by John Hall
We set off on our rounds. Although Schloss Württemburg was our final goal, we had undertaken to make deliveries to three other houses situated in the same general vicinity, and since we thought it likely that we should be fully occupied once we reached the duke’s residence, we also thought it as well to discharge those obligations first. We called accordingly at the three houses, which as one might expect were all more substantial than the ordinary run of cottages, and at each we were received kindly by the cooks and what have you. Indeed, at one house the butler, a man of portly aspect and cheerful mien, eyed my stomach, nodded and smiled, then treated me to a foaming glass of the local beer, not unlike the Pilsner of Czechoslovakia but with something of a metallic taste to it, which my new friend told me in a hoarse whisper was not only good for my digestion but would do wonders for my marriage as well. I made a discreet note of the brand and resolved to ask my wine merchant to import a few cases.
More to the immediate purpose, at none of these houses were we regarded at all suspiciously, or treated with anything other than kindliness. As they had expected old Valentini, or his usual men, we were called upon to give some account of why we were making the delivery in each case, but we answered that we had just been hired by the shop, and this was accepted without further ado. This circumstance cheered us considerably, as seeming to show that we had nothing to fear – at least at the outset!
Our duty done, we headed through the forests, turned a corner, and caught our first glimpse of Schloss Württemburg. The castle stood on a high, sheer-sided outcrop of rock, which had the appearance of being the central portion of an old volcano, although I cannot say whether in fact it was. It seemed to brood over the tiny village of Kleinwald, which was nothing more than a dozen little cottages scattered at the base of the outcrop. The road on which we were travelling led through the village, and then continued on and up as a steep slope, whether man-made or natural I could not tell, which made two sharp turns as it led to the great gate of the castle. It was for all the world like an illustration in a child’s book of fairy tales, and under different circumstances I could have stood there and admired the prospect it provided. As it was, when I reflected that our enemies were within those massive stone walls, and that we ourselves might have a considerable task to escape unscathed, it suddenly seemed less of a fairy tale castle, and more the abode of wizards and demons, less a picture from a child’s reader, more an engraving from some old and foul work of necromancy. I became aware of the forests from which we had just emerged, the oppressive gloom of the trees, the odd little sounds that you could not identify. At that moment a cloud passed across the feeble sun, and I shivered involuntarily.
‘Ready, Watson?’ murmured Holmes.
‘Oh, I’m ready enough! I just hope you are!’ I answered, throwing off all my fancies with a shrug of the shoulders.
We went through the village, answering the waves and shouts of greeting as we did so, and started up the great ramp that led to the castle gate. I am disposed to think that it must have been man-made, in part at any rate, for it was perfectly adapted to the defence of the castle. I have said that it made two sharp turns, so that you started off upwards in the direction of the castle but fifty yards to the left of the gate, then turned through ninety degrees to the right, at which point you must negotiate those fifty yards of a centre section at right angles to the gate, then another ninety-degree turn brought you to the third, last, and steepest section that led to the gate itself. It was obviously the centre section that was most dangerous, for anyone moving along that elevated causeway must present a broadside target to those in the castle. Any competent archer could pick off would-be invaders at leisure; and for a man with a repeating rifle it would be like shooting fish in a barrel! I shivered a second time, with more material cause this time.
There came no arrows, or bullets, though, as we steered the heavy cart slowly along the slope, and through the open gate into the castle courtyard. A tall fellow in a greasy apron greeted us, asking ‘From old Tommaso?’ and when we answered yes, he did not ask the usual question but shrugged and jerked a thumb towards the opposite side of the yard in a surly fashion. We took the cart to an open doorway that gave on to a large store room. The man who had spoken to us was nowhere to be seen, evidently thinking that it was no part of his duties to help us unload the cart. More, the courtyard was empty, and so was the store room! Holmes glanced round, then nodded to us.
