The Last Moriarty

by Charles Veley

  “You want me to find a report?”

  “Or communicate directly with Dartmoor if needed. Get me that information, Inspector. It could be a matter of life and death.”

  “I’ll see to it, then.”

  Lestrade departed. Within the hour the two skiffs arrived, and each circumnavigated the Shamrock twice, finding no ropes or lines of any sort other than those securing the vessel to the dock. Examination of the stage set revealed that the platform for the garden scene in the second act had, at its base, three large steps, and this elevation provided enough space beneath the platform to conceal several men. Moreover, a hinged panel facing the center of the stage had been newly constructed and installed. Holmes spoke to Carte, and we learned the hinged panel served no useful purpose in the performance. Holmes ordered the panel to be nailed shut, which was done immediately.

  At about one o’clock the Commissioner arrived. The troupe, with Lucy and Zoe, had just repaired to the Shamrock dining saloon for a buffet luncheon provided by Carte. Holmes informed the Commissioner of our progress. Sir Edward frowned. “Do you think this crawl space you discovered beneath the garden platform was a threat?”

  Holmes shook his head. “Almost certainly not. It is too obvious. And impractical—they would have to bring an assassin on board, with his weapons.”

  I saw a danger. “The actors are in costume, with makeup. Many of them wear robes, where a weapon might be concealed.”

  “Thank you, Watson. We must make certain that Carte is present to identify every actor who comes on board. All the costumes must be also inspected.”

  The Commissioner looked thoughtful. “Of course we must do that, and every other precaution we can think of. Yet the more our inspection uncovers, and the more precautions we implement, the more secure the committee will feel, and the more likely they will want to go on with tonight’s performance as planned.”

  The strain of the past few days was evident on Holmes’s features as he lit his pipe. “So we must look to the Corsair.”

  47. MR. MORGAN’S DEMAND

  Morgan received us in his private study, a spacious dark-paneled chamber at the stern of the Corsair that took up the entire width of the vessel, with portholes on all three walls. Dismissing the attendant who had brought us to the door, he ushered us in, nodding at a grouping of comfortable chairs and a sofa upholstered in brass-studded leather. “We’ll sit over here,” he said casually. “Now, you should know I want an agreement to build and operate three naval seaports and I want it by tomorrow noon. So I need you to guarantee our safety for”—he made a show of consulting his watch in the light of an ornate brass electric floor lamp styled as a Grecian column—“less than twenty-three hours. Can you accomplish that?”

  The three of us sat down. “If the Corsair remains where she is presently docked,” Holmes replied affably, “I must say that I cannot. But if you will sail for Southampton—”

  “We can set sail after Carnegie arrives and Carte’s troupe finishes their performance.”

  “I fail to grasp why Carte’s troupe is essential to the success of a negotiation regarding naval ports.”

  Morgan leaned forward. “Because we are all accustomed to overzealous security men—not to say that you’re of their number, Mr. Holmes, but you must realize that if we changed our plans every time somebody threatened us, none of us would accomplish a damn thing. Every day we all evaluate our own risks and make our own decisions.” His tone softened, and he shrugged. “I know you mean well, Mr. Holmes. I know there’s a lot to indicate that this Worth fellow is mixed up in this and that his brother nearly killed you. But there’s no evidence that he can defeat the British Army and Navy in their own backyard. Bring us some new evidence, though, and we may change our minds. We’re not stupid.”

  “I understand,” said Holmes. “Now, I had understood arrangements had been made for you to meet at the Bank of England.”

  “Rockefeller was looking into that. But only as an alternative. From the time this conference was first conceived six months ago, the understanding has been that we would meet on the Corsair.”

  “Did the Prime Minister know this?”

  “Of course. So did Lansdowne and Goschen. I’ve had very successful experience getting powerful men to settle their disputes here on the Corsair,” Morgan said, as though remembering past triumphs. Then he frowned. “Hang it all, Holmes, what difference does it make?”

  Holmes seemed lost in thought for a long moment. Then he blinked rapidly and nodded. “We cannot afford to overlook anything. I shall need complete access to the Corsair.”

