The Wilhelm Conspiracy (A Sherlock Holmes and Lucy James Mystery)

by Charles Veley

  “We are looking for a middle-aged man,” Holmes said. “He may have become disorientated by the electrical flashes towards the end of act one. He is of medium height and build, and is otherwise quite unremarkable, save for his long blond hair, which he wears at shoulder length. I am hoping that this may have registered in your memories. Can any one of you recall seeing him?”

  There was only an awkward silence. None of the ladies, it seemed, had anything to tell us, so we took our leave. For the next few minutes, Holmes questioned everyone else that we could find near the stage. No one could recollect seeing Kerren.

  Finally it was almost time for the second act to begin. As the stage manager called for the faeries and Private Willis to take their positions for the first scene, I reflected that we still knew nothing more of Kerren’s whereabouts.

  “Shall we take our seats, Holmes?” I asked, but he only shook his head.

  The actresses playing the faeries, Harriet amongst them, waited with us in the wings as the actor playing Private Willis, in his scarlet guardsman’s uniform jacket, marched up to his sentry box and donned his tall black fur busby helmet. From beyond the curtain we heard the audience applaud as the conductor entered the orchestra pit.

  Then the overhead lights came on, bathing the stage in the electric glare that was intended to simulate the daylight setting of the second act. The actor playing the part of Private Willis turned to enter his sentry box, so as to be in his proper position before the curtain went up. He opened the door.

  A man’s body tumbled out onto the stage, clad in black. At my side, Harriet gasped as the body landed with a muffled thud, rolled once, and came to rest facing upwards. We could see plainly a pair of wide and lifeless eyes. They were framed by a warped halo of tangled blond hair, and a horrible grimace that contorted the once-handsome features of Lord Kerren.

  27. THE SHOW MUST GO ON

  A moment later Holmes was kneeling beside Kerren’s body. He leaned in to within a few inches of the hideously twisted face, and then he stood up. By this time, D’Oyly Carte had appeared, his bright little eyes anxiously looking to Holmes for direction.

  “Of course we will stop the orchestra and delay the second act for as long as necessary,” Carte said.

  “You will not” came another voice from behind me. To my surprise, another figure had emerged from the wings onto the stage. It was von Bülow, accompanied by two uniformed German military officers. “I speak for the Kaiser, and I say that the All-Highest does not wish to have the performance interrupted or delayed. His word is law, so there will be no discussion on that point.”

  “Mr. Holmes?” asked Carte.

  Holmes, standing by the body, nodded assent. “I have seen all I need to see. The body may be moved to somewhere more private.”

  Carte said, “Please take him to dressing room number one.”

  The two officers lifted Kerren’s body. We followed them as Carte led the way to one of the dressing rooms, where the two officers set the lifeless form down on a couch. Holmes, Carte, von Bülow, and I watched from the doorway. From the stage came the muffled notes of the orchestra and the voice of Private Willis concluding his opening number.

  “We should send for Lady Radnar,” Holmes said. “She is in the audience and should be informed of what has happened to her brother.”

  Carte nodded and walked discreetly away.

  Von Bülow closed the dressing room door. “It is plain what has occurred here,” he said. “Kerren met with an accident at the electrical machine. The results of the electric shock are visible on his face. Tesla, who was operating the machine, feared that his healing apparatus would be viewed as a dangerous instrument and that his reputation would be irreversibly stained. So he hid the body in the most readily available place of concealment, the sentry box, which was near the lightning machine with the other props. Tesla then resumed his position and operated the machine to produce the effects needed at the end of the act. Our men will search for Tesla and hold him for concealing evidence.”

  Suddenly I felt a tug at my sleeve and turned to see Lucy behind me, in her shepherdess costume. She whispered, “I must speak with Holmes.”

  Holmes was speaking to von Bülow. “I do not believe that electricity was the cause of Kerren’s death. Behind Kerren’s right ear is a small red puncture mark. I believe Kerren was injected with a powerful vegetable alkaloid, the effects of which have produced the rictus of death that you see on his face.”

  “We shall find and detain Tesla nonetheless, Mr. Holmes.” Then von Bülow caught sight of Lucy. “What are you doing here, Miss James? Are you not required to be on stage?”

  “Not for another two songs,” she replied. “About six minutes.”

  “Why are you not waiting in your dressing room?”

  “Everyone’s talking about the body that fell out of the sentry box. I came to see what had happened.”

  “Why you, in particular? Why are the others not here?”

  “I can’t speak for them.”

  Von Bülow gave her a long, searching look. “Where were you at the end of the first act?”

  “On stage, with everyone else. It’s the act one finale. We’re all out there.”

  “In the confusion you might have briefly left the stage, however, and then reentered—”

  Holmes interrupted. “As any one of the actors might have done. Also, after the curtain fell and people were returning to their dressing rooms, anyone in the company might have met with Kerren. So that would indicate we may need to interview the entire company. But as you have indicated, the Kaiser does not wish to have the performance interrupted. We must therefore wait for the performance to conclude. I suggest that Miss James go to wherever she is assigned to wait to make her next entrance so that the remainder of the performance can run smoothly.”

