Sherlock Holmes (6 page)

Once more on Raven Row, we were
fortunate only to have waited but a few minutes before being able
to hail a passing cab. I clambered swiftly in followed by Holmes
who nestled the wrapped bell in his lap. Although only some ten
inches tall, the bell was a considerable weight. Holmes shouted up
to the cabbie. “Victoria and Albert museum as swiftly as you like,
cabbie. There’s a florin in it for you!” Hearing this, there was a
crack of the cabbie's whip and we were both pitched backwards as
the horse took off at a pace.

In but a few minutes we were
again mounting the museum steps with our precious cargo shrouded
from view. Walking swiftly to the Department of Asia, we requested
the presence of the curator who, under the menaces of the Official
Secrets Act, was the only other person to know the truth.

The bells were swiftly exchanged
and Holmes dashed off a telegram to Mycroft before returning to
Baker Street with the replica bell safely out of view, swathed, as
it was, by Holmes’ coat.

It was whilst sitting after
dinner, with a pipe of tobacco, that Holmes and I began to reflect
on the happenings of the day. I was still somewhat troubled
regarding the significance of the four counterfeit bells. “Holmes?
I am at a loss to understand why the thieves should have produced
three further bells. Surely, only one would have been required to
replace the real bell?”

Holmes smiled and blew out a
long, steady stream of smoke. “You forget, Watson, that we are
dealing here with the criminal classes. A sizeable ransom had been
paid for the return of the bell and, on finding the duplicates,
their importance became immediately apparent.”

Holmes took another long pull on
his pipe. “The Zhou bell is unique. Had their plan succeeded, and
it was revealed to the world that the bell on display in the
Victoria and Albert museum was a fake, then the real bell would
become a very saleable item. Not only would the thieves be paid
handsomely by their masters in China for discrediting the Emperor,
but they would also profit hugely from the sale of the duplicate
bells, passing each one off as the real Zhou bell”

I was appalled! “But...but...who
would buy it? Given the publicity, the bell could never be openly
displayed for it would be instantly recognised”

Holmes again smiled. “There are
collectors, Watson, who will buy artefacts solely for their own,
perverse, enjoyment. They are content to buy the finest, stolen
artefacts and lock them away in vaults purely to view them for
their own pleasure. This, I believe, was the purpose of the
duplicates. Three or perhaps even four of these collectors would be
contacted and, very privately, offered the Zhou bell at a huge
price. Each would believe they were buying the original and,
perhaps, one of them indeed would.”

Holmes closed his eyes for a
moment before speaking again. “However, an even more perverse
thought occurred to me. Perhaps the real bell might be offered back
to the Emperor! We shall, no doubt, learn more once Mycroft's
minions have thoroughly searched the foundry.”

In truth, my mind was whirling.
I was content to simply lean back in my chair and seek solace in my
pipe.

The following morning we arose a
little later than usual. We were still finishing breakfast when the
sound of footsteps on our stairs announced to Holmes’ trained ear,
that this was a visit from Mycroft. Holmes dabbed any last vestiges
of his breakfast from his face with a fine, damask napkin before
rising to greet his brother.

The door to our rooms flew open
and in swept Mycroft with an expression I deemed to be one of
subdued satisfaction. “Good morning, Sherlock, Watson. I was
grateful for your telegram last night and the exhibition of the
Zhou bell is to commence immediately.

Holmes was clearly pleased and
invited Mycroft to sit for a moment and avail us of the information
that was gleaned from the foundry. “Well, the documents we found
were most illuminating. The thieves had apparently planned to sell
the duplicate bells to unscrupulous, wealthy collectors, passing
them off as the original.”

Holmes looked across at me and
raised an eyebrow. “It is as I thought, Mycroft. What was to happen
to the real bell?”

Mycroft edged forward on his
chair. “Ah! This is where it becomes intriguing! We found a letter
addressed to the Ambassador. It would seem that they were even
intending to sell the real bell back to the Chinese emperor-”
Mycroft saw the thin smile on Holmes’ face. “But of course,
Sherlock, this was something you had already anticipated.”

Holmes’ continued smile
indicated to Mycroft that he had been forgiven...but one point
still needed to be addressed. “Mycroft, that fellow we came upon in
Kensington. I concluded that he worked at the foundry but have you
any further information?”

