“It is quite easily done, Inspector. I merely need to apply a flame to the surface of the paper. The heat will react with the fluid and it will become visible.”
“Fascinating,” murmured Charles Leeds as he leaned forward to watch Holmes more closely.
My friend brought the letter forth, lit the candle, and began to slowly apply the heat from the flame to it. He first began holding the paper well above the candle and then gradually lowering it. I began to faintly smell burning parchment and a wisp of smoke appeared.
“Take care, Holmes,” I said. “You are on the verge of setting it afire.”
“Have no fear, Doctor. I am well aware of what I am doing,” said he as he ran the letter back and forth across the flame.”
I saw no hidden writing appear, and with a grim shrug Holmes withdrew the letter from the flame.
“Nothing to see here, but we are not yet defeated.
He next took hold of the envelope and proceeded in the same manner. It too began to smoke lightly and suddenly, before I could cry out a warning, it exploded in flames and fell to ashes in Holmes’s hand.
Chapter III
There was a moment of stunned silence and then the prisoner made an anguished cry. “You ignorant fool!” shrieked Gordon Whitworth. “You’ve ruined everything!”
He lunged at Holmes, but was held back by the sergeants.
“Holmes, any message, if there was one, is now destroyed,” said I. “What will you do?”
“Why, drink Mrs. Hudson’s tea, of course,” he replied.
At just that moment, the door opened and the lady herself came in, carrying a tray with a steaming pot and a single cup.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” said Holmes. “I will pour for myself.
With a nod she quickly left the room.
“It is a bit early for tea, isn’t it?” I asked.
“I asked for it to be brought up at exactly this moment, Doctor. That was what I wrote in the note that I gave to Billy.”
Hopkins and Leeds exchanged a glance, and I saw doubt cross the face of the inspector.
“Now,” began Holmes, speaking as though from a rostrum, “I call your attention the reaction of Mr. Whitworth when the envelope was destroyed. What did his emotional outburst convey?”
I was fogged, but Inspector Hopkins broke into a broad smile.
“Of course, Mr. Holmes,” he said. “The envelope was obviously very important to him. It was a clue to the location of the money.”
“Not quite, Inspector,” said Holmes. “That it was important to Mr. Whitworth is indeed obvious, but it was not a map to locate the missing funds.”
“Then what, Holmes?” I asked.
“We will never know now because you have foolishly burned it,” said Charles Leeds.
“Have you heard of Mr. George Alfred Cooke?” Holmes asked.
“The famous illusionist, Holmes?”
“The very one, Doctor. I handled a trifling matter for him some years ago. In addition to a handsome fee, he repaid me by teaching me several tricks of his trade that I have found very handy in my work. Among those small illusions that he demonstrated to me was the ability to palm items. The envelope is quite undamaged.”
As he spoke, he drew the original envelope from his sleeve.
“Holmes, that was a magnificent performance!” I exclaimed. “You fooled us all completely.”
“You speak for me, Dr. Watson,” Inspector Hopkins.
Even Mr. Leeds seemed to have become totally dumbfounded. What Gordon Whitworth felt I could not see, as his face had become an emotionless blank.
“But what does the envelope contain that makes it so valuable?” I asked. “Is it an invisible message after all?”
“Not quite,” said he. “Ah, but I must not let my tea get cold.”
At those words, Holmes moved the still steaming pot in front of him, but instead of pouring, he placed the corner of the envelope over the spout. Inside of fifteen seconds, he laid the envelope on the table and gently removed the stamp - followed by another underneath it.
“There you are, gentlemen. This is where the twenty-thousand pounds has been hidden.”
We were all taken aback at this new development.
“My goodness, Holmes. Is that the King George Stamp?” I asked in wonderment. I knew it to be quite valuable.
“I’ve lost everything,” said Gordon Whitworth in anguish.
“Can a single stamp actually be of such value, Mr. Holmes?” asked Charles Leeds.
“Indeed so, sir. I have written a slight monograph on the subject. The King George Stamp was produced, but never distributed. Most were destroyed. The few remaining are were worth thousands. Where did you obtain this, Mr. Whitworth? Only a complete confession can be of any good to you now.”
For a moment, I thought the man might remain mute and take his secrets to prison with him, but he let out a long breath and began to speak.
“Very well, Mr. Holmes. You have found me out, and you may as well have the entire tale. The day that my plans were discovered, I had already taken the money. I was carrying it on my person when I realized that I might be arrested at any moment. I had grown increasingly anxious over the previous weeks. I imagined that eyes were upon me at all times. It was then that I thought to convert the money into something else. An old friend from my army days had once told me about a gin shop in Swan Lane called The Black Stag Tavern.”
“That is a notorious criminal den,” said Holmes.
“That it is, sir, but that is just what I needed. I quickly made my way there in search of I knew not what. I made myself known to the proprietor and he set me down in a quiet booth. Within minutes, a man sat across from me. It was very dark and I could barely make out his features. He was a tall, bearded man with a hat drawn down low to cover his eyes. We parried a bit, and I eventually told him I was looking to trade a large amount of money for something small of equal value. He left the table, went through a side door, and returned with the stamp you see before you.”
