Sherlock Holmes and The Adventure of the Ruby Elephants (15 page)

‘Fools!' cried the bear.

The head rose to reveal the snarling, bearded face of Snitterton. There was the wild look of the devil in his eyes and in any other situation, it would have been absurd.

‘You!' I shouted. He levelled a shot gun at us.

‘Not a step closer or I'll blow you both to kingdom come.'

I raised my eyes to the three figures standing in the upstairs window. The impostors playing Mrs Hudson, Holmes and myself stood impassively at the window staring at us in the most unnerving fashion.

‘You were fools to come here,'Snitterton growled. ‘But I knew
he
could not resist.' He nodded towards Holmes. You masquerade as a detective, a vigilante, an angel of justice, but that's just a charade. Watson, I almost feel sorry for you. You are nothing but a meddler. But Holmes, you are the master of it all. Your simple friend here follows you like a lapdog. You hold yourself above the law; cooperating where it is convenient and where there is a chance to curry favour. Otherwise, you are a slave to your superhuman ego, your arrogance and your greed.' He cocked the rifle. ‘Yes,' he sneered. ‘Greed.' I looked over at Holmes, who was as grim faced as I had ever seen him.

‘Doctor,' he said, jabbing me with the end of the rifle. ‘Would it surprise you that Sherlock Holmes has known about my plan all along? The plan to reunite the eight elephants of Ranjit Singh?' I narrowed my eyes.

‘If he was holding back, he had good reason,' I said.

‘Never fear, Watson,' said Holmes calmly.

‘Then he did not tell you what power you hold if you possess all eight? As you will soon both be dead there is nothing to be lost in telling you now. Our society, The House of the Ruby Elephant, was a front for eight common thieves. We had heard the legend of the Nizam Diamond: a stone of supreme size, 340 carats of pure starlight. Then by chance, we met a traveller at the Viceroy's Palace who had spent time at the old fort at Golconda, home of the legendary diamond vault. The fort was long since ruined. But he spoke of a hidden chamber. Inside was a safe in the shape of an elephant, impregnable in every way. But it was a safe without a combination. Instead, there are the indentations of eight elephants. Only when all eight are in place will the door to the safe spring open. On his deathbed, Singh sent the ruby elephants to the four corners of the world. Our life's work has been to bring them together.'

It seemed hopeless. He had us caught like rabbits; but for now he was absorbed in his tale. ‘Chatburn was the first to find one; he bought it from a corrupt official at an exorbitant price. The man did not know the true worth of the ruby, but he could see Chatburn wanted it badly. For a time, this gave Chatburn some power among us. Then I heard of a famous dealer in Lahore who dealt only in the finest gemstones. I travelled to see him; brought him as much as could afford and promised him favour with the Viceroy. He resisted for a long time then finally gave way; he had a pair of ruby elephants. He did not know, or did not admit to knowing there were others. We bargained for two days over them. I left a poor man, but with two rubies in my pocket. The others searched; travelled all around India. Only two more were found. Peaceheart got lucky; he saw his in a bazaar; picked it up for the price of a chapatti. That left only Ignatius; the musician who stole one from a visiting prince.

‘From then on, there was nothing but bitterness and rancor. We fought; we despised those who had found none; they in their turn lived in resentment. For a while, I contented myself with my work: healing the great beasts of India; taming the tigers and elephants. Then I found one of my rubies had vanished. I accused Chatburn of stealing it from me by bribing a servant to take it from my rooms. In a rage, I faced down the servant with a lion I was treating; I only meant to scare him, but the animal was in a fever, broke loose and savaged the man. I left after this under a shadow; our quest for the ruby elephants incomplete.'

‘A colourful tale, Snitterton,' I snarled, ‘but what is the meaning of these actors?' I pointed up at the window.

‘Ah, Doctor Watson,' he smiled. ‘This is a stroke worthy of Holmes himself. I have employed these impostors as an accessory to your own death. They will be seen fleeing from the property in open view. The police will find the bodies of two grubby, anonymous workmen in the back garden. Holmes you are well known enough to be recognised without any trouble, especially after your heroics with the elephant. You will be convicted of your own murder.'

