The Adventures of Irene Adler : The Irene Adler Trilogy

by San Cassimally

  ‘Do I deduce that you offered the Viscount my wholehearted co-operation in carrying out this task?’

  ‘My dear Sherlock, your powers of deduction, as that fatuous scribbler Wilson keeps telling his credulous readers, almost verge on the supernatural. Yes, I did indeed graciously put your life at his disposal.’

  ‘And I suppose,’ the detective said, ‘there’ll be a knighthood in it after I deliver?’

  ‘Not for you runt, what would you do with it? For me,’ Mycroft Holmes had said with put-on scorn. This was an ongoing joke between the brothers. Once again Sherlock Holmes found himself with no choice.

  ‘Any question before I go?’ Mycroft had asked.

  ‘Yes. Did I really drive Mamma to an early grave?’ Mycroft shook his head. ‘Ach, nay, runt. I have always been a cheat. Did you never wonder why I always beat you at battleships?’

  ***

  ‘And why,’ I asked Homes, ‘are you telling me state secrets? Does it mean that you have made plans for me, and are ready to offer my head on a plate to the Viscount?’ He admitted that he could not think of any way of serving our country without my involvement.

  ‘Right. Where do I come in?’ He said nothing but put a piece of paper in my hand on which was written: “Baron Klaus Von Bork, Verrükt Haus, 12, Park Lane Crescent.” He was obviously amused by my bemusement, and only after I frowned and looked at him questioningly, did he say, ‘The Herr Baron needs a housekeeper. Right up your street, wouldn’t you agree? You’ve got the experience after all.’

  As he took his leave, he looked away and spoke in a whisper. ‘I’m going to be away in Chicago for eight weeks, Melville himself will brief you. In my absence you will report to him.’ When he was at the door he turned round. ‘Oh, Mycroft will pay the rent on your office while it remains closed.’

  Melville, though a Catholic, had been named head of the G-division whose original task was to monitor the activities of Irish rebels and dissidents with the avowed aim of seceding from the British crown. He was deemed to be doing an admirable job and as the clouds of war were gathering overhead, his department had dramatically expanded to include the activities of the nefarious Triple Alliance. The Irishman received me with cold formality and meticulously explained to me what he wanted me to do - twice. I got the distinct impression that he thought that women were mentally deficient but were necessary evils.

  Not for the first time, I dressed myself in staid old maid’s frumpery and went looking for a position of housekeeper. I took a hansom to Park Lane Crescent, where I was ushered in the waiting room of an opulent mansion with too much furniture. To my surprise, it was not the Baronin, but the Herr Baron himself who walked into the library where I had been ushered in by a buxom maid, to interview me. He was an exceedingly handsome, elegant and athletic man, exuding charm from every pore. Everything about him indicated the sportsman and bon viveur. He clicked his heels like the Prussian that he was, and greeted me with great courtesy. I suspected that he was on the point of taking my hand in his to kiss it before remembering that I had come seeking a lowly position in his household. He was the sort of man whom I could easily be attracted to. Except I knew that, his outer urbanity notwithstanding, he was a sinister personage, a dangerous spy who would stop at nothing to inflict damage to our country in every way imaginable. However, here was a man who was indubitably at home with the crème de la crème of the British aristocracy.

  M had told me that besides making a very handsome living as the sole distributor of Steinway Pianos and German Daimler motorcars, Baron von Bork was a first class golfer who regularly trod the links with the eighteen year old Edward Albert, Prince of Wales and his dissolute cousin the Duke of Aumerle. Besides, he indulged in a variety of outdoor activities. This, no doubt, explained his fetching tan. I was immediately won over by the dimple on the left side of his square chin and his limpid blue eyes. Had I not been told that he was devoted to his wife Helga and their three daughters, I would have easily imagined that he consorted with the many frivolous aristocratic English ladies of his acquaintance who must surely have found his charm irresistible. He hardly asked me any question before he smiled and said, ‘‘Frau Märta Braun, willkomen zu Verrükt Hause.’ Or, welcome to the mad house. I think he wanted to give me the impression that he was a gullible aristocratic twit who had swallowed every lie that I told him. I am not, however, as naïve as to accept everything at its face value. My belief was that someone who was at the head of the Kaiser’s spy network in London would be much more discerning than he wanted me to believe. I knew that he had received me in his home, but he would be watching me very closely. If I was not who I was claiming to be, he would indubitably catch me out when I was least expecting it. I was no sooner shown my room than I noticed von Bork’s reaction was no longer relaxed and insouciant in spite of his exterior cheeriness. I had no doubt that I was being scrutinised.

