Sherlock Holmes & The Master Engraver (Sherlock Holmes Revival)

by Husband, Ross

  By way of answer, Holmes darted from the parlour and took the stairs down, three at a time. I heard him ask Mrs Hudson a question; he returned shortly, waving the bone from the ham we had so recently demolished, along with a butchers’ chopping board.

  Mystified, I watched him as he placed the heavy board upon the dining table and positioned the thick, bare ham-bone perfectly centrally on the wooden slab; he strode to his desk, retrieved the needle-sharp Balinese kris and joined me at the table.

  “Would you agree that this bone is not so very different in thickness from a large adult male’s clavicle?” I had to agree that it was so. “And while this weapon does not precisely match Lestrade’s description of the one removed from poor Warburg’s collar-bone, it is slim and extremely sharp is it not?” I nodded.

  “Petch, I estimate, is now in the latter part of his seventh decade, thin and frail. You, Watson, are little more than half his years and pretty hale?” Puzzled, I nodded. “Then do me the goodness of driving the blade, I believe Lestrade said – ‘halfway through the collar-bone’? Perhaps toward the thicker medial end where it would connect with the breast-bone, for that is where Warburg was stabbed.” I raised the knife above my head, took careful aim, and drove down with all my force.

  The bone did not break; I did not leave the knife deeply embedded; I succeeded merely in removing a splinter and occasioning a deep scar upon its surface. I attempted the bizarre task a second time, to no greater effect.

  “I take your meaning Holmes; clearly neither Petch nor Gunton could feasibly have stabbed Warburg. However, Lestrade concedes he has never before seen the odd type of weapon used in the assault. Perhaps in the hand of a different man it would pierce the clavicle? We should need to examine it, should we not?” He shook his head.

  “That is quite unnecessary; I have already seen many like it – as have you, and Lestrade’s description positively confirms the matter, which is what will shortly make matters appear so black for Petch. He has not the strength for the crime, his alleged accomplice has not the limb for it, and yet...”

  “Then what damning proof is Lestrade unknowingly holding?”

  Gravely he replied “From his perfectly explicit description, the curious weapon that was so cruelly embedded in Solomon Warburg’s neck was, and I make not the slightest doubt of it... an engraver’s burin...”

  * * *

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A Call To Arms

  The following morning around ten, day four of our five-day deadline, Holmes stood in silence at the window, gazing out into the gloom; I was mulling over the startling new intelligence delivered by Lestrade the previous afternoon.

  “If you truly believe that what you say is correct Holmes, then flimsy though Lestrade’s case appears, may not two innocent men at the very least be sent to trial for these grave charges? And even with an acquittal their reputations will be irretrievably damaged.” He turned and laughed drily. “Not in the least; Gunton and Petch are perfectly safe in the custody of the law – Lestrade’s imagined ‘case’ is so transparently and evidently circumstantial that no jury will ever convict. And furthermore, I do not merely believe that what I say is correct – I know it to be so, for I now have seen the faces of the two gang-leaders, and more than that – I know precisely where they are! I have seen them with my own eyes Watson! Wall-eye and Mustachios! Indeed, I have suspected their present location since the appearance of the second and third proofs. We shall introduce them to friend Lestrade within hours.”

  He dived for the map upon which he had earlier inscribed the circle, and after a moment’s deliberation, scrawled a small cross, barely more than a mile and a half or so west of Cubitt Town. Strangely, the cross was placed in the river, hard by a salient of land in Bermondsey called Jacob’s Island, on the southern side of the Thames. Time was now fast running out until the expiration of the deadline set in the Slater’s Yard note, when the criminals’ threat would be made good; I wondered, might Holmes be cutting things a little too fine? And yet he appeared perfectly sanguine.

  “Then despite the dangers, should we not make all haste to this Jacob’s Island, for time is now surely against us Holmes?”

  “Indeed it is Watson, but do you feel so valiant that you and I alone shall take on six burly, desperate and heavily armed ruffians at night, at least two of them murderers, anchored in the middle of the Thames on the lately renamed SS Betania, moored in a fast-running tide of poison, for that is where I tracked them to.

