Sherlock Holmes and the Chinese Junk Affair and Other Stories

by Roy Templeman

  But to Mr James Henshaw came an unusual experience; he became ill — suddenly. Trimmer was out doing the domiciliary rounds, and I had just finished the surgery when a cabby came demanding a doctor come at once, as Mr Henshaw of James Henshaw and Sons, Purveyors of High Quality Foods, was standing in his office, unable to move his legs. ‘It’s as though ’e’s rooted to the floor, I seed ’im wi’ me own eyes,’ gasped out the excited cabby.

  Grabbing my medical bag, I informed the nurse where I was going, and in a flash the cabby whipped up the horse and, in what seemed no time at all, I was being led through the doors of a very high-class emporium indeed.

  The several shop assistants, men and women, attired in smart immaculate dress, broke off from serving, to stare at me as I rushed up the wide impressive staircase to his office.

  I was shown in by an elderly lady clerk. I saw my patient at once; he was standing with his legs astride, grasping with both hands the side of his large leather-covered desk. He was truly transfixed, unable to move either leg even an inch. He looked at me with wide appealing eyes, rather like a lost dog who looks up at every stranger, hoping that it is its master.

  He was sweating and had a terrified look upon his smooth plump face. A man of about sixty years of age, I guessed.

  My first task was to calm him down and so I talked and assured him that, as soon as I was able to examine him, I was sure he would soon be on the way to recovery. One of his sons had arrived, and had obviously been informed about the situation, because he had not interrupted my conversation between me and his father, but had stood quietly but concerned in the background.

  I asked that we be left alone whilst I examined him. As I did so, I talked and discussed it with him. Soon the look of terror and despair was replaced by calm and, I think, hope that his condition was not life threatening. I explained he had an inguinal hernia, a rupture, and that palliative treatment was to wear a truss. I did not go further into the cause or description of a hernia, because I realised it would only upset my patient further.

  Slowly, on its own accord, the hernia receded and my patient was able to begin moving his legs again, until he was able to take a few steps across the room and sit down in his chair.

  With the help of his son, we supported him down the staircase and through the shop into a cab. His son and I accompanied him home, a rather grand house as would befit a successful purveyor of High Quality Foods.

  After suggesting he take the rest of the day quietly at home and that I would see him the following day, I left him in the care of his loving family.

  I became in his eyes the greatest doctor who walked, only because the man, never having any ill health, had no experience of the profession to compare me with.

  Often patients, who are attended by one doctor all their lives, are very reluctant to have another, being certain that their doctor is the best in the world.

  So grateful was my patient, that each Christmas I would receive a huge hamper containing a goose, wines, nuts and lots of other good things along with his best wishes. I must confess I felt quite a fraud, knowing I had performed no life-saving feat or anything special that any other doctor would not have done. But, as Holmes remarked, it obviously gives him great pleasure to give and I should be pleased it gave him such pleasure. I know Mrs Hudson agreed with that sentiment.

  And so it was that I arrived in Brighton. I had hoped it was to be only a short stay and my ministrations would soon have my patient fit and well again. I was disappointed. I found him a very sick man, and his health was slow to recover.

  *

  I spent many restless nights wondering how Holmes was coping. Had he found some clue which would enable him to begin the jigsaw which, when completed, would enable him to meet the Prime Minister with a definite answer?

  Yet the more I turned the case over in my mind, the more I considered Rodger Hardy was no confidence trickster. He had achieved a result which defied all known laws. No other conclusion could be reached. I remembered Sir Simon quoting his headmaster’s report on Rodger Hardy, sneaked, he said, along with his own, when he was left alone in his study for a few minutes. ‘High powers of concentration when his interest is aroused. Strong sense of duty. Good sport. Will be greatly missed.’ The character of a boy does not change so much when he becomes a man.

  I felt great relief when my patient was sufficiently strong for me to leave him in the care of a dedicated nurse, enabling me to take the first available train up to London.

