Sherlock Holmes & The Master Engraver (Sherlock Holmes Revival) (2 page)

“But enough of this inconsequential nonsense; tediously, events have of late become somewhat slow and I find myself applying my brain to the most trivial of puzzles. Now how are you old friend? This is truly the most capital of surprises!” I sat in my old chair once again.

“As no doubt you detect, Holmes, life treats me very decently by and large; my patient-list grows almost weekly; indeed, I imagine that by the coming spring I shall likely have to refrain from accommodating further new patients – that or perhaps seek a junior partner.

“But all in all, I count myself a fortunate man, and providentially rather more in funds than when first we took these rooms all those years ago. And yet...”

I tailed off wistfully and paused. Holmes looked up from perusing his papers and fixed me keenly; “And yet
what
, Watson?”

“And yet this, Holmes; I recall how very
alive
I felt this summer past when we were up in the Highlands investigating the Ballantyne Castle murders. True, it was a grim and bloody business and, granted, I took another gunshot wound but truly, tell me this Holmes – what other London medical doctor of the ordinary has enjoyed the privilege of assisting Europe’s only consulting detective in his work?”

My companion chuckled. “Should you imagine that I have been continuously engaged in unravelling chilling mysteries, I regret you are in error! There is little currently to challenge me. See here...” and he rummaged impatiently through the more sensational pages of the news-sheets;

‘ENTIRE SIDE OF GREEN

BACON STOLEN UNDER MYSTERIOUS

CIRCUMSTANCES!’

“And here, look further ”– I read the item he had indicated with a rap of his pipe stem:

‘BAFFLED POLICE HUNT

FRAUDULENT SALESMAN’

“Was there ever any other variety of either species, Watson?

“Am I to scour the capital for a stolen ham, no doubt by now consumed and much enjoyed, or shall I perhaps turn my wits to hunting down some mendacious vendor of patent nostrums and quack remedies?”

I had, on occasion, observed my friend in this condition of irritable
ennui
before. I turned the pages of the newspaper he had passed me.

My eye settled upon a short news item; “Now what of this Holmes”? I read aloud:

‘SCOTLAND YARD SQUAD

MYSTIFIED BY NORTH LONDON

BURGLARIES’

Detectives are puzzling over two burglaries in a wealthy suburb of North London. On the same evening, a person or persons unknown appear expertly to have picked the locks of two substantial houses in the same area of Harrow and its environs, searched both residences thoroughly, owned respectively by a Mr Perkins and a Mr Bacon, but left with no theft occasioned, despite the presence of various valuable items openly displayed. Both unusual events were reported the following morning, in the absence of the occupiers, by a house-keeper and maid, respectively. The highly-reputed Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard commented: ‘The criminals were evidently disturbed in the course of their burglary and were forced to flee empty-handed. However, we have a good description of a man seen acting suspiciously in the area – medium or tall build, dark hair and possibly with a moustache. We are confident of an arrest in the near future.’

“Now surely that odd account might carry hidden promise? A burglar who troubles to break in, is confronted with numerous valuables, yet leaves quite without gain – not so much as a snatched snuff box – and twice on the same night?”

Holmes snorted. “Come, Watson; you are quite right to note it as an oddity, and I intend to look into it further; but you know well my methods – those were not burglaries as Lestrade believes; entry was effected not with a stout jemmy – the common burglar’s favoured and speediest tool – the locks were proficiently picked, valuable items were prominently displayed, yet none was taken.

“And if the ‘burglars’ were disturbed, then who disturbed them? It does not accord with the facts and I am afraid it will not serve.

“The account does not mention anyone reporting unusual sights or sounds; unsurprisingly, I suspect Lestrade is, as usual, on the wrong scent, for these were clearly searches, and whatever was being sought was not discovered.” After a short, thoughtful pause he said, “Nonetheless, it is an intriguing account that may promise something of the
outré
; I have already made a small enquiry of friend Lestrade. It will be diverting to discover the identities of the two house-owners, for assuredly they share something in common.

“But as to his over-weaning assertion:
“...we have a good description of a man seen in the area – medium or tall build, dark hair and possibly with a moustache... We are confident of an arrest in the near future...’

