“They claim that poisoned food will be served to my patrons.”
I felt a chill pass through me.
“Good heavens,” I said.
Henri Dubois nodded miserably.
“Exactly so, Doctor. A single poisoning case in such a place as this would ruin me. The reputation of L’Aigle d’Or would never recover.”
Holmes regarded him intently.
“Have the letters given instructions for payment?”
“Yes. The latest was an advertisement in the personal column of the Standard newspaper acknowledging a Luncheon booking. After that they promise further instructions.”
Holmes leaned back slightly. “And have you replied?”
“No,” said Dubois. “Not yet. I thought the first must be some cruel joke. The second letter arrived only Monday. I have been out of my mind ever since trying to decide what actions to take.”
Holmes’s fingers tapped lightly upon the tablecloth.
Holmes smiled faintly. “Don’t worry Monsieur Dubois, I should be able to catch your blackmailer before they can cause further despair. Leave this matter entirely in my hands now.”
Monsieur Dubois looked surprised but nodded his head stating “If you can help me I would be entirely in your debt.”
At that point Miss Lombardo’s sister approached our table carrying a tray of coffee cups. She placed them before us with a polite inclination of her head.
Holmes looked up at her with his most courteous smile.
“Thank you, mademoiselle.”
She returned the smile briefly before moving away toward another table.
Holmes asked Monsieur Dubois the name of this attentive waitress. He replied that her name was Maria Russo, that she was Italian and had worked part time for the past three months. She also looked after her sickly Grandmother. He gazed at her with pride, “Such a caring and hard working girl, I’m lucky to have her working here.”
Holmes nodded, merely replying “Yes, it’s very lucky she’s here indeed.”
Holmes told Monsieur Dubois that he would let him know the outcome in the next couple of days, but not to worry further on the matter.
Holmes glanced once more across the dining room where the false cripple moved swiftly among the tables.
“Sometimes,” he added thoughtfully, “the most revealing disguises are not those worn in the streets, but those worn in a workplace.”
Holmes spoke little as we returned to Baker Street that evening. His manner had that peculiar stillness which I had long learned to recognise as the sign of some carefully forming plan. When at last we reached our sitting room he sent at once for Inspector Gregson.
The Inspector arrived within the hour, stamping the cold from his boots and looking from Holmes to myself with keen expectation.
“Well, Mr Holmes,” said he briskly, “have you something for me at last in this blackmail case?”
Holmes leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled.
“I believe so. Our blackmailer is clever, Gregson. Clever enough to have at play two very similar games upon the London stage.”
He told Gregson of the nights events.
“So, the Italian girl and her supposed crippled sister?” said the Inspector.
Holmes nodded. “It is time we paid them a visit. Quietly and early. If we are fortunate we shall catch them unprepared.”
Inspector Gregson rubbed his hands together.
“Very good. Where and when?”
“At their Lupus street address. We shall pay them a visit at dawn tomorrow morning.”
The Inspector grinned.
“A trap, eh?”
Holmes smiled faintly. “Indeed, let’s catch this cunning pair whilst they still sleep.
The morning was bitterly cold when we met outside the Cabmen's shelter in Pimlico near where the sisters lodged.
A thin frost lay upon the pavement, and the first grey light of day was only just creeping between the houses. Inspector Gregson had brought four constables with, two accompanying us and one each waiting discreetly at both ends of the street.
Holmes studied the building for some moments. “It is always a curious thing, Watson,” said he quietly, “how the most imaginative schemes may collapse through a single flaw.”
Inspector Gregson however, as was his way, had less patience for introspection.
“Well then,” said he, “let’s have them.”
We mounted the steps and Holmes knocked sharply. There was no answer.
Holmes waited a moment and knocked again.
Still silence.
The Inspector frowned.
“They’re sound sleepers if nothing else.”
Holmes looked at Gregson. “Time to force matters,” as he produced a small tool from his pocket.
Within a few moments the door yielded and we entered.
The hallway was silent and cold and led to a sitting room with a small kitchen area. Holmes moved ahead with quick, light steps.
“Their bedroom must be here,” he said, indicating a door on the right.
With a firm push of our shoulders the door burst inward and we rushed into the room which to our surprise was empty.