"He might be a gentleman in station, Holmes," I replied, "but he is a rogue at heart. The insufferable gall of the man, Holmes!"
"Actually, I thought his posts were quite clever," said Holmes, who then proceeded not to say another word.
Girac met us personally at the house located only a short
distance from the Chamber of Deputies. That he came alone was yet another indication of his mistrust of those in his own office.
"I have done exactly as you requested, Mr Holmes," said Girac as soon as we were alone. "I informed several members of the Chamber of Deputies that the President, at my urging, has agreed to take a much-needed vacation in the country. They accepted my story that this constant bickering over the Dreyfus affair has him weary of Paris. Though I refused to reveal the exact location of his hideaway, I did mention a secure villa in the south of France, guarded round the clock by my most trusted assistants."
"Good work," said Holmes. "The trap is set."
Girac grimaced. "You suspect one of the ministers is involved in the plot? Or several?"
"Perhaps, perhaps not," said Holmes mysteriously. "However. I feel confident that news of Casimir-Perier's trip will soon reach Huret. Aware of his limitations, he will try to strike before the scheduled journey."
Holmes made no mention of what those limitations might be, and as Girac said nothing, I felt it best to remain silent. Lighting his pipe, Holmes deeply inhaled the smoke. "You have the President's itinerary for the next few days with you?"
"Of course," said Girac. "He is scheduled for a full round of meetings tomorrow. In the evening, he travels to his club for an informal dinner with the Belgian ambassador. Afterwards, he plans to attend a reception for a few close friends at their embassy.The next day, he consults with the Minister of Finance. That night, he is scheduled to attend the opera. The following morning, his supposed vacation begins."
"The opera," I declared,. "that is where Huret will strike. What better location for the rogue. A huge crowd, plenty of noise. A meeting place for the Boulevard set. The perfect place for an assassination attempt."
"You have the mind of a policeman, Watson," said Holmes, drawing in another puff of smoke.
He nodded to Girac. "I'm sure the Doctor would enjoy dinner at the President's club, Girac. Why not arrange for him to accompany you while you keep watch tomorrow evening?"
"But what of you, Holmes?" I asked.
"I shall be nearby, Watson," replied Holmes, the smoke curling about his head like a mask.
Upon rising the next morning, I discovered Holmes was already gone – on errands, according to Girac – but that he would meet us in the evening. Though he rarely discussed his far travels after his final duel with Professor Moriarity, I knew that Holmes had spent considerable time in Paris. Much of that period was spent investigating the curious affair of the Opera Ghost. My friend knew every twist and turn of the fabled Paris Opera House. I felt certain he was visiting old haunts and making preparations to deal with a new phantom.
I spent most of the day with Girac, reviewing his plans for protecting the President. The Inspector's greatest challenge was to make sure that his men always remained in the background, not noticeable. News of a plot to assassinate Casimir-Perier could be almost as damaging to the state of the nation as the act itself. The President was surrounded by police, but all in disguise, and all at a distance. It was a difficult assignment, but Girac handled it with a cool head and keen mind. I could find no fault in his preparations.
Dinner was at nine, and Girac and I arrived by carriage shortly before it was scheduled to begin. There was no sign of Holmes and I was beginning to worry. Huret had killed a dozen men. Holmes was quite capable of defending himself in a brawl, but what chance did he have against a professional assassin?
The dining room of the club was a small, intimate chamber, with no more than a dozen tables. The rich and powerful of France took supper here and Girac delighted in pointing out those politicians he distrusted, whose number encompassed nearly everyone in the room. In the background, a string quartet played soft music.
The food was excellent, though not the hearty English fare I preferred. Wine flowed freely and after long hours of worry, I relaxed. A half-dozen of Girac's best men, dressed as gentlemen of leisure, were scattered throughout the dining room. Another three inspectors assisted the waiters.
We were just starting our quail when one of Girac's men approached the table. Bending over, he consulted for a moment in low tones with the Inspector. The color drained from Girac's face.
"Please, excuse me for a moment, Doctor Watson," said Girac, getting to his feet. "There has been a disturbance outside. Some sort of scuffle involving the coachman. I will return in an instant. Please pay close attention to our… clients."
I nodded, feeling perfectly safe in the dining room with the President surrounded by nearly a dozen police officers. Still, I worried where Holmes might be.
Girac had been gone for less than a minute when, without warning, a series of extremely loud pistol shots rang out in the courtyard fronting the club. Instantly, all through the room, men leapt to their feet and quickly converged on the President and his guest. The other patrons of the club, not knowing what was happening and seeing the stampede, started shouting. For a few seconds, panic reigned unchecked.
"Quickly," said one of the officers, his authoritative voice rising over the pandemonium, "guard the entrance. Allow no one other than Inspector Girac. I will escort the President through the kitchen to safety."
"That, sir, I regret to inform you," said the violinist, stepping apart from the Chamber Quartet and placing a hand on the policeman's right arm, "will not be possible."
Angrily, the officer tried to shake himself free. But the musician refused to let go. "Who the devil do you think you are, giving orders to a member of the Sûreté?" the officer demanded, his voice shrill.
"I am Sherlock Holmes," said the violinist. "And you sir, despite your protests to the contrary, are not a police officer. Instead, I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Huret, the notorious Boulevard Assassin."
3
"You are insane," declared the officer, shaking himself free of Holmes's grip. "You are jeopardizing the life of the President with your mad accusations."
Inspector Girac returned to the dining room and stared at the officer, as if trying to determine who he was. He shook his head, puzzled. "You look like Edward Ronet, but…"
The officer laughed. He was tall and handsome, with soft brown eyes, smooth brows, and a delicate mouth. His hair was
The Adventure of the Parisian Gentleman 281
a spray of blond curls peeking from beneath his officer's cap. "I am Edward Ronet. I've been in your employ, sir, for most of my life, as was my father before me."
Holmes removed his own cap, then peeled off a wig of long dark curls. "You are not the only master of disguise in this room," he said, with a slight smile. "Accept your fate, Huret. Your bluff is undone."
My friend glanced at the Inspector. "Any problems with the street Apaches outside."
"They were nothing," said Girac, shrugging. "Just a minor disturbance."
"As I thought," said Holmes. "Such working class hoodlums posed no threat to the safety of Monsieur Casimir-Perier. They're after nothing but a rowdy good time. A small but important part of Huret's scheme."
Inspector Girac stared at the false officer. "An excellent disguise, but not good enough. Ronet has a small scar beneath his left eye.You, sir, do not."
Girac gestured to his men. "Escort the President and the Ambassador to their carriage. They are overdue at the Embassy. Keep close watch, though I suspect there is nothing more to fear."