The Big Book of Sherlock Holmes Stories (67 page)

Finally he broke the silence.

“I have rarely spoken to you about my early life, Watson,” said he. “And it is possible that you do not know that, after my schooling was completed, I spent a year abroad before going up to Cambridge. I had already determined to devote my life to the study of criminology, and considered that I might benefit from a period of apprenticeship in an organisation recognised as the foremost detective agency in the world.”

“You mean—”

“Exactly, Watson, the Pinkerton Detective Agency. I must confess, though, that I was seriously disappointed; our American cousins show a sad deficiency of imagination both as criminals and as detectives. But I run ahead of my story.”

My brother Mycroft, who even then had connections the world over, was instrumental in securing for me a junior position in the agency, and I sailed for New York early in '72.

A few months at the agency convinced me that I had nothing to learn from them about scientific detection, and I would have left and returned to England had I not been so fascinated by the energy and zest for life of the citizens of New York. Nevertheless, I was approaching a state of total
ennui
when one morning, a young man of swarthy complexion strode into the office.

He stopped at the doorway, and stared at me in amazement.

“Sherlock,” he cried. “Can it possibly be you?”

For a second I had not recognised him, for since I had last seen him he had acquired a bristling black moustache. It was Luca D'Este, a young Italian of noble blood who had been a companion of my schooldays.

“Luca,” I exclaimed, grasping him warmly by the hand. “What can have brought you here, so far from the Mediterranean sun which you always swore to return to and never leave again?”

“It is a matter of honour—my family's honour, and a lady's honour,” he replied seriously. “May I speak with you privately; I remember your keen mind and your energy of old, and I feel sure that you are the only man who can help me in this strange quest.”

I led him into an inner office, where, throwing himself into a chair, he launched himself impatiently into his tale.

“You may know, Sherlock, that I am a close relative of the King of Italy. Two years ago, his son, Amadeo of Savoy, Duke of Aosta, was chosen by the Spanish Parliament to be King of Spain. I travelled to that country with my cousin, as part of his entourage. Also in his party, as one of the ladies-in-waiting to his Queen, Maria Victoria, was a young girl of sixteen, who even at that early age, because of her surpassing beauty, was known as the Lily of Aosta; her name is Bianca Bernini.

“If you have followed the fortunes of Spain in the last year, you will know that the King's reign has not been easy; ignored and insulted by Madrid society, his rule threatened by Carlists and Republicans, he has become discouraged, and abandoning his high hopes of improving and modernising Spain through a popular constitutional monarchy, has retreated more and more into the company of those Italians who form his court. His eye lighted on Bianca; he became infatuated with her, until terrified by his advances the girl, virtuous and loyal to her queen, fled from the palace. Would that she had confided in me,” Luca groaned. “She has not been seen since.”

“How then do you know of all this?” I asked.

“As soon as her disappearance was known, the King summoned me and confided to me what had happened. We had high words—”

“You are then very fond of the lady,” I observed.

His dark eyes flashed in astonishment.

“How did you know?” said he.

“One does not exchange angry words with a king, even if he is a cousin, for any lesser reason,” I observed drily. “Proceed.”

“He begged me, for the honour of the family, and because of a very natural concern about Bianca, for he feels the deepest remorse about his behaviour to her, to spare no effort to find her and bring her to safety.”

“And how did this quest bring you to New York?”

“I soon found out, for Madrid is a hotbed of spies and gossip-mongers, that Bianca had been abducted by a group of Republicans. Their plan is either to hold her to ransom, or to force her to make public the conduct of the King, to further discredit him and the monarchy in the eyes of the Spaniards. Fearing that I was on their trail, they spirited her away to Vigo, and thence to New York, where a group of Republican
emigrés
have established themselves. I followed, hot on their heels, and have discovered that she is being
held, under close guard, in an apartment not far from here.”

