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

by Charles Veley

  Lansdowne’s face was pale. “Holmes, are you saying that the steel carton in your hand contains nitroglycerine?”

  “I believe it to be relatively stable, at the moment,” he replied, “since it is still relatively cool, having been stored in the icehouse until Mr. Arkwright removed it this morning and brought it here. While he was doing so, I believe he took the opportunity to shut off the machine’s power using the junction box positioned outside the generator shed, so that no electrical power could reach the machine. Had he not taken that latter action, the results would have been very different when the control here on the machine was switched on a short time ago. You will notice that the switch is still in the ‘On’ position. Had Mr. Arkwright been permitted to go to the generator shed just now, he would not have returned. He would have thrown the switch on the junction box. Electricity would have flowed into the machine and into Mr. Tesla’s coils. The powerful energy produced by the coils would have discharged instantly into the steel carton, heating the nitroglycerine and causing it to detonate.”

  Lady Radnar stared at Arkwright. “And you wanted me here,” she said, with a terrible intensity.

  “Now if you will pardon my departure,” said Holmes, “I should like to dispose of this explosive material.”

  We watched him as he walked slowly and carefully away from us, through the wide-open doorway into the grey shadows outside the conservatory. I shall always hold in my memory the image of Holmes, dressed in his black Inverness cloak, his silhouette framed by the circular globe of the military balloon against the darkening sky. After reaching the edge of the cliff, he looked down to be certain that no one was on the beach below. Then he stood up ramrod-straight and extended his arm so that the steel carton was suspended beyond the precipice. Holmes held the carton for a moment, and then let it fall.

  He had turned back and was running towards us when there came the roar of a great explosion. From beneath and behind him, yellow-white light enveloped his falling figure in a strangely beautiful halo. The aura lasted for only a moment. My eyes squeezed shut, involuntarily attempting to recover from the brilliant flash. When I opened them, to my great relief, I saw Holmes getting to his feet. The grey military balloon, its connection to the beach now severed, sailed away on the wind, trailing the shreds of its ropes behind it as if they were so many bedraggled tails.

  49. A SECOND SHOT

  Pale with shock, the Prince nonetheless stood stiffly at attention. “So this was the trap you spoke of, Holmes,” he said. “You had to wait for Arkwright to act in order to be absolutely sure. I see that. By God, what a chaos it would have wrought. The monarchy. The government. And you think Wilhelm is behind it?”

  We were gathered in the conservatory. Lansdowne had brought in three of his soldiers, who stood on three sides of the kneeling Arkwright, their pistols at the ready.

  “Assuredly we are dealing with someone at a high level in the German government,” Holmes replied. “Von Bülow, or possibly someone higher.”

  “But they’ll never admit it, of course.”

  “Everything they did was designed to accomplish two things: to make us trust Arkwright, and to induce you, Your Majesty, to come here to witness a test of the weapon. Kerren never sold his jewel box to Wilhelm. Arkwright stole the jewel box, as soon as he knew of its existence and the location of the safe in which Kerren hid it. He obtained that knowledge from Dr. Olfrig. To learn more, we should have to return to Bad Homburg, assuming the good doctor has returned from his sojourn to the Friedrichsbad, and induce him to turn over his records of Kerren’s ‘treatment.’”

  “What treatment? Who is Dr. Olfrig?” asked the Prince.

  “My brother was having difficulty with his nerves,” said Lady Radnar. “Adrian suggested that Dr. Olfrig could help.”

  “On the first visit,” Holmes continued, “the doctor used drugs or hypnosis to extract from Kerren all his grand plans for a super weapon and his hopes for a lucrative sale to the British government. Employing the same techniques, Olfrig then induced Kerren to forget his disclosure. But then Kerren grew worried about his memory, and of course when he realized that his jewel box was missing, and he could not remember where he had put the plans, he returned for a second visit.”

  “He did say that his memory was returning after he saw the doctor again,” said Lady Radnar.

