A Soul of Steel Read Online Free PDF

did Irene’s beauty and style command public attention. She always radiated the air of the opera diva she had been—a confidence and intelligence of manner that was most striking in a woman.
    No wonder all eyes in the little sidewalk café under the ponderous shadow of Notre Dame fixed on Irene’s charming pantomime of feeding the little brown wren, which had flitted back to her shoulder to beg for more.
    Speaking of little brown wrens, I suppose that I should mention my disposition and attire that late September day of 1888. My habit of making complete notes in my diary had not failed me that day, and by evening it would prove to be a most astounding date, to say the least. That morning, however, I was innocent of pending revelations, and wore a brown plaid walking suit trimmed in suede velvet cuffs, reveres and collar.
    My bonnet was suede felt topped by a panache of ostrich tips and wings shaded, like foul coffee soothed by variations of cream, from soft suede to darkest brown. The bonnet had been purchased in Paris at Irene’s order, despite my fear that it was frivolous. I need not have worried. I could have worn scarlet satin bloomers and she sackcloth, and I would have gone unnoticed in Irene’s company.
    Fortunately, I have never been afflicted with the female fault of welcoming personal attention, and Irene’s beauty was all the more effective for being unaffected, so we made an ideal pair. I had long since grown resigned, even relieved, to escape public notice when with such a stunning companion.
    Some must not only serve by standing and waiting, but by sitting and taking copious notes, and such had been my reluctant role in our previous adventures, such as the Escape from the King of Bohemia, the Distasteful Matter of the Drowned Sailor, the Incident of the Tattooed Heiress, and other intrusive puzzles that flocked to Irene’s vicinity like... the wrens of Paris.
    “You are pensive, my dear Nell.” Godfrey leaned toward me with twinkling eyes as gray as the Paris skies. “No doubt you contemplate the likelihood of Irene finding another mysterious matter to investigate. Surely you are safe from such scandals in the saintly shadow of Notre Dame.”
    “Saintly, indeed,” I admitted, “but too tricked-out for my Protestant tastes.” I looked up at the gargoyles grinning from the bristling parapets crowning the great cathedral’s mass across the street. I had no doubt that these ancient stone guardians were more successful in warding off fiends than I would be at shielding Irene from the temptation of a puzzle.
    As my eyes dropped back to earth and half the population of Paris out for a stroll in its Sunday best, they lit upon a disreputable figure—a robed and turbaned man of bearded, dark mien who might have materialized like Beelzebub in Faust’s study. I do not like to stare at the less fortunate, or the possibly more predatory, but it was clear that this... apparition was gazing toward our threesome.
    “Godfrey—”
    “Yes?” His eyes left Irene and the greedy little bird.
    “There is a man—”
    “There usually is on the streets of Paris, and usually several.”
    “He is watching us.”
    Godfrey smiled ruefully. “Your use of the plural is kind, but not accurate. He is watching Irene. Most men do.”
    “You take this sort of thing extremely well, Godfrey. No doubt it is the cool temper required by the courtroom. This man—and I did not look long, I did not wish him to receive any illusions as to my interest—is most savage looking! He does not look a Parisian gentleman at all!”
    Godfrey looked around with that admirable discretion that Irene is always urging upon myself, to no avail. “Ah. I see. The bearded Oriental man who looks half beggar and half brigand, and no doubt all infidel to you. But Paris is the crossroads of Europe; men of all races convene here freely.”
    “But not to look at us! Even at one of us. I find it most disturbing.”
    “He will likely move on. As we can