by J. R. Trtek
35 The meaning of this exchange is revealed later in Watson’s narrative.
36 Perhaps a couple years older than Sherlock Holmes, Watson was in his early sixties at the time.
37 In general, British Conservatives at the time supported the use of tariffs to shore up the nation’s industries and imperialist policies, while Liberals supported free trade without tariffs. Bullivant’s comment suggests that he was a member of the former group.
38 Finsbury Circus is an elliptically shaped park in the City of London, while Meerston Street appears to be a fictional name.
39 An average-adjuster is an expert in marine insurance and law, who may be hired by an insurance firm to apportion loss in a maritime claim.
40 A Law List is a publication compiling the names and addresses of those engaged in the practice of law and information of interest to the law profession.
41 Livery companies are descendants of the medieval trade guilds and are now largely social and charitable organizations.
42 From the information Holmes gives, it would appear that the portrait was of Hugh Cairns, 1st Earl Cairns (1819–85). Cairns was Lord Chancellor until 1880, and his eldest surviving son was successfully sued for breach of promise in 1884.
43 Pronounced “full-scap” or “full-scape,” foolscap is a size of writing paper, traditionally 13.5" x 17". A standard paper size since the fifteenth century, its name derives from the watermark once used to identify it: a jester’s hat, or fool’s cap. It was the most widely used paper size throughout Britain and Europe until the introduction of international standard paper sizes in the 1970s.
44 Camberwell is a district of Greater London south of the Thames.
CHAPTER FIVE: THE AIRMAN & THE CONSTABLE
It was perhaps a half hour before dawn when Jack James and I finally entered Hulton. We had taken a wrong turn that set us back a good twenty minutes, but fortune smiled thereafter, and after retracing our path and choosing correctly a second time, we passed through the village and found, beyond its far outskirts, the estate whose owner had allowed the Royal Flying Corps to house aeroplanes on its grounds and conduct manoeuvres from its fields.
As we approached along a winding drive running some distance from the manor house, I saw in our vehicle’s lights a lone figure standing by the path ahead. Dressed in military uniform, the man waited until James stopped the taxicab and then drew near.
“You are the gentleman sent at the direction of Mr. Mycroft Holmes?” he asked as I opened the taxi door.
“Yes,” I replied. “I am, uh, Mr. Price.”
“Mr. Price, yes,” said the officer. He looked me over in the predawn light. “I must admit, sir, that you’re not quite what I expected.”
“I hope I do not disappoint,” I replied in good humour.
Determined to not be offended by the man’s comment, I stepped onto a moist gravel path, leaving the taxi door ajar.
“Well, I’m Major Reardon,” he said, placing his left hand on his cap brim while extending the opposite arm. “I meant no disrespect by the remark, sir,” he explained as we shook hands. “I simply worry that we may not have made adequate provision for your age and physical condition.”
As he looked at me with concern, I contemplated the fact that this officer had likely been an infant or small child when the Orontes brought me home from Afghanistan.
“Your craft is in the final stages of preparation,” Reardon said, pointing toward the horizon, where in the distance I perceived an amorphous outline contrasting with the dawn mist. “One of our wing captains has been designated to fly you north.”
“Thank you, Major,” I said, reaching into the taxi to grasp my valise, in which I had personal items and a change of clothing.
“Can I stay and watch her go up?” asked Jack James from behind the wheel of his vehicle.
“Of course,” I said with a smile. I closed the taxicab door and turned round. “Unless you have objection, Major.”
“None whatsoever. Simply make certain that you not go beyond the gravel,” Reardon told young James before turning back toward me. “Come along with me, please, Mr. Price.”
I followed the officer across the adjoining field toward what I now saw to be an aeroplane tended by two mechanics. “I’ll have one of the men put your bag into the craft, though you’ll find your feet will be somewhat cramped as a result,” he said. “Then we’ll put flight clothes on you.”
