by Andrew Lane
The carriage rattled downhill, along rutted roads and past irregular fields, overgrown furze bushes, clumps of ash and rowan trees and the occasional thatched cottage, until it reached Galway. Mycroft banged on the roof as they approached the hotel in which he and Sherlock had stayed just after Sherlock’s arrival on the Gloria Scott.
‘Wait here for us,’ he called up to the driver as the carriage slowed to a halt. ‘We will be less than an hour, in my estimation. If you wish to take a break then do so, as long as you are back within the hour.’
The three of them headed into the hotel.
‘Still not sure what we are doin’ here,’ Crowe rumbled.
‘We are seeking reinforcements,’ Mycroft replied enigmatically.
Sherlock glanced around to see who these potential reinforcements might be. Within a handful of seconds it was obvious, and he felt his heart suddenly get a lot lighter.
Matty Arnatt and Rufus Stone were sitting in armchairs in the hotel lobby.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘Sherlock!’ Matty shouted across the lobby, making heads turn. He rushed across and skidded to a halt in front of his friend. He didn’t seem to know whether to hug Sherlock or shake his hand. In the end he settled for punching Sherlock hard in the shoulder. ‘I wasn’t sure you were ever coming back!’
‘There were times,’ Sherlock admitted, smiling in delight, ‘when I wasn’t sure either.’
‘’Ow long you been away?’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘Don’t have a calendar, nor a watch. There’s been a whole load of snow between you leaving and you coming back, so I reckon it’s been nearly a year.’
‘That much and some more,’ Sherlock said ruefully.
‘Albert’s dead.’ Matty’s face was serious. ‘Just stopped trottin’ one day, fell down and died, right in front of me.’
‘Virginia told me, in a letter.’
‘Got a new ’orse, though, name of ’Arold.’
Mycroft placed his hands on their shoulders. ‘Heartwarming though this reunion is, there are some important matters we need to discuss. Let us make ourselves comfortable and talk.’
Rufus Stone was standing up when Sherlock and the others got over to him. He nodded at Mycroft and at Amyus Crowe, but he shook Sherlock’s hand warmly.
‘Good to see you again, kid. I had visions of you settling down in China and learning how to play one of those abominable stringed instruments that you see in waterfront bars in Limehouse.’
‘Tempting,’ Sherlock replied, ‘but the violin is hard enough. I have been practising, by the way. All the time.’
‘There’s always going to be at least one fiddle player on a working ship,’ Stone said, smiling. ‘The trouble is they rarely practise their scales, despite the proximity of so many fish.’
Sherlock winced at the joke. ‘It’s good to be back,’ he said.
Mycroft gestured at them all to sit down. ‘No doubt you are wondering,’ he said to Sherlock and Crowe, ‘why these two unsavoury characters are here.’
‘You sent them a telegram.’ Sherlock shrugged. ‘It’s obvious.’
‘You did not decode that telegram.’ Mycroft scowled.
‘No, but you asked me to send an urgent telegram after you were attacked, and now Rufus and Matty are here. There’s a clear connection to be made.’
‘Indeed.’ Mycroft didn’t seem mollified. ‘Knowing that I was coming here to Galway, and knowing that I would be meeting you and that we might end up with a situation that we could not handle, I took the precaution of putting Mr Stone on alert. I did not specifically ask him to bring young Matthew, but I did not rule the possibility out.’
‘We relocated to Liverpool,’ Stone said, ‘and waited for further instructions. The minute we got Mr Holmes’s telegram, we set out for Ireland.’
‘But I sent the telegram to London,’ Sherlock said, and then caught himself with an exclamation. ‘Of course – you had someone resend the telegram to the intended recipients.’
‘Never, if you can help it, give away either your intentions or your agents,’ Mycroft said. He clapped his hands together. ‘Now – I need to brief the two of you on recent events.’
Succinctly, Mycroft summarized everything that had happened. While he spoke, pots of tea and plates of sandwiches and cakes were brought to them.
‘You’re taller than you used to be,’ Matty whispered to Sherlock while Mycroft was speaking. ‘And you’re thinner as well. And you’ve got a tan.’
