by Mark C. King
Allowing for the possibility that he had missed the dark stranger, he would again watch in the evening as people left the office for home. But that was many hours away and Sigmund couldn’t stay where he was, he needed to move, and a little food would be nice. The surrounding area was known to Sigmund, as was most of London – the benefit of being a cab driver – and he knew there was a dingy and, more importantly, dark pub nearby. He had never been inside, as it was not the kind of place he ever looked for, but a dark place that probably didn’t have too many patrons sounded about perfect.
Sigmund backed out of the bushes, stretched his painful limbs, and walked to the gate that led from Vincent Square to Vincent Street. Although many people were at work, there were still more than enough citizens about to cause Sigmund to worry. Keeping his handkerchief to his face and fake coughing and sneezing into it as he approached anyone, he made his way down the block and to the cross street. Here he found a newspaper salesman and bought the Daily Telegraph. He needed something to do for the next several hours.
Another block down, fake coughing into a handkerchief most of the way, he found himself outside the Barrel Bottom Pub. The gold and green sign looked like it hadn’t seen a paint brush in a few decades. The windows were black from smoke, both on the outside and, undoubtedly, the inside. The place looked terrible and uninviting. It was ideal. Walking in, Sigmund saw that the inside hadn’t fared any better than its exterior. The tables were worn, the stain that once darkened them was long removed from countless spills and cleanings. The long bar that ran the length of the side wall looked as if it had been thrown down some stairs repeatedly. Sigmund walked over to the barman, a large man, wavy brown hair, and a thick, unruly handlebar mustache, and, with head lowered and handkerchief over his mouth, ordered some bread and soup. The barman acknowledged the order, seemingly annoyed that he had to do something, and went through a door into the back of the bar – presumably the kitchen area. He had shown no sign of recognizing Sigmund which gave him a little relief as he sat at a corner table in the darkest part of the room.
A few minutes later the barman came out and delivered the meal. The soup was some sort of potato and vegetable mix that was little more than room temperature. Sigmund said nothing, he needed no extra attention, so he ate the soup and bread and kept his annoyance to himself. He ate slowly, wanting to take up time, and started reading through the paper.
There was nothing new in the papers with regards to the explosion. All focus was still on himself and not on the real perpetrators, whomever they were. Although he didn’t expect it to be different, it still infuriated him that there wasn’t even a whisper about the Coal Union in any way. Couldn’t the police allow for the possibility that he was innocent?
After about an hour the barman started to give Sigmund dirty looks. It didn’t help that no other customers came in during the time – how bad was this place? Feeling the barmen’s eyes on him, Sigmund decided to leave. The last thing he needed was anyone paying extra attention to him. He headed back to Vincent Square amidst the growing heat and found a bench to sit on under the protection of some trees. He couldn’t keep his overcoat on and sit in the direct sunlight, it was barely tolerable in the shade. Holding the newspaper up to cover his face, he sat there and wished time would go by quickly. It didn’t. Every few seconds he would look around and see if anyone was paying him any attention. He was used to being in nervous situations, his illegal work mandated it, but he never had to endure this type of nervousness for long periods of time. It was exhausting. It was hard to believe that the stress of the situation made him more tired and weary than any amount of exercise he’d ever done. Of course sleeping on a straw bed in a horse stable wasn’t ideal conditions for a good night’s rest. The things he always took for granted…
As the end of the workday approached, Sigmund left his bench and made his way back to the same bush from the morning to start his second vigil. Being that every person for the Coal Union exited from the same door and were facing Sigmund as they did so, he had an excellent and easy time investigating each and every face. Despite the ease of his assignment, it turned up no results. The dark stranger was not seen.
* * *
Sigmund repeated this exercise, watching people arrive for work and watching them leave, for the next two days – with the same results. Watching, waiting, weariness, and disappointment. For the first time since all of this began, Sigmund felt real hopelessness. He had a sense of it previously but now it was dominating his thoughts. He started to wonder if he would be a wanted criminal for the rest of his life.
As he cautiously made his way back to Harry’s stables after that third fruitless day of watching, his mind raced for options. The stranger was Sigmund’s only lead and it seemed to be a dead end. He thought of returning for a fourth day to watch for the man but believed that it would just be a waste of time and more unnecessary risk. But he had to do something – the idea of just sitting in the stables for the rest of his life was certainly not an option. Sigmund needed some plan of action, something to possibly help his situation, if for no other reason than to be trying. His thoughts drifted to what should have been his ally, Scotland Yard. This talented group seemed to be convinced that the only person of interest was himself. If only they would break open the case in the correct direction. It was with this thought that Sigmund formed his next step.
* * *
For the fourth day in a row Sigmund left the stables, his home, and headed out into the public world. Unlike the previous three days, Sigmund left in the late afternoon. He had spent much of the previous night and the day leading up to this point forming a plan to help Scotland Yard. It was extremely risky and didn’t have a high chance of success, but any chance was better than no chance.
