Sherlock Holmes Never Dies - Collection Five: New Sherlock Holmes Mysteries - Second Edition

by Craig Stephen Copland

  “His father passed on to glory when young Whit was twenty-five years old and for reasons that are unknown to any rationale being, the family emigrated and ended up in Toronto, Canada of all places. Young Whit was having none of that nonsense and soon decamped for the greener fields of Philadelphia. Somehow, he discovered his true calling as a promoter of mining stocks and using rank bluster, enthusiasm and balderdash managed to convince a vast number of investors to buy the stocks in some mine in Colorado. He had his ups and downs in these ventures but ended up … very up, you might say. He married a lovely American woman and has a couple of fine offspring. A decade ago he returned to his own, his native land.

  “He has continued to promote stocks and all sorts of other financial instruments that promise excellent returns on mining ventures in the wilds of Australia, South Africa, and the far reaches of British Columbia in Canada. In doing so he has made an excellent return on his efforts even if his many investors have not fared so well. He now commands an integrated group of companies, of which London and Globe is the leader. His Board of Directors are as blue blood as they come, and the chair is none other than a former Viceroy of India. He spent a fortune building the estate in Surrey to which we have been invited and it is reputed to be as stately as any of the god-awful pretentious stately homes in our fair land.

  “That is a terribly short introduction to the man,” Holmes concluded. “What have I neglected to disclose?”

  “Why,” asked Mary, “would a reporter try to link the fellow to the murders of those young men? He sounds like he has worked hard and has far too much at stake to risk any such criminal act.”

  “There are rumors,” said Holmes, “that his empire is built on sand and might collapse some day, but no one knows and I have not been able to unearth anything that directly connects the fellow to the crimes. But that is not to say that any one or several of his minions, who would stand to lose their own small fortunes, might not have been involved.”

  “But is there anything,” I asked, “anything, about his escapades that is against the law? I do believe that any man who would put his money into a get-rich-quick scheme is advised that caveat emptor.”

  “Right you are, doctor, and while there have been howls of complaints at his exaggerated promises, there is nothing to date that comes close to a violation of any statute. And your question reminds me to ask one of you. How much is each of us claiming that we are prepared to invest in these companies?”

  “Fifty thousand pounds each,” I said. Mary smiled and Holmes let out a low whistle.

  “My dear doctor, I did not realize that I had anywhere near that much to my name.”

  Now I laughed. “Oh, you don’t and neither do I. Our non-existent funds are tied up in oil and cows in Texas and it will take us at least three months to liquidate and bring them back to England. But he does not have to know that until he gets impatient for our deposits into his accounts.”

  “Ah, brilliant, doctor. Brilliant.”

  At three o’clock we descended the train at the Milford station and were met there by a gleaming brougham that brought us to the quaint hamlet of Witley. Just outside the village we passed through a magnificent set of gates. The arch overhead proclaimed, in large block letters of gleaming brass, that we were entering LEA PARK.

  The landscape we encountered was like something out of the memoirs of Capability Brown. The gravel drive wove its way through copses of poplars, elms, oaks, and locust trees. Most were still small, seldom over twenty feet in height but all situated in locations designed to be pleasing to the eye. Intermingled with the trees were beds of flowering shrubs—camellia, hibiscus, juniper, honeysuckle and many more—and a wild delight of perennial and annual flowers. Every blade of grass had been cut to a uniform height and the lawns had the texture of bowling greens. At regular intervals along the driveway, Greco-Roman statuary had been placed. Here there was a discus thrower, there a headless Aphrodite from Milo, and farther along a Jupiter and an Achilles. Interspersed were many statues of attractive young men and women all minus their clothes. As we passed the second pond and entered an open expanse, I gasped. In front of us lay a small lake, on the far of which was an enormous manor house, perfectly framed with plants and fountains.

  The estate not only announced fabulous wealth, but the freshness of it indicated that it was wealth that had been recently acquired. The established families of England tended to look down their noses on the nouveau riche, but, as Sherlock Holmes had observed, better to be nouveau riche than not riche at all.

