The Classified Dossier: Sherlock Holmes and Count Dracula(47)
“Do you still believe that there is nothing supernatural about this case?” I said. “Perhaps an elder, stronger vampire might have done this thing?”
“Those are two distinct questions,” Holmes said. “If I do not see any sign of vampires, at least I am prepared to admit the existence of something else beyond the experience of your average Londoner. For is there not room enough in London for more than one creature of the night? You know my methods, Watson; I shall follow docilely wherever the evidence leads me. In this case, the evidence is certainly quite extraordinary. I have never known one with greater depths. But we shall have some answers tonight, if I’m not mistaken. It is well that you have brought your revolver. I will give credit to your vampire theory so far as to suggest you load it with some of these specially made cartridges from Ingerson, and I shall do the same. While I consider it the highest probability that vampires are not involved with this case, it is a matter of odds, and there is no reason to bet our lives on such odds when a silver bullet will do as well for any threats we might face as normal ones.”
The cabbie let us off underneath Blackfriars Bridge, where the fog crawled slowly across the wharf, dampening even my heightened senses. The Thames was a murky expanse off to our left, sluggish and dark. The Bountiful Harvest bobbed on the water, only a bulky shape in the grey haze.
Holmes had worn a deerstalker hat out of deference to the weather, which made a strange spectacle in the city, but I could not fault the logic of needing greater protection against the cold and wet, which I did not feel as strongly. We moved slowly up the gangplank, our revolvers at the ready. Mine was a reassuring weight in my hand, on so grim an expedition. There were no workers or pedestrians there, an unusual sight on so busy a dock, such was the pall that dingy little ship cast about it. So overwhelming was my rage at the thought of that innocent woman and little girl at the hands of whatever horrid beast had left that savage destruction and malignant stench at Scotland Yard, that I might have stormed the ship like a buccaneer had not Holmes indicated the need for stealth.
But stealth or no, a burly figure stepped onto the top of the gangplank before we were halfway across. It was with no surprise that, with the light of Holmes’s electric torch, I recognized the belligerent man who had pounded on the Nowaks’ hotel door. The sound of shuffling on the deck made it clear he was not alone.
He bristled and put a forceful hand to Holmes’s chest, his face stern. “You’re not welcome here.” Behind him on the deck, at least a dozen unsavoury sailors stood around. Cut from the same cloth as the man in front of us, they had a slouching and sinister manner. Never have I seen such a collection of unsettling gazes as the wall-eyed stares they gave us. Clearly, my revolver did not intimidate them in the slightest, and many held fishing knives or large hooks in plain evidence.
“You monsters!” I railed. “You have no right to hold women and children hostage!”
“We have every right,” the man said hotly. “She is to stand trial for her theft in Innsmouth.”
“You do have her then,” Holmes said smoothly. “I thought as much, but this confirms it. No doubt you mean to arrest her in your role as U.S. marshal?”
The man gave a most insincere laugh. “Why whatever do you mean?”
“I also know that you attempted to use your role as U.S. marshal to intimidate the staff of the H?tel du Chateau Blanc, for it was you that barged your way in there, and not Pawlitz. You left your badge, however, on the body you had delivered there, to confuse the police. But the body had no sign on the clothing to indicate a badge had ever been pinned there before, while I perceive that you have no less than fourteen holes in your somewhat worn and soiled waistcoat, holes precisely where a marshal’s badge would be pinned.
“Damn your eyes,” the man sputtered. “How could you see such a thing on a night like this?”
“I see such things because I look for them,” Holmes said. “Come now, Eliot, this really will not do. You have the Nowak sisters, and we have the golden tiara. We might, perhaps, arrange a trade?”
“You’re a clever fiend, aren’t you? How do you know my name? I’ve told that to no one in England!”
“Tut, tut. If you haven’t yet reasoned that you are dealing with someone a little sharper than the official force, let me advise you of the fact now.”
“And you would give us the tiara, take the girl, and leave the matter without further meddling?”
“Leave it? I daresay not. If given the opportunity, I’ll see you stand in the dock for the murder of Konrad Pawlitz, late of Devonshire. But it shall be some time before the Scotland Yarders are here, and I am inclined to take what measures I can in the meantime and secure the safety of the Nowak sisters. If the American authorities can succeed in putting a rope around your neck where the British ones have failed, I will count that a good day’s work.”
“Why should I deal with you?”
“Think this through, man. Shots fired would certainly draw the constables immediately, which, for the briefest of moments, goes against both our interests for it would put not only your liberty at risk, but also the lives of the Nowak sisters, unless I miss my guess.”
“You do not.”
“Exactly. Should we come to an agreement that does not involve summoning the constables, then we shall do what good we can, and you will have the chance, at least, to slip off your well-deserved fate.”