I looked across at Mycroft, his
face clouded a little. “Yes, that was a bad business. He was the
foreman at the Raven Foundry and, from all accounts, was an honest
fellow. He must have become suspicious when the duplicate bells
were made and the Chinamen ensured his silence. Faced with the
gallows, one of the Chinamen has turned Queen's Evidence and told
all.”

Mycroft's voice then lightened.
“I called upon the Chinese ambassador before coming here and was
asked to wait a few moments whilst he wrote a personal letter to
you.”

Mycroft reached inside his coat
and withdrew a letter which he handed to Holmes. Opening it, Holmes
began to read silently and a thin smile appeared upon his lips.
“Listen to this, Watson."

"My dear Holmes and Dr Watson.
Mycroft has brought to me news of the bell and I am eternally
grateful. The intelligence Mycroft has supplied regarding these
criminals will be sent by a secure Imperial cypher to the Emperor.
As a token of our heartfelt gratitude, I would be honoured if you
might keep your copy of the Zhou bell as a memento of our meeting
at the museum. Liu"

Gleefully, I rose and retrieved
the still shrouded bell from its place of safety behind the settee.
Uncovering it, I placed it in a prominent position upon our
mantelpiece.

Holmes chuckled. “I am unsure,
Watson, whether Mrs Hudson will thank you for adding further items
for her to dust!”

It was a cold, dreary afternoon on the first
of December, 1890 when Holmes and I first became aware of the
happenings which were to haunt us for the coming days. A cheery
fire was burning in the hearth in our rooms at 221b Baker Street.
Holmes was wrapped in his old dressing gown, playing an aria by
Vivaldi on his beloved Stradivarius violin.

I then made the error of enquiring, “What is
that, Holmes?”

Holmes glanced across at me whilst continuing
to play. "I'm surprised you do not know it, Watson. It’s L'Inverno.
Winter. I thought it quite apt."

I shrugged, exclaiming, “Hmpf...I would not
say it was obvious.”

Holmes stopped playing and asking, “What? You
cannot hear the thunder and lightning?” Springing from his chair he
came towards me whilst plunging into an energetic display of
bowing.

“Ah, yes. I see.” said I, waving him away and
hoping to end the tumult of sound now assaulting my ears.

Holmes finally stopped playing and looked
invigorated by his exertions. As I watched, he glanced towards the
heavily draped windows of our rooms. “Hello, we have a visitor."
Down in the street below, a Hansom cab had drawn up to the curb. A
tall, well dressed figure descended and made his way to our front
door. “Brother Mycroft, if I am not mistaken,” said Holmes, putting
his violin in its case and flinging off his dressing gown. Holmes
walked to the sideboard and brought over a decanter of Sherry and
three glasses.

After a few moments there was a knock at our
door and Mrs Hudson announced, “Mr Mycroft Holmes to see you sir.”
and in swept Mycroft.

Mycroft was dressed in his usual caped frock
coat, top hat and was holding a silver topped, black cane.

Holmes beamed, saying, “Ah, Mycroft. It is so
good to see you."

This, I thought, was an unusually warm
greeting from Holmes as relations between the two brothers had not
always been cordial, to say the least.

 “Good afternoon, Sherlock, Watson.”
said Mycroft, turning and nodding in my direction.

Holmes brushed a pile of papers from our red
velvet chaise-longue onto the floor saying, “Please, be seated. A
glass of sherry perhaps?”

Mycroft removed his hat and cape and sat
facing us both. Mycroft, like Holmes, was not a man to waste time
on fripperies and waved a hand at Holmes. “Thank you, no,
Sherlock.” Mycroft’s voice now became grave as he announced, “We,
as a nation, have a gun to our head. This letter arrived with the
Prime Minister's mail some ten days ago.”

Mycroft passed an envelope to Holmes who took
it and moved closer to the gas light by the mantelpiece. Before
opening it, Holmes examined the stamp and post mark, held the
envelope to the light, turned it over and carefully sniffed at it.
With nothing further to be gained, he opened the envelope and
withdrew the single, folded sheet of paper. Again, he examined the
letter thoroughly without reading the contents and then proceeded
to read aloud.

