Sherlock Holmes at the Breakfast Table

by L. F. E. Coombs

  We were then roughly marched along passageways and into a small room. There our captors tied us each to a chair set before a high bench. I recall how helpless I felt and how apprehensive. What did the villain mean when he said that he had the means to make us divulge our intentions? In Afghanistan I had at all times been prepared to suffer the appalling tortures that would be inflicted on me should I fall into the enemy’s hands. I realized this was a very different situation to be in. The unknown is perhaps the greatest fear of all.

  By candlelight I could see that, for some reason or other, we were seated so that our heads were just above the level of the bench.

  ‘Now, gentlemen, I will show you why you will tell me all I need to know,’ said Lempschone. With that threat, a door in a box on the bench opened and out slithered a large snake.

  ‘I am sure you will recognise the very deadly Indian Cobra. Doctor Watson, from his service in that part of the world, will be able to enlighten you about its lethal abilities. With this wand I’ll provoke it so that if anyone struggles, or even sneezes,’ he laughed, ‘it will strike.’

  The wand came over my shoulder and its tip was brought close to the flickering tongue of the serpent. ‘Gentlemen, are you now convinced that I am in earnest when I demand that you tell me what has been discovered about my work here?’

  Considering our dire straits, Holmes’ voice was extremely calm. ‘Lempschone, even if we do know we will not oblige you. And knowing your disdain for human life, without doubt you intend to dispose of us whether or not we meet your demands. In a similar situation, in a penny dreadful, the victims would curse you and warn you that you will not succeed other than to the hangman’s rope. So further words are of no avail.’

  I wanted to shout out, ‘Holmes, what are you saying? Stop. I’m no hero. Even if that’s the part you want to play.’

  The wand touched the head of the snake. It struck at it. I wish I could recount that, at that moment, I was calmly analyzing my state of mind. If the truth be known, I was rigid with fear.

  Lempschone’s voice was full of hatred and menace. ‘I will now leave you to consider your fate and, of course, to face the terrible choice of either telling me what I want to know, in the hope that I might spare you, or perish. As I said, any sudden movement or even any movement, however slight, could invite being struck by our angry friend.’

  We were left alone. The cobra’s gaze seemed fixed upon me rather than on my companions. We tried to converse in the manner of a ventriloquist by not moving our lips. The presence of the hooded menace only two feet from my face prompted visions of my time in India. I had only seen a cobra in the native market as it swayed to the music of its keeper’s pipe. To this day I have no idea why the strange tune should come to mind. I began to purse my lips and imitate, to the best of my ability, the sound of a snake charmer’s chant.

  At my side Holmes was trying to speak through compressed lips. ‘What are you doing?’ I ignored him and continued. The cobra began to sway from side to side.

  I realized that as long as I imitated the sound with which the cobra was familiar, we were safe. However, only, of course, until our captor returned. And then out of the corner of my eye I saw a grey creature scuttling on to the bench. It was a rat. The snake’s head, in a flash, seized the unsuspecting rodent and its fangs delivered a lethal injection. The jaws began slowly to envelop the limp body. The cobra slithered round and went back into its box, to digest its meal.

  Holmes was struggling against his bonds. Somehow he managed to free his hands and then was able to release his ankles.

  We conversed in whispers.

  ‘Can you hear any movement on the other side of this door?’ Holmes asked.

  ‘I can hear some sort of hissing noise and a number of people are arguing,’ I replied.

  ‘We will have to take a chance. Let’s get out of here and face the consequences,’ suggested Ashendon.

  We crept out of the room and stealthily approached a half-open door at the end of the passageway. Peering through the door, I could just make out a mass of convoluted pipes. The heat was intense and there was steam hissing out of valves and out of joints in the pipes. There were four men standing close to a cylindrical vessel, whose massive bolts suggested they were intended to resist a great pressure. They were gesticulating and shouting. One called out, ‘We’ll all be killed. Release the pressure now.’

