Sherlock Holmes (28 page)

Holmes nodded. Taking out his
silver pencil, he made a note of the access gateway on the tracing
paper, asking, “And what is the scale of this plan?”

Smith leant forwards and
referred to a small legend, “It is a plan drawn to a scale of
twelve feet to the inch, Mr Holmes.”

Without further ado, Holmes
returned the tracing paper to his coat pocket and touched his hat,
saying, “Thank you, Mr Smith. We will trouble you no further.” With
that, Holmes swept from the office leaving me to simply nod a ‘Good
bye’ before hurrying after him.

Swiftly hailing a Hansom, we
made our way back towards Baker Street. During the journey I
reflected on the information we had gathered and I felt the need to
ask, “Do you have a friendship with Lord Crump, Holmes?”

Holmes smiled. “I do indeed know
the gentleman. He is the father of Lady Elizabeth Crump. You may
recall meeting Lady Elizabeth during our first encounter with Julia
Moriarty. As to his being a personal friend… that may be a slight
exaggeration.”

We arrived at Baker Street at a
little after mid-day and readied ourselves for the task ahead.
“Tell me, Holmes, were you able to determine the size of this
service chamber from the plans?”

Holmes thought for a moment
before replying, “If the service chamber was drawn accurately and
to the same scale as the rest of the plan, I estimate it to be a
room some fifteen feet by eight feet. Taking into account its
purpose, there may well be some pipework to contend with. I suggest
that we dress in clothes that will allow us some freedom of
movement… and bring an extra pair of thick woollen socks.” This
seemed a strange request but I delved into my wardrobe and chose a
Harris Tweed jacket, a woollen jersey and some plus fours that I
had worn when grouse shooting some years before. Returning to our
sitting room, I found that Holmes had selected similar clothes.
Seeing me, Holmes could not help but chuckle and make the comment,
“Perhaps the grouse season is uncommonly early this year in
Westminster, Watson!”

I smiled and nodded but, in the
back of my mind, there was the serious thought that we were indeed
hunting men! Holmes, I saw, had packed his burglary kit and was now
checking his revolver. He had already pocketed some extra .45
calibre ammunition, a box of matches and a small candle. With a nod
to me, we were off.

Summoning a cab, we travelled in
silence for the fifteen-minute ride to Downing Street. We had made
the decision not to travel directly to Richmond Terrace in case
some Fenian lookout had been posted. Instead, we alighted at the
corner of Whitehall and Downing Street. This allowed us to walk
casually across the road and then onwards towards the entrance to
the iron-gated stairway. Although only early afternoon, the skies
were darkening. A storm threatened and distant peals of thunder
could be heard.

Dressed as we were, we played
the part of visitors from out of town, looking around us and
pointing at different buildings. I have to say that our choice of
clothing gave some credence to this subterfuge and we were able to
determine that nobody was watching the area around the entrance to
the chamber.

As we reached the corner of
Richmond Terrace, I realised that Holmes had been counting his
paces. Looking back, we could see the entrance to Downing Street.
Turning to me, Holmes said, “I estimate that Number 10 is some
eighty yards away from here; the chamber is some twenty yards short
of that. Do you remember the marked twine?” I nodded as I thought
back to Lestrade’s office. “Once the engine and waggons have been
placed in the pipe, it has some sixty feet to travel before it is
beneath its target. The marked twine is attached to the brass
release ring. After sixty feet of twine have passed, a good pull
upon it will release the spring-loaded anchors which then hold the
engine and its deadly cargo in position.”

I stood and thought for a
moment. “Tell me Holmes, with the dynamite some sixty feet away
inside a pipe, how is it to be detonated?” This key element was
something I had simply failed to consider.

Holmes’ face was grim. “I
believe that, as well as trailing the twine behind it, the engine
will also be pulling a length of slow-burning fuse attached to the
detonator cap of the dynamite. A sixty foot length of fuse burning
at, perhaps, one foot per second would give adequate time to escape
to a safe distance.”

I walked the few yards into
Richmond Terrace just as it began to rain. Seeking some shelter, I
found the doorway inset into a wall and topped by a triangular,
Georgian lintel bearing the monogram ‘LHPC’. Set within the doorway
was a stout, green-painted gate made from round, iron bars. The
missing paint and patches of rust showed that it had stood guard
there for several years. Surprisingly, it was secured with what
appeared to be a new padlock.