  Von Bülow nodded. “She may go,” he said, with a glance at one of the two officers, wordlessly conveying his authority.

  Lucy whispered to me, “Tell Holmes the Prince wants to meet him after the performance. He told Carte that he wants me to be there as well.” Then she left us.

  Moments later Carte arrived, supporting an ashen-faced Lady Radnar. “Where is he? Where is my brother?” she whispered, clinging to Carte’s right arm. Then she turned to Holmes, and her voice took on a piteously accusing tone, “How could you allow this to happen?”

  28. ROYAL COMMAND

  The Prince of Wales stared unhappily at Holmes. The performance of Iolanthe had concluded, and we were in the same theatre anteroom where Tesla had first demonstrated his machine, barely twelve hours before. Holmes, Lucy, and I were seated on three chairs, and the Prince sat on the sofa, puffing his lit cigar. He had not offered a cigar to either Holmes or me, which I took to be a sign of his displeasure.

  He turned to Lucy. “Miss James,” he said. “Lansdowne tells me you can be trusted.”

  “I am honoured to be invited,” Lucy replied. She did not appear distressed by Kerren’s death, or overawed in any way by the royal presence. Attired in her usual plain black wool jacket and skirt and her unadorned white high-collared blouse, she sat calmly beside Holmes, observing the Prince with no more apparent concern than if he were a zoo gorilla behind heavy steel bars.

  “So, Mr. Holmes, where do we stand?” asked the Prince. “And don’t tell me we must capitulate to Wilhelm and admit we cannot meet his challenge.”

  Holmes’s voice was steady and determined. “Your Royal Highness, we must find Kerren’s killer.”

  “Leave that to von Bülow. We are on German soil. You have no authority to investigate.”

  “I think the chances of von Bülow telling us the truth are remote. Sir.”

  “Of course, they’re remote. Von Bülow likely had Kerren killed, to keep him from making the weapon for England.”

  “Possibly.”

  “We must not lose sight of the objective,” the Prince said, with a show of irritation. “How do we get the machine to work?”

  “Either
we must find Kerren’s plans and reconstruct his apparatus, or we must find the missing apparatus itself.”

  “How do you propose to find the plans?”

  “Kerren said he stored them in a bank vault. Our first task must be to identify the bank amongst the hundreds in London. For that purpose, I propose to call upon the assistance of the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Sir Michael can cast a wide net of inquiry, and his name will compel cooperation.”

  “I shall have a word with him.”

  “I believe there will not be need of that, Your Majesty. I was able to do him a small service last November.”

  “A personal service?”

  “Purely professional on both our parts. It resulted in a substantial addition to the Treasury and he expressed his gratitude. I believe he will remember me. However, if he does not, I will certainly request your support.”

  A grunt of assent issued from the Prince. Then, “What about finding the missing—what do you call it?”

  “Kerren called it an electrical spinner. He also referred to it as his ‘jewel box,’ because he used his sister’s jewel box as a container for the apparatus.”

  “What is your plan to locate this . . . jewel box?”

  “I have advertised for it.”

  “With what result?”

  “None of material consequence as yet. However, the advertisements were placed only two days ago, and some of the responses may not yet have reached me.”

  “Could Tesla build the device contained in the missing jewel box?”

  “With the plans, assuredly. But if he were capable of doing so without the plans, I believe he would have told us. He is not shy about letting people know his capabilities.”

  “Question him about that anyway.”

  “If I can. Von Bülow is looking for him.”

  “Let us assume that you will be successful in recreating the machine by one means or another. Now, let us think about how it will be demonstrated for you, and how it will be demonstrated for me. We can then work out the manner in which it will be safeguarded until a week from today when Wilhelm arrives.”

  There followed a discussion of the distance between the machine and its target, the size and shape of the military balloon, the length of cabling that would be required to transmit electricity to both the British and the German machines, and whether a second electrical generator ought to be employed for that purpose. Finally the Prince said, “I suppose that is all we can do here for the moment,” and started to lift himself from the sofa.

  Then he sat down again. His glinting eyes flickered towards Lucy for the briefest of moments before looking once again at Holmes. “But I should like to become better acquainted with this young lady.” He turned to address Lucy directly, and his tone became decidedly more courtly. “I admired your performance tonight. You were highly entertaining.”

  “Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” said Lucy.

  “She is more than an entertainer,” said Holmes. “On several occasions she has served me well as my personal bodyguard.”

  “Bodyguard? I would hardly have expected such a—”

  “To date she has saved my life on two occasions. She is highly trained in the Japanese art of baritsu and several other systems of physical combat. Considering Lord Kerren’s murder and the other circumstances of our present situation, I believe you would do well to consider availing yourself of similar personal protection.”

  The Prince paled, got to his feet, and strode to the anteroom door without so much as another glance at Lucy. With his hand on the doorknob, he paused. “My associates will have gathered outside by now. My carriage and a late supper await me. Please delay your departure until the corridor outside is empty, so that we may avoid setting tongues to wagging unduly.”

  After the Prince had gone, Lucy turned to Holmes. “Was that necessary?”

  “It will help us avoid further complications in a situation that is quite complex enough as it now stands.”