‘Ingenious!' congratulated Holmes. ‘Now perhaps you will allow me to put forward a theory about the elephant at the Zoological Gardens. Your target was not the beast at all. It was the man riding on its back. He was an employee of the East India Company and was the only witness to your crime at the palace; he was blackmailing you. You devised a dart and impregnated it with a poison of your own devising. But your aim was not as good as your laboratory skills. You shot the elephant instead, driving it mad. It was enough poison to kill a man, but not a great beast such as Juno. Watson, you remember the wound on the elephant's flank? That was no broken branch; it was the place where the arrow hit home.'

‘Impressive,' said Snitterton, ‘but alas no one else will get to hear your theory. Any final questions?'

‘The other ruby elephants,' I asked. ‘Where are they?'

‘Where are they indeed!' he exclaimed.

‘For a long time I suspected Chatburn had them. I staged a truce with him; tried to take him into my confidence. But it seemed he had no others, at which point I realised he was of no further use. Then it occurred to me. Surely the Maharajah, also the owner of the infamous Koh-I-Noor, would not be so cruel as to deny his son the chance to acquire the Nizam diamond too. From that moment on, I knew it was the son who had them - the last Maharajah.'

‘And what of these Archangels? Are they in your power? Are they your agents?'

‘You ask too much doctor,' he said, growing tired. ‘I have told all I care to.'

‘If you had any sense, you would turn yourself in,' I reasoned. ‘You are possessed of a brilliant mind who could still offer some useful service to your country. The Crown may take your record into account and grant some leniency.' He laughed at this suggestion.

‘Perhaps in your fairy tale world, doctor. Besides, think what I stand to lose. I am so close to my goal and unimaginable wealth. Which path would you take?'

‘I would choose the path that would allow me to live with my conscience and at peace with my soul.'

‘Then doctor,' he said. ‘We are very different men.'

‘But...'

‘Enough!' he exclaimed. ‘It ends here!'

‘One last thing,' said Holmes, raising a finger. ‘Would you allow us a last drink?'

‘A drink?' he asked.

‘Yes,' said Holmes. ‘We are civilised people after all. Perhaps a gin and an Indian Quinine Tonic?'

As my friend uttered these words Snitterton dropped the rifle and his eyes glazed over.

‘Don't mind if I do,' he said, then reached into thin air, wrapping his hand around an invisible glass.

‘Quick, Watson,' shouted Holmes, grabbing my arm, ‘back through the house.' He pushed me ahead and swiftly followed.

We tore through the building while the three strange actors thundered down the stairs in pursuit. We burst through the front door while a shot rang out.

Holmes and I stumbled into the street, tripping on the loose hems of our ill-fitting work trousers. Another bullet cracked over our heads.

‘Keep running!' urged Holmes.

We rounded a corner into a side street and straight into the arms of a waiting police constable.

‘Not so fast,' he said, seizing us both by the collar. We both flew forward and were almost strangled by our own neckties. The constable was a giant of a fellow. Over six and half feet tall and almost as wide, he not so much resembled a policeman as a brick wall. I was still reeling from the impact with his torso.

‘Constable!' I cried, ‘we are in mortal danger.'

‘You are now you've run into me.'

‘Constable,' I persisted, ‘this is no business of yours.'    

‘You're finely spoken for a mumper; a lovely bit of jerry talk. A more likely pair of mutchers I have never seen.'

‘Constable Gibbons!' said Holmes breaking into a smile.

‘Don't get familiar with me...' he warned.

Holmes wiped some of the dirt from his face and removed his hat.

‘I don't believe it!' cried the astonished constable. ‘Sherlock Holmes!'

‘The very same.'

They greeted each other like old friends.

‘If there was any justice in this world,' remarked Holmes, returning the dirty cap to his famous cranium, ‘you would be the head of Scotland Yard by now. In my view there are too many blunderers hiding behind their desks. The real police work happens out here on the streets where the scoundrels of the earth plough their wicked furrow.'