  I recognizsed Lempschone’s voice as he shouted, ‘It’s safe. The last thing Woolnough said before he died was that it would stand a pressure of fifteen hundred pounds. We’re only at one thousand. Get on with it.’

  As he spoke I turned toward the others, who were just behind me. There was a terrible cracking sound; a fierce blast of intensely hot steam threw us to the floor. I was faintly aware of the pungent aroma of peeled oranges.

  When we composed ourselves we found, amid the wreckage, the bodies of Lempschone and his companions. They had perished in a most terrible manner. In another part of the grounds we came upon many documents and drawings.

  As Ashendon gathered some of the documents together he said, ‘Woolnough was not forced to go with them just because of his knowledge about ships’ engines. He was obviously wanted by them because they needed advice on how to develop a compact and powerful enough engine to drive a military vehicle. A machine that would be able to lead the van of an army and be immune to shot and shell. One such machine was the one we saw entering the barn.’

  We went to the barn. It was indeed an awesome machine. The thick metal plates of its body appeared able to resist all but the largest of shells. As for rifle bullets, they would have been scattered away. Of particular interest was the Gatling gun in the conning tower in which we found the levers used to control the machine. In one part was an arrangement of cylinders and pipes similar to the one that had just exploded.

  ‘Yet why build the device, or machine, in such secrecy?’ Holmes asked.

  ‘Because,’ said Ashendon, ‘and I regret to have to say this, His Royal Highness, the commander in chief, and his advisers, are firmly committed to the horse. When the inventor, Stevenson, tried to gain their interest he was, as we say, shown the door. He was not even given the opportunity to show the generals any of the details of his proposed machine. The idea of a self-powered vehicle is, apparently, an anathema to them. Even the suggestion of a battalion of soldiers on bicycles, that has been raised recently, is looked upon with a jaundiced eye by many in the army.’

  I commented, ‘Yes, I read about that most interesting innovation in The Strand Magazine.’

  Ashendon continued. ‘The colonel in chief of the Household Cavalry expressed himself to me on the subject in no uncertain terms. He said that the horse had served the army perfectly well for hundreds of years. Even if such an outlandish device were acquired it would frighten the horses. In any case its use in battle would be contrary to all the rules of war.’

  ‘A somewhat head in the sands attitude,’ remarked Holmes.

  ‘When Stevenson was rebuffed,’ explained Ashendon, ‘he was not heard of again until we began to gather bits of information that, together, indicated that he had decided to proceed on his own and build his self-propelled, steam-driven land machine. We could not be certain whether he intended either to test its effectiveness in secret and then sell the plans as a military vehicle to a foreign power, or even use the machine for some criminal purpose, such as forcing a way into a bank. Even though we had no idea how it worked, other than it would be driven by an engine supplied with steam at an enormous pressure, we were immediately suspicious when we heard that Woolnough was missing. Only he had the knowledge concerning boilers and engines that worked at extreme pressures.’

  ‘A most singular train of events indeed,’ said Holmes. ‘I think we can assume, with a degree of certainty, that Lempschone heard about the invention and, realizing its awesome power for criminal purposes, stole the plans and may have killed Stevenson.’

  ‘I presume that Lempschone also killed Woolnoug
h, but how?’ asked Ashendon. ‘As we know, there were no marks on the body to indicate a lethal wound or, according to the post mortem, any indication that he had been poisoned.’

  ‘I have given some thought to that,’ replied Holmes. ‘I have concluded that he died from his fear of snakes. Lempschone must have subjected him to the same ordeal as the one we had to face. The sudden appearance in front of him of a cobra was all that was needed to induce a fatal convulsion and seizure of the heart. I doubt that the intention was to kill him. His murderer only wanted to gain information that would enable him to use an extreme pressure of steam. At some time, perhaps at the very last minute, Woolnough exacted his revenge by leading Lempschone to assume that a pressure greater than one thousand was safe.’