“Do they merely cover my current dress?” I asked. “The flying clothes, that is. Are they akin to motoring garments?”
“Yes,” said Reardon. “You could liken them to such.” He looked me up and down again in the emerging morning light as we walked. “The additional clothing should not incommode you. Here, you two!” he called to the pair of workmen as we approached the aeroplane.
One of the mechanics stepped over to meet us, taking the valise from my hand.
“Stow it under the observer’s seat,” the captain ordered. “Is everything checking out?”
“Oh, yes sir,” the workman replied. “She’s all fuelled and ready to go.”
“Fine. Come with me then, Mr. Price.”
I followed him across another portion of the field, in a different direction than before, toward what at first I thought was barren expanse, until I saw a shape emerge from the fog. It was a small hut, with a tall figure leaning against the entrance, arms crossed. As we approached, the man snapped to attention, and I saw he was dressed in a thigh-length leather jacket buttoned down one side. A leather cap clung snugly to his head, and goggles were perched above his forehead. In one hand, he held a pair of furry gloves.
“Mr. Price, this is our Captain Harper, one of the wing leaders and your pilot for today’s excursion. Harper—”
“Sir?”
“Here’s your passenger: Mr. Price. A messenger of sorts for the Foreign Office, or some such. Do you know whom you represent?” Major Reardon asked me with a hint of sarcasm.
I chose not to respond.
“Special envoy to Dumfries, aren’t you, sir?” Captain Harper asked with gentle amusement, breaking the awkward silence. “That’s where I understand I’m to convey you. Halloa, Mr. Price,” the captain said to me with an honest smile.
He extended his hand, and we greeted one another.
“Will it be good flying weather, Captain?” I asked, pointedly ignoring the major, who stepped into the hut. “It’s rather foggy at present.”
“I reckon we’ll be fine, sir,” Harper answered. “The mist isn’t very high, and I’ve gone up when it was much thicker than this. We’ll get on top of it within seconds, and I understand we are likely to have clear skies all the way to the border. We’ll be stopping twice to take on petrol, though in a pinch, only one refuelling would be needed. Of course, the extra landing will give us more opportunity to drop some personal ballast,” he added with a boyish smirk.
“Ah,” I said. “One doesn’t seek relief in the air?”
“I’ve always thought a pot’s a mite too tricky to handle up there,” Harper replied, his smile broadening. “And I wouldn’t suggest standing to lean over the edge of your cockpit.”
“I will take your advice to heart, Captain.”
“That’s prudent of you, sir. The stops shouldn’t add much time to the trip. I’ll get you to Scotland well before noon.”
“By the high road rather than the low, apparently.”
“Couldn’t get much higher, I think.”
“We need to get the gentleman into flight clothes,” Major Reardon interjected impatiently as he emerged from the hut. “I’ll leave you to it,” he added as he strode across the clearing toward the aircraft.
“Yes, sir,” said Harper respectfully. “You don’t want to be riding at five thousand feet dressed for lunch at Simpson’s, do you, Mr. Price? Here, let’s step inside and get you decked out proper.”
Minutes later, I emerged from the hut clad for the air: I wore a coat similar to Captain Harper’s, though it was somewhat small
for my frame, and my head was covered by a wool balaclava topped with a leather cap. In my hands were goggles and leather gloves.
“We don’t really have what you might call a standard kit,” Harper told me as we walked toward our aircraft. “Your shoes will do in place of boots—we had no idea of the size of your feet, and so we did not attempt to scrape up a pair for you. Just make certain you wear those goggles,” he said. “The slipstream can be brutal.”
“Pardon? Slipstream?”
“Oh, nothing supernatural,” the captain said light-heartedly. “It’s a fancy new term for the air that will rush past you in flight. There’ll be dust in it at times, and the engine will be spitting oil constantly. One must protect the eyes, sir,” he insisted as we reached the aeroplane, where Major Reardon was conversing with the two mechanics.