  The first week-end we all went yachting with Graf von Herling and his wife, in the latter’s yacht the Zweite Winde. The Graf was only second to Prince Karl Max Lichnowsky, at Carlton House Terrace, the seat of the German Embassy. Helga and the Gräfin were very carefree, as were the girls. The Gräfin, herself childless, was a cheerful plump woman who adored the girls. On the other hand, to the two men, a pleasure trip was no frivolous matter. It was not something to be undertaken lightly. The moment we climbed on board, the Baron remonstrated with us for being late. ‘Beeile dich, lobrir,’ he said to the girls. ‘You are ninety seven seconds late.’ He might have been joking. They had carefully planned every step of the way, the cruising speed, the fuel consumption, the route, and even, I daresay, how to position the chairs on the deck and when to sneeze. We were aiming for the Isle of Sheppey, which according to their calculation, we would reach eight minutes before seven. The plan was that we would eat dinner at half past seven. The two men had estimated that this activity would take us twenty-three minutes, but were kind enough to add two extra minutes. Für den falls. The children would do twenty minutes’ exercise before going to bed at nine twenty eight- again two extra minutes thrown in. The adults would stay up for exactly one hour more. The trip went smoothly, and according to schedule. We found a good berth next to a dozen or so other crafts.

  We ate a copious dinner and played charades in English until it was time for the three girls to prepare for the night. I was surprised that it was the Gräfin who volunteered to tuck them in.

  Helga just blew them a vague kiss. I was beginning to feel uneasy for no reason that I knew, but I was soon to find out. The two men meant to grill me in depth. Would they throw me overboard if I failed their test? At a pre-arranged sign, the two wives moved their deckchairs at the other end of the boat. To watch the waves, they said. The two men meant me to believe that they were just making small talk, but the questions were so well-structured that I imagined that they had spent a whole morning preparing them. They took turns to ask about my background, my history, what I read, whether I liked music, my politics etc. M had carefully prepared me for such a grilling. I dutifully spouted the lessons I had learnt, and I daresay I gave a good account of myself. The English were undisciplined. They lacked purpose. They had a deluded belief that they were as intelligent as us Teutons. To them everything had a funny side. If they say nine thirty they meant anything between nine thirty-five and ten. They had never produced a single great composer. They talked about Shakespeare but no one reads him. Anyway that son of a butcher wasn’t in the same league as our own Goethe. They nodded happily to all this. I was doing well. Suddenly the Graf asked why, if I despised England and the English so much, I was still living in the country.

  ‘Once we win this coming war, it is my ambition to go back to Vienna,’ I replied. Von Bork shook his head. ‘No, Märta, that was not an answer to the question we asked.’

  ‘I know,’ I said with an apologetic laugh, but continued more assertively. ‘My reason is personal. I prefer not to talk about it. You must allow me s
ome privacy.’ Don’t be too supine.

  Remember you’re a proud Teuton. They will respect you for a little defiance, but don’t overdo it.

  That was M’s advice.

  ‘But-’

  ‘After the war, we will both go back.’ This seemed to satisfy them, but I was taking nothing for granted.

  Next day, it was still splendid weather and the Zweite Winde was the first out of the cove. After a pleasant tour at the mouth of the river we made for Southend where we disembarked for a two hour stop over, to enable the girls to eat some ice-cream and visit the Mirror Room, which they adored. We were back in Putney eight minutes before sunset. As planned.

