Sherlock Holmes and the Chinese Junk Affair and Other Stories

by Roy Templeman

  His Lordship took them down each in turn and examined them and, except for a blade of grass wedged between the wood and the silver presentation plate on one of them, they were in perfect condition. He turned, as I did also to Holmes for an explanation, but before we uttered a word Holmes spoke.

  ‘First, your Lordship, I must inform you that I cannot reveal the name of the thief.’

  ‘You cannot reveal the name of the thief ?’ repeated the astonished peer. ‘But why not, Holmes... after all, that is why I asked for your help in the first instance.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Holmes raising his hand in protest. ‘I never promised to name the thief, only to try and solve the crime... I can assure your Lordship that there will never be a similar occurrence. In fact, I suggest that you get rid of all those man-traps, wires, shotguns... everything. There is bound to be an accident some time in the future, either to yourself or some member of your staff.’

  ‘But I don’t understand, Mr Holmes. How can you promise me that my trophies will be safe in future?’

  Holmes retorted, ‘I can promise, your Lordship, because I have spoken with the thief. Now he knows that I know him, he cannot possibly take anything again, or I should reveal all.’

  His Lordship was still baffled by Holmes’s reluctance to reveal all. ‘I still cannot understand why you will not reveal his name to me.’

  ‘Because I have promised not to. It was part of the bargain I struck with him. Now if your Lordship will forget all about the burglaries and perhaps turn your energies to the running of the estate, I am sure you will have no more trouble.’

  His Lordship sank down into one of the leather chairs and pulled his coat around him because it was chill, and no fire had been lit.

  ‘I suppose you are right, Mr Holmes. I have spent far too much time and money on this trophy room. I know I have neglected the estate. Wilson, the estate manager, has been on to me for some time to give my consent to certain things that want doing.’

  Holmes remarked, ‘I’m sure it will please him.’

  He turned suddenly to Holmes, ‘Good heavens, it wasn’t Wilson, was it?’

  Holmes laughed and shook his head. ‘No, no, on that you can be assured... is it agreed then, your Lordship; no more neglect of the estate in return for a promise that the trophies will be safe in the future?’

  His Lordship raised his huge bulk from the chair and gave a wan smile. ‘I suppose I must agree, Mr Holmes, but I should dearly like to know how the man managed to pull off such a daring theft. I do admire his skill and, yes, bravery... I don’t suppose you would reveal how it was achieved... ?’

  Holmes shook his head and said, ‘I can assure you, your Lordship, he will never, ever, see you again... One last word, I should look to some of the repairs needed to the cottages on the estate first. I noticed, as I walked around the village and farm cottages, tiles off roofs, broken chimney pots, rotting thatch... contented workers go a long way to make an estate a good estate... the locals still admire and speak with great respect of your father... this is an accolade we would all wish for, from those we leave behind.’ Only Holmes could have pointed out to the good, but misguided, young viscount, the right path to take.

  His Lordship accompanied us in his coach to the railway station and thanked us both for all we had achieved. I had done nothing to help solve the mystery, but good manners dictated I should be included in his gratitude. I felt the village people had, in the future, the kind of squire they deserved. We waved goodbye, and soon we were sat back watching the countryside slip by as we made our way back to London.

  Holmes settled himself down and read the morning paper he had bought at the station bookstall, whilst I was content to read the book on carp fishing which his Lordship, knowing my interest in the sport, had generously given me. I was eager to learn the rest of the story: how Holmes had solved the mystery, the identity of the unnamed thief and, even more interesting, how the theft had been carried out.

  Unfortunately, the carriage compartment was also occupied by a gentleman who was obviously going fishing by the amount of rods and tackle he had with him. I had to contain my curiosity and be satisfied to read how the monks had made artificial ponds in which to breed carp. Carp, once caught, would be wrapped in wet moss and kept alive until ready to be cooked.

  I noticed our fisherman friend eyeing the cover of my book, and when the train began to slow down at the next station, he collected his tackle, saying as he alighted, ‘I hope you enjoy reading your book as much as I hope to enjoy catching a nice fat carp.’ I thanked him, and soon the train was moving again.

  I looked at Holmes. He knew I was most anxious to hear the details, so, folding his newspaper and putting it aside, he began to relate the solving of the trophy house thefts. But only after a further delay whilst he charged his favourite meerschaum and made sure it was truly lit.

  ‘Note, my dear Watson, biographer extraordinaire, I mentioned earlier that I felt the thief was perhaps an acquaintance of his Lordship; this was my reason for speaking to the butler. He was most helpful and provided me with a list of visitors who were from some of our most illustrious families. However, I never needed that list; I was wrong in thinking in that direction.’ He dug a hand deep into his cape pocket and stretched his legs out. ‘As I told his Lordship the other day when we first inspected the trophy house, an ordinary thief would hardly have bothered risking life and limb to obtain just one trophy. The value when melted down would have been very little, compared with the value he would have got by robbing the far less difficult Hall; taking small paintings and silver, easily disposed of to any antique dealer.’

