Sherlock Holmes and the King of Clubs by Steve Hayes

along – we shall return to our hotel and seek to restore you with a pot of tea, a slice of
Marmor Schnitte
and a short rest.’
    â€˜Well … if you insist.’
    They returned to the Heldenplatz, where Holmes bought an evening newspaper and then flagged down what they still called in England a Forder cab. As they rode back to the Grand, he scanned the paper, found what he was looking for, then folded it and tucked it into his overcoat pocket.
    â€˜It appears we shall have to wait another day before we can see Houdini at work,’ he announced. ‘The show has been cancelled for the second night running, and though the management is hopeful that the curtain will go up tomorrow night, they are by no means sure.’
    â€˜What a dashed shame,’ said Watson.
    Winter darkness stole across the city. By the time they reached their hotel the streetlamps had been lit and Vienna again resembled a scene from a Christmas card of old. As Watson climbed down from the cab, he stifled a yawn and wearily suggested that an early night was in order.
    Holmes paid the cab driver and then turned to him. ‘I am sorry to hear that, Watson, for I regret to say that an early night will not be possible.’
    â€˜No? Why?’
    â€˜Because I suspect we are about to receive a visitor. And quite possibly the answer to a mystery.’
    Watson stiffened. ‘What—?’
    â€˜Have a care, old friend. No need to tip our hand.’ Grasping Watson’s arm, Holmes guided him toward the hotel’s revolving door. ‘Let us get in out of the cold.’
    As they entered the lobby, Watson demanded to know what was going on.
    â€˜As we alighted from the cab a moment ago,’ Holmes explained, ‘I spotted a familiar figure across the road attempting, somewhat unsuccessfully, to remain hidden in the shadows of the alleyway there. As soon as this person spotted us, they started forward,then hesitated. I can think of no other reason for such reticence besides a wish to avoid being seen with us on the street. But we shall see soon enough, for here comes our visitor now.’
    The revolving doors began to turn. A moment later Frances Lane entered, a check motoring wrap buttoned about her throat and a small handbag clutched in her gloved hand. She hesitated when she noticed Holmes and Watson awaiting her arrival and stared at them.
    Watson could not believe his eyes. The woman seemed to have aged noticeably since their last meeting.
    â€˜Ah … Mr Holmes…!’ she began.
    â€˜You have been awaiting our arrival, I presume?’
    She blinked her distinctive green eyes in dismay. She looked so cold and desperate that Watson quickly moved to take her by one arm, saying gently, ‘Come, Miss Lane. You are frozen to the bone.’
    She started to protest, but Watson would have none of it. He led her across the lobby toward a corner table that was shielded from the entrance by some artfully arranged potted palms, leaving Holmes to order tea from a passing waiter.
    By the time Holmes had rejoined his companion, Watson had seated Miss Lane at a small round table and was studying her with concern. She was close to tears and until this moment had not seemed the crying type. ‘There, there,’ said Watson, patting one of her hands. ‘Don’t take on so. You are among friends now.’
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ she said, drying her eyes. ‘I shouldn’t—’
    â€˜My dear lady,’ said Holmes, sitting opposite her, ‘if you are, as I suspect, in some sort of difficulty, coming to us is
precisely
what you should have done. Now what, pray, is the nature of your problem?’
    â€˜It’s not me,’ she said softly. ‘It’s Mr Houdini. But I fear he will be furious when he finds that I’ve enlisted your aid.’
    â€˜And yet you have enlisted it nonetheless.’
    She looked absolutely wretched. ‘Gentlemen, I can’t discuss Mr