The Scottish Ploy (12 page)

OF THE
six men in the library, four were reading books. I was reviewing my notes, and Mycroft Holmes was playing chess against himself. It was growing chilly again, the fire having burned down, and if it were to be built up again, the butler would have to supply more logs. The hall clock had chimed eight a short while ago, and the sustenance of the sandwiches had worn off some time earlier. From behind the tome Sir Cameron had propped in front of his high-backed chair, there came an occasional hint of snoring that the rest of us strove to ignore.

Then the door opened and Chief Inspector Pryce came into the library. “I am sorry it has taken so long, but sometimes it is difficult to arrange matters on Saturday evening. There are other demands on the police on Saturday after dark.” He regarded Baron von Schattenberg. “The morgue van departed about twenty minutes ago, with my recommendation that the examination be done tonight. I can’t do much more than that.”

“I am grateful that you have done so much,” said the Baron, his voice dull. “This has been a very great shock to us all, and you have made our shock less dreadful.”

“You may not feel that way when I come tomorrow to speak with you. I’ll make it in the afternoon so you can go to church. Sorry to have to bother you on the Sabbath, but if you will let me have my interview then, I shan’t have to ask you to come down to Scotland Yard to file your account and sign your statement in regard to this murder. Oh, yes, I have the records Mister Holmes advised you to make, but overnight something more may occur to you, and it will be of assistance to my inquiries if you will—”

“Tomorrow afternoon will be fine, Chief Inspector,” Baron von Schattenberg informed him. “I will make myself and my aides available to you.”

“That’s very good of you,” said Chief Inspector Pryce, startled at this easy cooperation.

“No, it is only expedient,” said the Baron as if he carried the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

“Well, whatever it is, I thank you for accommodating this investigation. In return for your efforts I will do all I can to keep your privacy intact. More than that I cannot promise.” He looked at the Baron with a steady kind of reassurance. “I am sorry your man was killed.”

“As
am I,” said Baron von Schattenberg. “As soon as you have apprehended the criminal responsible for this, send me the information so that I may inform his family that justice will be done.” He looked across the room to Mycroft Holmes. “I am told we may repose confidence in the English police.”

“Yes, indeed you may,” said Chief Inspector Pryce.

There was an awkward silence in the room, as if everyone was stifled by the audacious crime that had blighted the afternoon. Finally Mycroft Holmes spoke up. “I will take it as a personal favor if you, Chief Inspector, will keep me abreast of your investigation. I may have no official role to play in this, but I am involved.”

Chief Inspector Pryce almost sighed. “Yes. Very well. For the sake of the Admiralty I will see you remain informed.”

“You are very good, Chief Inspector.” Holmes rose from his chair. “I trust you have no more need of us tonight. I will put myself at your disposal tomorrow; you may choose the hour. Guthrie and I will be glad to review our accounts with you.” He bowed Prussian style to Baron von Schattenberg. “If I may assist you in any way, my dear Baron, you have only to send me word of it.”

Baron von Schattenberg nodded. “And Lady MacMillian? We have resolved nothing concerning her visit.”

“I will supply you the information we discussed and, if you still have questions, we will meet again. Otherwise, I am certain your good judgment will guide you in this matter.” Mycroft Holmes looked in my direction. “Come, Guthrie. Tyers will be wondering what has become of us.”

“No doubt of that,” I said, preparing to leave. I had just picked up my portfolio when Sir Cameron roused from his stupor.

“And what of me?” he demanded. “I do not want to make myself a target for all the criminal scaff-and-raff of London.” He rubbed his face as if pressing wakefulness upon it. “I must go to my hotel, but I require an escort.”

“Guthrie and I are hardly suitable to your purposes,” Mycroft Holmes pointed out. He looked to Chief Inspector Pryce. “Sir Cameron was shot at on his way here. It might be a sensible precaution to see him back to his hotel.”

His brow flicked in a quick indication of annoyance; then his demeanor was once again that of polite inquiry. “This is news. Who shot at you?” Chief Inspector Pryce asked, sounding more puzzled than worried.

