Sherlock Holmes & The Master Engraver (Sherlock Holmes Revival) (28 page)

“Imagine, Watson, merely by holding a mandible in his hand he was able to pronounce with certainty:

‘if an animal's teeth are such as they must be in order for it to nourish itself with flesh, we can be sure without further examination that the whole system of its digestive organs is appropriate for that kind of food, and that its whole skeleton and locomotive organs, and even its sense organs, are arranged in such a way as to make it skilful at pursuing and catching its prey. For these relations are the necessary conditions of existence of the animal’
– that, Watson, is deduction in its finest, purest, most elevated instance.

“And in the same manner in which nature binds its creations with inviolable laws both of genesis and of evolution, so I have found the world of criminal enterprise to be constrained along similar lines. When I observe one particularly singular event, it may be that I can deduce its past cause and its future consequences. As an example, do you recall our encounter here at Baker Street at the time of the case presented by the King of Bohemia? You may recollect that I startled you by observing that you were back in harness?”

“I recall it quite vividly Holmes, for you pointed out the clumsiness of our maid from the abuse she bestowed on my boots when scraping away the crusted mud, and then you correctly declared me to be back in general practice because, if my memory serves, you detected the odour of iodoform, black stains of nitrate of silver upon my forefinger, and the tell-tale bulge in my top-hat where I, like most practitioners routinely secrete their stethoscope!”

“Child’s play Watson, mere child’s play.

“But back to the matter in hand; research is easily had. For example, I have already established that the Koenig press – for that is what Warburg reports he saw is capable of generating up to eighteen-hundred impressions per hour, each of two banknotes – thus, three thousand six hundred ten-pound notes in an hour – thirty six thousand pounds per hour. Thereafter the calculation of the mathematics is simplicity itself and, given the time-scale imposed, and some hours of diligent application, this indicates to me that the villains are already most likely well under way in their enterprise, and perfectly competent to realise their threat.

“Warburg observed three discarded Portal’s wrappers; each contained five thousand sheets, each of which yields two ten-pound notes. We may surmise, therefore, that at that point in time, they had already printed at least three hundred thousand pounds sterling. The question is, where are they now – where have they gone to ground? Which question returns us in a most circular manner to the circle inscribed upon the map there before you.”

He leaned back and became still and silent, evidently awaiting my thoughts on the seemingly intractable problem there before me. However, not only could I now perhaps see my way dimly through part of the serpentine maze of Holmes’ convoluted reasoning, I suddenly realised as I looked over his shoulder, for he sat with his back to the windows, that I could now see the rooftops on the far side of Baker Street; the vile fog was giving way to pallid watery sunshine!

Swiftly I reviewed all the factors that Holmes had clearly deemed central to the puzzle and, with not a little trepidation, I hazarded all. “I judge, Holmes that the two heavies with the massive hound we encountered as we entered Cubitt Town are certainly members of the gang, and were no doubt instrumental in delivering Warburg’s savage beating; they seemed much unnerved at our appearance, and presumably, while we took lunch and interviewed the landlord at the inn, they visited Slater’s Yard and placed the ominous letter addressed to you. Clearly, it was designed to frighten us away, and also to be conveyed to The Bank. The fortuitous absence of Constable Clarke from his post for some twenty or so minutes no doubt made their mission considerably easier in its accomplishment. As to the rest, I need to consider more deeply.”

Holmes beamed amiably. “All that you surmise is close to what I believe occurred Watson, with some notably vital exceptions and omissions. And your foretelling of the weather is just as accurate, for I observe this infernal gloom is even now lifting, and there below our window passes the second hansom since we have been seated. Let us try for a third and see what we may discover at Messrs. Kauffmann Brothers in the Whitechapel High Street...”

We eventually located the pawnbroker’s establishment, positioned next door to a garish Penny-Gaff shop advertising the forthcoming exhibition of one Joseph Merrick, tastelessly billed as ‘The Last Appearance of The Elephant Man’. Despite the waning public appetite for so-called ‘freak-shows’ I believe I will never cease to despair at man’s vile and salacious interest in viewing the maimed, the deformed and the slow-witted, for the sake of vicarious amusement and entertainment.