  “You have it.”

  “Including every one of the staterooms.”

  “Fine. I have no other guests on board. But I will not have the police mucking over my own stateroom, and there is one adjoining it—”

  “I shall inspect those personally,” said Holmes with a deferential nod.

  “Good. Then we go forward as planned?”

  “You and the committee will all be told of any dangers uncovered by the inspection, and then a decision can be made to proceed or not proceed.”

  Morgan nodded, and I had the impression that the interview was about to be concluded. But then he frowned. “This Clevering, who was killed last night. How did he get mixed up in this business?”

  “We are in the realm of supposition here,” said Holmes cautiously. “But Clevering made frequent visits to the German embassy and to Germany as assistant to Lord Lansdowne’s predecessor, who I believe was born in Munich. Clevering is a family man, but he had gambling debts and had been seduced by a German courtesan. Once Lansdowne was appointed as the new Secretary of War, and after he chose to keep Clevering in his position of assistant, the situation would have been known to the Germans as an opportunity to be exploited.”

  Morgan’s gaze hardened. “So Wilhelm is behind this.”

  “We have no proof of that. Our only evidence is that Perkins, the late and traitorous banker, was seen entering and leaving the German embassy yesterday morning.”

  Morgan continued as if he had not heard. “The arrogance of that little swine! Holmes, I do not want to slink off to Southampton like a coward. I want these villains stopped, and crushed, and publicly executed, and I want the word of their complete humiliation to get back to Wilhelm.”

  48. THE REPORT FROM DARTMOOR

  “We have the telegraph message from Dartmoor,” said Lestrade. He stood with Holmes and me on the upper deck of the Corsair, at the upper edge of the gangway, where a network of velvet ropes and brass columns had been set up to funnel new arrivals and ensure the close inspection of all who came on board. It was nearly two o’clock. The afternoon shadows were lengthening and Holmes’s patience was growing strained. The final rehearsal for The Mikado had concluded on board the Shamrock. The set and costumes had all been thoroughly examined and were safely on board the Corsair, which had received a full inspection. On the quay, a large dogcart approached us, piled high with orchestral instruments in their cases. One of the ushers from Carte’s company drove while two walked alongside the horse. I also recognized young Flynn and two of his ragged associates, trailing behind the dogcart.

  Holmes gestured to Flynn, and then to the men guarding the gangway, indicating that they were to let Flynn pass.

  “I will read you the report,” Lestrade was saying. He squinted at a telegraph message that he pulled from his jacket pocket. ‘Asher, Harold Stuart. Date of employment: 14 May, 1895. Termination date: 28 October, 1895. Reason for termination: death by accident. Former employer: London Bridge Hospital, London. Recommended for employment by: Warden Dodson.’”

  Lestrade looked at Holmes expectantly. “Is this what you wanted?”

  “It is precisely what I wanted,” said Holmes. “Now. I take it your men have seen no further activity at Mr. Worth’s Clapham Common estate? Good. Please have them continue observation there. Now I
have something else you must do right away.”

  He took Lestrade and Flynn aside and walked a few paces from me as he spoke. Holmes’s voice was too low for me to hear, but I saw Lestrade’s eyes widen in surprise and his hand move to cover his mouth. Then he nodded. “I’ll attend to it.”

  “Take the fastest police launch you can find. You must use extreme caution. Flynn, you and the Irregulars are to be guided by the inspector and stay out of danger. His men may need to shoot to kill.”

  “Holmes, what will they need to shoot?” I asked, after Lestrade had departed.

  “I hope nothing at all.”

  49. OUT OF TUNE

  A few minutes later we saw Lucy and Zoe queued up with the others of the company within the velvet rope network. As they waited to be identified and vouched for by D’Oyly Carte, Lucy saw us and waved, then pointed at us and then to herself and Miss Rosario, indicating that they had some news. A few minutes after that the two joined us and we retreated to a place along the rail where we could talk privately.

  “I noticed something odd during rehearsal,” said Zoe. “The percussionist could not seem to get his tympani tuned properly. It has never happened before, so I thought I ought to mention it.”

