Sherlock Holmes and the Chinese Junk Affair and Other Stories

by Roy Templeman

  Sherlock Holmes and The Chinese junk Affair

  And Other Stories

  Roy Templeman

  © Roy Templeman 1998

  Roy Templeman has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 1998 by Breese Books Ltd.

  This edition published 2015 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  Sherlock Holmes and the Chinese Junk Affair

  Sherlock Holmes and the Tick Tock Man

  Sherlock Holmes and the Trophy Room

  Sherlock Holmes and the Chinese Junk Affair

  I wrote a full account of what I chose to call ‘The case of the Chinese junk’ as soon as Holmes had brought it to a successful conclusion. He insisted however that, like official government papers, it should not be published for at least thirty years. ‘By that time you and I will no doubt have passed on, my dear Watson.’

  The reason why Holmes wished it to be kept secret was because it involved national security and the highest persons in the land. To have let the facts of the case be known to certain powerful nations abroad would have done Britain little good and given comfort to our possible enemies.

  The case began in a typical London fog which swirled around and in which ghostly apparitions came and went. It was welcomed only by the undertakers who always became busy as the elderly with chest problems gasped and coughed their last in an effort to breathe.

  Holmes and I had been out on a visit to a mutual friend who was in a bad way and wished us to witness his will. Holmes picked up a card which had been pushed under the door in our absence. He unbuttoned his coat with one hand, and held the card with the other, turned it over, and put it on the mantelshelf. We hung our coats and hats on the clothes stand and prepared to settle down before the comfort of the fire before partaking of the supper Mrs Hudson had left on a napkin-covered tray.

  Holmes nodded his head towards the card on the mantelshelf. ‘Mycroft wishes to see us in his office at ten o’clock sharp tomorrow. “Of utmost national importance,” he writes. Sounds interesting, Watson.’

  ‘Let us hope it takes us out of London, away from this fog. I must confess, Holmes, I find this particular fog most depressing and unpleasant. But what can you expect with thousands of people like ourselves sitting in front of blazing fires and at the same time fouling the outside air with thick black smoke. Ugh! If only a decent wind would come and blow it away.’

  We ate in silence. I could tell Holmes was thinking about the summons from his brother Mycroft. ‘Of utmost national importance’. Like Holmes I pondered on the words, for I knew that Mycroft was not a person to use a phrase like ‘Utmost national importance’, without due cause. Holmes was now relaxed in his easy chair, legs outstretched and eyes closed. What game was afoot, what would tomorrow bring? His reclining frame would then be fully alert, his brilliant reasoning mind selecting priorities of action and then, like a dog following a scent, tenacious until it was solved. His extreme languor now was the complete opposite to the driving energy I was to witness in the days ahead.

  Giving ourselves plenty of time to reach Whitehall because the fog, although thinned considerably, still made the traffic much slower than usual, we set out next morning. We arrived at Mycroft’s office as the clock struck ten o’clock. He greeted us warmly, but after we were seated his manner changed. His face became serious, his voice matching in sombre tone. ‘Sherlock, the matter is serious. So serious, I am to take you both to be briefed by the Prime Minister and a Cabinet minister right away.’

  By Jove, I thought, looking at Mycroft and listening to his conversation, I could see why the Prime Minister placed such reliance upon Mycroft’s judgement and discretion.

  Mycroft was seven years older than Sherlock, both brothers possessing exceptional powers of observation and deduction. Mycroft was the civil servant who, using his great brain, was able to give overall advice upon how any particular event would affect not only one branch of government, but the whole; foreign trade and diplomatic implications too. His ability to absorb and pigeon-hole information, combined with instant recall made this possible. He lodged in Pall Mall and his club was the Diogenes. According to Holmes, Mycroft was Whitehall. I do not think this was any exaggeration. He was the undisputed expert.

