by Martin Daley
“As you wish,” said Vaughan. “I have some unfinished paperwork at the castle, I will leave you to settle in and join you for dinner later – say eight o’clock?” Then turning to me he reached out his hand once more and said, “It really is good to see you again Watson.”
The accommodation Vaughan had arranged for us was right in the heart of the city opposite the town hall. The Crown and Mitre Inn and Coffee House appeared at first glance to be a fairly basic establishment, but it was one that would prove to be both comfortable and convenient. We entered to be greeted by a short squat man with a ruddy complexion. “Good afternoon gentlemen,” he said pleasantly, “I’m Sam Graham, I run the ‘Mitre’ wid me wife Mary.”
“Good afternoon Mr. Graham,” said Holmes, “I see you have your own little corner of violin land!” Holmes was looking past our host to two plaques that were behind him on the wall. One referred to Sir Walter Scott as having stayed in the establishment before marrying his Carlisle born wife, in 1797. The one Holmes was referring to, however, was the one next to it, which stated that the great Niccolo Paginini had both stayed at the Inn and performed there in September 1833. I understood Holmes’s comment, as the virtuoso violinist and composer was one the masters of his favourite instrument whom he so admired.
“Yes, our small claim to fame,” said Graham following our gaze with a smile. “I hope you enjoy your stay gentlemen. Anythin’ ye need, just give us a shout. I’ll get the lad to tek ye bags.”
As if by magic a young chap of about nine years of age appeared at our side and proceeded to gamely load our bags onto his back as if he were some kind of packhorse. He made a comical sight as he attempted to climb the stairs to the upper floors and Holmes and I could not stop ourselves from relieving the young chap of some of his baggage. A talkative young chap he turned out to be, with his father’s dialect already taking a strong hold. He took great delight in telling us about how the Inn was due to be demolished and rebuilt next year as “… the county’s top hotel!”
We climbed two flights of stairs before arriving at our rooms. The owner’s son opened the door and struggled through. As he deposited our luggage in the centre of the floor, I held out half a crown as reward for his sterling efforts. The little tyke’s arm shot out and back like a serpent’s tongue, taking the coin as quick as you like.
“Thank you sir,” he said disappearing back down the stairs, in search of his next assignment.
Our rooms were basic but adequate for our purposes. We had a sitting room at the northern corner of the Inn with two separate bedrooms off it, making our suite a natural ‘L’ shape. The main room featured an ornate fireplace, a mixture of comfortable chairs, a chez-long, a writing bureau and a magnificent – if a little neglected – grandfather clock that laboriously ticked the hours away.
The room not only overlooked English Street on one side, but there was evidence to substantiate the young lad’s claim about the demolition work on the northern side of the Inn. The buildings next to it had been razed to the ground and this afforded us magnificent views of both the Cathedral, which was now the next building to the Inn, and further down Castle Street to the magnificent 11th century structure itself.
We unpacked our few belongings and it was only after sitting down to enjoy a pipe that a great feeling of lassitude caught up on me after our long journey. I must confess at that point to being relieved that Holmes had made his earlier suggestion about the commencement of our investigation. Having said that, I was looking forward to spending a couple of hours with my old comrade over dinner.
After freshening up, Holmes and I went down to what could scarcely pass as the dining room a little after seven thirty. Harry met us shortly thereafter and we both immediately launched into reciting tales of our times together and our two subsequent careers. I was enthralled about his military exploits. Vaughan explained that after I left him in Peshawur, he served out the following few months of the war to its close in late 1880.
“Under the Cardwell reforms of 1881,” he continued, “it was dictated that each regiment must have two battalions, one serving at home, which would act as reinforcement for the other, which would serve overseas. Thus the 34th Cumberland and the 55th Westmorland were joined as the 1st and 2nd Battalions of the Border Regiment; I took a chance and joined the Battalion in India.