“How should I know?” Sir Cameron demanded, putting his large volume aside and getting to his feet. “I had nothing to do with it. I did not order it, nor did I bother to stop and ask questions. My coachman, who was somewhat injured in the attack, was ordered to report the incident as soon as he had received treatment for his wound.”

“Your coachman was shot,” said Chief Inspector Pryce, doing his best to glean the salient facts from Sir Cameron’s remarks. “By an unknown gunman.”

“Yes. In Mount Street. Just before we turned into Berkeley Square.” Sir Cameron stared hard at Chief Inspector Pryce. “You can review his—my coachman’s—description of the attack if you call at Scotland Yard, or whatever police station he went to in order to give his information.”

“I’m sorry, Sir Cameron. I knew nothing of this,” said Chief Inspector Pryce; he had an edge to his voice, as if he was not best pleased to learn of this now.

Sir Cameron bristled. “Well, whether you know about this or not, you must realize that I cannot safely set foot on the street without an escort.”

“I can certainly see why you feel so,” said Chief Inspector Pryce, and went on more briskly, “I will arrange for uniformed constables to escort you to your hotel. Once there, if you would be good enough to give them your version of what happened in Mount Street, I would appreciate it.”

“Then you think there may be a connection?” Sir Cameron asked.

“I think it is possible there may be,” answered Chief Inspector Pryce cautiously.

But Sir Cameron seized upon it. “There, you see, Holmes?” he demanded as he swung round to face my employer. “You were one to make light of it, but you were in error.”

“For which I am most heartily sorry,” said Mycroft Holmes, wanting to leave without having to endure more unpleasantness. “Guthrie, if you are ready?”

“At your service, sir.” I stepped up briskly.

“Excellent,” Holmes approved. He paused to regard Sir Cameron. “You have the police to protect and advise you. I know you are in good hands.”

“No thanks to you,” Sir Cameron reminded him. “I have been set upon by assassins twice today and little good you have done me.”

“I apologize for any trouble I may have caused you,” Mycroft Holmes said smoothly. “I regret I could not anticipate everything.”

“I won’t be fobbed off in this way,” Sir Cameron said, warming up for a bear-jaw.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Chief Inspector Pryce intervened. “Everyone is upset, I know, and inclined to speak out of turn. By tomorrow you will be in better charity with one another. Until then, do you each give the other some leeway for a trying evening. Few of us show to advantage in such circumstances as these.”

“Well-said,” I told him. “We will endeavor to remember your admonition.” I had to fight the urge to look to see if Sir Cameron were listening. “Well, then. Mister Holmes and I will expect to see you tomorrow after services.”

Mycroft Holmes recovered himself. “Yes.” He handed his card to the Chief Inspector. “My man Tyers will admit you whenever you call.”

“Thank you, Mister Holmes,” said the Chief Inspector, and looked to Sir Cameron. “If you will place yourself in our hands, I think we may keep you safe.”

Mycroft Holmes did not bother to listen to Sir Cameron’s response; he went to Baron von Schattenberg and said, “Please extend my condolences to Herr Kriede’s family when you write to them, if you would. I shall count that as a kindness.”

“Most certainly I will do so,” said Baron von Schattenberg. “And I look forward to the material you shall provide me tomorrow.”

The two men shook hands, and I managed to mutter an appropriate departing phrase, and then we made for the front door. I was mildly surprised to find Sid Hastings drawn up at the kerb, waiting for us, although Mycroft Holmes evinced no astonishment at all.

“Good evening, Hastings,” said Holmes as he climbed into the cab. “I trust I see you well this evening.”

“That you do, Mister Holmes; the better for your company, if I may say. The wait quite unnerved me, with the constables making us move and the people asking questions no one could answer. They said they removed a dead body a while ago.” He pulled up the steps as I got aboard and started Lance on his way. “From what I saw, there was a rare dust-up in that house.”

“Worse than that, I’m afraid,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Yes, you are right: the police have taken away the body of one of the German aides.”

