The Secret Notebooks of Sherlock Holmes

by June Thomson

  6 The Diogenes Club was a gentlemen’s club situated in Pall Mall. It contained a Strangers’ Room, the only part of the premises where conversation was permitted. Mycroft Holmes was a founder member. Vide: ‘The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter’ and ‘The Adventure of the Bruce Partington Plans’. Dr John F. Watson.

  7 Sherlock Holmes wrote a monograph on the polyphonic motets of Orlando Lassus, (d. 1594), a German composer who wrote mostly sacred music. The monograph, which was printed privately, was said by experts to be the last word on the subject. Dr John F. Watson.

  8 Although Dr Watson stated that Sherlock Holmes took ‘no interest in Nature’, as he grew older, Sherlock Holmes admitted that he ‘yearned for that soothing life of Nature during the long years spent amid the gloom of London’. Vide: ‘The Adventure of the Naval Treaty’ and ‘The Adventure of the Lion’s Mane’. Dr John F. Watson.

  9 Thurston, Christian name unknown, was a fellow member of Dr Watson’s club, name also unknown, and the only man with whom Dr Watson played billiards. Dr John F. Watson.

  10 Tisiphone was one of the group of three goddesses of Vengeance in Greek mythology. In order not to arouse their anger, mortals referred to them as the Eumenides, the Kindly Ones. Dr John F. Watson.

  11 Dr Watson once referred to Sherlock Holmes as a ‘brain without a heart.’ Vide: ‘The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter’. Dr John F. Watson.

  12 Piquet was a card game known under various names which originated in the fifteenth century. It could be played by two, three or four players. Dr John F. Watson.

  13 Wilhelm Richard Wagner (1813–1883) was a German composer. Sherlock Holmes was eager to arrive at a Wagner night at Covent Garden in time for the second act. Vide: ‘The Adventure of the Red Circle’. Dr John F. Watson.

  14 Sherlock Holmes had made a study of the different styles of newspaper type faces. Vide: The Hound of the Baskervilles. Dr John F. Watson.

  15 The Daily Gazette, in the agony column of which Emilia Lucca’s husband published messages to her, was a fictitious newspaper. Vide: ‘The Adventure of the Red Circle’. Dr John F. Watson.

  16 Dr Watson first met Sherlock Holmes in 1880. The case of the Greek Interpreter has been variously assigned to dates between 1882 and 1890. Dr Watson had therefore known him for between two to ten years. Dr. John F. Watson.

  17 According to Sherlock Holmes, the sister of Emile Jean Horace Vernet (1789–1863), the French artist, was his grandmother. Vide: ‘The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter’. Dr John F. Watson.

  18 An investigation by Sherlock Holmes into the theft of the Bruce Partington plans for a secret submarine from Woolwich Arsenal and the murder of Arthur Cadogan West, who witnessed the theft. Vide: ‘The Adventure of the Bruce Partington Plans’. Dr John F. Watson.

  19 See footnote 6. Dr John F. Watson.

  20 When Sherlock Holmes introduced Dr Watson to his brother Mycroft at the Diogenes Club, Dr Watson was impressed by the brothers’ ability to deduce many details about the lives and backgrounds of two strangers they saw from the window walking down the street, including their marital status and how many children one of the men possessed. Dr John F. Watson.

  THE CASE OF THE CARDINAL’S CORPSE

  I have remarked before in one of my published accounts1 that the year ’95 was a particularly momentous one for my old friend Sherlock Holmes. His increasing fame brought him a number of remarkable cases, including that of Wilson, the notorious canary trainer,2 and the tragedy of Woodman’s Lee, an account of which I have published under the title of ‘The Adventure of Black Peter’.3

  But perhaps an even more extraordinary investigation was that into the sudden death of Cardinal Tosca, which Holmes undertook at the express desire of his Holiness the Pope.4

  It was in March, I recall, that an unexpected visitor, Father O’Shea, a Roman Catholic priest, arrived at our Baker Street lodgings. He was a plump, well-fed, rosy-cheeked man who, judging by the laughter lines round his eyes, was by nature an easy-tempered, jovial individual, although on this occasion his expression was more serious than was its wont, I suspected.

