by Ashton, Hugh
“I am disappointed in you, Sherlock. I had expected more from you than this. Yes, you have done excellently in discovering the cause of death, and in identifying the killer. There is no doubt that you have achieved much in this regard. I suppose,” he sighed, “that you cannot be held to be at fault in allowing the letter to disappear from the safe at Ledbury, though I naturally expect you to discover the means by which it vanished, and the perpetrator. Allowing Mahoney to escape, however,” and here his voice took on a sharper tone, “was inexcusable. The man is a menace to this country.”
“On account of the letter that he has in his possession?” I asked.
“On account of who he is, Doctor,” Mycroft Holmes informed me. “I was anxious for Cardinal Tosca to make this visit to England at least in part because I knew that he would be accompanied by Mahoney.”
“I fail to understand what you are saying here.”
“Monsignor Mahoney is a known Fenian of the deepest dye. One of those who will agitate for Home Rule—between ourselves, I do not consider that to be a bad thing in itself—but Mahoney has links to those who will stop at nothing to achieve their ends. For a man of the cloth, he associates with men who are themselves associated with violence—that is to say, they are men who seek to overthrow the government of this land by force of arms and revolt. I do not say that he himself is guilty of violence, but we know—and I cannot provide further details to you at this juncture—that he plays a central role in the organisation.”
“Why did you not tell us of this earlier?” asked Sherlock Holmes.
“It was not considered necessary for you to know,” his brother answered him shortly.
“You mean that you did not think it worth your while to tell me,” my friend said, with some warmth in his voice.
“Not I alone, Sherlock,” was the reply, given in a softer tone of voice. “The Home Secretary, the Prime Minister and I all agreed that the knowledge of Monsignor Mahoney’s links with these hooligans should be kept to the smallest number possible. But it was my hope that by observing him and his doings, we would be able to uncover more of the nest of vipers. Ledbury Hall was chosen for the reasons that you have been informed of, as well as for its relative isolation, which would enable us to take careful note of any visitors.”
“Does Lord Ledbury know of any of this?” I could not refrain from asking.
Mycroft Holmes gave a bitter laugh. “Naturally he knows nothing. It was not considered necessary for him to know. Before setting the hounds after the vanished Mahoney, though, we have a more urgent task ahead of us. That is, we must inform the public of the death of the Cardinal. He had made himself a little more visible in the British public’s eye than we would have wished, and his sudden disappearance from the public stage may raise a few eyebrows.”
“Then I would suggest that we continue with the fiction that he suffered some sort of apoplectic fit which resulted in his death. If you wish me to make a public announcement to that effect, I will do so, and Watson here will provide the medical backing to the story.”
“Your name and that of Dr. Watson here would no doubt add considerable verisimilitude to the story,” mused Mycroft. “I will also add that Tosca died in a hotel, rather than at Ledbury Hall. It will avoid some questions, and will also divert any possible unwelcome attention away from Ledbury. In addition, I feel it would be as well to have an official police statement, to still any remaining doubts.”
“I leave that to you to arrange.” It was plain to me that Sherlock Holmes was a little offended by his brother’s suggestion.
“Is there any police officer in particular whom you feel could handle this task to advantage?”
Sherlock Holmes was prompt in his response. “Inspector Stanley Hopkins. He has intelligence and discretion. If you involve him in this matter, he will be brought to the attention of his superiors, and that would be no bad thing for his career. He is one of the few Scotland Yard detectives whom I would like to see advanced in the force.”
“Very well,” answered his brother, making a note in a small book. “I will ensure that he is assigned to the case, and will be available to assist you in your pursuit of Mahoney and the letter.”
“Are there not special branches in the official departments who should be chasing Mahoney?” I asked him. “Is it not somewhat unreasonable for you to be asking your brother to do this work?”
“There are indeed such departments within the police force, and within other organs of the government,” Mycroft admitted. “However, there are too many of them for comfort, and they often seem to bear a greater animosity towards each other than they do towards their assigned adversaries. No, in this case it is definitely better that Sherlock is assigned to the task. Given the current state of the Home Office, not to mention the personal wishes of the Prime Minister and His Holiness, my brother must lead the investigation. Believe me, Sherlock,” he said, turning to his brother, “though I may be less than delighted at the current turn of events, you should not look on this task in any way as being retribution for sins of omission or commission. I know you well enough that I need not stress further the importance of this whole affair. We are all eagerly awaiting the return of the letter, as you know. And if Mahoney is captured into the bargain, Her Majesty’s Government will be well pleased with the situation.”
“Very good,” his younger brother answered him. “Rest assured that I will do all I can to settle things as quickly as possible.”
“And discreetly,” added Mycroft Holmes in a stern tone. “Doctor, I need hardly remind you that this is one of Sherlock’s cases which is not to be mentioned in public.”
It was a novel experience for me to see Sherlock Holmes, usually as self-assured a man as one could wish to meet, shrink into himself under the sting of his brother’s words. “Very good, Mycroft,” he mumbled. “Come, Watson.”