Holmes moved forwards and
grasped the new padlock, saying, “Yes, they would not want to be
disturbed. The old lock will have been forced and replaced with one
of their own. Stand in front of me, Watson, whilst I attend to
this.” I moved so that Holmes could work within the inset doorway,
my body shielding him from full view and, unwittingly, from the
rain! Reaching for his burglary tools, he set to work. It took but
moments before he was pocketing them once more but it was
sufficient time for me to become quite wet. Holmes passed me the
opened lock before entering the gateway with me close behind him.
The landing was in shadow and I could barely make out a stairway
and iron handrail that descended into darkness.

Holmes reached into his coat
pocket and from it he removed a pair of woollen socks. Leaning his
body against the wall, Holmes slipped the socks over his shoes. I
watched, intrigued. “Think of this passageway as a large cave,
Watson. Any sound we make will echo and carry. We do not want to
forewarn our quarry.” I nodded and followed suit, the socks would
indeed deaden our footsteps upon the concrete floor.

Striking a match against the
brickwork of the wall, Holmes lit his stub of candle. He held the
candle before him, the small pool of light illuminated barely two
steps ahead. Slowly and grasping tightly the iron handrail, we
descended into the darkness. After some twenty feet or so, there
appeared to be some measure of relief from the darkness. A slight
glow could be seen coming from a passageway at right angles to the
steps. The passageway headed westwards, a direction I knew that
would lead us beneath Downing Street.

Hanging from the ceiling of the
passageway were small electric light bulbs that ran away into the
darkness like a drooping string of incandescent, yellow pearls.
Holmes held his left finger to his lips and then plunged his right
hand into his coat pocket, retrieving from it his revolver. The
passageway was not quite wide enough for us to walk two abreast. I
followed, a little to one side so as to have some view of what was
ahead, walking slowly and silently, revolver in hand.

I knew that there were some
sixty yards from the foot of the steps to the service chamber but,
in truth, my heart was in my mouth at every step. As we crept ever
closer, I thought that I could hear faint voices. Holmes stopped
and held up his hand. With ears straining, we waited for perhaps a
full five minutes. Turning to me, he held up two fingers. I nodded
for I too had heard two distinct voices from the passageway ahead.
Holmes crept forwards again; the way ahead was becoming gradually
brighter as we approached the chamber. We now flattened ourselves
against the walls of the passage, trying to remain in as much
shadow as possible.

Slowly, slowly we inched our way
forwards. The chamber itself was now within view. Pipes of
different diameters, with isolation valves, appeared and then
disappeared through the brickwork walls of the chamber. Some were
barely four inches in diameter and I imagined them to carry
telegraph cables. One large pipe running along the floor of the
chamber bore the LHPC monogram. This, I knew, carried water at a
pressure of several hundred pounds per square inch and was the
motive force for lifts, presses and many other industrial
processes.

Two figures in shirtsleeves
could be seen working at an open pipe of approximately eight inches
in diameter. A section of pipe had been removed and the men were
now placing a familiar brass object into the pipe… a ‘mule’!
Looking down I saw four waggons ready to be attached. Beside them
were stacked four bundles of dynamite, each with a detonator in
place linked to a coil of fuse.

I am not sure why I was
distracted from watching the two men prepare the ‘mule’ but as I
looked to one side I almost gasped! Sitting on a chair was the
bound and gagged figure of a bedraggled young man. Although dirty
and unshaven, I readily identified him as being Pavlin Konsulov. I
tugged gently at Holmes’ jacket and pointed, drawing his attention
to the presence of Konsulov. Holmes nodded.

It was as I edged a little
further forward that there was the sound of a sharp ‘pop’ and
splintering glass. Looking down, I could see that I had trodden on
one of several small light bulbs that had been deliberately placed
in the passageway, just short of the entrance to the chamber.

