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Lestrade jerked his uniform down and tucked his hat under his arm. He wasn't ordinarily inclined to be polite to toffs, but in this case he would make an effort.
"He's asked for you, personally," O'Connor said, coming around the edge of his desk only to sit on its corner. He folded his arms and crossed one ankle over the other. "Now, I don't know why he wants you when there are other, more effective detectives than you out there, but they don't pay me to ask questions."
Lestrade managed not to twitch at this pronouncement. O'Connor said it with a straight face, too, suggesting he hadn't realized what he'd just said. O'Connor seemed expectant, too. "Of course, sir."
O'Connor looked at him suspiciously, then continued on. "You're to be at Grosvenor Square at seven tonight. Go home, wash up, wear your uniform. Shine those boots until you can see up some whore's skirt in them. When you're done, send me a runner. No!" he barked. "Come back here and tell me what he wants. If I'm not here, you know where I live. I want to hear all the details, and keep your ears to the walls. Holmes is a right slippery bastard and I want anything I can get on him. He's made a nonce of me one too many times and I'll not have that again."
"Sir."
"Right. Go home, have a wash and something to eat before you go. Wear your uniform, see what you can scare out of the downstairs. Find the maid of all work, they're usually the ones with the most information."
"Sir," Lestrade waited a beat to see if there was anything more forthcoming, then got up and headed home as ordered. No, home was out of the question, he'd go to the baths, first. Get a good steaming, a pie on the way home to change and then off to Lord Holmes' abode.
Lord Holmes's house was in the best part of London, naturally, though on one of the side streets. Lestrade had never met him, had, in fact, never seen anything except for his carriage on the rare times he deigned to visit the station. Still, Lestrade had heard rumours of what the Lord was up to, and his wife was supposed to be beautiful. It was also rumoured to be a love match, which had many tell a good joke. He had half listened, discounting anything that seemed over the top.
Having not been told which entrance to use, he ventured up the stairs and knocked on the front door. The servant who opened it was very well trained; he didn't even blink in disdain at Lestrade's appearance.
"This way, sir."
Lestrade followed him down the hall, past paintings and statues on tables and plinths that could easily cost him years of wages. That were, perhaps, more than he would ever earn in a lifetime. The last door on the left proved to be a small, private study. There was a desk, a very refined leather couch the dark cherry brown of aged cognac, walls in dark baize, several lamps, although only a couple of them were lit. The man standing at the fire, staring into its depths, was slightly taller than Lestrade, with thinning, sandy red hair. The chain of his watch fob glittered in the soft light, and when he turned to face Lestrade, Lestrade was reminded of nothing so much as a weasel. The sharp nose and weak chin did nothing to dissuade him of this opinion.
"Captain Lestrade, how good of you to come."
The voice was smooth, professional and quite frankly, a little insulting. Lestrade would know, he had been insulted by the best. The trick was all in the not caring about the insult - and some days that was easier done than others.
"Thank you for coming to see me. I realize this was at a moment's notice."
Alright...Lestrade, a beat too late. "Sir, yes, of course."
"Do you know who I am?"
"Lord Holmes, sir. "
Holmes waited, then quirked an eyebrow. "And?"
"That's it, sir." Because going in to rumour would do him bit of good.
Holmes smiled thinly.
Lestrade hadn't had time to ask around, otherwise he would have been able to give Holmes a very different message indeed. As it was, however. "My superior simply said I was to come to this address at this time, sir. That's all I know."
Holmes's expression soured. "I suppose in this instance we shall just have to try and work around your ignorance."
A rude thing to say, although in this instance Lestrade didn't feel particularly bad about it. Toffs were toffs.
"In my position in Government I have certain authority, over this and that. Right now I have need of an agent abroad, and I want you to be that man."
Lestrade blinked. "Pardon?"
"I need a man to go to California and retrieve an item of interest to the British Government. It is of utmost importance that this task be carried out by someone with a particular moral certitude. He must be capable of killing men without regard, yet keep this item as whole as possible. This is not a game for weak men, Captain Lestrade, which is why of all the men at my beck and call, I asked for you."
For once in his life, Lestrade didn't know what to say.
"I need an answer tonight, before you leave this house," said Holmes, moving to his desk. He sat down, removed a sheet of paper from an open leather wallet and began to look over it. Without glancing at Lestrade, he said, "If you wish, there's brandy to your right."
He didn't normally drink the stuff, but California! "When would I have to leave?"
"Two days hence. Enough time to get your affairs in order and settle your bill at Mrs. Roger's. There will be contacts in New York City all the way West. You will have a weekly stipend, and contacts along the way to get more."
"What's the limit?"
Holmes looked up from underneath his eyelashes, but his expression was anything but coy. "None."
Dear g-d. Whatever it was Holmes wanted, he wanted it bad. Or the 'British Government' wanted it bad. "How do I know you're not a criminal?"
For the first time, Holmes seemed amused. "Do you want the position, or not?"
California. It was a hell of a long way away, and he would have to travel by ship, by horse, by train. He would be leaving behind everything and everyone he knew, venturing out into the unknown. "Where do I sign?"