same short cut. Anyone who knows my routine would know
that.”
“Anyone who knows you would
know you are a stickler for routine,” disparaged the younger
Holmes. “May I suggest you vary your routine for the time
being.”
“A stickler does not vary,”
responded the elder with disdain.
“Then take precaution,” advised
Sherlock. “If someone has twice failed to eliminate you they are
hardly likely to give up. They will try even harder next time.”
“You think there will be a next
time?” pressed Dr Watson.
“Without a doubt, my friend,
without a doubt,” he assured, frowning. “I would go undercover at
that monastic establishment in Pall Mall but an eye-patch rather
gives the game away and a mechanical arm is a darned nuisance when
it comes to balancing a tray of brandy balloons.”
“I could do it,” offered Dr
Watson. “I could go undercover as a waiter.”
“Butler,” corrected Mycroft
with asperity. “And it is out of the question. Apart from the fact
you would be spotted in ten seconds flat as an interloper by a
proper butler, the uproar from the members would see me hanged for
treason. And quite rightly!”
Dr Watson conceded he would
probably make a rum job of it. A genuine butler would spot a fake
at once. Sherlock could have pulled it off but a mechanical arm was
not something you could disguise while butlering.
The Countess, having dismissed
her own butler once dinner was over so that they could talk in
private, personally proffered a box of cigars to her three male
guests. “If this matter pertains to the amendment to the club’s
constitution then it is more than likely the person out to kill you
is someone within your own club and doing nothing is not an option.
We cannot just wait for the next near miss. The rolling barrel was
a long shot staged to look accidental, but three bombs upped the
ante dramatically. If the third attempt follows from the second it
will be something more serious than three bombs.”
Feeling suddenly nervy, Dr
Watson lit up his calabash pipe in preference to a cigar. “How many
people died last night?”
“Five,” said Mycroft.
“And how many were injured?”
pressed Sherlock.
“Thirty-two,” replied the elder
sibling. “Six of them with life-threatening injuries that may yet
add to the body count.”
“Can your ADC go undercover as
a butler?” pursued Sherlock.
Mycroft shook his head firmly.
“Nash could probably pull it off but his role as my aide de camp is
non-negotiable and quite frankly if anyone is going to prevent
another near miss it will be my ADC going about his normal
duty.”
The others all agreed Nash was
better suited to personal body-guard than butler and the idea was
shelved. The Countess moved on quickly.
“I was lunching with Miss de
Merville today and she mentioned the amendment to the constitution
had something to do with relaxing club membership – is that
correct?”
Mycroft scowled. “She must have
got that from her father. De Merville isn’t supposed to discuss
club matters with outsiders. He probably discussed it with Damery
too. The two of them are as thick as thieves. I wouldn’t be
discussing it with you now if lives other than mine weren’t at
stake. Yes, the amendment, if passed, will allow for Americans and
Irishmen to join the club. It is currently restricted to English,
Scottish and Welsh nationals.”
“Is that really worth killing
for?” quizzed Dr Watson dubiously. “I mean Americans and Irishmen
are not exactly the enemy at the gates.”
“Quite so,” agreed Mycroft.
“I’m in favour of the amendment but a lot of our members feel
threatened. Some Irishmen are Fenian sympathisers and though they
can infiltrate labour organisations and working men’s clubs it is
currently difficult for them to infiltrate the sorts of clubs where
political matters or national secrets are privately aired in the
Stranger’s Room. As for Americans, it is possible they will sway
trade arguments in favour of
that.”
“Anyone who knows you would
know you are a stickler for routine,” disparaged the younger
Holmes. “May I suggest you vary your routine for the time
being.”
“A stickler does not vary,”
responded the elder with disdain.
“Then take precaution,” advised
Sherlock. “If someone has twice failed to eliminate you they are
hardly likely to give up. They will try even harder next time.”
“You think there will be a next
time?” pressed Dr Watson.
“Without a doubt, my friend,
without a doubt,” he assured, frowning. “I would go undercover at
that monastic establishment in Pall Mall but an eye-patch rather
gives the game away and a mechanical arm is a darned nuisance when
it comes to balancing a tray of brandy balloons.”
“I could do it,” offered Dr
Watson. “I could go undercover as a waiter.”
“Butler,” corrected Mycroft
with asperity. “And it is out of the question. Apart from the fact
you would be spotted in ten seconds flat as an interloper by a
proper butler, the uproar from the members would see me hanged for
treason. And quite rightly!”
Dr Watson conceded he would
probably make a rum job of it. A genuine butler would spot a fake
at once. Sherlock could have pulled it off but a mechanical arm was
not something you could disguise while butlering.
The Countess, having dismissed
her own butler once dinner was over so that they could talk in
private, personally proffered a box of cigars to her three male
guests. “If this matter pertains to the amendment to the club’s
constitution then it is more than likely the person out to kill you
is someone within your own club and doing nothing is not an option.
We cannot just wait for the next near miss. The rolling barrel was
a long shot staged to look accidental, but three bombs upped the
ante dramatically. If the third attempt follows from the second it
will be something more serious than three bombs.”
Feeling suddenly nervy, Dr
Watson lit up his calabash pipe in preference to a cigar. “How many
people died last night?”
“Five,” said Mycroft.
“And how many were injured?”
pressed Sherlock.
“Thirty-two,” replied the elder
sibling. “Six of them with life-threatening injuries that may yet
add to the body count.”
“Can your ADC go undercover as
a butler?” pursued Sherlock.
Mycroft shook his head firmly.
“Nash could probably pull it off but his role as my aide de camp is
non-negotiable and quite frankly if anyone is going to prevent
another near miss it will be my ADC going about his normal
duty.”
The others all agreed Nash was
better suited to personal body-guard than butler and the idea was
shelved. The Countess moved on quickly.
“I was lunching with Miss de
Merville today and she mentioned the amendment to the constitution
had something to do with relaxing club membership – is that
correct?”
Mycroft scowled. “She must have
got that from her father. De Merville isn’t supposed to discuss
club matters with outsiders. He probably discussed it with Damery
too. The two of them are as thick as thieves. I wouldn’t be
discussing it with you now if lives other than mine weren’t at
stake. Yes, the amendment, if passed, will allow for Americans and
Irishmen to join the club. It is currently restricted to English,
Scottish and Welsh nationals.”
“Is that really worth killing
for?” quizzed Dr Watson dubiously. “I mean Americans and Irishmen
are not exactly the enemy at the gates.”
“Quite so,” agreed Mycroft.
“I’m in favour of the amendment but a lot of our members feel
threatened. Some Irishmen are Fenian sympathisers and though they
can infiltrate labour organisations and working men’s clubs it is
currently difficult for them to infiltrate the sorts of clubs where
political matters or national secrets are privately aired in the
Stranger’s Room. As for Americans, it is possible they will sway
trade arguments in favour of
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