  I could not help but contrast Holmes’s slim tall figure and hawk-like appearance with that of Mycroft’s. Although having the same look of alertness as Holmes, his body was heavily built, almost gross, his movements slow. Exercise was foreign to him, food I imagine his vice. Yet despite his unwieldy body, one could not be but impressed by his noble brow, his deep-set eyes and most of all his great presence.

  A four-wheeler was already standing by and the short journey to 10 Downing Street was soon accomplished. Mycroft then returned to his office.

  We were ushered into the sanctuary of the Prime

  Minister. It seemed that nothing had changed since last we were here. Lord Bellinger, austere, high-nosed, eagle-eyed, dominant as ever, rose from his chair and shook our hands. We sat down on the two chairs facing his desk, whilst he and Sir Simon Clayton sat facing us. The Premier’s counten-ance was gaunt and worried. He leaned forward and spoke to us in a voice full of gloom.

  ‘Mr Holmes, I have asked you and Dr Watson here to discuss a most serious and worrying situation. It could affect the future security of this country.’

  He paused. ‘I and those members of the Cabinet who are privy to the situation have already sought the opinions and advice from the best scientific brains in industry and our universities, presenting the problem as a hypothetical one of course.’ He drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘Unfortunately none were able to give us much help. They left us only with masses of data and possibilities. Some considered it was possible, others stated it was a preposterous idea and was too laughable to even contemplate.’

  He stood up. ‘Now perhaps you would be good enough to retire with Sir Simon, the minister most involved in this matter. Hear from him first hand, the facts.’ He looked at Sir Simon, then Holmes. ‘And later return to give me your opinion of the case, also whether you will take it on or not?’

  Holmes said, ‘I will do my best, Prime Minister, and I can assure you that if I and Dr Watson can help in any way after hearing what Sir Simon has to say, we will do so.’

  Lord Bellinger nodded. ‘We have not forgotten your expertise in solving the Bruce-Partington naval plans case, but I can assure you the loss of those plans, serious as they were at the time, cannot compare with this matter.’

  We withdrew to a smaller room nearby and Holmes and I sat on the large comfortable settee, whilst Sir Simon sat opposite in a leather armchair. He helped us to coffee and asked if we had any other urgent calls upon our time that morning, which Holmes assured him we had not. Holmes put down his coffee cup and said, ‘Sir Simon, I am aware that this matter is of the utmost importance. I would ask you therefore when relating the facts, to give every detail, no matter how irrelevant it may appear to you. Dr Watson and I are in no hurry, so do not feel in any way obliged to consider our time. Please take as long as you wish, but do include all the facts. The first telling of any case is the most important.’

  Sir Simon put his coffee cup down upon the tray by his chair. ‘I am much indebted to you and will try to remember every fact, no matter how irrelevant it may appear to me. But I fear it will be a long account.’

  Holmes nodded, ‘No matter, no matter.’

  Sir Simon began. ‘I met Rodger Hardy by accident last September. I thought at the tim
e it was accidental, later I realised it was a well planned meeting on his part. Rodger Hardy was a contemporary of mine from university days. He was clever, had a brilliant brain. His parents had met a tragic end whilst on holiday and his uncle had put him through university. The family were industrialists and had a flair for invention. There are many things in use every day which they either had invented or had a hand in developing. However, due to neglecting patenting rights and pouring money into developing an invention which other companies, and the State I might add, were to benefit from, the family went bankrupt.

  ‘The uncle became a recluse in the family home, Halam Hall. It became a ruin, part of it almost falling down. The surrounding farms and land were gradually sold off, until only the Hall and a few acres of wooded land the Hall stood on, remained.

  ‘Rodger meanwhile had gone abroad, it was rumoured to China, and nothing was seen of him for years, save that I would occasionally hear he had been seen in London, on what must have been rare visits to this country.