‘We seem to have the place to ourselves, for the moment,’ he said. ‘It would be remiss of us not to seize the opportunity,’ and off he went, through the store room, through the door at the other side, and into a corridor. Here he stopped, and looked at von Gratz. ‘Which way?’
Von Gratz looked about him, as if to get his bearings, then led the way along the corridor, up the back stairs, and through a baize door into a broader stone-flagged gallery. ‘Now –’ and he paused, as there was a clatter of footsteps and the sound of voices in animated discussion.
‘This way!’ said Holmes, in an undertone, pulling me by the arm into a dark recess. Von Gratz followed, and Holmes whispered, ‘With luck, they will be off downstairs, and we can go on our way.’
The footsteps halted, but the conversation continued, evidently the men whom we could hear had paused nearby, but we could not see them. From the recess or alcove in which we sheltered I could see only a small section of corridor, and that was empty. No! To my horror, a man in livery was coming towards us. I shrank back, trying to convey to Holmes and von Gratz that we were in danger of being discovered. The footman, for such he clearly was, passed me, no more than a foot away, and I heaved a sigh of relief. Then I gasped, for he had turned, and was staring right at me!
I stood there, struck dumb, wondering what on earth to do. The footman put a finger to his lips – though he had no need to warn me to keep silent! – and whispered, ‘Friends of the king?’ I nodded, yes, and he went on, ‘Wait!’ He turned again, and disappeared from my view. I heard the voices pause, then resume as the heavy footsteps seemed to be moving away, down a flight of stone stairs if I were not mistaken.
Then there was silence. Behind me, Holmes asked, ‘Watson? What happened?’ but before I could make any answer the footman appeared, silently.
Holmes tensed, but I said, ‘He’s a friend!’ and looked a question.
‘This way, but quickly, and silently,’ the footman told us. He led us along the corridor, up a shallow stair of three or four steps, and threw open a door. ‘If the gentlemen will wait here?’ and he stood aside to let us pass. ‘And please be quiet, for there is much danger.’
I went in first, and Holmes and von Gratz followed. I turned, asked, ‘But what –’ but the footman had closed the door after us, and I heard the key turned from the outside.
I stepped back and took a better look round the room. It was bare, and there was a heavy wooden shutter over the window. I said, ‘Well, this could be merely a safe haven, and that footman could be genuine. But I rather fancy that things are otherwise, and that being locked up is fast becoming a habit with us. Indeed, my next book may well be a monograph upon the dungeons and prisons of Bohemia!’
FIVE
‘I blame myself,’ said Holmes bitterly. ‘It was, of course, too easy from the outset, too obvious. The lack of activity in the courtyard and store rooms, the loyal and obliging footman. My only excuse, if any excuse there be, it is that it was so blatant as to be incredible.’ And he shook his head.
‘Still, Holmes, we wanted to get into the castle, and here we are!’ I told him.
He regarded me with a certain amount of contempt. ‘Perfectly correct, up to a point,’ said he. ‘But even if we could get out of this room, I fancy that our birds will prove to have flown.’
‘It is true,’ said von Gratz. ‘We were clearly expected, for this elaborate charade took time to prepare. As Mr Holmes says, Gottfried and Karl will be making their escape now, if they have not already done so, and the papers along with them.’
�
�You did say that you suspected that there might be a spy in the palace,’ I reminded him.
Von Gratz nodded. ‘And we now know that spy’s identity, for, apart from myself, only von Kirchoff knew the business which brought you to Bohemia.’
‘What, the king’s private secretary?’ I asked.
Von Gratz shrugged. ‘Von Kirchoff is an ambitious man. And then who is better placed to know the king’s private affairs?’
‘It makes sense,’ said Holmes. ‘Indeed, now that we know the identity of the spy, we might be able to make use of that knowledge. Or should I say, “we might have been able” to use it, for our immediate concern must be to escape from here.’ He tested the door, and shook his head. ‘Nothing there, I fear.’
‘The shutter is not locked, though,’ I said carelessly. This was true; the shutter, though stout enough, was not primarily intended either to keep prisoners in or to keep intruders out. The window’s situation, high above the ground, was sufficient for that.