  “No, that is not the way; it is a fortress. So like our own noble Iron Duke, I have invited our enemy to join battle on the ground of my choosing – and like Wellington, I choose the high ground. I also feel that we should recruit some assistance.”

  “Then you do mean to call in The Yard? Lestrade is already convinced he holds the culprits.” Holmes laughed mirthlessly. “No Watson, just for today we shall leave the ardent Lestrade to his fruitless interrogations, for he will by now be quite certain he has his man. We shall work an altogether different way.” I looked at him quizzically. “And what way might that be Holmes?”

  He grinned and said airily “Why, the very simplest way; I have cordially invited Mr Bormanstein and the rest of his unlovable crew to pay us a call tomorrow at midnight, and at the same time to have the courtesy to return all those items which are not rightfully his!” I was dumbfounded at this apparently nonsensical notion. “You are seriously suggesting that they will see the error of their ways, play the white man and do the decent thing; that they will pack up the paper, any currency printed together with the plates, and then politely deliver them into your custody?”

  He pondered for a moment; a tiny smile played on his thin lips. “Yes, I expect something very much along those lines; I can be extremely persuasive you know, Watson.” I shook my head in bewilderment. It seemed to me that the inexorable pressure of this case, the dire consequences of failure, and the relentlessly-approaching deadline might be proving altogether too heavy a burden for my friend. “But Holmes...” I said quietly “...in the improbable event that they accept your ‘invitation’ is it not more likely that they will attend on an assassins’ mission? Are you so determined to play Daniel and invite the lions into your own den? We are but two; they by your own admission are six or more, and proven killers. There is a world of difference between bravery and fool-hardiness! How in Heavens could we defend ourselves against such odds?”

  “Why of course Watson, we shall raise an army.”

  The rumble of a growler halting below our window announced a visit. Holmes raised the sash window and called down to the street “Come up directly gentlemen!” Several pairs of heavy feet tramped up the stair, shaking the very floor beneath us. To me he added with a mischievous smile “Here, if I am not very much mistaken, comes the infantry.” I waited to see what this thunderous arrival might herald; I had not long to wait, for the door opened to admit the formidable, beaming visage of Mr Solomon Warburg (still discoloured but seemingly much healed), followed by two huge, amiable-looking young men of open, handsome countenance – both well over six feet in height and perhaps seventeen stones of solid muscle apiece – unmistakeably identifiable by their features as his sons Joshua and Samuel. With their arrival, the parlour immediately became rather crowded and appeared considerably smaller.

  “Joshua, Samuel, I have the honour to present Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson” announced Warburg the senior with a note of pride. Holmes and I extended our hands in turn, to observe them completely engulfed within our guests’ ham-like fists. “Thank you for attending gentlemen; please be seated.” I watched with interest and not a little concern as the sofa visibly bowed and a fireside chair creaked most alarmingly under the strain. Holmes perched upon the corner of his desk; I took a seat on the old ottoman and waited; our guests looked expectantly at Sherlock Holmes. “We are not quite all met gentlemen – we lack one more...” at which a slow and ponderous tread sounded on the stair. “...And I do believe this is he, our heavy brigade...”
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  There came a timid, almost nervous tap at the door. “Come!” cried Holmes. Cautiously the door was inched open to reveal the Perkins, Bacon & Petch night watchman, Private Jeremiah Shadwell. He ducked his head as he entered the crowded parlour. Warburg the senior was undeniably big; his two sons were giants; but by comparison, Shadwell was truly a colossus; I estimated perhaps six feet and seven or eight inches in height, and fully twenty stones in weight, without a scrap of spare upon him. He appeared somewhat overwhelmed by the assembled company and waited shyly at the doorway. “Come in Private Shadwell, and be most welcome. Perhaps you could be comfortable on, ah...” Holmes cast warily around for any remaining unoccupied item of furniture that might stand some small chance of bearing the weight of this mountainous man “...Ah, over there, in the corner.” He indicated his cleared chemical bench which, though stoutly built of heavy old teak timbers, still squealed alarmingly in protest as the behemoth took his place; he declined refreshment. The Warburg clan examined the arrival with friendly but professional interest, as bloodstock agents might size up a strong yearling at Tattersall’s; it seemed they were suitably impressed with what they observed. Private Shadwell made his duty to Holmes, his new-found ‘senior officer’ in the old-fashioned way by raising two knuckles to his forehead, and then he nodded awkwardly in the general direction of the Warburgs.

