As I ascended the stairs, it was with some surprise that I detected voices coming from the rooms above, and there, seated at our small table, was Sherlock Holmes, as bright and alert as ever, deep in conversation with a most troubled looking Inspector Lestrade.
By the late ’90s the relationship between Holmes and Lestrade had changed somewhat, from their earlier mutual distrust and antagonism. Indeed, from the date of Holmes’s unheralded and wonderful deductions which resulted in the exposition, and subsequent arrest of one Jonas Oldacre, referred to in my narration of the case as, the Norwood Builder, Lestrade would often seek his consultation on problems of a particularly vexing nature. No longer hiding his admiration for Holmes’s unorthodox methods, Lestrade now enjoyed the successful results that they provided him with.
‘Ah, Watson!’ Holmes greeted me. ‘You are just in time for some most excellent devilled eggs and kidneys which Mrs Hudson has kindly prepared for us at short notice.’
I lost no time in taking my place at the table, and sharing Holmes’s enthusiasm for the meal upon it, which made short work of redressing my hunger. Upon observing my questioning glance in Lestrade’s direction, and the untouched food on the plate before him, Holmes explained:
‘Alas, the dilemma now facing the unhappy Inspector has, somewhat, diminished his appetite, but please finish your coffee, and cigarette before we retire from the table. All will then be explained to us by our troubled guest.’
I hurriedly scanned the papers while I concluded my meal, only for Holmes to interrupt my efforts.
‘Admirable though your desire for pre-emptive knowledge surely is, I can assure you, Watson, that the delicacy of the matter Lestrade brings before us and its potentially embarrassing nature, will preclude any mention of it in the press.’
At a gesture from Holmes, we three moved to the chairs by the fire. Lestrade, pensive and agitated, sat uncomfortably on the edge of his seat. Holmes took to his customary chair, his eyes drooped, almost closed, his finger tips pressed together and, in a state of such total concentration that all matters, save Lestrade’s forthcoming narrative, would be excluded. I readied myself to take notes.
During the narrative of earlier cases involving Inspector Lestrade, I have often alluded to his resemblance to a ferret. However, as I sat there, pencil poised to take down his words, I could not help but notice how startling this resemblance really was.
‘Gentlemen,’ he began. ‘I realize how ridiculous it would be of me to request confidentiality, and discretion from either one of you, in view of the loyal service you have given to your country on so many occasions in the past. Indeed, if it was merely my own reputation at stake, in this instance, I would surely have made no mention of it at all. My superiors at the “Yard” have demanded as much, however, and you must believe me when I say the line of responsibility stretches high above their heads as well.’
These last comments, of Lestrade’s seemed to irritate Holmes, causing some impatience. Perhaps sensing this, Lestrade cleared his throat, and decided to go to the crux of the matter.
‘Now to the known facts, Mr Holmes, without which even you can do very little. My own division have been involved in an investigation of a most delicate nature, but for reasons of national security, each division involved is only allowed a restricted view of the whole picture. We all report to a central agency who, in turn, collate the information, and then report to the relevant government departments.
Consequently, we will never know the results of our work; whether successful or otherwise. Frustrating though this is, I cannot stress too highly the overall importance of the work, and, therefore, I had to be most selective in my choice of suitable officers. The first name on my list, almost as a matter of course, was Detective Constable Nicholas Parkes, undoubtedly the most accomplished young officer on the force. He has risen to his present rank in just three short years, and his success rate is unprecedented. He has made no secret of the fact that he is a keen devotee of your methods, Mr Holmes, and yet his success is equally due to diligence, and an insatiable appetite for hard work. Incidentally, this appraisal of his work does not come from me, indeed he has only been at the Yard for a fortnight, but from his superiors at two northern constabularies, that proved too small, and unchallenging for his talents.’
While Lestrade had been speaking, Holmes had risen, and began collecting the plugs and dottles from his previous day’s smokes, which he collected on the top of the mantelpiece and usually employed in his first pipe of the day. Lestrade’s unexpectedly early arrival had delayed this process until now. As Holmes lit up his old briar, he could barely suppress his amusement.
