The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part IV

by David Marcum

  Sherlock expounded on the key features and the facts he had ascertained from his visit to Stoke Newington, and then gave an outline description of the suspect. He also explained how he had brought me into the inquiry, the significance of the rondel dagger, and the likely links to the Bosworth Order. Mycroft listened intently - his eyes closed for much of the time - keen to catch every word and nuance, and interjecting at times in order to ensure that he fully understood all of the information given.

  When all of the pertinent facts had been presented, Mycroft looked very directly at his brother, smiled benignly, and then asked with sincerity: “What now, Sherlock? How does the investigation proceed from here?”

  The detective’s reply took me by surprise. “Well, Mycroft. You might like to start being a little more open with me about why there is so much sensitivity surrounding this death. Was the diplomat leading some sort of double life? Were you already aware of his links to the Bosworth Order? Had you already anticipated an attempt on his life? There is clearly some backdrop to this case which you have chosen not to share with me.”

  In spite of the pithy and brusque nature of the challenge, Mycroft responded with admirable composure. “As ever, dear brother, you are prone to trample headlong into the mire of government affairs and diplomatic sensitivities. I can see that you are not likely to be persuaded by any artifice on my part, so I will be straight with you. Mr. Mickleburgh, I would ask that you must also treat what you are about to hear as confidential.”

  I nodded in consent and, with a final sip of his sherry, Mycroft then began to explain.

  “It may come as some surprise to you to learn that this country’s relationship with our colonial cousins in Australia has not always been as close as we would have liked. The continent has been strategically important for Britain, offering, as it does, vast amounts of new land for farming, and access to an untapped wealth of mineral deposits and other raw materials that our empire has hungrily consumed. And yet, our only real solution to the problem of how best to provide the essential labour to unlock the potential of these lands was, until a decade or so ago, to send the crown colonies a constant source of convict labour - an approach which has done little to endear us to the diligent settlers and British investors who have sunk many hundreds or thousands of pounds of their hard-earned capital down under.

  “Many of the crown colonies are now acutely aware that their interests and those of the mother country do not entirely match and, while there are distinct differences in attitude across the continent, Her Majesty’s Government has become concerned about the growth in nationalism and open talk of separatism in some quarters. At the same time, ministers are not immune to the need for the colonies to expand their economic and trading activities across the globe. Edward Flanders had been most helpful in this respect. In his diplomatic role, dividing his time equally between his Australian home and his retreat in Stoke Newington, he had worked ceaselessly to put New South Wales at the forefront of a new rapprochement with Britain; developing new trading links, stimulating fresh investment, and encouraging migrant workers from across the empire to settle in the territory. In particular, he has been instrumental in creating an export market in Britain for Australian beef and lamb.

  “With our expanding population and the problems with domestic farming - in particular, the consistently poor harvests in recent years and the reductions in our livestock herds from persistent cattle plagues - we have welcomed these new food imports. At first, the Australians pioneered the export of canned meat, but after a few unsuccessful attempts, they succeeded last year in transporting the first 40 tons of frozen beef and mutton from Sydney on board the Strathleven. Backed by the efforts of Flanders, these shipments are expected to grow exponentially.

  “As you might imagine, there has not been a universally positive response to this development and, alongside some hostility from the other crown colonies, Edward Flanders has come under attack from a number of pro-British establishment figures and some prominent agriculturalists. While we were aware that he has faced some vitriolic verbal assaults in Parliament and in the press, we had not imagined that his life might be in danger. For that reason, I thought it best that his untimely death was investigated most sensitively in the first instance - hence your involvement.”

  “Thank you, Mycroft. That is understood, although I do not see why you could not have shared this with me much earlier,” said Sherlock, his response seeming almost petulant. With that, he rose from his seat, placed his sherry glass in the middle of Mycroft’s desk, and made for the door.

  Mycroft cast me a glance, winked, and then shouted after his brother, “I’ll wait to hear of any further developments then...”

  Outside in the busy pell-mell that is Whitehall, Holmes said nothing further about the meeting with Mycroft. Instead, he set off once more at a brisk pace, his cane swinging out before him like an inverted metronome. My casual enquiry about our intended destination brought only two clipped words: “Covent Garden.”

  Twenty minutes later, I found myself, once more, in a lavishly furnished room, this time the lounge bar of the Garrick Club. Holmes announced that he was looking for an acquaintance within the club and sauntered off in pursuit of the man. I busied myself with a couple of newspapers and ordered a coffee.

  When he returned to the lounge, his mood appeared to be greatly improved.

  “A useful discussion?” I ventured.

  “Yes, indeed,” came the reply. “I sought out a former client, Sir James Fitzjames Stephen, the High Court judge. He is not only a most competent lawyer, but something of a specialist on secret societies and ancient orders. I asked him if he knew of the Bosworth Order and he laughed.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, it seems clear to me now why I have never heard of the organisation. James explained that the Bosworth Order was a short-lived gentlemen’s drinking club which gained some notoriety in the 1850’s as a house of ill-repute. It operated for only two years and catered almost exclusively for the sons of a small number of wealthy industrialists who excelled at drinking, gambling, and fraternising with ladies of easy virtue. There was always a limit to the numbers of members who could join the club, each new entrant being required to complete a secret initiation ritual, which included the receipt of a ceremonial rondel dagger. To his knowledge, there were never more than a handful of members of the club.”