‘You’re smaller than you used to be,’ Sherlock countered.
‘That don’t make any sense. People don’t get smaller as they grow up. That’s why it’s called growing up.’
‘I was joking.’ Sherlock paused for a moment. ‘But you are bigger around the waist. Too many pies filched from the market stalls?’
‘There’s this woman who runs a baker’s,’ Matty explained with a sniff. ‘She’s kind of adopted me. She feeds me stuff all the time, even when I don’t want it.’ A puzzled look crossed his face. ‘I’ve never not wanted food before. It’s a strange feeling.’
‘It’s called “feeling full”,’ Sherlock pointed out. ‘Get used to it.’
‘So,’ Mycroft said, glaring at the two of them, ‘we have something of a conundrum. Who killed Sir Shadrach Quintillan, and why?’
‘From the sound of it, there are three different groups of villains involved,’ Stone said, picking up a sandwich. ‘Firstly, you have Sir Shadrach and Mr Albano, supported by the castle staff and possibly Quintillan’s daughter. They were involved in faking the psychic events so they could make a tidy profit from auctioning off Albano’s services, and in arranging the fake kidnapping in order to make him seem more important.’
‘Agreed, and obvious,’ Mycroft said.
‘Secondly, you have the person who attacked you – Count Shuvalov’s assistant, but acting outside his authority.’
‘Again,’ Mycroft said, ‘you state the obvious.’
‘And thirdly, you have the mysterious person or persons who want to sabotage the entire auction process, and have done so by killing Sir Shadrach Quintillan.’
Sherlock frowned. ‘How can you be sure they want to sabotage the auction process? The whole thing was trickery from start to finish.’
‘But from what your brother has said, the knowledge that the third demonstration of psychic powers was a trick is known only to the five of us here. For that reason, it couldn’t have been any of the international representatives who killed Sir Shadrach. They obviously still believe in Ambrose Albano’s powers, and want the auction to happen. They wouldn’t have sabotaged it.’
‘The violinist has a point,’ Crowe rumbled. ‘There’s a third party somewhere here, an’ we don’t know who they are.’
‘We know some things about them,’ Sherlock pointed out. ‘We know that they believe in Ambrose Albano’s psychic abilities, we know that they don’t want any of the great international nations to have access to those abilities, and we know that they want to use those abilities themselves.’
‘’Ow do you figure that out?’ Matty asked. He was following the conversation with interest.
‘Because they killed Sir Shadrach, but left Ambrose Albano alive. If they wanted to stop any of the Empires from using the psychic then they would have killed Albano instead.’
Matty nodded. ‘Fair point.’ He frowned, thinking. ‘So why didn’t they kidnap this Albano bloke earlier? If it ’ad been me, I would’ve grabbed ’im first chance I got.’
‘They didn’t grab him earlier,’ Mycroft explained, ‘because your friend Sherlock had exposed him as a fake during the second séance. They were probably getting ready to pack up and go home, knowing that the international representatives were going to do the same thing, when Sir Shadrach staged that miracle come-back using the trick with the painting. That put them on the alert again. We need to arrange an opportunity for them, and not give them enough time to make anything more than a rudimentary plan.�
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‘We also know that they have an agent inside the house,’ Sherlock added. ‘They must have, in order to get information on the progress of negotiations, and also to have got Sir Shadrach out without anyone noticing. That gives us an edge.’
Mycroft nodded. ‘We can provide them with false information to bring them out into the open, just by discussing it openly in the house.’
‘Ah see,’ Crowe said. ‘Make them think that there’s a deal goin’ down an’ that Ambrose Albano is about to be whisked away by one of us. They’ll have to move rapidly then to keep hold of him.’
Sherlock frowned. ‘Where is Albano? I haven’t seen him since last night.’
