The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories - Part X

by Marcum, David;

  I would not have thought it possible, but the spindly figure managed to straighten even further, his expression one of shock. “But I have said nothing yet! How-”

  “Tut! Your mouth may not have spoken, but your clothing and attitude speak volumes. You have not slept in the last twenty-four hours, for your collar is stained with perspiration and your tie is somewhat askew, and your fatigue is obvious. That, along with your card proclaiming your employment in government service, and the note you are holding in my brother’s handwriting, make it easily apparent.” Holmes waved it away. “It is no great feat to connect your current state of crisis to your professional associations in the diplomatic corps, particularly if it concerns Mycroft. We are well aware of the sensitive nature of the political matters he handles for the Crown.” Holmes was alluding to his brother’s unofficial position as the chief analyst and de facto administrative head for the various intelligence services reporting to the Foreign Office. “I assume you are here on his behalf. You may speak freely before us both.” Holmes nodded at me, adding, “Were he here, Mycroft would assure you that you may trust Dr. Watson completely. His honor and discretion are beyond reproach. What does my brother require? Is it a criminal matter?”

  “Indeed it is, Mr. Holmes. A kidnaping. Your brother has been taken hostage, along with another foreign national. They were taken last night, as Mr. Mycroft was escorting Teodoro to his lodgings. This note came this morning.” He handed Holmes the sheet of paper he had been clutching.

  Now it was Holmes that sat up straight in his armchair. He inspected the missive closely, reading it through and then holding it up to the light for a moment before handing it to me. “What do you make of it, Watson?”

  I read:

  First, I implore you, Bellwether, to tell no one of this. You must follow these instructions to the letter; I fear our captor’s patience will not last. I need you to procure for me the Treaty of Montenegro and its various subsidiary contracts, discreetly, without letting anyone in the office see you. None must suspect. Teodoro must not be endangered; his life and mine depend upon your discretion. We have been given eighteen hours, and after that our fate will be in question. His constitution is more fragile than mine, though both of us are bearing up. There is nothing for it but to give them what they ask, there is no other aid. Seek no outside help. Further instructions will be coming by wire, but for the sake of authentication this is the only message they are permitting me to get out. Waterfront rendezvous likely forthcoming. We have no option but to submit if we wish to preserve the Montenegrin alliance we have been building.

  Yours,

  Mycroft Holmes

  “But this is terrible!” I stared at Holmes in shock, then turned to Bellwether. “You were specifically instructed to seek no help. You have risked their lives by coming here, have you not?”

  “I could think of nothing else.” Bellwether’s expression was equal parts misery and desperation. “I took care not to be followed, though I think the Whitehall office is being watched.”

  “From the beginning, Bellwether. Who is this Teodoro? Why would he be included as a hostage?” Holmes voice was clipped and tight. I knew he was deeply concerned about his brother’s welfare, though a casual observer would not have noticed. Both he and Mycroft kept their emotions tightly in check, and it was only because of our long association that I was aware of how Holmes’ mouth had tightened as he read the ransom demand.

  “Teodoro is the representative of a small eastern European nation, the name of which I cannot disclose. He is here to negotiate the possibility of British military aid against a larger power threatening its borders - forgive me, Mr. Holmes, but I cannot say more, even to you. The situation is fraught with tension, and could possibly erupt into a bloody and costly war. We have considerable interests in the area and British lives are at risk, though as yet nothing has been disclosed to the public. In view of these tensions, Her Majesty requested that Mycroft take over the negotiations. Only an intellect as brilliant as his, she feels, can thread the way through the delicate balance of diplomacy and threat that is required.”

  “And this document? The Montenegro Treaty?”

  “That is the problem, Mr. Holmes!” Bellwether burst out. “There is no treaty! The document he names - it does not exist! I have searched for it everywhere!”

  Holmes brows knitted. “You are certain of this?”

