Echoes of Sherlock Holmes: Stories Inspired by the Holmes Canon(60)

“He was a real artist, you know, as well as writing nonsense verses. He painted beautiful watercolors of South Africa.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He fished for words and recollections of Lear’s verses, and recaptured enough to amuse her for quite a while. Some of them she knew and recited with him. The waitress came and Marcus paid the bill.

A few moments later she returned with a receipt—and a note.

Trying to keep his hands steady, Marcus read it. He knew Sarah was watching him almost without blinking.

“They have your mother, and will exchange her for Raffa,” he told her. “They are somewhere very close, probably in this room where they can see us, so sit still. Let us keep our composure.”

“The game is afoot,” she whispered, her eyes locked on his.

“It is indeed. But we must make sure that she is all right before we give them Raffa.”

She nodded, just a tiny movement of her head.

He found himself, ridiculously, not wanting to give up the stuffed giraffe. If anything had happened to her mother, it was the only thing she had left of her past life, apart from a few clothes she would soon grow out of.

“We must make sure,” he repeated, taking his pen out of his pocket and writing on the note itself. ‘We will give you Raffa when we know Maria Waterman is safe and well.’ He gave it to the waitress, along with a couple of one-pound coins, and asked her to return it to the sender. His heart was beating so hard he felt as if his body were shaking with it. His hands were clammy.

“Yes sir,” she said obediently, and took it away.

Marcus wanted to say something to Sarah to comfort her, but his mouth was so dry he could barely speak. This was the worst stage fright he had ever had. Of course it was! It wasn’t a critical opinion of his performance of a play at stake, it was a woman’s life, and a child’s happiness.

How strange the world was—everyone around them was sipping tea and talking normally, exactly as if nothing of importance were happening. But perhaps they were making deals that would change fortunes, meeting their illicit lovers, or saying goodbye for the last time.

The note came back. ‘Give us Raffa, or we start hurting the mother.’

With a trembling hand, he answered. ‘We know what’s in it. If you hurt her we will delete the first three names from your list, along with the account numbers. The second time you hurt her, or delay any more, we will take the next three. If you look at the stitching on Raffa, you will see that it has been replaced. This is not an idle threat.’

He passed it back to the waitress. Please God this would work. His mouth was too dry to swallow, and if he took some tea it would choke him.

He looked at the child on the other side of the table.

“Don’t worry,” he said gently. “What is inside Raffa is worth millions of pounds. They want it very badly. I told them that if they hurt your mother, I will make the flash drive delete a few of the names and numbers they need. Watson is making it so it will do that. He’s very clever that way.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. Did she believe him?

“Tell me about Wayne,” he asked. He realized that it mattered to him that this man who was going to marry her mother was honest and kind. What he did and how much he earned were unimportant; he must be kind to the child, he must like her, as much as if she had been his own.

He asked questions to keep her mind busy, all kinds of questions about the man, but the more she told him, the less did he like what he heard. By the time the waitress approached them again, he was almost as concerned about Wayne as he was about Maria Waterman’s safety.

The telephone buzzed against his chest. He fished it out and saw a text from Peter: Mission accomplished. He went light-headed with relief.

Sarah was watching him, looking very pale, her clenched hands on the table.

“Watson’s done his part,” he told her. “Now we must wait for them to reply. Don’t worry, they will. They want what is inside Raffa just as much as we want your mother. And we can destroy it any time we want to.”

“Will you destroy it even if we get Mummy back again?”

“Yes, I’m afraid we will have to. They would do a great deal of damage with it.”

“Will they know? That you can destroy it?”

“They do now.”

She tried to smile, but it did not really work.

He reached across the table and put his hand over hers, just for a moment. It was a very un-Holmes-like thing to have done, but he was not sorry. When she was older, and looked back on this, who would she think he was?

The waitress returned with another note.

Marcus took it and read it almost at a glance. They agreed, naming a restaurant which would be open until at least midnight. They would meet there and exchange the hostage for the ransom. The restaurant was in the theater district. Not good: he might be recognized. He had played in many of them, and his face was known worldwide as Sherlock Holmes. He wrote down the name of an alternative restaurant, less fashionable, where he might pass unnoticed. He tipped the waitress handsomely, and asked her to return with the reply.

He and Sarah waited in silence until it came. It was a jolt, and a relief.

“The game is on,” he told her, then looked at what she was wearing. “Do you have other clothes with you? A pretty dress?”

“Yes, in my room.”