The Scottish Ploy (5 page)

“Go ahead. And you, Guthrie. Take Tyers’ razor and shave; you might consider purchasing a second kit and leaving it here, as you do your change of clothes. You are beginning to look quite disreputable.” He smiled to show he was joking.

“An excellent notion,” I said, rubbing my stubbled chin. “I had nearly forgot.”

“You know where I keep my razors, sir,” said Tyers, a bit preoccupied; I realized that he wanted a word alone with Mycroft Holmes and did not want to say so directly. Had I been fully awake, I would have seen this at once.

“That I do, and thank you, Tyers.” I swung around and started out of the kitchen, Sutton right behind me.

We were both bound for the dressing room that connected Mycroft Holmes’ bedroom with the bathroom. Sutton shrugged out of his coat and began working the studs out of his shirt before we reached it; I had come to see this skill at rapid changing of clothes as one of the unusual benefits of his profession.

“He’s worried,” Sutton remarked as he entered the dressing room.

I opened the drawer that contained Tyers’ grooming and toilet items. There were three razors and I chose the one with the horn handle. “Yes. He is.”

“He doesn’t want us to worry,” Sutton went on, his voice muffled as he continued undressing.

I went back to the bathroom, leaving the adjoining door open so that Sutton and I could continue our conversation. “That’s obvious,” I said as I got the lather-mug and the brush and started to stir.

“Is it just the Brotherhood, or is there more to it?” Sutton asked.

“I don’t know,” I replied, annoyed at myself for not being more on the
qui vive.

“Then there is,” said Sutton. A shoe clumped to the floor; a moment later so did the second.

“I suppose you’re right,” I said as I began to lather my face while staring in the mirror. There were circles under my eyes, seeming to be different shades because my left eye is blue and my right eye is green. I was vaguely aware that there was a touch of grey at my temples, hardly more than a few strands, but still, I thought. I had turned thirty-four in May; my mother had been far greyer when she was my age. This notion did not console me, for I knew I still had much to do in my life, and wanted no reminders of my mortality: gunshots and assassins took care of that only too well. I put the mug down, opened the razor, and set to work.

“Who is the Turk?” Sutton asked a bit later.

I was doing the short strokes under my nose, and so did not answer at once. “He claims his brother was brought to England, the victim of reverse white slavery,” I said as I rinsed the razor and went to work on the area at the corner of my mouth.

“That sounds a bit far-fetched,” said Sutton.

“So it does,” I agreed when I could speak safely.

“Do you believe him?” Sutton asked.

“I suppose so—to the extent that I believe his brother is missing and may have been taken for immoral purposes,” I said, tipping my head back and scraping at my under-jaw and neck.

“What does Holmes think?” Sutton waited for my answer, which was just as well, as I had to consider it while I shaved.

“He hasn’t confided in me,” I said. “But he was playing a role for Mister Kerem—you would have been proud of him—and I am convinced he had an excellent reason for doing so; he explained his intention to me after Kerem departed.”

“What kind of role?” Sutton asked, emerging from the dressing room in golfing breeches and a roll-top pull-over as if he had just come in from the country and would soon be going back.

I had become somewhat accustomed to his periodic transformations and so I only glanced at him briefly before finishing my shave. “You would have thought he spent every day in an office, dealing with nothing but paperwork.”

“Well,” said Sutton with a hint of a smile. “That
is
what he intends people to think generally. That is why he hired me.”

“Yes, and established the appearance of a monotonously regular life,” I conceded. “This was more than his usual illusion. He seemed reckless, even timorous, incapable of any real action.”

“And you think he did it deliberately?” Sutton handed a towel to me.

I used it on my face and neck. “Yes. I do. As you would have done had you seen him.” I put the towel into the hamper and closed my collar-button once again, then went to work on my tie.

“I wonder why,” Sutton mused aloud.

Anything I might have said was lost; Tyers rapped on the outer bathroom door. “If you please, gentlemen, Mister Holmes would like you to join him in the withdrawing room.”

