Sherlock Holmes (3 page)

Mycroft looked towards Holmes. I
could plainly see Holmes’ internal torment. He was clearly torn
between his personal commitment to the Ambassador and the
protection of the interests of the Crown.

Holmes engaged Mycroft with a
steely look and, with a wagging forefinger, said, "I will agree to
this only on one condition. Should the bell be stolen, I will
involve myself fully in its recovery with no impediment on your
part, Mycroft."

Mycroft thought for a moment
then nodded. "Agreed, but I warn you, Sherlock. If you are not true
to your word and you are found in the environs of the museum, I
will have you arrested and the implications for you will be
grave."

Holmes considered this for a
moment and then nodded. Mycroft said no more, he stood, collected
his cape and with a nod to me, he swept from our rooms.

For the next two days Holmes was
like a caged tiger. He constantly paced backwards and forwards in
our sitting room and, at every noise in the street below, he
bristled. Whenever there was a ring at our door he sprang from his
chair, alert and ready to pounce.

At 9 p.m. on the second day I
was exasperated and could take no more. "For goodness sake, Holmes!
Let us go out and stretch our legs." Holmes’ eyes burned as he
stared at me. He was well aware of the tightly coiled spring within
his body.

With a sigh, he sat for a
moment. "Ah, friend Watson. Sometimes I do not know why you burden
yourself so with me. Yes, a walk on a spring evening will, I trust,
relieve some of the frustration I feel from inaction."

Gathering up our coats we
descended to the street below and began to walk away from our
rooms. Hardly had we gone twenty yards when we stopped as we heard
the sound of running footsteps behind us. Turning towards the
sound, we could make out a figure hurtling down Baker Street, only
becoming visible as he passed from one pool of light to the next.
He stopped and leant for a moment on the wall outside 221b,
panting, before frantically ringing our bell. Holmes ran back
towards our door with me close at his heels. We arrived to find
that the caller was a government messenger boy. He was clearly out
of breath and was clutching an envelope.

Looking at us he managed to say,
between gasps, "This...this is for...Mr Sherlock
Holmes...urgent!"

Holmes snatched the letter from
the poor lad’s grasp and moved closer to the gas light. Tearing
open the envelope, Holmes quickly scanned the single sheet of paper
within before raising his arms and letting out a fearsome animal
cry. "Fools! My God, what have they done?" Holmes was beside
himself and then, as if someone had pricked a balloon, his hands
fell limply to his sides. His head drooped and he looked in utter
despair. I was greatly concerned for my friend and took the letter
from his limp grasp.

Holding it up to the flickering
light, I read, "The bell has been taken. The security I put in
place was grievously inadequate. I am sorry, Sherlock. M."

The messenger by this time had
regained his breath and was standing there, still shaken by Holmes’
outburst. He looked at Holmes and then at me and asked, in a rather
fearful voice, "Is there...is there any reply, sir?"

Holmes turned and, for a moment,
he looked as though he might explode again. The messenger boy leapt
back but Holmes took a deep breath and, gathering himself together,
thrust a sixpence into the lad's hand, saying, "No, there is
nothing to be said." With that he turned and opened our front
door.

On reaching our rooms we sat for
several minutes. Mrs Hudson had heard the commotion outside and, in
true English tradition, had brought us a cup of tea which has, so
often, proved to be the catalyst for solving any problem. Holmes
was no longer angry but now hugely concerned for the safety of the
ambassador and the return of the bell.

"I fear there is nothing that we
can do this evening, Watson. I am sure that Mycroft will have
visited the museum and kept the evidence intact. Indeed, he will no
doubt have ensured that no word of the theft will escape. Let us
retire and make an early start in the morning."

Although I rose at 8 a.m. it was
clear that Holmes had been up for some considerable time. He had
already breakfasted and was busily placing various items into the
commodious pockets of his coat."Do I have time for a cup of tea
Holmes?" I asked.

Holmes gave me a thin smile and
pointed towards the teapot on the table. "I took the liberty of
ringing for tea and toast when I heard you shuffling about."