  Ashendon arranged with Inspector Andrew to have the bodies removed and a strict guard placed on the machine.

  Back in Baker Street, I began to jot down some of the essential details of this extraordinary and very dangerous adventure.

  ‘Holmes, who exactly is Ashendon?’

  ‘I’ve known him for many years. All that I can tell you is that he is a colonel in military intelligence and that Ashendon is not his real name.’

  ‘Now, what will happen to the machine we examined?’

  ‘I understand that it will be taken to the Woolwich Arsenal. I doubt that it will be looked upon, other than as a curiosity having no place on the battlefield.’

  ‘Another question that comes to mind is, why did Woolnough agree to go with Lempschone? Surely he could have refused?’

  ‘I pondered that question for some time and it was only after I had looked through my index of names and my commonplace books that I think I found the answer. It seems that both were up at Oxford and in the same college. Lempschone had founded one of those absurd undergraduate clubs that involved an initiation ceremony.’

  ‘Of course. Snakes.’

  ‘Just so. A candidate had to stand naked in a small room in which there were snakes. I am not sure whether they were lethal or not. All the same, the ordeal left Woolnough ever afterwards in dread of serpents. You recall the visiting card with the picture of a snake.’

  ‘Yes, I follow all that.’

  ‘I regret to have to tell you of something I discovered. You see, the Serpent Club’s members were inclined to certain perverse behaviour. An activity that is never referred to openly in polite society. In the police courts, where they often find themselves, their practices are referred to using euphemisms. Had he not gone with Lempschone then, no doubt, the latter would have threatened him with the exposure of his youthful indiscretions.’

  ‘I think I understand. However I fail to see how you were able to free yourself so quickly from your bonds? Mine were like bands of tight-fitting iron.’

  ‘I suppose I shall have to let you into a secret. You must not divulge it to anyone lest I find myself again in the same predicament. I am sure you are aware that I have always kept my muscles in good order. When my wrists were being bound I exerted the utmost effort to keep them apart so that later, when I relaxed the muscles, the bonds became sufficiently slack for me to force my wrists free.’

  ‘An important secret indeed and one which I certainly will not reveal.’

  ‘By the way, my dear friend, had the rat not appeared we would have been dependent entirely on your snake-charming ability. Your imitation of the sound of the charmer’s pipe was very good, considering the great danger to which you were exposed. However, snakes have only rudimentary ears compared with ours. They are sensitive to vibrations transmitted through from the surface on which they are lying. The cobra responded not to your vocal effort but to the slight vibrations transmitted from your head and lips. At the time I did not consider that imparting such important information would have been any comfort to you. Come to think of it, did you detect the smell of oranges when the engine exploded?’

  Fair Play

  In which Holmes reluctantly deceives a widow.

  Sometime in July of 1896, Holmes and I were just about to start our breakfast when Billy, the page boy, announced that a gentleman, who did not give his name, wished to see Holmes.

  ‘A very early visitor,’ he commented. ‘To arrive at this hour suggests a matter of either great urgency or of great importance. Or perhaps for both reasons. Show the gentleman up, Billy.’

  On entering the sitting room the visitor addressed Holmes, saying, ‘My apologies for descending on you at such an early hour and without the courtesy of writing to you first. Of the matter, on which I am only the messenger, I can only say that it is of great importance. The Prime Minister instructs me to tell you that he has complete confidence in your abilities and he believes that there is no other detective or detectives who will be able to undertake what may be a very sensitive investigation.’

  ‘Lord Marsham, you say?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Holmes. He requests that you go down to Osborn House at Tring immediately. His private train is already waiting at Euston to convey you there. I am also instructed to say that if you wish Doctor Watson to accompany you that would be in order.’

  I looked at Holmes and said, ‘I am ready if needed.’

  ‘Good. Certainly I should like you to accompany me. Now let us gather our things together.’

