Sherlock Holmes & The Master Engraver (Sherlock Holmes Revival) (20 page)

“
Touché
Mr Warburg; perhaps this may encourage your deductive capacity?”

“Well Mr Holmes, as a younger – and considerably lighter – man it so happens I used to skull that stretch of the Blackwall Reach; at that time of night it flows north, then becomes Bugsby’s Reach and turns south. Once the tide turns it runs pretty fast thereabouts. This means that if you propose to cross the water, you may not row directly over because the fast-running northerly current will defeat your best efforts; you must start your journey further upstream from your intended destination, and so effect your crossing slant-wise. Your, ahem, ‘friend’s’ very muscular companion was a powerful hand at the skulls and clearly calculated not to run due North with the current, but to cross the Reach over to the far bank. If I am right in this, then at the point they disappeared from my view, I deduce their course could only have headed them for Saunders Ness landing-stage at Cubitt Town which is on the south-eastern tip of The Isle of Dogs, just south of the Millwall Docks. They could not land anywhere else, for either side there are deep mud-flats for some distance, where only barges may anchor. I could with ease have delivered them directly to Cubitt Town by a less circuitous route; I therefore conclude that whatever their business, they were most anxious that even a lowly cabman such as I should not have recollection of their final destination.” He grinned roguishly and quoted from the Old Testament:
“Consider this, and be thankful for the wisdom of your most humble Solomon for telling it.”

Holmes beamed with evident approval and slid the bank-note beneath Warburg’ waiting fingers.

“Admirable work Mr Warburg; I commend you for it. Clearly you possess uncommonly sharp eyes but also the all too-uncommon wit to understand what they observe! Now I am intimately familiar with the majority of this great Capital of ours, but I confess this Cubitt Town is somewhat unknown to me. What manner of place is it?”

“If you have the stomach for it then I will tell you Mr Holmes. It exists on the proceeds of manufacturing cement, bitumen, asphalt and shipbuilding. It is nowadays a noisome, Ungodly, mean and squalid place, much frequented by scoundrelly rogues, footpads and ne’er-do-wells.

“The airs from the black marsh are sickly and evil, and most of the denizens worse. It is a perilous place where disease, drunkenness and paucity abound, while honest men are ground down until they are become little more than ill-made, weary, scraggy nubs of their former manhood, blear-eyed and tallow-complexioned.

“In Cubitt Town there are no sunlit uplands, only dark alleys and darker creeks. The fetid dwellings are become unwholesome tumble-down rookeries, squeezed cheek by jowl with open cess-pools and dank crumbling warehouses, where I doubt not that fierce and wicked men pursue their nefarious trades.

“Poxed whores and shell-and-pea shysters ply their shabby trades, while innocent babes cry plaintively for food in their cold cribs. That, Mr Holmes, in answer to your question, is what manner of place is Cubitt Town, and in this I do not speak the least slander of it.

“To be candid, and I do not wish to affront, I am astonished that a ‘friend’ of two gentlemen of evident quality such as yourselves would, by choice, visit so mean a place... unless the man you seek were a detective like yourself – or mayhap... a villain?”

Holmes scrutinised our visitor shrewdly with renewed interest.

“You are an astute and clever man Mr Warburg; I trust I may also count discretion among your several evident qualities? However, I choose not to answer your unspoken question except to confirm that yes, you are perfectly correct; the man I seek is certainly one of those two!”

Warburg smiled knowingly. “Then I shall not cause further offence by venturing my own personal opinion as to which I believe him to be Mr Holmes.” He fell silent, and for a man apparently so articulate he appeared to be at a loss as to how to proceed. Somewhat diffidently he cleared his throat and continued:

“I would not wish to presume Mr Holmes, but I have ardently followed Doctor Watson’s accounts of your cases with the keenest interest and have, since reading the first relation, hankered once more after directing such modest capabilities as I may possess to assisting in the solution of such puzzles.

“Indeed, throughout most of the Doctor’s early accounts, I believe I stayed almost apace with your own astute conclusions. I once had thought to pursue a living in the merchant banking business; however, I became aware that my name and Semite heredity might militate against me in certain circles.

