An Ensuing Evil and Others (30 page)

I looked at Holmes, aghast. “But it is a quarter to,” I cried, catching sight of the clock on the mantelshelf.

“Have no concern. The place is but a minute from here. Come on. And don’t forget that revolver of yours.”

We arrived punctually at 7
P.M

. at the allotted place. Almost at once a black covered carriage, drawn by two black nags, pulled away from the curb on the opposite side of the road by the fenced park and turned a semicircle across the thoroughfare to come to a rest where we stood. Holmes grabbed my sleeve and indicated the door. There was a white scallop shell emblem on it. There were very few people about, most having already dispersed for their evening meals. I placed my hand on the butt of my pistol inside my coat pocket.

The door of the carriage opened, and a soft Irish voice called, “Would you be so good as to step inside the carriage, Mr. Holmes? Doctor Watson, as well.”

“Who are you?” demanded Holmes. “Are you holding my brother for ransom?”

“Your questions will be answered if you step inside,” went on the voice in good humor. “And advise your friend not to do anything rash with the revolver he is handling in his pocket. He is covered at this moment and would be illadvised to attempt any indiscretion, as it would certainly prove fatal.”

Holmes glanced at me in resignation. “Best do as he says, Watson.”

He climbed into the carriage, and I followed. We sat with our backs to the driver. Two shadowy figures were seated before us. The vehicle started with a jerk, throwing both of us forward. Before I had time to recover, one of the men had leaned forward and expertly searched me, removing my revolver. A moment later, Holmes also suffered a similar scrutiny.

“Both clean, Cap’n,” muttered a voice.

Then the modulated, wry tones of the first speaker came out of the darkness. “There now, that is more civilized. We don’t want any nasty accidents, do we? Remember, my companion has you both covered.”

“Who are you?” I demanded, feeling much put out at being disarmed by these ruffians. “I presume you are not the noble lord who is the owner of the crest on this carriage?”

“Shall we say that I have a loan of it, Doctor,” chuckled the man.

“I suppose you are the person who masqueraded as Superintendent Mallon?” asked Holmes.

“A good bit of sport, I thought. Mallon is no friend to us, but I thought you might respond to a telegraph from the DMP.”

“I presume that you are Fenians?” Holmes observed.

“Na Fianna
, the mythical warriors who protected the High Kings of Ireland,” the man affirmed playfully. “It is a name to be proud of. Though we generally call ourselves the Irish Republican Brotherhood.”

I felt a coldness in my being as I realized we were in the hands of the notorious Irish revolutionary movement.

“Can I ask why you are holding my brother?”

“You are leaping to conclusions, Mr. Holmes, which does your reputation no credit. We are going on a short journey, and when we arrive all will be explained.”

With that a silence fell among us while the carriage rocked and clattered over the cobbles of the streets. The blinds were drawn, and I was painfully aware of the man with the revolver covering us, so there was no way I could observe where we were going.

The journey ended abruptly as the carriage came to a halt and the door was flung open by another shadowy figure who ordered us out. He also held a pistol. We were in a small enclosed yard. The man who had been addressed as Cap’n led the way into a house. It looked bare and uninhabited. He lit a lantern and led us along a gloomy corridor to a door at the far end. He tapped on it in a curious, measured manner. A voice answered, and he ushered us through into the room beyond. Inside were three men seated behind a table. There were two chairs placed before it, in which we were motioned to be seated.

“Let me apologize for the unorthodox manner in which you have been brought here, Mr. Holmes. You, too, Doctor Watson.” The speaker, an elderly silverhaired man with a clear English accent, was seated in the center of the trio.

I was about to reply angrily when Holmes sat down. “I am surprised to see you here, my lord,” he said to the speaker respectfully, “even though it was your carriage which brought us.” Clearly this was none other than Lord Maynooth.

“I don’t doubt it,” replied the man. “But it is, perhaps, better that no names are mentioned, as Her Majesty’s Government will deny this meeting has taken place. My colleagues”—he gestured to the men on either side of him—”represent the interests of the Irish Parliamentary Party and of the Irish Republican Brotherhood.”

I think Holmes was just as astounded as I was at this further revelation.

Lord Maynooth continued. “May I inquire what your politics are, Mr. Holmes?”

