CHAPTER 12

Heffie’s Second Report

We returned to 221B to find Heffie sprawled on the settee, reading, her boots off and resting by the fire to dry. She had certainly made herself at home. To my surprise, she was engrossed in Pliny while eating a banana from the basket.

She looked up with a grin as we entered.

‘Do make yourself at home,’ said I.

‘Yes, do. Both of you,’ said Holmes with a smile.

Of course, I, too, was but a visitor. It was easy for me to feel at home at the address where I’d lived for so long.

‘Sorry,’ said Heffie, reaching down to put on her boots.

‘How are you finding Pliny?’ asked Holmes, picking up the book from where she had set it down on the table. ‘I see you’ve progressed further than Watson.’

‘It says ’ere he had a “romantic death”. What in ’eaven’s name is that?’

‘He died by inhaling a cloud of debris and poisonous gas from the eruption of Mount Vesuvius,’ I said, knowing at least that of Pliny.

‘Yes, but what’s romantic about that? You could die of the stink in ’ere and it would hardly be romantic.’

The vestiges of Holmes’s chemistry experiments still lingered.

‘The story of Pompeii is a great tragedy,’ explained Holmes. ‘Pliny went there to study the event and increase scientific knowledge.’

‘No. I still say he went on a rescue mission,’ I said.

‘Oh, you two. You each think this Pliny bloke was like you,’ said Heffie.

I laughed at her unexpected bulls-eye.

‘Tell me what you have found, Heffie. I presume you somehow spoke to the woman staying at Reginald Weathering’s flat?’ said Holmes.

Heffie’s face fell. ‘No, and there’s been a development. This George Perkins feller, ’e’s an odd one. Been busy, like buying up all o’London. Fortnum and Mason, loads of victuals, then dresses. And jewellery. The man’s rich, I tell you. I thought you said ’e were a valet?’

Holmes picked up his pipe and lit it. ‘That is correct, Heffie.’

‘Well, I don’t know any servant with that kind of money,’ said she. ‘Or maybe I’m in the wrong business meself.’

‘All of these luxury purchases—did he buy anything for himself?’ asked Holmes.

‘Oh yes, indeed he did. Savile Row, no less! I’m not on ’im every minute, of course, but there must be more, because now when ’e’s about town, ’e’s much, much better dressed.’ She shook her head. ‘And I s’pose ’e’s gettin’ much better service in the shops. I followed ’im into one on Jermyn Street, and they were all over ’im like butter on toast.’

‘Still no sign of Reginald?’

‘No one’s come in or out of their flat,’ said she.

‘And the lady has never emerged?’

‘Not on my watch,’ said Heffie. ‘Seen ’er in the window, though.’

‘It is peculiar,’ I said. ‘His wealthy employer vanishes. A sudden fortune.’

‘But what is this development, Heffie?’ asked Holmes.

Just then Mrs Hudson entered with a tray and three steaming mugs of hot mulled wine. Heffie and I took ours with delight, but Holmes waved her away. ‘Not now, Mrs Hudson, we are working!’

‘It is the Christmas season, Mr Holmes, and time for you to take a pause,’ said Mrs Hudson.

‘I am busy. Go away!’

‘Holmes!’ I took his cup and placed it on a table by the fire. ‘Thank you, Mrs Hudson. And your spiced cake was delicious,’ I added.

‘Gingerbread next,’ said she.

Holmes groaned in impatience and the landlady smiled as she left the room. She was well used to Holmes and his ways.

Holmes turned again to Heffie. ‘The development, Heffie?’

Heffie took a large slug of her mulled wine, and started to wipe her mouth with her sleeve, caught herself, and withdrew a delicate hankie and used that instead.

‘As I said, the lady ’asn’t shown ’er face. And this George feller, ’e’s a petty thief. Quite good at it,’ said the girl. ‘Lifts little things from shops, even ones ’e’s spending loads of cash in.’

‘A petty thief, then. I do not like this,’ said Holmes thoughtfully. ‘What is your theory of the lady? Do you think she may be held prisoner?’

‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

‘Explain.’

‘Well, it’s just an impression I ’ave. I saw them embracing once. It looked … well, it looked more than friendly. I would say it looked like … love.’ She paused. ‘Not that I’ve ever—’

‘Through the lace curtains? Then you only saw their silhouettes?’ asked Holmes.

‘Yes. I keeps ’oping they’ll open those, but no luck.’

I shook my head. The situation was puzzling.

‘The question remains, where is Reginald Weathering? He seems to have been replaced by the man’s lady love,’ I said. ‘And all this spending?’

‘Do you think foul play, Mr ’olmes?’ asked Heffie.

‘Some kind of play, to be sure. Heffie, you said “maybe” and “maybe not”.’

‘Yes. I can’t say why I ain’t sure, but somehow—’

‘I’d like you to cease your surveillance, please. You have been most helpful.’

‘Just like that?’ asked Heffie with a frown. ‘You want me to stop?’

‘I do. And thank you.’

‘What you going to do, Mr ’olmes?’

‘Watson and I will pay a visit tonight.’

The girl looked disappointed.

‘I have another assignment for you, Heffie,’ said Holmes. ‘Have you the time?’

‘I do. It’s a bit slow at Scotland Yard just now.’

Holmes took a slip of paper from his desk and scrawled something on it. ‘I need to you to locate a man named Peter Findlay. He has worked, in the past, likely as a maritime engineer trainee, or something related. He teeters on the edge of utter poverty, has trouble with alcohol, but is educated. He is tall, about my height but heavier, has a scar over his right eyebrow, and pale blue eyes. I estimate twenty-four or twenty-five years old.’

‘’Ow urgent is this, Mr ’olmes?’

‘Extremely, Heffie. And the man is dangerous. Find him but stay well away. I mean that. He can be violent. He is likely to be married and living somewhere in the vicinity of, or perhaps between, the two post offices I have written there. I need his home address.’

She nodded. And with the addition of several more tropical fruits to her stash, she seemed happy. And yet …

Heffie paused at the door. ‘Mr Holmes. About this George and his lady. And the missing Reginald feller?’

‘I will take it from here,’ said Holmes.

Heffie sighed. ‘I would like to—’

‘No.’

I saw her lingering glance as she departed. I did not trust her entirely to keep clear. I took another swig of Mrs Hudson’s concoction and felt its warmth spread through me. No, she would not heed Holmes. Of that, I was sure.