“This is a pretty situation,” he grumbled to me as we made our way down Whitehall, almost deserted at this time of night. “It is all very well for Mycroft to offer me Hopkins as an assistant, but in a case like this, where a man has gone to earth in the warren of the metropolis—and we cannot even be sure that he has done that—it is a small army that is required, not one man with no connection to the special branches of the police dealing with these matters, however capable he may be as an individual.”
“It is hard to know where to start,” I agreed.
“As always in such cases, one starts from the beginning,” retorted Holmes. “We will make our way back to Ledbury and seek out whatever clues are to be found there.”
“Tonight?” I asked, somewhat incredulously.
“Indeed. I believe that we will be in good time for the last train from King’s Cross if we do not dawdle on the way.”
“And leave Mahoney to run around London?”
“I have a strong suspicion, my dear Watson, that he is the least of our problems. He has become, if I am not wholly mistaken, an embarrassment to his colleagues in the movement of which he is a member. It would not surprise me in the least were his body to be discovered floating in the Thames, or in some dark and forgotten alleyway within the next few days.”
“Holmes, you shock me. Do you really believe that his associates would do such a thing?”
Sherlock Holmes shook his head gravely. “Consider this,” he said to me. “These groups wish to preserve their secrecy. If Mahoney is sought by the authorities, all of the gang may be in danger of discovery. And if he is captured, the risk of his betraying his comrades to their enemies becomes much greater, does it not? It is therefore simpler for them simply to dispose of him.”
The matter-of-fact way in which Holmes casually described the murder of a fellow human being sent a shiver through me. “You seem very sure of this. Will Mahoney himself not have considered this, however?”
“It is quite likely,” admitted Holmes. “But he is one, and they are many. I do not give much for his chances, especially as Mycroft has no doubt set a watch on the ports, and
it will be impossible for him to leave the country.”
“And the letter? Do you not consider that he will be carrying it with him?”
Again my friend shook his head. “If Mahoney has the brains for which I give him credit—and he is by no means a stupid or foolish man—he will have secreted the letter in a place where he can use it to preserve his life. That letter means more to his group than almost any other object on this earth. If he can persuade the other members that he is the only one in possession of the knowledge of its whereabouts, it is possible that he may save his life, albeit temporarily.”
I shuddered. “And you feel that the letter may be at Ledbury still?”
“I consider it more than likely.”
“But we were told that he was carrying a document case when he left,” I protested.
Holmes considered this, but only briefly. “Bluff, Watson, mere bluff, I consider.”
We had by this time reached the station, and as Holmes had foretold, there was a train departing for Ledbury in a few minutes. We purchased first-class tickets, and settled ourselves in a compartment. I took up my end of the conversation.
“How much, do you consider, did Cardinal Tosca know of his secretary’s political leanings?” I asked Sherlock Holmes.
“That, my dear Watson, is a very interesting question. It is quite possible, is it not, that the Cardinal had discovered somehow that his secretary was involved in this business, and had threatened to expose him? Maybe he had even threatened to remove him from the priesthood as a consequence.” Having said which, he added, “We have work before us, Watson,” and closed his eyes, seemingly falling asleep instantly. For my part, my mind raced through the fantastic possibilities and the task that lay before us, and I was unable to obtain any rest until we reached Ledbury station.
Señor Juan Alvarez – Ledbury Hall
We arrived at Ledbury Hall a little after eleven o'clock, having persuaded the village carter to convey us from the station, Holmes rewarding him generously for his service. Alvarez, the butler, opened the door in answer to our ringing the bell, with a look of complete astonishment on his face. From his appearance, he had obviously thrown on his coat hurriedly, and his speech was a little slurred, leading me to believe that he had been drinking.
“I believed you gentlemen to be in London, sir, he addressed Holmes. His Lordship gave me to understand that that was the case. I am afraid that his Lordship has retired for the night. If you wish, however, I could wake him, should you desire to speak with him.”
“No, no, Alvarez,” Holmes informed him in that easy manner of his. “There is nothing that requires his Lordship's urgent attention.”
“I am not sure that your beds have been properly aired. I will wake the housekeeper immediately and see to it, though.” He turned as if to move away, but Holmes put a strong hand on his shoulder.
“There is no need for that. There is work for Doctor Watson and myself to be done, and I doubt very much whether we will require a bed tonight.” As Holmes spoke these words, I fancied that I saw a look of surprise and worry pass over the man's face, but it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, and I could not be certain that I had, in fact, seen it.
“Very good, sir. May I bring you some refreshment?”
“That will not be necessary, thank you.”
“May I ask where you wish to perform your work, sir? I should perhaps inform you that the local firm of undertakers removed His Eminence's body some hours ago.” His voice was formal and a little distant, and Holmes adopted a similar tone when replying.
“Thank you for that information, Alvarez. I propose to start in the rooms which were occupied and used by Monsignor Mahoney and his late Eminence. Perhaps you will be good enough to lead us to them?”
“Very good, sir. Please follow me.” He led the way up the stairs to a door at the end of the passage. “The three rooms that may be reached through this door, consisting of two bed-rooms and one sitting-room, form a self-contained suite of rooms. The arrangement of the rooms was made for his present Lordship when he was younger, I am given to understand.”