That very formal chamber at the front of the flat was rarely used for any discussion among us, so I supposed we were to expect a visitor. I reached for my suit-coat and pulled it on as I went out into the hall, Sutton close behind me.

“Whom do you think is coming?” Sutton pondered aloud. “I was told nothing about a visitor.”

“Nor I,” I said as we reached the withdrawing room.

Although I had half-suspected an August Personage, I saw that we had a fastidious man of late middle-age seated on the sopha. This was not Doctor John Watson, who was no stranger to any of us, but another man, who also had the look of the medical professional. He did not rise as we entered the room, but instead subjected us to a swift, intense scrutiny.

“Gentlemen,” said Mycroft Holmes, as if he had only just become aware of our presence, “if you would be good enough: this is Sir Marmion Hazeltine, come to offer his researches to us.”

Sir Marmion’s name was not unknown to me, given all Mycroft Holmes had told me. I nodded my respects to him. “I have long admired your work, Sir Marmion,” I said, hoping Holmes did not mind my speaking up in this way.

The answer accorded me by Sir Marmion was a terse, “Most kind,” before he turned to study Mycroft Holmes’ face. “You have a most extraordinary skull, Mister Holmes, if you will permit me to say it.” He did not smile, but there was a lessening of the severity of his features, which seemed to be the most he would permit himself to demonstrate.

“From an expert of your reputation, Sir Marmion, what can I be but flattered?” said Holmes as he sat back in his chair. He indicated that Sutton and I should both be seated. “As to the matter before us, I must hope your researches have produced results?”

“In time, Mister Holmes. In time. For the nonce, I am gathering data—and I thank you for your efforts in that regard—and hoping to have reached useful conclusions before the end of next year.” He coughed delicately. “I have been trying some of the techniques of Doktor Breuer of Vienna on the more difficult of my patients, and I have reason to think they may prove most useful in the future in alleviating the compulsion to commit crimes.”

“That is a goal worth achieving,” said Mycroft Holmes with very real sincerity.

“I hope in time we may end all crime and insanity from the human race,” said Sir Marmion.

“Hear, hear,” said Mycroft Holmes. “No doubt such a laudable goal cannot be achieved overnight, but in generations to come, we might improve ourselves to the point where we will not have those unhappy beings in such number as we seem to have now.” He folded his hands. “The new century is but eight years away. The twentieth century! The promise of it astounds me.”

“And I,” said Sir Marmion. “When we see what science has accomplished in the last fifty years, I wish I might be alive to see the next fifty.” He coughed delicately to show he was moved. “Still, that is not to the point.” He picked up a leather portfolio and opened it. “Here is the information I was asked to provide you, Mister Holmes, with citations for the material appended.”

Mycroft Holmes took the expandable folder with marbled covers Sir Marmion held out to him. “There is a deal of work in here, Sir Marmion.”

“Alas, not nearly enough. We have so little information on the nature of the human mind,” he said. “Doktor Breuer’s work leads me to believe that there is much more to be discovered in regard to how the mind shapes behavior. I think you will be especially interested in the third case described in those pages.”

“Very good. I shall study it with interest,” said Holmes.

“I know you will hold all that you read in strictest confidence,” Sir Marmion said fussily.

“Naturally. If I must discuss any of this with my colleagues here, you may rely on their discretion as surely as you may rely on mine.” He put the file down on the table behind him. “It shall not leave this flat. You have my word on that.”

“Most appreciated,” said Sir Marmion, rising abruptly. “I will not stay. You have work to do, as have I.” He went toward the door, Mycroft Holmes behind him.

Sutton and I rose as he departed.

“Works with criminals, does he?” Sutton asked quietly.

“And the mad,” I said.

Sutton cocked his head. “Um.”

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

The courier has just been removed from the flat, taken out by Admiralty men who arrived in a drayage wagon and brought the poor lad down in what looked like a steamer trunk, to confound any watchers that may be posted in the alley or the street. Watson is escorting him to hospital, and has agreed to monitor the young man’s case. He has said it is not a sure thing that the courier will survive, but he will make it mandatory that all efforts are made to help him. The Admiralty will keep him under guard while he recovers.