  I had been away almost a month and it was with some trepidation that I arrived at Baker Street and sought from Mrs Hudson the state of health and general well-being of my friend, Holmes.

  I was much relieved when she said he was ‘Now his usual self’ and continued, ‘But he must be very busy as he was hardly ever in his rooms except to return and sleep.’

  I asked her about what she meant by the expression ‘He was now his usual self’?

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘After you went away for the first few days he appeared most unlike his usual self. He would return in the evening for his meal looking most depressed, in fact as though he had all the worries of the world upon his shoulders. Then one evening he returned and appeared more cheerful playing his favourite pieces on his violin.’ She smiled, ‘I was sure he was all right again.’

  I thanked her and, after dealing with my correspondence which had accumulated in my absence, I settled down to await the return of Holmes, hopefully in time for our evening meal together.

  He arrived early and I was pleased to see the account of his health and well-being given by Mrs Hudson was correct. He appeared full of vim and vigour and I was touched by his obvious and genuine pleasure at my return.

  When I considered the time was appropriate, I approached him about the current case of Rodger Hardy.

  He rested his chin on his hand as he was wont to do, choosing his words, I thought, carefully, and replied:

  ‘It is going very well, Watson. I must admit to you, at one time I felt I was up against a brick wall, a scientific brick wall. If I could have travelled to China and have spoken the tongue, moved about and investigated, then things might have been easier, much, much easier. But that was impossible.

  ‘However, I hope shortly to be able to give a definite answer to Lord Bellinger. You know, it was my dread that I would have to face him with an indecisive answer. I would have failed him, myself and the country. The only real advantage I had in the case was the time element. Rodger Hardy had not pressed for an early decision, and had decided to visit America in the meantime. He is due back shortly.

  ‘Rodger Hardy had realised the matter would have to be discussed eventually by the full Cabinet, and perhaps committees appointed, all of course sworn to secrecy, to discuss it before any decision was reached. Even with the full authority of the Prime Minister, it would all take time. Rodger Hardy had, however, put a deadline on the time; that time is almost up.’

  He smiled at me and placed his hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Now, Watson, my old friend. Enough of the Rodger Hardy case, let me hear all the news you must have; about your patient, who I assume is now on his way to a full recovery, and of Brighton and its society, but most of all about yourself.’

  I knew that he would reveal nothing more about the case and so we passed the evening in a relaxing way, after I had first brought him up to date about the health of my patient and the social events and news of Brighton.

  I read the back issues of the London papers and caught up with the latest events, gossip and society functions, whilst Holmes tinkered with his test tubes and chemicals.

  And so we settled back into our normal way of life at Baker Street, the excellent Mrs Hudson looking after us both in a way which bordered on that of a mother and an indulgent aunt.

  It was two weeks after I had returned to Baker Street when Holmes, who had spent most of those two weeks out and about, obviously working on the Rodger Hardy case, asked if I was doing anything in particular the following afte
rnoon. I replied that I was not. Holmes then surprised me by saying, ‘We must look smart tomorrow, Watson. We will be meeting the Prime Minister and some of his Cabinet.’

  I was surprised, but no further explanation was forthcoming, and so two o’clock the following afternoon found Holmes and me waiting outside a rather shabby building, a disused workshop in fact, in one of London’s less salubrious streets, for the appearance of the Prime Minister and some members of his Cabinet.

  Three four-wheelers arrived carrying the Prime Minister and three members of his Cabinet, which included Sir Simon, of course. In the other two coaches were a number of hefty policemen.

  The Prime Minister seemed in a less sombre mood than the last time we had met, the Cabinet members likewise. The reason, I was to learn later, was that Holmes had promised the Prime Minister to end the uncertainty about the ‘Transposer’, and was prepared to prove his findings. The party followed Holmes into the building, the policemen on guard outside.

