The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part III Page 12

  We asked more questions, most of which led us to his theory again, and left, certain only that he was likely innocent, and that the mystery continued. I chaffed my friend as we returned home.

  “So you have a client? A ‘dear friend of the lady’s,’ you said. ‘One deeply concerned for her safe return.’ Someone who visited us and we agreed to help.” I laughed. “True enough, I suppose.”

  Holmes looked at me. “True, as you say, my dear Watson. What, would you say the creature was not concerned?” He picked up the two crowns laying on the table. “I think I have fairly won; the lady is question is not over fifty. And there appears to be something of a mystery, does there not?”

  I agreed.

  His face sobered. “Consider this of the cat also. He lives a mile from Baker Street. Yet the day after she fails to return he not only escapes, he comes to us four days later. With guile and determination, he enters the house, perhaps the only house where he might obtain the assistance he needs to regain his mistress, and that he desperately needs to do. For what is to become of him without her, Watson?”

  I saw his point. “Yes, so where do we go next, Holmes?”

  “To talk to Lestrade. It is possible he may be able to tell us something.”

  He could not, although he did his best. “It could be the white slave trade, Mr. Holmes. But the woman, while from the description is pleasant enough looking, is not particularly beautiful, and she is twenty-six. Too old for those who take young women.”

  He glanced down at a stack of papers that spread across his desk. “As for this professor of yours, he’s unlikely to have her captive in his basement.”

  “There was no basement,” Holmes informed him.

  “Doubly unlikely then. An expert on Sumerian art? No, not someone I would suspect. Coincidence is a strange thing. Anyhow, I wish you luck, but I can be of no help, so far as I know. I can find her antecedents if you wish.” Holmes nodded. “Then that shall be done. Call on me in two days and I may at least tell you somewhat of her.”

  I was aware that at some stage in this speech, Holmes had tensed slightly. Sumerian art? Could he think a rival had kidnapped Miss Emily to steal a march of the professor’s book? Or did he think Professor Smithyson to be the villain after all?”

  I waited until we were gone from Lestrade’s office and asked. “Holmes, you heard something in what Lestrade told us?”

  “A coincidence, Watson. But interesting. Let us go home and in the morning I shall see if Mycroft can tell me anything.”

  I saw that I was not to hear more on this and resigned myself. The cab let us out on our doorstep and we found, to our surprise, that Jane Knox stood there, a large wicker basket in one hand. Holmes bowed courteously.

  “May we be of some assistance, Mrs. Knox? I see that you have brought Mandalay.”

  “I’m sorry, sirs, I am that, but the creature will not be silent. He howls, and my tenants are complaining. He has cried all day, he stands at the door and tries to run out any time I enter. He has eaten nothing and, well, the long and the short of it is, sirs, I think he wishes to be with you until you find his mistress.”

  I was bracing. “Really, Mrs. Knox, but cats do not reason in such a way. Take him to his home and let him sleep the night there. I’m sure all will be well in the morning.”

  Holmes reached out and took the wicker basket. “He may remain with us until we can restore his mistress to him, Mrs. Knox.” He suffered her gratitude and promises, her offering of a large bag containing Mandalay’s own basket, brush, and bowls, and allowed the woman to go her way while we carried cat and possessions into the house.

  I eyed him severely. “If you wished for a cat, Holmes, I could have obtained a kitten.”

  “Ah, but Mandalay is a client,” was all that he said.

  I went to change for dinner, cursing my frivolity. I had wished only to engage my friend’s attention, I had wanted to find him a case that would fill his days. This whimsy of a cat as client was his own, and, I very much feared, his revenge for the knowledge that I had attempted to manipulate him into the affair. I sighed. Whatever the outcome, he was not bored. That must be set to the credit side of the ledger.

  Nor was Mandalay bored, who shared our dinner before vanishing into Mrs. Hudson’s realm, where he found and slaughtered two mice, to her delight. “A good creature, he is. And welcome I’m sure if that continues.”

