Sherlock Holmes in Montague Street Volume 1

by David Marcum

  “But then what’s he to do with the stuff when he’s got it? You can’t take gold ashore by the hundredweight in your boots.”

  “Do with it. Why, dump it, of course. Dump it overboard in a quiet port and mark the spot. Come to that, he could desert clean at Port Said - what easier place? - and take all he wanted. You know what Port Said’s like. Then there are the firemen - oh, anybody can do it!” And Brasyer moved off to take another peep under the hatchway.

  The door of the bullion-room was fastened by one central patent lock and two padlocks, one above and one below the other lock. A day or two after the conversation recorded above, Brasyer was carefully examining and trying the lower of the padlocks with a key, when a voice immediately behind him asked sharply, “Well, sir, and what are you up to with that padlock?”

  Brasyer started violently and looked round. It was Captain Mackrie.

  “There’s - that is - I’m afraid these are the same sort of padlocks as those in the carpenter’s stores,” the second mate replied, in a hurry of explanation. “I - I was just trying, that’s all; I’m afraid the keys fit.”

  “Just you let the carpenter take care of his own stores, will you, Mr. Brasyer? There’s a Chubb’s lock there as well as the padlocks, and the key of that’s in my cabin, and I’ll take care doesn’t go out of it without my knowledge. So perhaps you’d best leave off experiments till you’re asked to make ’em, for your own sake. That’s enough now,” the captain added, as Brasyer appeared to be ready to reply; and he turned on his heel and made for the steward’s quarters.

  Brasyer stared after him ragefully. “Wonder what you want down here,” he muttered under his breath. “Seems to me one doesn’t often see a skipper as thick with the steward as that.” And he turned off growling towards the deck above.

  “Hanged if I like that steward’s pantry stuck against the side of the bullion-room,” he said later in the day to the first officer. “And what does a steward want with a lot of boiler-maker’s tools aboard? You know he’s got them.”

  “In the name of the prophet, rats!” answered the first mate, who was of a less fussy disposition. “What a fatiguing creature you are, Brasyer! Don’t you know the man’s a boiler-maker by regular trade, and has only taken to stewardship for the last year or two? That sort of man doesn’t like parting with his tools, and as he’s a widower, with no home ashore, of course he has to carry all his traps aboard. Do shut up, and take your proper rest like a Christian. Here, I’ll give you a cigar; it’s all right - Burman; stick it in your mouth, and keep your jaw tight on it.”

  But there was no soothing the second officer. Still he prowled about the after orlop deck, and talked at large of his anxiety for the contents of the bullion-room. Once again, a few days later, as he approached the iron door, he was startled by the appearance of the captain coming, this time, from the steward’s pantry. He fancied he had heard tapping, Brasyer explained, and had come to investigate. But the captain turned him back with even less ceremony than before, swearing he would give charge of the bullion-room to another officer if Brasyer persisted in his eccentricities. On the first deck the second officer was met by the carpenter, a quiet, sleek, soft-spoken man, who asked him for the padlock and key he had borrowed from the stores during the week. But Brasyer put him off, promising to send it back later. And the carpenter trotted away to a job he happened to have, singularly enough, in the hold, just under the after orlop deck, and below the floor of the bullion-room.

  As I have said, the voyage was in no way a pleasant one. Everywhere the weather was at its worst, and scarce was Gibraltar passed before the Lascars were shivering in their cotton trousers, and the Seedee boys were buttoning tight such old tweed jackets as they might muster from their scanty kits. It was January. In the Bay the weather was tremendous, and the Nicobar banged and shook and pitched distractedly across in a howling world of thunderous green sea, washed within and without, above and below. Then, in the Chops, as night fell, something went, and there was no more steerage-way, nor, indeed, anything else but an aimless wallowing. The screw had broken.

  The high sea had abated in some degree, but it was still bad. Such sail as the steamer carried, inadequate enough, was set, and shift was made somehow to worry along to Plymouth - or to Falmouth if occasion better served - by that means. And so the Nicobar beat across the Channel on a rather better, though anything but smooth, sea, in a black night, made thicker by a storm of sleet, which turned gradually to snow as the hours advanced.