  The workshop was divided into three rectangular areas and had been built in the early eighteenth century, stone walls and roofed in Welsh slate. The three workshops were identical in size and layout, being, as I have mentioned, rectangular in shape. All three were connected by a corridor to allow passage from one workshop to another. A further door in each workshop allowed the workers to make use of the narrow piece of grass space between the buildings for the purpose of visiting the long since demolished wooden privies. The main reason for the space between the workshops, however, was to allow windows to be placed in every wall to make full use of the daylight.

  Chairs had been arranged in a small office which was warmed by a blazing coal fire. Holmes later confessed that because of the years between the fireplace being used and now, the problem of removing birds’ nests, soot and dislodged bricks had been a problem for one of the many casual workers whom Holmes employed from time to time. However, lighting the fire a few days before the visit had ensured there was no problem on the day.

  Holmes cleared his throat as a means of showing his intention that he was about to explain the purpose of the visit.

  ‘Prime Minister, gentlemen. In a few minutes I want to demonstrate, on a reduced scale of course, the sight which Sir Simon beheld in the underground ballroom of Halam Hall some weeks ago. The vessel you will observe is much, much smaller, but the principle of the arrangement is the same, being surrounded by posts and strands of copper wire, as was the junk at Halam Hall.

  ‘You will hear the same noise of electrical generators as Sir Simon did. I give you the same warning too, as Rodger Hardy gave to Sir Simon: keep away from the copper wires and do not be tempted to touch the vessel by reaching between the strands of electric wire. If you follow these instructions, you will be perfectly safe. Would you kindly follow me?’

  We entered the first of the three workshops. The windows were large, each comprised of many small panes of glass. Needless to say these were almost opaque, covered by cobwebs and the dirt of years. The floor was filthy, the flagstones cracked and uneven. At the rear of each workshop was a raised cabin with windows through which, over the years, countless overseers had kept an eagle eye on a long since dead workforce. Each cabin was reached by a short flight of wooden steps.

  I wondered about the men, women and children who had spent their lives from early morning light to fading dusk, toiling away at their monotonous jobs, in this prison-like place.

  I suppose the size of each workshop was much smaller than that of the ballroom at Halam Hall. However, dominating the centre of the floor was a spanking new iron boat. A small barge would be a better description, about half the length of a canal boat. We were to find out later, its duty in life was to provide a platform for workmen painting or repairing the sides of ships.

  Around the boat were a number of upright posts supporting the copper wires, similar to those described by Sir Simon as seen around the Chinese junk in the ballroom.

  I looked at the Prime Minister and compared the contrast between these squalid surroundings and those of No. 10 Downing Street.

  I noted he was missing nothing and his eagle eyes were alert and searching as he walked slowly around, followed by Holmes and the three Cabinet ministers.

  The Prime Minister, having completed his tour, stopped, turned around and faced Holmes, as if to indicate he had observed it thoroughly and awaited the next act of the play to unfold.

  Holmes was at his best, dramatic and precise in his address. ‘Gentlemen, you will observe the craft, which is known by the rivermen as a pontoon or lighter. It is used by workmen when painting or chipping rust from the sides of ships or carrying out repairs.

  ‘You will observe it is newly built and is sporting a coat of black paint; for this is no pleasure craft, but is destined to a life of work and misuse. You will also observe that only by taking the roof off the building and lifting it out with a crane, can it be got out of the building, the windows and doors being far too small to allow exit.

  ‘Listen also and you will hear the hum of the generators which, as we stand here at this very moment, are actually energising the vessel.’

  We all listened and, true enough, the hum of the generators could be heard from somewhere in the building. Holmes continued, enjoying, I could see, every moment.

  ‘Now, gentlemen, the energising process is about over and it is dangerous to be present when it actually transposes.’ Holmes paused and looked at his watch. ‘I have chosen an out of the way site on the Thames for the vessel to be transposed to and, if you will follow me, a short drive will take us to that place.’

