Two Hundred and Twenty-One Baker Streets Read Free

plopped into the chair I’d just vacated and crossed her arms over her chest. “Here we go.”
    “You walk with a stiff leg,” said Haus as he began to divest himself of Madame Yvonde’s ample hips. “The footprint of your right is significantly deeper than that of your left. You’ve had an injury of some sort that has led to amputation. While that might be more common for a farmer, you dress too well for someone working the fields. You’re of an age to have served in the Great War, so I can presume soldier.”
    Haus shimmied out of the costume while he explained. Beneath all those rags and scarves was a stained undershirt, brown trousers and suspenders. Sanford’s arms were ropy sinew and milk-white marble. He threw off the bald cap and tousled his red curls.
    “Now, there are very few regiments that are accepting of negroes. It’s clear by your accent that you are a northerner. There was one regiment from the North that saw enough fire that might account for your leg, and that was the 369 th out of New York. They mustered in South Carolina. I made a very educated guess that you had been part of Harlem’s Hellfighters. You confirmed this suspicion when I needled you about Hellfire.”
    My jaw hung open. “You... that’s...”
    But he went on, enjoying the sound of his own voice. “After you returned from the war, you spent some time at Tuskegee in Alabama. I can tell that by the ring on your right hand, with the school’s seal.”
    “Incredible,” I gasped.
    “Now we get to the fun part. When you fished out your money, you made the mistake of flashing your badge. I am more than familiar with Pinkerton Agents,” he said with a nod to Trenet. “Considering our previous associations, I could only assume that Adele was with you. I stacked the cards and played to that knowledge by giving you The Empress.”
    “And the Devil?”
    Sanford Haus bowed. “I am what I am.”
    Agent Trenet let out a whoop of laughter. “You only wish, Haus.”
    “My wish has already been granted,” he smirked, sliding his thumbs up and down his suspenders. “You’re here, Adele. To what do I owe the honor?”
    “Well, for starters, your brother sends his regards.”
    Haus flopped into his chair and rested a boot on the old table. Taking another drag from his pipe, he muttered something dark that should never be said in front of a lady. “How is dear Leland?”
    “Leland Haus?” I blurted out. “The head of the Secret Service? If that’s your family, Mr. Haus, that would make you a very rich man.”
    Sanford’s smug grin and flippant wave of his hand was all the confirmation I needed.
    Agent Trenet nodded. “Sometimes Director Haus prefers to keep an eye on his wayward sibling, make sure he’s keeping his nose clean while playing dressup in the gutter.”
    “I’m happy here,” Sanford snapped. “Leland needn’t worry his tender sensibilities about little old me.”
    “He hopes you’ll come home and—”
    “Yes, I’m sure he does. Now, Adele, why are you really here? I hardly think Leland’s mommy complex would be just cause to send a couple of Pinks all this way. What do you have?”
    Trenet smiled despite herself. Reaching into her shoulder bag, she produced a photograph and held it to her forehead. Mimicking a spiritualist, she called out, “I see the Hermit.” She slapped the picture onto the table.
    Sanford gave the picture the most meager of glances. “A dead hobo. What of it?”
    “Ah-ha!” Agent Trenet fished out another photo and laid it beside the first. “He was murdered with this.”
    When his gaze took in the knife in the picture, Sanford Haus went still and silent. He steepled his hands beneath his chin and pondered, his eyes gone hard. He stared and stared at the photographs, unflinching and barely breathing. For long minutes, the only sounds came from the midway outside, muffled by the tent. When the carousel started up a new waltz, my partner turned her own leer onto the