The Adventure of the Spanish Drums

by Martin Daley

  “Holmes, I think I speak for both the Inspector and myself when I say that we are completely baffled by the events of the last hour” – Armstrong nodded his agreement – “and how are you so sure that the two thefts are unrelated, and moreover, that nothing further will happen until tomorrow night?”

  “Saturday night, I’ll wager,” commented my friend. “You may recall Watson that when you brought the letter from Captain Vaughan to Baker Street on Monday last, I commented that this was the second time in as many months that the city of Carlisle had come to my attention.”

  “Vaguely,” I assented.

  “The first time the Border City was mentioned was by our old friend Inspector Gregson. He was in fact referring to a case I had the pleasure of assisting him with last year. A fairly straightforward case Watson, I had no need to impose on my trusty biographer. It involved a series of robberies with violence carried out by a particularly vicious gang. Although they started south of the river, they soon spread their wings over the whole of the capital, leaving a trail of destruction and injury before Gregson finally caught up with them as they attempted to break into the bank of Cox and Co. at Charing Cross.”

  I am sure Holmes delayed the final sentence of his narrative just long enough to allow me to take a mouthful of coffee. Upon hearing that it was my own bank that was the target of these brigands I coughed, spraying coffee into my lap, much to Holmes’s amusement. Taking my handkerchief and wiping away the access from my trousers, I could not help but join in chuckling at Holmes’s mischievous streak.

  “The gang consisted of two brothers,” resumed my friend, “Robert and his younger brother Raymond Adams, with the former prize-fighter Mike ‘Boom Boom’ Bennett and Alfie Styles making up the numbers. It was the two latter gentlemen that young Jennings observed last night.”

  “Yes, of course!” I said, “I remember reading something of the case in the press, now you mention it, while I accompanied my wife on a trip to The Fens. But what on earth are they doing in this part of the world?”

  “When Gregson received a tip-off that Cox and Co. was to be the subject of their next robbery, he asked me to inspect the interior with him. Upon inspecting the bank I observed a high skylight and deduced that this would be the gang’s intended entry point. Gregson and I accompanied some of his officers on the night in question, inside the building ready to apprehend the gang as they broke in.

  “Sure enough, the Adams brothers had devised a cunning plan that saw them not only enter through the skylight but lower themselves down into the bank via a large pulley system. Due to Styles’s disabilities and Bennett’s bulk it was the brothers themselves who utilised the giant pulley. It was only the two Adams’ therefore who were picked up. Due to the ineptitude of the Scotland Yard force, they somehow neglected to capture their two associates who, it appears, escaped from the roof of the bank into the capital’s grasslands.

  “Consequentially, as it was only the brothers who were tried, convicted and sent to jail, Bennett and Styles set about breaking them out. Their first unsuccessful attempt was made some months ago and as a result, the Adams’ were split up. Only last month Gregson informed me that the older brother was taken to York, whilst the younger Raymond was brought here to Carlisle – although I believe that his final destination is to be Durham.”

  Armstrong confirmed Holmes’s final comment, “The local gaol is being utilised as an over-spill for Durham at the moment, as their jail is undergoing structural repairs and is receiving an upgrade in security,” – then, musing to himself – “and the rest of this Adams Gang thought they could pull the wool and divert our attention in order to break out their man from our less secure County Gaol, before he went over the North East.”

  “You are quite correct, my dear Armstrong, and in reading of the theft of the Arroyo Drums in Friday evening’s local newspaper gave them the perfect foot-hold. By adopting a policy of low risk but high profile burglaries, they stood every chance of deceiving the local force, fooling them into believing that there were to be a spate of such thefts. I would wager that the younger Adams will be moved within the next couple of days and his comrades will attempt to free him during his transportation.”

