40 Bemer Street STRIDE FOUND DEAD!.

With Bated Breath

Women are never to be entirely trusted-

not the best of them.

-SHERLOCK HOLMES, "THE SIGN OF FOUR"

I awoke with shattered memories of a tall, storklike man pursuing me through endless catacombs until we reached the sewers, whose murky waters flowed red.

There I saw a woman's form, elevated above the flood, her hands folded like a Catholic saint's.

When I turned, there was no one behind me but an alleyway of white-marble statues, as in a garden, save their faces had no features.

I was glad to open my eyes and find them gazing upon the overly ornate plasterwork common to French hotels, respectable or not.

The playful putti surrounding the ceiling rosette reminded me of the gantlet of statues in my dream, but these smiling cherubs could hardly be construed as ominous.

I heard the click of breakfast china from the other room and hastened to don my dressing gown.

When I entered our common chamber, Irene and Pink were drinking coffee from an urn, the Paris newspapers spread all around them. Of the Ripper materials there was no sign, and Irene greeted me with a cup lifted as for a toast.

"Welcome, lazybones. There is tea in that china pot that is disguised as a Shropshire sheep and there is a letter from G.o.dfrey for you, not to mention an a.s.sortment of pastries."

"A letter from G.o.dfrey? For me? Why?"

"I don't know, Nell. Apparently he felt moved to write you for a change. He has arrived in Prague, at least. I am so glad that I had our post transferred from the country to our city quarters."

"I am amazed the postal service managed to follow our perambulating address," I murmured as I sat down, shook out my serviette, and accepted the cup of tea Elizabeth had charmingly prepared for me.

"Milk?" she asked.

I nodded, and she poured the creamy liquid into my half-filled cup as if she knew my preferences from such slight acquaintance. I added two lumps of sugar and took a soothing sip. From their cups wafted a bitter aroma of coffee that smelled like a poison.

There was indeed a plump envelope at my place, and I was so excited I used the b.u.t.ter knife to open it, after first verifying that Irene's and Elizabeth's eyes were on the papers.

My dear Nell, It is pleasant to be in Prague again and to recall our interesting outings in this city of golden spires not long ago.

I will send a letter to Irene in the next post, never fear, but wanted to tend you greetings from this city that has been your only foreign landscape besides Paris and Monaco.

Also, I thought that you would be wildly interested in the fact that some of the folk here believe our friend the Golem has risen yet again.

This time his reputed appearance has stirred even more panic than before, for it is a particularly b.l.o.o.d.y murder that they attribute to this automaton.

Of course, you and I and a few others know that the Golem's previous appearance was not what everybody a.s.sumed it to be, and that it is extremely unlikely that this medieval legend has bestirred itself to spread terror in the residents' hearts once again.

So the city is its charming self wrapped up in its own legends like an ancient mummy in its winding cloths. We who know better can laugh at their quaint superst.i.tions.

My business meetings will shortly bring me to Prague Castle. I am looking forward to seeing the Queen again, if not the King. And I am sure that Irene will want detailed reports on both, so I will save my hand for a later, more fulsome report more befitting a barrister abroad.

This is merely a note to remind you of our mutual sojourns in Bohemia, and to a.s.sure you that all is well, although I greatly miss your valued company.

As always,

G.o.dfrey

"Oh, dear," I said.

"What is it, Nell?"

I could hardly admit how dreadful I felt that G.o.dfrey was so far away, thinking of me, when I was happily ensconced in Paris working to prove that Sherlock Holmes was Jack the Ripper, and missing him not a jot.

"G.o.dfrey has arrived safely."

"So I deduced from the postmark."

"He is sending you a letter in the very next post."

"He had better. What did he say in this one?"

"Only that the poor superst.i.tious residents of Prague are still nattering about the Golem being loose and on the rampage and that he will begin business meetings shortly."

"Do they involve the Castle?"

"I . . . gather they do."

"A pity we could not spare you to report from the scene, but you are of far more use here."

"I am?"

"Of course." She smiled and idly wound a long lock of her hair around her forefinger.

Elizabeth watched her as closely as I did. Irene girlish was an Irene to beware of.

"I have decided on a battle plan." Irene pushed away her coffee cup as if realizing its bitter aroma. "You may finish your late breakfast, Nell," she added, eyeing my empty plate. "But as soon as you are done, we will divide our forces and scatter like pigeons among the stones of Paris."

"Scatter?" I asked faintly.

"Pink and I are off to the Eiffel Tower and the international displays at the World Exposition to investigate Red Indians."

"And I?" I asked even more faintly, for it was clear that I was to venture forth alone, on my own, once again unescorted.

"Back to the bordello to investigate the matter of the siege d'amour upholstery."

"They will not heed me, or answer any questions I may have."

"Nonsense. I have great faith in your powers of persuasion, Nell. You need only obtain the name of the designer of the . . . couch and the address of his studio. They will understand that you were with me on the previous visits and that I-we-are serving persons too highly placed to ignore."

"They will not remember that I was with you before, Irene! They never do. I shall undergo the humiliation of being driven out of a house of ill repute!"

She considered me for a few silent moments. "If you do not wish to go alone, there is an alternative."

"Yes?"

"I doubt you would find it any more pleasant."

