“Yes. Precisely!” He jumped up excitedly and took from his pocket a newspaper article. “But look at this. It’s not unlike our baby-farming case. You remember Mrs. Hardy was foolish enough to wrap dead infants in papers with her address and that we were also able to trace her through newspaper advertisements?”
“Of course, I remember.”
“Well, while I have little respect for the sensationalizing of the media, once again the newspapers will help us find our killer.”
I looked at the classified advertisements on the page.
“Which one - ?”
“The one that says, ‘And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted -- nevermore! Suffer no more.’
“Do you see how it has been signed? ‘The Raven. British Museum.’ The mercy killer is directing them to seek help from him, Poppy. Every man had a copy of that advertisement in his pocket.”
34
As I gazed at Sherlock, I saw in his eyes exactly what I had spotted when he came up with his scheme to catch the baby-farmer. He would answer the advertisement. He would meet with the killer himself. Likely by himself this time, however, and the risk be damned. The confrontation was inevitable and fraught with danger. The memories of that harrowing night he had arranged to meet the baby-farmer, Margaret Hardy, infused me. I had accompanied him as part of the subterfuge, been dragged down an alley by her partner and daughter. I’d nearly been killed.
“I have a better way,” I said. “A bit more cautious, but-”
He could not help himself; he had to interject his own remarks. “You have not even heard my plan yet. You don’t know what-”
“I do know what you plan to do. I have studied your methods.”
He rose and stood in front of me. “Poppy, you are in a considerable state of excitement, and it is understandable given your uncle’s predicament. Not to mention your preoccupation with our - with other things. But you must hear me out.”
“No, Sherlock, it is you who must listen. We do not know the identity of this Asian man young Archibald saw at the museum. He may be the killer, he may not. He may be the one who prearranges what follows or simply be giving the killer the Buddha statues, or he may, as you say, simply be a messenger. I shall go to the museum and see if I can find out who he is.”
“I will go. I shall talk to the curator and-”
“And tell him what? That you are following up on the story you are writing, and oh, by the way, that to complete it, you need to know the identity of an Asian man who keeps strange hours at the museum?”
Comprehending my logic and my eagerness to once again involve myself in this adventure, his face went momentarily grey and his eyes became restless. “I am discerning a leitmotif here, Dr. Stamford. You inject yourself into an investigation, cavalier about the jeopardy, and making yourself quite vulnerable. Do I deduce a strange affinity for endangerment? Or is it simply that you wish to make yourself indispensable to me?”
He took a few steps, turned away from me, then snapped back to face me. “Or do you simply wish to be in my company?”
Though he was correct in his assumption, I inwardly raged as he said it, but I kept my voice steady and paced as I disavowed them. Paradoxically, of course, I knew they were correct. In my fantasies, I was always by his side, whether he liked it or not.
“It is the aggregation of the circumstances, Sherlock. Your ploy with the museum curator is finished. You cannot use your disguise as a reporter yet again. I believe, for the time being at least, Mycroft will be keeping his eyes on you, rather than on me. And you still need to find out more about this sixth victim. Perhaps you can also extort some information from Detective Inspector Lestrade about why Mycroft has singularly focused on my uncle in this matter. Or from that nice young inspector who was so eager on the baby-farming case, Inspector Hopkins. Meanwhile, I can go to the museum and try to find out something about this mysterious Asian man that your street urchin observed.”
He stared at me, perplexed. Finally, he said, “I am all attention, Poppy. Tell me what you will do. And pray, do be precise in the details.”
“I shall visit the museum. I shall ask if there is anyone knowledgeable about the artefacts in the room where the Buddha is kept. It seems logical to me that if there is an employee of Asian descent, it would be him to whom I shall be directed. I will have Archibald in my company. I realize it was dark when he observed the exchange, but hopefully he will recognize the man. Can he keep his wits about him if he does?”
“As I said, Archibald is quite imperturbable. But he will likely have little Billy with him.”
“All the better. Who would suspect a young woman on a visit to the museum with her younger brother and her infant son?”
His eyebrows arched. “Indeed. But one moment... assuming you are introduced to the man that Archibald saw and if, in fact, he does identify him as the man he saw the other evening, what shall you do then?”
“I-” I stopped and stumbled. I had not thought quite that far ahead. “After a brief conversation about the art in the room, I will ask if he knows anyone who might fashion a replica of the Buddha. Archibald will have expressed an eager interest in such things. We shall see where it leads from there.”
“But if it appears that he is the man, that he is in any way involved in this nefarious pursuit... if he is the artist who recreates the Buddha, he must be apprehended.”
“The replicator shall be apprehended when he delivers the replica to me. If he is involved, but not the killer, you can