‘High praise indeed, coming from the equally talented and accomplished Lestrade!’ He laughed.
‘I can assure you Mr Holmes, I do not exaggerate. In his short time with us he has brought to a successful conclusion no fewer than four cases, the files of which were on the point of being closed. Furthermore, and not withstanding your cynicism, he was immediately put to work on this Government business. He was given the unenviable task of following a certain Theodore Daxer, an agent from Austria, under diplomatic immunity.
‘Parkes was only three days into his surveillance when his immediate superior, a Sergeant Gates, reported him as missing, and he has not been seen or heard from since. The current diplomatic turbulence on the Continent is so intense at present, what with alliances being made and broken with alarming frequency, that these foreign agents are playing for very high stakes. Therefore, I have little doubt that Daxer has done away with the unfortunate Parkes, or perhaps worse still, is holding him in an attempt to extract vital information he mistakenly thinks he might hold. Despite all our efforts, and the considerable Government resources at our disposal, we have had no luck, Mr Holmes, no luck at all.’
‘Hence your unsociably early arrival here this morning, presumably on the insistence of your superiors. No doubt they share your conviction that Parkes’s disappearance is, somehow, connected to Daxer and his fellow conspirators?’ Holmes asked.
‘Indeed they do Mr Holmes.’ Lestrade replied emphatically.
‘Are there no other cases on which he is currently employed, that may have led to his untimely disappearance?’ I asked hopefully.
‘None whatsoever.’ Lestrade replied. ‘Each officer chosen for this special force, has been withdrawn from all his previous duties.’
‘If I am to involve myself with this most singular affair, I shall require a full roster of Parkes’s comings and goings over the last forty eight hours.’ Holmes demanded.
‘Oh Mr Holmes, if only that were necessary! The irony is that there are none, because Daxer has not left the walls of the Langham Hotel since his arrival in England. We were notified of his imminent arrival by our own agents on the Continent, and he was followed to the Langham directly from the station.
‘Since then Parkes has shared a twenty-four-hour surveillance with Detective Constable Benjamin Cryer. The alarm was raised yesterday afternoon, when Parkes failed to relieve Cryer at the appointed time. Cryer is too good an officer to abandon his position, consequently Sergeant Gates was only alerted by Cryer failing to produce his end of shift report. Hence the time lapse between Parkes’s disappearance, and my arrival at Baker Street this morning.’ Lestrade hesitated before concluding. ‘I must admit that we are all very much relying on you, Mr Holmes.’
Holmes gleefully rubbed his hands together as he paced, back and forth, in front of the fire.
‘Oh, Watson, this is absolutely priceless!’ He exclaimed.
Although more successful at concealing it than my friend, I could not help but share Holmes’s obvious delight at the situation. So often in the past Holmes had saved the police from humiliation, with his timely interventions, and so often he had denied himself, or been denied, his full, and due credit. The crestfallen policeman would now see this as Holmes’s ultimate triumph.
‘Watson, not only are our colleagues at the “Yard” bereft of all reason, and logic, but
now it seems they misplace their officers to boot! I would not miss this for the world!’ Holmes proclaimed whilst slapping Lestrade upon his rounded shoulders.
‘I suppose I should have expected this kind of reaction from you,’ Lestrade responded disconsolately. ‘However, I would implore you not to trivialise the situation. There is a lot more at stake here, than saving the blushes of Scotland Yard.’
Turning away from Lestrade, Holmes made a great effort at suppressing his amusement. ‘No, no, of course not. To trivialise is as great a sin as to exaggerate, especially in advance of the facts. Would Constable Cryer be on duty at the Langham at this hour? Good, then we shall begin our investigation there.’ Holmes announced upon noting Lestrade’s affirmation. ‘We shall need a cab at once. Mrs Hudson!’
As we approached the Langham, Lestrade once more emphasised the need for discretion, and as a consequence, decided to relieve Cryer from his duty, and send him down to be interviewed by Holmes in the cab.
