Free Sherlock Holmes and the King of Clubs by Steve Hayes Page A

find.’

CHAPTER TEN

A Desperate Request …
    A S USUAL , Holmes slept late the following morning. Watson, rising early, went down to the dining room and ate breakfast alone, then retired to the lobby, there to peruse the day’s papers as best he could.
    The
Frankfurter Kurier, Berliner Sonntagszeitung
and
Kölner Bote
all mentioned Houdini’s opening night cancellation, blaming unspecified personal problems, “possibly linked to the American entertainer’s health”.
    This, Watson decided, was entirely possible. If rumour was to be believed, Houdini had spared no effort in his own physical development over the years, working diligently to unhinge and then reseat his joints when required, and increase his lung capacity by deliberately submerging himself underwater for long periods at a time. It was certainly not beyond the realms of possibility that such a gruelling regime might eventually place undue strain upon certain of his vital organs.
    Still, the escapologist had appeared in robust health when they met him at the station barely two days earlier, and according to the papers, Houdini’s manager – ‘the charming Frau Frances Lane,’ to quote one beguiled reporter – had refused to issue any statements relating to the showman’s health, or the reasons for his opening night cancellation.
    In any case, the papers were more concerned with the violent confrontation he, Holmes and Freud had witnessed the day before.The
Kurier
blamed the riot on ‘ill-informed hot-heads whose emotions are inflamed by the scaremongering of the enemies of our country’. The
Sonntagszeitung
took the opposite view, its reporter writing that, ‘the greatest injustice is that the ordinary man and woman on the street are villified, both physically and emotionally, for trying to defend themselves against the enemy within.’ It seemed that everyone was keen to blame someone else for the country’s problems.
    With a pot of coffee and a selection of sugar-dusted pastries at his side, Watson had virtually exhausted his knowledge of German and was idly flicking through his ever-present copy of
Bradshaw’s
when Holmes made an appearance.
    â€˜Ah, you have finally decided to rise, I see,’ Watson remarked, closing the guide.
    â€˜I was not aware that we were keeping to a timetable.’
    â€˜We aren’t, of course. But since we last lodged together, I had forgotten some of your more lamentable habits. The day is almost over, Holmes. It’ll be time for lunch shortly!’
    Unconcerned, Holmes sat opposite his old friend in a large, button-studded leather armchair. ‘Your use of sarcasm,’ he said mildly, ‘reveals a
super-ego
of a somewhat harsh nature, Watson.’
    â€˜Oh, very droll.’
    â€˜But if lunch is so high on your agenda, we shall dine at Karl Gustav’s, on the Heldenplatz … unless you object?’
    â€˜Not at all. Do you know the place? Is it any good?’
    â€˜I have no idea. But its proximity to our destination for today is enough to recommend it.’
    â€˜Oh? And what
is
our destination for today? Bearing in mind that not two minutes ago you were quick to remind me that we had no particular schedule.’
    â€˜The very seat of the Habsburg Empire,’ said Holmes. ‘The Imperial Palace.’
    â€˜I say!’ Watson exclaimed. ‘That should certainly be something to see.’
    Holmes caught the eye of an attentive waiter. ‘In that case, my friend, we shall fortify ourselves with fresh coffee – and one of these fine Austrian pastries for which you are developing sucha taste – and then we will be on our way.’
    Â 
    They began their tour at the Heldenplatz, or Heroes’ Square – an enormous plaza, at the far end of which stood the resplendent Imperial Palace. Reading from his guidebook, Watson explained that the square was so-called because of the two enormous statues that