  “So, we were wrong to assume that it was an ancient order?”

  “Yes, and certainly less high-brow than I had anticipated. I think our next step must be to speak to the father of your student friend, Lester Devlin, and see if he can shed any further light on the members of this notorious drinking den. Are you happy to accompany me to Huntingdon? I assume that the family still lives there?”

  I was delighted at the prospect and thrilled that I could still be of use. I confirmed that the family did indeed continue to live on the outskirts of Huntingdon - Lester had recently written to me while visiting his parents. Ordinarily he was stationed abroad, working on the Continent as the estate manager for a major French vineyard.

  Our rail journey from King’s Cross to Huntingdon on the Great Northern line took us about two hours, and we chatted constantly whilst enjoying a most excellent meal in the train’s new and much publicised dining car. Saying little more about the case, Holmes seemed content to explicate his distinctive approach to problem solving.

  “I always begin with research, Mr. Mickleburgh. As our Prime Minister, Mr. Disraeli, said, some years ago: ‘It is knowledge that influences and equalises the social condition of man...’ I keep extensive files and card indexes on all manner of crimes and criminals, but my starting point on any case is to carry out whatever legwork and early research I can, from whatever sources are available to me. In this way, I had already discovered, before we even met, that you are thirty-seven years of age and the youngest of six siblings born to a well-regarded
farming family in Thrandeston, Suffolk. After attending the Mistley School in Manningtree, you read Classics at Cambridge University, and since graduation have worked in various academic capacities. You have lived alone in your rented Montague Street house since joining the British Museum, although a nearby neighbour has observed that you recently took in two stray cats.”

  “I had no idea that my rather limited existence could be so easily exposed.”

  “We do not exist without leaving tangible footprints, traces, remnants, and records of our fleeting, yet closely interwoven, lives, my dear fellow. Remember John Donne’s devotional phrase: ‘No man is an island’. Every breath, step, touch, and conversation we experience has the potential to leave its mark, if only in the memory of another. Solid research can help to expose some of that, but I have also trained myself to spot the almost imperceptible clues that others may overlook. Hence, the second essential phase of my approach, observation.”

  “And what have you observed of me, Mr. Holmes.”

  “The obvious; you are roughly six feet, two inches tall with fair hair, hazel-coloured eyes and a distinctly sallow complexion. You are left-handed, walk with a slight limp in your right leg, and can be generally ungainly in most of your movements.”

  I laughed at the last of his observations. “No doubt, you have spoken to one of my family in gathering that vital piece of information? It is frequently spoken of by them, that I am something of a lumbering oaf.”

  Holmes looked at me askance. “No, Mr. Mickleburgh. It is purely an observation, although had I enjoyed any such communication with your family, it would have been a useful confirmation of what I had observed. You see, observation without solid facts can sometimes lead us into the hazardous world of assumptions, speculation, and guesswork. As such, the next phase of my approach is to weigh-up what I have learned from research with what is discernible through observation. In that way, I am able to draw empirical links between the data.”

  “Rather like forming a working hypothesis,” I ventured.

  “Exactly that, my friend - and it is the sensible working hypothesis which can lead to the evaluation or conclusion of our studies. Let me illustrate this in your case. I can see that you have two distinct, parallel abrasions on your left hand. The cuts are only skin deep. I had learnt earlier that you now have two cats, both of which had previously survived on the street. It is not such a leap of faith to conclude that the cuts are claw marks from one of the animals which has yet to adapt itself to its newfound home and guardian.”

  “Bravo! That is accurate in every respect. What else?”

  “Well, a look at your expensive ankle boots reveals that you are clearly not meticulous in polishing the leather. With respect, they do not look well cared for at all. My knowledge of your status and profession tells me that it is not your day-to-day work or lack of resources which has led to this situation. Combined with the information that you grew up in an agricultural family as the youngest of six children, it is easy to conclude that there was always an older brother at hand to polish your footwear as you grew up, and this has created in you a degree of slothfulness in such matters which has stayed with you into adulthood.”

  I took no offence at his remarks and could only smile at his pinpoint accuracy. “I find this both intriguing and enlightening. Is there anything further?”

  “Yes, if you wish. The yellow stains on your left index finger, tell me that you are a smoker and, primarily, a cigarette smoker. The slight staining on your teeth reveals, furthermore, that you have smoked for some years. The discarded ash I observed in the ashtray of your room confirmed that Wild Woodbines are your preferred cigarettes.”

  “Oh, that was too simple! With knowledge of your methods, I think even I might have worked that out.”

  Holmes looked to be enjoying this and was clearly up for the challenge. “In that case, I will reveal that I know you to have been a keen and award-winning rugby football player.”

  “Now, that I do find remarkable. If I am again to believe that you have not spoken to my family, I know not how you could have discerned the information. I have never spoken of my passion for the sport at work and have not touched a ball since leaving university.”