‘Please, Mr Holmes, that's enough,' the embarrassed constable returned, blushing. ‘Now how may I be of service? You and your friend seem to be in an awful hurry.'

‘As it happens,' said Holmes. ‘The good doctor Watson here was perfectly correct. We are both about to be murdered.'

‘Murdered, you say!' He glanced behind us. ‘Well these murderers of yours seem to have lost interest all of a sudden.' Sure enough there was no sign of our pursuers.

‘They clearly saw you, Gibbons,' laughed Holmes, ‘and thought better of it. Now as you can see, we have been working incognito and I believe we are on the verge of catching London's most dangerous man. If you are quick, you will be the one who leads to the eventual arrest of Warwick Snitterton, the killer of Ignatius Wimpole and Wenceslas Chatburn.' Gibbons' eyes bulged.

Holmes scribbled down the address and pressed it into the constable's outstretched hand.

‘Summon Gregson and whoever else you need,' instructed Holmes. ‘Arrest anyone you find in this house.' The man nodded his assent.

‘Gibbons,' cried Holmes. ‘Take great care, but this is your moment!'

‘You can rely on me, sir.'

‘One more thing,' added Holmes. ‘I see you have remarried?'

‘How would you know that sir?'

‘The minute indentation on your ring finger, the extra polish of your shoes and the fact that you have begun to trim the hair of your nose and ears and eyebrows. You had rather begun to let yourself go following your return to bachelor life, is that not so?'

‘You could say that, sir, yes.'

‘Well I rather think a sergeant's salary will come in rather useful to a newly married man, wouldn't you agree constable?'

‘I couldn't agree more, sir!' he replied.

‘Well, so long Gibbons,' said Holmes, ‘and good luck!'

‘Right you are, sir!' he replied, then jogged off, transporting his portly frame in the opposite direction.

‘Now I don't know about you, Watson,' said Holmes. ‘But I'm famished. What do you say to a plate of eels?'

I looked up and sure enough we were standing outside the premises of A. Grimes, one of the new pie and mash shops that seemed to be springing up all over London. If truth be told, I cared neither for eels, nor for the queer establishments in which they were served, which, with their white tiles and mirrors, more closely resembled public conveniences than respectable restaurants. However, I had to confess that the strain on the nerves supplied by the day's adventures had also given me a ravenous hunger.

Moments later we were inside the shop, cradling huge mugs of tea while the eels were coaxed into their pastries and doused in their own juices.

‘Well, Holmes,' I began, leaning back in my chair. I can't wait a moment longer.'

‘Give them a chance!' he said. ‘We've barely sat down.'

‘Don't be absurd. Not the food, the tonic water!'

‘Ah,' my friend smiled. ‘It had a marvellous effect did it not? I wondered myself if it would work, but I was not disappointed.'

‘But...how?'

‘You will remember Mr Nicholas Kibble, the charming head keeper at the Zoological Gardens? As we were leaving he muttered a little piece of advice in my ear. You will remember that he and Snitterton were once acquainted? Well, years ago, they would regularly attend social functions together. On one particular evening, he mentioned that they had been treated to an after dinner entertainment by a hypnotist who asked for a volunteer. Being a young, plucky sort of fellow, Snitterton put himself forward and challenged the man to put him into a trance. But being a gifted practitioner of the art, the hypnotist swiftly took him into his power, using the words ‘Quinine Tonic Water' as the trigger. It was a harmless trick that caused the subject to reach for an imaginary glass. Snitterton was furious to discover he had fallen so easily for the hypnotist's ruse and stormed out of the room before the man could undo the work. It subsequently became widely known that you only had to mention these three words, and the man would be thrown, temporarily, into the same trance. Such was his fearsome reputation, few dared to try this for themselves.'

‘Astounding!' I cried. ‘Your man Kibble saved our lives.'

‘Really such a silly thing,' said Holmes glancing across at the counter, ‘but useful none the less. Now here comes our lunch and not a moment too soon.'