  We went out the next evening to visit Mycroft at the Diogenes Club. Mycroft is slothful, and disinclined to move, but with a brain so incisive that he out-thinks Holmes on occasion. The club is peculiar - as are its members, Mycroft being a good example. They do not socialize. The club rules forbid this, no member being allowed to address another or even to take notice of him without the desire for that being evident.

  On our arrival, Holmes vanished and returned several minutes later with Mycroft, who led us to the club’s Stranger’s Room, where talk was permitted. Once we had sunk comfortably into opulent chairs, drinks had been provided, and Mycroft had ascertained that our talking would offend no one, he waited politely, looking at Holmes, who began.

  “Are there any foreigners currently in London in whom your office takes an interest?”

  Mycroft folded his fingers into a steeple and considered. “Several. There is Liebowitcz, who is in the market for guns, Johnson of Miami, who is here because some of his comrades would prefer him terminated, and Lutz of Berlin, who, while here officially to discuss trade, is known to have other interests on behalf of his government.”

  “What of anyone who might also be of interest to the police?”

  “Ah, you may be interested in Vereker of Petersberg. Also, last year we had a refugee from there. A good man who believes in world peace, and his family having been gravely persecuted, he escaped with the aid of friends and came to London, where our Government set him up in a laboratory just outside the city.”

  “His name?”

  “Cmitzhcoh, also of Petersberg.” He pronounced the name in a way that sounded like someone coughing during a sneeze, and involuntarily I smiled. Mycroft glared. “I assure you, the situation is not amusing. Vereker always has his own agenda, while ostensibly working at the embassy as an innocent clerk. We believe that he is hunting Cmitzhcoh, and that if he finds him, he plans to steal his discovery and kill the man if possible. He spends much of his time in odd places for a man of his talents, and it is known that twice he has obtained secrets our government would rather his masters not have.”

  “How?” Holmes inquired.

  “He listens, snoops, and pries. Why, it is believed that he obtained the plans for a new type of gun by chatting to a clerk that had the work of copying them. We have grave fears that he is again on the trail of the device Cmitzhcoh is inventing.”

  “Vereker,” Holmes said thoughtfully. “Would the police know of him?”

  “He killed a girl in London last year,” Mycroft said quietly. “His embassy had much ado persuading the police that he was under diplomatic protection. His masters had him out of the country for a time; now he’s back. but they keep him on a short leash.”

  “I see. Thank you, brother.”

  We went home to be greeted by Mrs. Hudson. “I’ve some nice poached fish for supper, and that cat is asleep on the doctor’s bed.” We enjoyed our supper and later I moved the cat. I prefer my bed unencumbered, although I woke to find that Mandalay had rejoined me. No wonder he wanted his mistress home. She had undoubtedly spoiled him.

  Over breakfast, Holmes looked at me. “Watson, if I may ask you, would you take the train out to Chigwell this morning?” I indicated I would be happy to do so. “Excellent. That is where the government has Cmitzhcoh working. There is a Hall there, with surrounding parkland. He is working in the old stables, and living in the gardener’s cottage, courtesy of the owner who knows what is afoot.”

&nbs
p; “What am I to do once I reach Chigwell?”

  “I want you to visit hotels, Watson,” Holmes said cheerfully. “Call in at bars, discuss the weather, and work around to the odd goings on at the Hall. Ask if they see many strangers there. If so, of what descriptions? Have they noticed suspicious coming and goings, or large vehicles driven by men they do not know? Mysterious loads covered by tightly-drawn tarpaulins on such vehicles. Did any look like artillery?”

  “What will you do today?”

  “I have a few things to do, Watson, and I regret that I cannot accompany you.”

  I set off, quite excited by my task. I should not have been. The weather continued wet, and there was no conversation of any value. My one moment of interest came when a young man accosted me. A fresh-faced lad, perhaps in his late twenties, wearing a good suit, and, as I noticed, having soft-looking hands. An office worker of some sort, I presumed.