  “Again, a simple matter of linking a few basic facts and observations; the obvious limp and the very visible evidence that you have at some stage suffered a broken nose, and have what doctors might refer to as a complication of the perichondrial hematoma, more commonly known as a ‘cauliflower ear’. The damage to this external portion of the ear is most frequently to be seen on prize fighters. I know this because I am something of an accomplished pugilist myself. And yet, your knuckles do not bear the perceptible scars of a boxer. I am aware that Mistley School was one of the earliest adopters of the Rugby School style of football and conclude, therefore, that it was at rugby that you sustained all of these injuries - ailments which may also, of course, account for your somewhat cumbersome gait.”

  “Astonishing, simply astonishing! And, of course, you would not have failed to notice the small, unmarked, silver trophy which sits on my desk - tangible evidence of my earlier sporting prowess as ‘star player’ in the school rugby team during my final year. In fact, the only award I ever received at school, hence its elevated status in my limited display.”

  “Yes, indeed. But you are wrong to suggest that it is unmarked. In fact, the edge of the base displays the name of the maker ‘R. & S. Garrard & Co.’ alongside a small representation of a rugby ball.”

  “I confess, I have never noticed that, which again adds testimony to your exceptional observational skills. I stand in awe of your approach, Mr. Holmes.”

  Shortly afterwards, we reached Huntingdon, set within the snow covered fields and hedgerows of its rural landscape. We climbed down from our warm carriage to face a considerable barrage of sleet and a choking haze of engine smoke, and I shivered at the unexpected drop in temperature. Luckily, it was only a short walk to the station concourse where we were able to find a convenient carriage to transport us the final two miles to Braxton Hall.

  The Devlin home looked every bit as grand and ostentatious as it did when I first visited in 1863. The Jacobean manor was built on the ruins of an earlier priory, and had been added to and remodelled by every subsequent generation of owners. Lester’s father, Hugh Devlin, had bought the estate in 1860, having been an early investor in a long list of railway-related property developments across Britain. He had further modified Braxton Hall and its grounds into a popular and successful hunting estate. As we approached the hall along the mile-long drive, I wondered if Devlin already knew of the death of Edward Flanders.

  Hugh Devlin looked to have aged well beyond his fifty-five years. His hair had thinned substantially, his waistline had expanded, and his eyes looked dull and bloodshot. He was gracious in receiving us, examining Holmes’s calling card with keen interest, and indicating that he had never heard of a ‘consulting detective’. He seemed elated to learn that I had pursued a career as an academic, readily admitting that his own son’s choice of profession had more to do with Lester’s fondness for the Bordeaux grape than it did for any potential to earn money. We were shown into his spacious study on the ground floor and invited to take a seat on a long davenport sofa which faced a large writing desk.

  Holmes seemed impatient to get to work and declined Devlin’s offer of a cognac and a Cuban cigar. At our host’s direction he announced the reason for our visit. “Mr. Devlin, it is kind of you to receive us at such short notice. I should explain that I am investigating the murder of a former colleague of yours, Mr. Edward Flanders.”

  There was no ambiguity in Devlin’s reaction. It was quite clear that this was news to him and he appeared to be momentarily thunderstruck. Holmes waited a short while before continuing: “I am sorry to be so direct, but you will understand the pressing need to get to the bottom of this heinous crime. Mr. Flanders was sl
ain at his residence in Stoke Newington and had received a warning of sorts prior to the attack. I would therefore be extremely grateful if you could tell me more about the unexpected note that you received this morning from the Bosworth Order.”

  A look of unchecked anger flashed across Devlin’s face. “How dare you, sir! I received you in good faith, as you arrived in the company of Mr. Mickleburgh, the only student friend of Lester’s that I ever had any respect for. And yet, you betray that faith by asking me of a matter that you can only have known about either by spying on me, or by intercepting my correspondence. I have a full armoury of shotguns and will have no hesitation in-”

  “Hugh! Please!” I felt it my duty to intercede on Holmes’s behalf. “My colleague is an honourable and trustworthy fellow, of that I can assure you. His investigatory abilities are quite remarkable and he possesses many singular talents which set him apart from any academic or professional man I have ever met. If you would hear the man out, I am certain that he will explain how he knows of the note. Flanders had also received a note in recent days, you see.”

  Devlin looked unconvinced and turned sharply towards Holmes once more. “Very well, sir! I am all ears!”

  “There is no particular mystery or deceit to this. My role requires me to piece together the knowable, observable, and logical facts of any case in order to draw conclusions. Mr. Mickleburgh is correct in what he says. A few days ago, Edward Flanders received an unexpected note from someone purporting to represent the Bosworth Order, the short-lived gentlemen’s club that the two of you were members of some years ago. In Flanders’ case, the note preceded his demise, and I believe that the author and the assailant are one in the same man. Flanders had been stabbed with a rondel dagger, as if to emphasise the importance of the connection to the club. It seemed logical to me that you may have known something of the matter or, indeed, have been confronted with a similar threat from this attacker.”