  I, meanwhile, was striving to reaffirm my faith in the dependability of solid London town-houses, particularly the floor joists and their ability to support the combined weight of this extraordinary group that Holmes had summoned. Wryly I considered that if my faith turned out to be misplaced, we should all shortly join Mrs Hudson in her private rooms below at some considerable velocity, and no doubt to her very great astonishment and displeasure.

  Holmes resumed. “And now to business gentlemen. I am inviting you today to consider embarking upon an unusual adventure which you should know will not be without danger; you may not be aware yet, but you are all involved already, as I shall make clear. Tomorrow night we intend – that is, Dr Watson and I, to apprehend six, and possibly more, men. They are large, dangerous, desperate – and very likely armed. We would much value your assistance. There is no guarantee of reward or even of glory, but if we succeed, you will have fended off a grave threat to Great Britain and The Empire.” Solomon Warburg glanced around at the other three giants and murmured “Two against six is not very favourable odds for you and the Doctor Mr Holmes – but should we join with you, I fear they will worsen...” he brightened and his eyes vanished momentarily “...for them.” My colleague smiled broadly and continued. “Now should you be curious as to why I have invited you all, then look around at your peers, and see that we have already met our first requirement – strong, brave and honourable men who can handle themselves, if it comes to it, in a desperate ruck.” The group briefly appraised one another once more and a low growl of approval hummed through the room.

  “There is a further reason why you may choose to disturb your quiet ordered lives by unnecessarily involving yourselves in this dangerous adventure – you all have an interest in its successful outcome.

  “You, Private Shadwell, know as well as I do that your senior officer, Sergeant Jacob Gunton is a fine, well-regarded and honourable man who, like you, has served his country with great valour and should not falsely be in custody for mean theft and for abusing the great trust his employers placed in him.

  “And Mr Petch, your benefactor and employer, a kindly old gentleman of arts and flowers – is he to hang for a murder that he could not possibly have committed?” Our little army looked up in some surprise. “Oh yes gentlemen, these villains have killed; murder, most callous murder has been done purely to silence a foolish young woman of tender years! At least two of these men are irreducibly evil, quite devoid of morals. And surely, gentlemen, is not moral choice the fundamental element of human conduct, lying as it does, at the very heart of humanity itself?

  “And as for you, Samuel and Joshua Warburg, would you not relish the opportunity to even the score with the cowardly villains who so mercilessly attacked your father and came within a hair’s breadth of leaving you orphaned?”

  They made no comment; but around the crowded parlour I noted eight mighty fists resting on eight tree-trunk knees tighten until forty giant callused knuckles showed white. Holmes moved to the conclusion of this extraordinary and unprecedented speech. His audience appeared spell-bound and, in truth, I too was caught up in his oratory. I had never before heard the like. Holmes was skilfully uniting them as a fighting brigade.

  He continued. “And finally, gentlemen, there is one further, one crucial, and for me and my loyal colleague here – one rather old-fashioned reason to undertake this hazardous task...” All eyes were fixed on the tall, gaunt detective, now standing before the fire.

  “...And that is, to serve our country. What I will next tell you, gentlemen, is very likely subject to the new Government Secrets Act, now passed into law. If you decide to remain in this room and hear me out, you must understand that what you learn may never leave this room or pass your lips, under pain of imprisonment.

  “Should you feel you are unable or unwilling to comply for whatever reason, you are perfectly at liberty to leave this moment, and no-one will think the less of you. However, now is our only chance to seize the real criminals. I shall smoke a pipe while you confer.” Holmes and I moved discreetly to the window seat; he lit his pipe; I the last Turkish in the cigarette box.