“Sir, you will, by now, have had reports of
outbreaks of serious illness around the country. This is not some
seasonal malady but is one that I have engineered and control. At
present, it is only serious for the old and the very young but it
is within my power to kill large sections of the population. Unless
the government deposits the sum of one million pounds into an
account of which I shall provide the details, the gravest of
consequences will ensue. If you agree to my terms, place an
advertisement in the personal column of ‘The Times’ with the words,
“Mr J. Bull agrees and wishes to settle his debt." If I have not
heard from you within seven days, then as proof of my willingness
to carry out my threat, ask your officials to pay close attention
to the health of the population in the town of Truro, in Cornwall.”
The letter was unsigned.

I was so taken aback that I said nothing for
a few moments and then blurted out, “But… but this is blackmail, at
a national level!”

“Quite so.” said Mycroft. “We have already
had reports of unexpected and unexplained deaths from all over the
country. What do you make of it, Sherlock?”

Holmes was now very quiet and had withdrawn
to his favorite fireside chair. He was sitting with his knees drawn
up to his chest and his fingers steepled against his lips. His eyes
seemed almost glazed as he stared into the distance. After a few
moments he spoke. “This is a work of untold wickedness.”

“But is the scoundrel to be believed?” I
shouted.

Holmes turned towards me and calmly said,
“This horror will undoubtedly happen if the government does not pay
or unless we find him first. What intelligence do you have from the
government, Mycroft?”

Mycroft's complexion had turned ashen on
hearing Sherlock's opinion. “The cabinet met three days ago and
decided that this was a hoax.”

Holmes leapt
from his chair, his face growin
g scarlet
with anger, crying, “Stupid! How can the leaders of our country be
so stupid? People will die as a direct result of this decision.
What about Truro?”

Mycroft looked extremely uncomfortable and
said, quietly, “So far there have been twenty deaths and the number
being admitted to hospital is growing by the day.”

I was aghast! “Twenty dead? Good lord! What
were their symptoms?”

Mycroft turned to me and spoke again,
quietly, “From what I have been told, they looked pale, suffered
from acute abdominal pain, sweating and difficulty in breathing.
Most of the fatalities died within four hours of falling ill."

“My God! What evil are we dealing with here?"
I gasped.

Mycroft now turned to Holmes. “We have
suppressed the news of the deaths for the moment but word is sure
to leak out and lead to panic. Will you take the case, Sherlock?
The Prime Minister is holding an emergency cabinet meeting this
evening and I am on my way to report back to him. What shall I tell
him?”

“Say that I will take the case and he is to
place the advertisement in ‘The Times’.”

“But...but this is defeat!” I shouted, rising
from my chair.

Holmes waged his finger at me, his voice was
firm in reply. “Not so, Watson. It means life to some poor devils
and it gives us some breathing space. Quickly, Mycroft. Return to
Downing Street. Watson and I have work to do." Mycroft nodded,
collected his coat and cape and left at speed.

Holmes now began to pace in front of the
fire. “There are clues here, Watson. I just have to think. Take a
look at the letter, let me have your thoughts." Holmes handed me
the envelope with the letter inside and I followed the procedure
that I had seen Holmes carry out. I must admit that, to my eyes at
least, it seemed a very ordinary envelope and contents. “What can
you deduce from that, Watson?”

I looked again at the envelope. “I can see
that it was posted in Chiswick on the 19th of November. It seems a
very ordinary envelope that was sealed with wax but with no imprint
on the seal. The paper of the letter seems very ordinary too. The
writing is in black ink from quite a strong hand that leans to the
right. Other than that I can see nothing. Did I miss anything?”

Holmes almost snatched the letter back from
me. “The aggressive, well-formed letters imply that this was
written by a middle aged man, a person who thinks he has no need to
disguise his handwriting as he will not be caught. The style of
writing is strong as you say…and confident. He owns a cat, probably
a black domestic short hair breed. There is a single, short black
cat hair attached to the gum of the envelope. The envelope has the
smell of fresh paper meaning that it is quite new but there is also
something else…a faint odour of tobacco. The paper is cheap,
commercial quality that can be found at any stationers and bears no
watermark.”