Sherlock Holmes & The Master Engraver (Sherlock Holmes Revival) (32 page)

“Should you feel you are unable or unwilling to comply for whatever reason, you are perfectly at liberty to leave this moment, and no-one will think the less of you. However, now is our only chance to seize the real criminals. I shall smoke a pipe while you confer.” Holmes and I moved discreetly to the window seat; he lit his pipe; I the last Turkish in the cigarette box.

He had barely got his little meerschaum furnace up to temperature when our unusual militia concluded their murmured conference. Warburg the senior turned to Holmes and cleared his throat, at which all four leviathans slowly and solemnly twice nodded their agreement in our direction. My colleague smiled with deep satisfaction; “That is quite good enough for me gentlemen, and no less than I expected.” He returned to his place in front of the mellowing embers in the grate. “Very well; bearing in mind you are now all sworn upon your honour to absolute secrecy, I will tell you that a band of extremely desperate men have stolen the new printing plates for the Bank of England’s £10 notes. They have also seized sufficient of the special watermarked paper to enable them to create two and a half million pounds in counterfeit currency. They have already sent us an earnest of their intent to wreck Great Britain’s economy; they wish to blackmail The Bank of England into paying a vast ransom for the return of the stolen plates and paper. If the government refuses, and they release that fraudulent money into circulation, every working man’s wage, and his family will suffer; panic will spread like wildfire in the stock exchange, and the world-wide reputation which the British Pound enjoys will be in tatters. For reasons of their own, the police have mistakenly arrested two good men; tomorrow night we will rectify that error.”

He passed one of the three counterfeit notes in his possession to Warburg who ruefully examined it and unconsciously rubbed the fast-fading image upon his forehead; he passed the note to our new band of brothers-in-arms for inspection. Private Shadwell appeared quite bemused to be holding so large a sum of money in a single note, counterfeit or not. Holmes continued his exposition.

“I have set the dependable Mr Warburg to instruct you in your particular roles; after all, he alone of us has uncomfortably close experience of these blackguards; I have already briefed him in great detail. He is now your commander and will tell you how and when to approach the building, your battle-stations, and what actions to take at my signal. Heed his words closely, and with luck and fortitude we shall take these villains and their ill-gotten gains! Tomorrow we fight for justice and decency, for our great British economy and our government, and perhaps far above all else gentlemen, for Queen and Country...”

At Holmes’ final words something rather comical, yet a little touching occurred; mayhap as a result of his time spent serving in the officers’ mess at the loyal toast, Private Jeremiah Shadwell sprang to his feet at full parade attention, thumbs perfectly aligned with the seams in his trousers and loudly declaimed “For Queen and Country!”

After a rather uncertain pause we all rose and joined in the loyal toast, variously with salutes, tea-cups and a life-preserver; in the case of Sherlock Holmes he was compelled to raise his meerschaum pipe, and for me it was perforce the only thing to hand – a half-smoked Turkish cigarette. Nonetheless, it sufficed to dignify the moment. He moved to his conclusion. “And finally gentlemen, there is to be no killing, unless you perceive your life to be in immediate and mortal peril.

“Doctor Watson and I shall carry pistols in the event they may be needed, as will the police. You may carry such protection as the law permits – and use such force as it reasonably allows.” As if in an afterthought he added, perfectly solemnly “...or such as you see fit in the heat of the moment – but be discreet, though I do believe we may dispense with the Queensbury Rules on this occasion.” At this, broad grins broke out all around the room; three life-preservers and a set of black iron knuckles were briefly produced, only to vanish with equal speed – in the hands of these four giants, potentially lethal weapons. Holmes affected not to notice them but for the smallest instant a tolerant smile of approval illuminated his gaunt features.

“And now my friends, Dr Watson and I must leave for an important engagement in Threadneedle Street. Mrs Hudson will shortly bring refreshments; when you are done, the boy downstairs will show you out. Until we meet tomorrow evening gentlemen, I bid you good-day. Attend closely to Mr Warburg’s directions, and I doubt not gentlemen, that together we shall prevail...”

Below on the street, Holmes hailed a hansom. “Threadneedle Street, driver, The Bank of England, as quickly as possible!” Clearly he had some pre-arranged appointment. I glanced slant-wise at my companion; his face had assumed the fierce, intent appearance of a wolf closing on its prey after a long and arduous chase...