  “You’re asking questions about the Hall. About those who live there, them as comes and goes, vehicles that deliver, and what they may carry, and such?” It seemed he had been listening, but what business it was of his, I had no idea.

  “Just making conversation,” I said speciously.

  “In three bars that I’ve heard.”

  “If I want to make conversation, what is it to you?” I was becoming annoyed.

  “Who are you?”

  I frowned. “Young man, that’s none of your business. Now, I’m catching the train home, and I’d advise that you return to your friends, should you have any.”

  I strode away and was furious to find that he followed me all the way to the train station, and stood watching me enter my carriage. He was still looking after me as the train pulled away, and the last I saw of him was that ingenuous countenance. Once returned, I found Holmes leaning back in a chair, a drink in one hand, and the cat at his feet. I unburdened myself.

  “A waste of time, I’m sorry to say. I visited half a dozen places. They could tell me of strangers, but none appeared suspicious. No vehicle with any load that resembled artillery, and my only problem was some young fool who affixed himself to me and wanted to know who I was and why I was asking.”

  “His appearance?”

  “Oh, some sort of office worker, I would say.”

  I described the boy and Holmes nodded. “Vereker.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, Lestrade was here earlier and I had a description from him. I’m told Vereker is the more dangerous, as he looks nothing like the man he’s known to be. You thought him ten years younger than his true age. He makes a habit of dressing like a clerk, and while his hands may be soft, he has killed with them. I also called again on Mycroft. He tells me that Vereker has not much time left. It is known to his government that the device being studied at the Hall is on the verge of completion, at which point the plans and a working prototype will be removed, along with their inventor, to an unknown location. Once that is done, his government will recall Vereker, considering him to have failed.”

  “Will they punish him for that?”

  “Not for that,” Holmes said thoughtfully. “But no doubt he has other transgressions.”

  “And was Lestrade able to tell you more about Miss Emily?”

  “She is an orphan, her parents having died in an influenza epidemic when she was twenty-one. She inherited family money, she has no close relatives, is of a serious turn of mind, loves cats, and does not believe in idling her days away. She thinks that if the opportunity to do right appears, then this should be acted upon, and she seems to have lived a blameless life. The lease of her apartment is paid yearly, and has almost half a year left to run. The cat is a Brown Burmese, rare in this country, and valuable.”

  I sighed. “Nothing of any use then.”

  “That depends on coincidence.” Holmes said.

  “What coincidence?”

  “The one for which we return to Chigwell in the morning.” He would say no more, and knowing that, I went to bed early, Mandalay again choosing to join me.

  We set off at nine, I bringing my revolver as instructed. To my surprise, we found ourselves joined by Lestrade and two constables, together with a number of men I recognised as the secret service type. I hid my anticipation. It was clear to me that Holmes had made some discovery and that we were in pursuit. We stepped down at Chigwell, and were met with police vans, into which we climbed and sat in silence as the convoy was driven in the direction of the Hall. However, that was not our destination.

  At length the vehicles halted, and we exited to stand on the side of a quiet country road. Lestrade gave orders in a low voice. A man appearing to be in authority over our other companions added further commands to that. Holmes, without heeding them, set out. I immediately followed. We circled a large copse and found ourselves looking down into a tiny valley, at the far end of which was a hut. I would have queried events, but one look at Holmes and I remained mute. I had seen that look before. A compound of hunter and one who fears what may be found. We moved down the valley, and once at the shed, I could see the door was not that of the sort normally used in a hut. It was of wood planks, with a strong lock, and a bolt as well.

  Holmes looked at that, and I barely heard what he said. “The bolt is shot across. Pray heaven that is for a reason.”

  And with that he moved to the grimy window with its bars and tapped very gently. There was a pause and then a face appeared, seen dimly through the glass. “Stand back,” Holmes ordered. “Help is here. Do you know where your captor may be?”

  “He has been gone for days,” we heard faintly.

  Holmes nodded. “Break the window, Watson.”