  He had barely got his little meerschaum furnace up to temperature when our unusual militia concluded their murmured conference. Warburg the senior turned to Holmes and cleared his throat, at which all four leviathans slowly and solemnly twice nodded their agreement in our direction. My colleague smiled with deep satisfaction; “That is quite good enough for me gentlemen, and no less than I expected.” He returned to his place in front of the mellowing embers in the grate. “Very well; bearing in mind you are now all sworn upon your honour to absolute secrecy, I will tell you that a band of extremely desperate men have stolen the new printing plates for the Bank of England’s £10 notes. They have also seized sufficient of the special watermarked paper to enable them to create two and a half million pounds in counterfeit currency. They have already sent us an earnest of their intent to wreck Great Britain’s economy; they wish to blackmail The Bank of England into paying a vast ransom for the return of the stolen plates and paper. If the government refuses, and they release that fraudulent money into circulation, every working man’s wage, and his family will suffer; panic will spread like wildfire in the stock exchange, and the world-wide reputation which the British Pound enjoys will be in tatters. For reasons of their own, the police have mistakenly arrested two good men; tomorrow night we will rectify that error.”

  He passed one of the three counterfeit notes in his possession to Warburg who ruefully examined it and unconsciously rubbed the fast-fading image upon his forehead; he passed the note to our new band of brothers-in-arms for inspection. Private Shadwell appeared quite bemused to be holding so large a sum of money in a single note, counterfeit or not. Holmes continued his exposition.

  “I have set the dependable Mr Warburg to instruct you in your particular roles; after all, he alone of us has uncomfortably close experience of these blackguards; I have already briefed him in great detail. He is now your commander and will tell you how and when to approach the building, your battle-stations, and what actions to take at my signal. Heed his words closely, and with luck and fortitude we shall take these villains and their ill-gotten gains! Tomorrow we fight for justice and decency, for our great British economy and our government, and perhaps far above all else gentlemen, for Queen and Country...”

  At Holmes’ final words something rather comical, yet a little touching occurred; mayhap as a result of his time spent serving in the officers’ mess at the loyal toast, Private Jeremiah Shadwell sprang to his feet at full parade attention, thumbs perfectly aligned with the seams in his trousers and loudly
declaimed “For Queen and Country!”

  After a rather uncertain pause we all rose and joined in the loyal toast, variously with salutes, tea-cups and a life-preserver; in the case of Sherlock Holmes he was compelled to raise his meerschaum pipe, and for me it was perforce the only thing to hand – a half-smoked Turkish cigarette. Nonetheless, it sufficed to dignify the moment. He moved to his conclusion. “And finally gentlemen, there is to be no killing, unless you perceive your life to be in immediate and mortal peril.

  “Doctor Watson and I shall carry pistols in the event they may be needed, as will the police. You may carry such protection as the law permits – and use such force as it reasonably allows.” As if in an afterthought he added, perfectly solemnly “...or such as you see fit in the heat of the moment – but be discreet, though I do believe we may dispense with the Queensbury Rules on this occasion.” At this, broad grins broke out all around the room; three life-preservers and a set of black iron knuckles were briefly produced, only to vanish with equal speed – in the hands of these four giants, potentially lethal weapons. Holmes affected not to notice them but for the smallest instant a tolerant smile of approval illuminated his gaunt features.

  “And now my friends, Dr Watson and I must leave for an important engagement in Threadneedle Street. Mrs Hudson will shortly bring refreshments; when you are done, the boy downstairs will show you out. Until we meet tomorrow evening gentlemen, I bid you good-day. Attend closely to Mr Warburg’s directions, and I doubt not gentlemen, that together we shall prevail...”

  Below on the street, Holmes hailed a hansom. “Threadneedle Street, driver, The Bank of England, as quickly as possible!” Clearly he had some pre-arranged appointment. I glanced slant-wise at my companion; his face had assumed the fierce, intent appearance of a wolf closing on its prey after a long and arduous chase...