The Scarlet Band

"And the police?" Walton inquired.

"They wanted to know if I'd heard from the Preacher." The young man in charge of the local House sniffed. "I denied it, of course. None of their business."

"They might have roughed you up a bit," Walton said. They might have done a good deal worse than that. Whatever one thought of the House of Universal Devotion's theology, the loyalty it evoked could not be ignored.

This particular preacher was thin and pale, certainly none too prepossessing. Nevertheless, when he gathered himself and said, "The tree of faith is nourished by the blood of martyrs, which is its natural manure," he made the good doctor believe him.

"And the message from the Preacher was...?" Athelstan Helms prompted.

"That he is innocent in every particular of this latest horrific crime. That it is but another example of the sort of thing of which he spoke to you in person--you will know what that means, no doubt. That an investigation is bound to establish the facts. That those facts, once established, will rock not only Atlantis but the world."

"He doesn't think small!" Walton exclaimed. "Not half, he doesn't."

"If he thought small, he would not have achieved the success that has already been his," Helms said, and then, to the preacher, "Do you know his current whereabouts?"

"No, sir. What I don't know, they can't interrogate out of me, like. And I never saw the fellow who gave me the message before, either. But it's a true message, isn't it?"

"I believe so, yes," Helms replied.

"I believe the Preacher would make a first-rate spymaster had he chosen to try his hand that instead of founding a religion," Dr. Walton said. "He has the principles down pat."

"Do you believe him?" the young preacher asked anxiously.

"Well, that remains to be seen," Helms said. "Such assertions as he has made are all the better for proof, but I can see how he is in a poor position to offer any. My investigations continue, and in the end, I trust, they will be crowned with success."

"They commonly are," Walton added with more than a hint of smugness.

Athelstan Helms allowed himself the barest hint of a smile. "Those who fail are seldom chronicled--the mobile vulgus clamors after success, and nothing less will do. A pity, that, when failure so often proves more instructive."

"My failure to publish accounts of your failures has been more instructive than I wish it were," Walton said feelingly.

"Let us hope that will not be the case here, then," Helms said. "Onward!--the plot thickens."

Dr. Walton was not particularly surprised to discover Sergeant Karpinski standing on the sidewalk outside the House of Universal Devotion. "We went in there, too," Karpinski said. "We didn't find anything worth knowing. You?"

"Our investigation continues." Helms' voice was bland. "When we have conclusions to impart, you may rest assured that you will be among the first to hear them."

"And what exactly does that mean?" the sergeant asked.

"What it says," the detective replied. "Not a word more; not a word less."

"If you think you can go poking your nose into our affairs, sir, without so much as a by-your-leave--"

"If Mr. Helms believes that, Sergeant, he's bloody well right," Dr. Walton broke in. "He--and I--are in your hole of a town, in your hole of a country, at the express invitation of Inspector La Strada. Without it, believe me, we should never have come. But we will thank you not to interfere with our performing our duties in the manner we see fit. Good day."

Sergeant Karpinski's countenance was eloquent of discontent. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then, shaking his head, walked off with whatever answer he might have given still suppressed.

"Pigheaded Polack," Walton muttered.

"You did not endear yourself to him," Helms said. "The unvarnished truth is seldom palatable--though I doubt whether any varnish would have made your comments appetizing."

"Too bad," the good doctor said, and, if an intensifying participle found its way into his diction, it need not be recorded here.

"I wonder what la Strada will say when word of this gets back to him, as it surely will," Helms remarked.

"The worst he can do is expel us, in which case I shall say, 'Thank you,'" Dr. Watson answered.

"I hope that is the worst he can do to us," Helms said.

"He cannot claim we shot Benjamin Morris: we have witnesses to the contrary," Walton said. "Neither can he claim we shot any of the others whom he alleges the House of Universal Devotion slew: we were safely back in England then. And the sooner we are safely back in England once more, the happier I shall be. Of that you may rest assured."

"I begin to feel the same way," Helms replied. "Nevertheless, we are here, and we must persevere. Onward, I say!"

Their course intersected with that of the police on several more occasions. Thetford's self-declared finest eyed them as if they were vultures at a feast. "I do believe we shall be hard pressed to come by any further information from official sources," Helms said.