THIRTEEN - The Admiral

Holmes emerged from a long spell in the bath. The soak appeared to have done him good; he looked a good deal less jaded than I had seen him of late and the combination of a hearty supper of Mrs Hudson's pease pudding and a good night's sleep appeared to have restored his energies. He was clad in his dressing gown, cradling a drink of his own devising in one hand and holding an old pamphlet in the other.

‘Now, Watson,' said Holmes. ‘What do you make of this?' He cast the publication in my direction, It was the programme from the Great Exhibition of 1851, slightly damp, presumably from Holmes having read it in the bath.

‘Something of a relic,' I said. ‘It's forty years old. It may even be worth something; or it would have been if it hadn't just been steamed through.'

‘It's more to do with where I found it,' said Holmes, ‘that is to say, in Snitterton's feather factory.'

‘How curious,' I said. ‘A bit of a risk, though, don't you think? Do you not think he'll miss it?'

‘I left Snitterton's copy in place then purchased another from Samuel's near St Paul's. What do you make of his interest in it?' I leafed through the damp pages.

‘Surely the gemstones,' I said at length, ‘given the nature of his interests.'

‘I concur, Watson.'

‘I'm so sorry,' said Mrs Hudson dusting flour from her hands, ‘I've tried to keep him outside, but he's a like a stray mongrel. The minute the door's ajar, he slips straight in.'

‘Allo, Mr 'Olmes,' smiled Wiggins, the smartest urchin north of of the Thames and defacto leader of the Baker Street Irregulars. He was wearing an ill-fitting pair of black trousers fashioned at some point in the distant past for a small man rather than a boy. They were sheared off near the ankle and held up by a length of string tied haphazardly around the waist and a pair of braces. A grubby vest was partially hidden by an even grubbier grey shirt. The outfit, which gave off a pungent odour all of its own, was topped off with a raffish looking cap.

‘Urgent message from Inspector Gregson,' he panted, evidently having arrived directly from the scene.

Holmes rose to his feet.

‘Well, let us have it, Wiggins,' said Holmes impatiently. ‘Don't just stand there wearing out Mrs Hudson's carpet.'

The boy cocked his head to one side and adjusted the angle of his hat.

‘Oh I see,' continued Holmes. ‘You are entitled to enjoy the comforts of our study but I am not entitled to a word of your message until I part with a shilling? I understand.'

Holmes patted his dressing gown pockets. ‘Well you will excuse me Wiggins, but like most others, I am not in the habit of carrying much short change with me in the bath. Perhaps the good Dr Watson would be prepared to sub me?' I rolled my eyes and fished a shilling from my pocket. I flipped it across the room. Wiggins snatched it expertly from the air.

‘There's something up in Trafalgar Square,' he explained.

‘Be precise!' said Holmes indignantly.

‘That is precise,' Wiggins insisted. ‘There is a man at the top of Nelson's Column.'

‘There has been a man has been at the top of Nelson's column since 1843!'

‘Well, now there's another one, sir!' blurted Wiggins. ‘They don't know if he's alive or dead. He's right up there at the top and no one's got a single idea how he got up there or how to get him down. Gregson says you need to come straight away.'

‘Hellfire, Watson, this sounds like a scorcher.'

A hard, warm rain was falling on London. It darkened the stone and washed the dust from the great facades of Regent Street. The shoppers took shelter beneath the awnings of the shop fronts as we churned past in our growler, the spray hissing from our wheels. Coach and horses, mighty spires and towering buildings reflected themselves in the glistening streets.

‘There is hysteria in the air, Watson,' mused Holmes, his gloved hands resting on his cane. ‘The summer brings with it a peculiar kind of crime: a wrong-headed spirit which grips the criminal mind and persuades him that his scheme possesses a logic to which it cannot possibly aspire.' My friend peered out into the streets, lost in his thoughts.

We found that a sizeable crowd had mustered in Trafalgar Square. Constables in shining capes stood at even intervals holding it back. Our driver shouted our credentials and we drove through a narrow opening that took us almost up to the great column itself.

I spied Gregson in charge of the scene, issuing instructions and answering questions.