“What arrant nonsense! Why, that perfectly describes you, old friend, along with ten thousand others! I wish him luck in his fruitless hunt!”

“But, hey-ho, no matter; I shall bide my time and without doubt some curiosity of at least moderate interest will come my way.”After this mildly entertaining interlude we spoke of other matters; I promised that I would attempt to locate an old research paper from my student days that might assist his malodorous investigations into the properties of haemoglobin. And so, on the comradeliest of terms, we parted, having agreed to meet again before the festive season. I left him moodily tuning his treasured Stradivarius, seated amid the wrecked remains of a week’s newspapers...

December passed briskly enough in a great surge of sufferers of common colds and influenza but by the start of the festive season my practice became quieter...

*        *       *

...It was a bitter Christmas Eve morning; I had set off to deliver the promised treatise on the life-cycle and properties of haemoglobin and move in for a few days with Sherlock Holmes at Baker Street.

My sweet wife, Mary, had made little objection as she planned to leave that day to spend several days visiting old friends in Cambridge. I was delighted by the unexpected opportunity to spend a little time in our old rooms, back in company with my clever and unusual friend.

Upon my arrival at Baker Street Mrs Hudson served soft-boiled eggs, tea and toast accompanied by her excellent quince jam, following which Holmes and I were companionably, but separately occupied; I reviewing the notes I had made throughout the Ballantyne Castle affair, and he engrossed in his obscure experiment at his work-bench which appeared to involve several vials of congealed blood, not a few vicious digs with a bodkin into his own fingers, and numerous gobbets of brown modelling clay which, temporarily affixed, precariously supported various components. There were many noxious-smelling chemicals which, from time to time, he introduced with pipettes into the labyrinth of chemical glassware; occasionally I heard a vesta being struck, and the soft pop of a Bunsen flame igniting.

Outside, the harbingers of Christmas had started swirling like dervishes, thick and white past our windows, while down in the street, breath plumed from horses and scurrying passers-by alike; a small gang of scruffy urchins bickered and jostled good-naturedly for the warmest places around the hot-chestnut seller’s glowing brazier.

Already the snow was settling sufficiently to induce that curious consequence of quieting everyday street sounds; the wheels of passing hansoms below made no more than a low gentle rumbling; horseshoes on snow-covered cobbles became soft thudding noises; human footfall on fresh snow was an all but inaudible chorus of soft creaking sounds.

Now perhaps it is a matter of age, or of our preferred styles of life, but neither of us has ever made particular observance of the festive season, which in any event, either through cause or by effect, seems usually to result in something of a marked lull in the number of occasions when clients come to seek out Sherlock Holmes’ singular talents, which respite often caused him to become indolent and low.

And so it was with no small measure of surprise, approaching noon, that I observed him yawn, stretch expansively and turn from his bench with a most uncharacteristically sanguine look upon his face and startle me by exclaiming merrily “Now, Watson, do we cry ‘Humbug!’ and play a pair of wretched skinflint Scrooges, skulking in our rooms on Christmas Eve, or shall we venture out for a splendid lunch?

“It so happens that the contents of this flask will require a good four hours to complete its reaction, which I believe will afford us ample time to eat at leisure – which would be your choice, Simpson’s Divan or Rules?” I signified my preference for the latter.

And so it was that shortly after, our driver deposited us, slipping and sliding in Maiden Lane at the door of that most august of old English eating houses in Covent Garden. As one might suppose of a Christmas Eve lunch service, almost every place was taken.

As the head waiter seated us at a discreet table for two at the far right-hand corner of the Glass House I noted that most of our dining companions appeared to be prosperous well-heeled city types, bankers, stock-brokers and the like; conversations, loud or murmured, punctuated with raucous gales of mirth or forceful assertions, more or less sober, were of government bonds and the stock exchange, the economy and the state of the Empire, investments and commodities and the stability of the pound.

My companion appeared to be gazing abstractedly at some faraway point and I sensed that he was in that rare, expansive frame of mind when his inclination was most likely to expound, and so indeed it proved.