  “What do you suggest we do now?” asked the policeman. “You have a perfect description of the two men we are looking for in connection with the town hall break-in; you should put all your available resource into ensure their swift arrest. Do not underestimate their capabilities however, Inspector. Styles’s disabilities developed from his suffering from poliomyelitis as a child. That notwithstanding, he is as lithe as a cat and cunning too. His companion is a dangerous character – he is a veritable giant – and as you might imagine, has the strength to go with it. This man should be approached with great caution Inspector as he has, I’m afraid to report, been on the wrong end of too many refereeing decisions throughout his boxing career that have effected more than his confidence and ambition.” Holmes tapped his temple with his forefinger to support this final comment.

  “Watson and I will pay a visit to the governor of the County Gaol and inform him of our findings. In case your men do not pick up Bennett and Styles, I shall advise him to put extra guards on Adams.”

  “There is one other thing,” I said as Holmes rose to leave. “We seem to have solved one mystery but what about the drums? Surely we are back to square one with that enquiry.”

  “Do not concern yourself for the moment, my dear fellow. I am confident that we will solve that mystery also within the next few days.”

  “I will telephone the governor to forewarn him of your visit,” suggested Armstrong, “I will also send word to Colonel Hulme about this morning’s events.”

  Holmes seemed reluctant to allow this at first, but eventually consented and we bade the Inspector good morning, setting off in the direction of the railway station to visit the governor of the County Gaol.

  Chapter Six - Dr. Watson Is Uncomfortable

  We walked the mile or so to the County Gaol that had been pointed out to us by Captain Vaughan shortly after our arrival in the city. We were met at the entrance to the imposing, dour looking building by one of the guards, who identified himself as Simmons, who informed us that the governor had been notified of our visit. He invited us to follow him to his governor’s office.

  As he led us along the endless maze of corridors and up several flights of metal stairs, our footsteps echoed around the hollow interior. One of his colleagues – acknowledging our approach – opened a metal gate that was barred to the ceiling and after we had walked through, he clanged it shut behind us. As he did so and turned the key, my heart skipped a beat. This fearful noise was repeated numerous times as we continued our journey and combined feelings of anxiety and claustrophobia threatened to engulf me. I was extremely relieved when we reached the governor’s office after what must have only been a five-minute walk from the front entrance but somehow seemed longer.

  Simmons knocked and entered. “Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson from London, sir,” – then turning back to us – “Gentlemen this is our governor, Mr. Lyons.”

  The large man rose from behind his desk and stretched out his hand. He bore a sallow complexion and his flaccid jowls were partly obscured by his thick side-whiskers. In all, his appearance and expression were in keeping with his place of work – grey and rather morose. I must stress that this was not a criticism of the poor man; I am sure I would look and feel exactly the same way if I were in his profession.

  “Good afternoon gentlemen,” he said. “It is indeed a treat to have such distinguished visitors. I must confess to being puzzled however, as to the purpose of your visit. Although Inspector Armstrong notified me of your impending arrival, he did not elaborate as to the reason for it.” Then, calling to his subordinate as the latter turned to leave, he asked, “Simmons, could you organise some tea please?”

  “Very good sir,” said the prison guard saluting.

  “Now gentlemen,” resumed the governor, as Simmons closed t
he door behind him, “how can I be of assistance?”

  “You have a prisoner here, by the name of Adams?” said Holmes.

  “Yes indeed, a most unsavoury character. Most of our inmates are local, petty criminals. Adams however is altogether a different kettle of fish, probably stemming from his London connection – no offence intended gentlemen. I will be pleased to see the back of him; he is being transferred to Durham at eight o”clock on Saturday night.”

  Holmes shot me a knowing glance. “You are quite accurate in your assessment of the individual in question Mr. Lyons. I must also advise you that he has two equally unsavoury associates – by the names of Styles and Bennett – who are in Carlisle as we speak and it is my hypothesis that an attempt will be made to break this ruffian out, possibly as he leaves the gaol or more likely, during transit on Saturday.”

  As Holmes introduced this revelation, the governor’s jaw dropped and his thick bristling eyebrows – that had hitherto partially masked his lids – rose, as his large forehead creased with surprise. It was clear that, notwithstanding his unpleasant profession, he had never experienced such an exciting and unusual occurrence.