“Ah, Mr. Price,” said Reardon in a more friendly tone than before. “You look ready to join the squadron, what?”
“Appearances can be deceiving, I fear” was my reply.
“I think you’ll do fine, sir,” said Captain Harper. “In any event,” he said, glancing at his superior officer, “we’ll lift up as gently as we can.”
“However you do it, Harper,” said the major, “make certain you reach Dumfries by midday.”
“Oh, yes sir, I’ve already assured Mr. Price that we shall.”
“I’ll send one of the men to wire your Mr. Mycroft Holmes that the craft is in the air, once that has become fact,” Reardon told me. “We have arranged for Harper here to remain with the aeroplane in Dumfries should you require it. If at any time that becomes unnecessary, however, do advise the captain to that effect.”
“I will.”
“Good luck, Mr. Price,” Reardon said, extending his hand. “I don’t know what this is all about, but it must be important, and I wish you all the success in the world.”
“Thank you, Major.”
Captain Harper and one of the mechanics then assisted me into the observer’s cockpit, which was positioned forward of that which the pilot would occupy.
“You’ve got your own set of controls in there,” the captain told me. “Just make certain you don’t touch them,” he advised with a grin.
In the growing light of dawn, I could see those levers and gauges clearly, and I leaned back to put the greatest possible distance between them and myself.
“I’m sorry if all this inconveniences you, Captain,” I said as Harper climbed into his own seat behind mine.
“No inconvenience at all, sir,” the officer replied. “This is why I went to Bristol in the first place.45 Flying is a pleasure, and we’ll be flying some distance.”
“Three hundred miles,” I said, turning round to face the captain, an objective I found not fully possible to achieve in my flying gear.
“Yes,” replied the pilot. “Well, if any of our planes can make it, sir, it’s this one. New model. Not overly fast, but terribly stable in the air.”46
I heard him laugh.
“You won’t be falling out. However, Mr. Price, you also won’t be able to hear me once the engine is going. If I need to signal to you, I’ll give you a pat on the back.”
“I understand. I will just try to appreciate the view.”
“You won’t need to try, sir. There’s really nothing like it, to be sure. Oh, and goggles down, remember? And gloves on, if you will.”
I adjusted the goggles to fit with reasonable comfort over my eyes and pulled on the leather gloves to await the aeroplane’s launching.
Harper and the two mechanics began final preparations for departure, and Major Reardon stepped a short distance away. Beyond, on the gravel path, Jack James stood and watched. I saw the young man wave, and I waved back.
“Is that your chauffeur?” asked the captain.
“Yes.”
“Well,” Harper said, “here is where I take over from him.”
I leaned back and stared into the foggy distance.
“Major Reardon?” Harper suddenly called to his superior. “Do you think we could get Mr. Price’s man over here to help you hold the tailskid?”
“Oh, if you like,” said the major. “I believe I can handle it alone, but let me fetch the lad.”
Presently, Jack James came running toward us. Breathing deeply, he asked, “I get to help in this? Is that right?”
“Yes,” said Major Reardon. “If you will join me in grasping the tailskid, it would be most appreciated.”
“Be glad to,” replied Jack. “Just show me what the tailskid is.”
“Come along,” sighed the major.
“Chocks in position?” Harper asked the mechanics.
“Both are set,” replied one of the men.
“Turn on the oil supply,” Harper said to the workmen as Reardon and the young American took hold of the craft’s rear support. “She uses castor oil, Mr. Price,” the pilot said. “The petrol won’t dilute it, but when it burns, we’ll get a bit of a stink.”
“I have been breathing London air for over three decades, Captain. I am certain I can withstand it.”
A syringe was used to inject a small amount of fuel into each cylinder of the engine. Then, as one mechanic stood at the ready, his gloved hands grasping the wooden propeller, the other workman stood behind and took secure hold of his belt.
“Ignition is on,” called out Harper to the mechanics. “Contact.”