  He was accompanied by an older woman, respectably dressed in black, whom he introduced as Mrs Whiffen and who kept a handkerchief tightly clasped in one hand as if she had had recourse to it recently and expected to have recourse to it again.

  It was Father O’Shea who did the talking.

  After apologising for having called without an appointment, he continued in his lilting Irish brogue, ‘However, the case is so serious, Mr Holmes, that I felt obliged to waive the usual niceties and come straight to your door.’

  ‘And what is the case, pray?’ Holmes enquired, indicating two chairs where his visitors could seat themselves.

  ‘It concerns the disappearance yesterday of Cardinal Tosca of the Vatican,’ the priest replied, at which Mrs Whiffen raised her handkerchief to her lips and began to sob quietly into it.

  ‘Now, now, my good woman; no more tears, I beg you,’ Father O’Shea admonished her gently. ‘As I have told you before, you are not responsible for Cardinal Tosca’s disappearance. And how can you tell Mr Holmes what happened if you sit there weeping like a willow in an April shower?’

  Whether or not this bizarre image had some effect, I do not know but, on hearing it, she smiled faintly and put away her handkerchief to everyone’s relief, including hers, I suspected.

  ‘Now,’ Father O’Shea continued briskly, ‘first allow me to lay the facts before Mr Holmes here. And the facts, sir, are these.

  ‘Cardinal Tosca arrived in London three days ago from Rome on private business, not connected with the church. Because of this, he chose to stay not at one of the official residences for visiting dignitaries of his rank but at St Christopher’s House, a small private hotel in Kensington which is used by priests as well as lay members of the church when they come to London. Mrs Whiffen is the housekeeper at St Christopher’s. My church, St Aloysius’s, is close by and I act as parish priest for the staff of St Christopher’s, including Mrs Whiffen and any guest staying there.

  ‘When Cardinal Tosca failed to return to the house yesterday, Mrs Whiffen quite properly came straight to me to report his disappearance and I, in turn, realising the gravity of the situation, immediately went with her to Scotland Yard, thinking it best to involve the police at the most senior level rather than the local constabulary. It was an Inspector at the Yard who recommended you, Mr Holmes, as being the best private consulting agent in the whole country and the most discreet.’

  ‘Which Inspector was this?’ Holmes enquired.

  ‘Inspector MacDonald,5 a Scotsman, judging by his accent, and a Presbyterian too, I should not wonder, but none the worse for being that, I suppose.’

  I saw Holmes suppress a smile at this magnanimity on Father O’Shea’s part.

  ‘Of course,’ the little priest was continuing, ‘I had to seek permission from his Holiness the Pope for you to take the case, should you agree to do so, and, to that end, I sent a telegram to his Holiness yesterday and received an answer this morning granting his permission. All that remains is to obtain yours, Mr Holmes. So, sir, will you accept the case or no?’

  ‘I will indeed, Father O’Shea,’ Holmes replied. ‘And now, Mrs Whiffen,’ he continued, turning to the landlady who had sat in silence throughout Father O’Shea’s rather lengthy introduction, ‘perhaps you would be good enough to tell me the circumstances of Cardinal Tosca’s disappearance. He has been missing, has he not, since yesterday?’

  ‘That is so, Mr Holmes,’ the lady agreed nervously, still twisting the handkerchief between her fingers. ‘He left St Christopher’s House soon after breakfast yesterday morning, saying he’d be back for luncheon at twelve o’clock sharp. But he never appeared, sir! He’s never late for a meal and when it got to three o’clock, I knew something was wrong. So I went straight round to Father O’Shea at the church.’

  She seemed about to burst out weeping again and to staunch any fresh outbreak of tears, Holmes hurri
ed on, not giving her time to dwell on the painful details.

  ‘What was he wearing when he left?’

  ‘What any gentleman would wear in town, sir; a black frock coat and trousers, starched shirt, a silk hat and a black cravat.’

  ‘Not clerical garb?’

  ‘Oh, no, sir. Whenever the cardinal came to London private-like on his charitable affairs, he never wore clerical clothes.’

  ‘Charitable affairs? What exactly are these, Mrs Whiffen?’

  ‘I don’t rightly know, sir. He never spoke of them to me. All I know is, once a year he’d come to London to stay at St Christopher’s for a week and he’d go out and about visiting these people he helped with his charity; poor people, I suppose, Mr Holmes, them as deserved help.’