“I very quickly realised that analysing the past and predicting the future values of currencies and securities was not so very different from the analysis of subtle facts and the causes of puzzling circumstances, and thus I tried my hand as a private investigator, with some success as matters turned out.

“You see, for a few years, Mr Holmes, we shared much the same profession, or as I prefer to view it, a precise and scientific calling, although I am sure you would not have been aware of my lowly endeavours; I was by a long measure further down the professional ladder, but I followed your activities on your lofty top rung with the greatest admiration.

“Sadly certain, shall I say, adverse circumstances contrived to cast a dark eclipse over my little enterprise and made it all but impossible for me to continue with my promising vocation. Nonetheless, would you take it improperly if I were to state that my humble services could be at your future disposal?

“I can assure you that for the purposes of close and stealthy observation there is nothing more unremarkable, nothing more commonplace and of a certainty, nothing more unmemorable than a growler and its driver engaged in his lawful business, whether waiting outside a railway station, a villa or an hotel in Mayfair for an hour or even two; or following discreetly behind a like vehicle, it may pass ubiquitously throughout London.

“One may go anywhere, observe and record everything, and yet remain quite unremarked. Should you judge such small service to be of value Mr Holmes, you may summon me generally within the hour by means of a note delivered by your page to the stand; otherwise, I am to be found most evenings at the Wig & Pen in Fleet Street where I room.

“I also have, somewhat unusually, discreet dark-shades fitted in my vehicle that may be drawn at the fare’s private determination, which small provision has on many occasions proved quite invaluable to certain distinguished clients who, for their own reasons, desire privacy and discretion.

“In conclusion, I would add the minor but perhaps useful credential that despite my rather uncommon stature, in a rumble I am still well more than a match for most big fellows, or even two – in my younger days, not so very long ago, I was the Shoreditch heavyweight boxing champion for four years running.

“My elder son, Joshua – a shipwright at Green’s Dockyard – now holds that title also and the younger, Samuel, the light-heavyweight.

“When the Devil presses, we may perhaps be of use...” Holmes made no immediate reply to this perfectly unexpected and rather startling petition; presently he responded.

“I believe it may be possible that I shall call upon your unusual services before very long Mr Warburg.”

The improbably large cabman solemnly nodded his acknowledgement. “May I now assume our business here is concluded? In that case I shall say thank you and bid you good day gentlemen, both.” With this he discreetly pocketed his imbursement, made a remarkably graceful bow for a man of his immense bulk and after squeezing through the doorway, quietly closed the door behind him.

Holmes looked animatedly at me, his eyes alive with a look of fierce exultation. “I do believe Watson that the remarkable Mr Warburg has just repaired the break in our chain to Bormanstein, and in all probability, with a rather stronger link than that which our quarry so cruelly severed!

“Within the cranium of the observant, articulate and unfeasibly large Solomon Warburg I declare there resides more acute perception, imagination and deductive competence than might be exhibited by a half-a-dozen commonplace Yarders in a month!

“I fear his talents are sadly wasted in his present profession, but for all that, I believe he may be an exceedingly handy gentleman to know. Now be a good chap and hand down my cuttings index marked ‘R to T’ – I do believe I have heard of this unusual Mr Warburg prior to his appearance here today...

“...In connection with, was it Strathmore...? Strathspey... Strathdown...? No, I have it now! If I recollect aright it was The Strathcarron Diamond Theft! The year of ’82 if my memory serves?”

I ran my finger down the clippings pasted under ‘S’. “Saratoga Conspiracy Foiled... Seamere Green Abductions... Last Minute Reprieve for Strachan... Ah, I have it now Holmes! – it is from the St James Gazette, dated the 7th of May.”

I read the item aloud:

Strathcarron Diamond Theft:

Private Investigator Freed

by Scotland Yard!