“And you never learned the man’s name,” said Holmes.
“That’s right, sir. The Black Stag is not the sort of place where names are exchanged. I know something of stamps. My father was a collector, and in my travels during my army days, I made it a point to seek out rare stamps among the locals. I made some money in a small way. As soon as I saw the King George Stamp, I knew that I had found a way to carry the money on my person without it being detected. At least until now,” he said with a rueful smile.
“But how did you know, Holmes?” I asked. “It is obvious that you were already certain that the envelope held the treasure.”
“It was the poem, Doctor.”
“That piece of doggerel?” asked Inspector Hopkins. “It makes no mention of any stamp.”
“That is true, but three lines from a five line poem rhyme with stamp.”
“That is rather thin gruel, Holmes,” said I.
“I will not argue that, Doctor. That is why I conducted my small illusion. It certainly told any observant person,” he shot a glance at the inspector, “that there was something of value contained by the envelope. What else but a rare stamp carefully covered by a common stamp? As you can see it, had the desired effect.”
“But Holmes? Who was this James Smith, and who wrote the poem?” I asked “Remember, the poem is not in Mr. Whitworth’s hand.”
“There was no James Smith, Watson. That is an invention of Mr. Whitworth. He never intended to post the letter. And the gentleman is certainly intelligent enough to disguise his writing by using his left hand. Is that correct, sir?”
“You are too clever by half, Mr. Holmes,” said Gordon Whitworth. “It happened just as you say.”
“But why the odd collection in your baggage, and why was the poem writte
n at all?” I asked.
“It was simply to create confusion, Doctor. I thought my ruse would hold up to any search. Of course I hadn’t counted on Sherlock Holmes. I thought it just possible that I could brazen my way through if I was arrested. Without the money, I had hoped the case against me might collapse.”
“I can assure you that was a false hope,” said Holmes.
“In any case, it is another triumph for you, Mr. Holmes,” said Hopkins. “I knew coming to you was the correct course. Wouldn’t you say so, Mr. Leeds?”
“Without reservation,” said the bank official. “Mr. Holmes, I withdraw my intemperate words from earlier and apologize.”
“No apology is necessary, sir,” replied Holmes in a distracted tone. He was scrutinizing the stamp with his magnifying glass. “And perhaps you should prepare yourself for a jolt. The stamp is a fake.”
There was a moment of stillness, and then the room erupted with everyone speaking at once. Holmes held up a hand to halt the cacophony of angry voices. However, Gordon Whitworth would not be denied.
“I do not know why you are expounding this lie, but I told you I know something of stamps. This one is genuine.”
“It is a cunning reproduction, but I have already noted several discrepancies in the background,” said Holmes. “I am certain that Mr. Leeds and the bank will wish it to be examined by experts of their choosing, but it is a forgery. I am afraid that the money is gone for good.”
“Not quite, Mr. Holmes,” said Hopkins. “We still have a description of the man, and we know where the transaction took place.”
“I believe you will find the denizens of The Black Stag to be most unhelpful in any Scotland Yard investigation, Inspector,” said Holmes. “In addition, the description of the seller is so vague as to be useless.
“I suppose you are right, sir, but we will make the effort nevertheless.”
“I, for one, applaud your devotion to duty, Inspector,” said Holmes.
Charles Leeds had an expression of utter desolation on his face.
“Twenty-thousand pounds gone,” he muttered. “The directors will never understand.”
“I am certain that you will be able to make them understand, Mr. Leeds,” said Holmes with little charity. He turned to Whitworth. “Have you anything to say for yourself, sir?”
“Only that it seems that I am as unschooled in the arts of finance as my father to be swindled as I have been,” he said. “My only happiness is in knowing that the bank has lost the money as well. I consider myself satisfied.”
“But you will still be tried and likely convicted for embezzlement,” said Holmes. “In fact, your own account this day will make that conviction a near certainty.”
“That’s correct, Mr. Whitworth,” said Hopkins. “You were warned that your statements will be given as evidence.”
“I am prepared for what is to come,” said Gordon Whitworth firmly.
He squared his shoulders and came to parade ground attention. Once again, I felt a kinship to this former soldier. To my surprise Holmes rose and shook the man’s hand.
“Good luck to, sir. I remember the scandal that felled your family and, as I recall, many other good English families. It is a shame that the guilty parties were not called to account.”
At this speech, I saw a grimace cross the face of Charles Leeds. There was little else to be said, and our visitors departed leaving Holmes and myself alone.
Chapter IV
“I do not believe that there has ever been a sadder ending to case before this,” said I. “Tell me, Holmes. What is your personal opinion of Gordon Whitworth?”
Holmes was in his chair and lit a pipe before answering.
“He is a very clever man, Doctor.”
“How can you say that? He was caught embezzling, and then was fleeced out of his booty by a counterfeit stamp. I should say that a clever man would have done much better.”