  ‘Yes, quite,’ Holmes murmured and turned to Father O’Shea, who shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands in an eloquent gesture suggesting his own ignorance of these ex officio activities on the part of the cardinal.

  Holmes turned back to Mrs Whiffen.

  ‘How long had Cardinal Tosca been engaged in this charitable work?’

  ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ she replied uncertainly, overawed at finding herself the centre of so much attention.

  With admirable patience, Holmes rephrased the question.

  ‘When did Cardinal Tosca first come to London on behalf of this charity of his?’

  ‘Oh, years ago, sir; when he was a young man.’

  ‘How many years precisely?’

  Mrs Whiffen made some quick mental calculation.

  ‘It was twenty-nine years ago, sir, in 1866. I remember him coming because I’d only started working at St Christopher’s eighteen months earlier as assistant to the then housekeeper. It was also about the same time that he started …’

  She broke off suddenly and, lowering her head, began to examine the handkerchief she was still holding with great attention, turning it over and over in her hands.

  ‘The same time as he started what, Mrs Whiffen?’ Holmes prompted her.

  Looking decidedly flustered, the lady replied with an air of improvisation, ‘Studying English, Mr Holmes. It seems he’d been sent to England by the Vatican especially to learn the language.’

  At this point, Father O’Shea intervened with a frown of disapproval.

  ‘And how did you come to find that out, may I ask?’ he demanded of the lady. ‘That sort of information was supposed to be confidential.’

  Mrs Whiffen seemed close to tears again.

  ‘Mrs Potter, the housekeeper, told me, Father,’ she stammered apologetically. ‘I don’t know where she heard it.’

  ‘But, knowing Mrs Potter, I can guess,’ Father O’Shea said with a fine show of indignation. ‘Listening at keyholes! I have never known a woman with a keener interest in other people’s business nor a sharper ear for hearing conversations through closed doors! I used sometimes to wonder if she didn’t sit outside my confessional, listening there as well to what the poor penitents had to say about their sins.’

  Mrs Whiffen made no reply, only hung her head lower and subjected her handkerchief to further scrutiny. It was Holmes who eventually broke the silence. With the air of beginning the interview afresh, he asked, ‘Now, Mrs Whiffen, I should like a full description of Cardinal Tosca.’

  Mrs Whiffen began to look more cheerful now that the conversation had moved from the embarrassing subject of how she had found out about Cardinal Tosca’s private arrangement with the Vatican to the less controversial matter of his appearance, about which she could speak openly.

  ‘Well, sir,’ she began, ‘he’s of medium height and somewhat of that gentleman’s figure,’ she said, glancing across at me as she spoke.

  ‘Well built and broad across the shoulders, would you say?’ Holmes enquired with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as everyone’s attention was suddenly turned on me. ‘However, I assume, unlike Dr Watson, he does not wear a moustache?’6

  ‘Oh, no, sir!’ Mrs Whiffen sounded scandalised at the suggestion. ‘The cardinal is clean-shaven.’

  ‘Colour of hair and eyes?’ Holmes continued.

  ‘Grey-haired, although rather more silvery than grey, I’d say; very distinguished, I always think. Eyes? Well, I’ve never liked to look too closely,’ Mrs Whiffen admitted with a little nervous laugh, as though it would be presumptuous of her to submit a priest of such eminence to so close a scrutiny.

  Father O’Shea, who clearly did not share her scruples and was becoming restive at being excluded from the conversation, was quick to demonstrate his superior knowledge.

  ‘Dark brown,’ he put in decisively.

  ‘Age?’ Holmes suggested.

  Now that he had gained the advantage, Father O’Shea was reluctant to relinquish it.

  ‘In his middle fifties, I would estimate, Mr Holmes, and I pride myself on being able to judge within five years the age of any man, woman or child you might care to put before me. But remarkably well-preserved. And beautiful hands!’ he added unexpectedly. ‘Those of a real gentleman and, though I may be exaggerating just a wee, tiny bit, he had the bearing of a prince of royal blood.’

  ‘Thank you both very much for such an excellent description,’ Holmes said gravely, taking care to include Mrs Whiffen in this accolade, at which the lady blushed deeply at this brief moment of appreciation.