‘The legendary Strathcarron Diamonds, property of the titled Streatley family for four generations, have vanished under mysterious circumstances. In an official statement issued today, Scotland Yard stated:

“Following the apparent theft of the famous diamonds, and their substitution with paste replicas, a private investigator, Mr Solomon Warburg was arrested on suspicion of theft. Warburg claims he was commissioned by Lord Streatley’s private secretary, Sir Martin Russell at a private, unfortunately unwitnessed, meeting at the family seat in Berkshire with the responsibility of personally conveying the diamonds securely to the family’s summer residence in Nice and delivering them in person to Lady Joan Streatley. Warburg signed a receipt for the stones, the which receipt he later passed to the yard in his own defence.

Lord Robertson Streatley was to have followed on a week later. When Warburg arrived in Nice and presented the stones to Lady Streatley, she instantly declared them to be high-quality paste replicas, a fact swiftly verified by the internationally renowned jewellers Chaudière Et Fils. Warburg subsequently claimed in his defence that the stones were the self-same that had been handed to him by Sir Martin, after which he insisted they were upon his person day and night for five days of travelling, until in Nice he passed them into the possession of their owner; Warburg averred therefore that he must deliberately and maliciously have been given the paste replicas by the private secretary for nefarious reasons of his own. Since then, it transpires that Sir Martin has subsequently disappeared without trace along with the family’s 22 year-old French governess. In the absence of conclusive evidence, Solomon Warburg has been released without charge, although with such a grave matter remaining unresolved, his prospects of continuing his promising career as a hitherto sought-after private investigator in matters demanding integrity and discretion might, to some, appear to be under a dark cloud and his future career somewhat in jeopardy. Under the strange and puzzling circumstances the insurers, Lloyds of London, have declined to comment as to whether compensation will be made for the loss.

Inspector Gregson added that the whereabouts of Sir Martin, the inexplicably missing French governess, and the real diamonds is a mystery to this day. The case remains open.

“Good Lord, then it would appear to me from this account Holmes that Mr Solomon Warburg, the poor fellow, was hoodwinked by the good-for-nothing of a private secretary into signing a receipt for counterfeit stones, after which the self-same and not-so noble Sir Martin made off with the real gems, and the French governess for a little added lustre!”

Holmes chuckled. “I believe you have the perfect right of it Watson; and with our rotund acquaintance’s reputation thus publicly besmirched, the matter of the insurance recompense unresolved and the whereabouts of the real stones, the private secretary and the governess quite unknown, it is a matter of no great surprise that the unfortunate Warburg – neither charged, tried nor acquitted – should find a sudden shortage of patrons for his burgeoning enterprise!

“Nonetheless, my instinct tells me he is an exceptionally sound fellow for all that, but sadly the victim of unfortunate circumstance – though in truth he might perhaps be judged guilty of a degree of ill judgement and
naiveté
in accepting such a priceless consignment at face value, and without proof of its due provenance.”

And with this he fell silent, leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. I sensed his mind had already moved to other matters.

Little more of note occurred that late winter’s afternoon, save for a couple of very decent mutton-wether chops with caper-berry sauce, cabbage and potatoes served by Mrs Hudson for our supper, washed down with a pretty tolerable Saint Emilion.

Holmes intimated that we should be out and about on the morrow, very likely in The Isle of Dogs, and suggested that we should dress shabbily as print workers seeking employment, and refrain from shaving for the day.

After, we enjoyed a pipe and a whisky-peg apiece by the hearth.

Over some years in the close company of my unusual friend I have discovered several weather vanes by which I may determine his state of mind.

Should he resort to his slim, sinister velvet-lined Morocco leather case containing its gleaming surgical steel and glass paraphernalia, and the accompanying glass bottle it is a certain sign of world-weariness, boredom, and the urgent need of a conundrum to challenge that towering intellect of his.

If on the other hand he settles down for the dog watch with his foul-smelling twelve-inch Churchwarden and two full ounces of the strongest shag from Barkers, he is likely wrestling with a problem he feels needful of the most attentive and strenuous consideration; but when he reaches for his darling Stradivarius, as he did this night after supper, it may signal ambivalent moods. Should he seize it without care for its state of tune, and scrape out harsh discordant notes, then he is better left alone.

On this occasion, however, he settled it reverently under his angular chin then, with eyes closed, lips pursed in the gentlest of smiles, proceeded painstakingly and at some length to tune it pizzicato-style; when it was perfectly to his liking he turned to me.