“Explain to me, gentlemen,” he said, his slow, exact speech mimicking the tone one would use with a dull child, “how our agents can plan an operation for months, only to find the nest of traitors empty? Three times now we have had good intelligence on the location of these anarchists, only to find they have slipped the net. Is there a spy in our midst?”
Oberst (Colonel) Adler, the head of the Security Service, twisted his hat in his hand. He looked out the window at a passing bird before he replied, “I’ve studied the logs of all who were present for meetings concerning the operations, and the only person involved in every case was”—he looked down, twisting his hat more viciously—“me.”
The chancellor snorted. “Then you are either the worst double spy in history, or the cleverest, to hide yourself in plain sight. What other explanation is there?”
Adler spread his hands before him. “I have none, mein Herr. Coincidence is most unlikely. Somehow, they are getting intelligence from my office but are too clumsy to hide that fact effectively.”
Herr Schork, the chancellor’s private secretary, had kept silent until now. He cleared his throat. The two older gentlemen looked at him as though the furniture had just spoken. “Gentlemen, I have a proposal, if I may.”
His superior looked down his nose but nodded. “Very well. A new idea would be welcome.”
“I think we need someone from outside to look for our spy. Someone who would not be known within our usual circles and could be discrete.”
“But also someone we could trust!” Adler added. “Where could you find such a person?”
The chancellor interrupted, “Herr Oberst, since you are a suspect, I request you leave the room before Schork and I continue this conversation. If you know the identity of our ‘consultant,’ the findings would be suspect if you are cleared.”
Adler’s jaw tightened as he glared at Schork, then he rose and left the room as quickly as his dignity allowed.
Once the breeze from the security chief’s departure subsided, the chancellor looked at Schork with a new respect. “You know of course, once this matter is settled it is unlikely you can ever work with Adler again? Not to worry. If you can resolve this matter to my satisfaction, you will find yourself promoted. Of course, if you do not, you will have made a bitter enemy of Adler with no profit to show for it. Now, the name of this remarkable individual?”
Schork swallowed at the implication of the chancellor’s words, then said, “You are aware I believe, of the fictional character, Sherlock Holmes?”
The prince of Hohenlohe slammed the table before replying, “You want to employ a make-believe detective?”
“N-No, sir!” Schork stuttered. “But the man who inspired the character is very real. He has helped the police in more than one case. I suggest we call in Professor Joseph Bell, the real Sherlock Holmes!”
5
London, Tuesday, May 25
I groaned as I arose. It takes me fifteen minutes of stretching every morning to work the stiffness out of my joints. I can still walk normally, and I’ve been told to stay active to maintain mobility as long as possible. The doctors said although each case of lupus was different, the one thing they had in common was progression. Despite the sale of my interview with the queen, the cheapest passage to Australia was still out of my reach. I needed one more well-paying piece before I could be on my way.
After a meager breakfast, I checked the mailbox and smiled when I saw a letter with a return address from Edinburgh. Professor Joseph Bell was a good friend but an infrequent correspondent.
Dear Margaret,
I just had an interesting conversation with the German consul here in Edinburgh. I have agreed to assist the German government on a sensitive matter, under the condition I be allowed to choose my translator and be recompensed both monetarily and to serve as a visiting professor of surgery at the medical school in Heidelberg.
I recall your familiarity with the language, and as I desire someone I know and trust at my side, I offer you the post. Given the urgency of the request, I expect our fee will be generous.
Although I do not expect this undertaking to be dangerous, having someone with me who has proven herself stalwart in a tight situation will be reassuring if I am proven wrong. Please respond by telegram within two days of receiving this letter. If you agree, I will respond in like manner to arrange our travel.
Given recent ill feelings between Germany and our native land concerning the Transvaal, I feel it prudent to inform our government of this undertaking prior to our travel to Berlin. As many in the House of Commons are advocating for war to ensure the rights of British citizens there, it is imperative we not be perceived as foreign agents. Therefore, I will make a brief stop in London en route, and we can meet at the Marlboro Club as we did in times past.
While it would be grand to have Doyle join us on this escapade, I fear he is too well known to escape notice, and too busy with his writing to allow the Three Musketeers to share another adventure.
I await your response at your earliest convenience.
JB
My mind was flooded with the memories of the other two Musketeers his letter recalled, and of Molly, my roommate and companion when I’d first met Doyle and Bell. Molly’s life was saved by Bell’s generosity and surgical skill from a fatal case of Phossy Jaw, and afterward I was able to place her into domestic service as a cook. She departed with our terrier, Johnny, as neither could bear to be parted from the other.
I shook my head to clear away the fog of bittersweet memories. No, it appeared our little band would never again face danger together. Still, to share even a small foray with my old friend would be a blessing. I glanced at the sailing schedules I kept beside my desk. Perhaps this would make my immigration to Australia possible.
I opened my dog-eared notebook and, after a moment’s reflection, wrote my reply by telegram as requested:
AGREED STOP WHEN STOP MARGARET
No need to be long-winded, at least not until someone else was paying.