“It occurs to me, Watson, that this calling I have adopted, as Europe’s only private consulting detective, confronts me with something of a conundrum.”

“How is that, Holmes?”

“Simply, it is this; my life is wholly dedicated to the detection, pursuit and bringing to book of criminals, the logical result of which – were I to be entirely successful – would be the elimination of major crime. I speak of course, of those wicked clever men, quite devoid of moral principle – of that higher confederacy of criminal ingenuity that so challenges the greater intellect and thereby defeats the plodders of the regular force.

“Yet without the continued industriousness of our criminal brethren my very
raison d’être
would be extinguished like a snuffed candle. And thus it is that I am compelled to feed upon that very malignity that I seek to quell; the machinations of the superior criminal mind are my preferred meat and drink; but should I perfect my self-created science and frustrate their every effort I should surely starve. On which apt subject, my dear fellow, I do believe our lunch is here.”

We enjoyed the hearty meal in companionable quiet; I broke our silence: “I have noted you scouring the news-sheets. I presume therefore, you have no prospect of a case at present?”

Holmes smiled and steepled his fingers beneath his chin; “You are correct, of course, Watson. And yet criminals do not cease their unremitting criminality simply because the rest of the city at the festive season shivers or starves, carols or carouses.” With a mischievous smile he added “Indeed, was I so inclined and of that disposition, I would choose this precise time of the year to perpetrate a crime of the very greatest audacity!”

As Holmes finished speaking I observed Burridge, the elderly maitre d’hotel approaching our table bearing a card upon a silver salver. “I do beg your pardon Mr Holmes, but there is a gentleman of quality waiting on you in the lobby. Most perturbed he is too. It appears that your landlady advised him you were dining with us; I have told him you are in company, but he will not be put off. He insists he must see you this day, indeed this very instant, on a matter of the highest importance.”

Holmes studied the card briefly and appeared oddly satisfied, almost as if he recognised the identity of this quite unanticipated visitor, perhaps even had expected him.

“Aha Watson! It seems that merely to speak of the Devil brings him unbidden to our table! As I had very much hoped, the trio is complete – a case, unless I am very much mistaken. Pray show Mr Petch over directly.” I knew not to what trio he referred.

Burridge ushered in a tall, silver-haired, wiry and distinguished-looking gentleman – possibly exhibiting Morfans syndrome – who was enjoying, I would guess, the middle years of his seventh decade; he appeared to me to be in extremely rude health, and also in a state of some considerable agitation. His attire was perfectly sober, but unmistakably of substantial cost and quality.

He peered from Holmes to me and back again through extraordinarily thick, gold-rimmed eyeglasses. In some confusion he asked querulously “Mr Sherlock Holmes?”

“I am he, Mr Petch” said my colleague genially; “The season’s greetings to you. This is my friend, confidant and close associate, Doctor John Watson. Perhaps you wish to remove your great-coat, draw that chair to the table and tell me how I may be of service. But you appear to be somewhat agitated; will you perhaps take a calming glass? I anticipated most keenly that I might hear from you.”

Our visitor appeared puzzled by Holmes last statement, as was I; the moment passed. “The same to you, gentlemen, both, and I will take a small whisky with a little water Mr Holmes; perhaps it will settle my shattered nerves. I trust you will forgive my interrupting your lunch, but the matter is of the greatest exigency and, to be blunt, I am afraid I pressed your landlady into revealing your whereabouts.”

Holmes gestured encouragingly for him to continue, and while the waiter poured out a liberal measure of whisky with a dash of carbonated water from the gasogene for our unexpected guest, he started to pour out his story.

“Perhaps it would be as well if I begin by telling you a little of myself, and then shall I describe the dreadful events that have befallen our business, Mr Holmes?”

My colleague glanced up from our visitor’s calling card.

“That would be most helpful, as at present I can glean little more than that you are right-handed, and when you are not cultivating exotic flowers in your heated glass-house, you are an accomplished master engraver of printing plates for the production of banknotes and other valuable securities for The Bank of England; I much look forward to hearing of the matter you have come to bring to my attention. Your concern must be pressing indeed to warrant an unannounced visit, in such bitter weather, and at this season.”