  ‘So it was a pleasure and a surprise when I met him again. We had much to talk over, old times, old friends, you know the sort of thing one discusses with a friend after so many years’ absence. We were almost ready to part company because I had an appointment to keep, when he said “Look here, Simon, can’t we meet again, have a meal? Besides, I want to show you something.” I was puzzled by the last remark. He went on, “Look, there is a very good train service that stops at my local station at ten past six. I could meet you with the dogcart and we could have dinner together, you staying overnight.”

  ‘And so I accepted his invitation, both because I liked Rodger and was intrigued as to what he had to show me. I was widowed two years ago and I find myself with a lot of time on my hands at weekends. Of course, I am invited by friends still, but it is not the same without my wife — a little embarrassing really for them, and awkward, I find, for myself. Invitations to parties, functions and meetings, well that is different. So you see I looked forward to the visit; he being a bachelor, there was a sort of common ground between us.

  ‘I arrived at his little local station the following weekend, and there was Rodger waiting with the dogcart.’

  Holmes interrupted, ‘This was late September I gather?’

  ‘Yes, the evenings were drawing in but the countryside was a joy to see. I enjoyed the leisurely ride along the country lanes, smelling the late flowering honeysuckle in the hedgerows. I am a countryman at heart, you know, was brought up in it and have never lost the love for it; the woods, fields and the wild creatures that hide there.

  ‘I always felt at ease with Rodger. He has a wonderful sense of humour and hundreds of stories about the happenings in his part of the world we, in Europe, hardly know exists.

  ‘We turned in off the lane between two tall stone pillars. The state of Halam Hall could be guessed at by the untidy sight of grass growing against the rusty iron gates. They had never been closed for years. The winding driveway lined with rhododendron bushes was overgrown with weeds and grass. Overhead the rooks in the trees cawed as we arrived at the turning circle of the Hall.

  ‘The Hall was large, much larger than one would expect a Hall to be. But on a closer look it was clear that over the years there had been many alterations and additions. Fashion and individual whims were evident, culminating in an unbalanced architectural mongrel of a place. It was made worse by the state of disrepair. Long neglect over many years and ivy allowed to run rampant into the roof had caused much damage. Part of the rear extension had begun to fall in. The whole place gave an air of neglect and decay.

  ‘A boy came running down the steps from his quarters over the stables to take the horse. I remember he was a ginger-haired lad and I could see, by the grin on his face, and the way he touched his cap to Rodger, that he worshipped him. The same pleasure in serving Rodger was evident in the few servants who worked part time at the Hall. Mrs Penrose, the cook, and her daughter came every day from the village. An elderly retired gardener and the ginger-haired boy attempted to keep the jungle of weeds from swamping the grounds. To them Rodger was still lord of the manor and they gave him that respect.

  ‘Before dinner, Rodger showed me over the grounds and it took me back to the years when he and I went to the home of a fellow student and that was in a similar state. I wondered if Rodger remembered that occasion and considered, as did I, that it was a little ironic.

  ‘We returned to the main entrance of the Hall and I made a reference to the remark he had made to me when we had first renewed our acquaintance that, “He had something to show me”.

  ‘“Oh, yes!” he replied, “but after dinner would be best.”

  ‘Inside the Hall it was dark and dingy and as one looked about it, one could see from the lack of furniture that many, no doubt fine, pieces had been sold by his uncle. Likewise when I looked at the walls, there were many places showing light patches where paintings and pictures had once hung.

  ‘The dining-room though was welcoming and comfortably furnished. In the grate, logs burned and crackled, giving a much appreciated warmth after our walk around the grounds in the rather chill evening air.

  ‘Rodger Hardy had thrown away any form of usual convention by combining the purposes of the dining-room and drawing-room into one. A dining-table and chairs were close to the window, which looked out over the uncut lawns, whilst three large leather-covered chairs, and an even larger sofa, were grouped close around the hearth to constitute the drawing-room.

