by C J Lutton
”But Holmes!” I cried, as a disturbing thought came to mind. ”Suppose that's the reason for your brother's disappearance? Suppose international criminals wanted him because he's the director? Maybe this has nothing at all to do with vampires. Is Harker involved?”
”Good thinking, Watson. That was my first consideration,” said Holmes, as he pursed his lips, “and I pursued that possibility. Thankfully, there's no chance of that being the case. Don't forget, Dr. Bell and I saw Harker levitating back at Baker Street. No, this case is as it appears. We're in search of vampires. Besides, Harker is considered publicly as my brother's secretary, but in truth, he's actually Mycroft's general counsel. I'm sure Harker is most probably at this very moment being spoken to by Her Majesty and being appointed the Acting Director of the International Police Force.”
To say that Thaddeus and I were surprised would surely be an understatement. But Holmes ignored our startled looks and pressed on. ”So you see, gentlemen, it's much more than revenge that speeds us to America. It's also our responsibility to ensure the survival, success, and integrity of our organization, and safeguard it from the clutches of the criminal empire. These are evil times, and we now have the power and the authority to erase this evil from the text of world history. Our agents are sweeping the earth to eliminate this blight, and as we speak, those who've aided Moriarty and the others are being rounded up.”
9
Our Quest Takes Us to the New World
The import of Holmes’ words weighed heavily on our minds as we went about the task of getting ready for our journey abroad. It was decided that although the ship wasn't scheduled to leave for a few days, we would vacate our sanctuary and make our way to Plymouth and the Etruria. Arrangements had been made and a special unscheduled train would be standing by for us at Victoria Station. I marveled at the authority and capabilities the new international police force could muster in the immediate granting of special requests and favours on such short notice. Our pace quickened as the hour of our departure drew near. Throughout the morning, a steady stream of both Holmes’ and Thaddeus’ men came and went. They reported the latest information and plans. Telegrams were sent and received. Arrangements were altered and acted upon accordingly in a well—coordinated effort. Finally the hour was at hand. Thaddeus and Holmes gave last minute instructions to their men, and we were off. Our bags had been forwarded to the station earlier. All that was required of us was to enter the coach and be on our way.
In as much as blindfolds were not required, our ride to the station was a bit more civilized than our previous journey. However, the ride was every bit as exhilarating. Upon exiting our sanctuary, we were rushed and prodded into a black armor—plated, iron—shuttered coach. Thankfully we were not forced to sit in total darkness. A lantern in our roomy transport cast a small but welcome glow.
As we chatted, the driver sped through the streets of London and brought us to a dramatic sliding stop at an entrance of Victoria Station that is reserved for government officials and dignitaries. The doors of our coach flew open. We were immediately surrounded by a phalanx of guards. These men of unquestioned character and manners bulled their way through the crowds inside Victoria Station and shepherded us onto the waiting train. Just as we sat down, the engine shuddered to life and slowly pulled away from the platform.
”Good show,” said Holmes, patting Thaddeus on the shoulder. ”You've moved us from one place to another with precision and speed. Congratulations.”
”Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” the young man said.
Having settled in, lunch was soon served. We picked at our food as the landscape blurred by our windows. Holmes informed us that our train had special clearance, which quickly became obvious, as many a train stood idly by on sidings and allowed us to continue on our high speed journey uninterrupted. We arrived at Plymouth at just a quarter past three in the afternoon and climbed into the waiting carriage for the short ride to the ship. After verifying our credentials, a burly man saluted smartly, and we were allowed to board. Walking up the gangway, I paused and turned around, wondering if I would ever see my beloved England again.