At Threadneedle Street the Master-at-Arms escorted us through the empty cathedral-like banking hall, pursued by a hundred echoes of our own footsteps. Beneath our feet I knew was stored the huge reserve of gold bullion that guaranteed all the Sterling currency in circulation. The office of the Chief Cashier of The Bank of England was a surprisingly modest affair, elegantly furnished but little more spacious than the parlour at 221B; a drawn and tired-looking Frank May sat alone at his desk in a pool of light, reading by the wan yellow glow of the single globe.

Wearily he rose at our entry; “Good evening Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson; please be seated.” He fixed us with a stern look.

“This is all damnably irregular Mr Holmes; indeed, I cannot recall a situation to compare in all my years in banking and to be quite candid with you, it appears to me to have all the elements of a desperate last throw of the dice. It is altogether quite without precedent!”

Sherlock Holmes steepled his thin white fingers and gazed intently at May. “I am certain it is, but is not the situation in which you find yourself also quite without precedent? Do not desperate times call for desperate measures?”

May sat back in his opulent leather chair with a look of resignation and sighed deeply. “You are right Mr Holmes. Very well; to business then; I have, as you requested, communicated with Herr Balmer at The Bank Leu in Switzerland and he has, to my great surprise, agreed to comply with your unusual request. As you can see for yourself, it is done.”

He passed across a telegraph message which Holmes scanned eagerly then, with a chillingly feral grin, pocketed it with evident satisfaction. “And what of the other matter, Mr May, the, ah, paperwork... I trust that is all in order?”

The chief cashier looked pained; “Ah yes, that. It is here...” and he retrieved a large brown cardboard box-file from beneath his desk. “Do you have suitable security about you gentlemen?” Holmes looked across at me. “Doctor Watson here is armed. Watson, be a good fellow and take charge of this would you?” May reached beneath his desk once more; “I believe this was a further requirement Mr Holmes?” Bemused, I watched May hand Holmes a bulky canvas bag and what appeared to be a receipt of some sort across the polished desk-top; Holmes appended his signature to the document. We stood and May solemnly shook hands with each of us. “Godspeed gentlemen and I pray for a successful outcome – the fate of the nation’s economy now rests in your hands.”

And so we departed The Bank of England, I carrying my evidently precious burden, Holmes bearing the canvas bag and whistling tunelessly. I knew better than to quiz him for the present. Once back at Baker Street he relieved me of my mysterious burden and placed it upon the dining table, along with the bag.

When I tentatively enquired about the contents, he replied offhandedly “Oh these, Watson, merely bundles of exceedingly dull financial papers; those with an interest in such things might find them perfectly fascinating, but I am certain that were you to read even a dozen of them you would become bored to distraction – they all say much the same thing.”

He slid the cardboard box across to me. “Here, see for yourself.” The box was a large double folio-sized cardboard file; the lid secured by a strong cord wound around two stout bone buttons. I unwound the string and lifted the lid; I was silent for some time. I looked up at Holmes; a quirky little smile flashed over his face. “Interesting reading, eh?”

“Is this real?”

“Oh yes Watson, it is perfectly real”

“This is a fortune! Good Lord, there must be tens of thousands of pounds here!”

“One hundred thousand to be precise.”

“Then The Bank proposes to pay for the return of the plates and paper?”

“We may not expect Mr Bormanstein to return them for no gain at all. But worry not Watson, this is merely for show – a theatrical prop I trust – it is my bait; I would prefer not be compelled to hand it over, but a rat-trap with no bait catches few rats.” I shook my head in wonderment at this extraordinary volte-face. It seemed not the triumphant end I had hoped for; as I went to my room I reflected that while Holmes was an undoubted prodigy in the field of criminal detection, perhaps even he had his limits, faced with such an intractable situation.

*        *       *

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A Rat-Trap In Belgrave Square

While shaving early next morning – the final day of the deadline – I overheard Holmes in quiet conversation with a visitor; a moment’s
concentration on the
basso profundo
voice of the caller confirmed that it was Solomon Warburg. I understood none of the murmured discussion except Warburg’s parting words:

“Until later then, Mr Holmes.”

