The Curse Of The Diogenes Club Read Online Free PDF

and living in Sydney. A third said he thought Nash was
dead. His instincts smelled a rat and tonight he planned to get to
the bottom of the rat hole.
    But that’s not the main reason
he had been keen to attend this royal shindig. He wanted to remind
the Countess of his existence. They had parted as friends but
friendship was not what he wanted and if Nash was the man standing
between him and the woman he intended to marry - so be it. Nash
would have to go.
    He sprinted for the stairs just
as Horatio ‘bloody’ Hornblower turned to scan the deck.
    Thanks to that conversation
he’d listened in on he knew the Countess would be dressed as the
Snow Queen. Among the violent verisimilitude of garish costumes her
white gown would stand out like a breath of fresh air. He didn’t
intend to play his hand too early and risk drawing attention to
himself. As long as she was by his side at midnight for the first
kiss of the new century that’s all that mattered.
     
    Major Inigo Nash had spent
years observing foreigners dressed in any number of outlandish
disguises. He had learned to pick out the traits that mattered. The
way they smiled, the way they tilted their head and the way they
ran when they forgot themselves. It was the little details that had
saved his life more than once. So when he spotted the Musketeer
rushing for the stairs he knew at once who it was. He’d observed
Jim in motion plenty of times; they were at military college
together and had shared the same dormitory; possibly even the same
secret benefactor who had paid their fees and supplied them with a
stipend. He knew everything about Colonel James Isambard Moriarty,
including how his head wobbled when he was drunk, what triggered
his Irish temper, and exactly how bankrupt he was.
    No way had Jim received a royal
invitation. But Jim was good at getting into places he was never
invited to. The night was young. Let him get his hopes up. There
was plenty of time to throw him out later; about a quarter to
midnight would be the perfect time to alert the royal body guards
to the Irish interloper. He knew very well Jim would be making a
play for the Countess’s affection but it would be over his dead
body. Or better still, Jim’s dead body.
    She was the most desirable
woman he’d ever met, probably the wealthiest, and most certainly
the smartest. She was everything he wanted in a wife and he’d be
damned if he’d let Jim get between him and the object of his
desire.
    But right now he had other
things on his mind and a job to do. Mycroft Holmes had filled him
in on the suicide-death of Princess Paraskovia. His job was to keep
an eye on the Russian ambassador – specifically to see who he
talked to, and to keep his ear to the ground – to note if any dirty
rumours started up regarding the death of the princess.
    He intended to keep track of
the Countess too. There were a few questions he wanted answered.
What connection did she have to Mycroft Holmes? Why did Mycroft
call her in before calling Scotland Yard? Why did he discuss the
suicide-death of the princess with the Countess before discussing
it with his trusted ADC?
    And now here was Jim turning up
like a bad smell. What connection did he have to the Countess? Were
they lovers? Were they working together? Was she a Fenian
sympathiser? Or was she a Russian spy working against the British
effort in the Boer War?
     
    Dr Watson always wore his
Scottish kilt on New Year’s Eve and he wasn’t about to mess with
tradition just because he’d been invited to the Prince Regent’s
gala ball. He hoped there was going to be a reel. Nothing fired up
his Scottish blood more than a lively Scottish reel followed by a
chorus or two of Auld Lang Syne.
    He’d spotted the white troika
among the carriages in the park and knew that the Countess had
arrived ahead of him. A glass of alcoholic punch to whet his
whistle and then he would track her down among the five hundred
illustrious guests.
    “Hello, Major Nash,” he greeted
as