by Martin Daley
“Quite correct, and commendable Sergeant Armstrong,” complimented Holmes. “Finally, where is the nearest Post Office?” Both Armstrong and I were taken aback by the apparently unrelated question.
“As you leave the castle sir, at the bottom of the moat-bridge, turn left and cross the road; you’ll find one a couple a hundred yards down the street on your right hand side.”
“You have been most helpful Sergeant, thank you,” said Holmes.
“Not at all,” replied the soldier, appearing not to be aware of his helpfulness – a feeling I must confess to sharing.
As we rose to leave I said to the soldier, “Captain Vaughan told us that you and the Inspector are cousins, Sergeant?”
“Yes, that’s right sir, more like brothers if truth be told. We grew up together both wanting to join the army. Our interest came from Corny’s dad who was with the local regiment himself. It’s funny that you mentioned old Isaac, as you did before, because as I always think of Corny’s dad when I see him. Isaac served with Sir Evelyn Wood in the Mutiny, you see. It was to Wood’s ill-fated regiment that Uncle John later transferred into. The whole family was devastated when he was killed in 2nd Ashinti War in West Africa in the mid seventies; we were just kids at the time. Army barmy we were, from reading history books to the two of us simulating the Battle of Waterloo in grandma’s front parlour. As we grew up, Corny - being an only one - felt obliged to stay and look after his mam. She was dead against him joining anyway, having lost Uncle John, so he ended up joining the local force. That way he could see some service while staying in the city. Meanwhile I managed to fulfil our childhood ambition. We both started our respective careers in the mid eighties and, I suppose we’ve not done bad for ourselves.”
Corny and Geordie, I thought to myself – I thought the two of them sounded like a vaudevillian comedy duet! I must say however, that I had taken a liking to both men.
Although he would never admit to it, I suspected Holmes shared my view. We turned to leave and he said, “Thank you once again for you help Sergeant.”
As we left the Sergeants” Office, Lance Corporal Robins met us, and he informed us that Lt. Col. Hulme requested an update on the case. We entered the Colonel’s office to find the Commanding Officer standing behind his desk, with his hands behind his back, looking out onto the square.
“Gentlemen,” he said as we entered, “forgive my impatience but I am eager to know how the investigation is progressing.”
“I am still gathering data,” said Holmes, “but I feel we are making progress.”
“Do you think we can recover the drums Mr. Holmes?”
“I am confident that we can identify the perpetrators of the crime Colonel, but I am afraid we will have to rely on good fortune if we are to recover your prized drums.”
“Perpetrators?” repeated the Commanding Officer, “you think more than one man is behind this?”
“Undoubtedly, there has been much planning gone into this operation. The evidence I have at the moment points to the involvement of five people. Do not give up hope however, Colonel, I suggest you continue to prepare for Arroyo Day.”
Ignoring Holmes’s revelation about the number of gang members, Hulme instead addressed my friend’s latter comment. “What is the point of preparing for the day without the drums? They are the whole point of the day. We will be a laughing stock if we do not have them.” The colonel made no attempt to hide his frustration.
“I believe it would help the case if we continued as if nothing were amiss,” Holmes continued in his attempt to assuage the colonel, “I assure you that in the meantime my friend and I shall make every effort to make the day complete.”
“I can ask no more,” said the Commanding Officer, still a little crestfallen. “This is a sorry business, gentlemen. Not only the theft but the highlighting of our lax security is causing me great embarrassment.”
“I would suggest, Colonel Hulme, that you have been in greater positions of threat and danger than this throughout you career,” said my friend, “do not torture yourself unnecessarily.”
“You are quite correct Mr. Holmes but that is exactly the problem. I have experienced much to be proud of in my career but that will all count for nought if we do not recover the Arroyo Drums. I must take full responsibility of the actions all the whole regiment and as such, I will always be remembered as the Commanding Officer that ran a far from tight depot, and who’s security lapses culminated in the regiment losing its most prized trophy.”
“I repeat that the case is not over yet, Colonel, and my friend will confirm that I am rarely defeated, when faced with the various problems that come my way.”
“I hope you continue your success,” said the senior soldier. “Before I complete my investigations however, I must broach a delicate subject with you.” After a suitable pause, to allow his comments to sink in, the detective continued, “could you tell me your views on Major Young and RSM McCue?”
The commanding officer had to visibly keep a tight hold of his composure before answering with a slightly higher tone, “To compound my problems, are you telling me that you have suspicions about my own men?”
“I am keeping an open mind at this stage,” replied Holmes, matching the colonel’s tone, “but it is important to rule nothing out at this stage.”
Succeeding in keeping his emotions in check, Colonel Hulme addressed Holmes’s original question, “Both men have not been with us that long. Major Young was with the Regiment but was out in Burma with the 2nd Battalion. I heard good reports from his Commanding Officer and he had a good interview. Beyond that I do not think there is a great deal to report, it has been a fairly quiet year for the home battalion and he has not had the chance of showing us what he can do. Having said that the first opportunity he gets of commanding the depot and the damn drums go missing! Hardly an auspicious start, now I think about it.”