MH is most pleased, but it is not untrammeled pleasure. After his meeting with HRHE last night, this visit from Sir Marmion Hazeltine has provided the very material he has sought. MH has decided to spend the day perusing the cases Sir Marmion has brought him, although it means a slight delay in commencing the investigation of the slaving the Turkish gentleman reported; HRHE would expect MH to address the material promptly. And Sir Cameron is due in London tomorrow at noon.

“AN EMBARRASSMENT
of riches,” said Mycroft Holmes as he studied the pages before him.

“Sir Marmion’s case histories, sir?” I asked as I continued my usual duties of copying out his memoranda of yesterday. We were back in his study and he was at the main table and I at the drop-front antique secretary.

“The number of them.” Holmes put his hand on the expanding file and shook his head. “I am most impressed by his thoroughness, particularly in regard to the mad. I confess I do not always follow his deductions in regard to these unfortunates, but I believe that there are answers to be found.” He pushed back from the table and stretched his arms out. “Dear me. One in the afternoon. How quickly time goes by.”

“Very true, sir,” I agreed, feeling a bit stiff. “There is a meeting scheduled for half-three today, as you will recall.”

“The Germans,” said Mycroft Holmes, with a ducking of his head as if in capitulation to the inevitable. “It will be awkward. If only Her Majesty and the Kaiser were not such close relatives.”

“That can’t be changed,” I said, a bit wryly, for if anyone could make such an alteration, it would be Mycroft Holmes.

“No, probably not,” he conceded. “But it does make our posture more problematic.” He got up and began to pace. “Sutton will have to walk across the street to the club for me, I fear. The Germans will not be finished with us in time.” He lowered his head. “Six more performances,” he said, meaning for Sutton as MacBeth.

“Tonight, two performances tomorrow, then dark three days, then the last three performances,” I said, realizing I had picked up the theatrical jargon of calling non-performance nights
dark
from Sutton.

“A pity in its way, but probably necessary.” Mycroft Holmes took a turn about the room, stopping before the fire to warm himself, for this November day had remained sere from dawn until now. “He has received excellent notices. I am once again troubled that he is being deprived of greater opportunities because of me.”

“You and he have discussed this, have you not?” I said, wishing that Tyers would bring a fresh pot of tea; the one Mycroft Holmes and I had shared for morning was down to the coldest of dregs.

“Certainly,” said Holmes. “And Edmund assures me he is gratified to be my double and my creator of disguises, but when I think of his abilities, I wonder if he realizes how great his gifts are.”

“If he is content, how can you question his decision?” I, too, rose and shook the knots out of my muscles. “Your memoranda are almost complete.”

“Very good.” Mycroft Holmes came over to the secretary and looked down on the pages I had stacked. “Excellent work as usual, my dear Guthrie.”

“I should have had it done three hours ago,” I remarked.

“We had a somewhat disrupted morning,” Mycroft Holmes pointed out. “I hope that young courier survives. He should not have to give his life in this.”

“If the Brotherhood is behind it,” I said, “lives are the coins they play for.”

“You and I know that, Guthrie. That courier does not. He came into this without sufficient warning, and that may be my fault.” He went to the door, about to call for Tyers.

“You’ll wake Sutton,” I cautioned Mycroft Holmes, for the actor was sleeping on the day-bed in the sitting room, the curtains closed not only to keep out the sun, but to provide protection for Sutton in case this flat was still under surveillance.

“I trust not.” Mycroft Holmes closed the door. “The Germans. What have you prepared for our meeting?”

“I have copies of all recent treaties and agreements between our governments,” I said, indicating the file case on the second shelf of the secretary. “I have all correspondence related to this visit, except, of course, private correspondence.”

“Of course,” said Holmes, his heavy brows drawing together. That was what troubled him the most—that the Kaiser and the Queen might have a private understanding on these matters about which we knew nothing. “Well, gather them up, Guthrie. And put on your swallow-tail coat. I believe it is hanging in the closet opposite the front door.”

I had got used to leaving my swallow-tail coat here, to save myself the dash back to Curzon Street to get it. “Yes. And my cuffs and collar are just cleaned.” I essayed a smile. “I shall be ready directly.”