6
London, Thursday, May 27
The elderly man at the reception desk nodded his welcome to the modestly dressed, slender gentlemen before him. I hoped my clear pince-nez glasses and slight build gave me the appearance of a clerk or academic.
“Welcome to the Marlboro Club, sir,” he said.
“Is Professor Joseph Bell in? He’s expecting me.”
“Who may I say is calling?”
“Pennyworth. Robert Pennyworth.”
“I believe he’s in the reading room. Shall I conduct you?”
“No, thank you. I’ve been here before.”
Professor Bell had aged well since I had last seen him nine years ago. His forehead was a bit more pronounced, but he was trim, and his eyes had the same flash when he looked up from his reading. His smile was as warm as ever. “Ah, Mister Pennyworth. So good of you to stop by. The glasses are a new addition.”
“Yes,” I replied, returning his smile. “I can no longer pass as a young man, so the glasses make me look like a bookish gentleman well into his career. The glint of the lenses also makes people glance away, so that they pay less attention to my face. But to business. Who are we seeing before traveling to Germany?”
“We have an appointment at one o’clock this afternoon with Inspector James Ethington of the Special Branch of Scotland Yard. Special Branch is responsible for counterespionage within Britain, and since this affair concerns a foreign power, I felt it best to speak with someone from his agency, so that we do not become suspect of being foreign operatives ourselves. His superiors arranged for a brief conversation today, with the understanding we’ll render a full report upon our—by which, I mean your—return, for I shall go on to Heidelberg once we have completed our work in Berlin. Is that agreeable?”
“Quite. Have you arranged our fee, or is that yet to be determined? I have plans for that payment, if it’s as generous as you suppose.”
“Twenty pounds a day for a minimum of
ten days. Each. I was quite insistent on that point. If we accomplish our task sooner, we still receive payment for the entire time. All expenses paid. I have fifty pounds for you now as a retainer.”
I gave a low whistle. “Then let’s meet with this Inspector Ethington and be on our way!”
Bell laughed, “I’ve already purchased our tickets for the train to Dover and on to Berlin for Sunday the thirtieth. Why don’t you join me for lunch here at the club, after we have our chat with the inspector?”
“I hope the beef Wellington isn’t as rare as before,” I teased, recalling when Bell, Doyle, and I had met there last after concluding our hunt for the Ripper. “Though the company more than made up for it.”
Inspector Ethington arrived fifteen minutes late. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, based upon the distinguished silver edges to his light brown hair. He had a sad smile and kind brown eyes with the fine lines at the corners which reflected a familiarity with hardship. I admired his trim figure and erect posture as he strode into the room. I have always been attracted to confident men, at least when I felt their confidence was merited, and despite his tardiness I was favorably impressed until I smelled a trace of whiskey on his breath. I kept a straight face but began to wonder what made Special Branch so “Special.”
“I was sent round to learn the nature of your business with the German government,” Ethington said, carefully removing his hat and holding it in his lap. “Please be brief, gentlemen, I’m a busy man. Which one of you is Professor Bell?”
I colored at the question, embarrassed for the inspector that he should ask such an obvious question, but Bell merely nodded. “I am. It was I who informed your superiors of our contract. I hope to keep this all above board and not be accused of doing anything that might harm Her Majesty’s government.”
“Understood, Professor. We’re not always on the best of terms with the Kaiser but we do cooperate with the Germans on matters of mutual interest. Nonetheless, I expect a full report when you return, but you haven’t specified the nature of your assistance.”
“I was told the sensitive nature of the task required I not be fully briefed until our arrival. I was given assurances this undertaking in no way compromises British interests. Should I suspect otherwise at any time, I’ll terminate our arrangement and inform you.”
Ethington nodded. “Quite satisfactory, Professor. I look forward to reading your report. There’s not much we know about our German counterparts, not even names of their key personnel. Anything you can tell us will be useful.”
Then turning his eye to me he said, “But you haven’t introduced your companion. Who might you be, sir, and what’s your role in all this?”
“Robert Pennyworth, Inspector,” I answered. “I’ll be the professor’s translator. We’ve worked together before, and I look forward to doing so again.”
Bell and I had a difficult time suppressing a laugh when Ethington narrowed his eyes. “I suspect there’s more to you than meets the eye, Mister Pennyworth, but I lack the time at present to inquire further.” Handing each of us his card, he finished with, “Contact me when you get back. That’s all for now.”
With that, the inspector carefully stood and went off on his unspecified, yet urgent business which I suspected involved a certain brown liquid.
“If that is London’s finest, things have certainly gone downhill since Inspector Abberline retired,” I said.
“He is in great pain, Margaret. While I do not condone his treatment, I empathize with his attempts to maintain his dignity.”
“Walking in reeking of the bottle? How is that dignified?”
“I think that’s a bit harsh. Describe him to me.”
“Average height. Light brown eyes and hair. Slender and soft-spoken. No tremors, though he walked with the care you see in drunkards who try to pass for sober.”
“Correct so far. And his clothes? What of them?”
“Light gray tweed suit. Black four-in-hand tie. Black brogans.”
“And their condition?”
“His shoes were polished, the suit pressed.”
