by Dick Gillman
Moving into the ballroom, I saw that it held forty or so guests and I tried to circulate unobtrusively among them. After a few minutes, I noticed a singular fellow propping himself against a column whilst holding a glass of Champagne. I thought this rather odd as, whilst wearing his mask, it was impossible for him to drink it! He was staring intently into the ballroom and I moved a little closer to follow his gaze. From my position it became apparent that he was focused on a diminutive, costumed figure which I knew could only be the King.
I moved a little to one side of the room to observe this fellow. Upon his head was a bejewelled turban, fashioned in the style I had often seen worn by Maharajahs in India. His full mask was silver and in the form of an expressionless face. All that could be seen of the wearer were his eyes. These seemed fixed for a time on the King before darting around the room and then returning once more to gaze at the King.
Looking more closely, I recoiled slightly as I saw that, at his shoulder, his embroidered jacket had a slight tear and was missing a silk tassel. Not only that, his cream silk sleeve had a pale pink blush where, it would seem, he had tried to wipe away a blood stain.
Suddenly, laughter filled the room. I turned just in time to see a masked Jester appear in the ballroom. He made an extravagant sweeping bow towards all the guests before then approaching the King. I was at once alert, thinking this to be the second assassin. I plunged my hand into my pocket for my revolver but, before drawing it, I noticed that the Jester was bearing a sparkling, ladies shoe.
Kneeling before the King, the Jester looked closely at the King's shoe and then he looked at the ladies shoe. He put his head on one side and then shook it before skipping off to try another person. This was done in the fashion of the Prince in a rather macabre performance of Cinderella. The King laughed... and, of course, if the King thought it amusing, then everyone else would join in the antics of this bizarre charade.
However, this was not a charade, its purpose was far more serious! I realised that Holmes had devised an exquisitely cunning way to inspect the shoes of all the guests without raising any questions or suspicions as to why. When, finally, the Jester reached the ambassador's wife, there was a great cheer as she lifted her skirt a trifle to reveal that she only had one shoe. The Jester held the shoe aloft in triumph and, of course, it fitted perfectly. The Jester again bowed to the assembled guests and received a great ovation.
Although not meaning to, I had stood transfixed watching the Jester's antics. As I looked round, to my horror, the man I was supposed to be watching had gone! Wheeling round in panic and looking for the King, I could see that he was now standing with his back to the large, curtained windows. After a few moments of frantic searching, I detected my man moving slowly towards and behind the King. I took advantage of the series of long curtains and slid behind them, moving rapidly in the large space between them and the recessed windows.
Moving silently, I continued to a point where I could see the King before me through a narrow gap in the curtains. He was almost within touching distance when suddenly my view was obstructed. The assassin had moved directly behind the King. He was standing a little to my left with his back to me and mere inches from my place of concealment. As a precaution, I took my revolver from my pocket, silently pulling back the hammer to cock it.
As I watched, the assassin's right hand moved into his left sleeve and I saw the glint of a steel blade. Quickly, I transferred the Webley to my left hand and, as his right elbow came back to make the fatal thrust, I grasped it with an iron grip. At the same moment, I raised the Webley and thrust the muzzle hard into the nape of the fellow's neck. In a cold, stage whisper I said, "If you move, even a muscle, I will blow your head off." The man froze. I had taken the precaution of slightly angling the revolver so that if I needed to fire, the bullet would have passed through his head and then travelled upwards towards the ceiling.
The King, hearing something behind him, turned. Unbeknownst to me, standing beside the King was his bodyguard who, on seeing the stiletto, swiftly disarmed the would be assassin.
I removed my mask but, on seeing the raised pistol, the bodyguard was about to tackle me when a cry of "Alessandro! No!" filled the ballroom. This, thankfully, halted him in his tracks. The ambassador moved swiftly and talked rapidly, in Italian, to the bodyguard. The bodyguard nodded, in thanks, towards me and roughly led away the assailant.
The King, who was standing close by, removed his mask and looked slightly bemused. He proffered his hand saying "Thank you, Mr Holmes."
I bowed and took his hand, saying, "I am at your service, Your Majesty… but I cannot claim to be he. I am his friend and colleague, Dr John Watson."
For a moment, the King was speechless. He blinked slightly and then laughed heartily. "I see that I have two guardian angels this evening. Come, Dr Watson. Join me in a glass of champagne." He took my arm and led me but a few steps to a table filled with glasses and ice buckets, chilling bottles of champagne.
Just as we reached the table there was a shout from somewhere to the side of us. A masked figure lunged forward with his arm raised holding a stiletto and crying, "Fasci Siciliani!" A flash of steel from behind him cut him short as a blade penetrated and skewered him through the heart. The man fell as a slaughtered beast. Behind him stood the Jester with the sword in one hand and its scabbard, a cane, in the other.
The King looked pale. I held his elbow and, in a quiet voice, said, "Your Majesty, let me introduce Sherlock Holmes."
Holmes pulled the mask from his face. He looked grim and, on sheathing his blade, he then bowed towards the King, saying, simply, "Your Majesty."
The King recovered swiftly. With a broad smile, he looked from one of us to the other saying, “Gentlemen! Allow me to offer you both a glass of champagne.” We accepted gracefully and, when our glasses were empty, a word was sent to the ambassador and our coats and mufflers were fetched. With little formality we took our leave of the King and his guests and left the embassy.
Chapter 7 - Reflection.
The following morning in our rooms I was eager to question Holmes regarding his 'performance' as the Jester. I have to record that Holmes was not his usual self. Killing a man in cold blood, though justified, weighed heavily upon him. However, he recounted how he had used the persona of the Jester to examine all the shoes. “It was inspired!” I cried.
