by Dick Gillman
I shook my head and once more Holmes sank back into the corner of the train compartment, deep in thought.
It was early evening when we arrived back at Paddington and we quickly hailed a Hansom. Holmes had dispatched a telegram to Mycroft from the station telegraph office, asking him to come to Baker Street at 10 a.m. the following morning.
I was somewhat fatigued from our travels and bade my friend goodnight. Holmes grunted and remained sitting in his leather armchair, drawing steadily on his pipe, deep in his own thoughts.
When I arose and appeared for breakfast at 8:30 a.m. the following morning, Holmes had already left. About an hour later, I heard Holmes’ familiar tread on the stairs and feeling refreshed, I asked, “Good morning, Holmes. An early stroll?”
Holmes shook his head. “Hardly, Watson. I have been to Companies House and to see other contacts in The City to gather information regarding Messrs. Arthur Birchwood and Sons.”
“Did you find anything of interest?” I enquired.
Holmes sat down and began to fill his favourite Meerschaum. “Yes, very much so. It would appear that the company was set up some fifty years ago to make the folding paper templates for envelopes. The company was successful and moved forward, embracing the new system of producing gummed envelopes. Apparently, the process required the purchase of a large amount of new machinery and, because of a series of unwise investments, the company almost went bankrupt.”
I nodded, asking, “I take it there is no longer an Arthur Birchwood?"
Holmes lit his pipe and, between long draws upon it, said, “Alas, no. Mr Arthur Birchwood died quite recently. It was seemingly due to the stress caused by the disastrous investments he made in the Argentine. The company is now run by one of his sons, a Mr George Birchwood.”
“Ah, yes.” said I. “I remember the severe problems Barings endured due to overexposure to Argentine and Uruguayan debt."
“Quite!” puffed Holmes. “Perhaps the government and the Bank of England might have shown more support in these matters. We were in grave danger of seeing the whole banking system in London collapse had Barings failed."
The clock in our sitting room struck ten and we sat, enjoying a pipe of tobacco as we waited for Mycroft. Hearing a Hansom pull up in the street below, it was but a few moments before Mycroft climbed the stairs and swept into our rooms.
Mycroft’s complexion had improved as he announced, “Good morning, Sherlock, Watson. Encouraging news from Truro!"
Sherlock nodded to Mycroft and then rose from his armchair and began to pace in front of the fire. “I have a request to make, Mycroft. I need a letter of introduction from Her Majesty's Stationery Office addressed to a Mr George Birchwood of Messrs. Arthur Birchwood and Sons of Chiswick. As you know, from my telegram, however cryptic, this is the source of the poison. I need to get a look at this fellow and obtain a sample of his handwriting."
Mycroft rubbed his chin. “It can be arranged… but time is short, Sherlock. We need to effect the payment of the funds by noon tomorrow.”
Holmes paused in his pacing. “How is payment to be made?” asked Holmes.
“By bearer bonds to the value of one million pounds sterling and deposited into a numbered Swiss bank account.” Mycroft replied.
Holmes’ face was now grim. “From there they would be untraceable, easily transferred and accepted the World over. With regard to the letter of introduction, I wish to pose as a commissioning official, offering a very lucrative contract. I have given this some considerable thought. The commission will be for the design and printing of a commemorative envelope for the new telephone line from London to Paris which is to be officially connected on the 1st of April next year.”
Mycroft looked thoughtful, his forefinger resting against his upper lip. “Yes... that's plausible enough. Much has been made of this venture already in the press. I will send a courier round to you with the letter and send another to the company offices of Birchwood's telling them to expect you at 9 a.m. tomorrow, if that is agreeable?"
“Splendid!” cried Holmes and bounded to the door to speed brother Mycroft's departure.
Once Mycroft had gone, Holmes once again sat in his leather chair and looked thoughtful. “We must be most careful here, Watson, and not show our hand until we are sure that we have our man. You and I are to observe this George Birchwood most closely. He is undoubtedly a most meticulous and ruthless fellow. The slightest slip on our part and the game will be up. If he becomes suspicious, I believe that he will not hesitate to unleash mayhem on any one of our great cities.”