  The ship laboured slowly ahead, through a universal blackness that seemed to stifle. Nothing but a black void above, below, and around, and the sound of wind and sea; so that one coming before a deck-light was startled by the quiet advent of the large snowflakes that came like moths as it seemed from nowhere. At four bells - two in the morning - a foggy light appeared away on the starboard bow - it was the Eddystone light - and an hour or two later, the exact whereabouts of the ship being a thing of much uncertainty, it was judged best to lay her to till daylight. No order had yet been given, however, when suddenly there were dim lights over the port quarter, with a more solid blackness beneath them. Then a shout and a thunderous crash, and the whole ship shuddered, and in ten seconds had belched up every living soul from below. The Nicobar’s voyage was over - it was a collision.

  The stranger backed off into the dark, and the two vessels drifted apart, though not till some from the Nicobar had jumped aboard the other. Captain Mackrie’s presence of mind was wonderful, and never for a moment did he lose absolute command of every soul on board. The ship had already begun to settle down by the stern and list to port. Life-belts were served out promptly. Fortunately there were but two women among the passengers, and no children. The boats were lowered without a mishap, and presently two strange boats came as near as they dare from the ship (a large coasting steamer, it afterwards appeared) that had cut into the Nicobar. The last of the passengers were being got off safely, when Brasyer, running anxiously to the captain, said: -

  “Can’t do anything with that bullion, can we, sir? Perhaps a box or two - ”

  “Oh, damn the bullion!” shouted Captain Mackrie. “Look after the boat, sir, and get the passengers off. The insurance companies can find the bullion for themselves.”

  But Brasyer had vanished at the skipper’s first sentence. The skipper turned aside to the steward as the crew and engine-room staff made for the remaining boats, and the two spoke quietly together. Presently the steward turned away as if to execute an order, and the skipper continued in a louder tone: -

  “They’re the likeliest stuff, and we can but drop ’em, at worst. But be slippy - she won’t last ten minutes.”

  She lasted nearly a quarter of an hour. By that time, however, everybody was clear of her, and the captain in the last boat was only just near enough to see the last of her lights as she went down.

  II. The day broke in a sulky grey, and there lay the Nicobar, in ten fathoms, not a mile from the shore, her topmasts forlornly visible above the boisterous water. The sea was rough all that day, but the snow had ceased, and during the night the weather calmed considerably. Next day Lloyd’s agent was steaming about in a launch from Plymouth, and soon a salvage company’s tug came up and lay to by the emerging masts. There was every chance of raising the ship as far as could be seen, and a diver went down from the salvage tug to measure the breach made in the Nicobar’s side, in order that the necessary oak planking or sheeting might be got ready for covering the hole, preparatory to pumping and raising. This was done in a very short time, and the necessary telegrams having been sent, the tug remained in its place through the night, and prepared for the sending down of several divers on the morrow to get out the bullion as a commencement.

  Just at this time Sherlock Holmes happened to be engaged on a case of some importance and delicacy on behalf of Lloyd’s Committee, and was staying for a few days at Plymouth. He heard the story of t
he wreck, of course, and speaking casually with Lloyd’s agent as to the salvage work just beginning, he was told the name of the salvage company’s representative on the tug, Mr. Percy Merrick - a name he immediately recognised as that of an old acquaintance of his own. So that on the day when the divers were at work in the bullion-room of the sunken Nicobar, Holmes gave himself a holiday, and went aboard the tug about noon.

  Here he found Merrick, a big, pleasant man of thirty-eight or so. He was very glad to see Holmes, but was a great deal puzzled as to the results of the morning’s work on the wreck. Two cases of gold bars were missing.

  “There was £200,000 worth of bullion on board,” he said, “that’s plain and certain. It was packed in forty cases, each of £5,000 value. But now there are only thirty-eight cases! Two are gone clearly. I wonder what’s happened?”

  “I suppose your men don’t know anything about it?” asked Holmes.

  “No, they’re all right. You see, it’s impossible for them to bring anything up without its being observed, especially as they have to be unscrewed from their diving-dresses here on deck. Besides, bless you, I was down with them.”

  “Oh! Do you dive yourself, then?”