Swinging the propeller blade did not appear an easy proposition, and positioning oneself to do so was made somewhat awkward by the presence of a single long ski sled that protruded from beneath the rectangular fuselage, between the main wheels. It required three strong pulls on the blade to bring the aeroplane’s engine into life.
As the second mechanic yanked the first one away from the suddenly spinning rotor, there was a loud cough from beneath the cowling, a sharp kick, and then acrid smoke wafted past my face, a cloud immediately dispersed by the sudden, fierce blast of wind from the rotating blade. I felt my face flatten against the manmade gale, even behind the windscreen, and was thankful for the presence of my goggles.
After a moment, Harper signalled to the workmen to pull the chocks from the wheels and for Reardon and Jack James to let go the tailskid. Feeling powerless, I realised the craft was now beginning to move. As we rolled across the field, our path began to swing to the left, causing me concern, and I found myself gripping the edge of the cockpit with gloved hands as we hit the first of several bumps in the field.
My heart raced as we picked up even more speed, and an old childhood memory suddenly sprang from the past into my consciousness. I recalled running down a steep hillside at breakneck speed, my velocity increasing to such a degree that my legs, seemingly, could not keep pace, and I feared I would fall at any moment. Much the same sensation welled up in me now, except that instead of the dreaded tumble, I abruptly felt the bumping cease and grasped that we had risen into the air.
Then my heart skipped again as I heard the engine cough and sputter, as if it were going to stop at any moment. The intermittent bursts continued as we passed up through the morning mist and swiftly through to its top, as Captain Harper had promised. Then the engine regained vigour, and we found ourselves suddenly lit by the rays of dawn.
Now gasping, I felt the craft tilt somewhat to the right and watched the fogbound landscape swivel beneath me until the sun lay at our backs. The wings then came back level, and we flew on a straight angle up, higher into the sky. At a distance well above the trees—indeed, higher than any landform I could imagine we might approach—our ascent slowed, and we assumed a constant altitude, at which point the pilot turned the craft again, placing the morning’s glow to our right.
I felt a tap upon my shoulder and turned round as best I could. From the corner of my eye, I saw Captain Harper’s right hand extended outward, the thumb pointing upward. I gave him a smile he could not see and nodded my head vigorously while duplicating his gesture, whereupon which he patted me on the back again and then settled into the business of
keeping us aloft.
In time I became acclimated to my high station, and as the sun climbed into the sky and the fog evaporated, I grew ever more enthralled by the sight of what lay below us, confirming Captain Harper’s expectation.
The fields were a quilt of contrasting greens and browns, sometimes stitched together by stone walls and country paths, and the trees and forests were shimmering balls of verdant fluff. We passed over what I took to be Aylesbury and then flew on, eventually approaching Oxford. There we made a slow turn round the town, and I caught sight of the Radcliffe Camera, where Sherlock Holmes had first confronted Professor Moriarty face to face.47 I thought fleetingly of the handful of other cases that had taken the detective to Oxford and then turned round to have one last look at the dreaming spires in morning light.
“‘She needs not June for beauty’s heightening,’” I intoned, contemplating the literal truth of those words on this gorgeous morning, though I could not hear my own utterance through the roar of the engine.48
We flew on, eventually reaching the Midlands. Birmingham hove into sight, and once more I felt a tap upon my back. Turning round in my seat, I saw, at the edge of my vision, Captain Harper gesturing downward. I nodded, turned forward again, and felt our craft tilt slightly toward ground. We descended gracefully, but as landing became imminent, I instinctively clasped my hands to the edge of the cockpit once more, suddenly feeling alarm as I heard the engine sputter as it had during our original ascent.
Captain Harper shouted, but I could not understand his words. To my relief, however, the aeroplane came down safely in a field east of Birmingham, and as we touched soil, there was a firm jarring, followed by a series of jolts, and then I felt only gentle shaking as we eventually rolled to a stop.