  “I doubt that the doctor helped in that regard,” said Holmes. “I think it more likely that the effects of the treatment began to wear off. But whatever the cause of the improvement may have been, Kerren did announce that he had begun to recover his memory. You, Arkwright, could not risk having him recall or disclose what Olfrig had done to him. So Kerren had to be killed.”

  “I did not kill Kerren,” Arkwright said.

  “I believe you,” Holmes replied. “But at the moment we are discussing how you manipulated us into coming here to test this weapon. You engaged the man called Mr. Gruen to impersonate a representative of the supposed criminals who had supposedly stolen the invention. You had Mr. Gruen come to Watson to negotiate for the jewel box. To bolster Gruen’s credentials as a potential ally, you had Dietrich and Richter—whom we knew to be hostile parties—abduct Gruen at gunpoint. You provided Dr. Watson with an advance payment. You told Gruen that Dr. Watson had the funds in a satchel and that he would arrive on the train to which you had directed him. Then Gruen took the funds. Whether he did this under your orders or on his own account is not clear to me. But Gruen did offer to produce the jewel box in exchange for another payment. You suspected his loyalties, but you needed a way to confirm your suspicions. You utilized the services of Dr. Olfrig, who interviewed Dr. Watson using the same methods he had employed on Lord Kerren. Dr. Watson revealed Gruen’s offer.”

  So that was what I had divulged in Olfrig’s office but had been unable to remember! I felt relief, and yet a frustrating degree of uncertainty, for I still could not recall what had happened.

  But Holmes was continuing. “You could not allow Gruen to operate independently of your orders. So you killed him. You induced him to come to Tesla’s room, and there you overpowered him and pushed him off the balcony to his death.”

  “Gloat all you want, Holmes,” Arkwright said. “It won’t change a thing.”

  Lansdowne turned to Arkwright, his gaze filled with both anger and sorrow. “Adrian, why?” he asked. “You were one of us.”

  Arkwright glared. “You say ‘one of us,’ as though that ought to be sufficient compensation to be at the War Department’s beck and call every day of every year for the past decade. Wilhelm would have given me far greater rewards. Had Holmes not interfered, I would have become a German duke, with a castle in Bavaria and a fortune in the Rothschild bank. No one would have known of my role in making all of you—all of England—the fools of the century. Each of you would have been turned to dust and vapour.” He gave a light little wave of his hand, twisting his wrist within his manacles. “The prevailing winds might well have borne you across the Channel into France, or possibly even to my new home in Germany.” An oddly crazed little laugh came from his radiant, now-maniacal face. “I might have breathed you, Holmes!”

  “We will extract the full truth from you and then put you on trial, after which you will be hanged for treason,” Lansdowne said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact.

  “You know you will not, Lansdowne. You will release me into the care of the German ambassador, in London.”

  To my surprise, Lansdowne did not reply.

  Arkwright went on, “If you do not release me by the end of this month, an associate of mine will feed the contents of my journal to the ravenous press, whose readers are always hungry for scandal. You may succeed in muzzling the papers in England, but your influence will not extend to those in other nations. The journal contains details of numerous acts I have performed for you in cities throughout Europe, under the cover of my public role as a touring violinist. The journal also contains the names of those individuals who cooperated with me. Your netwo
rk of spies will be exposed, and they will be hanged. The scandal will bring down Salisbury’s government. Is that what you want, Lansdowne?”

  Lansdowne’s face was impassive. “Take him to the garrison,” he told the guards.

  “Mr. Secretary, if I may have a word,” said Holmes. He spoke in a low tone to Lansdowne, who nodded.

  “Your Majesty,” Lansdowne said, “would you please remain inside with Lady Radnar until we can summon another carriage. Two of my men will stay with you for your protection.”

  Holmes then said something to Lucy that I could not hear. Her eyes flashed.

  We followed as Arkwright was untied, hauled to his feet, and escorted at gunpoint to the front of Kerren House, where the black regimental carriage awaited. The uniformed driver stood ready, holding the bridle of a large black horse. The rear door was open, facing the Channel. The weather had grown darker still, and a fog was beginning to roll in. We could see wisps of grey mist at the edge of the cliff.