Hearing the sound, both men
swung round, their hands diving into their trouser pockets. One man
sprang to the side and sought refuge behind a piece of pipework,
his pistol pointing in our direction. The other, I was amazed to
see, ran to Pavlin Konsulov and placed his pistol against the young
man’s head. He stood brazenly in plain view and shouted, “Come out,
if you value this innocent man’s life!” I looked at Holmes; the
pistol in his hand was now hanging loosely by his side. The fellow
shouted again, “C’mon, for I am an impatient man!”

Holmes stepped out into the
chamber saying, “There is no need to harm Mr Konsulov. He is, as
you say, an innocent party to your evil plan, O’Leary!”

O’Leary inclined his head
slightly, saying, “Your pistols, gentlemen.” His companion stepped
forward, pistol raised threateningly. Holmes let his pistol fall
and I followed suit. Still with his pistol to Pavlin Konsulov’s
head, O’Leary asked quizzically, “So you know me then?”

Holmes’ face was as granite as
he replied, “Know you? No, I do not… but know of you, yes. The
scratches on your face are a testament to your wickedness. A few
days ago I spoke with Catherine Ward’s parents. They were still
numb with grief from the loss of their daughter.”

O’Leary’s hand went to his
scarred left cheek. He pressed his lips together, perhaps in some
small token of remorse, saying, “Ah, Cathy… she was a spirited girl
but became a casualty of the struggle.”

On hearing this, Holmes took a
step forward. “Casualty you say? Good God, man! She was executed!
Where is the honour in your struggle now?”

The metallic click of a pistol
being cocked seemed very loud in this confined space. O’Leary
looked across to his companion, saying, “Steady Liam. Who are you?
Clearly not Special Irish Branch… I admire a man of courage and the
conviction to say his mind.”

“I am Sherlock Holmes and this
is my colleague, Dr John Watson. I have been attempting to locate
Pavlin Konsulov and prevent you from destroying the Prime Minister,
his Cabinet and officers of The Crown. These tasks have taken me
some time but clearly I have succeeded in both.”

O’Leary’s eyed narrowed. “You
think so, do you? Why cannot I send this thing… this ‘mule’ along
the pipe and blow them all to hell?”

A grim smile appeared upon
Holmes’ face. “They are not there! Do you think that they would
remain in Downing Street, knowing you to be beneath? No, they are
safe. To continue and to blow up an empty building would be folly.
Bricks and mortar are easily replaced… great men, not so. There is
but one entrance and exit to this place that we find ourselves in.
I think you will find that Special Irish Branch will not barter
with you for our lives… you are much too valuable a catch!”

I could see that O’Leary was
unsettled by what Holmes had said. Seeing him point his gun now
towards Holmes, I thought for a dreadful moment that he was going
to shoot him. “Liam, tie this pair up! What about you, Mr Konsulov?
You have seen the plans for this chamber. Is there is another way
out?” I looked towards Pavlin Konsulov. He, in turn, was looking at
O’Leary and nodding.

Holmes and I were now firmly
bound and propped against the wall of the chamber. O’Leary had
pocketed his pistol and was looking inside a tool bag. From it he
produced a strange key-shaped iron tool. Bending forward, he
inserted it into an iron manhole cover set in the floor. Heaving at
it, he called out, “Liam, come and help me with this.” Together,
the two men struggled but finally raised the cover. “Here is our
way out, Mr Holmes. It is a new sewer, a welcome present from the
late Sir Joseph Bazalgette for it will take us to the river.”

O’Leary’s companion looked
doubtful and looked hard at Konsulov. Turning back to O’Leary, he
asked, “Can you trust him, Sean? After all, you shot his father in
the back in cold blood! He perhaps would relish the prospect of
revenge by sending us to our deaths.”

O’Leary drew his pistol and
again placed it against the head of Pavlin Konsulov, saying, “On
your honour and the memory of your father, will this sewer take us
safely to freedom?” Again, Konsulov nodded steadily.

Holmes addressed the two
Irishmen, “He is the only one here that you can trust to give you
an honest answer. Bulgarians are deeply religious people. The
memory of their departed relatives is something they hold most
sacred. If you were to ask me, you would be uncertain as to whether
I were lying or telling the truth. Threatening to shoot me would be
pointless, for Dr Watson has no knowledge of the plans, and if you
were to shoot him, then I would truly want revenge.”