Free The West End Horror by Nicholas Meyer Page B

thirst and ordered a brandy and a carafe of water.
    The brandy burned along my throat like fire, and I found I could not swallow enough water.
    “If we persist in tramping about in this weather,” Holmes noted, “we are bound to catch our death.” He, too, drank a good deal of water and looked, I thought, paler than was his wont.
    We sat for some moments, studying our menus without enthusiasm, each wrapped in his own thoughts. Around us the restaurant was filling with animated diners.
    “The case begins to assume a familiar shape,” Holmes stated, setting aside the wine list.
    “Which shape is that? I am utterly at a loss, I confess.”
    “A triangle, if I am not mistaken. I shall be greatly astonished if it does not prove to be the old story of a jealous lover, discarded by his mistress in favour of another patron. Possibly a more powerful one,” he added darkly. He reached into his jacket and withdrew his pocketbook, carefully extracting again the slip of paper from Jonathan McCarthy’s engagement calendar.
    “It must be a very peculiar triangle,” I countered, “if it includes so odd an angle as McCarthy. Are you asking me to believe that sweet-faced young woman took up with a man of his stamp? My mind rejects the whole idea.”
    “I must ask your mind to remain open a little longer, Doctor, for she did take up with him. At least, the evidence points strongly in that direction.”
    ‘What evidence?” My head had begun to throb almost as badly as the old wound in my leg.
    “Wilde’s, of course. If his information about George Grossmith’s recourse to drugs elicited the response it did from Carte, we may, I think, grant its accuracy–at least provisionally–in other areas, as well. What have you to offer in rebuttal
    of such a charge? Her innocent appearance and the testimony of Gilbert, who by his own admission scarcely knew her. The latter information rebuts itself. As for the former,” he mused, staring dreamily at the paper before him, “what can a woman’s appearance signify? Women are devious creatures, even the best of them, and capable of vastly more than we men would like to suppose. That she was McCarthy’s mistress, I am prepared to credit on the basis of the evidence so far; what her motives were for so being, I am prepared to learn.”
    “From whom?”
    He shrugged. “I fancy that will depend to a degree on Arthur Sullivan. He hired her; it is to him I shall turn for a better portrait. Hullo!” He sat forward suddenly, pulled forth his magnifying glass, and held it over the torn scrap, scrutinising it beneath the lens.
    “What is it?”
    “Last night’s entry, or I am much mistaken. Have a look.” He moved the paper over to where I could see and held the glass above it for my benefit. Enlarged beneath the lens I saw faint impressions, evidently formed by a pencil pressing down on another piece of paper.
    “There is something there!” I exclaimed.
    “I think so, too, though whether it will be of any use to us is problematical.” He looked about and hailed a nearby waiter, importuning him for a pencil. When the man had delivered it and gone, Holmes threw back a corner of the white tablecloth and positioned the paper carefully upon the wood. Holding the pencil at the mildest possible angle, he began to rub the lead lightly back and forth across the surface of the sheet. Slowly, like a spirit photograph, the indentations appeared in sharp relief:
    Jack Point–here
    “Who can that be?” we wondered simultaneously. “Here is our oracle in these matters,” Holmes observed, looking up. “Perhaps he can help us.”
    Shaw stood at the entrance to the restaurant, still without a coat (it caused my teeth to chatter just to look at him). He held his nose in the air as though sniffing the place out, unwilling to put a foot forward until certain of his welcome. Holmes held up a hand and waved him over. He advanced rapidly and slid on to the banquette without ceremony as the detective