  I assumed that the driver would let us off at the front door of the stately home. To my surprise he stopped beside the lake where a walkway led out into the water. At the end, there was a small island on which sat a glass gazebo.

  “This way please, lady and gentlemen,” the driver said, offering his hand to my wife as she stepped down from the carriage. “Please, follow me.”

  We did and walked along the narrow isthmus to the gazebo. Once inside the small structure, the driver requested that we follow him down a spiral staircase. The three of us looked at each, shrugged and followed until the dark stairs ended some forty feet below the surface of the water. From there we walked along a short tubular tunnel until we passed through a door into a room that was some sixty feet in diameter. I looked up and let my mouth fall open. The ceiling of the room was made entirely of glass, supported by steel arches. Above our heads floated schools of golden carp, rainbow trout, and scores of game fish. We were in Poseidon’s lair under the sea. The sunlight filtering through the water and the plants gave a greenish light to the entire room. It was rather magical and yet eerie all at once.

  “Please, be seated,” a voice that emerged from an opening door said to us. “Kindly make yourselves comfortable.” I turned and saw a gentleman of about my age and Holmes’s height but several pounds heavier. He was well dressed in a rather bright blue suit and a brilliant red tie. His closely cropped hair formed a distinct widow’s peak in his forehead and a salt and pepper mustache covered his upper lip. I shot a quick glance over at Holmes to see if he was doing the same as I was.

  He was. Both of us were watching the fellow’s face very closely, trying to get a glimpse of his dentures.

  “Mister Wright will be with you shortly,” the chap said. “May I offer you some refreshment while you wait? You must be weary after your long journey.”

  “Oh, no, not really,” said my wife. “The drive through the lovely gardens was more than enough to refresh us.” She gave the man her widest and warmest smile. He smiled back, exposing his canine teeth. They were not exactly straight and far from white, as is normal for an Englishman from the working class. But there was not a speck of gold to be seen. Both Holmes and I relaxed our gaze.

  “I am delighted you enjoyed them. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Arthur Harry Pinner. The master of the estate refers to me as his Man Friday. One of my many duties is to meet visitors and ensure that they are well attended to. May I bring the gentlemen a cigar? We have some of the finest; the master imports them from Cuba. Nothing less will do.”

  Again, we declined his gracious offer. It occurred to me that most fine establishments that offered a guest fine cigars were equipped with high windows that opened and permitted the smoke from the cigars to escape. I did not wish to take the chance that this chamber was so constructed.

  “I am informed,” the chap continued, “that you are interested in entrusting a small portion of your wealth to the Wright Group of Companies, with the completely reasonable expectation of expanding your wealth far more successfully than you might were you to leave your funds in a bank. Is that correct, gentlemen and lady?”

  We nodded and grunted and otherwise indicated our agreement. Mr. Pinner carried on.

  “I am also informed that each of you wishes to deposit an initial sum fifty thousand pounds and purchase stock in one or more of the mining enterprises that have been selected by Mr. Whitaker Wright. Is that correct? And might I ask you which of
the Wright group of companies you are interested in?”

  I confess that I had not expected that question and was not entirely familiar with the several companies that Mr. Wright apparently controlled. I gave a quick glance to Holmes and could tell by the look on his face that he was at as much of a loss as I. Fortunately, my dear wife came to our rescue.

  “Sir,” she said, “my husband and Mr. Holmes are too modest to admit it, but they follow the wise practice of diversifying their investments—not putting all your eggs in one basket, as they say. So, we agreed that we would like to divide the investment amongst several of the companies. Some will be in the one undertaking mining in western Canada, some in the two Australian companies, and a portion in the new venture here at home that is investing in the magnificent new line of London’s Underground. There are several others on their list, but those are the principal ones.”

  “Ah, a very astute approach,” Pinney said. “We will prepare a recommended list with suggested divisions and have it to you by tomorrow. And when shall we expect to receive the funds?”