  “Well, I put the dress on sometimes, you know, for any such special occasion as this. I went down this morning. There was no difficulty in getting about on the vessel below, and I found the keys of the bullion-room just where the captain said I would, in his cabin. But the locks were useless, of course, after being a couple of days in salt water. So we just burgled the door with crowbars, and then we saw that we might have done it a bit more easily from outside. For that coasting-steamer cut clean into the bunker next the bullion-room, and ripped open the sheet of boiler-plate dividing them.”

  “The two missing cases couldn’t have dropped out that way, of course?”

  “Oh, no. We looked, of course, but it would have been impossible. The vessel has a list the other way - to starboard - and the piled cases didn’t reach as high as the torn part. Well, as I said, we burgled the door, and there they were, thirty-eight sealed bullion cases, neither more nor less, and they’re down below in the after-cabin at this moment. Come and see.”

  Thirty-eight they were; pine cases bound with hoop-iron and sealed at every joint, each case about eighteen inches by a foot, and six inches deep. They were corded together, two and two, apparently for convenience of transport.

  “Did you cord them like this yourself?” asked Holmes.

  “No, that’s how we found ’em. We just hooked ’em on a block and tackle, the pair at a time, and they hauled ’em up here aboard the tug.”

  “What have you done about the missing two - anything?”

  “Wired off to headquarters, of course, at once. And I’ve sent for Captain Mackrie - he’s still in the neighbourhood, I believe - and Brasyer, the second officer, who had charge of the bullion-room. They may possibly know something. Anyway, one thing’s plain. There were forty cases at the beginning of the voyage, and now there are only thirty-eight.”

  There was a pause; and then Merrick added, “By the bye, Holmes, this is rather your line, isn’t it? You ought to look up these two cases.”

  Holmes laughed. “All right,” he said; “I’ll begin this minute if you’ll commission me.”

  “Well,” Merrick replied slowly, “of course I can’t do that without authority from headquarters. But if you’ve nothing to do for an hour or so there is no harm in putting on your considering cap, is there? Although, of course, there’s nothing to go upon as yet. But you might listen to what Mackrie and Brasyer have to say. Of course I don’t know, but as it’s a £10,000 question probably it might pay you, and if you do see your way to anything I’d wire and get you commissioned at once.”

  There was a tap at the door and Captain Mackrie entered. “Mr. Merrick?” he said interrogatively, looking from one to another.

  “That’s myself, sir,” answered Merrick.

  “I’m Captain Mackrie, of the Nicobar. You sent for me, I believe. Something wrong with the bullion I’m told, isn’t it?”

  Merrick explained matters fully. “I thought perhaps you might be able to help us, Captain Mackrie. Perhaps I have been wrongly informed as to the number of cases that should have been there?”

  “No; there were forty right enough. I think though - perhaps I might be able to give you a sort of hint.” - and Captain Mackrie looked hard at Holmes.

  “This is Mr. Holmes, Captain Mackrie,” Merrick interposed. “You may speak as freely as you please before him. In fact, he’s sort of working on the business, so to speak.”

  “Well,” Mackrie said, “if that’s so, speaking between ourselves, I should advise you to turn your attention to Brasyer. He was my second officer, you know, and had charge of the stuff.”

  “Do you mean,” Holmes asked, “that Mr. Brasyer might give us some useful information?”

  Mackrie gave an ugly grin. “Very likely he might,” he said, “if he were fool enough. But I don’t think you’d get much out of him direct. I meant you might watch him.”

  “What, do you suppose he was concerned in any way with the disappearance of this gold?”