I looked at Holmes, open mouthed. “But… but surely we could stop delivery of the envelopes?” I cried.
Holmes nodded slowly. “Perhaps, Watson, perhaps... but the poisoned stock may already have been despatched and only needs a signal to an accomplice for them be delivered far and wide. We must be most cautious."
It was a little after mid-day when the bell at the front door sounded. A few moments later Mrs Hudson knocked on our door and brought in a large envelope, saying, “This has just arrived for you sir, by hand, from a government messenger."
Holmes sprang from his chair. “Thank you, Mrs Hudson.” Taking the envelope from her, Holmes could see from the seal that it had indeed come from Mycroft. He took a fine, thin bladed Italian stiletto from his desk and slit open the envelope. The stiletto was, I noted, the memento from the Cagliari affair.
Holmes’ face showed a grim smile as he read the letter of introduction. “Ah, I am to be Mr Henry Billings of Her Majesty's Stationery Office and... yes, to be accompanied by my secretary, Mr John Potts! Ha! Capital.” and he threw himself into his chair.
For the rest of the afternoon we talked no further of the case. Holmes, I believe, was mentally preparing himself for his role and I had some notes to complete regarding the case so far.
At supper, Holmes was again thoughtful. “Tomorrow, Watson, I would like you to fully play the part of being my secretary. As such, you will need to furnish yourself with a notebook and record the meeting with this George Birchwood fellow.”
“Should I take my service revolver, Holmes?” I asked.
“I think not, on this occasion, Watson...although that time may well come.”
Chapter 7- A rare error!
In the morning we had arisen by half past seven. We each had dressed in clothes which were appropriate for the city. Whilst smart, it was clear that they were well worn, attire suitable for clerks of the Civil Service. Holmes, being the senior partner in this, also carried a silver topped cane. After a brief breakfast, we descended to the street below and quickly hailed a Hansom to take us to Chiswick.
The offices of Messrs. Arthur Birchwood & Sons were located in a red brick building which appeared to have factory premises to the rear. On arrival, we were ushered into a small waiting room by the receptionist. We were there but a few moments when a side door opened and from the noise and the smell that entered the room, it led directly into the factory.
Before us stood a middle aged man who introduced himself as Stephen Birchwood, the factory manager. “Good morning, gentlemen. It is always a pleasure to greet the representatives of Her Majesty's Stationery Office.” said he, proffering his hand to us both.
“Good morning.” said Holmes. “I am Henry Billings and this is my secretary, Mr John Potts.”
Stephen Birchwood nodded to each of us in turn, saying, “Please, come this way gentlemen."
We followed him along a wood paneled passageway to an office door. The gleaming brass name plate upon it was engraved with the name, 'Mr George Birchwood'. The office itself was quite soberly decorated with dark wood furniture and having just one large window to the rear that looked out upon the factory buildings below. Framed examples of the company’s products were displayed upon the walls and a single mahogany desk dominated the area in front of the window.
Stephen Birchwood smiled, saying, “Please, be seated. My brother George is expecting you and will be here presently."
&nb
sp; Waiting for George Birchwood gave us time to examine the man before us. Stephen Birchwood was, I would say, in his early forties, of medium build with greying hair slicked back with pomade. He was dressed impeccably and wore a small carnation in his button hole. This I thought to be somewhat incongruous for a working environment.
As we sat, a lean, black cat suddenly appeared on the office desk. It yawned widely, jumped down from the desk and rubbed itself against Holmes’ leg, purring loudly. Stephen Birchwood reached down and gathered up the cat. “Ah, enjoying the sun, Lucien? He is our factory mouser but prefers to sit and warm himself on George's chair.” said Birchwood. He cradled the cat with one arm whilst the cat looked up at him, round eyed. He bent down again, gently putting the cat through the office door. Then, as we watched, Stephen Birchwood stood and painstakingly removed every visible cat hair from his jacket, quite oblivious to our presence.
