THE IRREGULAR CASEBOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES (14 page)

The realisation that the collection had lain completely unprotected all but overwhelmed Hodgson. His voice shook as he whispered, ‘Why, Mr Holmes?’

‘To give someone access to this room for some while. He had to search for what he wanted. What I would give for a look at the document in question.’

‘In a way, you can, Mr Holmes. I have a copy of the page among the notes for a catalogue I am compiling.’

‘Let me see it. Ah, my Italian is not good. What do we have here? A decorative line of many geometric shapes, acting as a border around the page. Some apparently irrelevant account of an argument with a . . . worker in gold? . . . a goldsmith who evidently has the pride of the devil, but must be forgiven because of his . . . alchemy? Magic in metal? He will “persevere”. More of that decorative border, then a reference to the bronze study by Cellini which the writer has just obtained.’

‘That is the provenance I spoke of.’

‘This tells me a little, but I really need the paper itself. So much can be learnt from ink, paper, and watermarks. Even handwriting might tell us something.’

‘We have other fragments from the same cache of documents.’

‘Let me see—it is better than nothing. Thank you. Heavy, handmade paper, untrimmed, with a winged lion watermark. Mid-sixteenth century from the handwriting and the ink. A few things are falling into place.’

Returning to the body, he added, ‘This poor soul had done his part, and was despatched, though why here, I cannot say. It looks as if Spare has done a good job of steering Lestrade’s size twelves away from the evidence. There is still hope.

‘Let us see. Not one man, I think, but two. One, at least, may have smoked; there is a faint sprinkling of ash on the carpet. Not readily identifiable, unfortunately. Partial traces of blood prints in the pile. One a big man in heavy work boots; the other a smaller, lighter man in very stylish, fashionable shoes. See the toe outline here—quite up to date. They left the way they entered, of course; down the hall. Needless to say all clues
there
are obliterated by pounding feet. Let us see if they left any traces outside.’

Spare was still on guard at the entrance. As we stood saying our farewells, Lestrade arrived. His face fell when he saw us already present at ‘his’ crime scene, but Holmes was equal to the moment.

‘Lestrade, we have been trying for five minutes to get past this officer, but he absolutely refuses us entry! I hope you will discipline him severely.’

‘Well, well, Mr Holmes,’ chuckled Lestrade, ‘the constable is only doing his duty. I will be glad to let you in later today, when we have finished our inquiries.’

‘If that is your last word, Inspector, so be it. As for you,’ Holmes added, looking at Spare, ‘you will hear from us again!’

Spare risked a wink before Lestrade turned round. As we walked off, I heard the Inspector whisper, ‘Well done, lad.’

‘As I suspected,’ said Holmes, ‘there are no clues to be found on a much-trodden pavement. However, they may have had a carriage waiting for them. If so, it would hardly wait right outside the house.’

He pointed over to the small area of grass and trees in the middle of the square. ‘Over there, on the far side, would be my choice.’

We all crossed over, and Holmes scanned the ground.

‘Yes, here are both our old friends, big boot and small shoe. Big boot went first, because small shoe is stepping into his prints. I really would not have guessed how effective damp leaf mould is for the retention of imprints! Look at the clarity! Now big boot stops, steps back a pace, and makes way for small shoe, who steps up, rolls onto the ball of one foot and disappears off the face of the earth. Big boot then follows him into oblivion. This is the spot where they climbed into the carriage. Notice the servant made way for the master, who entered first.

‘Now, what does the leaf mould tell us of the carriage? From the axle width, a hansom, with a very distinctive notch out of the offside wheel rim. It could be traced.’

‘Surely well nigh impossible without weeks of searching,’ Hodgson observed.

‘It would be for us, but a less daunting prospect for the Baker Street Irregulars. With a sovereign at stake for the winner, I’ll wager they find that cab within twenty-four hours. Mr Hodgson, I think we can find your murderous thief for you. We will be in contact.’

With that we made our farewells and, at Holmes’s suggestion, walked away.’

‘I need to think, Watson, and walking is a fine aid to thought. Why go to such trouble to gain entry to a treasure house and steal only a single document? Consider the Venetian figure of Charity, no more than eight inches high. Or the dancing faun only six inches tall! Why, the thieves could have filled their pockets with treasures and still carried hats full of medallions and plaquettes! Money was clearly not the object here. It is a challenge, Watson.’

Back at Baker Street, Holmes set the Irregulars on the search for the cab with the damaged wheel, and despatched the ferrule, along with a covering note, to an address I did not see. Then he settled down to examine the ash taken from the room.

An hour later he jumped up in exasperation.

‘This is not tobacco ash, Watson. There seem to be minute fragments of shell in it! I fear my monograph may have to be revised.’

Then he began pacing the room, trailing clouds of pipe smoke and muttering angrily.

‘I knew we had given the Irregulars a task too difficult to be completed in a few hours, but I had hoped to receive an answer on the matter of the ferrule before now!’

‘To whom did you send it?’

‘To the highest court of appeal on such things: the greatest collector of walking sticks in the Country—Mycroft Holmes.’

‘Your brother!’

‘Oh yes, an emiment collector. His grotesques are legendary, and his curiosa the envy of all England.’

A day was to elapse before word came back from the Irregulars. Wiggins was no longer running in the streets, having entered an apprenticeship with Holmes’s assistance, so their representative took the tattered form of little Medwin, who had assumed Wiggins’s coveted role of Holmes’s ‘Dirty Lieutenant’. He had proved himself well up to the challenge in both leadership and matters of personal toilet.

