Two Hundred and Twenty-One Baker Streets Read Free Page B

Trenet and myself. “Excellent, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you.”
    “Johnny is on his way to take Arty’s place. When I see the kid I’ll send him your way.”
    “Fantastic.”
    The dwarf’s eyes landed on me and sparkled with lascivious delight. “Crash, do call if there’s anything your guests need. And I do mean anything .”
    Mrs. Hudson gave an impolite wiggle of her rounder virtues and rolled back into the night.
    Trenet smiled into her cup of coffee. “Well, well.”
    Haus shut the door. “You were saying. Mr. Drebber found himself outside of Omaha, destitute and most dead.”
    “Yes,” Agent Trenet continued. “Well, it so happens that his death coincides with the date your particular mud show slunk out of town.”
    “Coincidence.”
    “Perhaps, Sanford—”
    “Crash.”
    “—but it’s not the first crime to turn up on your route. Three weeks before that, Mary Watson was kidnapped less than a quarter mile from your tent. Pinkerton agents are still looking for her.”
    “Never heard of her.”
    “Two weeks before that, Calvin Bailey was found dead.”
    “Calvin Bailey? We oil-spotted him in Duluth!”
    “Oil-spotted?” I asked.
    Haus rolled his eyes. “Oil-spotted. Red-lighted. Means we left him behind and all he saw was the oil spot where the truck had been.”
    “He worked for you?” Trenet asked.
    “Until I found out he was using his job as a balloon vendor to find little girls, yes. As I say, we left him behind.”
    “Well, he was found dead on the Kansas-Missouri state line.”
    “Serves him right,” Crash said, rolling a cigarette. “Wasn’t me or mine, I’ll tell you that. We’re no Sunday School, but we generally keep clean.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “We haven’t pulled close to Missouri this trip.”
    Trenet’s pretty face scrunched up with confusion. “But your posters...”
    “We had to take a detour due to bad weather, Adele. We missed that stop entirely. Planned on hitting St. Louis on our way back to Peru.”
    “But you recognize the knife,” she said pointedly.
    Haus took a long drag of his roller, staring at me. Studying me. Without taking those cool eyes off my form, he exhaled a plume of blue smoke from both nostrils like a lanky dragon. “Is it wooden?”
    “Excuse me?” I asked.
    “The leg. Is it wooden?”
    I nodded. “Hollow. Iron foot, though. Why?”
    “Dammit, Crash!” Agent Trenet was on her feet. “Have you been listening to a damn thing I’ve said?”
    Haus gaped at her, but mischief danced in his gaze. “Why, Pinky, you called me Crash.”
    She let out a frustrated growl and kicked at his shins.
    “Yes,” Haus said through his laughter. “I recognize the knife. It’s identical to the ones Arty uses in his act.”
    She yanked the cig from his lips and raised it to her own. “Tell me about him.”
    “Barely old enough to shave. Born into circus tradition to a burlesque dancer and an inside talker. His dad got red-lighted before I bought the show, but his mother—Baker Street Baby— will be onstage in an hour or so.” He nodded to me. “You’d like her. Has a penchant for peacock feathers and parasols.”
    “How do you figure I’d—”
    Trenet cut me off. “What about the kid?”
    “Arty’s a sword-swallower and knife thrower. Goes by Arthur on stage, plays up the Excalibur legend.”
    “Do you think he could have killed Drebber?”
    “Adele, my dear, given proper motivation, anyone could kill.”
    “I suppose that’s true. Just talking with you makes me homicidal most of the time.”
    “You flatter me. What else? Any other evidence found with Bailey or this Watson dame? You must have more than just my tour schedule and a knife.”
    “Coffee cans.”
    Haus’s face scrunched in genuine concern. “Come again?”
    “Coffee cans,” I said. “Found at every crime scene. Each of them contained a letter and a handful of objects.”
    “Objects such as?”
    “The can found with Calvin Bailey’s body had a taxidermied dog’s