“Tell me, Mr Birchwood, do you have an interest in horticulture?” asked Holmes. “I could not fail but to admire your buttonhole.”
Birchwood positively beamed, saying, “Why yes, Mr Billings. I have a small garden with a glasshouse at the rear of my property in Hammersmith. My gardener tends it for me but I have a passion for growing different varieties of carnation.”
Holmes nodded. “Do you find that you have problems with the 'rust fungus'? I have a friend who grows carnations and he had some difficulty a few years back.” asked Holmes with a slight smile on his lips.
Stephen Birchwood nodded. “Ah, I too have had similar problems but I found spraying with Bordeaux mixture has a beneficial effect, although it is only the older varieties that seem most affected. Ensuring a drier atmosphere and good ventilation in the glasshouse is the best way to prevent rust.”
Holmes nodded. “May I also ask if you find Aphis a problem?” Holmes asked, innocently.
Birchwood frowned. “Allowing your carnations to become infested with Aphis is, in my opinion, inexcusable. Their attacks result in the greatest harm to the plants. I have found tobacco smoke to be very beneficial in reducing their numbers.” He paused for a moment and then continued. “Yes, burning tobacco dust and diluted nicotine sprayed on the plants are all effective in keeping down the Aphis.”
Holmes again nodded, saying, “Thank you. I shall pass on your wisdom to my friend."
A moment later, the office door opened and in came a florid man, blotting his forehead with a handkerchief. He was quite the antipathies of Stephen Birchwood. This man, whilst again smartly dressed, had his necktie askew and a stained cuff protruded from the sleeve of his jacket. “Forgive me, gentlemen. I have been busy in our printing works. Some problem with an engraving. I am George Birchwood." Holmes introduced us and we shook hands. In fulfilment of my role, I took out my notebook in readiness.
George Birchwood sat down behind his desk and hunted for a paper amongst the drawers. “Your letter of introduction says that you are looking to commission a commemorative telegram envelope” said he, at last finding the letter from Mycroft.
Holmes sat forward in his chair. “Quite so, Mr Birchwood. We seek to commission an envelope to celebrate the forthcoming connection of the London to Paris telephone line on the 1st of April, next year. We have come now, ahead of time, so that you might develop some samples of the artwork to be put before the selection committee.”
“Splendid! Let me show you some of the proofs we have created for similar international commissions." George Birchwood stood and pulled a large volume from a bookcase beside his desk. In doing so, he inadvertently pulled out several smaller folders whose loose pages spilled out as they fell to the floor. “Apologies, gentlemen. Stephen, if you would be so kind as to replace those?”
George Birchwood proceeded to display to us the company’s wares. Holmes and I were attentive to the samples he provided but, throughout this, I could see Holmes’ eyes flick to observe Stephen Birchwood.
After twenty minutes or so had passed, we had finished our business with George Birchwood with him agreeing to forward his artwork proofs to us in the coming weeks.
We were escorted to the steps of the building by Stephen Birchwood and, as we were just about to descend into the street, Holmes turned, asking, “I wonder if I could ask a favour of you, Mr Birchwood? I do so admire your carnation. Would you be so kind as to write down the name of that particular variety so that I might inform my friend?”
Holmes turned to me and asked, “Your pad and pencil, please, Potts.”
“Certainly, Mr Billings.” I replied and proffered the said items.
Stephen Birchwood took the notebook and pencil, saying, “It is one that I grew myself in my glasshouse from a plant I had imported from Louis van Houtte, a contact of mine in Ghent. It has the name Dianthus sinensis heddewigii.”
Stephen Birchwood wrote the name of the variety into my notebook but, as he returned it to me, it was as though a dark cloud passed briefly across his face. He recovered quickly and smiled once again.
Holmes smiled in return. "Thank you, I am much obliged. Good-day."
With that, we descended the few steps to the street and flagged down a passing Hansom. Once inside the cab, Holmes was immediately animated. “What a fool I have been! Watson. I fear that he has seen through our deception!” exclaimed Holmes.