Even in plain clothes, Cryer’s bearing, and thick set build made his profession fairly obvious to the trained eye. A pleasant enough young man, in his early thirties, with a mop of wispy dark hair, and a surprisingly soft, modulated tone to his voice.
‘Good day gentlemen.’ He began, ‘Inspector Lestrade has asked me to assist you in your inquiries in any way I can. I shall be only too happy to oblige.’
Ignoring his courtesies, Holmes immediately bombarded the young policeman with a series of brief questions.
‘I understand you have not known Parkes for very long, and yet I would hope that an aspiring young detective, like yourself, would have formulated some opinion as to his character, and behaviour.’
‘Indeed I have, sir. Despite the brevity of our association, any opinion I do have is of a most favourable nature. His past record speaks for itself, and my own first hand knowledge of him, has done nothing to discredit or change that. His reliability and dedication are second to none.’ Cryer concluded.
‘All very commendable and professional view points, yet do you not have instincts of a more personal nature?’ Holmes asked.
‘Well no, sir.’ Here Cryer hesitated for a moment and Holmes glanced quizzically at him from under a raised eyebrow. ‘You see,’ Cryer continued, ‘Parkes is a most unsociable sort of fellow when off duty. Not rude, but distant, almost aloof you might say. For example, occasionally some of the lads take themselves off for a pint or two of ale when our duties, and shifts are completed, to relax together, and help build up the comradeship that is essential to any force. Parkes, however, always makes an excuse, and always has someone to see, somewhere to go. Yet, as far as I know, he has no sweetheart, no family, and only a small room in a lodging house to go home to. There is certainly something odd there, I would say.’
‘Would you indeed,’ Holmes murmured, pursing his lips with his forefinger, while gazing thoughtfully through the cab window. After a few moments Holmes resumed his questioning.
‘What opinion or theory have you formed as to Parkes’s nocturnal activities?’
‘I know so little of him it is impossible to guess.’ Cryer replied.
‘You mean he has never referred to the people he is staying with, nor any friends or associates he might have?’ Holmes asked.
‘Not a word, sir. Like a closed book, he is, totally obsessed with his work to the exclusion of everything else.’
‘Highly commendable, no doubt, and yet he sounds almost too good to be true.’ Was Holmes’s surprisingly cynical response. ‘I take it he has never been late to a meeting before this, nor missed a duty?’
‘Not once, indeed I am convinced that something awful must have overtaken him for it to have occurred on this occasion,’ Cryer emphatically replied, then he added thoughtfully: ‘Yet Daxer is still to leave his room.’
‘Thank you, Constable,’ Holmes waved him dismissively from the cab, and then sat deep in thought, his eyes adopting that far away glaze, I was so used to seeing at times like these. Indeed, even when Lestrade rejoined us, Holmes seemed as oblivious to his presence as he was to mine.
‘I must see a list of Parkes’s most recent cases.’ Holmes muttered, almost to himself.
‘Surely the answer lies with Daxer, and his associates. I do not understand why you should require such a list.’ As he asked this, Lestrade shot a questioning glance in my direction, no doubt surprised at Holmes’s lack of response to his query. I could merely shrug my shoulders, and remained as puzzled as him. In fact the entire journey back to Baker Street was completed in total silence, save for Lestrade moaning about the traffic, and the endless paper work waiting for him back at his office. It was only as we pulled up outside 221b once more, that Holmes spoke again.
‘I shall also require Parkes’s last known address. It is very likely I shall wish to call there within the next few days. Come along, Watson, we have a busy night ahead of us.’ Then, without even a nod in Lestrade’s direction, Holmes was gone.
Upon reaching our rooms, Holmes immediately went to the mantelpiece where he filled his old clay pipe from his Persian slipper, and sank into his chair with a long sigh.
‘There are certain aspects of this case that trouble me, Watson. Even allowing for the current sparseness of information, something far removed from the ongoing theory is constantly nagging at my brain. I cannot yet identify it, and yet …’ His words slowly trailed away, and he sank into a deep meditation while drawing heavily on his pipe.