  ‘Now, about Cardinal Tosca’s charities,’ Holmes began but was cut short by Father O’Shea, who held up an admonitory finger.

  ‘I can tell you nothing about those,’ he replied and added a little more sharply in case Holmes decided to question the lady herself, ‘and neither can Mrs Whiffen. As I understand it, they are deserving cases which the cardinal has heard about during his visits to London over the years and whom he helps financially out of his own pocket. He is a very generous man but modest as well and never speaks of these private charities of his to anyone, unless it is to his Father Confessor in the Vatican. Speaking of which, you are quite sure about taking on the case, Mr Holmes?’

  ‘I am indeed.’

  ‘Then I shall immediately send another telegram to the Vatican informing his Holiness of your decision. And now if there are no more questions?’

  Father O’Shea suddenly seemed anxious to leave and, having shaken hands with both of us, he bustled Mrs Whiffen out of the room.

  ‘A fascinating case!’ Holmes observed when the door closed behind them. ‘A missing cardinal and a parish priest who, I suspect, knows more about this affair than he cares, or perhaps dares, to divulge.’

  ‘You felt that, too, Holmes?’ I remarked. ‘What on earth do you suppose it could be?’

  Holmes shrugged.

  ‘We may never know. But at the moment, there are more substantial matters to resolve than some hypothetical secret from the past, and that is the present whereabouts of Cardinal Tosca. And for that to be discovered, we have to wait on MacDonald and his colleagues to find the answer.’

  In the event, the solution came that very same afternoon more quickly than we had anticipated and was brought, not by the Inspector but by a messenger of his, a red-faced constable in civilian clothes who arrived post-haste in a four-wheeler and presented himself in our sitting-room, very out of breath, to announce that, on instructions from Inspector MacDonald, we were to accompany him without delay.

  To Paternoster Yard, Spitalfields, it seemed, according to the address the constable gave to the cab driver who was waiting downstairs in the street.

  ‘I assume a body has been found,’ Holmes remarked as we clambered inside the four-wheeler, which set off at a brisk trot.

  The constable looked startled.

  ‘You know about the dead man, sir?’

  ‘I know of a missing person,’ Holmes replied. ‘I deduce from the urgency of Inspector MacDonald’s summons that it is probably a criminal matter and that the man is almost certainly dead; possibly even murdered. But Spitalfields! That is the last place in London I would have expected his body to be found.’

  I co
uld understand Holmes’ reservation over the address when, having driven us through a poor district of London to the east of Liverpool Street station, the cab set us down at the entrance to Paternoster Yard, a large cobbled area overlooked on three sides by the high, soot-stained brick walls and broken windows of a derelict factory, closed off from the yard itself by a pair of tall, black-painted doors, their tops bristling with iron spikes.

  The yard was deep in mud and strewn with malodorous rubbish including what appeared to be a bundle of old clothes, roughly covered with sacks, which was lying in a corner formed by the angle of two walls and over which Inspector MacDonald and two uniformed officers were standing guard. A self-important, plump, little man in civilian dress, with a leather medical bag set down on the ground beside him, who was making an examination of the corpse, was, I assumed, a police surgeon called out to certify death before the body was taken away for a post-mortem.

  As we entered the yard, the tall, sandy-haired figure of MacDonald disengaged himself from this group and came over to join us.

  ‘Our missing cardinal?’ Holmes asked in a low voice.

  MacDonald pulled a wry face.

  ‘I am afraid so, Mr Holmes. He answers the description given to me by Father O’Shea and Mrs Whiffen. And besides, I found these in his pocket.’ Holding out his hand, he displayed a gold crucifix on a heavy chain and a ring set with a dark red stone on a gold band. ‘Not the usual objects most people would carry in their pockets,’ he continued. ‘But, man, what a devil of a place for a Christian, let alone a cardinal, to find his last resting place!’

  ‘Indeed!’ Holmes agreed grimly. ‘When was he discovered?’

  ‘About two hours ago. A man was walking his dog when it bolted into the yard after a rat. When he went to fetch it back, he found it sniffing excitedly at that pile of old clothes, as he at first thought it was. When he looked closer and saw it was a dead body, he told the local constable, who in turn told his inspector, until finally the information was passed on to me at Scotland Yard.’