“Perhaps you would be more specific?” Holmes was diffident.

I had to confess that I had been surprised during the time that I had known Holmes by his apparent singular lack of current political knowledge. I had once mentioned the death, during the previous year, of that great Scotsman, Thomas Carlyle, and he had naively asked me who he was. I subsequently discovered that Holmes often pretended a lack of knowledge as a means of avoiding political discussion. He did have some profound views, as I later learned.

“I refer to the current state in Ireland,” Lord Maynooth replied.

“I support the Prime Minister’s actions in the Land Act reforms,” replied Holmes easily. “I believe the Coercion Acts of last year were a mistake and a tragedy. The arrest of elected politicians such as Pamell and Davitt was an unwise course in the extreme. I am old enough to remember the 1867 uprising in this country. Such heavyhanded methods will only ensure another one, therefore I would also support the reinstatement of a domestic parliament in Ireland.”

“You are a Home Ruler, then, Mr. Holmes?” The question came from a welldressed man with a dark beard on the left of the three men.

“I believe that is precisely what I have indicated,” Holmes replied shortly.

“Well, Mr. Holmes, we are in dire straits,” Lord Maynooth continued, “and it was necessary to confirm your sympathies. Yes, direstraits. The kidnapping of your brother is, you’ll forgive me, but a sideshow in this grave matter.”

Holmes looked grim. I saw his lips compress momentarily into a thin line. “We each have our priorities,” he acknowledged curtly.

It seemed that it had been agreed that Lord Maynooth was to do most of the talking. “Our main task is to prevent anarchy from brewing in Ireland and spreading to the Imperial Government itself in London. Your reputation is known, Mr. Holmes, and when your brother was kidnapped, we could think of no one better than you to solve this difficulty. Your brother was working for us.”

“Us?” Holmes s voice was sharp. “Again I must ask you to be specific. You have indicated what interests you represent—Government, Irish Party, and Republicans—but for what purpose have such disparate interests come together?”

“Simply for the sake of peace in these islands. We are all pledged to support the Kilmainham Treaty agreed upon between Prime Minister Gladstone and Mr. Parnell, the leader of the Irish Party. But there are some who wish no dilution of the Union who would see it destroyed—certain landowning families with vested interests, as well as those on the extreme edge of the Republican movement who have no patience for moderate political advance. Both sides object to the Kilmainham agreement and the release of the Irish prisoners. Among the fiercest critics are Viceroy Lord Cowper and Chief Secretary Forster. That is why Gladstone made them resign yesterday and replaced them.”

“Where does Mycroft come into this?” interposed Holmes.

“Mycroft Holmes had alerted us to a plot, emanating from certain highly placed people, the purpose of which is to plunge this country into a catastrophic situation. He communicated that he knew the organizer of the plot. He was on his way to meet with our agent at Trinity College when he was kidnapped.”

Holmes was leaning forward with a frown. “Who kidnapped him?”

“Have you heard of the Invincibles?”

Holmes reflected for a moment. “They were formed last year—a breakaway group from the IRB. They are extremists who believe in violence as a way to secure their aims.”

“They are but a handful and have been publicly denounced by both the IRB and the Irish Party,” said the sandyhaired man on the right, a little defensively I thought.

“We believe that there is a Unionist faction manipulating the Invincibles,” went on Lord Maynooth. “Oh, unbeknownst to them, of course. They mean to create unrest, destroy the Kilmainham agreement, overturn the reforms, and discredit Parnell—preventing any hope of achieving Home Rule for Ireland. Doing so would also discredit Mr. Gladstone s Liberal Government, and its collapse would be inevitable. The effects on the whole empire might be chaotic.”

“And the IRB are supportive of Parnell and Gladstone s joint policies?”

The sandyhaired man stirred a little and shrugged. “We are a pragmatic body, Mr. Holmes. Our uprising was crushed fifteen years ago. The Invincibles are as much of a threat to us as they are to anyone else. The way forward in practical terms, at this time, is to ensure that land reforms are achieved, as a first step toward eventual Home Rule—the day when the Irish nation will be able to decide its own future without London. We believe that some sinister plot is being concocted to discredit us, one which would set Ireland back a hundred years and bring back the Penal Laws. We know the plot must be put into action soon.”