I was, indeed, perplexed. “But why? We were most careful in all our dealings with the Birchwood’s.”
“Up until the very end, Watson. Then I made a fatal error! I should have offered Stephen Birchwood my own notebook but, in keeping with our roles, I asked you, as my secretary, to provide yours.” Holmes now struck the frame of the cab with his cane in frustration.
Somewhat puzzled, I said, “I did notice his expression change when he returned the notebook… but the reason escapes me.”
“The notebook, Watson. It is your own personal one, is it not?”
“Why, yes. It was a gift from my dear sister for my last birthday” said I.
“Yes, and being the doting creature that she is, she had your initials impressed into the leather cover, JHW.”
“Good Lord, Holmes! My name was supposed to be Potts! It's my fault!” I cried.
Holmes calmed himself. “All will not be lost if we strike quickly. We must firstly contact Mycroft to stop the payment of the ransom and then contact Inspector Lestrade. He needs to stop all deliveries from Birchwood's and seize their despatch records. For our part, we will need the assistance of two constables. I fear if we leave it any later than this afternoon, the bird will have flown and more poison will have been despatched. After our visit, I am indeed fearful that Stephen Birchwood will wish to take his revenge for our impertinence."
Chapter 8 - The conclusion
Holmes knocked on the roof of the cab with his cane and shouted up to the cabbie to take us to the nearest telegraph office. Once the telegrams had been sent, we set off with Holmes directing the cab towards Hammersmith.
“Hammersmith, Holmes?” I queried.
“Yes, Watson. From my enquiries in the City, Mr Stephen Birchwood does indeed live at an address in Hammersmith. A location which is convenient for Hammersmith and Chiswick station which lies between the two. If I remember correctly, the Hammersmith & City line connects to Bishopsgate, which may prove to be significant. In my telegram to Lestrade, I asked him to arrange for the two constables to meet us at Birchwood's house and for them to be discreet in not showing their presence."
As we progressed towards Hammersmith, I asked Holmes why he was so certain that Stephen Birchwood was the poisoner. Holmes sat back in the cab, resting his forefinger on his upper lip, before saying, “Let us examine the facts and relate them to the man we met today. We deduced from the handwriting of the original note that the writer was a confident, middle aged man. A cat owner and one who was meticulous, bordering on obsessive. Now… we saw how immaculately Stephen Birchwood dressed and also how this compared to his brother's appearance. You recall the incident with the cat and his obsession to remove the hair from his jacket? It
fits well with our thoughts… but there is also something you may not have observed.” Holmes’ eyes narrowed slightly as he continued, “When George Birchwood dislodged the folders, Stephen was asked to pick them up and replace them. It was the way that he did it that was so intriguing. The way that he squared off each and every sheet and how he arranged the folders in precise height order on the shelf. Quite, quite fascinating!”
“Yes... I couldn't help but feel we were on the right track when he mentioned the nicotine.” I said.
Holmes nodded. “Ah, it helps to flatter a man's ego. As a gardener, he had a legitimate reason for purchasing the poison and then, of course, we have a sample of his hand writing." Holmes took from his jacket pocket the original letter.
“My notebook! I had quite forgotten.” said I and delved into my own pocket to retrieve it.
Holmes leaned over to place the two side by side. “I do not believe, Watson, that there is a jury in Christendom that would not agree that these hands were one and the same. That leaves the motive. What, precisely, has driven this man to seek restitution from the government? I think this may be something that we must ask him ourselves."
Holmes had given the cabbie the address in Hammersmith but, as we approached, he told him to pull up a hundred or so yards short. Stepping down, Holmes tossed a florin to the cabbie and asked him to wait.
Looking about me, I saw that the houses here were modest. All were set back a little way from the road, Georgian in style and with red brick facades and stone lintels and sills. It was now early afternoon and since leaving the city, the skies had darkened and a fine, steady drizzle had begun to fall. Being December, the days had shortened significantly and the gathering gloom aided our stealthy approach towards the address.