“Blimey,” said Hastings. “No wonder the constables were that set on having us all move along. I must have gone round Berkeley Square half a dozen times to keep them happy.”

“They were being sensible,” said Mycroft Holmes in a tone of approval. “Wouldn’t you say so, Guthrie?”

“Yes. Quite pragmatic.” I held my portfolio tightly against my chest, aware now that I had been edgy all evening.

“Shall I take Mister Guthrie to Curzon Street?” Sid Hastings asked as we entered Berkeley Square from Berkeley Mews.

“Do you want to go directly to bed, Guthrie, or would you rather have supper with me in order to discuss what transpired this evening? Which course would you prefer?” Mycroft Holmes inquired. He was rarely so accommodating and I was instantly suspicious.

“Is there some reason I should not dine with you?” I asked, eager to sort out his purpose for asking.

“None in the world, dear boy, unless you are too worn out to enjoy yourself.” He was guileless as an infant.

“Then perhaps I should come with you. If we are to meet with Chief Inspector Pryce tomorrow, it would be best, I think, if we are willing to deal with him in a—” I said, trying to forestall any new ventures Holmes might propose.

“In a manner calculated to help him in regard to the murder that, at the same time, will not complicate his inquiries with considerations beyond his immediate concern,” said Holmes in what I had come to think of as his diplomatic voice. “We would not want him to be led into areas of inquiry that would only make our work more difficult and would avail him nothing.”

“No doubt you’re right,” I said, comprehending his intentions at last. “It would serve no useful purpose to have him caught up in the various problems you and Baron von Schattenberg are negotiating.” I snapped my fingers. “That is why you are willing to give him what information you have on Lady MacMillian’s uncles—you do not want these very delicate issues dragged through the tangle of a murder inquiry.”

“Bravo, Guthrie,” said Mycroft Holmes. “It will be difficult enough with Sir Cameron in the mix, but it is possible that with a little care we may keep our diplomatic considerations out of the police investigation.” He paused, looked back, then said, “Two horsemen.”

“Not again,” moaned Sid Hastings in exasperation. “I thought I had lost them when I took Mister Sutton to the theatre.”

“It would seem not,” said Holmes. “Take a circuitous route back to Pall Mall, say, by way of Piccadilly, Coventry, and Haymarket. If they are truly following us, we will have some opportunity to verify it, and to observe them.”

“If that is what you want, Mister Holmes, it is what I shall do,” said Sid Hastings, going straight down Berkeley Street toward Piccadilly.

I wanted to swing around in my seat and stare out behind us, to see these two horsemen. I did not think I could recognize them—not if Mycroft Holmes had failed to do so—but I hoped I could discern something of their demeanor, and through it, their purpose in watching us.

“They are not fools, Guthrie,” said Holmes with a philosophical shrug. “They are careful to fall back once they have been spotted.”

In another, less acute man, I would have supposed that he had allowed his apprehension to take visual form, and that the two horsemen were nothing more than the product of a lively imagination. But my years with Mycroft Holmes—now numbering six—had taught me the greatest respect for his cognizance, and this was no exception. If he said the horsemen were there, then I could be certain they were, whether I saw them or not.

Piccadilly was crowded, a kind of melee going on among the carriages, cabs, coaches, vans, and all manner of other vehicles, with horsemen and crossing-sweepers added to the general confusion. I thought that any number of desperate persons might be in this mass and would go totally unnoticed. I was about to remark upon this to Mycroft Holmes when he ducked down in his seat and tugged on my arm so that I should do the same.

“What on earth?” I exclaimed as I did my utmost to comply with his urging.

“Look.” He pointed to a new groove in the wood by the door.

“Whoever shot was standing on the sidewalk or in the street itself. You may see the bullet traveled up from below, so it came from the street. But where? And who?” He glared as another shot popped; had I not been alerted to it, I should have never have recognized the sound for what it was. “Small caliber pistol, I should think, and coming from the left.” He raised his voice slightly. “Hastings. Are you all right?”