”This way, gentleman,” said the steward, as we followed him to our staterooms. Our bags had already been unpacked, save for a small satchel that was securely locked and sitting on Holmes’ bed. This the great detective quickly removed, and then he left to speak with the captain of the Etruria. A short while later, Holmes returned with a porter wheeling a large, heavy crate into the room. After leaving a hammer and pry bar with us, the porter left our compartment. On the top of the crate was the Royal Seal of Queen Victoria. The crate was constructed with the use of double boards on all four sides, and narrower single pieces of stock for the top and bottom. The mysterious crate was secured with a thick chains that wrapped around it. The chains met at the top center, where they were bound together with an ornate lock. To further ensure that the crate had not been tampered with, red wax had been melted onto the slats where they joined, leaving no openings and creating an airtight seal. The nail heads were recessed into the wood and meticulously covered with the same red wax, and the Royal Seal had been pressed into them.
Holmes was amused at the effort put forth by Her Majesty. ”It would seem,” said Holmes, ”that our good Queen shares an interest in foreign intrigue.”
I opened the door to Thaddeus, then said, ”Even you'll admit that the crate is inviolate. Not even the great Sherlock Holmes can open it without being found out.”
”Why, Watson,” Holmes said, shaking his head, ”it's child's play!”
Thaddeus had overheard our conversation. ”Dr. Watson is right. You cannot open the trunk, Mr. Holmes.”
”Ah,” Holmes said. “Watson, do you believe that my faculties have so withered that this young upstart can make sport of me?”
”I'm afraid so, Holmes,” said I, with mock solemnity. ”Your fast life has finally caught up with you.”
Holmes raised his hands in surrender. ”Et tu, Watson? A wager it is then. Name your poison, gentlemen.”
Thaddeus crossed his arms over his chest. ”Make it easy on yourself, Mr. Holmes.”
”Quite right!” I chimed in.
Holmes said, ”A pound then! A pound sterling from each of you. Shall that be your wager?”
”Accepted!” we cried.
”Fine, if you gentlemen will leave me alone for five minutes exactly, I shall be able to collect my money.” Holmes swept his arm towards the door of our compartment. I proceeded to the doorway, but I paused when I realized that Thaddeus hadn't moved. The young man stood watching my friend closely. Holmes grinned and handed the young man the key to the lock. As we were walking out, Thaddeus retrieved the hammer and pry bar.
He spoke over his shoulder to the great detective now standing all alone with the big wooden crate. ”Nice try, Mr. Holmes,” Thaddeus mocked our friend.
Standing just outside the door, we kept the time, and at precisely the five—minute mark, we entered the room.
To our surprise, Sherlock Holmes lay sprawled on his bed with hands clasped behind his neck and his legs crossed at the ankles. He appeared to be taking a nap. Sitting on the floor in the exact spot where we left it was the crate. It was untouched.
”Holmes,” I called, startling him awake, ”What's the meaning of this? Why did you have us stand outside if you were not going to attempt to open the crate?”
”What? Oh, I'm sorry.” He lazily got to his feet. ”It would appear that your opinion of my rapidly diminishing capabilities may have been correct. Perhaps it's time I retire from this grind.”
Thaddeus ignored us both and had his head buried deep within a small closet while busily examining its contents.
Turning around with a stunned look, Thaddeus strode over to the crate and stooped to a crouch so he could inspect it. Rising to his feet, the young man smiled ruefully and shook his head. He walked to Holmes, who was still sprawled upon the bed. Reaching into his pocket, Thaddeus withdrew some coins and tossed them o
nto Holmes’ chest. Turning away, Thaddeus said to me, “Pay the man.”
“Whatever for?” I responded.
”You heard him, Watson!” said Holmes, leaping from the bed. ”Pay the man!”
”What are you two talking about?” I repeated.
”Oh, never mind,” Holmes said. ”Watson? Your expression is worth more than any coin of the realm.”
Holmes rose, walked to the crate, and kicked it across the room. The crate was empty!
”But Holmes! How? The crate is exactly as we had left it.” I gazed at the overturned wooden box with all of its wax seals. For the life of me, I couldn’t see any evidence that the crate had been opened.
Thaddeus strode to the closet. He opened the door to reveal stacks of papers, guns, and other items.
”Thaddeus?” prodded Holmes. ”What do you deduce?”
”First,” he said, as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I would like to say that had there not been a wager, I would never have noticed anything amiss. I would surely have testified that what you had done was impossible.”