“And McCue?” prompted Holmes.
“Well, we know even less about him, as he has been with us less than a month. I must say I find him a little morose for someone in the position of dealing with all ranks but again, he came with glowing references and I have seen nothing so far that suggests he is anything other than a fine soldier.”
“Thank you Colonel, I shall keep you informed of our progress.”
With that we left the Lieutenant Colonel to ponder the situation.
“Now Watson,” said Holmes, as we walked across the square, “I need to send off my telegram and then I think we should pay Inspector Armstrong a visit to discuss our intentions for Saturday evening.”
So engrossed was I in the events of the day and the various clues uncovered by Holmes, I had completely forgotten about the preliminary plan my friend had devised to snare the London criminals. I followed my friend down the cobbled pathway that crossed the exterior moat, onto the street outside, with both cases wrestling for attention in my head.
Chapter Eight - A Newspaper Story
It was early afternoon by the time we left the castle and followed Sergeant Armstrong’s directions towards the Post Office, where Holmes sent his telegram – ‘To London’ – he said without elaborating.
“And now to pay the Inspector a visit to discuss the details of tomorrow’s apprehension of Styles and Bennett,” he added, as he rejoined me on the street outside.
“That is unless his men have captured them already,” I said.
My companion did not respond verbally to this view but simply gave me a look of surprise, which seemed to suggest that he felt that possibility was highly unlikely. We continued our journey in silence.
We found a hive of activity upon our arrival at the police station. The same desk sergeant was on duty as the previous day and he greeted us cordially, “Good afternoon gentlemen, you’ll have to excuse the mayhem, we are getting ready to receive our VIP tonight.”
“I understand,” said Holmes, “could you inform Inspector Armstrong we would like to speak with him?”
“I’ll see if he’s
available.”
In a repeat of the previous day’s scene, we waited some minutes for the Inspector to see us. The sergeant then showed us into his office, where we found him on the telephone, obviously to a colleague.
“Yes I am aware of that fact. Nevertheless, the leader of Her Majesty’s Opposition will be arriving tonight and we have to at least appear as though we are prepared!”
“Good afternoon Mr. Holmes, Doctor,” said the policeman, as he replaced the earpiece on the cradle of the candlestick telephone. “I am afraid I cannot spare you much time.”
“I understand fully Inspector, but I must inform you of our visit to the prison to see Adams,” replied Holmes.
He proceeded to recall the events that took place after we left the police station the previous day. He concluded by informing Armstrong of his plan to snare the two London gang members once they were aware of their colleague’s early transfer.
“If you have some of your men available from six o’clock onwards, we will see if we cannot succeed where your Scotland Yard colleagues failed,” said Holmes.
“I appreciate your efforts Mr. Holmes; I shall be waiting here at six for your instruction. I wonder if I could impose on you further however? As you know Sir Henry Campbell- Bannerman is visiting tonight and I am concerned about disruption of any sort. Would you be so kind as to make yourselves available, just in case Styles, Bennett – or anyone else for that matter – decide to cause some kind of disorder.”
“Certainly Armstrong,” said my friend without hesitation, “unless I have an early reply to my telegram, I do not think we will have anything else to occupy our time.”
It was clear to me that Holmes was warming to the professional detective. It has been my experience that when Holmes sees someone in direct opposition, he has no time for them, but if they show a willingness to work alongside, he will make every effort to support the cause, even to the point of allowing the official forces to take full credit for solving the mystery they were jointly involved in; something that I have consistently disagreed with, but something that Holmes has consistently allowed to happen.
“If you could be at the railway station for seven then,” said the policeman.
“We will see you then.”
We made our way back to our lodgings, where my companion grew increasingly agitated. He prowled around the sitting room like a caged animal, much to my annoyance as I was trying to read that morning’s newspaper. I finally suggested that we take an afternoon stroll.
“Perhaps you are right,” said Holmes.
We donned our hats and coats once more and left the Inn, walking with nowhere in mind but in a southerly direction. Holmes was in a world of his own, walking with his chin on his chest relying on me for direction. Although my companion was no company whatsoever, when he was in this kind of mood, I must say I preferred to be outside and was therefore please that I had coaxed him out of our cramped quarters.
It struck me once more during our promenade how changeable the temperature was in this part of the world; only twenty-four hours earlier it had been bitterly cold and now it was really quite warm. My mind wandered back to Holmes’s interview with Sergeant Armstrong who had predicted a thunderstorm within the next few days.
We had walked in silence for over an hour when we found ourselves once more at the southern end of the bustling English Street, heading back to the Crown and Mitre. Suddenly as we passed one of the adjoining streets Holmes casually announced, “I shall see you back at the Inn in one hour Watson,” and with that – much to my bewilderment – he made an abrupt right turn and made off as if he knew exactly where he was going.
As I stood looking at my friend in surprise, as he walked away, my daydreaming was interrupted by the newspaper vendor, standing at the right-angled junction of the two streets just described, “EARLY EVENING EDITION! CLERGYMAN AND SCHOOLMISTRESS SCANDAL!” he cried in that distinctive lilt, apparently common to all of those in his profession, “NOT MANY LEFT!”