  Arkwright stopped before the open door, about to speak, but Lucy’s voice cut in like the crack of a whip.

  “Mr. Arkwright!”

  All eyes turned to her. Lucy took a few steps and in a moment stood face-to-face with the traitor. “When you hang,” she went on, “I hope your last thoughts will be of Harriet Radnar, the woman whose life ended in sorrow because of your despicable behaviour.”

  Arkwright showed not the slightest trace of remorse. To the contrary, he appeared amused. “Ah, Miss James. The schoolgirl friend,” he said, his tone heavy with insolence. “The orphan who befriended the poor little English girl, who found herself all alone in the great American wasteland—the poor foreigner, who had lost her mother’s life and her father’s love. Your loyalty is oh-so very, very touching.”

  As Lucy moved closer, he went on, “Mark my words, Miss Lucy James. These men will give in to my demands and I shall see you again.”

  His sneering voice trailed off, accompanied by an insinuating leer. But he said no more, for Lucy, in one swift movement, lashed him across the face with the barrel of her derringer.

  What happened next was a blur. Arkwright appeared to grapple with Lucy, struggling for the gun. The two stumbled backwards, falling onto the floor of the army carriage. Holmes cried out, “No!” and leaped to Lucy’s assistance. For a moment I could see only his shadowy form and the others behind him, locked in deadly struggle. Lucy’s voice came from within the van in a loud cry. “He has my gun!” The struggle continued for several interminable seconds.

  Then a shot rang out, and the movement within the dark interior of the carriage subsided.

  I strained to see into the darkness. One figure stood, and moved away from the other dark shapes. It was Lucy. She walked around them and stood in daylight, at the edge of the doorway. She held out her derringer to me. “Please help Mr. Holmes with the body,” she said quietly.

  “Only stand clear for the moment,” I heard Holmes say from inside. He was on his knees, manoeuvring the motionless body of Arkwright to the edge of the rear platform and the open doorway. An army blanket had been draped over Arkwright’s inert form. As Arkwright’s torso was tilted up, we could see a great dark stain on the blanket, in the area of Arkwright’s heart.

  Holmes stepped down from the carriage, then bent forwards, face-to-face with the unconscious Arkwright, placing his hands beneath Arkwright’s shoulders to lift him up and pull him out of the carriage. Holmes’s legs tensed as he bore the weight and stood upright.

  Then from far away, and muffled by the incoming fog, a second shot rang out.

  A great spasm went through Holmes’s body. He fell away from Arkwright’s inert form and crumpled to the ground. My heartbeat roared within my ears as I bent over him. I was aware of Lansdowne and Lucy on either side of me. I strained to focus. Holmes was facing upwards. His cape had fallen open. A bright red sheen of blood was spreading rapidly from a dark hole in the white front of his shirt, just below his left collarbone, very near the lung and heart. The hole was about one inch in diameter. Holmes’s eyes widened and his face flushed deeply as he recognized us. His hand gripped my forearm, trying to push me from him.

  “You must go,” he said, his voice faint. “You must take cover. I insist—” Then his eyelids fluttered, and his hand fell away.

  50. AFTERMATH

  Lucy would not leave his side.

  Gunshots roared around us as Lansdowne’s men fired volley after volley into the fog, in the direction from which the shot had come. Lucy and I carried Holmes behind the carriage where we were no longer visible from the cliff. I tore open Holmes’s shirt, stifling my reverberating emotions and desperately willing myself to go into that detached professional state my training and experience had made a second nature. I pressed hard around the wound with my fingertips to staunch the diminishing flow of blood. Mercifully, there was not the hot, pulsing, intermittent rush that would indicate an artery had been struck. Lucy had folded her scarf and smock into two pads, which I applied to the entry and the exit wounds. I took off my jacket and we used it as a blanket to keep him warm. I watched for signs of shock, but there were none. Holmes’s breathing grew stronger and more even.