‘You are not convinced of Daxer’s involvement then?’ I ventured to ask, knowing full well the potential dangers involved in interrupting Holmes’s chain of thought.
‘I must see the list,’ Holmes repeated to himself, then glancing briefly towards me, and acknowledging my question, he added: ‘I do think it most unlikely. Consider for a moment the type of men we are dealing with here. International agents, playing for extremely high stakes. I am sure that, by now, they are fully aware of the police surveillance, I mean, diligent our officers of the law may be, but subtle they are not! Therefore, Daxer, and his confederates are hardly likely to jeopardise their mission, and draw attention to themselves still further by eliminating a police officer. No, I am sure our search for Detective Constable Parkes must lie in another direction.’
Almost as soon as he had finished speaking a messenger from Scotland Yard arrived bearing a large, buff envelope, announcing it to be for the attention of Mr Sherlock Holmes. Holmes grabbed at it greedily, tore it open, and extracted two large sheets of paper which he sat down with at the table. Having read through them quickly, he then began writing furiously on six separate sheets of note paper. By now I had become aware of the messenger’s discomfiture, and drew Holmes’s attention to the man’s continued presence, in the hope that he would, at least acknowledge him.
‘Oh, yes. My thanks to Inspector Lestrade for his promptness, there is no reply. Oh, and ask Mrs Hudson to step up on your way out will you?’ He yelled these last few words, as the messenger was already half way down the stairs, and he had returned to his note writing.
Somewhat put out by the nature of Holmes’s message, a disgruntled Mrs Hudson appeared in our room to be told she had to despatch the sheets of paper Holmes had been scribbling on immediately. He gave her precise instructions as to the destinations of all six wires.
‘Holmes,’ I began hesitantly, ‘evidently events are unfolding which I cannot even begin to comprehend, and I gather, with some urgency. Yet I have neither seen, nor heard, anything so far which could possibly have prompted them.’
‘Events quite often appear to be more dramatic than they really are. I have merely despatched Mrs Hudson with messages to six of Shinwell Johnson’s most used haunts. Unless his habits have changed dramatically, since he was last of use to us, he should arrive here before we are ready to retire for the night. Hopefully with enough information to justify my requesting this list.’
‘Ah, the list! That has told you something of Parkes’s whereabouts then?’ I asked.
‘Your co
njectures are too premature even for me,’ Holmes replied. ‘However the list has certainly taught me a good deal about Parkes’s recent career, and is more relevant than Lestrade’s foreign friends at the Langham.’
I should mention here something of the nature of our acquaintance and occasional colleague, Shinwell Johnson. Mr Johnson, known to various intimates as ‘Porky’, was Sherlock Holmes’s door-keeper to the dark, nether regions of the underworld. A twice-convicted criminal himself, Johnson was forever grateful that he had fallen into Holmes’s hands, before his descent had become irreversible, and had therby been saved from himself. Though his associates were still, undeniably shady, he was now a friend of the law, and would not hesitate for an instant in answering a call from Sherlock Holmes. On more than one occasion his invaluable information had proved of great value. He was a stocky fellow, round of face, solid of build, and certainly someone you could rely upon, should events take a turn towards a more violent nature. It was certainly no great surprise to find him standing in our rooms at a quarter past the hour of eleven, later that night, just as Holmes had predicted he would be.
Holmes had always claimed that it was an injustice to nature if one differentiated between a Lord of the realm, and a common scullery maid in the way one treated them. True to this side of his nature, Holmes had greeted Johnson as warmly as one would his closest friend, or dearest relation.
‘Well, I am glad to see that at least one of my messages reached its mark, and a welcome sight you are too, Shinwell Johnson! No doubt the warmth of some alcoholic liquid sustenance would not go amiss?’ Holmes suggested.
‘No indeed, Mister ’olmes, not at all. Evenin’ Doctor, ever the gent your friend ’ere.’
‘Indeed he is, Mr Johnson.’ I replied.
The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes Page 14