I ignored Holmes’s look of irritation, and threw the shutters open. The window was of thick glass, criss-crossed with lead and with a coat of arms in stained glass in its centre; but the fastening was just the usual sort, and I opened that as well, and stared down at the sheer drop. The window was perhaps twenty feet up from the base of the castle’s wall, and then the wall itself was built on the very edge of the rocky projection, which was perhaps some hundred feet high. The total distance to terra firma was thus around a hundred and twenty feet, all more or less vertical.
I stepped back and surveyed the window frame, solid oak, with a stout vertical wooden pillar – I don’t know the right architectural term for it – in the centre of the opening. To the right of the window a heavy and ornate iron bracket, evidently to hold a torch or candles, was bolted into the stone wall.
‘Now,’ I said, ‘if there were a bed in the room, we could tear the sheets into strips to fashion a rope. One end goes round the window post there, fastened to the iron sconce for extra safety, and the other end dangles out of the window, enabling us to scramble down.’
‘True,’ said Holmes, with every appearance of sincerity. ‘And if we had a hot-air balloon we could simply float away to safety – or perhaps we should just need a balloon, since you yourself seem to providing all the hot-’
I held up a hand. ‘You know my methods, Holmes!’ I said with mock severity. ‘Do you know the literary term “deus ex machina”, at all?
He stared at me. ‘A trumpery device, much used by writers whose lack of imagination is outdone only by their lack of ability. Something entirely incredible which rescues the protagonist from an impossible situation in the nick of time.’
‘Just so,’ I said. ‘Although your own solutions often seem to be reached by rather fanciful techniques.’ And as he frowned, I went on hastily, ‘But enough of this banter. We may not have sheets to tear up, but we do have something just as good.’ And I removed my dustcoat to reveal the true nature of my ‘padding,’ a stout rope that lay coiled upon my chest and stomach.
Holmes clapped his hands softly. ‘Well done, Doctor! I shall never doubt you again.’
I felt that was being overly optimistic, but accepted the praise as modestly as I could manage. ‘I was always bothered by the thoughts of these high windows,’ I told him. ‘The trouble is, my rope is only a hundred feet long, so I don’t think it will quite reach, especially as we must make one end secure, but it will get us out of this room, at any rate.’
‘It will do splendidly,’ said Holmes. ‘I ought to have thought of it myself. Just as well you were here, Watson.’
We secured the rope, passed it through the window, and studied its disposition. As I had said, it did not reach the ground, but its farther end lay well down the rock face. ‘I think I could manage the rest,’ said Holmes thoughtfully, and before I had realized what he intended, he had clambered through the open window and was shinning down the rope, hand over hand.
Von Gratz and I watched, scarcely daring to breathe, much less speak, as Holmes went down the rope. Where the castle wall began, he paused, there was evidently a rudimentary ledge, or at least a toe-hold of some sort, and Holmes stood there for a moment to get his bearings. Then he was off again, clinging on to the rope and finding what purchase he could for his feet in the solid rock. He did not descend the full length of the rope, but halted some ten feet above the far end. There was a ledge of sorts there, and he was able to release his grip on the rope and stand there, waving to indicate that we should follow.
‘After you, Doctor,’ said von Gratz.
I gritted my teeth, took a firm hold of the rope, and set off down towards Holmes.
I cannot say with any degree of honesty that I enjoyed the experience, or that I should care to repeat it. The first part was perhaps the worst, for the walls of the castle were relatively smooth, with only the occasional crack in the mortar between the great blocks of granite to aid the climber. Like Holmes, I paused for breath at the little ledge where the masonry met the sheer rock, then set off once more. Although the cliff looked massive and precipitous from a distance, it was not by any means as smooth as the castle wall had been, and I was able to find some footholds to assist my descent. In a fairly short while, and without much real difficulty – though not without some trepidation! – I had reached Holmes, and he stretched out a hand to help me find the tiny ledge upon which he stood. ‘Well done, Watson!’ And he waved to von Gratz to join us.
