The Classified Dossier: Sherlock Holmes and Count Dracula(71)

“You surprise me, Mrs Ricoletti,” Holmes said. “So few people had any knowledge of the Professor’s existence or position. He was a man to work from the shadows.”

“He was, Mr Holmes,” Mrs Ricoletti said. “But it is my business to know things, too.”

“A touch!” Holmes said. “A distinct touch, madam. Could you draw up a list of the Merry Widow’s usual routes?”

“I couldn’t,” she said, “but I’m sure one of my lieutenants could.” She went back around behind her desk, sat and laced her fingers, peering at us over them as she favoured us with a demure smile. “What we’ve spoken of so far was easy enough information to come by. Most of it, I daresay, you knew already. However, routes, definitive routes, are not so easy to come by and I am not a charitable organization, Mr Holmes, large favours notwithstanding.”

“You haven’t asked what I might do with such a list,” Holmes replied.

“Very well,” she said. “What would you do with such a list?”

“Almost certainly make a great deal of trouble for Mr Ricoletti’s smuggling operation.”

“That,” she said, “is acceptable.” She rang a small bell sitting on her desk and the door jerked open as if it had been connected to the bell by some hidden mechanical wire, and the thin, reedy man who had been in the room before stuck his head in.

“Joseph, can you draw up a list of the Merry Widow’s landing spots? Include any other information on their operations you think useful to Mr Holmes.”

“Certainly, Mrs Ricoletti.” He stepped into the door and moved over to the desk, carefully keeping his gaze away from the three of us.

“There will be some rough guesswork, of course,” Mrs Ricoletti said. “There isn’t anything like a regular schedule, except for the tides.”

“Of course,” Holmes said.

Joseph had pulled out pen and notebook and jotted down three entries from memory. He then pulled out a ledger, consulted it, and added several more entries to the list. He tore off the sheet and handed it first to Mrs Ricoletti. She nodded, looking at the list, and the man quietly replaced notebook and pen in the rolltop desk, locked it again, and left.

“This may be of interest,” Mrs Ricoletti said. “Their most likely departure time is tonight. Or tomorrow morning, at any rate. Before first light. It goes without saying that they don’t post a schedule, so that time is Joseph’s best guess. But I find his guesses terribly helpful.”

“Shocking habit,” Holmes said automatically as he took the paper she offered.

“Of course,” she said, that dangerous smile playing across her lips again. “You never guess. You… estimate the probabilities.”

“Precisely,” Holmes said. “It appears that the Merry Widow hasn’t limited her travels to domestic shores, but has also visited America on several occasions.”

“Yes. That’s quite true.”

“Thank you, Mrs Ricoletti, I believe this information will do quite nicely. We really have detained you long enough.”

“But the Doctor hasn’t even touched his claret,” Mrs Ricoletti said.

“Forgive me,” I said, carefully picking up the small glass. While I still enjoy a fine wine or claret, indeed more so than before my transformation, the woman’s unnerving and formidable presence had made me forget all about the drink. It was a fine claret, bold, strong and sweet. “Thank you, Mrs Ricoletti,” I said when I put down the empty glass.

“You’re quite welcome, Dr Watson,” she said.

*

“Quite an amazing woman,” I said in the cab ride back to Baker Street. “Did she really take over her husband’s criminal organization after your investigation incarcerated her husband? Remarkable!”

“Hmm?” Holmes said, pulling his gaze from the passing scenery. “Oh yes. Of the two Ricolettis, I consider her the far more dangerous.”

“It was a shame she didn’t have anything more useful for us,” I said.

“Didn’t she?” He then lost himself in thought again and would say no more.

It was with some relief that I noticed the greyish light getting darker. My watch told me it was now just past a normal supper time, which meant it was nearly time for my normal breakfast. I’d been going for nearly twenty-four hours now without rest, something that would certainly take its toll, especially if I didn’t take in more nourishment. Just the little bit of claret made my head light and my stomach lurch, and the idea of blood left the same dark yearning and suppressed revulsion it invariably generated.

But it was very likely that I would need all my strength before this strange case was over.





Chapter 15





THE MERRY WIDOW





“Aha,” Holmes said when we got back to Baker Street. He snatched up the envelope waiting for us on the table. “A reply to my American telegram.”

“What does it say?” I asked.

“Let us work backwards,” Holmes said, seeming not to hear my question. “Our original supposition that Mary had left England was clearly false. Let us suppose that she stayed behind in England. Would she stay in London? Probably not. So she retires to one of the more distant counties. This proves successful for a length of time, but then something changes, and she’s forced from her self-banishment to London. Why?”