see what she could find out? ‘Beth is smart,’ she said, reminding herself how capable and resourceful the other woman had proved so far. ‘She’ll be careful.’
‘I hope so.’ He nodded at the newspaper. ‘What do you make of that?’
Harry pursed her lips. ‘If it is a game between friends then one party doesn’t seem to be playing along. But if the impossible crime is the theft of the diamond then why challenge anyone to solve it? Why not simply vanish?’
‘Oh, I’m certain it is a game,’ Oliver said. ‘The question is, who is it against?’
‘Exactly,’ Harry agreed. ‘Why Holmes? Why not a real detective – one of your friends at Scotland Yard?’
He drummed his fingers on the wooden seat.
‘I haven’t read a great number of Sherlock Holmes stories but I seem to recall that Moriarty is described as the shadowy mastermind behind any number of underworld gangs.
The two cases you’ve investigated have both turned out to be cogs in a larger criminal organisation.
It’s possible those investigations have been noticed. ’
Harry considered what she knew about London’s lawless gangs.
According to the newspaper reports, most favoured a more smash-and-grab approach to conducting their business.
They did not set elaborate traps for those who foiled their plans.
‘I suppose that’s a possibility. But it’s quite a leap to trace things back to Sherlock Holmes.
Apart from anything else, no one knows he was even consulted. ’
‘No one except the Longstaffs and John Archer,’ Oliver corrected. He patted Esme’s letter. ‘And it seems Mr Longstaff cannot keep a secret.’
She stared at him. Could the strange encounter on the train be somehow related to the challenge thrown down to Holmes?
It seemed preposterous and yet there was a sort of twisted logic to it that suited Conan Doyle’s descriptions of his arch-villain.
‘If you’re right then someone has gone to a lot of trouble to uncover the truth,’ she said slowly, turning the idea over in her mind.
‘To uncover the person acting as Holmes.’
Oliver spread his hands. ‘As I said, it’s a game. And you don’t need me to warn you that choosing to play along is high risk.’
A prickle of unease rippled down Harry’s spine. The mystery of the missing diamond intrigued her but the idea that an unknown someone might be trying to lure her out from Holmes’ shadow was deeply unsettling. ‘I have no taste for gambling.’
‘Then our path remains unchanged,’ Oliver replied, picking up the newspaper and folding it neatly. ‘Once the seven days are up, Moriarty will realise his ploy has failed.’
He was right, of course. All she had to do was ignore the bait.
Checking her watch, Harry saw it was nearly time to return to work.
‘There is something else I need to talk to you about,’ she said, recalling her conversation with Seb the night before.
‘Some family business that I won’t go into now. Are you free for drinks this evening?’
He cocked his head, his gaze curious. ‘Of course. Where did you have in mind?’
‘Gordon’s, near Charing Cross,’ she said, falling back on her brother’s suggestion. ‘Shall we say seven-thirty?’
‘I’ll be there,’ he said, and the smile he flashed did something peculiar to Harry’s insides and temporarily vanquished all thoughts of Mr Spender, the Longstaffs and Moriarty.
It was Seb’s fault, she decided as she set out at a brisk pace towards Baker Street.
His teasing was stirring up old memories, bringing fragments of long-dismissed feelings to the surface and muddying the waters of the clandestine working relationship she and Oliver had forged.
But in his defence, Seb was just being Seb; mischievous, meddlesome and entirely unaware that Oliver meant anything more to Harry than a girlish infatuation.
And that was the way she intended it to stay.
Harry’s conversation with Oliver weighed heavily upon her for the rest of the afternoon as she worked.
She had taken some precautions to hide her own identity while investigating on behalf of Holmes, but she now saw she had not been careful enough.
If Moriarty was the mastermind behind the previous cases she had solved, then there was a danger the trail might lead to Harry herself.
It was not a cheering thought. What would Holmes do, she pondered as her fingers flew automatically over the typewriter keys.
Would he choose to be the mouse in Moriarty’s game?
Or would he seize the initiative and become the cat?
The answer was abundantly clear; he would accept the challenge and track Moriarty down.
But Holmes had an advantage Harry did not – he was a fictional character with a benevolent creator to rescue him from impending disaster.
She had no such protection and, as Oliver had been at pains to point out, her investigations had already crossed ruthless men and women.
But what was it Seb had said the evening before, when discussing the best approach to the problem of Serafina Eccleston?
Attack was the secret of defence. If Holmes, and therefore Harry, were in danger, the best defence might be to strike at Moriarty first. The difficulty was that she could only see one move to make.
And she was all too aware it was exactly what Moriarty wanted her to do.