“Out of interest, Alvarez, how long have you been in Lord Ledbury's service?” Holmes spoke almost nonchalantly, but I could sense that the answer to the question held some importance in Holmes' eyes.
“A matter of some a few months, sir.”
“And prior to that?”
“It is not my place to discuss such matters, sir.”
“Come now.” Holmes spoke with some asperity. “You know well on what business I am engaged here, and I am sure that you are well aware of some of the implications of the events that have taken place in this house over the past few days.”
The butler swallowed nervously. “I held the position of head footman at the household of His Eminence in Rome for a number of years before coming here. I had held a similar post in the household of His Eminence when he held the title of Archbishop of Toledo.”
“Thank you, Alvarez.”
We entered the sitting-room which had been used as a study by Tosca and Mahoney. Since we had been informed that Mahoney had departed Ledbury Hall with a document case in his hand, and also taking into account the fact that there had been a considerable number of papers on the dining-room table which had apparently vanished, I was not expecting many papers to remain, but I was mistaken. There was an untidy stack of papers on the small occasional table, upon which Holmes pounced like a tiger on its prey, furiously scanning the sheets and tossing them aside with an expression of disappointment as he failed to locate what he was seeking.
“I should have anticipated that such a document would be well hidden,” he remarked. He took in the mass of deed boxes and other containers stacked beside a bureau. “If Mahoney has really left the fatal letter here, the perfect hiding-spot would be here, in one of these.”
“I fail to grasp your meaning. Surely this would be the first place one would attempt a search?”
“If he were to hide the letter among all the other papers here, most searchers would abandon the quest in disgust before even attempting to find it.”
“I agree, it appears to be an impossible task.”
“Hardly that,” smiled my friend, pulling the ever-present lens from his pocket, and bending to examine the first of the boxes, before stopping to examine the next. “Ha!” he exclaimed suddenly, after he had examined some six or seven containers. “I think we may be relatively certain that it is one of these two here.” He tugged at the lid of one of the boxes he had indicated, but to no avail. “No matter,” he remarked, drawing out his picklocks. After a minute or so, the box lid flew open at his touch, to reveal a pile of papers. “Here, do you take these,” he ordered me, presenting me with the sheets at the top of the pile, “and I will search through the remainder.”
I was puzzled by how Holmes expected us to recognise the letter for which we were searching, and mentioned this to him.
“In this case, Watson, it would appear to be a case for dedication rather than inspiration. We must examine every document and the contents of every envelope. It is not without the bounds of possibility that he has filled another envelope with the letter.”
I felt a little uneasiness at this examination of another's correspondence and private papers, albeit in the service of my country. Holmes, however, appeared to be displaying no such scruples, and was soon engaged in rapidly scanning the papers in his hand, and laying the discarded papers to one side. I followed his lead, but was unable to locate any document which bore a resemblance to that which had been described to us.
I could not help but remark the contents of some of the papers that passed before my eyes. Even now, it would be injudicious in the extreme to detail their contents. I can only say that Cardinal Tosca was involved in an astonishing variety of activities, involving the governments of most European nations. As I laid the last of the papers on the table, Holmes spoke.
“Indeed, Watson. I have been watching your expression as you have been lookin
g through these papers, and I can only say that I am as amazed as you. I had no idea that Tosca had his fingers in all these pies. Strictly speaking, I would say that these papers are still the property of the Church, but I think it behooves us to make my brother aware of the matters contained in them. Still, we may be sure that the letter we seek is not in this box. Let us try the other.” So saying, he positively flew at the other box he had previously indicated, and in a matter of a few seconds had opened it. “Here,” he ordered brusquely, presenting me with a fresh collection of documents.
After a search through the box, at the very bottom, I came across an envelope which appeared to be of unusual quality and thickness. On opening it, I extracted a document, handwritten in the Italic hand of a master of the art on a heavy laid paper, which, while not precisely that for which we were searching, nonetheless appeared to be of more than a little relevance. It bore the device of the Holy See at the top of the page, and was written in Latin, a language with which I was (and still am) less familiar than perhaps I should be (save for the medical terms I encountered in my profession). A heavy wax seal was appended.
As a result of my being unable to read the Latin, I passed the letter to Holmes, who appeared to be reading it with the same degree of fluency as he could read a document written in our English tongue.
“Well, Watson, this is not the document we have been seeking, but it is one of great interest to us, nonetheless. Indeed, it is even more dangerous to the security of this nation. This document, prepared by the highest authorities in the Vatican itself, is an expression of intent between the Church of Rome and the British Crown. On the succession to the throne of the person in question, the Church of Rome will become the official religion of this nation. There are spaces for the seal and signature of the Royal personage involved. The seal and mark of the Holy See are already present. We may take it that Tosca's mission was to obtain the written consent of the Royal personage, following which, this country would automatically fall under the leadership of the Bishop of Rome on the accession of the signatory. There would be no room for equivocation. This document is explicit.”