Sherlock Holmes and the King of Clubs by Steve Hayes Page B

… if indeed they were ever there.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

… and a Flat Rejection
    I T WAS NOW snowing lightly and the persistent wind was colder than ever. Shunning a cab, for the Royal was only a ten-minute walk from the Grand, Frances Lane hurried through Vienna’s wintry streets with her head down, the very picture of torment.
    Holmes and Watson kept well back, but made sure to keep the attractive American in sight at all times. However, she appeared not to be being followed by anyone other than themselves.
    â€˜Do you imagine she only thinks she was being followed, Holmes?’ asked Watson.
    â€˜You know that I never guess,’ came the crisp reply.
    Watson rolled his eyes. ‘Of course. Let me see now … Ah, yes. “It is a shocking habit, destructive to the logical faculty.”’
    â€˜I am glad to see that you have not forgotten
all
my teachings.’
    â€˜How could I? It was I who committed most of them to paper.’
    Her pace quickening, Frances Lane followed the Burgring past the Academy of Fine Arts. To her left, the Volksgarten lay in eerie darkness; its world-famous rose beds, monuments and large imitation Theseus temple were quiet and still.
    Presently she turned right, onto the Shottenring. The snow began to fall slightly harder, and the cold wind made it spiral and dance. It was now a little after 6.30. The roads were still reasonably busy, but pedestrian traffic was growing noticeably thinner.
    As she turned right again onto Franz-Josefs-Kai, Watson could just discern the dark waters of the Danube rising andfalling sluggishly on the far side of a small park. A trolley bus clanked past, seeming almost to glide along the tracks in the centre of the wide thoroughfare.
    Frances Lane vanished around another corner into the Rotenturmstrasse it was here that Holmes led Watson across the narrow street, so that they might observe Miss Lane’s progress from the opposite pavement.
    Another three-minute walk brought her out onto the bustling Stephansplatz. The Royal stood almost directly opposite St Stephen’s Cathedral, an impressive brown stone basilica built in the thirteenth century whose architecture still looked remarkable even in these snowy conditions.
    As the Royal came into sight, Holmes quickly sidestepped into the recessed doorway of an otherwise faceless office building, giving Watson no choice but to follow him.
    â€˜What is it?’
    Craning his neck, Holmes peered cautiously along the street. ‘That man there, do you see?’ he replied. ‘Standing outside that closed cafe on the other side of the road, just a short distance up from the Royal, pretending he is waiting to meet someone.’
    Watson squinted through the snow. ‘I see only one man foolish enough to be out in this weather – a tall, skinny-looking fellow, just visible under the awning. He’s wearing a dark-grey alpaca topcoat and what looks like a linen sporting cap. Got his hands in his pockets.’
    â€˜He’s the one.’
    â€˜What about him?’
    â€˜He reacted when Miss Lane came into sight … the almost imperceptible stiffening of his shoulders and the involutary twitch of his torso betraying both recognition of who she was and surprise at her return.’
    â€˜Perhaps he
is
waiting for someone. Perhaps he thought
she
was the person he was waiting for.’
    â€˜Then why seek to disguise his mistake so quickly behind a show of supreme nonchalance? See – he now appears to be studying the contents of that café window with a level of interest that cannot possibly be warranted. All the time, however, he is reallywatching Miss Lane’s reflection as she enters the hotel.’
    Watson felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the weather. ‘She
was
right, then! She and or Houdini
are
being watched!’
    â€˜Perhaps. Almost certainly he is the fellow who attempted to follow her, and whom she subsequently lost before