  Holmes looked at me in a rather quizzical way. ‘It was when we were talking to the head gardener the other evening that first set me on the solution. It didn’t strike me at the time; only the other night when I lay awake, listening to the far-away call of that vixen fox. I would point out that listening to the fox is totally unconnected with what I am about to disclose, but often our thoughts are like that, without rhyme or reason. Do you remember how, when we were discussing the garden exhibits with the head gardener, he made a remark about old Jim Roberts. He said something like... “When t’others finish in the evening ’cause it’s getting dark, old Jim just carries on. ’Tis all the same to ’im.”

  ‘It came to me then, the one man who could negotiate that barrier of traps, wires and guns in the dark, would be old blind Jim. He often worked on the traps and guns during the day, helping his Lordship and the others. Blind people are often far more able to do difficult things than we who are blessed with sight. As you are well aware, Watson, the loss of their sight increases the sensitivity of their other senses.’

  He paused a moment to catch a fleeting view of something by the trackside, then returned to his explanation. ‘Old blind Jim could cross the barrier in the dark as well as in the daylight. It made not the slightest difference to him, his world was one of continuous darkness.’

  I interrupted at this point, ‘But what about the geese?’

  ‘Ah! The geese, Watson... the geese. I thought you might ask about them. Geese only react to sounds or disturbances they are not used to. Old blind Jim used to whistle softly during the daytime when about his work, and the geese recognised that soft whistle in the dark... hence they were put at their ease and continued to be quiet.’

  I agreed, seeing the logic of his reasoning.

  Holmes continued, ‘Once across the barrier he waited on the doorstep until the clock in the stable building chimed.’ I looked at Holmes with what must have been a quizzical expression. He went on to explain.

  ‘Sounds, as you are aware from your old days in the army, travel many hundreds of yards at night... even small sounds. The click of the duplicate key he had copied, turning in the lock, might have been heard by any keeper nearby, so he timed the turning of the key to correspond with one of the chimes of the clock. Once inside he took a trophy from the wall, then left, closing the door behind him, having no need to lock it, of cour
se. He returned as he came, across the barrier and back home.’ Holmes reached out to prevent his newspaper from slipping onto the floor.

  I took the opportunity to ask a question which puzzled me. ‘But why did he do it? He had served with distinction in the army and his Lordship’s father had employed him, when many like him would have ended begging on the streets... so why had he turned burglar?’

  ‘I asked him the same question, Watson, the evening I slipped out and visited him in his cottage. I think I had already formed an opinion before I asked it. The night was cold, the fire was low, the room filled with smoke. It appeared the chimney was partly blocked. It wasn’t a very comfortable place to live in, I can tell you; cold, wet and damp. His poor wife sat with blankets around her to keep warm. I heard her cough as I went up the path to the cottage; she hardly stopped coughing the whole time I was in the place. When I went up the stairs to the bedroom, at the request of old Jim, I saw large patches of wet on the floor where the rain came through the dislodged tiles. The dripping water from the ceiling fell on the bed and floorboards. Bowls and tins had been placed to catch the drips.’

  I sympathised aloud to Holmes with the old couple’s predicament.

  Holmes went on. ‘Old blind Jim felt it was a grave injustice that so much time and money should be spent on the silly trophy house, whilst his servants in the cottages had to put up with such terrible living conditions. Under his Lordship’s father, things had been much better. The cottages had always been kept in good repair and the estate better managed, but his Lordship had been too interested in his trophy house to bother with managing things properly.’

  Holmes opened up his cape, I did likewise with my coat; it had turned very warm in the carriage. ‘You see, old Jim hoped that by taking a trophy, it would make his Lordship see how silly were his traps and things. When his plan did not work out he took another trophy. Afterwards, instead of scrapping the traps and guns, his Lordship actually spent more time and money on security.

  ‘Jim did not know what to do next but, without coming up with any new idea, he decided to try once more. After the third theft we, of course, were called upon.’

  I asked about the trophies. ‘Oh! They were kept in Jim’s attic. Every now and again he would bring them down to clean. He never meant of course to keep them. Some day he intended to return them. As honest as they come is old Jim Roberts.’

  The train halted at a station and for a moment I thought our discussion would be interrupted as a very stout gentleman and a rather thin lady paused outside the carriage door, wondering whether to enter or not. However, the lady pulled on the arm of her companion and they walked further down the platform to secure an unoccupied compartment.

  As the train drew out with steam and smoke drifting past the windows, Holmes continued his account. ‘I made a promise to old Jim that I would not disclose his name, or how the theft had been committed, provided he returned the trophies that night. Also, I promised to do what I could to make his Lordship aware of his responsibility to the estate and his servants who relied upon him.’

  Holmes once again eased his long frame from one position to another. I did the same. Somehow, we both seemed to find the journey beginning to get very tiresome in-deed.

  Holmes took up the story once again. ‘I arranged that if he managed to return the trophies during the night, and all went well, he was to place a single goose feather between the door of the trophy house and the jamb, as a signal when I looked out of the library window next morning.’

  I interrupted, ‘You must have remarkably good eyesight, Holmes, to see a single feather at that distance.’