  “I am Mr. Mycroft’s closest aide. If this document existed, I would know of it. And the alliance he refers to - there is none! There is no possible matter currently before the F.O. which would require a treaty with Montenegro in the first place - there is simply nothing of any import that occurs there.” Bellwether flushed, realizing the callousness of the remark, and added, “That is, nothing of import on the scale with which we are used to-”

  Holmes held up a hand. “Enough. I understand your meaning. So what was my brother trying to accomplish, then? If there is no treaty, then the entire ransom demand is fatally flawed - but the kidnaping is real enough. So then the ransom these kidnappers require must be some sort of sensitive document. But clearly Mycroft seeks to prevent the criminals from obtaining whatever secret papers they would genuinely be able to use. It is obviously a diversion.”

  “But what kind of diversion?” I interjected. “Holmes, surely your brother would know Bellwether would be baffled by the reference.”

  “And thus forced to seek aid, despite the specific injunction against it.” Holmes smiled thinly. “I have no doubt that my brother intended Bellwether to come here. He dared not suggest it openly. The kidnappers were doubtless standing over him as he composed this message, so he inserted an insoluble conundrum. Naturally Bellwether would turn to a specialist in such things, and as it happens I am the only such expert in London, to say nothing of my personal familial interest. It was a worthy gamble, especially given that Mycroft’s specialty is predictive analysis. He knows Bellwether, he knows me, he knows the kidnappers and their agenda. This mention of a phantom treaty was the only way he could engage my services without alerting his captors.” He turned to Bellwether. “Very well, then, let us not waste any time. We must assume the deadline of eighteen hours, at least, is real. How long has it been since you received this note?”

  “A messenger delivered it at nine this morning. Just a lad. We questioned him closely, but he knew nothing. A man on the street gave him a crown to bring it to the office.”

  “And it is now noon. So we have fifteen hours of the allotted time left.” Holmes nodded. “How were they taken?”

  “From the coach taking Teodoro to the lodgings provided, apparently.” Bellwether looked grim. “Mr. Mycroft had arranged rooms at the Diogenes Club, since its various prohibitions against members socializing provided an excellent umbrella of secrecy.”

  “It has the added advantage of allowing my brother to conduct business without varying his routine,” Holmes put in. “Heaven forbid Mycroft should alter his orbit, even for an international crisis. So you are certain they were taken en route? Not at the station?

  “We would have known sooner if they had,” Bellwether explained. “But the Diogenes Club’s doctrine of silence and discretion worked against us. No one on the staff thought to let us know that the expected guest never arrived - we had no inkling anything had gone awry until late last night. Naturally, once we did, we instantly dispatched agents to investigate. The coach was left near the Diogenes and the driver was found inside, shot dead. No sign of struggle - the driver must have been taken unawares, though I cannot think how. We were alerted to the possibility of attack, and we took the matter very seriously. It was Mr. Mycroft himself who insisted we use an agent as the coachman. I cannot think how the kidnappers even learned of Teodoro’s visit, let alone the time of arrival and the route of the coach. This meeting was utterly clandestine, and all was carried out under the strictest conditions of secrecy.” Abruptly he leaned forward
, his head in his hands. “If we cannot find Mr. Mycroft, then Her Majesty loses an invaluable asset... and should Teodoro die, then we will face an international incident that might well result in a worse military conflict than the one he was striving to prevent. Gentlemen, I cannot...”

  “Steady on, Bellwether,” I said. “There is still hope. I have seen Holmes unravel more tangled matters than this.”

  Holmes raised an eyebrow. “Watson, you are ever the optimist,” he said. “But your confidence is appreciated. Let us apply ourselves to the problem. Assume for the moment that the route was known to the kidnappers. Never mind how they learned of it; that is a matter that can wait. But perhaps if we examine the route itself, we can extrapolate their actions. Watson, the map of Metropolitan London is rolled up on the floor, under the desk to your left. If you would be so kind-”

  I retrieved the map and Holmes unceremoniously shoved the tea setting to one side as he spread it out on the dining table. “Show us, Bellwether. From the train station onward.”