  ‘Rodger grinned and asked me to excuse his rather bohemian way of life, “I’m a bachelor and living in all parts of the world I find comfort is the essential thing”. Although he had made enough money abroad to have renovated the Hall easily, it was not his intention to do so. “I intend to eventually put it on the market, so that is why the Hall is in such a poor state”. Which he later did of course.

  ‘The two of us ate an excellent meal cooked by Mrs Penrose and served by her daughter. They had stayed on late to do so. It was nearly two hours on when Rodger referred to that which he wished to show me. “My great grandfather made a fortune you know from the railways; not building them, but from the locomotive engineering side. To cut a long story short, my great grandmother decided she would like a ballroom built, but because great grandfather considered it would spoil even further the outline of the Hall, he decided to excavate and build it underground. This he did. The Duke of Portland I understand did likewise, and I am informed the eccentric Fifth Duke spent millions of pounds building a splendid underground one. They say it was the largest underground ballroom in Europe, without supporting pillars. Also, he built miles of underground roadways under his estate at Welbeck Abbey in Nottinghamshire. Can you imagine it? The roadways were lit by gas lamps and he had instructions given that his workers should never abase themselves or acknowledge his presence, but treat him as though he were a tree. He was truly a very eccentric person.

  ‘“One of these underground roads even extended nearly as far as the local railway station, to where he would travel in his coach. On emerging into the daylight, he would draw the blinds so no one would observe him. On arriving he entrained, and down to London he would go.”

  ‘I remembered the Duke because he was involved in a court case, and mentioned this to Rodger.

  ‘“Yes, that is correct. After the Duke’s death in 1879, in a most celebrated case at the time, a man named Druce claimed to be the legitimate son of the Duke, he being the son of a secret marriage between the Duke and a woman of low birth by the name of Druce, who ran a bazaar in Baker Street. Forgive me, Simon, I digress. Follow me and I will show you the ballroom.”

  ‘We went out of the dining-room into the entrance hall where, to the left, was a very wide door. Rodger opened it. “Here is the entrance, and the steps down to the ballroom. You will notice the ballroom was never finished. Great grandmother broke her hip and, because she could no longer dance, lost interest in the ballroom idea and so it has remained, just an underground concrete sh
ell.”’

  Sir Simon paused and, looking from Holmes to me, said, ‘I think I should now take some time to describe this room. The entrance led as I have already mentioned, from the side of the main entrance hall. It was intended, I gather, that guests would arrive at the main entrance of the Hall, leave their coats and hats, and then descend down the staircase to the ballroom. The entrance to the ballroom was six feet wide and ten feet high. I later measured it. There were twenty wide steps down into the ballroom which measured thirty-five feet in width and sixty-five feet in length. Again I know because I measured it. The ballroom was a perfect oblong shape except for the protruding stairs from the entrance doors. The place was as the builders had left it, bare concrete walls and ceiling, but needed only plastering, ornate ceiling, decorations; you know, everything which would have made it into a delightful ballroom.

  ‘However, it was what was in the room that made me stop and stare in disbelief. Along the centre of the floor was the keel of a boat. Beginning a few feet from the bottom of the staircase and ending a few feet from the rear wall. Over fifty feet in length. I could see it was to be a boat, because the ribs down one side were already in place.

  ‘If that was not enough of a shock, to see a boat being built underground with no hope of ever getting it out, then it was compounded by the sight of ten grinning Chinamen standing in a row, who, when I stared at them, each in turn bowed from the waist and continued to grin. Mr Holmes, I thought it about as bizarre a situation as one could ever come across.’

  I looked sideways at Holmes and saw the look of supreme pleasure upon his face. An architect who is asked to design a cathedral or an artist commanded to paint the Royal Monarch could not have had a more satisfying expression.

  Here was not a lurid domestic murder or a criminal case of burglary which seemed to have been Holmes’s lot for some time now, but a case that had all the trappings of mystery and intrigue, to equal the best of his others. It involved the highest in the land and the story that was already unique was only yet half told.