‘He has locked himself in his room,’ Mycroft said. ‘He is terrified that he might be killed next. He was interviewed by the police, but through a locked door. I think we can assume he’ll want to stay there.’ He looked around the group. ‘What I propose is this. First: Sherlock, Mr Crowe and I return to the castle. Second: I brief Ambrose Albano to keep quiet and stay in his room. Third: Mr Crowe makes a big noise about having been ordered by the US President to make a deal with Mr Albano and tells everyone that he and Albano will be leaving within the hour. Fourth: Mr Stone and young Matty hire a coach and horses and get them to turn up at the castle later this afternoon. Fifth: Mr Stone and I work out where, along the route that the coach will take back to Galway, would be the logical place for an attack to take place. Sixth: Mr Stone and young Matty wait there, along with some locals that Mr Stone will have to hire. Seventh—’
‘I think we understand the plan,’ Sherlock interrupted, ‘but how will we make it look like Mr Crowe is taking Mr Albano away if he’s locked in his room?’
‘That,’ Mycroft said, ‘is a very good question.’ He turned to Rufus Stone. ‘Did you bring the things that I asked for?’
‘I did.’ Stone lifted up a case that was beside his chair. ‘Theatrical make-up, wigs, all kinds of stuff to make one person look like another.’
Mycroft looked at Sherlock. ‘You, Sherlock, have the general build and the thinness of Mr Albano. With some pale make-up and a black wig you could, at a distance, be an acceptable substitute – and we know that this mysterious third party will be observing from a distance. They have to.’
Crowe shifted in his seat in concern. ‘What about that singular crystal eye of his? Difficult to fake that. Could give the game away.’
‘Ah.’ Mycroft thought for a moment. ‘An eyepatch is probably the only answer. That or Sherlock has to keep his head down.’
‘Not so,’ Sherlock said. ‘Leave it to me – I think I can do better.’
Mycroft looked around the group again, meeting everyone’s gaze. ‘Does everyone know their assigned parts in this? Is everyone reasonably content that those parts can be accomplished?’
‘One question,’ Rufus Stone said. ‘When I and these local thugs that I have yet to hire leap out from hiding and stop the kidnap attempt, what is our aim? I doubt we can make arrests, and I don’t want to get anyone into a fight to the death with a desperate criminal.’
‘I want to flush out whoever is responsible for giving the orders.’ Mycroft’s face was stony. ‘If there is an obvious leader then take them, and let the rest escape. If not then take anyone you can and we can question them at our leisure to find out who they are working for and where they are based.’ He looked around the table. ‘Are we all clear?’
Crowe, Stone, Sherlock and Matty looked at each other, then back at Mycroft. They all nodded at once.
‘Very well, let us begin. I do not need to tell you how important this is, or how dangerous.’
‘Nobody told me this trip was going to be dangerous,’ Matty murmured to nobody in particular. ‘Is it too late to go back home?’
Outside, the carriage was waiting to take Sherlock, Mycroft and Crowe back to the castle. As they got in, Sherlock spotted Rufus Stone and Matty leaving the hotel and heading towards the quayside.
‘Do you think they’ll be able to find enough men to help them?’ he asked.
Mycroft nodded. ‘You can usually find enough men on a quayside to do almost anything, up to and including taking control of a small country. In this case, Mr Stone merely needs five or six reliable men who aren’t worried that they might – actually, that they almost certainly will – get involved in a fight. Or perhaps double or triple that number if, when he examines the map of the local area, he finds several places that would serve equally well as the site of a hijack and kidnapping. The problem he will have is making sure they understand and follow their instructions, but he is naturally at home in their environment, and he talks the same language as the working man.’ A wistful expression flashed across his face, so briefly that Sherlock almost missed it. ‘I doubt that I would have that ability. I would merely get their backs up, while Mr Stone will have them eating out of his hand.’ He paused, considering the words he had just uttered. ‘That was a badly mixed set of metaphors, but I think you understand what I am trying to say.’
The carriage rattled along, taking them back to the castle. As they got closer, Mycroft beckoned to Amyus Crowe, who was staring out of the window, and said: ‘While Sherlock takes Mr Stone’s theatrical make-up kit up to his room and begins the process of disguising himself as Mr Albano, you and I need to stage a loud argument in the hall, so that the agents of this mysterious third party can hear us.’