”Go on,” Holmes said. He was enjoying his protégé’s deductions.
”It's obvious that the articles in your closet are the contents from the crate.”
Thaddeus walked to the crate and examined it more closely. The young man’s magnifying glass appeared as if by magic. With his eyes level with the crate’s top, he studied its surface and then the lock. Satisfied, he rose and walked about the room. As would a dog on point, Thaddeus’ interest was piqued by Holmes’ razor. The young man eyed the instrument whilst rubbing his own chin. With a decisive nod of his head, he picked up the blade and opened it carefully. He lifted the blade to his nose and sniffed it, placing it back onto the nightstand after closing it again.
Smiling broadly, Thaddeus walked to the porthole and absently stroked the blinds, pulling on the cord so that they went up and down, opened and closed.
He stood with his back to us for some time before he suddenly wheeled around and walked over to Holmes. ”May I see your hands, please?”
My friend dutifully raised his hands so that Thaddeus could examine them. Again, the small magnifying glass was used. At length, Thaddeus stepped away and looked the great detective up and down. ”Would you be kind enough to remove the contents of your right front trouser pocket, Mr. Holmes?”
Holmes’ eyes narrowed, but he acquiesced to Thaddeus’ demand and removed a pocket knife and four spent wooden matches.
”Perfect!” exclaimed Thaddeus. ”I have you now, Mr. Holmes. You have been clever, but I've found you out.”
Holmes smiled at me. ”Watson, have a seat. Thaddeus is about to expose my chicanery and amaze us with his powers of observation and deductive reasoning. Let's see if my teachings amount to anything.”
Thaddeus bowed from his spot as the center stage to our attention.
”Thank you, Mr. Holmes. First, I'd like to say that the citizens of the world should be thankful that you apply your talents for the good of mankind. For if ever there was a man more suited for criminal activities, I have yet to hear of him. Having said that, let's examine the problem. How do you remove articles from a crate that at first glance seemed impenetrable? Your first course of action, I would posit, was the lock?”
Holmes confirmed Thaddeus’ hypothesis with a slight nod.
”Knowing of your many splendid texts on the subject of lock picking, it was simply a matter of applying your written words to action. You merely picked the lock with your pocketknife. The scratches on the lock and blade of your knife show this to be the case. Your next problem was the actual penetration of the crate. The red wax covering the nails and seams proved to be the solution for entry rather than a deterrent. The slight bluing and the smudged carbon on the blade of your razor indicates that the blade had recently been put under extreme heat. The matches in your pocket were the tools you utilized to heat the razor. Having raised the temperature of the razor to a sufficient degree, you carefully sliced off the top of the wax seams, like a knife cutting through butter. Then there was the very delicate removal and manipulation of the Queen's paraffin seals. You put the separated wax aside, for its eventual return back onto the crate.”
I couldn't remain silent any longer.
”Holmes, you've created a monster! Young Thaddeus rattles off his findings as if he had been present here in the room with you the whole time. Had he not been outside the door with me at all times, I would have concluded that you and he were in this together,” I said.
”It's curious,” said Holmes, ”but he reminds me of someone. Unfortunately the fellow’s name escapes me. I'm sorry for interrupting, Thaddeus. You were saying?”
”I was saying,” Thaddeus responded, ”that you then cut off a piece of cord from the blinds over there, and used the cord to pry apart one of the boards as the red welts on your hands will attest. To be precise, it is the top slat on the right hand side of the crate. You simply reached into the crate and removed the articles within. After placing your booty in the closet, you retied the cut—off piece of cord back onto the blinds and resealed the crate. Again, after replacing the board, you applied heat to the razor and pressed it upon the underside of the wax strip. It readily adhered back into place. You rejoined the links of the chain and placed the lock back on. It was indeed a masterful job, Mr. Holmes, except for a single error. You carelessly replaced one of the Royal Seals back onto the crate with the emblem pointing down. As you will observe, all the rest were facing in the same direction. Well, how did I do?”