  I used the butt of my revolver, and with the glass gone I could see the woman within more clearly. She looked to be forty, scrawny, and her hair straggled like a witch past her shoulders. Yet spirit gleamed in her eyes, and she was coherent. The bars were stout iron, but I sought out a length of wood, and by levering hard I was able to tear first one, then the remaining pair, from their anchorage. The lady was too weak to climb out alone, so I managed to squeeze past the sill, and once inside I lifted her up so that, with Holmes’s assistance, she was able to escape her prison. Once on the ground, she collapsed into a sitting position and surveyed us.

  “I am eternally in your debt, gentlemen. But we should leave here at once. My gaoler is a savage. Should he return, he would have no hesitation in attacking you. Oh,” she added involuntarily. “I’m so thirsty.”

  “Has he harmed you?” I asked hastily. “Do not fear to tell us, I am Doctor Watson, and this is my good friend, Mr. Holmes.”

  She managed a tiny smile. “I am starving, filthy, dying of thirst, and he did strike me a number of times. Other than that, I am unharmed. But, I do wish for water, a bath and food, and my own home again.”

  I got her to her feet and we found that, brave as she was, she was too weak to walk. While I produced my flask and she drank a few small sips, Holmes produced a police whistle and sounded it, Lestrade came down the hill, a constable at his heels, and we were able to carry the poor lady back up the valley to where a police van waited.

  “They’ll take her to hospital for a night or two,” Lestrade assured us. “Now, we have our man. He has a bullet wound, but he’ll live to stand trial for the abduction of Miss Emily Jackson.” I stared briefly before I understood that the woman we rescued had been that girl. How a week of captivity had aged her. But then, held in such conditions and in continual fear for her life, it was no wonder.

  We gathered the next day at Lestrade’s office, while Holmes expounded as I had requested. “It was a coincidence. My brother mentioned Vereker of Petersberg, and also a man, Cmitzhcoh, of the same city.”

  I demanded an explanation. “Holmes, I see no coincidence.”

  “No. Yet the name Cmitzhcoh in Russian may be rendered as Smithson in English,
and that, I thought, would be how Lestrade had heard it.”

  “I do not... oh, Professor Smithyson.”

  “Mycroft said that Vereker had been known to obtain information by falling into conversation with government clerks. What if, while loitering in a certain research library, he had overheard a woman talking of Smithson - as he thought - and patterns. Might he not take the word as a synonym for plans? Could it be that he believed Miss Emily to work for Cmitzhcoh, and that, with her assistance, willing or unwilling, he hoped to lay hands on the plans for the device of which our admiralty expects great things?”

  “He successfully kidnapped her, imprisoned her in that place where we discovered her, and endeavoured to persuade her to talk. What must have been his chagrin to find that he had entirely mistaken things, and what then? If her body was found, his embassy would repudiate him. So he made the decision to take no overt action. He left her, without food, with no more water than remained to her, without bedding against the cold, and hoped that she would die of seemingly natural causes.”

  “She lives instead,” Lestrade cut in. “Thanks to you, Mr. Holmes, and to you doctor, and she is prepared to testify against him.”

  That she did a month later, and Vereker was given a life sentence. Two days after we freed Miss Emily, she was at our door. I had been talking to Holmes over the breakfast table.

  “An interesting case, was it not?”

  “Indeed, even if you did persuade me into it.

  “You knew?”

  Holmes snorted. “Watson, you are many things. Subtle is not one of them. Yet it was a kindly thought, and you did so only for my benefit. I could have no more loyal friend.”

  I was pleased at the encomium. “Yet,” I said, “I regret that while I - so to speak - found you a client, it was not of the paying variety.”

  “We cannot always have what we want, Watson, But I think that I hear Miss Emily’s arrival.” Mrs. Hudson was speaking at the door, and as she opened it to usher the girl in, Mandalay came totting past. He halted at Holmes feet, looked up, and carefully placed a large mouse before him, meowed once, then spun to hurl himself into his mistress’s arms.