Sherlock Holmes & The Master Engraver (Sherlock Holmes Revival) (19 page)

‘As you value your life consult no-one. Await my instructions.’

“Does that not strike you as somewhat curious Watson?” Here, at last, was one of those rare but infinitely agreeable occasions when I felt passably confident that my own modest deductive method coincided precisely with that of Holmes. I apprehended my colleague’s meaning and made so bold as to address my answer both to Holmes and to Mr Petch.

“You must own that Holmes has the right of it, Mr Petch. If the thieves’ intent were simply to print counterfeit money for their own gain, what need have they of sending you the first proof? They already have all the means to hand. This proof merely serves to demonstrate that they have co-opted a competent printer into the gang. So why trouble to alert you – why raise an alarm so early in the game? No Mr Petch, if I read my colleague aright” – I glanced at Holmes – “there is a deeper motive here, hence ‘Await my instructions.’ I would hazard a guess that there is some matter they wish to negotiate or discuss, now that they hold the advantage.”

I glanced tentatively at Holmes and was gratified to see him smiling, in full accord. “Doctor Watson is quite accurate in his analysis Mr Petch – indeed there is little more that I can add except perhaps to advise you that in view of circumstances I anticipate shortly, I see no reason whatever why this matter need yet be broadcast beyond these walls.

“I have some modest hopes that we shall recover your plates, paper, and any notes already printed in advance of their circulation, within...” he paused, closed his eyes and appeared to perform some brief mental calculation “...let us say a matter of a very few days.

“I rather fancy these villains have a particular reason of their own for informing you that they can and have printed successfully, and I very much expect we may not have long to wait before we hear from them again...”

He looked thoughtful, and then concluded with a somewhat enigmatic smile “...unless, that is, they hear from Sherlock Holmes first...”

At this, Petch looked up sharply, a small glimmer of hope shining in his exhausted, rheumy eyes. “So soon Mr Holmes! You have made progress then?”

“My justice takes a swift transport Mr Petch, but I will not be pressed further; I have a preference to be the bearer of fact, rather than the purveyor of speculation. For now, I await quite essential information, which I believe will dramatically advance our patriotic crusade. These matters you may with confidence leave in our hands.

“But with the arrival of this ill-omened note, there is a more urgent matter which I fear may involve us all. We have debated the meaning of the second sentence. The first is no less significant – you note that you are cautioned:
‘As you value your life consult no-one’.

“Watson, do me the kindness of stepping over to the window and see if the ill-looking ruffian I observed earlier is still loafing in the doorway opposite... No! Do not disturb the curtain!”

I peered warily through the narrow gap between the gauzes, and sure enough there he was, a vicious-looking, beetle-browed mountain of a brute idling directly opposite, casting occasional shifty glances up at our window. I turned and nodded grimly at Holmes, confirming his suspicion.

He addressed our client once more. “I do not wish to alarm you unduly Mr Petch, but we are, even as I speak under surveillance; it is not unreasonable to suppose that the bruiser standing watch over the road is reporting back to his principal, and will certainly carry news of your visit here today. Thus are we all under grave threat in this business.

“These are risks to which the good Doctor and I are accustomed, but I fear you also now must look to your own close protection, for these villains will stop at nothing. Do you possess a personal firearm?”

The elderly gentleman looked up at Holmes with a curious air of something between defiance and resolve. “I do indeed Mr Holmes; as a younger man, a significant part of my responsibilities was the conveyance of securities of particularly substantial face-value around London, and I routinely travelled with a fully loaded six-barrelled revolver in my pocket. I believe I can readily lay my hands upon my old 20-bore Beattie Pepperbox; like me, it may be somewhat vintage in years, but I believe together we may still offer a formidable deterrent!”

“That is well Mr Petch” said Holmes. “Hereon I would strongly urge you keep it loaded and about you at all times.”

Privately I had reservations at the notion of this volatile septuagenarian engraver, aesthete and orchid-grower, already in a state of considerable emotional distress, loose upon the streets of London and heavily armed with an ancient, lethal six-barrelled large-calibre revolver! However my colleague seemed satisfied enough with the arrangement, and I put the thought from my mind.