The young man stood anxiously, awaiting his final grade as Holmes strolled over to the crate and examined his handiwork. He removed one of the waxen seals and turned it so that it faced in the same direction as the others.
”Marvelous!” Holmes said. ”Thaddeus, you've done me proud. No, you've done yourself proud! Well, Watson, do we keep him or toss him back?”
”He's your mirror image, Holmes. As I watched and listened to Thaddeus go about the laborious task of dismantling your crime, it was as if I were seeing you in your youth. You should both be proud of your accomplishments.”
”I'm famished,” Holmes proclaimed, as he placed the items back in the crate and locked it securely. ”Let's eat. Later we'll give the devil his due.”
Our cabins were on the starboard side of the ship. We walked through the breezeway out onto the deck. Somehow knowing where we were going, Holmes led us onward. Many of the passengers were already aboard. Their hurried comings and goings created a festive atmosphere. Nevertheless, we studied them all suspiciously. Having traveled the entire length of the ship, Holmes turned right and led us through an inner door. The cold of winter disappeared as we wended our way through a warren of passageways until we finally entered the main dining room.
A hum of polite chatter filled our ears, as our eyes roamed the large room. ”Mr. Holmes,” said an eager young man, upon seeing us, ”your table is waiting. May I check your coats?”
Still feeling the winter's chill in my bones, I reluctantly surrendered my coat as did Thaddeus and Holmes. We were escorted to our table, where a bottle of Champagne awaited us. As we sat down, the sommelier presented the Champagne to Holmes.
”Splendid!” said Holmes. ”Gentlemen, a toast!”
We stood and raised our glasses as he spoke in whispered tones. ”To the devil!” he said. “My words may appear to be melodramatic but the import and purpose of our trip must not be lost sight of. I shall be serious for but a few moments more this evening. Then we shall feast and speak of the devil no more. Tomorrow we'll review all of the records from the crate and make our plan. But know this, in order to survive, we must not be afraid to die. Therefore, I offer this additional toast. To the death that surrounds us all. To death and the final awakening.”
My ravenous appetite suddenly vanished. Nevertheless, I drank to his atrabilious toast. Over time, his words slipped away. Even now, as I recall our first night on board, I can't help but smile. Throughout the evening, Holme
s presented problems of logic and deductive reasoning for us to solve and worry over. So did Thaddeus, as he challenged Holmes’ own intellect. Admittedly, to the great relief of the young protégé, Holmes systematically and successfully thwarted each of his student’s challenges.
Thaddeus, to my great surprise, was equally productive in deducing the answers to Holmes’ problems. They shared the intellectual stage as equals. We feasted on Dover sole, thinly sliced potatoes prepared with a buttery cheese sauce, carrots cooked with honey and cinnamon. A fine spotted dick pudding finished our meal. We chatted amiably throughout, avoiding the topic that worried us. At long last, Holmes rose from his chair and swallowed the last dregs of his Champagne. “Good night, gentlemen. I'll see you in the morning.”
Thaddeus and I sat for a little longer, talking about desultory subjects. After sharing our own goodnights, Thaddeus and I walked back through the ship and returned to our rooms. Before turning in, I checked on Holmes. He was fast asleep. I turned out the light, closed the door behind me, and returned to my adjoining room. After my toilette, I climbed into bed and quickly fell into a dreamless sleep.
Next morning, feeling that I had just fallen asleep, my mood was instantly grumpy when an obnoxiously cheerful steward pounded on my door and startled me awake. He informed me that Holmes and Thaddeus were awaiting my presence in the library. As I dressed, the man recited the directions on how to find the library. After he completed his instructions, I escorted him to my door and slammed it abruptly.
What an irritating man, I thought, locking the door behind me as I left my room in search of Holmes. After passing through a maze of doorways and passages, and in very short order, I might add, I became lost. As I stood at the center of an unfamiliar junction, I glanced down the length of the different corridors and tried to recall the steward's instructions. Failing to remember a single word, I decided to take the corridor to my left. He was an irritating man, indeed! I thought, irrationally.