Knowing that Holmes was keen to
be off, I somewhat rushed my meagre breakfast and we were soon in a
cab on our way to the Victoria and Albert Museum. The cab deposited
us directly outside the museum and we walked up the grand steps to
the entrance. As we reached the front door, Holmes touched my
sleeve, pointing towards to the poster advertising the opening of
the Chinese exhibition. Pasted across the poster was a diagonal
banner, declaring, "Postponed due to repairs."

Holmes looked grim. "That was
indeed quick thinking by Mycroft."

Once inside the museum we were
met by a constable who immediately recognised Holmes and saluted.
"Good morning, Mr Holmes. This way, sir."

The constable led us to the same
office that had been used by the Chinese ambassador. As we
approached the office, we could distinctly hear the voice of
Mycroft, shouting in anger. On entering, we found Mycroft 'in
conversation' with a clearly rattled police inspector. Mycroft
looked up and motioned us to sit. He moderated his tone somewhat
but continued to give the Inspector a thorough dressing down. After
a minute or so, the Inspector saluted smartly and left with his
tail firmly placed between his legs. When Mycroft finally turned
and looked at his brother, he did, to his credit, look a little
crest fallen.

Holmes’ face was stony. "Tell me
all, Mycroft."

Mycroft, rather
self-consciously, squirmed in his seat. He was clearly most
uncomfortable. "It appears that the thieves had assistance from
within the museum. I had discreetly contacted Special Branch who
had supplied two armed detectives. These, I thought, together with
the four regular night watchmen would be sufficient for the task.
Clearly, I was wrong."

Holmes nodded and Mycroft
continued. "Apparently, all four of the museum staff regularly
drank tea together at 8 p.m. each evening. This was totally against
Museum rules which allowed only two of the staff to take
refreshments at a time, the other two night watchmen remaining on
duty."

I could see the anger welling up
in Holmes as he began to tap his forefinger against his lip. "And
what of the Special Branch officers?"

Mycroft avoided Holmes’ gaze and
cleared his throat. "From my enquiries, it appears that they too
joined the museum staff for tea."

Holmes could barely contain
himself, saying icily, "Normally, this would be but a small
misdemeanour...there must be more."

Mycroft appeared now to be
exceedingly uncomfortable. "As this was a delicate matter, the
reason for the extra security was not made clear to either the
museum staff or the Special Branch officers. Tea was served to them
by a Chinese fellow who had but recently been employed as a
temporary cleaner on the evening shift. Apparently, he often made
tea for the staff."

Holmes could no longer hold in
his anger. He sprang from his chair, yelling, "This is
unbelievable, Mycroft! I suppose this fellow drugged the tea?"

Mycroft sat with his head
somewhat bowed and, in a low, clipped voice said, "So it would
seem."

Holmes began to pace. I was
concerned for my friend but he shrugged off my arm as I tried to
calm him. "I can hear no more of this save to ask whether the night
watchmen are recovered sufficiently to be questioned?"

Mycroft nodded. "I have
assembled them and they are waiting in the staff canteen. The
constable outside will show you the way."

Holmes didn't even look at
Mycroft. He simply strode out and was collected by the constable
who, by his pale complexion, had heard all!

We walked briskly to an area
tucked away in the recesses of the museum marked, 'Staff Only'. The
constable led us to a door bearing the word, 'Canteen'. Holmes
thanked him, asking him to wait outside.

The room was painted that rather
unpleasant cream colour with sombre brown highlights, so common in
public buildings. As we entered the canteen, we could see six men
sitting at a long refectory table. All were clearly suffering from
the effects of some kind of intoxication. On seeing us, they tried,
as best they could, to sit upright. The senior night watchman
stood, a little unsteadily, I have to say, introducing himself a
Stanley Cox. Holmes waved him to sit down and pulled a chair
towards the centre of the group.

"So, Mr Cox. Tell me what
happened last night." Holmes’ tone was business-like but held no
hint of the venom he had used on Mycroft.

Mr Cox scratched his head.
"Well, it was like this, sir. Me and the lads have got into the
habit of gathering together at 8 o'clock for a cup of tea and a
natter...only for ten minutes, like. The first night those two
plain clothes coppers stayed outside, on duty, but last night, we
invited 'em in for a brew....we did keep the door open though!"