“He was not fleeced, Watson.”
“How can you say that?” I asked. “Then where is the money?”
“The daughter has it, of course.”
“The daughter? I don’t understand this at all.”
“You will recall that I mentioned to Mr. Whitworth that I had discovered that his daughter had recently made an investment in an American steel mill. The investment came to twenty-thousand pounds exactly.”
“How would the daughter have received the money? Gordon Whitworth’s mail has been watched?”
“He has been watched since the discovery of the theft. He is an intelligent man. He actually stole the money much earlier and sent it out of the country. As I said, the man arranged it all quite cleverly.”
My head was spinning at this point.
“Half-a-moment, Holmes. If he took the money earlier, then why did he wait until the theft was discovered to make his way out of the country? He was caught so easily.”
“Being caught was always part of the plan. He will now be tried, but he will be a sympathetic defendant. The bank broke his family, now he is penniless again, and he has served the empire with gallantry as a soldier. He will do little prison time, I judge less than a year, and the authorities will not look to recover the money because they believe it to be lost.”
“Couldn’t he have accomplished the same outcome if he had simply buried the money and refused to tell where it was? He still could have recovered it after his release from prison.”
“There are two reasons he did not do as you describe. Firstly, he would not have been a sympathetic defendant. He would be simply one more unrepentant criminal. Secondly, you heard Mr. Leeds. If Whitworth had gone to prison with the sum still missing, they would have hounded him upon his release. Whitworth could never have enjoyed his money. This way, everyone believes the money to be gone. Once he wins freedom, I expect he will travel to the United States and live a very comfortable, obscure life.”
“But how did he manage to find a counterfeit stamp on such short notice? It is a miracle that he happened upon one.”
“You forget again, Doctor, that he had years to put this plot into operation. At some point, he acquired the stamp. Overseas most likely, during his time as a soldier. Oftentimes, a man telling an elaborate lie will tell some parts of the truth. Remember, Mr. Whitworth said that he dabbled in rare stamps during his time abroad. When he came across the fake King George Stamp, he shrewdly realized he could use it in his plan to avenge his family tragedy.”
“When did you first suspect that the money had already been spirited out of the country?” I asked.
“As soon as I my inquiries into the daughter found that large, recent investment, I knew the money was gone, but I was not certain of the entire scheme until I saw his response to the envelope seemingly being burned. His reaction was not at all of a man who had lost twenty-thousand pounds. Rather, it was what one might expect from a man whose elaborate plan has gone awry. Indeed, he quite realized that he might have given himself away because after that outburst, he relapsed into silence to attempt to think of the best way forward. He was greatly relieved, of course, when I produced the actual envelope.”
“Holmes, if all this true, are you saying that you actually approve of this crime?”
“Approve is perhaps too strong a word, Doctor,” he said, “but my sympathies are decidedly not with the bank. I had no client, and therefore was free to follow my conscience, which I have done.”
“So you will have nothing further to do with the case.”
“On the contrary, Doctor. I believe I will contact one or two newspapermen and allow an interview on this matter.”
“To what possible end?” I asked.
“Why, to emphasize that Gordon Whitworth was a man merely attempting to return to his family that which was stolen from them.”
“What you are saying is you wish to gener
ate sympathetic coverage of the case.”
“Precisely, Watson,” said Holmes. “Several of the newspapers already seem inclined to highlight that aspect. I believe young Webster of The Times would be just the man for the job.”
“I still wonder at the eclectic collection Whitworth was carrying on his person.”
“He simply did not want the unearthing of the fake stamp to be so simple as to arouse suspicion. He designed his plot to be difficult to solve.”
“In other words, since it required the great mind of Sherlock Holmes to crack the mystery, no further questions would be asked.”
“Please, Doctor. My modesty.”
The Adventure of the Vanishing Diplomat
by Greg Hatcher
“Mr. Holmes, you are my last and only hope.”
The slender young man that had just uttered those words had identified himself as Horatio Bellwether, an undersecretary in the Foreign Office. Visitors to our Baker Street lodgings had uttered that phrase innumerable times during my years sharing rooms with Sherlock Holmes, and I occasionally thought that, though he would be averse to admitting such out loud, my friend rather relished hearing his name invoked as a last hope, for that was invariably the overture to a new case that would challenge his faculties to the utmost. Holmes was fond of pointing out that he had invented his profession, that of consulting detective, and as such his clientele presented him with problems that were by their very nature too abstruse, or upon occasion too sensitive, for the London police to handle with traditional methods. More often than not, their cases possessed both qualities. I would have wagered that young Bellwether had brought Holmes one of those.
Bellwether’s agitation had been apparent from the moment that Mrs. Hudson had ushered him in to our sitting-room in Baker Street, and her offer of tea and biscuits went unheeded. Holmes smiled at the trembling figure sitting bolt-upright on the divan. “Please do take some tea, Mr. Bellwether, and compose yourself. Then you can better explain the difficulty that has befallen you, and how it involves my brother Mycroft.”
The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories - Part X Page 16