“Good. We’ll have a bite to eat and then summon Hastings.” He took Sir Marmion’s papers and put them back in the expandable file, then handed them to me. “Make sure they are under lock and key before we depart.”

“That I will,” I said, putting the file on the shelf above the German papers. “There.”

“Very good.” He called to Tyers again, not quite as loudly this time. “We need tea and some cold beef and mustard sauce.”

“Shortly, sir,” Tyers called back.

“Oh, and Tyers, if you’ll nip off to hospital and inquire after the courier?” Mycroft Holmes asked for this as readily as he asked for mustard sauce.

‘That I will, sir,” said Tyers.

“You’ll want to wash up,” said Mycroft Holmes to me. “Tend to it, there’s a good lad. I shall change my clothes directly.”

Since I knew the difference between a suggestion and an order, I did as I was told.

Upon my return to the study, much improved from my efforts, I saw that Tyers had put out a tray on the table and brought a fresh pot of tea. I sat down to pour a cup for myself when I heard a rap on the door, and in the next instant, Edmund Sutton came into the room, his fair hair as mussed as a boy’s, his tall, lanky frame wrapped in a paisley dressing gown. “Good afternoon,” he said in a dazed voice.

“And to you. Tea?” I did not wait for his answer but began to pour a cup for him. “It’s fresh.”

“Wonderful. Not that I’d notice,” he added. “The courier?”

“Is off to hospital. That took place shortly after you retired.” I handed a cup to him, and pointed to the creamer.

He added sugar and a dollop of milk, then sat down in the straight-backed chair in front of the secretary and stared at the wall in a superb blankness of expression. “Did he live?”

“He was alive when he left,” I said. “Tyers has gone off to make inquiry.” I took a sip, and although the liquid was almost scalding, it was warming and I was glad to have it. “We’re off in a short while.”

Sutton nodded. “I’ll make the traditional cross to the club at the traditional hour and return promptly. I’ll need Hastings to get me to the theatre when I’m through. I have no wish to be late for curtain.”

“Of course. I can’t imagine that Holmes would refuse such a reasonable request.” I sighed as I took another sip. “It is going to be a long day.”

“It’s the Germans, isn’t it?” Sutton was waking up more visibly now. His blue eyes were sharper and his voice more resonant. “I shall come back here after the performance, in case Mister Holmes has more work for me to do.”

“Fine,” I said, hoping I would be in my rooms in Curzon Street and fast asleep by then. I was about to throw caution and manners to the wind and help myself to the cold sliced beef when Mycroft Holmes surged into the room in full diplomatic rig. I stood up. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Oh, sit down, Guthrie, do,” he said. “I will have enough ceremony to choke a horse before this day is ended.”

“Just so, sir,” I said, and sat down again.

“Good afternoon, Sutton,” said Mycroft Holmes, going to clap his double on the shoulder. “You have a pressing agenda today, I fear.” He came back to the table and poured himself some tea. “The Germans will serve schnapps, of course, and it will go to their heads. They are
welcome
to Sir Cameron in their cups. No doubt they deserve one another.” He paused. “I am in a foul mood. I apologize to you both for this spasm of mine. I dislike being watched, more so when I cannot identify the watchers.”

“Well, eventually they will slip up and then you will know.” I had hoped this would mollify his state of mind somewhat, but it did not.

“It is how to identify them that troubles me,” said Mycroft Holmes. “They may be Brotherhood, they may be Turks, they may be Germans, they may be some group of whom I have no knowledge. It is demeaning enough to have them shoot at me, but when they go so far as to wound a courier it is beyond all limits.” He drank down most of his tea and poured more; I was glad that Tyers had used the largest pot. “Sutton, you must be very careful. Keep a weather eye out for anything unfamiliar, and take no chances.”

Sutton managed an engaging smile. “I won’t. I have to perform tonight.” He came up to Mycroft Holmes, saying, “Don’t fret about me. I will be careful as a nun.”

“Don’t tell me you’ll wear that habit you have in the back?” Holmes finally relaxed.

