The tall man could not help but smile when Gaunt had relayed his various adventures concerning himself and Sherlock Holmes.
‘That fellow is as slippery as a varnished eel. He seems able to ease his way out of every tight spot.’ The tall man laughed. ‘Although I damn him to hell, I must admit I admire his tenacity and panache.’
Gaunt was not amused. ‘It might seem comic to an outsider,’ he said, ‘but he still remains a threat.’
The man placed an avuncular arm on Gaunt’s shoulders. ‘Not a really serious one, Dom. It seems that Mr Holmes’s brilliance has gone off the boil somewhat. Despite all his efforts he is no nearer to finding us than he was at the beginning. He may have a facility for escaping, but he is still as much in the dark as he ever was and, I believe, ever will be.’
‘I wish I had your confidence.’
‘I am sensible enough to know that nothing is infallible, but our organisation is strong and powerful, with a veritable wizard at the helm. As you know, this project has been many months in the planning and arranging. We are certainly not going to be beaten by one man, even if that man is Sherlock Holmes. He has proved to be a nuisance, but we must consider him no longer so – unless, that is, he comes too close. Our focus must now return to our own machinations, not his. I am echoing the words of our master. You understand?’
Gaunt nodded gravely. ‘I understand.’
‘And so we have put the final stage of our plan into operation. M arranged it yesterday evening.’
‘Really?’ Gaunt said with a mixture of surprise and dismay. He had expected to be party to any sudden changes of strategy. After all he was one of the main players in the organisation. He believed that he would be consulted about such important decisions. But it seemed not.
The tall man sensed Gaunt’s feelings. ‘We really could not wait any longer. We had delayed things long enough because of Holmes. Especially now we have lost you as our mole at the Yard we need to press on. The authorities are redoubling their efforts to track us down. Army espionage agents have already been engaged to seek us out.’
‘What is the current situation?’
‘The Prime Minister received a communication this morning with our demand. We have given them forty-eight hours to consider it and raise the funds. In the meantime, I intend to return to London to our headquarters.’
‘Why?’
‘I have been called back and anyway I need to be on hand as things progress. It is imperative that I am at the centre of things.’
‘I shall take him with me. M wants him close at hand for the final sequence of the game.’
‘What about me? I can’t go home.’
The tall man stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Yes. Well, we cannot risk you accompanying me – now that you are a fugitive from justice you cannot remain in this house as I’m closing it down while I’m in London. I’ve released most of the servants already. You’ll certainly need to lie low. Every bobby on the beat will have an eye out for you now. I suggest you camp out at the Grimes’s place as a temporary measure. They have the room.’
Gaunt curled his lip. ‘Those dregs of humanity!’
The tall man smiled indulgently. ‘It’s only for a few days. Beggars can’t be choosers – and after those few days you will no longer be a beggar. With a smart new set of clothes and a small fortune you will be all set to cross the Channel and start a new life as a wealthy monsieur.’
Gaunt liked the image that this description brought to his mind and he found that he was smiling too.
‘We’ll keep in touch in the usual fashion. No doubt when the forty-eight hours are up, things will move quickly. The fuse has been lit.’
‘Where is M now?’
‘Watching us all, no doubt. I spoke to him by telephone from my office yesterday. Now if you will excuse me, I must make arrangements for the journey. Stay awhile if you wish. Help yourself to brandy and then off you go to reacquaint yourself with the Grimeses.’
* * *
In London, down in his underground lair, the mastermind behind the plot was smoking a cigar and smiling. It all seemed to be going smoothly, despite the interference of Mr Sherlock Holmes, who it seemed on his present performance was losing his grip. At this thought, M emitted a dry chuckle. It was so good to combine two operations in one: draining the government’s coffers of one million pounds and showing up Sherlock Holmes as a failed master detective. If he could have raised himself out of the wheelchair, M would have done a jig of triumph. The smile faded as he was reminded that his dancing days – indeed his walking days – were over. And he knew who he had to thank for that.