Had I the requisite skills in attending to such specialised medical needs I believe I should have wished to rescue any human-being in these desperate straits from such a miserable, humiliating and sickeningly debased existence. Holmes broke into my sombre chain of thought. “Mayhap one day the human race will become a kinder, more civilised species, Watson. Until that time, I fear we must bear such unpleasantness and hope for a more enlightened age. Come; let us see what we may learn at Mr Julius Kauffmann’s emporium of debt.”

For all its modest exterior, Kauffmann Bros was surprisingly well-appointed within. I surveyed our surroundings as the clanging of the large brass bell upon the door subsided into reluctant silence. There were no other customers. The place smelled of dust, floor-wax, metal polish and the melancholy remains of other peoples’ lives. To left and right were glass-fronted cabinets rising the full height of the shop, filled with the most amazing variety of articles, all, I supposed, testimony to lost fortunes, hard times, broken relationships and dire straits.

With a pang of sadness I perceived upon the instant a waste-paper basket fashioned from the dried foot of an elephant, quite crammed with sticks and walking canes of every conceivable style and taste, standing sentinel over piles of gold and silver watches, chains, rings, cravat pins and the like. Another cabinet was filled with further sad remains of long-dead pachyderms – entire six-foot tusks of finely incised ivory, paperweights, delicate fan-tracery screens and inlaid boxes, all surrounded by a small menagerie of intricately-carved netsuke.

Another display was filled with musical instruments sufficient, it seemed, to equip a small symphony orchestra, and a further, with workmen’s tools – another reflection of the trying economic times borne by the ordinary working man.

Across the full width of the far end of the shop was a worn dark-wood counter, surmounted by a stout brass grille that extended to the ceiling; behind it were three counter-stations, much as one might find in a bank. Two were occupied; one by a slight, elderly, frail-looking patriarch of Hebrew aspect, the other by a sturdy looking lad of perhaps five and twenty years who appeared to be deeply engrossed in sorting pledge-slips and the like. Both wore yarmulkas. The older man greeted us with a sad, gentle smile.

“Good afternoon gentlemen; welcome to my small kingdom of Paradise Lost. Have you come to relieve me of some other soul’s unredeemed pledge, or are you perhaps come to add some item to this world of indebtedness?”

Holmes paused. “Mr Kauffmann? Mr Julius Kauffman?” The elderly gentleman vanished momentarily from his station, and promptly reappeared inside the shop through a cunningly concealed door, secured no doubt with locks of the highest security, judging from the series of clicks and snicks as keys were turned and bolts slid back.

“I am he; how may I help you? I believe I may claim that my advances are more generous than many, my interest charges more lenient than most, and my sales of unredeemed pledges are priced to yield little more than a modest return on my outlay.”

Holmes smiled genially. “I am sure that is all true Mr Kauffmann, but our business today concerns another matter. I am Sherlock Holmes; this is my colleague Doctor Watson and we are here on an altogether different matter. It is in connection with your recent visit to The Bank to deposit your takings; you will perhaps recall some trivial irregularity concerning the ten-pound note which you presented yesterday?”

Kauffmann frowned in puzzlement. “There is no need in the slightest for concern Mr Kauffmann; The Bank has merely asked me to investigate the circumstances whereby a mis-printed proof-note came erroneously and prematurely to enter into public circulation – a careless administrative error of The Bank’s own making I feel sure, and easily resolved.

“I understand that the note in question was not tendered to you but to your assistant? Perhaps I might speak with him about the transaction concerned?” The little pawn-broker relaxed somewhat. “Mr Meyer, will you attend out here please.” The young man left his station and reappeared through the concealed door. “Meyer, this is Mr Sherlock Holmes. He is acting for The Bank in the matter of the mis-printed ten-pound note I mentioned to you. You will recall that you accepted it. Please be good enough to relate to Mr Holmes the circumstances of the transaction.” At the mention of my colleague’s name the young man’s eyes widened.

“Mr Sherlock Holmes?
The
Sherlock Holmes? Why, I hear of Sherlock Holmes everywhere! I’ll be honoured to assist.” He sounded his silent aitches. “It was the day before yesterday Mr Holmes; business was very slow and I was minding the shop on my own while Mr Kauffmann was out on a valuation. For the longest time I had been watching two fellows peering in the front window at the display of silver; burly, ill-looking ruffians, shabbily dressed and marked with cuts and bruises they were.