As I watched von Gratz climb down, and then held out a hand to him just as Holmes had done for me, Holmes was busy examining the cliff below us, and when von Gratz had arrived at our little ledge, now woefully overcrowded, Holmes told us, ‘There is a path of sorts. Follow me,’ and off he went.
I suppose that a very small and delicate mountain goat might have called it a ‘path’, and possibly those hardy souls who spend their summer holidays in the Alps might have strolled down it with ease, but frankly I think that the word invested it with a dignity it did not possess. It did provide a foothold of sorts, though, and pointed us the way we had to travel. And then Holmes always kept himself in peak condition, von Gratz was fresh from his army duties, and although I was probably the most out of condition, even I myself usually walked on my rounds, so that we were all physically fit, and so we managed pretty well, all told.
For a few paces we could almost walk upright, then came a short steep climb, another stretch of ‘path’, many a missed step, many a muffled curse, a few bad moments as loose shale or gravel gave way beneath our feet, and we came at last to a spot a few feet from the ground, from which we could jump or slide, according to our inclinations, to safety.
So down we came, dirty and dusty, all three of us bruised and grazed, and with the knees of our trousers in a state that would break the hearts of our various tailors, but free at last.
‘Our primary task,’ said Holmes, ‘is to establish that Gottfried and Karl have indeed left the castle.’
Von Gratz nodded, and led us to the first house in the little village, where we soon found that Duke Gottfried and his entourage had indeed left the place early that same morning, taking the one and only road out of the place, that is, heading towards Marienburg. ‘If only we had left earlier!’ said von Gratz as he translated this from the local dialect for us. ‘Or if we had not detoured to make those other deliveries. We might have encountered them on the road, and done something to forestall them.’
Holmes shook his head. ‘In any event, unless we had spotted them within the town itself, our grocer’s cart and old Dobbin there would scarcely have kept up with a carriage and pair. No, they have the advantage for the moment, and all we can do is follow them, and hope to use our wits to make up for the start they have on us. It is surely logical to suppose that they have taken the train to the capital, is it not? Unless, that is, Duke Gottfried has another bolt-hole somewhere in the countryside?’
‘The castle and lands here are the only sort of country estate that I know of,’ said von Gratz
. ‘Gottfried has a town house in Dopzhe, and I can only assume that he is headed there.’
We set off on foot, without troubling about the horse and cart; von Gratz said that if it were not recovered, he or the king would compensate old Tommaso Valentini. It was perhaps three miles as the crow flies to Marienburg, but the road wound in a fantastic fashion through the forests, making the true distance double what the map would suggest. But von Gratz recalled a few foresters’ paths and short cuts, and we arrived at the outskirts of the town in a little over an hour and a half.
Our next task was to enquire at the railway station whether anyone had noticed Duke Gottfried taking a train. We were out of luck; though the ticket collector did tell us that several gentlemen who more or less resembled the duke’s general appearance had taken trains that morning. And that was all the result of our journey to Schloss Württemburg! The possibility that Gottfried and Karl had remained in Marienburg was considered, and discounted, for there seemed no good reason why they should move from the safety of the castle to the comparative danger and discomfort of some hotel.
All we could do was follow them back to Dopzhe. There was a train in a little under an hour, just time for us to return to our modest lodgings, pay our bill and collect our bags, and that is what we did.
We had the compartment to ourselves, and Holmes sat in one corner, his face set, deep in thought and ignoring any remarks that von Gratz or I ventured to address to him. After half an hour, though, Holmes looked across at us and laughed in his odd silent fashion. ‘Not one of our best efforts, Watson,’ he said. ‘If you write this up, you will have to make great play of the difficulties and dangers of our escape, to distract attention from our ignominious failure.’
‘If I must.’
‘And do not hesitate to mention, and perhaps even to exaggerate, your own magnificent part in our getaway.’