It was with these thoughts that Sigmund now found himself spending the evening near the most dangerous spot for him in all of London – outside of Scotland Yard headquarters. He could practically feel the hostility towards him emanating from the building through the cold evening fog. It warmed him in the worst possible way. There probably wasn’t a person in there who wouldn’t be more than happy to see him hang. To say that he felt uncomfortable was a gross understatement. As people walked by his position, he tried to look busy, as if his presence was the most natural occurrence in the world. He continued with his mock allergies and would change positions from time to time, always keeping the entrance in his view. One of the biggest moments of concern was when he saw the police dirigible approach his position. It drummed up memories of the explosion and his initial escape. He held his breath as it passed overhead and then moved on and landed somewhere behind the headquarters.
Despite all his anxiety, the idea that he was on his own to figure all this out continued to frustrate him. Again he thought, wasn’t this the job of Scotland Yard? Except they were looking at only one person, the wrong person. It was these frustrations that made Sigmund decided he needed to give them the possibility that someone else could be responsible for the explosion and the death of those people. He doubted that anyone would just accept his word but if he could create the inkling of a doubt, then perhaps they would start looking, or at least glancing, in the right direction. Perhaps they would be open to evidence that suggested another explanation.
Chief Inspector Gabriel Holmes was leading the case. His face was in several papers over the past two weeks so Sigmund held out good hope of spotting him. Obviously, walking into Scotland Yard to have a conversation would never work. He would be locked up so fast that he wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything. No, he would need to talk with Inspector Holmes somewhere else. Sigmund decided to follow the man.
As the evening wore on, Sigmund’s anxiety grew and he found his watch in hand, thumb rubbing the cover. He had to assume that every person on the street was a police official in some form and that he was the main focus of their thoughts. In addition to the nervousness of being recognized, after three days of not spotting the dark stranger, Sigmund couldn’t help but th
ink that failure could happen again, that maybe he was cursed from identifying people.
Sigmund checked his watch – nearing 9:30 pm. Normal work hours were long passed but Sigmund had the feeling that Chief Inspector Holmes did not work normal hours.
10:00 pm.
10:15 pm.
Around 10:20 the door opened and out walked a man wearing a derby and goggles, tall, athletic, that could possibly be the Chief Inspector. Sigmund zoomed in with his goggles and was able to get a good look at the face of the man in the light of a streetlamp. It was Holmes. His thick mustache and determined eyes that stood out in the papers were easy to see on the actual man. He walked with a quick pace and made his way west down Northumberland Avenue. Sigmund followed at a distance, always able to keep Holmes in sight but also able to duck into a shadow in case Holmes looked around.
Within a couple of minutes Charing Cross station appeared through the fog in front of them, the magnificent Charing Cross Hotel looming above it. Sigmund hoped that Holmes wouldn’t go in the station but it was looking more and more like his destination. Anticipating Holmes disappearing inside, Sigmund hurried his pace. If Holmes was to catch a train, Sigmund needed to be on it too. His prey did indeed enter the station, although Sigmund could see no train waiting. He pulled out his watch and checked it against a lamp light, 10:37. He figured he had eight minutes before the next arrival.
Sigmund walked up to the front of Charing Cross but did not enter. He wanted to give as little time as possible between when he entered the station and boarding the train. It was unlikely that many people were about the station at this hour, so Sigmund didn’t like his odds of going unnoticed, especially by someone trained to search for people, someone who probably thought of very little else than finding Sigmund Shaw. Sigmund did peek through one of the doors and saw the inspector standing near the boarding area with a couple of other people.
In a few minutes, the telltale sound of the train could be heard. A great light could be seen coming down the line and soon its breaks squealed as the mighty engine came to a stop. Sigmund again peeked through the door and saw Holmes get in the first car. Sigmund quickly entered the station and got on board the second car along with two other people. Inside there were a few people already seated. Sigmund immediately put his handkerchief to his face to cover a mighty fake sneeze. Sitting as far from the other passengers as he could, he kept his face down and the handkerchief nearby.
After only a minute or two, the train started off. It wasn’t long before it pulled to a stop at Leicester Square. A man stood up in Sigmund’s car to exit. Ignoring his own car, Sigmund kept a watch on the departing passengers in the first car. There were two, neither of them Holmes. The train pulled out again into the night.
The next stop was at Tottenham Court Road. Once again Sigmund looked out the window to see who departed. This time the tall thin figure of Holmes appeared on the platform among a few others. Sigmund got up and stood at the train door and waited until the last instant before departing his car. As he stepped on the platform he saw Holmes just passing through the exit. After a few moments, to give Holmes a bit of a lead, Sigmund hurried outside to see which way he went.