"Anything! Even Inspector le Villard, if he must accompany me. I know you can persuade him, Irene."

"Oh, we need not subject you to anything so unpleasant as that."

"You are thinking of Sarah Bernhardt. You know I detest her even though she is your friend." I sighed and sat up straight enough to pour tea for the Queen. "But I will tolerate her, if she will smooth the way for my awkward questions in that dreadful place."

"No, I would never send you into such a situation in the company of a person you regarded as so scandalous."

"I am relieved, but who is left?"

"No one, really, which is why I am afraid we must draw Sherlock Holmes into our equation again."

"Him! But he may be a-" I glanced at Elizabeth just in time. She had been watching our conversation with the eager snapping glance of a cat engaged in following the short, futile flight of a canary in a cage. "-a rival in our investigation. We do not wish him to know what we do."

"That is why I have already sent a note to his hotel advising him to expect you, with some evidence that might be of interest to him."

"Evidence? What evidence? Only of your insanity and my absolute bewilderment."

"La, Nell, this is simply a small exercise"-the fingers of Irene's right hand rippled off a silent glissando on the immaculate table linens-"in using a rival to our own ends. You will bring him the container with the substance we plucked from the carpet at the, er, maison de rendezvous."

She glanced at Elizabeth as she avoided the word "bordello," although the girl had the grace to flush nevertheless. I was beginning to wonder whether Elizabeth pinked so often out of shame, or simply frustration.

"I believe," Irene went on, "that Mr. Holmes is irresistibly fascinated by minuscule bits of evidence, so the contents of your etui should occupy him for some time. And I am sure he is an authority recognized enough to demand cooperation at the maison when you question the madam about the provenance of the siege d'amour."

"I am thinking now, Irene, that I would rather carry out this task alone."

She shook her head. "You needn't worry that you will be providing our archrival with ammunition. From what you said of your interview yesterday, he had already admitted that your visit had been of some small use. What else would he have gleaned except the oddity of the siege d'amour? Only Mary Jane-once and briefly Marie Jeanne here in Paris, according to her own somewhat suspect testimony-was permitted to die upon her own bed, the only victim the Ripper killed indoors and supine. So were these two women killed in Paris. Indoors and supine. The London Police believe the Ripper is no longer on the loose because the killing of Mary Jane Kelly so far exceeded his previous violence that they think he either killed himself or went so mad he was sent to an inst.i.tution.

"They underestimate the ability of the monster to be monstrous. I believe that the Kelly murder only whetted his taste for further excess."

She smiled and handed me a b.u.t.tered roll. "Now eat your breakfast."

Of course I had no appet.i.te at all after this discussion of the murders.

"You will need your strength," she went on, "if you are going to outwit Sherlock Holmes at his own game."

At least I knew the way to the man's hotel, improper as such knowledge and such a journey was. At least I had taken an omnibus by myself before. And how strange it was, as I traveled alone amid the alien chatter and the subtle perfume of horse manure, for I began to be able actually to eavesdrop now and then. Sentence fragments suddenly flashed as clear as stones at the bottom of a shallow stream. Before the words had been obscured by audible murk with only an occasional pair understandable, and by the time I had recognized them and converted them into English, the foreign sentences had bounded into the next paragraph.

I tried not to think of Irene and Elizabeth exploring the exhibitions at the World Exposition, particularly the Wild West Show of Mr. Buffalo Bill.

Buffalo Bill! There you had everything that was immature and ridiculous about America bundled up into two words, into a single name. What kind of name was that for a man whose representations showed long white hair and a snowy goatee, like some skimpy American Santa Claus?

Imagine calling an Englishman . . . Hereford Harry! Or Guernsey G.o.dfrey! The very thought made me burst into solitary laughter, which caused my fellow pa.s.sengers to stop jabbering and stare at me, instead of me staring at them.

I controlled myself by drawing my handkerchief and pretending to sneeze. And then I thought of the Jersey Lillie, Lillie Langtry, of course, except I'd never pictured her as a cow before!

And off I went again into cyclones of laughter.

I had dressed with almost as much care as Irene normally used. My walking suit of gold velveteen impressed with a piquelike pattern and trimmed in touches of black-satin trim on skirt and jacket announced me as a serious woman of affairs. My shirtwaist was lace-ruffled at bodice and sleeve, but not unduly fussy. I wore the less domestic attachments of my chatelaine clipped to my broad waistband, various elements dangling in plain sight as long as two feet, with my small silver notebook the longest and most prominent.

This time I knew exactly where to go in the hotel, so I took the elevated car from the lobby. The ride was terrifying enough to sober me before I had risen one floor. I knocked on Sherlock Holmes's door, reminding myself that we would use him before he would benefit an iota from any interaction with us.

I must say that Paris agreed with him. Perhaps it was that his aquiline breed of nose was among its forebears. At any rate, he looked quite civil in a city suit.

"Paris agrees with you, Miss Huxleigh," was his annoying and disconcerting greeting. "I see the omnibus was crowded."

I was not going to gratify his showing off on what he could discern about my journey. It is like dealing with a self-important young lad of twelve who is full of his tutors and believes himself far beyond the schoolroom. Maintain a stiff dignity, and there is nothing he can do to upset you.

"I am not here by my own wishes," I said.