“Why soon?”

“Because today the new Viceroy, Lord Frederick Cavendish, and his Chief Secretary, Burke, arrived in Dublin to take over from the more conservative hands of Lord Cowper and Forster,” explained Lord Maynooth.

The darkbearded man summed up. “We ask you, Mr. Holmes, to help us find your brother and identify the leader of this plot, so that we may save the country from chaos.”

Holmes answered without hesitation. “You may rely on my full assistance and that of my colleague, Doctor Watson here. But, gentlemen, I need clues. I need—”

There was a disturbance from outside the door. The mysterious “cap’n” made an apologetic gesture and withdrew. We could hear raised voices outside.

When the door opened again and the man returned, his face was deadly pale. “Too late!” he announced quietly.

“Too late?” cried Holmes, starting forward. “You mean Mycroft—”

The man stared at him for a moment and then shook his head. “Far worse, I fear. Gentlemen—” He turned to the three men sitting tensely behind the table. “—this evening, as they were walking outside the Viceregal Lodge on the grounds of Phoenix Park, Lord Cavendish and Chief Secretary Burke were stabbed to death. They have been assassinated. The Irish National Invincibles have admitted responsibility.”

There was a silence that seemed to last a long time.

Lord Maynooth rose, his face cold and grim. “Reaction in England will be inevitable. Even though the Irish Party and the IRB have disassociated themselves from the Invincibles, they will be painted with the same brush. Arrests will follow, new Coercion Acts will be enforced, and the cause for land reform and Home Rule will be set back for generations.”

The darkbearded man on the left stood up also. “There is nothing to be done,” he said simply.

Holmes rose in outrage. “And what of Mycroft?” he demanded.

“The plot is revealed. He is as good as dead,” said Maynooth quietly.

“I refuse to accept that,” Holmes said stubbornly.

“The country will be in a panic now,” the darkhaired man said. “You brother is, sadly, expendable.”

Only the man on the right, the IRB representative who had remained seated, looked compassionately at Holmes. “You have my support,” he said quietly. “I suggest that we all reseat ourselves and see if we can save something out of this debacle.”

The other two appeared reluctant but finally reseated themselves. Holmes had taken out one of the two telegraphs he had received in London and was examining it hastily. “Mycroft provided me with the clues, but I need a key. The answer is probably staring me in the face.”

They looked at him in bewilderment. Holmes thrust the telegraph forward. They peered curiously at it. The quiet man, to the right, shook his head in bewilderment. “There isn’t anything there, Mr. Holmes. It’s all gibberish. It does not make sense in anyone’s language.”

Holmes stared at the man as if he had been struck. “Language!” he suddenly cried, causing us all to think that he had taken leave of his senses. “Language! Do you have an EnglishIrish Dictionary?”

We fretted impatiently for a quarter of an hour before a messenger sent for the purpose returned with a volume.

“Most dictionaries are IrishEnglish, but I found this old one from 1732, published in Paris…,” he started to explain. Holmes snatched it out of his hand, sat down by the lantern, and began busily turning pages. When he finally looked up, his face was flushed with triumph.

“Gentlemen, you must arrest O’Keeffe of Dublin “Castle. He is your link with the Invincibles.”

The cap’n let out a derisory whistle. “O’Keeffe? I know him. He’s an Orangeman and would have no truck with the Invincibles.”

“Nevertheless, he is the man whose name Mycroft was going to reveal. He had even invited O’Keeffe to come to his rooms on the night of his disappearance… I believe that was in order for your agents to arrest him.”

Lord Maynooth examined Holmes with narrowed eyes. “You will have to tell us how you did this conjuring trick, sir,” he demanded.

“Plenty of time afterward,” Holmes snapped. “In the meantime, we must also find out if there is any building of note near Maulnagower in County Kerry. Perhaps a country house owned by someone in the world of politics, It is my belief that Mycroft is being held there.”

A sudden stillness had descended over the room. The eyes of our companions had turned to the darkbearded man who had been seated to the left and seemed to represent the Irish Party.

“But isn’t that where your country house is…,” began Lord Maynooth. Before he could finish, the darkbearded man had uttered a curse and tried to leap for the door. He was expertly grappled by the cap’n and held in an arm lock.