  “What do you suggest we do Mr. Holmes?” he said as his complexion changed dramatically with excitement, bringing a more natural colour to his cheeks.

  “I believe it would be wise to move young Adams sooner than previously arranged. Would I be correct in surmising that the journey was to be taken by road?” – Lyons nodded his response – “Then suggest you contact your colleagues in Durham and advise them of a change in arrangements. I suggest you move him by rail tonight.”

  “I agree Mr. Holmes,” said Lyons, quickly coming to terms with the disclosure. He continued, “what is more, I get very little pleasure in this job; so I think we should allow ourselves a little amusement. SIMMONS!”

  It was as though the governor had psychic powers, as almost instantaneously the guard came in to the governor’s office, not only responding to his cry but also carrying a tray of tea, in response to Mr. Lyons’s earlier instruction.

  “Have the prisoner Adams brought in would you, there’s a good chap.”

  Holmes and I stared at each other, amused by Mr. Lyons’s sense of sport.

  We chatted idly for five minutes or so over our refreshment, before there was a knock on the door.

  “ENTER!” cried the governor.

  I sat at the right hand side of Mr. Lyons’s desk, at a ninety- degree angle to the door. Holmes was sitting directly in front of the desk and as such could not be seen by anyone in the doorway.

  Once Simmons opened the door, I turned in my chair to see him and the prisoner following. Although he was in my sight for only a second or two prior to his entrance into the office, I witnessed his contorted, almost arrogant expression that almost immediately led me to concur with Mr. Lyons’s appraisal of the man. As he entered however and saw Holmes sitting there, the snarling look of contempt for his surroundings dropped to such an expression of incredulity I had never before witnessed. It was clear that my friend was the last person he expected to see.

  “What … the …?!” was all the criminal could utter as he stared in disbelief.

  “Good afternoon Adams,” said Holmes coolly, “how are you enjoying this northern air?” He sounded like a vicar in a drawing room, he was so mild, and it was clear his meaningless question did not register with the villain, as the expression of amazement on the face of the latter did not alter.

  “We are wise to your intentions Adams,” – it was the governor’s turn to have his fun – “Mr. Holmes has advised us of your associates” presence and your planned escape. Well let me tell you, my man, I have never had a prisoner escape when under my authority, and I have no intention of allowing you to blemish that record. Your transference to Durham will be brought forward and with a little good fortune, the authorities will arrest your colleagues before they can create further disturbance. Take him away!”

  Simmons led Adams away, his demeanour – with slumped shoulders and sombre face – in marked contrast to the brash, self assured individual that entered the office some moments earlier.

  After he left, the governor addressed my companion once more, “Mr. Holmes I cannot thank you enough. I will arrange for the prisoner to be sent across to Durham tonight.”

  “Very prudent,” agreed the detective. “There is one more thing however. No doubt some of your staff frequent the public house outside?”

  “Indeed they do, more’s the pity. Its nickname is well merited, as it is a constant tap into the affairs of the gaol. It is a permanent source of concern to me; any little snippets of information that are overheard, are invariably embroidered and usually ending up causing problems either inside the gaol itself or in the local press.”

  “Well perhaps on this occasion we can turn this tittle-tattle to our advantage. I don’t doubt that Styles will be a regular in the Inn during his visit because of its close proximity to the prison, and any slip of the tongue regarding Adams will, I’m sure, flush him and Bennett out of their hiding place. When they do appear, I will ensure that Inspector Armstrong and his colleagues will be there to apprehend them. To help Armstrong still further, bearing in mind he is nervous about his dignitary’s visit tomorrow and his shortage of men, perhaps we could arrange our little scheme for Saturday night, around six o’clock?”

  “I’m sure that can be arranged Mr. Holmes,” replied Lyons, “I will arrange to have Simmons and one of his colleagues in the pub at the appropriate hour.”

  “Excellent! I would wager that the conspicuous Styles would be in there, in preparation for the attempted breakout later that evening. If I am correct in my hypothesis, his colleague will join him at the appointed hour. When Styles hears of your prompt action in removing their colleague, he will move to prevent Bennett showing up and look to arrange their transport out of the city.”