  ***

  I had been amazed when Mr Holmes had intimated that he was going to be away in Chicago just when the country needed him most, but it occurred to me that his voyage might have something to do with a mission entrusted to him. My brief was to keep my ears and eyes open, make note of anything out of the ordinary, to win over the young frauleins, Loretta, Brunhilde and Irmgarde, and to wait for further instructions. I found that the Baronin, who was an artist, spent most of her time in her studio in the attic. This had been specially fitted with large skylights to make the room airy and bright. She specialised in lurid abstracts. I further discovered that she sometimes partook of laudanum which made her drowsy and distant, although I would not go as far as to say that she was addicted to the opiate. It was not difficult winning over the girls, for they were singularly sweet-tempered and enjoyed making gentle fun of my accent and turns of phrases. Which did not stop them taking to me.

  The fact that the poor dears were neglected by their mother must have worked in my favour. The lady was courteous enough, but she was much given to sarcasm, directed towards her daughters as much as to me. On the Zweite Winde, I had not failed to notice a little indulgent, if sarcastic, smile on her lips every time Klaus gave some pompous instruction to us. Her dedication to her painting was so thorough that she gave me the impression that she would not be a big obstacle to my spying activities. Not that I was taking anything for granted.

  After just another week-end of yachting, I noticed that the two men were beginning to take me at face value. I had developed a skill I learnt from Mr Holmes’ monograph on the subject, of determining people’s frame of mind by dint of their body and eye movements. This had become an invaluable weapon in my armoury, when dealing with people I wanted to get into the head of. I was satisfied that they now looked upon me with trust, and even, I daresay, friendship. A number of incidents, which included the replacing of my predecessor in the household, a gentle Yorkshire widow, by someone with Teutonic credentials, had more or less convinced me about the truth of M’s conjecture about him being the man working with Number 24 Kaiser Wilhelmstrasse. One consequence of this change in the rapport between us, was that Klaus was dropping his guard, having been convinced that I was a fanatical partisan of the Triple Alliance.

  Until now, whenever there was a coded knock at the door- three sharp raps with a cane, a long pause followed by just one muffled punch- he indicated that he would open the door himself, and motioned me away to my chores elsewhere. My instructions had been to place drinks and refreshments on a tray in the piano room which was next to the library where he received his agents, leave them there, and knock on the door separating the rooms to indicate this. However, in a matter of weeks, he was allowing me to usher in the visitors, and bring in the collation. It was thus that I came face to face with the traitors who were selling our secrets to his wicked government. I was even able to gather their names. Eric Steiner was a shop owner plying his trade in Portsmouth. I heard them talk about harbour defences. Jack James sounded Irish but von Bork mentioned inadvertently that he was in fact American. I heard them talk about Egypt and Abyssinia. Hollis was a “respected” civil servant, and I suspected that he was giving away government policy secrets. He had as much as admitted to me who he was. I think that he was attracted to my person, and was determined to impress me. M’s instruction had been quite scandalous: if information is to be gained from these traitors, any sacrifice must be contemplated. “Do you understand?” I found the aforesaid Hollis revolting and was determined that I would only follow M’s advice if I became totally convinced of its necessity.

  Obviously I had no idea what these valuable articles that my employer had paid handsomely for were all about. The moment the agents left, he would open his impregnable safe perched on a table with a marble top in the middle of a wall in the library, and stack them in there, almost always unread. This might have been as instructed by Wilhemstrasse. M had curtly ordered me to find the means of cracking open the safe. That was a tall order. It was made of a massive alloy which was like nothing that I had come across until now. I surmised that it was something that German chemists had only recently synthesised and which had not yet been mass-produced.

  Although I am inured in the art of safe-cracking, I had to concede that this one was going to be more daunting. It was fitted with a combination lock consisting of a double disc, the outer one of 26 letters and the inner one of 10 digits. Unless one knew the code, it was well-nigh impossible to break into. I promised myself that I would end up delivering the goods, even if I was faced with the task of discovering one correct combination from more than a possible trillions. M who knew about German practices, had suggested that the combination might be of 6 letters and 4 digits. The more curious reader might wish to work out this sum: 26.26.26.26.26.26 x 10.10.10.10.