I walked over the few paces and bought one of his papers, amused to see that the ‘not many left’ consisted of over a hundred copies stacked behind his barrow.
“Thank you sir,” he said as I handed over a shilling. Turning, I chuckled at his follow up holler; “THERE’S NO MORE AFTER THIS!”
The headline and lead story raised a smile. It related a flowery tale of a married vicar in one of the more isolated parts of the county who had been discovered having an indiscreet relationship with the unmarried local schoolmistress! Upon discovering this atrocity – committed by two of the supposed upstanding members of the community – a gang of local men – acting as vigilantes – had taken an ancient form of retribution against the clergyman by tying him to a gate and humiliating him still further, by parading him through the streets of the village. The story concluded by stating that the schoolmistress had disappeared after the local police had made several arrests. The matter was being referred to the Kirkby Stephen magistrates.
I thought to myself how simplistic life must be in the provinces, as they do not experience the crime we regularly suffer in the capital. My thoughts then drifted to Inspector Armstrong and how different his job must be from his colleagues from Scotland Yard. Like Holmes, I myself was warming to Armstrong who – unlike so many of his official colleagues, who appeared at first to lack imagination and possess a patronising attitude towards Holmes and his methods – seemed to welcome the involvement of the private consulting detective. I have witnessed on more than one occasion that once the official forces work with Holmes and not against him, they invariably come to appreciate his assistance and in some cases, marvel at his expertise.
My reverie was broken and the smile wiped from my face, when I opened the newspaper and read the headline and subsequent article on the inside page.
THEFT AT THE CASTLE - Fenian Activists Suspected
The staggering theft committed last week from the castle remains unsolved. The famous Arroyo Drums, won by the local regiment during the Peninsular War went missing whilst the Commanding Officer Lt. Col. Richard Hulme was attending the Yeomanry camp at Penrith.
It is suspected that Irish Fenians are behind the theft. There has been an upsurge in Irish nationalism recently it is felt that the robbery is the first of many designed to embarrass the authorities. It is feared that this evening’s visit by Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman to the city could also become a target for some form of disruption.
Sergeant Smith of the Cumberland Constabulary has been placed in charge of the case. Earlier today he made the following statement, “We regard this as the most serious of crimes and we will be giving the matter our full attention. I am confident that we will retrieve the drums before the regiment holds its annual parade later this month.”
Quite apart from the local policeman’s apparent change of attitude towards the crime – no doubt due to the influence of his superior officer – I was mystified as to how the local press had gained access to the story, given that we had only received the ‘Irish note’ the previous day. I was concerned at this point, as it has been my experience that any kind of involvement by newsmen only succeeds in complicating matters still further. Then it suddenly occurred to me; I would wager that brutish landlord we encountered the previous day had sought to supplement the money handed over by Holmes by making mischief with the local press for further financial reward. The scoundrel! I thought to myself.
As the sky darkened and afternoon ambled towards its daily rendezvous with evening, I returned to the Inn to await Holmes, angry at the barman’s apparent betrayal.
A little after six o’clock, Holmes finally returned. “Where have you been?” I asked.
“You did not notice we were passing Bank Street, the location of Gibson the Tailor’s shop?” replied my friend. Prompted by my blank expression, he continued, “I have been to visit your friend Mr. Scott. I must agree with you Watson, he is a most interesting fellow.”
I felt somewhat placated by his latter comment after feeling
a little foolish by the former. “And what did you learn?” I asked.
“I learned that Mr. Scott picked up an odd number of uniforms for cleaning last week, after the regulars returned from Penrith,” he replied, heading for his private bedroom, “oh, and what is more, he has kindly consented to supply us with some clothes for tomorrow evening’s adventure.”
Not really taking in what he said, I was keen to draw his attention to the newspaper article. “Have you seen the headline?” I said hurriedly, holding up the paper.
“Yes, there was a copy in the shop,” he replied with his hand on the doorknob of his room, “an act of desperation I feel.” With that he was gone, leaving me standing there, holding the newspaper above my head, perhaps more puzzled than at any other time.
“Now I think we should have a quick bite to eat,” said Holmes re-entering our sitting room some moments later, “before joining our professional colleagues in preparation for their VIP visit.”
“What do you mean, an act of desperation?” I asked, referring to his previous comment.
“It is not important,” was Holmes’s infuriating reply.
“Not important?” I echoed, “surely we should not be so blasé about possible activists in the city. Remember those brigands made assassination attempts against our late, great Majesty. With the visit of Sir Henry this evening – as unthinkable as such an eventuality would be – it would surely be negligent of us to disregard the possibility of the same group making a similar attempt on the life of such a high ranking official.”
“Good old Watson” – Holmes’s tone was kindly, bordering on patronising – “always worrying about others and considering the most outlandish eventuality. You need not concern yourself however, old fellow. I cannot guarantee Sir Henry’s visit will run like clockwork, but I am confident that no such attempt will be made on his life. That said, I would not be surprised to find Inspector Armstrong sharing your concerns and as such, we should support his operation, especially when you consider we will be requiring his help prior to our returning to London.”