  With that, Simmons returned to escort us from the building and – with the governor’s permission – Holmes explained the plan to the guard, pointing out the unusual appearance of Styles due to his disability. “Do not divulge the information concerning Adams until you are happy that Styles is present,” said my friend to the prison warden.

  Once out on the street again, the air somehow tasted fresher. I was surprised by my own reaction to being in the gaol – having experienced most things in this life – but I was overwhelmed by a tremendous feeling of incarceration. It was now late afternoon and we made our way back to the Crown and Mitre.

  “Ah, Mr. Holmes,” said Graham as we entered, “a note was left for you earlier”. He reached down behind a makeshift counter and produced a grubby looking brown envelope.

  “Who left it?” asked my friend.

  “I dunno sir, it was here lyin’ when I cem up from the cellar earlier.”

  “Thank you,” replied Holmes, taking the envelope. Far from administering his usual thorough examination of such an item, he ripped it open and looked briefly at the single sheet of paper contained within. “Hmm, an interesting development,” he said handing the paper to me.

  “In connection with the primary case, I hope,” I said. “Indeed.”

  I looked at the paper and found only two words written: ‘SINN FIENE’. I must confess to being completely bemused by the message. “What does it mean?” I asked.

  “It is Irish; literally translated it means ‘Ourselves Alone’”.

  Then ignoring my bewilderment Holmes called out “Billy?”

  The young chap who had carried our bags up to our room the previous day suddenly appeared. As an aside, it has been my experience that Holmes had a habit of calling all young lads of that age “Billy”, whether that is there given name or not. That said, the youngster answered Holmes’s call and came over ready to assist.

  “Tell me young fellow,” started Holmes, “where is the Irish quarter in Carlisle?”

  “You wanna go down Caudigate to Blue Lugs ‘n the Sailor sir,” said the boy.

  Holmes and I st
ared at each other, barely comprehending a word the lad had said. Seeing our confusion Billy said, in a mock Queen’s English accent “Perhaps you gentlemen would like to head in the direction of the Cumberland Infirmary and visit the Caldewgate area of town, immediately to the west of the castle and frequent the Joiner’s Arms Inn and Jovial Sailor Tavern.” With that, the little scallywag waltzed off with his nose in the air.

  “What shall we do now?” I asked

  “There’s only one thing for it Watson,” said Holmes with apparent seriousness, forcing me to hang on to his every word, “it’s off to Blue Lugs!” Struck by the absurdity of the young lad’s dialect and the nickname given to the former of the two pubs, we simultaneously burst into a roar of laughter. After recovering our composure, we retraced our steps back towards the castle and followed the young lad’s westerly directions, remembering our own journey to the Infirmary the previous day to visit the injured Walker. Travelling on the tram I did not take much notice of the route but now I saw that the area mentioned was a wide street that was self- contained within a natural bowl. It was clear from the architecture and condition of the surrounding streets that this was an impoverished area and when we found the aforementioned ‘Joiner’s Arms’, I thought to myself how reluctant I would have been to enter such an establishment on my own. Holmes however, did not hesitate and purposefully strode into the pub.

  As we entered I was instantly struck by the commingled – almost overpowering – stench of stale beer, rank tobacco smoke and perspiration. My suspicions regarding the clientele were instantly confirmed; the tavern was full of what could best be described as a gang of ruffians. The collection of evil and violent looking characters were a veritable rogues’ gallery as they all appeared to sport either a cauliflower ear or a broken nose, or both. They were certainly individuals one would not like to meet on a dark night and to a man they all looked up as we walked entered their den.

  The pub itself was basic in the extreme with stone floors and trestle tables. Upon approaching the landlord, the ridiculous nickname given to his establishment became apparent. Not only was he a barrel-chested, dirty, unshaven individual, but also his oversized ears were a distinct shade of indigo! His nose was also threatening to follow suit and it was my professional opinion that this was a clear result of him drinking most of his profits.