My friend and I descended from our carriage and were quickly ushered beneath police umbrellas. The rain applauded loudly while the inspector filled us in. ‘Mr Holmes, Dr Watson,' Gregson nodded. ‘I thought this might appeal to your bizarre tastes. We've decided he's not a jumper. In fact, if he's not just a very sound sleeper, it's quite possible he's dead already. Our men have telescopes trained on him and he hasn't moved so much as an inch in an hour. There's no evidence of a rope and so far we have no clear idea how he got there. I don't mind confessing that we are almost at a loss.' Holmes was clearly disarmed by Gregson's frank admission.

‘Surely inspector,' he goaded. ‘You have a theory. You always have a theory even if it is later proved to be entirely erroneous.' Gregson smiled.

‘Well, I did say, we are “almost at a loss.” There is an idea forming.'

‘Splendid. Well then let us hear it,' Holmes invited. ‘I always knew you were one of the few men of Scotland Yard possessed of an imagination.'

‘One of my constables found this,' he said, producing what appeared to be the end of an arrow. The arrowhead itself was contorted by some blunt trauma. ‘It is my conjecture,' Gregson postulated, ‘that an arrow was fired from the upper window of a nearby building. This arrow was connected to a fine thread, which was in turn connected to a stouter rope or line. A pulley was then installed on this make-shift system. It is perfectly plausible that the body was transported along this line to the top of the column. The first attempt was unsuccessful; the arrow rebounded from the stone and this fragment fell to the ground. The villain tried to tidy up after himself but in the darkness and in his haste, missed this vital piece of evidence. I have men making enquiries at both Canada House and the South Africa High Commission.' Holmes nodded throughout this explanation.

‘Bravo, Inspector. It is an entirely credible theory but one that is alas, perfectly wrong.'

Gregson's face fell. ‘Show me your evidence to the contrary,' he demanded. ‘My theory is not only perfectly reasonable, it has the advantage of material proof. On what grounds do you reject it?'

Holmes took the broken arrowhead out of Gregson's hand and inspected it at close quarters.

‘The first thing I would say is that this is the end of an iron railing.' He scanned the immediate area and pointed to a grassy patch adjacent to the National Gallery. ‘I would suggest it came from over there. I'm sure the gallery's director, Sir Frederick would be glad of its safe return.'

‘Crestfallen' would not do justice to the expression that formed on Gregson's face in those few moments. He knew he was beaten, but he fought on regardless.

‘Well,' he said, gathering himself, ‘let us say for a moment you are right about the railing. My theory is still entirely within the realms of possibility. There is no other way for a man to ascend the column, bearing the full dead weight of another man upon his back and without a rope. For the sake of the younger officers here, perhaps you would be so good as to provide an alternative explanation?'

‘Given time,' said Holmes, ‘given time. If you would just allow me to inspect the scene as carefully as you have done yourself, I would happily join you in your willingness to discount the impossible, which perhaps will leave us with the truth.'

All efforts were being made to reach the top. An enormous ladder had been fetched from somewhere and another was being lashed to it. This improvised staircase was then hoisted up against the column to create a vertiginous, bending mechanism that rose to three quarters of its height. The policemen appeared to be drawing lots to decide who would be the first to make the ascent. While they were debating, the ladder swayed and bent in the wind like legs of a drunken giraffe. Finally, a sergeant volunteered himself for the terrifying mission, and so, with a rope and hook slung over his shoulder, I watched in horror as he scaled the first ten or so rungs. The ladder undulated wildly, and for a moment he appeared to lose his balance, which drew a collective gasp from the crowd. He had only just regained his composure when the ladder suddenly buckled and he toppled into the arms of the constables below.

‘What would you say to a stroll, Watson?' asked Holmes, observing this chaotic scene.

‘How congenial,' I replied, and making our excuses we left the police to their public tomfoolery.

‘This case certainly presents some unique features,' he mused. ‘Whether this is a new case or one connected to the series of strange occurrences I am not yet sure, but from what I have seen through Inspector Gregson's binoculars, there is something curiously familiar about the man at top.'