“I may, leaving here for the theatre, if I have time.” He poured himself more tea. “Think a moment. If you are the target, I would do well to resemble you as little as possible once I leave your club.”

“You have the right of it,” Mycroft Holmes conceded. “Well, I’m sorry I won’t see you in ... in Orders, but I must applaud your strategy.”

“Better than an evening with the Germans,” said Sutton.

“Truly,” Holmes agreed, looking somber once again. He glanced at me. “How soon can you depart?”

“Ten minutes if I have a bite to eat. Two if I don’t,” I said, looking longingly at the sliced beef.

“Guthrie, dear boy, eat. Who knows when you will have such an opportunity again? For we will have to be careful with the Germans. There are too many members of the Brotherhood with them, and it would not be prudent to dine too freely with them.” He reached out and rolled one of the slices, picked it up and bit into it. “There. Now have as much as you would like,” he recommended as he chewed.

“That I will,” I said, and reached for the mustard sauce to spread on the next slice of beef. Considering how little appetite I had had an hour before, I found that this one taste of food made me famished. I drank more tea and had four more slices rolled up with mustard sauce before I took my serviette and wiped my fingers. “I am at your service, sir.”

“I shall want to leave in five minutes. Gather your things and get your overcoat. It is drizzling and no doubt we will have rain within the hour.” He waved me from the room, then addressed Sutton. “When you cross the street, have a care. Do not linger on the steps. Report any irregularity to Tyers. And have another superb performance tonight.”

I went down the hall to the sitting room where I gathered up my clothes and shoved them into a valise I kept at Holmes’ flat for that purpose. I would leave the valise with Sid Hastings, but I would carry my overcoat and portfolio with me.

“With all we have dealt with today, I suppose I should be grateful that it is only Germans we must face—not Hottentots or Chinese or Red Indians.” Holmes grumbled as we met in the corridor. He had his tiered cloak over his arm and was pulling on his gloves. “We’re going out the rear door, and through the alley. Be prepared to run.”

“Aren’t we tempting fate—going out where the courier was shot?” I could not bring myself to be at ease about his decision.

“We may be,” Mycroft Holmes replied, “but a shooting in Pall Mall would cause a panic that I cannot accept. We will take our chances in the alley.”

“But surely we should be armed,” I said.

“The Germans would be offended.” Mycroft Holmes gave me an abrupt stare. “If there is going to be trouble, best to be near the cab for escape, and in a place where there will not be confusion.”

This seemed unlike my employer, but he had been putting forth an impression of himself today that was peculiar as any I had seen. “Would the attackers be so foolish? To attack in a busy street?” I asked, unwilling to think it possible.

“Boldness and foolishness are often judged by their success or failure,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Get ready.” He started toward the kitchen with an energy I found hard to summon in myself. I hurried after him, wondering if I should have my pistol in my pocket as a precaution.

“Is Sutton staying in the flat?” I asked.

“Until he has to go to the club in my stead, yes.” As he secured the door from the outside, Mycroft Holmes made a swift scrutiny of the alley. “I think we will do well enough if we hurry.”

I felt a trifle silly as I began to rush down the stairs. I was on the second landing when I heard the crack of a rifle and saw the wood of the railing next to me splinter. I faltered for only a moment, then plunged ahead, holding my portfolio to guard my head. Behind me, Mycroft Holmes moved with an alacrity that would have astonished me during my first year in his employment, but which I now recognized as typical of the man. Portly he might be, but active he certainly was. I increased my speed until I was afraid I would plunge headlong to the paving stone. At this hectic pace I was almost to the alley when a second shot rang out and I heard Mycroft Holmes curse.

Reaching the cobbles of the alley, I paused long enough to try to see where the shot had come from. Then I turned back to see Holmes wiping blood from his forehead. “Sir!” I expostulated. “You’re hurt.”

“And I don’t want to be shot again, thank you, Guthrie,” he responded, his terseness filling me with relief. “Keep moving. Hastings will be waiting at the corner.” He was running, keeping up with me and sounding only slightly breathless. “Hurry!”