“Why then, you have done all the detection yourself,” said I. “All we need to do is to call on the excellent New York Police Department and they will release your beloved.”

“That is impossible,” said Luca. “Firstly, Bianca's life must not be put at risk; these men are desperate, and might well murder her if they feared capture—”

“And secondly, if the story of her capture and release were to reach the ears of the pertinacious American press, your cousin the King might be embarrassed, so you thought that it would be best to trust to the discretion of a private enquiry agency,” I interposed. “Very well then, we must resort to subterfuge.”

“You will then help me yourself? It would be more discreet if we were able to keep even this agency out of it.”

“Of course.”

Luca told me that he had observed the house in which Bianca was imprisoned. The apartment was on the second floor, and at all times there were at least three men guarding it. He had seen them going in and out, and it was only with difficulty, because of his concern for the lady's safety, that he had restrained himself from rushing in and confronting the ruffians on his own.

My plan was simple. On that very night we made our way to the building, and having introduced ourselves surreptitiously, with the aid of a jemmy, into the hall, crept up the stairs until we were outside the door of the apartment. A murmur of voices could be heard inside.

I knelt down, and placing an armful of rags and papers, which I had brought with me, by the door, set a light to them. Waiting only until I could see the smoke beginning to seep under the door, I put on my best Yankee accent, and on a hysterical note, shouted: “Fire! The building's alight! Fire!”

There was a confused babble of voices inside. Luca and I stationed ourselves on each side of the door, clutching heavy cudgels. The door burst open and three men rushed out. Luca's cudgel came down on the head of the first, and he collapsed to the floor without a sound. The other two were burdened with a form wrapped in a blanket, which could only be the drugged body of the girl; before they could put her down and defend themselves, we were on them, and they too fell senseless. Pausing only to verify that it was indeed Bianca, and that she breathed, we carried her out of the house and into a waiting cab, and drove away from the scene.

Our next problem was to get Bianca and Luca back to Europe without attracting the attention of her abductors, or the Press. Luca agreed that it would be best to return to Italy, and restore Bianca to her family; a return to Spain would only expose her to further danger. I therefore left my friend, with the aid of my Irish landlady, to look after the rapidly recovering Bianca in my room, and made my way to the waterfront early in the morning. There I ascertained that a cargo ship, the brigantine
Mary Celeste
, was leaving for Genoa two days later. The steam-packet to Lisbon, which was leaving on that very day, I rejected, as I did not wish for Bianca to return to the Iberian peninsula, and it seemed to me that the gang would assume that we would attempt to escape from New York by this means, and would be prepared to intercept us, but I boarded her and handed the captain a package, with instructions to forward it urgently on arrival in Lisbon.

I then sought out the captain of the
Mary Celeste
. I found Captain Briggs in a nearby lodging house with his wife and child. Captain Winchester, who was a part owner of the ship, was with them. Enjoining all to the utmost secrecy, I explained only that a lady and a gentleman, who were being pursued by criminals, desired immediate passage to Europe, for which they would pay a generous fee.

“Oh, Ben,” cried Mrs. Briggs to her husband. “We must help this unfortunate young couple. I would never forgive myself if they came to any harm because of our failure to assist them.”

Her husband and his partner, who had
seemed about to demur, were swayed by her appeal, and the transaction was agreed.

“Say,” added Mrs. Briggs, “why don't your friends come and join us here? They'll be safer in company than alone.”

I doubted this, as Bianca's pursuers would surely be haunting the area of the waterfront to foil any attempt at escape. We finally agreed that I would bring the passengers to the lodging house after dark on the following night, so that they might board the ship just before she sailed on the morning tide.

At Briggs's invitation, I accompanied him to the ship, where I met the crew, assuring myself that all were genuine seamen, and well-known to their captain. In particular the mate Richardson seemed a fine example of an honest, fearless Yankee mariner.