“In ‘94 we took part in operations against the tribesmen on the North West Frontier in Waziristan – fierce fighters the old Waziris,” he reflected.
“Four years ago we were in Malta, on our way home from India when the Great War against the Boers broke out. We were sent directly to South Africa and became one of the first reinforcements to the garrison. We joined the army of Sir Redvers Buller in Natal and fought in all the battles, whilst attempting to raise the siege of Ladysmith.”
I could see the sparkle in his eye as he leaned forward with excitement telling me of the various skirmishes he had taken part in with his friend and colleague Sergeant George ‘Geordie’ Armstrong. “You’ll meet him tomorrow, by the way. Perhaps our finest hour came at Bushman’s Kop,” he continued, using the condiments and cutlery on the table to illustrate the set-piece battle and support his narrative.
“We were camped about three miles from the Kop with the Somersets and the Irish Rifles with support from the Royal Artillery’s 15 pounders, who bombarded the enemy positions. The Irish joined us in attacking on the right flank in two lines. The firing was ferocious, with bullets and pom-pom shells sweeping over their positions.
“I must confess to being a little impetuous at times and, spurred on by my fiery subordinates; I led the lads into the open, where we were pretty exposed at one point. Geordie, who acts as the voice on my shoulder in such situations, and who was initially was against the advance, advised that our only option was to push on. So I led the lads in another advance and we secured victory shortly afterwards. What a triumph! Yes old Armstrong and Vaughan showed Johnny Boer a thing or two,” he concluded, with obvious pride.
It was times like these – listening to soldiers like Harry Vaughan – that I regretted not having experienced a longer military career myself. I was in my element, revelling in the tales as if I were there myself, whilst at the same time recognising through my own experience, the horror of such situations. I could not get enough of his military exploits and I must confess that in all of my excitement, I almost forgot about Holmes’s presence. He had been sitting quietly the whole evening, mulling over the odd cigarette.
At the end of the evening, we bade Captain Vaughan goodnight, arranging to meet him and his commanding officer at eight thirty the following morning, prior to finally commencing the investigation. On the way up to our rooms I felt obliged to apologise to Holmes, as I felt I had ignored him for most of the evening.
“Not at all Watson, do not trouble yourself,” he said. “Like you I found the evening extremely interesting.”
Chapter Three - The Problem
Our first full day in Carlisle saw us rise, break our fast and set off on the short walk to the castle. It was a bitterly cold morning, with a knee high ground mist covering the city centre. It did however, contribute to the freshness of the air, which was in marked contrast to the almost yellow, sometimes oily, fogs that frequently enveloped London and in doing so, provided its inhabitants with a rather poisonous atmosphere.
As we walked along Castle Street towards the castle itself and the river beyond, the mist became rather more dense and the medieval structure appeared as though it were rising out of an ice field; truly a breathtaking sight.
We approached the sentries on guard duty, who appeared more intent on confrontation, rather than welcome. Before we had time to explain our presence however, our companion from the previous night appeared, stood his colleagues down and took us under the portcullis, across the spacious square towards the Commanding Officer’s Office on the first floor of one of the interior buildings. The castle itself was as impressive from the inside, as it appeared from the outside. One could se
nse its history in each corner.
Vaughan knocked and entered his superior’s office. The spacious room had a large window that overlooked the castle square and was decorated with memorabilia from the regiment and its adventures; pictures of famous battles, portraits of previous commanding officers, models and a collection of books displayed in a beautiful oak panelled bookcase that lined one of the walls. As we entered, the Colonel rose from behind the large matching desk.
Lieutenant Colonel Richard Hulme DSO KCB was an imposing figure and a veteran of the North West Frontier and of the recent war in South Africa. He had commanded the regiment since its return from the Boer conflict.
Vaughan introduced us to his commanding officer, “Colonel, may I introduce Mr. Sherlock Holmes and his colleague Doctor John Watson.”