  Holmes again consulted his watch. ‘Let us not delay, gentlemen. My calculation of the time required to transpose the vessel may be slightly incorrect.’

  We hurried through the doorway with as much dignity as we could muster. I could not be but dismayed at the danger in which he had put the Prime Minister and all of us. But then, Holmes cared little for his own safety and assumed others were of the same opinion.

  During the short drive in the four-wheeler I concluded that Holmes, with the help of Rodger Hardy by means of letter and wire to America, had put on this demonstration to prove to the Prime Minister and Cabinet members that the transposing of solids was possible, and the terms demanded by Rodger Hardy, one million pounds and the envelopes containing the secret plans to be distributed far and wide, only to be opened in the event of war, would have to be accepted.

  The risk that Rodger Hardy would not make the same deal with foreign powers would have to be taken. But after all, Rodger was British, his mother American, and despite his family’s poor treatment in the past by an ungenerous government, Holmes must have felt sure he would do the honourable thing.

  My thoughts were brought to a sudden end when the coach stopped. We had arrived at the rear of some old wooden warehouses by the side of the Thames. It was a well-chosen site; not a soul appeared to be about.

  We alighted and the hefty policemen stationed themselves around so as to block off any casual intruders and, of course, were still completely unaware of the purpose of the visit.

  We followed Holmes along a cobbled pathway by the side of the wooden warehouse and, turning the corner, looked down to see the lighter, pontoon, whatever you care to call it, tied up at the bottom of a flight of old stone steps. The slap, slap, slap of gentle waves were the only sounds which broke the silence.

  We were initially shocked, amazed and not a little disturbed just as Sir Simon had been on that night at Halam Hall. ‘My God!’ and ‘Incredible!’ were just a few of the exclamations voiced. There was a feeling of fright and alarm amongst us. We didn’t understand the means by which it had been transposed. It was unnatural. We were witnessing the birth of a new era.

  The coming of the railways had ruined the canal trade: could this discovery herald the end of the railways, even ships, if the process could be made to operate over greater distances?

  I confess I looked at the little vessel with anxious eyes. I was near the Prime Minister
and overheard him say to Holmes, ‘I don’t like it. I don’t like it one little bit.’ He paused and again spoke to Holmes, and was overheard by us all to say, ‘I don’t know how you have managed in such a short number of weeks to set up this demonstration, but I must congratulate you. However, I had only wished that this... Rodger Hardy’s “Transposer” thing was...’ He paused and his countenance took on that old worried look... ‘Yes, a fraud, a fake, and that it was all only a huge confidence trick for him to make easy money. This contraption will cause more problems to our national security than it will ever help. I predict it will begin an era of upheaval and uncertainty.’

  Holmes smiled and replied, ‘I should not make a judgement yet, Prime Minister; the demonstration I have put on is not yet over by a long chalk.’ He chuckled, ‘The best is yet to come.’

  Lord Bellinger looked at Holmes with displeasure. He was not used to such cavalier repartee, especially in front of his ministers. He guessed Holmes was having a private joke at his expense, but the bait Holmes had thrown him and his attitude, although flippant, was not to be ignored.

  Lord Bellinger drew himself up and gave Holmes his most scathing look. ‘I do not quite understand that remark, Mr Holmes. If you have more to disclose, please do so.’ I looked at Holmes and detected in his face the expression that he realised he had overstepped the mark with the elder statesman, and was duly chastened.

  Unsmiling now, Holmes replied. ‘Yes, I have further facts to disclose, and I hope more pleasing to you, Prime Minister. If you would be so good as to follow me and return to the old workshops again, I will reveal them.’

  We took our seats once again in the four-wheelers. I noticed the puzzled looks on the faces of the policemen. Why, they must have wondered, should the Prime Minister and some of his Cabinet come to such a derelict part of London, to observe a lighter moored on the Thames at the bottom of some old steps? Knowing policemen and their habits, they had no doubt sneaked a look to try and discover what it was all about.