Son of Holmes | страница 40
A recognizable square loomed ahead of me in the drizzle, and I found myself suddenly almost too dispirited to keep moving toward it. What was the point of going home? What, indeed, was home? Another hollow concept such as loyalty, duty, honor—all fine words to fight and die over, but nothing to take too seriously.
But the old discipline directed my footsteps just as my training led my thoughts back to the issue. The stakes here were nothing less than survival, and sentiment must be viewed only as a dangerous luxury, an enemy as deadly as any I would ever face.
Everyone . . .
How could Fritz have lived in my house for a year without causing me a moment of suspicion? And yet who was more ideally suited to keep tabs on my movements and report on them? No one had had a better opportunity to place poison in Marcel’s bottle, except of course Lupa, who had been sitting in that seat. But my trust in Lupa had proven itself well grounded. Or had it? Perhaps he’d kept me alive last night for another, future purpose. Perhaps in some other game, I was a bishop and Marcel a quickly expendable pawn—perhaps and maybe and again perhaps. My mind was beginning to reel with uncertainties, with possibilities.
Everyone . . .
And even Tania . . .
No! Not Tania! Not the only woman I had ever loved. It was unthinkable. Even if it killed me, I would not suspect her. I shook my head, trying as best I could to purge the poisonous thought . . . ... and looked up to find myself in the middle of the square, still confused and lonelier than I had ever felt before.
The rain became fierce, and again I found myself soaked. In no mood to continue an already disagreeable walk, I hired a carriage back to my home. Fritz greeted me at the door with undisguised concern, tempered with reproval.
“Are you well, sir?”
“Damn it, Fritz, no. No, I’m not well. I’m drenched, my clothes are ruined for the second time, I’m tired, and my oldest friend has been murdered in my house. No, I’m not well at all.”
He stood back and silently took my clothes.
“I’m sorry to snap,” I said, “but it has been a trying time.”
“Monsieur Lupa came by this morning and told me you were in good hands. Madame Chessal went home after breakfast. Would you like some tea or brandy?”
He handed me my robe, and I went into the front room to sit before the fire, where I brooded for a while about my age until Fritz came back with tea laced with brandy. After one cup I fell off to sleep.