“Yes, and his shirt was ironed and his black derby, though now faded from years of use, was carefully maintained. Did you notice how carefully he held it? It’s of fine make, and I suspect his name is embroidered inside to denote pride of ownership.”
“What of it?” I asked. “I’ve seen too well how drunkenness can wreak a man’s life, and his family’s.”
“These outward signs tell me there is still a flicker of self-respect remaining. Also, consider that he must have been of extraordinary ability to have achieved his post, even if he now appears unworthy of it. The vessels of his nose are not enlarged, so he has just recently turned to drink, or only does so sporadically. I can deduce much about a man by how he walks and dresses himself, but the source of his fall from grace is beyond me at present.”
“Every drunkard has a sad tale to tell,” I said. “Then they create more.”
Bell shrugged, realizing my opinion of the man could not be changed. “In any case, we have done our duty as loyal subjects of the Crown. Shall we to lunch? I suspect you still have a bit of packing to do. Oh, and please come ‘dressed’ for the journey. Your Pennyworth disguise is as effective as ever, but it is unnecessary for this adventure.”
“Old habits die hard, Professor. I believe that up ’til now I have spent more time in your presence in masculine attire. Very well, but do not begrudge me a proper suit—just in case.”
7
Berlin, Monday, May 31
The rooms at the Hotel Rome on Unter den Linden 10 were well-appointed, as was the establishment in general. The chambermaid told me proudly that when the hotel was built in 1876 it was the first in Berlin to have bathtubs. It was built while the new palace was being constructed, and Kaiser Wilhelm I ordered a bathtub sent to his royal apartment once a week until construction was complete. When I expressed surprise, the young woman was quick to reassure me that bathtubs were now the norm everywhere.
I was more than satisfied with the generous initial payment and relieved to find my German adequate thus far. Berlin was a bustling city with construction ongoing at a frenetic pace as it struggled to become a capital worthy of a great nation. During a recent visit, Mark Twain had dubbed it “The Chicago of Europe,” and I’d heard the description was apt, save for the absence of reeking stockyards.
Professor Bell and I awaited Herr Schork in a small meeting room off the lobby, and he arrived with typical German punctuality at exactly three o’clock. He was a thin, nervous young man with an out-sized mustache, trying to hide his insecurity behind a mask of facial hair. It didn’t work.
“Ach, Herr Professor, it is good to meet you, and you as well, Fraülein Harkness,” Schork said. He brushed his lips over the back of my outstretched hand, anointing it with his mustache wax. I regretted not wearing gloves. “How much have you been told, Herr Professor?”
“Very little, other than how this affair involves a delicate matter of security, and that this undertaking in no way compromises the welfare of Great Britain. Am I correct in both?”
“Indeed, Professor. I would even say this affair is of mutual benefit to both our countries, for it involves the surveillance of those who would destroy our social order entirely.”
“You mean anarchists?” I asked, savoring the prim little man’s flinch at the word.
Schork’s eyes darted from side to side, then he nodded. “Precisely. Our efforts to arrest their leaders have consistently failed, and some informants we had within their group have disappeared. The only logical conclusion is we have a spy in the security service. We have tried everything our agents can think of to smoke out the traitor, without success. We need fresh eyes and an unbiased approach. I suggested you, Professor, as you come highly recommended both as a keen observer and a man of discretion. Will you accept the commission?”
“I’ve no love for bomb-throwers, young man, but I’m no spy. How can I be of service?”
“Since we have been unable to find a double agent, our chief of security, Herr Oberst Adler, has suggested we look for breaches in our handling of documents. Perhaps you can determine a manner by which our enemies could intercept instructions meant for our agents and reports from the field. It isn’t much to go on, but we have become blind to the single greatest threat to our nation. I am hoping the man who inspired the figure of Sherlock Holmes can find the answer to our riddle.”
Bell snorted at the mention of Doyle’s fictional detective, “Holmes again! I tell you, lad, I’m fond of the character, but I’m no magician. It’s your money and your purse is generous, so we’ll have a look, but I promise you nothing more than that.”
Very generous indeed! I thought. I could afford a first-class cabin.Schork beamed. “It’s settled, then. Shall I meet you here tomorrow morning at nine o’clock? The chancellery at Palais Schulenberg is nearby on Wilhelmstrasse. I can take you there by carriage.”
Bell looked at me and after my nod, agreed. Hands were shaken, or lightly kissed, and Herr Schork sped away to update the chancellor.
“He’s a bit tightly wound, wouldn’t you say, Miss Harkness?”
“He’s a young man eager to prove himself, but an honest one, I think, else he could not be so forthcoming as to their present difficulty.”
“Let’s hope you’re right, or our time here will be more interesting than we’d like, though it’s easier to be honest about the failings of others. Care to join me for dinner? Seven?”
“Seven it is,” I said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I feel an acute need to wash my hand.”
8
Tuesday, June 1
The chancellery building was impressive; a virtual army of clerks and secretaries typing, filing, or transporting reports with the diligence of field hands at harvest. The din of typewriter keys and shoe leather on polished marble floors was constant, accompanied by the rumble of voices that washed over the visitor like a heavy rain, no one voice distinguishable from another.
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