  ‘Yes, I have good eyesight, but even I could not have seen it without the aid of the brass telescope his Lordship keeps on its tripod by a window of the library. Did you not notice it?’

  I confessed I had not. ‘So, that was how you were able to say, with such certainty, the trophies were back in the trophy house again.’

  Holmes smiled, ‘Exactly, my dear Watson.’

  I continued, ‘And when you said to his Lordship that the thief would not set eyes upon him ever again, you were speaking the truth. Poor blind Jim will never set eyes upon his Lordship or anyone ever again.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Holmes. ‘I wanted his Lordship to think the crime had been committed by a common thief from outside the district. It would not have gone down well with him, I am sure, if he thought someone, a friend or a servant on the estate, had outwitted him and was inwardly laughing every time he saw his Lordship.’

  How simple it all seemed when explained by Holmes, yet how baffling had it all seemed only twenty-four hours ago.

  The train began to snake and slow down as it approached the outer network of track leading into the station. There was a squealing from the carriage wheels as they protested when taking some of the sharp curves.

  ‘Now there’s a puzzle for you to solve, Watson.’

  ‘Puzzle... where?’ I looked about me.

  ‘Under your feet.’

  I looked at the floor. ‘You have the better of me, Holmes.’

  The train came to a halt as it stood by a signal, awaiting the track ahead to clear.

  Holmes replied, ‘On a straight piece of rail track the wheels on each side of the axle revolve at the same speed, the revolutions equal. However, when the track curves, one wheel has to revolve faster than the other.’

  I must have looked a little blank so Holmes decided to elucidate.

  ‘Think of a boy and his train set. He sets up the track in a circle. Now, the outer rail of the circle is larger than the inner rail of the circle... correct?’

  I agreed, but perplexed as to what it was all leading up to.

  ‘So,’ continued Holmes, ‘the wheels on the outside rail then have to revolve faster than the wheels on the inside rail because there is more rail to traverse.’

  I agreed again, but could still not comprehend where the puzzle was, and said so.

  ‘I don’t see any puzzle, Holmes. The wheels on the axle, just like those on a cab or coach, revolve at different speeds to compensate for this.’

  To emphasise the grasp of my understanding I continued, ‘When a cab turns to the left, the left-hand-side wheel revolves more slowly. Likewise, when the cab turns to the right, the right-hand wheel revolves more slowly. They revolve independently of each other on the axle.’

  ‘That is absolutely correct, Watson, only there is a problem... the wheels on all railway rolling stock are fixed to the axle; rigid, solid, welded together. One wheel cannot revolve faster or slower than its partner on the same axle.

  ‘When running on a straight piece of track, there is no problem, each wheel turning at the same revolutions as the other. The problem arises when the track begins to curve; whether to the left or right, the problem remains the same.

  ‘As we see with the train set, the wheel on the outer rail has to revolve faster than the one on the inner rail... it’s the law of physics... so how does rolling-stock cope with this problem when negotiating a curve, without twisting and wrecking the axle?’

  I gave him a long look, not realising until then that railway rolling-stock did have their wheels fixed rigid to the axle. Any further thoughts on the subject were interrupted by the train jerking and beginning to move forward again. The familiar sound of clickety clack, clickety clack was heard as the wheels passed over points and crossovers, before the train glided to a halt inside the station.

  Doors were flung open, porters dashed forward with wheelbarrows to assist with luggage; the whole familiar bustle and noise, so very different from the staid quiet country station we had entrained from. We waited in turn to give up our tickets and then were swept along again with the outpouring mass of humanity, like us, eager to leave the station.

  Observing the demand for cabs, Holmes suggested we walk back to Baker Street as it would be just the thing to bring back the circulation to our legs, after our enforced inactivity.

  We walked along the pavement by the side o
f a row of cabbies. The drivers struggling to assist the passengers enter their cabs, others were heaving and tugging at heavy luggage, intent upon securing it onto the roof-racks. Trade was roaring. As one cab left the rank and left a space, another filled it, the horse knowing exactly what was expected of it from years of experience.

  I describe this scene because one particular cab was turning round as it was facing the wrong direction it was to go. We paused and watched the wheel nearest the pavement revolve several times, whilst the other one made perhaps half a turn as the cab completed its one hundred and eighty degree turn.

  It was a perfect demonstration of the physical science of free-turning wheels on the same axle and, likewise, it revealed the problem involved with railway rolling stock; the wheels being fixed and unable to turn independently of each other created, so it would appear, enormous stresses on the wheels and axles, even when traversing the slightest curve.

  We walked on, my brows knitted in deep thought. Obviously the problem, puzzle, call it what you may, had been solved long ago by pioneering railway engineers, yet it is never given a moment’s thought by those who travel daily on the train. It was a first-class conundrum indeed.

  I had the feeling that Holmes had a trace of a smirk on his face; however, I was determined to discover for myself the puzzle of the fixed railway wheels... but it would have to be all in good time. I have not the best mind when it comes to scientific matters.

  We turned into Baker Street to be met with the familiar sights; street hawkers, flower sellers, newspaper boys shouting the latest headlines, all rubbing shoulders with the home-going workers.