“Gentlemen, thank you for coming to help us with this most serious of crimes. I trust your accommodation is adequate, as for your fee Mr. Holmes …”
“My professional charges are upon a fixed scale,” interrupted the detective, “I do not vary them, save when I omit them completely.”
I must confess to being both slightly embarrassed and a little amused by Holmes’s tone, who was never one to feel beneath another, and to that of the colonel’s discomfort, as he was clearly not used to being spoken to so sharply.
“Quite,” mumbled the latter rather uncomfortably.
“Now,” started Holmes, addressing the Commanding Officer, “I would like you to tell me the series of events that have led us to this point.”
“I’m sure you know of the significance of these trophies Mr. Holmes.”
Before Holmes could express further irritation at the continuing prevarication, I hastily interjected, “We are familiar with the background to the Arroyo Drums Colonel,” I said, encouraging him to continue.
“The theft appears to have taken place around midnight on Tuesday of last week, whilst I was at the camp of the Westmorland and Cumberland Yeomanry near Penrith. It is customary for the Border Regiment’s Commanding Officer to inspect the local Yeomanry at their annual camp,” he explained. “Whilst we were away, one of the guards was knocked unconscious during sentry duty. It seemed like the action of ignorant thugs at the time; perhaps a gang of drunkards rolling out of one of the nearby pubs, until we discovered the drums were missing when we returned. We feel the two incidents must be linked – hence the theory about Tuesday.”
“I sense that you are keeping something from me Colonel,” said Holmes. “Can you explain how only one of the sentries was injured?”
The Commanding Officer assumed an expression that was a mixture of embarrassment and rage. As he looked at Vaughan he said, “It would appear that we only have one sentry on duty during the night; or that was the case until last week.” It was clear that Holmes had touched a raw nerve and the unwritten practice that was apparently unknown to the regiment’s senior officer had come back to haunt the individuals responsible for turning ‘Nelson’s eye’ to the practice.
“Exactly how long were you away?” Holmes was clearly not interested in the rights and wrongs of regimental protocol. “We left on Monday morning to join the camp that afternoon. We were there until Thursday afternoon.”
“Who was in your party?”
“I was accompanied by Captain Vaughan and a unit under the command of Sergeant Armstrong.”
“Who was left in charge of the depot?”
“Overall command was passed to Major Young, supported by the new Regimental Sergeant Major McCue, who has only been with us since 1st October after transferring from the Northumberland Fusiliers.”
“Ah, my old regiment, before I joined the Berkshires,” I commented, turning to Vaughan, and much to Holmes’s annoyance.
“Tell me, Colonel Hulme,” continued my friend, “what steps have been taken so far?”
“All leave has been cancelled until the Arroyo Drums are found,” – Hulme made no attempt to hide his indignation – “we have searched the castle high and low without success.”
“Have you notified the local police?”
“As a matter of course we did,” interjected Vaughan, “but they claim to be particularly shorthanded at the moment and view this as a relatively minor issue. Inspector Armstrong is a fine officer – our own Sergeant’s cousin incidentally – but he could only spare one of his plain clothed sergeants – Smith.”
“And he hardly inspires confidence,” added the colonel, “met with the fellow on Monday.”
“It was for that reason that we initially preferred to keep it a regimental matter,” resumed Captain Vaughan.
“And yet you have seen fit to consult myself.” Holmes concluded.
“Time is now of the essence Mr. Holmes,” it was the commanding officer again, “‘Arroyo Day’ is fast approaching.” Holmes chuckled at, what seemed to him to be an insignificant matter. “We did not invite you here to amuse yourself at our expense Mr. Holmes.” said the C.O. sharply.
“My apologies Colonel,” – Holmes was smiling, yet contrite – “I am confident that we will solve the mystery in good time. With your permission I would like to spend some time inspecting the castle, but first I would like to interview your staff if I may.”
“I am sure Captain Vaughan can make the necessary arrangements,” said Colonel Hulme, somewhat placated. He then requested that we return to update him at “… sixteen hundred hours,” that afternoon.