  They continued in their conversation and I moved to the door, intending to look out discreetly and determine whether the corridor was clear. I was eager to leave, for I was tired and the day had been long. But before I could touch the doorknob, there came a loud, powerful knock and the door swung open in one swift thrust, very nearly knocking me off balance.

  Before me stood three German military officers in close-fitting black uniforms and polished high leather boots.

  “The Kaiser requires your presence,” said the tallest of the three. “Immediately.”

  29. INTERVIEW WITH THE ALL-HIGHEST

  Still dressed in the white and gold-trimmed uniform that he had worn to the theatre earlier that evening, Kaiser Wilhelm II stared down at us from a polished and intricately engraved wooden throne. He sat ramrod-straight, his right hand on his knee, his left hand on his lap, as motionless as if he were sitting for an official portrait. To look him in the eye was somewhat uncomfortable, for the throne was raised so as to require us to look up to him, even though we were standing. On the right side of the throne stood von Bülow. He had just announced us after the three uniformed officers had escorted us into the high-ceilinged room within the Schloss, a tall building constructed around the high tower of a centuries-old castle at the western end of the Kurpark. Nearby was an enormous stone fireplace, large enough for a man to stand inside. On the walls hung thick tapestries. From their faded condition, I thought they could have been woven centuries before, depicting scenes of knights on their warhorses, thrusting at dragons with their spears. As we drew closer to the throne, I caught the unmistakable scent of pine oil and camphor. The dim light of the electric sconces around the walls cast shadows on the Kaiser’s high-cheeked features.

  “Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson. Miss James,” he said, nodding formally to each of us. Unlike von Bülow, he spoke without a trace of an accent. “I know the hour is late, and you were not expecting this interview. However, my plans have been altered, so yours must be as well.”

  Holmes gave one of his brief, perfunctory smiles. “How may we assist Your Imperial Highness?”

  “First, I should like to know whether Dr. Watson has conveyed my request for assistance to you, Mr. Holmes.”

  “I have,” I replied, adding hastily, “Your Imperial Highness.”

  “Will you accept, Mr. Holmes?”

  “I will,” replied Holmes. “Provided certain conditions are met.”

  “We will discuss those later. Now, Dr. Watson, what does Tesla think of Kerren’s weapon?”

  I was completely unprepared for this question. Ought I to say anything at all? Would not whatever I said be a treasonous revelation?

  “Come, come, Dr. Watson. If my uncle can speak to me on the subject, surely so can you. He and I have discussed the merits and potential of Kerren’s weapon on several occasions, the most recent of which was this evening, barely two hours before Kerren himself was found dead under such dramatic circumstances.”

  “Mr. Tesla did not express an opinion to me.”

  “To you, then, Mr. Holmes?”

  “Tesla wanted to see it in operation before committing himself.”

  “As do I. But now I wonder if I shall have that opportunity, now that Kerren is dead and his jewel box has gone missing.”

  “Your Imperial Highness knows a great deal about the situation,” said Holmes. “More than I, it appears.”

  “I believe the apparatus presents our two nations with the opportunity to make history, and to control the future governance of Europe. Perhaps we can control Asia as well, if my young cousin Nicholas can be brought into our alliance.”

  “You have a vision for an alliance between Germany and England?”

  “For nearly six decades England has been ruled by my grandmother. Both our nations are descended from the same Saxon ancestry. An alliance would be the most natural thing in the world. However, only recently has my country been in a position to operate as an equal ally from a military standpoint. But now that my naval force has been strengthened, G
ermany can and must be recognized as an equal partner. Together our two nations can accomplish great things—far greater than if we continue to oppose one another.”

  “Undoubtedly, Imperial Highness,” Holmes replied. I could not detect any trace of scepticism or irony in his tone. “But I was under the impression that you intended a competition of sorts regarding Kerren’s weapon.”

  “Strictly speaking, it is my weapon.”

  Holmes allowed his eyes to widen and his eyebrows to rise enquiringly.

  “I bought it from Kerren less than a month ago. He delivered its key component—the jewel box—to me personally, in Baden-Baden.”

  “He told us the jewel box had been stolen.”

  “As would be expected. His government, having paid him substantially, would naturally not have approved. So strictly speaking, from the perspective of Her Majesty’s government, the jewel box was indeed stolen. Only Kerren was the thief.”

  “And now the jewel box has again been stolen, this time from you, which is the reason for my presence here. But prior to the second theft, you brought in experts in electricity and engineering to examine it. They made a copy, which you intend to demonstrate in Dover, and which you used for a demonstration in the Kurpark earlier.”

  Wilhelm’s eyes flickered momentarily towards von Bülow. Then a tight smile appeared beneath the dark shadow of his distinctively upturned moustache. “You live up to your reputation, Mr. Holmes.”

  “The conclusion is an obvious one.”

  “You mentioned certain conditions in connection with your acceptance of my request.”

  “Your Imperial Highness must know that I am presently employed by my government for the same task. I cannot serve two masters.”

  “But if they were united in their desires?”

  “The question would be what I would do with the jewel box when I had secured it. My government would wish me to bring it to England. Would your government wish the same?”