  Bellwether seemed to revive somewhat from his previous despair upon seeing Holmes’s decisive manner. He stood opposite Holmes, scowling in concentration. “It was arranged for Mr. Mycroft to meet the carriage at Victoria,” he said. “Then he-”

  “Hold on,” Holmes said. “Private carriage? Teodoro had engaged a special?”

  “Of course.” Bellwether blinked. “But...”

  “Such a train would of necessity be routed to a different platform.” Holmes was clearly holding his impatience in check. “As such, it renders all your secrecy precautions useless. The kidnappers, knowing his arrival was imminent, merely had to position themselves - but no. There would still be the problem of the driver. You say he was an agent as well? Armed?”

  “Yes. A good man, Trumbull. One of Mr. Mycroft’s most trusted. We had arranged a circuitous route from the station to the club, with the idea that Trumbull would more easily spot any possible attempt to waylay the coach. Mr. Mycroft was concerned there might be some sort of attack made on the ambassador.”

  “And yet, despite all your precautions, the attack was made - successfully. With sign of a struggle,” Holmes mused. “Somehow they contrived an approach that did not arouse suspicion. How? What would be a reason to stop mid-route? If the driver was an agent assigned to protect his passengers above all else...” He leaned forward over the map. “Victoria is here - the Diogenes is here. No additional agents stationed along the way? No one standing watch along this circuitous route to which you refer?”

  “None were thought necessary,” Bellwether said. “It was assumed the secrecy of the proceeding and the cunning nature of the route Mr. Mycroft had planned was protection enough.”

  “So there were no other operatives assigned to the protection of the ambassador? Just this man Trumbull?”

  “It was thought best to keep the circle as small as possible.”

  “Did Ambassador Teodoro have any staff of his own?” I asked.

  “An additional diplomatic aide dispatched to London arrived this morning. Naturally he is demanding swift action.”

  “Then Teodoro’s people know of the kidnaping. That is bound to muddy the waters. It makes the need for haste that much more acute.” My friend shook his head once and returned his attention to the map. “It must have been something along the route itself that prompted them to stop.” Holmes scowled at the route Bellwether had indicated with his finger. “Vincent Square... cross at Lambeth Bridge... past Waterloo to Blackfriars... hmm.” He straightened. “Let me see that note again, Bellwether.”

  The young undersecretary proffered it to Holmes.

  “Ha!” Suddenly Holmes’ eyes were alight. “Look here - Mycroft managed to impart some information to us after all. ‘Waterfront rendezvous likely forthcoming.’”

  “I hardly see how that helps us, Holmes,” I objected. “The waterfront extends for miles.”

  “But the route does not, Watson. There is only a brief stretch of the Thames between Lambeth and Blackfriars, and that narrows our search considerably.” Holmes rubbed his hands together and smiled. “Remember, my brother’s corpulent physique would make him exceedingly difficult to transport if he were rendered unconscious. So he was awake when he was taken, as Teodoro must have been. So we must postulate either his transfer to a different coach - something I think unlikely, given the circumstances - or the two passengers were taken somewhere on foot after Trumbull was disposed of.”

  Bellwether looked helplessly at me, then at Holmes. “Even so, how does this help us? I still cannot fathom...”

  Holmes’ impatience was becoming more apparent. “Think, man! Trumbull was a loyal soldier, a trained operative, yes? An overt attempt to waylay them, even from some seemingly innocent citizen, would have aroused his suspicions. An open attack would be met instantly with deadly force. Those were his orders?”

  Bellwether nodded.

  “Then, perforce, the only way to stop the coach would have been to place an obstacle in its path, a physical impediment. Anything would do. A toppled fruit-cart, something of that sort. Something to turn them to a side-street or an alley.” Holmes was speaking more to himself than to either one of us. “Let us examine the requirements of the kidnappers. They would have to divert the coach to a place away from witnesses, cut off a retreat, and give themselves adequate time to dispose of Trumbull before he could react... Traffic on the streets would also be a determining factor.” Abruptly Holmes looked up and addressed Bellwether. “What was the scheduled time of arrival? Teodoro’s train?”