  “I should think - speaking, as I said before, in confidence and between ourselves - that it’s very likely indeed. I didn’t like his manner all through the voyage.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, he was so eternally cracking on about his responsibility, and pretending to suspect the stokers and the carpenter, and one person and another, of trying to get at the bullion cases - that that alone was almost enough to make one suspicious. He protested so much, you see. He was so conscientious and diligent himself, and all the rest of it, and everybody else was such a desperate thief, and he was so sure there would be some of that bullion missing some day that - that - well, I don’t know if I express his manner clearly, but I tell you I didn’t like it a bit. But there was something more than that. He was eternally smelling about the place, and peeping in at the steward’s pantry - which adjoins the bullion-room on one side, you know - and nosing about in the bunker on the other side. And once I actually caught him fitting keys to the padlocks - keys he’d borrowed from the carpenter’s stores. And every time his excuse was that he fancied he heard somebody else trying to get in to the gold, or something of that sort; every time I caught him below on the orlop deck that was his excuse - happened to have heard something or suspected something or somebody every time. Whether or not I succeed in conveying my impressions to you, gentlemen, I can assure you that I regarded his whole manner and actions as very suspicious throughout the voyage, and I made up my mind I wouldn’t forget it if by chance anything did turn out wrong. Well, it has, and now I’ve told you what I’ve observed. It’s for you to see if it will lead you anywhere.”

  “Just so,” Holmes answered. “But let me fully understand, Captain Mackrie. You say that Mr. Brasyer had charge of the bullion-room, but that he was trying keys on it from the carpenter’s stores. Where were the legitimate keys then?”

  “In my cabin. They were only handed out when I knew what they were wanted for. There was a Chubb’s lock between the two padlocks, but a duplicate wouldn’t have been hard for Brasyer to get. He could easily have taken a wax impression of my key when he used it at the port where we took the bullion aboard.”

  “Well, and suppose he had taken these boxes, where do you think he would keep them?”

  Mackrie shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “Impossible to say,” he replied. “He might have hidden ’em somewhere on board, though I don’t think that’s likely. He’d have had a deuce of a job to land them at Plymouth, and would have had to leave them somewhere while he came on to London. Bullion is always landed at Plymouth, you know, and if any were found to be missing, then the ship would be overhauled at once, every inch of her; so that he’d have to get his plunder ashore somehow before the rest of the g
old was unloaded - almost impossible. Of course, if he’s done that it’s somewhere below there now, but that isn’t likely. He’d be much more likely to have ‘dumped’ it - dropped it overboard at some well-known spot in a foreign port, where he could go later on and get it. So that you’ve a deal of scope for search, you see. Anywhere under water from here to Yokohama;” and Captain Mackrie laughed.

  Soon afterward he left, and as he was leaving a man knocked at the cabin door and looked in to say that Mr. Brasyer was on board. “You’ll be able to have a go at him now,” said the captain. “Good-day.”

  “There’s the steward of the Nicobar there too, sir,” said the man after the captain had gone, “and the carpenter.”

  “Very well, we’ll see Mr. Brasyer first,” said Merrick, and the man vanished. “It seems to have got about a bit,” Merrick went on to Holmes. “I only sent for Brasyer, but as these others have come, perhaps they’ve got something to tell us.”

  Brasyer made his appearance, overflowing with information. He required little assurance to encourage him to speak openly before Holmes, and he said again all he had so often said before on board the Nicobar. The bullion-room was a mere tin box, the whole thing was as easy to get at as anything could be, he didn’t wonder in the least at the loss - he had prophesied it all along.

  The men whose movements should be carefully watched, he said, were the captain and the steward. “Nobody ever heard of a captain and a steward being so thick together before,” he said. “The steward’s pantry was next against the bullion-room, you know, with nothing but that wretched bit of three-eighths boiler plate between. You wouldn’t often expect to find the captain down in the steward’s pantry, would you, thick as they might be. Well, that’s where I used to find him, time and again. And the steward kept boiler-makers’ tools there! That I can swear to. And he’s been a boiler-maker, so that, likely as not, he could open a joint somewhere and patch it up again neatly so that it wouldn’t be noticed. He was always messing about down there in his pantry, and once I distinctly heard knocking there, and when I went down to see, whom should I meet? Why, the skipper, coming away from the place himself, and he bullyragged me for being there and sent me on deck. But before that he bullyragged me because I had found out that there were other keys knocking about the place that fitted the padlocks on the bullion-room door. Why should he slang and threaten me for looking after these things and keeping my eye on the bullion-room, as was my duty? But that was the very thing that he didn’t like. It was enough for him to see me anxious about the gold to make him furious. Of course his character for meanness and greed is known all through the company’s service - he’ll do anything to make a bit.”