  Here Holmes took over the conversation. “As soon as we can responsibly do so, sir. Once we examine the prospectus of each of the companies and request our brokers to sell some other investments that are doing rather terribly, the funds will be forwarded to you.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Pinney. “That makes complete sense. I am sure that Mr. Wright …”

  That was as far as he got. He was interrupted by a booming voice from the door on the far side of the room.

  Chapter Nine

  Mr. James Whitaker Wright

  “MISTER SHERLOCK HOLMES!” The sound filled the underwater chamber. “Doctor and Lady Watson! So great of you to be here! So great. Believe me, it’s wonderful.”

  Coming across the room was a colossus of a man. He was several inches taller than Holmes and had a massive body. He must have weighed nineteen or twenty stone. I put his age at close to mine, although it was a bit difficult to tell. His balding head was partially covered by light brown hair that he had combed over from the side of his skull. His mustache covered his upper lip and spread out like sloping letter ‘Js’ on each side of his mouth. His wide smile was complimented with perfectly straight, gleaming white teeth. I thought that both Holmes and I had dressed rather well for the day, but his attire was the epitome of bespoke, and perfectly tailored and appointed. This, I concluded, was Mr. James Whitaker Wright.

  We rose and shook hands and he inquired, quite sincerely I thought, concerning my children (of whom I had none) and my parents (who were long dead and gone). He claimed to be a fan of my stories concerning Sherlock Holmes and, as he was a writer himself, particularly appreciative of my talents. I thanked him for the kind words and mentally recalled that, according to the word on the street, Whitaker Wright had written more books than he had read.

  “It’s so great, so great to have you here this afternoon. Here. Let me give you a copy of my latest book. Hot off the press.”

  He wagged his index finger and one of the fine-looking young people who stood behind him rushed forward with three copies of a fine leather-bound book. He wagged another finger and a lovely woman who could not have been more than twenty years old rushed to his side and handed him a pen. He opened the covers of each book and scribbled on the title page. Then, with a warm smile, he handed one to each of Holmes, me and my wife. I looked at the title. It read:

  How to Make England Wright Again by J. Whitaker Wright

  “It’s a great book. Believe me. It’s great. It’s going to be the best seller ever. It explains all the terrible things that are wrong with this country and how I know they need to be made right. You get it, huh? You know. Right … Wright.” He uttered the last words with the somewhat short fingers of both hands pointing toward his chest.

  “C’mon. Si’down. I don’t want to make this meeting all about me. I want to hear from you. You’re real famous. Real famous. They say you’re one of the smartest guys in England. So, let me hear from you, Sherlock Holmes. What do you think about how I’m doing?”

  Holmes gave a very thin smile. “According to what I read in the press, Mr. Wright, some questions have been raised about your ventures. Some of the press consider you to be a rather high risk.”

  “The press? The press? Let me tell you about the press. Slime. Sleaze. Terrible people. Just awful people. But give them credit, I say. Give them credit for one thing. I do offer high risk. Why? Because, like I always say—no risk, no reward. That’s part of what I call the Wright way. This country has too many weak people. I mean really weak. But guess what. In a few years, I might even take a run at being Prime Minister. I would be great at that job. Believe me, really great. I would make this country right again. You get that? You know. Right? Wright?” Again, the small hands.

  “That,” said Holmes, “would make for interesting times. However, sir, we are not here to talk about your political ambitions, but more specifically about your venture concerning the new Underground Line from Baker Street to Waterloo Station. If we are to invest a portion of our assets with you, I must ask you for some data concerning it. Kindly be as concise and precise as you can be. What are the prospects for this undertaking?”