Returning to my apartment, I found Bianca fully recovered from her ordeal. As she attempted to thank me in pretty, broken English, I was able to observe her properly for the first time. She had the flawless, creamy skin and clear grey eyes which can often be observed in northern Italy, but combined with such perfect features as I have never seen before or since. Long, silky black hair, and a lissome figure, just above the medium height, completed the picture. As she became conscious of my gaze, she lowered her eyes, and the colour which flooded her cheeks seemed to add a further dimension to her beauty.

With Luca's assistance, she described to me how she had been waylaid as she rushed out of the palace, and confined in the cellar of a house in Madrid, from which she was taken to Vigo, where she and her captors embarked for New York. They had not used her ill, as they hoped to force her to make public a statement discrediting the King. This the brave girl had refused to do, but the constant brow-beating which she received because of this, together with her prolonged incarceration and the frequent soporifics administered in order to prevent her calling for help, had no doubt accentuated the natural pallor of her features.

After dark on the following evening a cab took us to Captain Briggs's lodging. As we approached, I noticed three sinister figures lurking on the other side of the road. It was clear that the house was being watched, and that my plan must be changed. As the cab halted, I quickly told the driver to drive to the rear of the building after we had alighted. We entered the lodging house, and I paused to warn Briggs of the watchers outside.

“I reckon I can take care of myself,” said he with a laugh.

There was no time for argument; we ran swiftly to the back of the house, and jumped into the cab, which was waiting outside the back door, which fortunately did not appear to be watched. I ordered the cab-driver to take us to the
Mary Celeste
, and we boarded the ship. The mate, although surprised to see us, made us welcome, and installed Bianca in the captain's cabin, which it had been agreed she should share with Mrs. Briggs and the child.

I explained to Richardson what had happened, and that I feared that the captain and his family might be at grave risk from our pursuers.

“Let us go to his lodging and deal with the ruffians outside,” said he. “I will give instructions to the men to guard the ship, and the lady. Then we will be off.”

Luca remained, with drawn sword, outside the cabin door, and Richardson and I made our way swiftly to the lodging house. There was no sign of the watchers.

With grim foreboding we entered the house. The door of the room occupied by the captain and his family was ajar. As we entered the room a dreadful sight met our eyes. By the light of a fire which was even then spreading to the curtains we could see that Briggs and his wife had been savagely stabbed to death as they slept. As we recoiled in horror, the dry wood of the timber wall caught fire and the room became a sheet of flame. We turned to flee, and then the mate caught sight of the child, peacefully asleep in a cot by her murdered parents' bed.

“Sophia!” he cried, leaping forward through
the flames, and snatching the child from the cot, he followed me out of the burning house.

As we gained the roadway, the whole building became enveloped in flames. None of the other occupants can have had any chance of survival.

Soberly, we returned to the ship. Although we kept a keen lookout, we could detect no signs of pursuit, and it seemed likely to me that the murderers could have been deceived in the darkness, thinking that they had killed Bianca and Luca in the house, or that they had perished in the conflagration intended to hide the crime.

Once aboard, we held a council of war. Bianca took the bewildered and weeping child into her arms and attempted to console her. Richardson, once we had told him the whole story, suggested that we should proceed with the voyage as planned, and I was inclined to agree, as any attempt to report the murders and arson would inevitably cause us to be detained indefinitely in New York, and would undoubtedly expose Bianca and Luca to the publicity which they were so desperate to avoid.

“But what shall we do with the child?” asked Luca.

Bianca looked up with flashing eyes.

“Because of me her parents die,” she said fervently. “I will take her and give her a new life!”

“We both will,” said Luca, and took her hand.

She lifted her eyes to him with a brilliant smile which said more than words could.

Sherlock Holmes paused at this point, and puffed reflectively at his pipe.

“If I might make a deduction of my own at this point, Holmes,” I said, somewhat mischievously, “your description of the girl, Bianca, seems to indicate that you were considerably attracted to her.”