‘Well done, Medwin,’ said Holmes. ‘The usual rates apply. Have you earned your extra sovereign?’

‘I ’ave indeed sir,’ replied the child proudly. ‘You set us a fair old dance vis time. I fort it was gonna be like that Aurora boat wot we never found for yer, but I dun it awrite.’

‘Very well done, Medwin. Just how did you manage it?

‘’Ard work findin’ all the ’ansoms in sarf London, so I let the ’ansoms come to us. We waited at the troughs. They all got ter come there fer a gargle sooner or later. An wot der yer fink? It wos my trough ’e come to!’

‘You see, Watson, the Irregulars really cannot be beaten in such matters. Did you give the driver my note?’

‘I did Mr ’Olmes. ’E’s ’ere outside now.’

‘Tell him to come up, Watson. Here is your sovereign, Medwin, and a bonus for the rest. Very good work.’

The driver entered, preceded by a full ‘bay window’ and the biggest moustache I have ever seen. It seemed to mask half his face. A pug nose and a very battered billycock completed the comic effect. He looked bemused, but was comforted by ‘something to keep out the cold’ and the promise that his journey would be made worthwhile. Comic his appearance may have been, but his eyes and memory were sharp enough.

‘I remember the fare in question, sir. Did consider it a bit odd that he made me wait behind the trees. Put it down to them being forig gentlemen.’

‘They spoke with an accent, then?’

‘No sir, but one of them spoke English too well. Like it was learned out of a book. He didn’t know the money either.’

‘Very well observed. Did you hear them speak to each other?’

‘Not clearly sir, but when they had their heads together, the big one nodded like he understood well enough.’

‘Quite so. And where did you take these two foreign gentlemen when they emerged from Burleigh Square?’

‘Garrison Street. I remember laughing to myself at the way he said it. Don’t remember the number, but I could show you.’

And that he did. The house in Garrison Street proved to be number eleven, a large boarding house with a front garden as trim and orderly as could be. Our knock roused a dog to barking within the house.

‘Mature bulldog,’ muttered Holmes, matter of factly.

The door was opened by a stern, shirtsleeved little man who was struggling to keep control of a bulldog. Holmes allowed himself a raised eyebrow and introduced us.

My accounts of our adventures had never met with Holmes’s approval, but on this occasion even he had to acknowledge that they literally opened doors. The landlord, whose name was Bryant, had never missed one of my stories, and was more than happy to assist us in any way he could. The two men were Italians, he was sure, and had left only a few hours earlier. We were welcome to see the room in which they had stayed.

‘You have done very well for yourself here, Mr Bryant, said Holmes, as we mounted the stairs. ‘It must have taken much careful saving on a non-commissioned officer’s pay. Especially as your injury forced you to retire before your time.’

‘Very true, sir, as my wife was . . . how could you know that, sir?’

‘Your tunic, with its sergeant’s stripes, is hanging behind the half-open kitchen door. You have the bearing of a career military man, and are too young to have retired by choice. That limp would have excluded you from service, so must have happened after you joined up; but the wear on the edge of your boot leads me to conclude that you have been disabled some while.’

Bryant was clearly delighted to be the subject of my friend’s deductions.

‘Correct, Mr Holmes, in every particular. Here we are.’

The bulldog stood at the threshold of the room, growling in his throat.

‘Old Jasper didn’t like the two gentlemen much.’

‘He is a sound judge of character,’ observed Holmes, who then added quietly to me, ‘or at least he has a sharp nose for human blood.’

‘Enough said, sir. At any rate, he chivvied them out the house when they left. The big one had to drag him all the way down the hall, hanging on to his suitcase. Tore it too.’

‘Is that so? I should like to see where that happened in a moment. First let us look at the room where they stayed.’

It was a clean, well appointed room, but it had been left in some disarray. Holmes stood for some seconds on the threshold, fingertips together, lips pursed. By the time he allowed us to enter, he had already arrived at a number of conclusions.

‘There is little to learn here, but we must work with what we have. The smaller man used this bed. No skill was needed to arrive at that conclusion: only one bed has been slept in, and the sheets are not even disturbed near the foot. If the bigger man had slept in it, his legs would have hung over the end! That seems odd. Why did the big man not sleep in the other bed? Remember the tale of the footprints. Because he is a servant, and one of his functions is that of a bodyguard. He stood, or lay, between his master and the door. Let us see . . . lay, I think, because there are traces of that mysterious ash over almost seven feet of carpet running parallel to the threshold.

‘The smaller gentleman was a cigar smoker, finest Havana, and wore an expensive cologne. He used the better chair, and the antimacassar has hair oil on it. Very expensive and, like his taste in stick ferrules, a little exotic. The giant seems to smoke something very odd indeed. I cannot place that ash at all. I may have based my monograph on incomplete data. However, the master paced the room a lot, flicking his cigar ash.

‘They kept a fire going, and, just before leaving, burnt some paper, most of which has succumbed to the flames. One small fragment remains, bearing a figure of a salamander writhing in fire, and a few decipherable letters. “Ar . . . in ... Ve . . .” A motto of some sort, possibly? Serviceable, utilitarian notepaper, not at all the kind that our dapper gentleman would use for his own correspondence, or suffer to bear his crest and motto. Company notepaper, without a doubt. That tells us little; it could be a small company that cannot afford good paper, or a very large one whose communications are so numerous that paper constitutes a vast expense. Tracing them would be impossible. Still with your permission, Mr Bryant, I will keep this fragment. Now, let us see the place where the estimable Jasper made his fond farewells.’