Holmes delicately cleared his throat and addressed Petch once more. “One final matter Mr Petch; when did you last speak with your maid?”

“I recall the occasion well; it was the day before yesterday. She bade me farewell at around six o’clock, for my wife had granted her several days free so that she might meet with her sister – I do not expect her to return for a week.”

Sombrely Holmes replied “I regret I have bad news Mr Petch; Dulcie Hobbs will not return in a week, or a month, or even in a year for you see, she was discovered hanged in her locked rooms in Chiswick early yesterday morning.”

“Good Heavens! There must be some dreadful mistake; she left our house in the highest of good humours, so pleased was she at the prospect of seeing her sister and mother! Why on earth would she then go to her home and commit suicide?”

“I did not say she committed suicide Mr Petch.”

Our visitor looked puzzled, frowning. “But you said...”

“I said she was discovered hanged.”

The elderly engraver’s eyes widened in horrified comprehension, as he digested the awful meaning of Holmes’ words.

Succinctly and clinically my colleague related the events which had occurred at Chiswick High Road, and his certain conclusions, though delicately excising the more appalling details of the scene. After showing the shocked old man the scorched, reconstructed note he concluded: “It is important that you retain this news privately to yourself Mr Petch, for you see, Inspector Lestrade of the yard, while a decent enough fellow, is of the firm conviction that this was a suicide – I have little doubt that you and he will be in some communication shortly. However, for the coming days it is essential that he retain his erroneous conclusions, for if he is alerted to the true facts he will likely launch a clumsy murder hunt with all the inevitable vulgar tantarah that will ensue.

“The name of Perkins Bacon & Petch will be blazoned across every penny-dreadful news-sheet in London and the City – the result will be that our quarry will instantly go to earth who knows where, concealing with him that which we must at any cost retrieve – the plates and the paper. Therefore I urge you to remain entirely circumspect for the present, and certainly until I lay my hands upon the criminals responsible.

“And now I advise you to return to the comparative safety of your home and await my wire.

“You shall leave discreetly, and in disguise – I observe we are not so very different in stature, you and I. The boy downstairs will summon a hansom to the door so you may mount unseen; however, I suggest you cover your face with your muffler and don my old town-coat and this deerstalker; in the event that our watchful friend over yonder should glimpse you, he will most likely believe it is I departing.

“Should he follow it will be because he will want to learn where
I
go and whether you may have told me anything which might threaten their plans.”

And thus it was that around noon, a somewhat calmer Mr Henry Petch departed Baker Street. Holmes stepped to the window, peered cautiously down into the street and chortled “Most entertaining Watson! Come see! The apparent sight of Sherlock Holmes jumping nimbly into a cab has put yonder Neanderthal ruffian into a perfect lather of bewilderment! Should he follow or should he stay?

“He is quite irresolute in the matter. Aha! He hails another cab and... Yes, now he intends to pursue with all speed! Let us trust he takes pleasure in his fruitless chase to Richmond, for that leaves the coast clear for us to depart unobserved.”

I looked up at Holmes quizzically. “We are leaving? Where then, do we journey?”

He laughed lightly. “To be quite candid, I have not the faintest notion! But the sooner the blackguard yonder departs, the sooner may we make our plan. Our destination will depend entirely on what we learn from the cabman I have summoned, for only he knows where his murderous fares finally alighted after completing their wicked mission. He should be here...” For the second time that morning we heard a cab rumble to a halt in the street below. “...momentarily I do believe.”

There followed shortly the sound of the heavy street door slamming shut, then cumbersome footsteps slowly mounted the stairs, pausing twice in their ponderous ascent. The parlour door opened to reveal quite the stoutest, baldest, widest, most corpulent, muscular, strongest and jolliest-looking fellow I believe I ever clapped eyes upon.

That this preternaturally large gentleman could even pass between the door-jambs was to me a physical wonder, let alone the notion that he might be spry enough to vault atop a cab.

Shrewd dark eyes peered out from his spherical phizog like two plump currants in a glossy suet pudding. He beamed at us amiably which disconcertingly but rather comically caused his eyes to vanish momentarily into his melon-like face. Holmes addressed him genially. “Mr Solomon Warburg I believe?”