  As she spoke, I immediately saw in my memory the drawing the Commissioner had shown us at the Diogenes Club four days previously, and heard his voice once again, saying about the size of a loaf of bread.

  “Holmes,” I said, “one of the tympani would provide space for Moran to conceal a dynamite bomb.”

  “And the presence of a foreign object within the drum would shrink the volume and change the sound harmonics, making it difficult to tune,” added Lucy.

  Holmes looked across the deck to where the seats for the orchestra were being arranged. Beside them five Navy men, under the supervision of two uniformed officers—one from the Navy and the other from the Metropolitan Police—were unpacking and inspecting the instruments. “We had better look into this right away,” he said. “Thank you very much for your vigilance, both of you. Now could you please go below to the dining saloon? Watson and I will come to you with a full report as soon as possible, but meanwhile I should greatly appreciate having a deck of solid steel between whatever may be hidden in that kettledrum and the two of you.”

  As Lucy and Zoe retreated, Holmes and I made our way to the orchestra section, and not long afterward the Navy men lifted each of the kettles from its stand and carried it down the gangplank and out to the edge of the quay. Holmes and I followed. Two other policemen were assigned to keep the area clear as Holmes bent over the first of the two drums. We did not know which of the drums was the one that had been difficult to tune, and, since Holmes did not want to take time to locate the percussionist or alarm the other musicians, he simply opened up the one nearest him. He carefully loosened each of the tuning bolts, removed the circular brass head protector, and then gently peeled back the goatskin membrane.

  The drum looked empty. In the reddish late-afternoon sunlight the copper-colored bottom of the instrument appeared smooth and undisturbed. Quickly Holmes turned his attention to the second drum. But when opened, that one also appeared to contain nothing but air.

  “Hope he knows how to put it back together,” whispered one of the seamen to his companion. But Holmes did not appear to take notice. He bent lower into the drum and reached his hand inside, running his fingers around the inner surface of first one drum and then the other.

  “Watson. There is a false bottom in each of these instruments. Your pocketknife, if you would be so kind.”

  I handed him the knife and moments later he had pried back a thin metal disc that had been cleverly glued to the inside perimeter.

  Underneath, fastened to the true bottom of the drum with what appeared to be a medical sticking plaster of the sort I had often employed in Afghanistan, were two sticks of dynamite. They lay alongside a mechanical apparatus of the same type as the one drawn on the sketch the Commissioner had shown us.

  As Holmes pried up the metal disc from the second drum to reveal a second dynamite bomb, the Commissioner joined us. At a glance he recognized the contents of the two drums, and his tired face lit up in a weary smile. “Mr. Holmes,” he said, “I congratulate you.”

  “Not yet,” Holmes replied, looking at a police launch that was steaming rapidly toward us.

  50. LESTRADE AND FLYNN REPORT

  The police launch docked moments later. We saw Lestrade and young Flynn clamber out. Then they were hurrying up to where we stood on the quay, in front of the Corsair. Both their faces were flushed with excitement and exertion.

  “We found it, Mr. ’Olmes!” cried Flynn. “In the ’ospital carriage ’ouse!”

  Holmes nodded. “Good work, Flynn. There will be five shillings for you and each of your lads, along with a crown as a bonus, if you will please call upon me at Baker Street tomorrow afternoon.”

  Lestrade added, “There was no one in the carriage house, so we did not even have to use our weapons. The men have taken it to the Yard for safety. Flynn and I came back in the launch.”

  “Thank you, Lestrade.”

  “But how did you know it would be there?”

  “London Bridge Hospital is only a short distance from Threadneedle Street. I knew that Mr. Foster had been killed immediately after his investigations took him to the Bank of England. And before Mr. Worth arranged for him to be employed at Dartmoor, the unfortunate Mr. Asher had worked at London Bridge Hospital.”

  I could not contain my curiosity. “What are you talking about, Holmes?”

  “I am talking about a direct attack on the Bank of England, averted less than one hour ago by Inspector Lestrade, young Mr. Flynn, and their associates.”

