Son of Holmes

“Early. Seven or half past.”

“What time did you get back with your wife?”

“A few hours after that,” he said. “I walked around for a while, just thinking.”

We entered the shop and he called out immediately to his son. “Henri, get those crates in line! And hang that new garlic!” He turned quickly to me. “Good-bye, Jules, and thank you. I’ll let you know about next week.” Then another customer entered, and Henri brushed his hands against his apron and greeted him, as though he didn’t have a worry in the world.

Outside, it was bright and warm. Henri lived off the main route, so I had to walk a while to get to a thoroughfare where I could catch a hansom back to my house. I’d found his place stuffy with the smell of grease and onions, and the walking made me decide to stop for a beer. A boy went by with some late editions of the newspaper, and waiting for my beer to arrive, I idly read the news from the front. I leaned back and relaxed, reminding myself that Henri’s eldest son shared his name, and wondering if Henri would be persuaded to come next Wednesday. But where, it seemed, was a problem. Maybe Lupa would have a suggestion.

I turned the pages of the journal, coming eventually to local news. Then I froze, my beer halfway to my mouth. I put the beer down and looked at the small heading at the bottom of the page. The article read:

INVESTIGATOR KILLED Police this morning discovered the body of special investigator J. Chatelet, 46, near the outskirts of Valence. The body lay just off the road, partially concealed in a clump of bushes. Chatelet had been with the police for ten years, the past five as an undercover (plainclothes) investigator. He appeared to have been strangled last night after having been attacked from behind. The body was still armed. He had been investigating the recent murder of Marcel Routier, a Valence salesman. He is survived by his wife, Paulette, and their three children.

I put down the paper and stared across the street, which shimmered in the heat. Folding the newspaper carefully, I put it under my arm, left some coins on the table and, standing up, flagged a carriage.

9

“Of course I’ve read it,” Lupa said.“I saw it only a few minutes after you left. Naturally it’s interesting that he’d just been to see Pulis, but it proves nothing.”

I’d gone back to Lupa’s after I’d collected my thoughts. He was not at his table on the street, so I passed down under Charles’s gaze to the kitchen and on back. He was not in his apartments either, so I walked into the office, took a candle, and entered the tu

Lupa was leaning over, staring intently at some blooming flowers, seemingly lost to any intrigue that might be encircling him. We greeted each other, and then he said something about the peace of working with flora. I had no reply. Rather, I asked him if he’d read about Chatelet’s death.

“One thing it proves is that Tania is out of it,” I said.

He stopped fooling with the plants and straightened up, sighing. “My dear Jules, I realize how much of a burden this must be for you to bear, but it proves nothing of the sort. Didn’t you tell me you got home long after dark last night?”

“Yes.”

“It became dark some time after seven last night. The sun set at six fifty-two. The ride from St. Etie

“But the man was strangled.”

“Yes, that’s the official explanation, pending an autopsy. Even so, one shouldn’t underestimate the strength of women. It’s true that they often appear helpless and weak, but that’s often our perception either because that’s what we expect to see, or because that’s what they allow us to see. I read recently where a mother lifted a carriage that had driven over the legs of her son, a carriage I’m sure neither you nor I could have lifted. Nor at any other time might she have been able to lift it, for that matter. Stress does strange things to people, as it’s doing now to you. Sit down, would you?”

I complied.

“You’re overwrought. Collect yourself or you’ll be worthless to both of us. Now, look around you. Breathe deeply. There is always beauty and it is always a comfort.”

He was right. In a few moments, I felt calm and competent to think again. In the meantime, he didn’t bother me but kept busy with the plants. Finally, he walked back to me.

“Well,” he asked, “is it Pulis?”

I told him what I thought-that I wasn’t sure, that my biggest problem was motive. Henri couldn’t very well have been a spy for several years, since he’d been here in Valence with his growing family and business. Lupa seemed to agree, though he said nothing. When I finished reporting, he suggested I walk through the plant room with him before returning through the tu

“You know that cyanide is also used to smelt gold or silver from ore. It’s such a convenient poison because it’s so easily attainable legally. Any photographer would have it, as would any geologist.” He shrugged. “No, come to think of it, I don’t believe I’ll go in to see A

We went together back to the tu

“We can go back through now. I’ve turned off the alarm.” I hadn’t noticed that switch in my earlier passages-another indication of my decreasing powers.

Back in his office, he sat behind his desk after getting out three bottles of beer, two for himself and one for me.

After a great gulp of beer, he spoke. “I’ve decided it might be wise to have everyone meet here next Wednesday. Naturally, they’ll be brooding about recent events, and they may resent me, but I think we can come up with something to make this place acceptable. What do you say?”

“I’m not sure,” I answered truthfully. “Some of them may not come.”

“If we can think of some way to get them all here, what would you say?”

“I wouldn’t have any objections, I suppose. Why here, though?”

“Staging. If I can get them all in one place and question them, I think we may get somewhere. It may be easier to heighten the atmosphere of distrust here than elsewhere, and animosity is a much better catalyst than cooperation.”

I drank my beer. “All right. I’ll think about a way to arrange it.”

“One other thing,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“I’d be curious to see a photograph of Madame Chessal’s family. Could you get your hands on one?”

“Are you serious?”

“Perfectly.”

“But why?”

“Because, Jules, I would like to lay to rest, once and for all, my suspicion of her, and I have an idea.”

“You have an idea…” I said skeptically.

“Please,” he said, “if it’s a difficult request, I retract it.” He seemed genuinely concerned for me. “I don’t want to upset you.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “I’m being peevish. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” he said simply. “It might be important.”

That night I was alone at my house. Saturday was Fritz’s night off, and Tania had left, I imagine, sometime during the day. I was somewhat surprised by Fritz’s absence-normally he stayed at the house even on Saturdays-but of course he was perfectly free to go out. Perhaps he’d met a girl while shopping, though he was very shy with women and seemed not to like them particularly. It had taken him some months to be natural with Tania, who was the mildest of creatures.