  “Seven in the evening,” the undersecretary replied. “But I cannot see-”

  “Think it through.” Holmes whirled away from the table to stare out the windows at the street below. “Traffic from Victoria at seven in the evening. Lambeth to Blackfriars. At least forty minutes to Lambeth... a few more minutes added to allow for greetings, arrangements for luggage - the luggage was still with the coach?” Bellwether nodded and Holmes went on. “Then my presumption holds that the criminals’ primary requirements were speed and avoiding witnesses. Given that, the attack on the coach must have taken place sometime between eight and nine p.m., then.” He returned to scowl at the map. “Let us narrow that margin further. The coach could not have been taken before they passed Waterloo. You found it abandoned close to the Diogenes. How close?”

  “A side street, just around the corner. Not far.”

  “But nevertheless, out of sight of the entrance?” Bellwether nodded and Holmes muttered, “Suggestive, but not definite... given the times required... and Mycroft specified the waterfront, so he must have seen. Ha!” His finger stabbed at the map. “There! This section of the waterfront is where we must begin our search.” He glanced up at me. “And we have little time. Watson, I think you had better arm yourself.”

  Bellwether looked startled. “Should we not summon the authorities? If you have already guessed-”

  “I never guess.” Holmes looked severely at the young man, who withered under my friend’s gaze. “I have a working hypothesis, but that is all. We must investigate further, and I should prefer not to inadvertently alarm our foes into taking some precipitate action that might result in harm to my brother or the Ambassador. For now, we shall keep this to ourselves.”

  “Where shall we begin?” I asked Holmes.

  “This corner here.” Holmes tapped the map. “Laurelhurst Mews. Close to the waterfront, a small distance from the street to where the coach was found, and any number of stables and alleys wherein our kidnappers could have secreted my brother and the ambassador. We can progress no further until we discover additional clues at the scene. Even in our narrowed search area, a standard door-to-door police approach would accomplish nothing save to alert our quarry. Come, gentlemen! The clock is ticking!”

  * * *

  Bellwether had retained his hansom, so we were soon at the pl
ace Holmes had indicated on the map. Laurelhurst Mews was a crowded and squalid district, with a number of abandoned stablehouses and bricked-over doorways to what must have once been coachmen’s quarters. The cobblestone street where we stood was crowded with wagons and vendor’s carts.

  My heart sank as I beheld the tableau before us. “Holmes, this is impossible. How can we possibly single out...?”

  “Ah, Watson, have some faith in my methods.” Holmes was not the least bit discouraged. He fairly leapt from the coach and whirled about, looking carefully at each building before us in turn, resembling nothing so much as a great tweed-coated hunting dog casting about for a scent. It was just after one in the afternoon, and the street was busy with cart-vendors, as well as a few idlers in threadbare clothing and a cluster of dirty-faced children that regarded us with interest.

  Holmes in his turn looked at this last group with speculation, then took out a shilling and spun the coin on his hand. “Who’d like a shilling? I have need of some information.”

  At once he was swarmed by the entire band of youths, each pleading to be heard. “Here, here, we must be orderly,” Holmes told them. “Now! Yesterday evening, sometime between eight and nine, there was a cart accident blocking the street. Who can show me where it happened?”

  “I can, guv.” A redheaded lad with a spray of freckles across his nose shouldered forward. “That was my Uncle Hiram’s rig, what my da’ drives for him, picking up from the docks. Me and Jake here saw it. But it weren’t no accident, see. These two toffs tipped over the whole wagon and then ran. My da’ was in a rage, he was. Cost him almost an hour to get it righted and get his horses settled down. No one lifted a hand to help him neither. The swells what done it just cut down the side street and was on their way. Whole street was a mess and my da’ lost half his load.”

  “Like Rusty says, sir.” Another boy stepped forward to join the first, this one slightly younger with an untidy mop of dark hair escaping out from a cap perched precariously on the top of his head. He pointed. “Right that way.”