Holmes replied, with more than a
little sarcasm, "Perhaps you rely too much on burglars who announce
themselves by playing a trumpet"

Mr Cox looked very sheepish.
"No, sir. We knows it was wrong but we thought there was no harm in
it, it was barely dark."

Holmes nodded. "When you came in
for tea, the Chinaman brought it to you?"

"Yes, sir, he's the
cleaner."

Holmes thought for a second.
"Was it his job to make the tea?"

"No, sir. He has only been with
us for about a week or so. He was taken on about the same time as
the Chinese exhibition was announced. The museum expected to have
more visitors and more visitors means more cleaning so they took on
some temporary staff."

Holmes nodded. "Go on."

"Well, sir. The evening cleaning
shift ain't the best of shifts. Nobody wants to work in the evening
but he didn't seem to mind. He didn't speak much English but he
made it clear that he was happy to make the tea for us and, to be
honest, we enjoyed being waited on."

Holmes turned to see if I was
taking notes and saw that I was.

"So, last night, you all
assembled at 8 p.m. and the Chinaman served the tea and everything
seemed normal?"

Mr Cox thought for a moment.
"Yes, sir....the Chinaman did seem to get the jitters though. I
think it was because he had been clumsy and dropped one of the
mugs." Mr Cox turned and spoke to his colleague. "It was your
favourite mug too, wasn't it, Jim?"

One of the night watchmen
nodded.

"He'd had it years, he had. Jim
didn't want to drink out of anything else but the Chinaman fussed
and fetched him a new one from the store cupboard, special like.
Anyway, I drank my tea and after a few minutes I felt a bit odd,
sleepy like and the next thing I knew I was waking up here with a
bad head."

Holmes looked round and saw a
tea tray in the corner of the room. Upon it were dirty mugs, a milk
jug and a large, white tea pot. "Mr Cox, are those the mugs you
used last night?"

Cox nodded. "Yes, sir. None of
us felt much like washing up this morning and, in any case, the
copper said we were to touch nothing until a detective
arrived."

Holmes went over to the tray and
closely examined the contents of both the cups and the milk jug. He
then carefully raised the lid of the teapot and placed his nose in
the opening. As I watched, he gently inhaled and, as he did so,
raised an eyebrow. Carefully, he put his hand inside the pot and
withdrew a drop of cold tea on his finger tip. This he placed on
his tongue and I could see an expression of recognition and
confirmation upon his face.

Beckoning me over to him, he
spoke quietly in my ear. “Taste that, Watson, and give me your
opinion.”

I put down my notebook and
pencil and dipped my index finger into the residue of stewed tea
inside the pot. Tasting the drop I had taken, I was at first struck
by the bitterness of tannin but, beneath that, there was something
more. “Laudanum!”

Holmes nodded. “Yes, it is as I
thought.”

Turning back to Mr Cox, Holmes
informed them that they were free to go. It must be said that they
all looked greatly relieved and seemed eager to go home to sleep
and cleanse their bodies of the Laudanum.

Once outside the canteen, Holmes
sought out the police inspector that Mycroft had admonished. He
saluted at our approach and seemed a little wary. Holmes put his
forefinger to his lip, saying, “Tell me, Inspector, is there any
news of the Chinaman?”

“No, Mr Holmes. There is no
trace. One of the rear doors to the museum was found unlocked this
morning and it appears that the home address he gave was
false.”

Holmes had clearly expected
little more. “If you please, Inspector, lead the way to the
unlocked door.”

At the rear of the museum we
were shown a glazed and barred door. Holmes took out his magnifying
glass and examined the door knob. He then opened the door before
going on all fours. Being early spring, the sun was still low in
the sky and sunlight flooded in through the open doorway.

Putting his head in a position
where he was almost touching the ground, Holmes moved to a point
where the sunlight illuminated every imperfection in the flagged
floor.

“There were three of them. You
can plainly see the marks from their soft soled shoes. Ah, but
what’s this?” Holmes took from his coat pocket a small envelope and
a metal spatula and began to scrape at what appeared to be a muddy
mark on the floor. Gathering a small amount of the material, Holmes
sealed it in the envelope and stowed it carefully away.