‘What do we need to say?’
‘You need to tell me that you have made a separate deal with Mr Albano, on behalf of the US Government, and that you will be taking him away shortly. Oh, and that reminds me – you need to ensure that this carriage and its driver wait outside the castle to take you away later. It would be embarrassing if, after making all that noise about leaving, you were not able to do so.’
‘Point noted,’ Crowe said. ‘What else?’
‘I, of course, will remonstrate loudly with you, telling you that you have no authority to make a separate deal. You will respond that, with the death of Sir Shadrach Quintillan, the arrangement as originally struck, with the auction process and the four bidders, is dead, and that you are making your own arrangements. Throw your weight around. Make yourself unpleasant and boorish.’
‘Do you think that will be believed?’
Mycroft smiled. ‘The perception of Americans, especially American businessmen, is that they believe money is the solution to any problem. It isn’t, of course – it is actually the cause of most problems. But that is immaterial – the other international representatives and, more importantly, the agents of the third party, will quite happily believe that an American would go outside the agreed process and make a side deal in a way that they wouldn’t believe about any of the others.’
‘The perception of an Englishman, of course,’ Crowe added, ‘is that he’d still take part in an auction if he was the only bidder, and happily bid against himself, just because he’d given his word that an auction would be the way things were done.’
‘And quite right too.’ Mycroft nodded firmly. ‘If we were all to renege on our agreements, what kind of world would this be? We English have to provide a good example for others to follow.’
‘It’s a good thing Ah know you’re jokin’ with me, Mr Holmes.’
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
As the carriage entered the grounds of the castle, Sherlock reached down to check that he still had the theatrical make-up box with him.
‘Are you happy with being left to apply your disguise on your own?’ Mycroft asked him.
Sherlock nodded. ‘Yes. After the time you and I spent in Moscow, when I completely failed to recognize a dining room full of disguised Paradol Chamber agents, even though I had spent the past few days with them, I spent a while studying the techniques of theatrical makeup. There’s a theatre in Farnham, and I used to go down there and watch the actors putting on their make-up. They ended up teaching me a lot about the things you can do with putty, greasepaint, hair and spirit gum. I got
pretty good at it.’
‘Did they ever offer you a job on stage?’
Sherlock smiled. ‘I did a couple of walk-on roles in some plays they were doing. I really enjoyed the experience. I’d like to do it again.’
Mycroft shuddered. ‘The theatrical life is not one for a Holmes to live. Too Bohemian. I still see you in banking, Sherlock.’
‘I wouldn’t enjoy banking, but I could make it look like I did.’
‘Yes, very funny.’
The carriage clattered across the drawbridge and into the central area of the castle. As it drew up to the main doors, Sherlock realized that he had been using humour to disguise his own feelings of nervousness. It had suddenly dawned on him that he was going to put himself in danger, disguised as a man who was of interest to some mysterious gang who were quite happy to commit murder to further their own aims. This was not what he had thought he was coming back home to do.
It did, however, seem to be the kind of thing that kept happening to him.
He thought about what his brother had said, about him taking up a career in banking. He honestly couldn’t see that happening. He wasn’t going to go into the Civil Service, like his brother, either, and he certainly wasn’t going to join the Army like his father. But what did that leave? Going back to sea? Setting up a trading company and importing foodstuffs and silk from China?
It suddenly occurred to him that the past few days, when he had been set a series of problems to solve and had pretty much solved them all, had been some of the best fun he’d had for ages. He liked solving problems. It satisfied an itch inside his brain. He had particularly liked seeing the expressions on the faces of von Webenau, Herr Holtzbrinck and Count Shuvalov when he explained how the séances had been arranged, and the expression on his own brother’s face when Mycroft had seen the cardboard model of the tower. It had been a thrill, and he wanted to see if he could get that thrill again. The problem was that he didn’t see how he could make that into a career. The closest he could come to it would be joining the police force, but he really didn’t see himself in uniform, and his experience of the police, albeit limited so far, was that they turned up at the scene of a crime, said some things that were already obvious to everyone, and arrested the nearest suspicious-looking man.