The Memoirs of Irene Adler: The Irene Adler Trilogy (14 page)

The Royal Mersey is built on one floor consisting of an oblong room about sixty feet long and forty-five feet wide, with offices and auxiliary rooms like bathrooms and broom cupboards, hidden to the public. One cannot but be impressed by the quality of the flooring. It was as if it had been executed, not by craftsmen but by artists. It is smooth, lacquered and varnished with uniform precision and one would be hard pressed to determine where the edges of separate planks dovetailed into each other without a magnifying glass. The walls were covered by austere maroon wallpaper and displayed another large likeness of an unsmiling Sir Thomas, this time in the toga of a Roman senator. Separating two prosperous looking merchants, which we guessed to be Davenport and Williamson, was the slave ship the
Kitty’s Amelia
which had been the
engine of their ill-gotten wealth. It shocked us that the present owners, far from feeling shame about the origin of their fortune were proudly flaunting it. The tellers operated behind a massive L-shaped varnished wooden counter with thin iron grills and hatches. In the waiting area, there were plush leather-bound armchairs and low mahogany tables with notices and printed advertisements of financial services, for customers to browse while waiting in comfort. One door on the shorter side, which we knew from Holmes’ report, led to the Strongroom, whilst another on the other side opened on the Manager’s Office. Access between the two was hidden to the public.

At ten minutes to eleven, Ivan, carrying a small suitcase packed with wads of Sterling banknotes to the tune of two thousand pounds (our entire wealth) walked in. The tellers nodded to each other. They had no doubt been apprised of his impending visit by Golightly. Probert and I, arm in arm, ambled towards the marble steps and followed him inside, a few steps behind. There were a few clients, but we indicated that we were in no hurry and insisted that they get served first. As we expected, only a short while later a clerk approached Vissarionovich and invited him to come to the manager’s office. Without attracting attention to ourselves, Probert and I each directed our steps to opposite parts of the hall, he seemingly drawn to a large painting of a privateer near the door of Golightly’s office, while I made for the low table nearest the Strongroom, where I sat down, pretending to peruse brochures offering investment suggestions. Our Trojan horse, Ivan was now closeted with the wily banker, no doubt exchanging pleasantries.

It did not take long for Probert to start coughing, which was the cue indicating that someone was being despatched to the Strongroom. It was our aim to have this unlocked, as the keys were given to the custody of the Police each night. It happens that I am endowed with the hearing powers of a tawny owl which is said to detect the presence of a field mouse scurrying in a field one mile below. I immediately attuned my ears and indeed in a matter of seconds I heard the unclicking of the lock to the Strongroom. That was all we needed, for I could deal with safes in my own time. My fellow conspirator had his eyes on me and I nodded to indicate that the path to our action had been cleared, whereupon people
who had missed his stage appearances would have been rewarded by a performance of such stunning realism that they would have been convinced that they were witnessing an act of true bravery, had they been watching the expression on the former thespian’s face or the contortions of his arms and legs. With the dexterity of a Music-Hall magician, he had removed the device from his bag and placed it on a table.

‘That man,’ he shouted, ‘that man, stop him, he’s making a run for it. He’s left a bomb. Stop him. Stop him someone.’ He rushed towards the door, but seemed pulled back by the more pressing need to attend to the bomb. Of course there was no man in sight, but this only confirmed the view that the villain had acted with incredible despatch. The ticking was now for all to hear. To add to the confusion, a strong smelling gas began invading the bank.

‘Poison gas,’ said Probert in a calm but authoritative voice. ‘Don’t be alarmed, ladies and gentlemen, I’m a chemistry professor at the university, I will deal with this. You had better leave.’ Surprisingly the panic did not set in instantly, but set in it did. One elderly secretary bravely went to Probert and offered to stay with him to help, and my Welsh friend ordered her out in a stern tone.

‘No need for both of us to die, dear lady.’