  “In the hospital carriage house we found a large ambulance wagon,” Lestrade said. “Packed up to its roof with dynamite.”

  “The Ardeer dynamite missing from the railway shipment to Newcastle,” said Holmes.

  “Well, that is good news all around,” said the Commissioner. “Mr. Holmes, would you kindly elaborate?”

  Holmes nodded. “Friday morning we witnessed the detonation of a dynamite bomb outside St. Thomas Hospital. I believe that was a demonstration to prove to the Germans the capability of the detonation device. Clevering would have reported the successful deployment. The actual attack would have taken place near the Prince Street corner, closest to where the gold reserves of the Bank are stored. Perkins might have provided the architectural plans. The extent of the damage would have been enormous, an impact great enough to justify the enormous sum Worth demanded from his employers in Germany.”

  “Mr. Holmes, this relieves my mind considerably,” said the Commissioner. “I shall take this news to the committee. They have convened on the White Star and are waiting to decide whether or not to proceed. I may at last congratulate you.”

  “I must repeat, not yet. Not until Worth and Moran are in our custody.”

  “But the stolen dynamite has been found and recovered. The Corsair and the White Star will be ringed with soldiers and sailors. The Pinkertons are on each vessel, and I have stationed patrolmen at the entrances to all the warehouses.” He pointed to a naval vessel now docking in the slip to the immediate starboard of the Corsair. “This is the HMS Daring, a torpedo boat destroyer. Her men will provide additional security for the entire area. Surely there is no reason to change the plan.”

  Holmes said, “That is what troubles me.”

  51. LIGHT BECOMES DARKNESS

  Holmes and I now stood together in the twilight shadows. Sunset had come and passed in a red haze over the darkened buildings to our west, and we were side by side at the boat deck rail of the Corsair, very nearly at the prow on the starboard side. All around us a swarm of activity was taking place in preparation for the performance of The Mikado that would occur if the PM’s committee, against Holmes’s repeated wishes, elected to proceed w
ith the conference.

  Before and below us to our right on the edges of the quay, electric streetlamps were being unloaded from Navy wagons and set up on tall wooden poles roughly twelve feet high, inserted into heavy metal stands to provide stability. As soon as one of the lamps was standing, a wire at its base was immediately connected to a long cable that ran along the dockside to the HMS Daring. There was obviously an electric generator on board the Daring, for the moment the connection was accomplished, the lamp atop the pole immediately flashed on, casting a pool of harsh white light over the quay in a radius of nearly thirty feet.

  Holmes indicated one of the Navy wagons passing along the quay to our left. “They will extend the reach of the lamps past the White Star,” he said. “No one will be able to cross the quay during the performance without being seen, challenged, and shot. You see, Watson, the Army riflemen emerging from that omnibus in front of the Daring, and there are four more omnibuses queuing up behind it, waiting to discharge their occupants.”

  As we watched, the men marched to the side of the quay and formed up in single file, all looking very smart in their khaki uniforms, blue spiked helmets, and shouldered rifles. They marched with a certain excitement, as if they knew a distinguished audience would soon review their parade in the white glare of the electric lamps.

  “Ready to be inspected by the Prime Minister himself,” Holmes remarked. “Let us hope that is the most difficult challenge these young men will have to face this evening.”

  From behind us came the sound of the wind flapping the fabric of the canvas roof that nearly a dozen Navy men had hoisted over the green-striped canvas partition walls. The enclosure towered above us, nearly twenty feet in height, sheltering nearly all of the boat deck, from just behind where we were standing all the way to the stern rail. Once inside, the performers of The Mikado and their exclusive audience would be protected from the elements. This was a matter of necessity tonight, for although rain was unlikely, the cold wind would make it impossible for anyone, let alone high government officials, American millionaires, and their spouses, to enjoy an outdoor theater performance. Even in my warm wool ulster I felt the chill as I cast a somewhat longing glance at the canvas entryway that seemed to beckon, like a circus tent, indicating pleasures and warmth to be found within.