Free Sherlock Holmes and the Boulevard Assassin by John Hall Page B

despite the fact that I could no longer see my reflection in his coat, I regret to say that Holmes looked more than ever like a professional dancing-partner.
    Along with the change of raiment, I took the opportunity to remove the last traces of wax from my moustache, and trim the ends, so that it was back to its old – English – self.
    Holmes regarded me critically when I had done. ‘They do not know you by sight,’ said he, ‘so you should be safe enough. But I must continue to act my part.’
    And he was as good as his word. How he did it, I frankly confess I do not know. As I say, he would have nothing to do with false beards, wigs, paint and the like, and yet in some mysterious fashion he actually managed to look quite different. I can only attribute it to the fact that Holmes himself was not devoid of that ‘animal magnetism’ we had spoken of earlier, which some men have in abundance while yet others – like myself – unfortunately do not possess at all.
    An hour or so later, Georges came to take us downstairs to luncheon. Constantine was sitting at the table. He regarded us with a certain amount of approval. ‘I think that is more satisfactory,’ said he. ‘After all, one wishes one’s associates to look respectable, does one not? Now, please enjoy your meal.’
    As before we ate in almost complete silence; and once again Constantine himself ate very little, but merely watched us throughout the meal. Holmes and I made occasional attempts to engage Constantine in conversation, but he made only monosyllabic replies. When we had done, Constantine remarked, ‘You will please return to your room. I do not propose to insult you by locking you in, or anything of that sort – you have already had the opportunity to leave, had you wished – but I have callers this afternoon, and I do not wish you to see them. And, equally to the point, I do not wish them to see you. I am sure you will understand.’
    We nodded our understanding.
    ‘Georges will bring your dinner to your room this evening,’ Constantine went on, ‘for again I shall have other guests. And then when once it grows dark, Georges will set you on your way to your lodgings – you had best give me the address.’
    Holmes did so, and Constantine said, ‘You will remain there tomorrow morning, if you please, and I shall send an emissary – he will mention the name “Jean-Paul”. You will obey him in all respects, as if it were me speaking. And now I must say farewell. As I say, I have engagements for the rest of the day, and you will be gone before I am free again. But – if you make good progress within our little family, as it were – we shall meet again before so very long.’
    ‘And if we do not make good progress?’ asked Holmes.
    Constantine smiled. ‘Ah – I fear that in that event, we shall not meet again. But let us not think about that very disagreeable prospect.’ He held out his hand. ‘ Au revoir – that is, let us hope most sincerely that it is au revoir .’
    Holmes shook his hand. ‘I am certain that we shall meet again,’ said he.
    We returned to our room, where Holmes yet again curled himself up in his armchair. ‘I would to heaven we might catch a glimpse of this afternoon’s visitors!’ said he. ‘It might have told us a good deal. But I fear we simply do not dare to make the attempt – Georges, or one of the other servants, is sure to have been told off to keep an eye on us.’ And he lapsed into a sort of brooding silence which I did not feel inclined to disturb.
    The afternoon seemed to me to drag intolerably. I could not tell if Holmes was asleep – if he was not, then he was so immersed in his own thoughts that he was as insensible of the outside world as any Indian fakir on his bed of nails. How I wished that I had brought a book to read, or paper and pencil to play noughts and crosses with myself, anything to break the monotony. But then of course I had not imagined that I would be a bird in a gilded