Vaughan took us from the Colonel’s office, out on to the square and thence to an adjacent building where there was an office, he said, that could be used as an interview room. He informed us that we could not speak with Sergeant Armstrong as he was ‘indisposed’. Furthermore, he added that the soldier who was on guard duty, and who was injured during the subsequent robbery was in the infirmary.
“I shall make a point of visiting him in hospital,” said Holmes.
“He is still unconscious from his injuries,” replied Vaughan.
“And his colleague who should have been on duty with him?”
“He is in the guardhouse. I will need the colonel’s permission to release him.”
“I will speak with the colonel again this afternoon on that issue.”
The first member of the colonel’s staff, Vaughan introduced us to therefore, was Lance Corporal Geoffrey Robins who, he informed us, acted as the commanding officer’s secretary-cum-batman. The captain then excused himself to attend to his other duties. Robins was a slightly built, red headed man who, although in his thirtieth year retained a boyish appearance. Holmes began by simply asking Robins to go through the events as he saw them.
“Well sir, the truth of it is that there is not a great deal to tell. The colonel and his party had left for Penrith on the Monday morning and all was quiet until Private Walker was discovered by his mate Nixon, who should have been on duty with him.” Robins was clearly embarrassed by this last comment and I got the impression that everyone apart from the C.O. himself knew about the lax nocturnal security. That notwithstanding, Robins continued his account, “we were mystified as to the motive for the attack as nothing appeared to have been disturbed. It was not until the Thursday evening that it all added up. Captain Vaughan and I found that the old Frenchy’s gear was missing when we went into the storage room. We were making the initial preparations for ‘Arroyo Day’, you see. You can imagine our feelings when we discovered the loss,” he concluded, sadly.
“Where exactly was Walker found?”
“There is a toilet block just to the left as you come under the gate. He must have been on his way to visiting a place because he was found on the steps of the block.”
“I think it more likely that he would have been returning to his post,” said Holmes, cryptically.
“Anyway,” resumed Robins who, like myself, did not seem to understand Holmes’s comment, “as I said to Geordie Armstrong; who took the drums and how, remains a mystery. It was then that your name was mentioned Mr. Holmes.”
“I don’t understand,” said the dete
ctive.
“Well, Geordie and I were in the mess on Friday night, talking about the theft. I commented that we could do with your services. My older brother is in the Royal Mallows, you see, and I remember him telling me about how you solved the case involving Colonel Barclay back in “83.
“‘Hang on a minute!’ cries Geordie ‘I’m sure old Vaughany knows his side-kick.’
“‘Doctor Watson?’ said I.
“‘Yeah, that’s right. I recall ‘H’ reading a copy of the magazine that his stories are in, and telling me that they were in Afghanistan together.’
“We then approached the colonel and Captain Vaughan, who got in touch with your good selves.”
Clearly amused by the Lance Corporal’s reference to myself as his ‘side-kick’, Holmes resumed his questioning.
“Where were the drums held?”
“As I say, we have a storage room in Queen Mary’s Tower, across the square sir. All the regiment’s trophies are kept there. I can show you if you like.”
“That would be useful, but later. Finally Corporal, was anything else taken?”
“No sir,” replied Robins.
“In that case I would like to speak with the Regimental Sergeant Major, if I may.”
“I’ll show him in sir.”
“And Robins?” Holmes added as the Lance Corporal reached the door, “If you could wait outside and show us to the room from where the drums were stolen, it would be much appreciated.” The young man nodded his assent and closed the door behind him.
Clearly Vaughan had asked the key personnel to make themselves available, as the RSM entered almost immediately. Standing over six feet tall, McCue was the archetypal Regimental Sergeant Major; with a ramrod straight back, dark slicked back hair with a matching handlebar moustache.
I, perhaps foolishly, tried to break the ice by referring to the fact that McCue and myself were both former members of the Northumberland Fusiliers.