“The shorter of the two had a very large, fierce-looking dog of some sort on a chain. The larger appeared to be pointing at a particular item in the window, whereupon there seemed to be an altercation between the two, the smaller, seemingly attempting to dissuade the larger from his purpose. Eventually the bigger man had his way and entered the shop; he appeared to me to be somewhat ill at ease, rather nervous. His eyes went in different directions so you didn’t know which one to look at.”

Holmes made no sign of recognising this increasingly familiar description, or of the fact that we two had almost certainly encountered the pair ourselves only recently in the grimy Streets of Cubitt Town. Holmes remained silent.

“Anyway, he asked to examine a bracelet comprising thirty linked flat disks of silver, which I retrieved from the window case. It was a reasonably substantial item, priced at two pounds ten shillings but he seemed not in the least deterred by the cost, and further asked if we could have the bracelet engraved for him, which is something we offer through the services of a nearby man. I duly wrote down the words he required to be engraved, and he dictated a local address where it was to be delivered upon completion. It was the address of a woman; I think perhaps a sweet-heart?

“What with the additional engraving requirement, I naturally insisted on payment in full before proceeding any further with the commission. He paid with a new ten-pound note which had been sharply folded in four. Being such a large denomination of note I examined it closely though discreetly and it appeared to me to be good; I gave him his change and he departed.”

At this intelligence Holmes’ cold grey eyes blazed with excitement, like white-hot coals on a smithy’s forge. “Tell me Mr Meyer, when was the bracelet to be delivered? Do you still retain the slip upon which you recorded the details of the transaction?”

“I do Mr Holmes, excuse me one moment” and he darted back through the secret door, to reappear some moments later, flourishing a yellow flimsy which he proffered to us; Holmes snatched it and scanned it eagerly. “May I retain this Mr Meyer – it is of considerable significance; I note the bracelet was to be delivered this morning.” The young man looked uncertainly to Kauffmann for approval. The pawnbroker nodded his acquiescence, and so with suitably fulsome thanks all around and many reassurances, we departed the premises of Messrs Kauffmann Brothers. Outside on the pavement once more Holmes consulted the yellow slip with evident satisfaction.

“This is quite excellent Watson; we shall now walk a short way to Narrow Street in Limehouse. Do you recall what I told you after we visited Dulcie Hobbs’ rooms –
the wisdom of the Yard – ‘if you ask whichever officer of the establishment how they take most villains, he will tell you – at the houses of the women’
and so it proves to be, time and again. It is their eternal weakness and thus it plays to our strength.” We walked south towards the river for some minutes before Holmes spoke again.

“I am not entirely taken by surprise at what we have learned from young Meyer but now in knowledge of our next destination, with hindsight, I would have wished that one of us were armed.” I patted my coat pocket. “Never fear Holmes; after our horrid discovery at 64 Chiswick High Road I privately resolved to keep my revolver loaded, close at all times, and upon my person always when out and about until this business is done.”

“Stout fellow” he murmured, and strode on. No matter what danger might lie in wait, I could not wish for anything better than to be associated with my friend in one of these strange adventures which were the ordinary condition of his existence.

Whatever odd fading vestiges of gentility might have existed here and there in Whitechapel High Street vanished rapidly as we headed south, giving way to the meanest, vilest streets I believe I have ever walked, and in this I would include the most impoverished villages I encountered in Afghanistan, many of which would put this foul place to shame.

Seemingly derelict houses leaned crazily into the ever-narrowing streets at impossible angles, more or less according to their degree of dilapidation and neglect. Only lines of grubby washing, the odd wisp of smoke from a chimney pot, and freshly-strewn garbage upon the street outside the doors betrayed the fact that these noisome hovels were inhabited by human beings.

On street corners and in dark doorways, gangs of menacing-looking ruffians muttered in low voices, turning their backs as we passed. On one occasion we were followed for a short distance by the sounds of foul oaths and coarse laughter. Unimaginably dirt-encrusted urchins played in filth, indifferently watched from doorsteps by slatternly gossiping women; I shuddered at the abominable lives eked out by these sad creatures of the under-world, and all the while the air became more noxious, heavy with the evil reek of bad water, decay, and years of accumulated human waste.