  “It’s going to be wonderful. Amazing returns on your investment. And it’s already created thousands of jobs. And I mean thousands. And real jobs for hard working Englishmen. Not just for all those crazy Italians and Greeks that keep pouring into this country. Those chaps would just as soon cut your throat as look at you. Can you imagine how many people are going to save hours of their time taking my new line. I’m calling it the Bakerloo line. Great name, don’t you agree. Thousands of people will ride on it every day. Millions maybe. All paying a fare and all making pretty good profits. Believe me, it will make millions. You’ll love it. And it will be run by businessmen. Successful business men. Like me. Not any of those government employees. Those chaps are a disgrace. Total disgrace. And that whole line will look beautiful. Beautiful platforms. Beautiful cars. I love to build beautiful things. Believe me, it will be incredible. London will love it.

  “You know, everybody is asking me why I’m doing it. I don’t need any more money. I’ve got lots of money. I’m doing this because I care. I care a lot about the English people. People are saying that I should be recognized for my selfless service to the public. Lots of people are saying that the Queen should give me a knighthood. Not that I need one. I’m doing it because I believe in this country. And I know, I know what has to be done to make this country right.”

  “And I’m not doing this all by myself. No sir. I’ve got the best team in the business working with me. Advising me. You know who I have as the chair of my directors? Freddy Hamilton, the Marquess of Dufferin and Ava. You know that chap? Used to be Viceroy of India. Great chap. Lovely chap. Freddy’s a good friend. A dear friend. And I’ve got Lord Redesdale from up in Oxfordshire. Davey is a splendid chap. Has a lovely wife. Just lovely. And I’m sure that she and Dave will have beautiful children. But you can’t imagine who I need on my board?

  “Want to guess?” he asked, smiling at Holmes.

  “I confess,” said Holmes, “to being rather poorly educated concerning potential directors for such a venture.”

  “That’s all right, Mr. Holmes. I love the poorly educated. So, allow me to let you in on something no one else knows. I want Sherlock Holmes on my board. Just imagine it, Mr. Holmes. You’ve used your excellent mind … and I know an excellent mind when I see one because I have one too … you’ve used it for fighting crime. And that’s great. Just fantastic. But now you can keep on fighting crime and join me in doing something monumental, something really great, something beautiful for the people of this country. Just think about it. I love to gather lots of smart people around me. If they turn out to not be smart enough then I fire them. But most of the people I bring on board are really smart, like me. That’s why I want you.

  “Some folks out there, they’re scared. Not that I blame t
hem. I would be scared about investing my money after what this government has done to this great country. A disgrace. A total disgrace. But if they saw the name of Sherlock Holmes as a director of the London and Globe Company, then they would know it was an incredible company. How? Because they would know that Sherlock Holmes would investigate everything there is to know about my companies and that you would deduce, that’s what you call it, right? Deducing? Well, they would know that you could have deduced if there was anything at all wrong and you would get it fixed. What do you say, Sherlock? Will you join me and help me make this country right again?”

  Holmes gave the chap another thin smile. “I am honored. However, you would have to furnish me with all the records so that I could take on such a task responsibly. If you can do that, I will review all the data and give you my response in two weeks.”

  “Two weeks? Sherlock, I’m getting old. I move fast. I get things done. How about one week? Deal?”

  Holmes smiled. “Ten days.”

  “Deal,” exulted Mr. Wright. “I’ll have Pinney here look after all that. He’ll get you all the data you need. Mountains of it. Believe me, with ten companies all over the world, and believe me, I have been all over the world; with companies all over the world there is a huge amount of data. Believe me, it’s huge. Pinney will have it delivered to your door by tomorrow. Now enough of business. Let me show you through Lea Park. It’s not quite as fancy as my friend, Nate Rothschild’s place, but not far behind. In a few more years, it will be the best. Believe me, it will be even bigger and better than it is now. Even more beautiful.”

  The remainder of the hour was taken up with Mr. Whitaker Wright giving a tour of his magnificent home complete with running commentary on the beautiful architecture, the fabulous artwork, the fantastic furniture and similar superlatives for every other aspect of the manor house. Along the way he constantly stopped to say a complimentary word to his staff, addressing every one of them by name. They appeared to be quite fond of working with him.