The Plague of Thieves Affair by Marcia Muller

under close scrutiny at all times by herself, Marcel Carreaux, Andrew Rayburn, Rayburn’s clerks, and scores of admiring and honest citizens. But she would be extra vigilant from now on. It might also be wise to try talking John into joining the surveillance. And if he wasn’t willing or able, to engage one of the agency’s part-time operatives for the task.
    She was still considering this when the crackbrain returned a few minutes later. “Most impressive,” he said. “The Marie Antoinette is exquisite, a plum ripe for the picking.”
    â€œI don’t see how.”
    â€œNor do I. But where there’s a will there’s a way, if I may be permitted a cliché.” He sat down next to her. “Now then. You were about to tell me, when we were interrupted earlier, the reason for your personals advertisement.”
    Sabina hesitated. “This really isn’t the proper place to discuss it. Perhaps we could meet somewhere after the exhibition closes.”
    â€œThat, unfortunately, won’t be possible. There is another game afoot tonight that requires my attention.”
    â€œSometime tomorrow, then.”
    â€œIs it so important to wait until then? Why not simply tell me now?”
    Again Sabina hesitated. Then she drew a breath and plunged. “Very well. The reason for the ad is that I was hired to find you.”
    â€œHired? By whom?”
    â€œA Chicago attorney named Roland W. Fairchild.”
    His only reaction was a slight stiffening of his lean body. “I know no one of that name.”
    â€œHis uncle, Charles Percival Fairchild the Second, died recently. The sole heir to the estate is his son, Charles the Third, last seen in London nearly two years ago.”
    He stared at her in stoic silence.
    â€œCharles Percival Fairchild the Third,” Sabina said. “That’s your birth name, isn’t it. Your true name.”
    â€œIt is not.” He spoke coldly, his eyes glittering in their nest of false whiskers. “My name is and always has been Sherlock Holmes, of 221B Baker Street, London. I answer to no other.”
    â€œRoland Fairchild and his wife are staying at the Baldwin Hotel. If you’ll just speak to him—”
    In one swift movement, using his blackthorn stick for leverage, he was on his feet and turning for the door.
    â€œWait, please—”
    He didn’t wait. He thrust the door open and rushed out onto Post Street. It took Sabina only a few seconds to gain the sidewalk, but by then Charles the Third had already vanished into the night.

 
    11
    SABINA
    The Baldwin Hotel and Theater, on the corner of Market and Powell, was second only to the Palace among the city’s luxury hostelries. Built in 1876, a year after the Palace, by a mining and real estate speculator named “Lucky” Baldwin, it was a massive structure containing nearly six hundred guest rooms and several cafés and public rooms; the accommodations in its prominent hexagonal dome five stories high were reserved strictly for ladies. The attached theater, originally known as Baldwin’s Academy of Music, Sabina knew to be opulently decorated in crimson satin and gold. She had attended performances there by such touring players as Lillian Russell and Frederick Warde, and on one occasion sat in a proscenium box with Callie and Hugh to hear diminutive Della Fox sing amusing songs with such lyrics as “Just a little love, a little kiss” and “A babbling brook, a shady nook, sweet lips where kisses dwell—oh!” Hotel and theater combined took up an entire block, and though it was not as majestic as the Palace, it was grand enough to attract the rich and famous along with the simply well-to-do. The fact that Roland W. Fairchild and his wife could afford to stay there indicated both good taste and financial stability.
    Somewhat reluctantly, Sabina went to the Baldwin on Saturday morning. She felt she owed her client an