Abe gave me a short nod. We walked around to the back of the Sherlock Holmes museum, noticed nothing out of the ordinary.
“Maybe this wasn’t the right place for us to watch,” he muttered.
I wasn’t so sure either. We were trying to stake out all the suspicious places where Bernard could be hiding, but the museum seemed absolutely uninhabited—at least from the outside.
Another text at 8:10 came through, this time from Delilah: I see Julian and Birdie. I also see Humphrey and Eudora. Auction starting soon.
A minute later, Henry’s message indicated that Adler’s was also closed. No other suspicious activity. Abe’s entire body was tight and practically shaking with nerves. We kept walking, looping back around, until I directed us to a nearby bench.
Auction starting, Delilah said. Julian is coming in hot with the bids.
“Dammit,” Abe said. “They’re the key, right?”
“Except they’re legitimately purchasing these papers,” I pointed out. “They’re not the thieves. Although maybe Bernard is paying them to do this, then we catch them in the hand-off to Bernard.”
“Or they’re the distraction,” he said softly.
I crossed my legs, draping the fabric around my heels. “Did we ever settle on what the final piece of that paper meant? Irene says it’s a go. Who is Irene?”
“A member of the Society that we never suspected, perhaps?” he suggested.
“I checked,” I said. “The whole list of all the members. It feels like a symbol or a secret message or—”
Abe looked at the museum before turning to me quickly. “The Sherlock Holmes story A Scandal in Bohemia has a character named Irene Adler. The woman. Not a romantic love interest, but the woman that bested Sherlock and captivated him with her wit and cunning.”
A thousand lightbulbs exploded over my head. “Shit, that’s right. I remember this story. The Society members have a significant love/hate relationship with Irene Adler.”
“I’m going to guess Bernard loved her,” he replied.
I clapped him on the arm. “Adler’s Bookshop. Irene says it’s a go. Something is going to happen there.”
Abe leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and gave one last look at the museum. “Okay,” he finally said. “I think you’re right. Let’s move.”
We both stood as our phones rang out with another update from Delilah. Bidding went fast. Julian and Birdie are the winning bidders at $6 million. They’re being swarmed by a lot of people, including the media. They don’t look very happy about the number of news cameras here.
A beat later, from Freya: We’ll stay outside, grab them when they finally head to the parking lot.
“But what are they—” Abe started, until his phone rang with a call from Henry. He placed it on speakerphone immediately, pulling me in close.
“What is it?” Abe said, tense.
“The second Delilah told us they’d won, every single light in that bookstore came on,” Henry said, voice barely above a whisper. “The person flicking on the lights was Peter Markham. And, Abe, listen, this sounds bizarre, but I think I know why we recognized him.”
Abe and I bent close, breath frozen.
“I think that man is Jim Dahl.”
Abe’s fingers tightened on the phone. “The fake intern who stole the George Sand letters?”
“We all studied his picture the day Sam and Freya went to tail him,” Henry said. “And it was bothering me, why I couldn’t place him. I pulled up our old emails from Francisco, with Jim’s employee photo and compared it to pictures of Peter Markham online. Same height, same face shape, same eye-color. He’s dyed his hair and added a beard.”
“That’s why,” Abe said swiftly. “I knew we knew him. We’re coming. I’ll call Freya and send Delilah your way. For god’s sake, don’t let him out of your sight.”
Abe grabbed my wrist as we started sprinting toward the street where the cabs were.
“Dahl the forger, right?” I said, thinking back to that day in Bernard’s office when Abe had explained the many characters of The Empty House case.
Abe hailed a cab, face lit up with every emotion under the sun. “I assumed Bernard used Dahl as one of his many thieves. Maybe he’s his forger.”
“An expert forger is exactly what Bernard would need to ensure he was never caught,” I said. “The letters of authentication, for one thing. And Henry’s signature on those documents, right?”
He looked at me like I’d just presented him with a rare first edition of his favorite book. “Right,” he said, in awe. “You’re absolutely right.”
We jumped in the first cab and Abe had the driver speed toward Adler’s. While I sent Delilah a