When it came to evidence, Holmes was like a buzzard stalking its prey. If it was there, he would find it. Holmes' eyes darted left and right, looking for anything out of the ordinary. I have never forgotten his words:”you know my method. It is founded on the observation of trifles.” However, today they seemed in short supply. We found nothing but the usual detritus of London - newspapers, the wrapping of a sandwich, a hairpin and an old sixpence. Holmes tapped the ground with his end of his cane then watched as the wind caught a sheet of newspaper and carried it across the paving stones. His eyes lit up.

‘You've had an idea,' I said.

‘An inkling,' he corrected, then strode with purpose back the way we came. In that precise, efficient way of his, he scanned the building tops at each compass point.

‘There!' he cried in triumph. ‘Do you see the weather vane up there on the gallery?'

‘Yes,' I said, peering into the drizzle. ‘It is at something of an angle.'

‘Exactly right, Watson. Now look at the flag on Canada House.' I peered in the direction he indicated.

‘That too; it is leaning to one side.'

‘Not just one side, Watson,' shouted Holmes, ‘the same side! It is as if it has been knocked or dislodged by someone or something.'

‘The storm? The wind?'

‘Impossible,' snorted Holmes. ‘This is merely a little light summer rain.'

He strode to the very edge of the square where a man sat huddled on the ground, his back to a stone wall. He was almost entirely obscured in a pile of rags, his face dark with dirt and grease.

‘Hello, my friend,' said Holmes. My friend nudged me for a shilling to give to the vagrant. ‘How long have you been here?' The man opened a single eye.

‘Toast your blooming eyebrows.'

‘Another shilling? Very well then.' I produced another.

‘What are you, one of these mutton shunters? I got every right to be here. Just as much as you.'

‘Of course, you have,' my friend assured him, ‘and no, I'm not a policeman.'

‘Well, if you're willing to sub me a shant of bivvy, then I'll tell ya. I've been here for two days and two nights and a better spot there could not be found in all of London. I'm an old sailor, you see, and while the Admiral watches over me, no ‘arm will come. Do you follow? No 'arm! Not that I'm afraid of any man alive.'

‘Tell me,' asked Holmes, suddenly serious of purpose. ‘Did you notice anything unusual last night?'

The man looked quizzically at Holmes, narrowing his single eye.

‘Well there are sights to be had any hour of the day or night. Just yesterday evening for instance, a couple had a right collie shangles right in front of my nose.'

‘I believe he means a fight,' I elucidated.

‘That's right,' the man continued, ‘like I said, a fight. I don't think they even knew I was here. She took the hat off his head and put her fist clean through it. He chased her right round the column.'

‘Did you see anything else out of the ordinary?'

‘Let me see.' He appeared to freeze mind sentence. I passed him another coin.

‘Ah yes,' he said, like a clockwork toy springing back to life. ‘An old man came and stood by the column for close on an hour yester-night at around eight of the clock. He just stood there and didn't say a thing. Troubled looking he was.'

‘Could you describe him?'

‘Of course I could. He was a bald headed fellow, sixty if he was a day, with a full dark beard. He had a dour look about him and heavy saddle bags under the eyes.'

‘A remarkable description,' complemented Holmes. ‘It is as if you know the man.'

‘I do,' the man said plainly. ‘It was the Prime Minister, the Marquis of Salisbury!'

‘Upon my word!' I exclaimed.

‘My guess is that he came here to think things over,' the old seadog continued. ‘If he'd asked for my opinion, I would have given it to him. He's been building houses for the poor but he hasn't built one for me yet!'

‘How about the night itself,' pressed Holmes. ‘Did you see anything in the early hours?'

‘Well this rain gave me a proper drenching, alright,' he complained, pulling his rags closer around him. ‘Like a drowned rat, I was.'

Behind me, the ladder was again brought to bear against the column and the crowd emitted another theatrical gasp. I was losing patience with the man's tales.

‘Perhaps we ought to leave this gentleman in peace, Holmes,' I suggested. ‘He has been most illuminating, has he not?'

‘Tell me,' said Holmes, raising a finger, ‘one thing more.' I sighed and passed the man another shilling. It was as if I was feeding a machine in an amusement hall.