‘What a brave man, what a true Englishman,’ she said as she reluctantly dragged herself out of the building, eliciting a whispered, ‘I’m Welsh actually,’ between clenched teeth. Only now did people begin to jostle and push in their scramble to be first out of the door. The tellers had no time to close the tills. Vissarionovich escorted the old manager out of the building, leaving the money he had brought with him behind. In the excitement no one paid any attention to me and I seized the opportunity of the ensuing mêlée to creep unseen under the opening at one end of the counter and wormed my way in, lying on the floor. Soon, Probert pretending to be defusing the bomb, and I, in my hiding place, were the only souls left inside. The device consisted of an ordinary clock, one with a faulty spring, chosen specially because of its loud ticking, two bottles, one containing sodium hydroxide and the other ammonium nitrate. At the start of the operation, Probert had deftly opened the flasks and tipped the contents of the one into the other, instantly producing an emission
of the strong smelling but harmless ammonia gas. We had counted on people’s unfamiliarity with the real poisonous emanations. Nobody questioned the conclusion we had meant them to draw. The newspapers had written frequently about anarchists and their clock-operated instruments of death. With Bourdin blowing himself up not so long ago, it was not surprising that everybody swallowed our subterfuge so readily.

The people rushing out did not linger outside the bank, fearing that an explosion might rip off half of London. Golightly and the senior clerks waited apprehensively near the
Parasol
, where Armande, Bartola and Artémise were enjoying a little morning extravaganza. Vissarionovich gamely kept the old man company, and the latter appeared very grateful. When Probert finally emerged with his large handkerchief tied round his mouth, declaring that the bomb had been defused but that the poison had made the place dangerous for the next few hours, Golightly wanted to go back in to lock things up, but the chemistry professor shook his head in horror. ‘You won’t come out of it alive, sir.’ When the old man insisted, the police physically barred his path, refusing to let him go in. In the end, it was decided that the men with the keys would lock the door of the bank, and two policemen were assigned to guarding the door overnight. Probert declared that according to his calculations, it would take no less than twelve hours for the poison to disperse, making it unsafe to open the bank before the next day.

Assistant Commissioner Labalmondière arriving within the hour instructed Chief Inspector McBee to arrange for a police patrol to be stationed outside the building for the night. When told about the two constables, he flew into a rage and ordered his junior to double the patrol. The police wanted to interview Probert, but the Welshman said that after breathing the noxious fumes, he was feeling faint and needed a rest, but assured everybody that he would come to the station next morning without fail. Labalmondière thanked him. The few people who had returned on the scene hip hip hoorrayed him as he departed. Two street corners later, he had discarded his professorial beard and put a debonair blue silk scarf round his neck. He joined Armande and the others at the
Parasol
for a celebratory Black Forest Gâteau, unrecognised by people who had cheered him only minutes before.

Left to my own device inside the bank, I began by changing into men’s clothing, for greater comfort, and in anticipation of my exit tomorrow. I explored the place and ended up by finding the location of everything I needed, including candles and matches. I found keys in the drawers of the desks of the senior clerks. As the Strongroom was now open, it took me minutes before dealing with the safe, enabling me to have a good view of the gold ingots. The sight of the seventy two ingots gleaming in the subdued light was magical. It was not our plan to steal the lot. I carefully removed sixteen bars and transferred them into my leather bag. Next, I fixed my block of balsa wood in the centre and positioned sixteen ingots to fence it in, following this by another sixteen around covering the first perimeter. The remaining twenty-four were then put on the top to complete the block. The result was, visually, an identical configuration to the one before. It was thought that the longer the theft went unnoticed, the better it would be for us. My main work was done. I located the suitcase with our cash which Ivan had left behind, as planned, to avoid raising the old man’s suspicions, and took it away with me.