Standing on the sidewalk outside of the exit to the station Sigmund could see Holmes walking west down Oxford street. Once again keeping his distance, he followed the Chief Inspector. At Newman Street Holmes turned right. He kept a steady pace, a man who didn’t like to waste time. After one block Holmes slowed and then turned into a multistory, red brick building. It was almost eerie how close this was to the Charlotte Street Hotel – it was no more than a minute or two’s walk. Ignoring the coincidence, Sigmund moved closer to the building and watched it from the outside. After a few moments the second floor window lit up. That was where Chief Inspector Gabriel Holmes lived. This is where Sigmund would have his conversation with him.
The next morning Sigmund woke up with a taste of optimism. He hadn’t been able to find the dark stranger but he had been able to spot Holmes. Finally he had a small taste of success. He would not fail to talk to the Chief Inspector. All he needed to do now was wait until evening and head back to Newman Street.
15.
Fifteen days, Chief Inspector Gabriel Holmes thought bitterly. More than a fortnight and nothing to show for it. Briefcase in hand, he slowly climbed the stairs to his second floor apartment. He decided against the train that evening and caught a ride home in a steam car that ended up having a faulty chimney – it aggravated his throat and would no doubt make his clothes smell like smoke for hours. This didn’t help his already foul mood. He wondered if it would be worth investing in one of the air filter facemasks that many of the steam cabbies wore. What a world, you need a device just to breathe.
Holmes hadn’t been home prior to ten o’clock since the murder of the Defence Minister. A lot of good his long hours have done, Sigmund Shaw had still not been jailed – it still burned him that they had him in custody – and no other leads had presented themselves. It had been over two weeks, countless man hours, all for naught. He’d had big cases, and he’d had difficult ones, but nothing like this. His hard work and experience had thus far let him down. Beyond frustrating!
The next to last step before the second floor landing, creaked, as it always did, but although it usually bothered Holmes – often times he would skip the step altogether – he hardly noticed this time. His lack of success and his weariness warred for his remaining attention, leaving nothing left over for small irritants. The carpet that ran along the middle of the hallway, past his door, was a worn burgundy color with a fleur-de-lis type pattern. He groaned at the French design for the thousandth time, maybe he had a little attention left for irritants after all. At his door, he pulled out his keychain, located the correct key and simultaneously unlocked and pushed it open.
Stepping into his apartment he unconsciously placed his briefcase down to the right of the door next to a waist high cabinet. As he removed his bowler and goggles and placed them on the cabinet top, he suddenly straightened, his muscles froze as the hairs on his neck started standing up – something was amiss. Without even closing the door he scanned the dark interior but was unable to see anything in the near complete absence of light. Sensing an issue, he slowly reached over to the wall above the cabinet, found and pushed the light switch illuminating the room. Sitting in a chair in front of his rear window was a man. A man with a gun. It took a moment to realize that the gun was his, the one he kept at his bedside. This scoundrel had been in his bedroom! The man also looked familiar…
The seated person spoke up, “Good evening Chief Inspector. My apologies for showing up unannounced.”
Another second passed and Holmes realized who he was looking at, it was none other than Sigmund Shaw, criminal, murderer, traitor – the solution to this nightmare case.
Sigmund spoke again, gun aimed at Holmes, “Please close the door, Inspector, I would like this conversation to remain private.”
Holmes went through his options; run, attack, wait. He ruled out running immediately, there was no way he would run from this criminal, especially in his own home. With his service pistol out of reach in his briefcase he wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight, at least not unless he could catch Sigmund unawares. It was such a rookie mistake, he scolded himself, having a gun but not having it in a location that was any use. So, Holmes decided to comply, for now. He closed the door and turned to Sigmund to await his next instructions.
“Remove your coat slowly, put it on the floor, and remove any weapons you might have.”
As instructed Holmes slowly removed his coat and dropped it on the floor next to his case. Speaking his first words to his uninvited guest, “My person is not armed.”
“I have a hard time believing that Chief Inspector, please raise your arms and turn around slowly.”
Holmes complied and while turning he decided to show a sign of good faith and give Sigmund the information he wanted, “I have a service revolver but it is in my briefcase.
”
“Very well. Please, Inspector, have a seat.” Sigmund pointed to the plush chair across from himself.
Again running through every option, Holmes decided that playing along for now was still best. He casually walked over, sat down, and stared at his uninvited but most wanted guest.
“Chief Inspector, I’m here to help you.” Holmes tilted his head, quite surprised at the comment, but said nothing. Sigmund continued, “I guess I should first apologize for breaking into your home and taking your gun. You no doubt recognized it as your gun as it is quite unique. An electric light attachment, a scope, which means this must be highly accurate, for a scope on a typical handgun is like an oar on a steam ship, useless. There are other modification that I haven’t been able to figure out.”
“It was a gift,” volunteered Holmes. “A few years ago I helped an Italian gentleman with the kidnapping and ransom of his only daughter. We were able to rescue her. In his gratitude, he gifted me that gun. It is the singularly greatest handgun I’ve ever come across.”
Sigmund asked, “Would you say that if you were in exchange of gunfire that this handgun would give you an advantage?”