‘It was luck or miscalculation on the part of the bomber, M. Vidocq, nothing more. If you will excuse me,’ the scientist said, breaking free and turning pointedly to us. ‘Gentlemen, my staff return from lunch and I must reassure my colleagues. I believe you have learned all I can tell you now. I will see that you receive a copy of my paper on the phylloxera on your way out.’ He started to leave but turned back. ‘And I shall take your advice, Mr Holmes. We will take more care.’
He strode off, brushing at his clothes. We stood facing Vidocq.
The Frenchman’s pretence at charm dropped like a curtain. He advanced on us with a frown. ‘Holmes, I will not have you meddling in this affair. I am hired by the French government to protect this man. In fact, we have every reason to suspect British hands in these threats and … well, here you are. I should have you arrested.’
‘You are joking!’ I said.
Holmes shot me a warning look. ‘Vidocq, I do not know what your game is here, but assuredly it is financially driven. Your altruism is never what it seems.’
‘Speaking of finances, my dear friend, I understand you are currently lodging at the laughable Hôtel Du Beau Soleil. How difficult it must be to attempt to command the world stage from such undignified surroundings.’
Somehow he seemed to know of our hotel misadventures in Nice. My surprise at this must have shown on my face. Vidocq laughed.
‘Not only M. Holmes keep the track of his special friends, Doctor.’
‘Vidocq, I suggest that you stay out of our way on this and on all matters,’ said Holmes.
‘Or what?’ replied Vidocq with a sneer.
‘Or I shall make your latest indiscretion known.’
‘And what indiscretion is that?’
‘Ah, then you admit to more than one.’ Holmes smiled as he reached into his pocket and removed a train ticket which he held aloft. The Frenchman gasped and patted his waistcoat, discovering he had been neatly pick-pocketed. Furious, he snatched at it, but Holmes pulled the ticket away and waved it in the air. ‘Paris–Nice, only yesterday,’ said my companion.
I could not help but laugh. Holmes enjoyed my amusement and Vidocq’s discomfort perhaps more than was polite. ‘Ah, Paris, the city of light. And of love,’ said he. ‘You have no doubt enjoyed yourself there, Vidocq, in a particularly close encounter.’
‘Ce n’est rien!’ snarled the Frenchman. ‘I have been in Paris. The rest is wild conjecture, Holmes.’
Holmes paused. He sniffed the air pointedly.
A maelstrom of expressions crossed Vidocq’s face. And then he understood.
‘Ah, Mon Dieu. Remind me to keep my distance.’
I was still in the dark. Holmes turned to me. ‘Our friend’s frock coat collar is quite redolent of a certain perfume. Jicky, you remember, Watson?’
‘That proves nothing,’ said Vidocq. ‘That scent has taken Paris by storm. Many men and many women wear it.’
‘Really. And am I to conclude from your collar that you have been embracing many men and many women all over the City of Light? Random individuals, no doubt, and at considerable length?’
Vidocq shrugged.
‘No, the evidence, while circumstantial, I agree, is suggestive. We both know that Jicky is the signature scent of a certain Mademoiselle Emmeline La Victoire.’
Vidocq smirked. ‘In France this is hardly a scandal.’
‘Perhaps you do not know that the lady is engaged. Her fiancé is as well connected in France as he is in England. The gentleman is a schoolboy friend of M. Reynaud, who is, I believe, your current employer.’
Vidocq’s smile fell away and he stepped back in surprise.
‘A word to this fine man and your lucrative connections will vanish,’ said Holmes. ‘May I suggest you drop both your affair, and the dangerous game you are playing here, lest I find it necessary to intrude on your own personal liberties?’
Vidocq’s retort was interrupted by the bronzed French policeman, who cut through a gathering crowd to stand with us. He spoke sharply in French, but Vidocq held up a hand.
Holmes smiled and leaned forward. ‘Oh, and you are careless, Vidocq,’ he whispered. ‘Your coat pocket? The right one. Here, let me.’
His arm flashed forward and he pulled a stick of dynamite from Vidocq’s pocket. The policeman started, and turned to Vidocq, grasped him suddenly by the arm, and called out for reinforcements.
As several gendarmes ran forward to assist, Vidocq shook his head in annoyance.
Holmes smiled, turned on his heel, and despite his ludicrous white countenance managed a dignified exit. I paused only a moment longer to enjoy Vidocq’s discomfiture, gave him a small salute, and followed my friend.
The level of Holmes’s research never failed to surprise me. But then, it has always been a hallmark of his methods.
Our return train to Nice that afternoon was less than pleasant. Unable to remove the dust fully from our clothing, we were forced to travel in the baggage car, seated on boxes covered with sheets and warned severely not to get our dusty selves on anything else.
As the purser slammed the door shut behind us Holmes looked at me and burst out laughing. ‘Watson, you look like a man who has been frustrated by an encounter with the pastry dough.’
‘Holmes, this trip has been something of a disappointment. As despicable as Jean Vidocq is, I am appalled that you would stoop to planting evidence on him. It strikes me as beneath you.’
Holmes looked at me strangely. ‘How could you think so, Watson?’ He took his handkerchief, and reached into his pocket and withdrew the stick of dynamite. ‘Notice this was lit, and put out. That one had not been. Had we not been here, he would have set off a third. Really, Watson, you must sharpen your skills.’
‘But why would Vidocq himself set off the explosions?’
‘Many reasons. Primarily it ensures his job, and probably raises his fee.’
‘But might he not continue with this plan?’
‘He would not dare to do so right at present. We are not finished on this count, however.’
‘He exceeds even my low opinion of him. I apologize, Holmes.’ I eyed the stick of dynamite. ‘Is that safe?’
‘Reasonably so. It takes a detonator to set these off. That is Nobel’s contribution to the art of explosives. There is a binding agent with the nitroglycerin which—’
‘Really, I do not care to know. But why is it here? Why did you not hand it over to the police?’
‘I will test it myself for fingerprints. The bronzed fellow we met in Montpellier is in Vidocq’s pocket.’
‘I thought he was arresting Vidocq!’
‘They wished it to appear so. The fellow did not know I speak fluent French. Even their fast-paced argot.’
‘Argot?’
‘Slang.’
‘And if the fingerprints are Vidocq’s …’
‘I am certain they will prove to be so. This will show he is behind, or at least complicit with the threats to Docteur Janvier. Mycroft will have what he needs, and Monsieur Reynaud, through our old friend in Tours, will most certainly relieve Vidocq of his exalted position. The universe will align, Watson,