I was now faced with the most difficult part of the operation: waiting for release. I was now trapped inside a locked bank with, I suspected, a posse of uniformed men outside. I chose the most comfortable chair, Mr Golightly’s, and immediately delved into my copy of Gerard Manley Hopkins, a present from the Bishop. It was quite strange, seeing that neither of us considered ourselves devout Christians—or any sort of Christian for that matter. However, we’ve both loved the poetry of this very devout Jesuit and were ready to sing the glory of dappled things. I discovered that as we had surmised, there were facilities for brewing tea, and I availed myself of them, eating Armande’s homemade pies and biscuits which she had specially baked for the occasion in lieu of a hot meal. There were very comfortable toilets at the back, between the Strongroom and the Accountants’ offices, to receive the superior excretions of the senior management, but just outside the door to the Strongroom there was a small cubicle offering rudimentary facilities to the junior staff and the public. I visited the facilities a good few times, needing to refresh myself because of the prevailing heat and the enclosed space. Sitting
down for long periods, I suffered from cramps, so I did some free hand exercises, press-ups, bend-overs and skipping.

At bedtime I placed two large armchairs together to form a rudimentary cot and untroubled by any apprehension arising from my unusual plight, I had a very comfortable night’s sleep. It was surprising that in the middle of this busy city, one could be woken up by a dawn chorus, but it is true that one cannot go fifty yards in any direction in this enchanting city which I love more than words can say, without coming across a size-able green area, a small park, trees with birds’ nests or a small expanse of water. I checked on the clock over Sir Thomas’ head that it was just gone seven o’clock and knew that my day had started. I made tea and ate some oat and cabin biscuits. I used the manager’s facilities to freshen up, and checked in the mirror that I looked like a respectable if ordinary bank user.

We had surmised, rightly, as it turned out, that the bank was not going to be open to the public without a police check. Thankfully, as Holmes was out of London we did not feel that any danger would arise from a visit by the bumbling McBee. I was prepared when I heard the keys inserted inside the three locks and immediately took cover inside the broom cupboard. From a hole I had drilled yesterday I was amazed to see the infamous Assistant Commissioner Labalmondière coming in with McBee and Mr Golightly.

They started looking round, meticulously examining the contents of the building, and in half an hour the old banker expressed satisfaction that not one farthing had gone missing, nor had the gold ingots been tampered with.

‘Not surprising in the light of my instructions to McBee to place men outside for the night, eh what!’ That was the self-congratulatory Labalmondière.

When I heard steps coming towards my refuge, I feared that unless I found a watertight excuse to explain my presence, our plot would end in disaster, if for some reason they opened the door. Fortunately the men stopped, and I was able to overhear a very interesting conversation instead. The banker was telling the Assistant Commissioner about Ivan’s suitcase. He was convinced, he explained, that when the Russian helped
him out of the building, both his hands were free, meaning that he hadn’t had the time to grab his possession. He had therefore expected to find it in his office, but it wasn’t there this morning. I was greatly relieved when I heard Labalmondière’s response. ‘Your worship, bearing your ripe old age in mind, I am sure this is not a reflection on your proverbial lucidity, but anybody can be excused a little confusion when anarchists try to blow up their bank, eh what? In my experience, when danger threatens, Johnny Foreigner’s first thought is how to save himself and his possessions. Trust me those people would never leave their money behind.’ Golightly grunted his disapproval of this fatuous hypothesis but said nothing. I then heard Labalmondière, trusting his rather large nose say that it was clear that the gas had all escaped and that the atmosphere was as salubrious as it could be. I was relieved when the steps grew fainter as I had not managed to find a credible explanation for my presence in the cupboard. Probert had promised to meet them in the morning to offer his expert advice, but no one seemed perturbed by the fact that he had failed to keep up that appointment. I gathered by the bustling noise in the street that there was a large crowd of clients outside, waiting to come in. In less than an hour, Golightly himself appeared outside the door and informed the crowd that with his foresight in securing the bank by dint of the most modern system available, their money had never been in any danger. He was pleased to add that due to the lucky presence of a famous science professor from the University of London, the anarchists’ bomb had been neutralised, and their plot confounded. Further, he declared, Assistant Commissioner Labalmondière had assured him that the police were already on the track of the gang who had planned and carried out this outrage and that an arrest was imminent.

I seized the opportunity of dozens of people rushing in to quietly push my prison door open, grabbed my two bags and boldly walked out, unnoticed and unchallenged. Vissarionovich was waiting in our hansom outside St Michael’s. I, with our combined possession of new gold and old cash, clambered on and we immediately headed for Water Lane.