  In Dr Watson’s flawed version of the same story, von Bork reveals the code to Holmes. Did his readers wonder why he would have done that?

  Most days I would have at least two hours, sometimes a lot more, at the Verrükt Haus when I would be on my own. The girls attended a special school for the children of German diplomats and businessmen, the Friedrich Schiller Grundschule in Goodge Street, from half past eight to four. Helga usually shut herself up in her studio in the attic for long periods. Most mornings, the Baron drove away in his beloved Daimler Roi des Belges Tourer. His week was roughly divided into three chunks. When he did not go to his showrooms in Piccadilly, or was not at Verrükt Haus to receive his sinister associates, he would either be on the golf course or he’d be motoring with his aristocratic English friends. He loved the English countryside, he often said.

  I would have had ample time to try a number of combinations on the safe, but even at the rate of ten attempts per minute, it would take me over fifty thousand years to find the right one, by which time I would probably have no fingers left.

  The first task I set myself was to discover the code. Where to start? I racked my brains and the only thing that I could think of was to peep through a hole from the adjacent room. I was not, however, very sanguine about the workability of this strategy. At best, one would get a very restricted view of the ample back of the Herr Baron. This would be eminently efficient in hiding everything else from view. Besides it was a risky venture. If caught, I doubt whether he would have been satisfied with only dismissing me. I imagined my lifeless body being fished out of the Thames.

  In spite of his urbane exterior, I was assured that he was as ruthless as they came, and had assassins ready to carry out his bidding. M had told me that Moriarty’s erstwhile deputy, the insane Colonel Sebastian Moran, who was said to have lost all sense of reality, was in his employ. When I accepted the challenge, I knew that I was putting my life on the line. I love life, but I am not afraid of dying for a cause.

  The library, where the Baron received his informers was next door to the piano room. I spent a good deal of time looking at every nook and cranny in that room in an attempt to find the best place to drill a peep-hole. On the wall above the safe there was a painting of the three girls, in the style of the Impressionists, which was quite the rage. I would find out later, that, as I had suspected, it was done by their mother. On either of its side there were bookcases reaching to the ceiling. On the left, there was a partition c
onsisting mainly of glass windows, giving into the garden from where any curious trespasser would have been spotted immediately. Against the two other walls there were more bookcases side by side, with useful gaps between them, though none of them would have served my purpose. On the right there was a proper wall. It was thick and solid, and would have made the drilling of a hole through it well-nigh impossible. The only other choice was the opposite wall, which fortunately consisted of a single wooden partition, separating the library and the children’s piano room, but a massive cupboard placed in its middle would have prevented direct visual access. I therefore had no choice but to pick a spot halfway between the cupboard and the right hand corner. It was the best that I could find, even if the view to the safe was going to be oblique rather than direct. One day when I was by myself, I took the plunge. Using a screwdriver, I managed to dig a hole the size of a pea, which I immediately filled with putty of the right colour.

  At the Club des As, the reader might recall, we had worked on a technique for eavesdropping from a distance, by watching the lips of the people we wanted to spy on. Unfortunately it would never be possible for me to be in the right place to do this without attracting attention. I was now allowed to bring in a tray of schnapps or whisky and a couple of glasses for the visitors, but the moment I appeared, they either stopped talking or changed subject. I was trusted, but only up to a p oint. All I ever read on the lips of the visitors was how they felt about the weather as they came in.

  I was ready to start experimenting the day Edwin Hollis turned up. The moment he left, I made for the piano room, removed my putty stopper for a good peep. The Baron approached the safe with the file which his visitor had given him. As I had suspected, all I saw was his rather broad back. He bent forward slightly, and all I saw was the movement of his body as he operated the locking system. I realised that there was nothing to be gained by my venture apart from the knowledge that it took three minutes. It confirmed what I already knew: that the code was not going to be simple to crack.