The Detective and the Woman Read Online Free PDF

very edges) that depicted what looked like palm trees covered with grotesque monkeys, to the fat, unpleasant cherub statues that stood on either side of the oversized staircase.
    Thankfully, I was not left to wait in this paradise for long, as a cab arrived within five minutes, driven by an elderly, hunched man, who was too abashed by my presence to make eye contact. The steward simpered proudly at having procured my transportation so quickly, and I thanked him monetarily, taking advantage of the air of good will to enquire after my trunk. ‘I sent it down for my theatre to collect,’ I said in my most innocent, whimsical voice, ‘but I think I’d like to take it with me now.’ The steward was only too happy to oblige me by yelling for two adolescent porters and having them hoist it onto the coach with the help of the aged driver, who seemed to take it all as a matter of course.
    ‘The theatre, Miss?’ he asked before we set off, his voice thin and reedy.
    ‘No, the train station, if you please,’ I said, sounding unconcerned.
    ‘Very well,’ he answered, in a tone that seemed to say none of my business anyway . I wasn’t overly concerned; if he chose to tell the story later, I would be long gone. Nevertheless, I tipped him double the usual amount when we arrived at the platform, and he arranged for my trunk to be stowed. We had arrived with ten minutes to spare, so I purchased a cup of terrible coffee from a slatternly woman who had a vague excuse for a stall in the middle of the warehouse-like wooden building that served as a station. I considered buying two, but I supposed that would arouse the sort of speculation Holmes was trying to avoid. Thankfully, no one appeared to recognise me, and I did not even clap eyes on my travelling companion. I boarded the train considerably more relaxed than I had begun the day, proud of myself for successfully navigating the morning’s small pitfalls.
    I made immediately for the third car, taking care not to walk too quickly. The train was surprisingly luxurious. I had expected something more provincial, but it had all the accoutrements of the trains that had carried me through New England, the leather and velvet and smartly-uniformed staff with every desire to please. I chided myself for my prejudice. The newness of Florida’s prominence did not necessitate a complete lack of taste, hideous hotel vestibules notwithstanding.
    I entered the third car eagerly, far more enthusiastic about seeing Holmes than I had expected to be. But there was a problem. The car was occupied, but not by Holmes. Instead, my elderly cabdriver sat placidly hunched over an almanac, sipping coffee from the same stall I had visited. He looked up as I entered, his cloudy eyes barely visible through matted grey locks. My mind raced. Uppermost was annoyance at Holmes. Where on earth was the man, and why hadn’t he upheld his promise of an empty car? Furthermore, how could I get rid of the intruder? Just at that moment, the aged driver straightened up, said ‘Good morning, Mrs James,’ and began to take off his face.
    Annoyance instantly followed recognition. ‘Whatever do you mean by this, Holmes?’ I hissed, keeping my voice low. I had no idea how far sound would carry on a train (though Holmes probably did, hateful man), but I didn’t want to risk alerting curious listening ears.
    ‘Call me Bernard from now on,’ he replied in a low voice of his own, before continuing in a more normal tone. ‘I couldn’t risk anything going wrong, so I included myself. That is all.’
    ‘Entirely all?’ I asked suspiciously, taking my seat on the bench opposite him.
    ‘Well,’ he admitted, ‘after you spotted me so quickly yesterday, I thought I might challenge myself and see if my subtler abilities had lost their sharpness against the recognition of one who knows me. I see they have not.’
    I wanted to be angry, but I could see that he meant the statement literally and as no kind of comment on my