My colleague laughed quietly, the parlour door closed, then silence reigned until I heard Mrs Hudson’s morning greeting as she entered to set breakfast; I adjusted my collar and entered the parlour. Holmes was already attacking a large kipper; “Most timely Watson – yours is still warm under the cover.” I was mystified by his calm, confident mood at such a critical hour. He paused; “Today is the judgement day – you are still with me?” For answer I placed my revolver beside my plate; “Of course Holmes; Mary returns from Cambridge tomorrow evening, but even were she to return earlier, I could never forgive myself if I allowed you to face this peril alone, even with your burly welcoming committee.

“I have some private matters to attend, and several tedious house-calls I must make today in Chelsea and Kensington, but I shall return around nine if that accords?”

“That will do splendidly Watson but be sure not to be much later; I myself shall call on Lestrade and apprise him of our guests tonight; I am certain he will attend, for we know he will never recover the stolen plates and paper from the blameless Petch and Gunton and they, I am sure, are quite as bewildered as Lestrade is deluded! Perhaps after, I may make a few small purchases, try my hand at the tables of The Bagatelle Club and then take tea in Belgravia” with which odd announcement he returned his attentions to demolishing his kipper.

Holmes rarely shopped or took tea out, and never gambled, much preferring to deduce the outcome of a circumstance, rather than leave the conclusion to pure chance. Little more of interest occurred that morning save that Billy showed Wiggins, the self-appointed leader of the Baker Street Irregulars up at noon. He appeared most excited as he delivered his message in breathless gasps.

“It was just like you said it would be Mr ’Olmes – Mustachios, the toff went to the telegraph office spot on ten an’ picked up two messages. I got just the quickest peek at them as the clerk handed them over. One was quite short, just a few lines, an’ the other was all down the page. ’E seemed most ’andsome pleased wiv ’em.

“Pretty nippy-like he legs it back to the river an’ one of ’is big geezers – the one wiv’ the squinty eyes – rows him out to the big boat at best speed; then ’e starts ordering all the heavies about, right toplofty, ’ollering at the top of ’is voice an’ pretty soon they starts to load lots of ’eavy-lookin’ boxes in the boat an’ rows ’em over to a wagon on the quay; I ’eard ‘im shout to be loaded in time to be in town by midnight. Then I legged it back ’ere as fast as I could wiv the news.”

“And the other errand?” The urchin reached within the capacious pocket of his ragged, oversized coat and produced a flat, evidently weighty package folded within brown paper.

“Ah yes Mr ’olmes – Mr Kauffmann sends his best regards and ’e ’opes ’e done it right. I told ’im that you wanted it just like in a mirror, which ’e thought most ’stremely strange.” Holmes unfolded a flap of the wrapping and peered within. He smiled and said “That is very satisfactory Wiggins – you have done well.”A moment later and a florin richer, the grubby little fellow dashed down the stairs to vanish into the labyrinth of London’s streets.

A fierce gleam of excitement appeared in Holmes steel-grey eyes. He thrust a pale, sinewy hand out, palm-up. In a low, exultant tone he said “I have them now Watson; I have them right here...” and the bony fingers closed inexorably into a vice-like fist, the startling strength of whose grip I had seen demonstrated more than once in the past.

“My trap is baited and ready to spring – I will take them tonight!”

I departed to attend my first call in Knightsbridge; it was a full hour and a half before I was released by my irascible patient – the hugely florid Brigadier Grenville-Wyatt who grumbled (despite my best ministrations) that his gout was worsening, and became quite testy when I suggested that an entire bottle of Cockburn’s port
per diem
was perhaps excessive; later in Kensington the widow, Mrs De’Ath, an enthusiastic and accomplished hypochondriac, despite her enviably robust state of health appeared morbidly determined to live up to her family name and positively would not let me leave until I prescribed something different, something novel; in desperation I suggested violet cachous from Benedict’s Confectioners and charged only a half-crown for my consultation; (amusingly, just two weeks later Mrs De’Ath earnestly assured me that the innocent and entirely ineffectual cachous had quite cured her grave symptoms, and proceeded to upbraid me for not having prescribed them earlier! Ho Hum...) I felt certain that Holmes must be enjoying a livelier afternoon than I!