The mighty Mr Warburg turned towards my colleague expectantly. “Ah, then you will be the renowned Mr Sherlock Holmes; I have here the note which your page delivered to the cab-stand earlier, though for the life of me I cannot see how attending here may be to my advantage, unless you wish me, in particular, to convey you gentlemen to some destination of your choice – if so I believe I may justly claim that few cabmen know the streets of London better than I!”

Holmes produced his leather pocket-book which he carefully positioned upon the dining table just beyond reach of the cabman’s giant, scarred, crab-like hands, whereupon the latter’s eyes reappeared upon the instant.

“I’m sure your knowledge of this great metropolis is quite unequalled Mr Warburg, and indeed it is that particular competence which may today enrich you a little. You will find that I am not ungenerous in such matters.

“The fact is that I wish urgently to locate an old friend of ours from many years ago. Regrettably I have mislaid his details. Now my colleague, the good Doctor Watson here, happened by chance to be hurrying along the Chiswick High Road the night before last, in the direction of Shepherd’s Bush, and he swears he believes he glimpsed our friend alight from your hansom around ten o’clock in the evening and enter a large house on the High Road, while you appeared to remain at the kerb; lacking the time to stop and enquire he smartly made a note of your number.

“Now I am wagering on your memory being as sound as your knowledge of London’s Streets, in which case...” and Holmes meaningfully slid the wallet to within an inch of the huge meaty hand. “Do you perchance recall the fare in question; if so I would be much gratified to learn where he hailed you and where he finally alighted, and thus I may be able to locate his place of residence?”

Warburg furrowed his brow in thought for a space. “That would be the tall gentleman, moustachioed, in company with a rather muscular, squint-eyed and very much overly-weighty man,” (which struck me as droll uttered by Warburg, provoking comical private thoughts of pots and kettles) “...and he hailed me on the Embankment. From there we journeyed to the High Road in Chiswick, where he instructed me to wait at the kerb-side. He was carrying a small, bulging canvas bag. Nothing of significance occurred for almost an hour, except for a skinny street urchin who stopped briefly to pet the old nag. In due course my fares reappeared and directed me to proceed with all haste to an address in Richmond, where he delivered a letter or some such to a large, handsome villa. I also noted his bag now appeared to be empty.”

Holmes nodded eagerly “And from there, Mr Warburg? At what address did you eventually drop our friend? Tell me exactly what you observed, with no embellishment or conjecture if you please.”

“Well Mr Holmes, it wasn’t precisely what you’d call an address as such. We drove for some while until we arrived south of the river at Greenwich Marsh right by the reach on the peninsula. They set down by the footpath that leads off to the right to Manor Way, which is where I expected them to go, towards East Greenwich or maybe Over Brickfield; but no, not a bit of it.

“Now here’s the oddest thing; they alighted and climbed down the stone steps at the pier to a rotten old wooden jetty on the East bank of Blackwall Reach, where they clambered into a brand-new skiff and brisk as you like rowed away into the sleet and rain and the dark, and then they vanished from my sight, to go I saw not where.”

At this Holmes appeared somewhat vexed. Tapping a bony white finger meaningfully on his wallet he said “Oh dear Mr Warburg, I had hoped you might have been rather more helpful; I had anticipated you might have an address, or at the very least, a more limited locale. This is indeed most unfortunate. Think man, think! Is there nothing more you can recall, no matter how trivial it may appear to you? It really is a matter of considerable urgency that I contact my old friend.”

Without taking his intelligent beady eyes off Holmes’ thick wallet for a moment, Warburg said carefully “From what I recall Mr Holmes, I do believe you required me to relate exactly that which actually occurred,
‘with no embellishment or conjecture,’
by which I understood you to mean, that which I myself saw until the moment the pair of them vanished from my sight. This I have related most accurately.”

Then with a smile: “If, however, you are prepared to reward me for my paltry efforts at your own craft, which I know to be the observation of events and the deduction of their causes or likely outcome, well then...” he let the notion hang, charged with promise but clearly lacking a satisfactory financial transaction for its completion. Holmes smiled at this cheery impertinence, slid a ten-pound note from his pocket book and placed it before the cabman.