  Addressing the emissary he said, ‘You say you are not able to tell us anything about the matter? I would wish to have some facts before meeting Lord Marsham.’

  ‘I am sorry, Mr Holmes, I have no idea of the nature of the problem that is troubling the Prime Minister. You will have to wait until we get there.’

  The special train, which was always kept in steam to rush the Prime Minister at any time of the day on his way to the Palace of Westminster, had been sent up to Euston. As soon as we had taken our seats in the one and only carriage, one of Mr Webb’s engines was hurtling us through the tunnels and out and away from London.

  At Tring station a well-turned-out carriage and pair, with the Marsham coat of arms on the doors, was waiting to take us to the house. On entering I was overwhelmed by the sight of the numerous portrait paintings. The history of England crowded in on me.

  The Prime Minister greeted us. ‘Gentlemen, thank you for coming so promptly and for foregoing your breakfast. As you see I am about to have mine. I prefer to breakfast alone and away from the family table. However, circumstances are such that I welcome your company.’

  He did not immediately raise the subject for which we had been summoned. Breakfast was not usually the time to discuss serious matters. We ate in silence.

  Breakfast over and the servants dismissed, Lord Marsham produced a letter and handed it to Holmes. I could see, on the single sheet of paper, the words ‘GIVE IRELAND WHAT SHE DESERVES’.

  Holmes studied the letter carefully and then said, ‘There is no address or signature or anything to indicate who sent it.’

  ‘It may have come from the Fenians,’ responded the Prime Minister.

  ‘I am inclined to agree with you, my lord. Although we have not heard much from them since they committed those outrages on the underground railway in London.’

  ‘That is so, Mr Holmes. I had also hoped that the bomb at the Palace of Westminster seven years ago was the end of their long campaign of terror. You may have heard at the time that the chief constable for the county received a letter from Ireland that contained a threat on my life.

  ‘It so happens that the letter in your hand coincides with a document that is also concerned with Irish affairs. That document, at the moment, is of great importance and which requires your renowned investigative skill.’

  ‘A document, you say. I assume it is also anonymous and you want me to trace the author.’

  ‘No, Mr Holmes, the problem we are faced with is not that of knowing who wrote it. You see, I was the author. I have to tell you that, some time ago, I wrote an appreciation of the Irish problem. It was intended to be a private document in which I set down the principal threads that formed the tangled web of Irish politics. I did not h
esitate to voice my own opinions. These opinions were formed early in my life when they used the potato famine to vilify us, despite the large amounts of money sent from England for their relief. I also included my strongly held view that the church in Ireland meddles unhelpfully in politics. The murder of Cavendish and Burke in Dublin was a dastardly act.

  ‘However, despite that, and my opinions, I acknowledge that successive governments have failed to encourage or support the establishment of industries and railways which could relieve the abject poverty of most of the people. That poverty is the root cause of much of the trouble. Unfortunately my appreciation was stolen by someone who could use it to serve a particular political purpose, such as promoting Home Rule. And, of course, it could be the Fenians.’

  ‘As you say, my Lord, they are just your opinions, yet why are you so concerned that they might be disclosed?’ said Holmes.

  ‘Because there is more in the document than just those opinions. I also set down a prediction which suggested that the activities of the Land League, the Fenians and the numerous murders committed might force Her Majesty’s government to impose draconian martial law and to limit the activities of all males between the ages of sixteen and sixty; except, of course, members of the Ascendancy. I have learnt that somehow James Powall, the Irish politician, acquired the document. Now that he is dead we will never know what he intended to do with it. However, if the Fenians were to get their hands on it they will make public the martial law paragraphs to stir up even more trouble. The most likely use of the document is to pass it to Gladstone and those who continually urge the granting of Home Rule. He would, of course, only accept it as a political weapon if he had the original written in my own hand. He could not use just a copy or hearsay when campaigning for Home Rule. Now, Mr Holmes, may I assume you will take up this case?’