  The gunshots faded into silence.

  “I believe he will recover,” I said to Lucy. “The bullet passed through him. Nothing vital was hit.”

  Lansdowne’s men fanned out in the fog, searching the area. They found only the spot where the sniper had lain, and a single spent rifle shell.

  We moved Holmes to a sofa in the drawing room of Kerren House. A military ambulance arrived, and I cleansed and dressed the wound with proper disinfectant and bandages. Lucy still would not move away from him. The two of us watched him breathe.

  “What did he say to you?” I asked Lucy, keeping my voice soft so as not to wake him.

  “He told me to go to Arkwright and pick a fight. Make it physical, he said. I was to get Arkwright into the carriage, and he would help me. He used some pressure technique around Arkwright’s neck to make him lose consciousness.”

  “Carotid artery.”

  “He said that, yes. There was an army blanket on the floor of the van. He told me to bunch it up and fire my derringer into it, and I did. Then we spread the blanket over Arkwright, covering his face as though he’d died. Holmes poured water onto the blanket before I got up to leave. He had taken a water bottle from a shelf as we were leaving the conservatory. It was all a ruse.”

  When Holmes awoke, Lansdowne was with us. Holmes immediately asked what had happened to Arkwright.

  “Arkwright is alive,” said Lansdowne. “But the bullet that passed through you caught him in the face. He’ll have a nasty scar, maybe worse. Our ambulance has taken him off to the garrison infirmary. We’ll hold him incommunicado until we decide what to do with him. Meanwhile we will announce his death, as you planned. No details of the incident. Memorial service in a few days, et cetera, et cetera. And we will hope that if indeed there is a journal, whoever has it will feel no fear of retaliation. The fellow will think himself free to keep whatever payment Arkwright provided and not take the risk of going to the press.”

  Holmes gave one of his tight, wry smiles. His voice was only a whisper, but I heard him say, “Mr. Secretary, you must admit that I was correct.”

  Lansdowne nodded. “There was indeed another traitor. And the actions of you and Miss James did indeed cause him to reveal himself.”

  At my confused look, Lucy said, “There had to have been an alternative plan. If the bomb failed, the second traitor was waiting to shoot the Prince. And when the bomb went off harmlessly below the cliff, it was obvious that the Prince was still alive.”

  “So why shoot Holmes?” I asked. “Was he a secondary target?”

  “I should hope not,” said Holmes. “My hope is that we provoked the shooter to avenge Arkwright’s apparent death. I continue to hope that the shooter still wants to do precisely that. Lord Lansdowne, please also let the press know that I was injured slightly, but that I am
expected to make a full recovery.”

  51. AN INTERVIEW AT 221B BAKER STREET

  It was one week later, on the first Friday in October. Five long and difficult days had elapsed since we had returned to our rooms in Baker Street, and we were far from being settled into our comfortable, routine existence. Lucy insisted on remaining near to Holmes. She had moved into 221A, the vacant flat on the floor below that adjoined Mrs. Hudson’s. During the first few days, Lucy also insisted on taking her turn when the time came to change Holmes’s bandages, and on being trained to recognize the signs that would indicate whether his wound had become infected or was not healing properly. Frequently she would attempt to engage Holmes on the many unanswered questions that still remained concerning the events we had experienced in Dover and in Germany. On each occasion Holmes refused to comment, saying that the time was not yet ripe, or that more facts remained unknown, or that speculation would be, as he always says, inappropriate.

  On this particular day, Lucy had gone out to the Savoy Theatre for her first rehearsal since she had performed with the D’Oyly Carte Opera Company in Bad Homburg. Holmes was at our bow window, clad in his dressing gown and with his left arm in a sling so that his movements would not disturb the bandages that still covered his upper body. He was peering restlessly into what remained of the morning fog. Then someone on the pavement below rang our bellpull. Shortly afterwards Mrs. Hudson was at our door, handing Holmes a telegram. “The boy is waiting for a reply,” she said.