Holmes stroked his chin. “It was more a calculated risk, Watson. If the King had refused to allow me to examine his shoes, all would have been lost. I had banked on the fact that the King is a game fellow and his curiosity would get the better of him. He would want to see what I would do next.”
I smiled saying, “I still believe it was inspired.”
Holmes seemed to cheer a little and continued his tale. “After I had examined about a dozen shoes I found the second fellow. His instep still had blood upon it. Of course, I had to continue with my rouse by examining more shoes otherwise it would have raised his suspicions. I must congratulate the ambassador's wife, she played her part well too.
Once I had identified the fellow, I retrieved my cane and waited." Holmes reached for his pipe, saying, "Anyway, enough of me. You had a fine evening, saving the life of a King!” I mumbled something of it being nothing and then asked him to recount the moment the second anarchist struck.
Holmes sat back in his chair. “I could see that he was a nervous fellow and, when you detained your man, the desperation within mine began to rise. He moved with stealth amongst the guests with me keeping a discreet distance between us. When the King escorted you towards the table of refreshments, it brought his target within range.”
I thought for a moment, asking, “What was that he cried as he lunged towards the King?”
Holmes’ face was grim. “He shouted 'Fasci Siciliani'. It is the shortened version of Fasci Siciliani dei Lavoratori, the Sicilian Workers League. If you recall, Watson. There were violent uprisings in Sicily this last month which were, indeed, harshly dealt with by the authorities. Sco
res died and hundreds wounded.”
I was bemused. “This is not the King's doing, Holmes. Surely they can see that?”
Holmes nodded. “Perhaps so, but, unfortunately, they see him as the head of the snake. A great pity as Umberto is a good man and has done many good works. He wants to see his people thrive and his nickname of 'Il Buono' is well deserved.”
In the days that followed we heard little further from the embassy. Mycroft had sent Holmes a telegram of congratulation and appreciation from Her Majesty's government. We also learned that the assassin who survived had turned Queen's evidence. He named a trusted clerk at the embassy as being a member of 'Solidarieta'. However, a ring at the door made us reflect once more upon our adventure.
Mrs Hudson appeared in a great commotion. “Mr Holmes, I wish you would tell me when you are expecting deliveries so that I can make room in the pantry and cellar.”
Holmes looked up, somewhat puzzled. “But I have ordered nothing, Mrs Hudson.”
Mrs Hudson was not to be denied. “Well sir, there is a Palma ham and five cases of franky...franca...oh, I don't know! It looks like champagne to me and it's downstairs! Oh, and there was this note and this package with it.”
Holmes laughed loudly. “Franciacorta, Mrs Hudson” said Holmes, taking both the note and package from her.
Holmes first opened the small package. There, wrapped within a piece of fine Italian silk was a stiletto. Using it, he slit the top of the envelope and read aloud the contents of the note within. 'Dear Mr Holmes and Dr Watson, I am greatly indebted to you both for saving my life and I trust you will accept this small token of my gratitude. The stiletto is a memento of the evening, I have its brother on my desk and I find it makes a fine paper knife'. It is signed, with the cipher, UR.”
Holmes smiled, weighed the stiletto in the palm of his hand, saying, “Yes, it will indeed make a fine paper knife, don't you think, Watson?”
Post Script.
We were reminded little of this adventure over the next few years save for Holmes using the stiletto to open his letters. It was with great sadness that, at the beginning of August 1900, we were made aware of the assassination of King Umberto on the evening of the 29th of July in Monza, Italy. We read of this in ‘The Times’ where it was reported that four shots had been fired, three of them fatally wounding the King. The assassin, an Italian-American anarchist named Gaetano Bresci, had travelled from America to Monza to carry out the attack. He claimed it was in revenge for the brutal suppression of a food riot in Milan. With Umberto's assassination, Italy lost a good king and this wicked act had far reaching implications. Indeed, a year later we learned that Leon Czolgosz claimed that Umberto's assassination was his inspiration to kill William McKinley, the U.S. President, in September, 1901.
~~~***~~~
The Bishop’s Tie Pin
Chapter 1 - The Bishop of Westfield
It was on a cold day in mid-November, 1894 when we first became aware of the curious case of The Bishop's Tie Pin. Holmes had been busy with the small matter of retrieving a ‘misplaced’ item for a certain Lady M. and was now keen for something new to challenge his huge intellect. We had breakfasted and were now working our way through the morning’s papers. Whilst Holmes read, I was busy with a pair of scissors cutting out items of interest for our ever growing encyclopaedic collection of scrapbooks.
Holmes became immediately alert when the bell in the hall below announced a visitor. As Mrs Hudson brought him upstairs, Holmes slipped off his old dressing gown and waited eagerly for the knock at the door of our rooms. On cue, Mrs Hudson knocked and brought in our guest. I noticed that, for once, she seemed a little flustered. "A gentleman to see you, Mr Holmes. He declined to give his name."
The briefest of glances and a nod from Holmes was sufficient to both acknowledge our guest and also to dismiss Mrs Hudson. Once the door had closed, Holmes stood and greeted the gentleman in question.
"Good morning, my Lord Bishop. Please, sit down."
I scrambled to my feet and almost forgot that I was holding the scissors as I hurried to greet him also.
With a wry smile, our guest waited until I had deposited the scissors before shaking my hand, saying, "I did not expect to be skewered on my visit here this morning, sir."
I stammered a brief apology before sitting and then taking stock of our guest. It was clear that Holmes knew this gentleman. The face was familiar but I could not quite place it.
Our guest removed his coat, sat down and, turning towards me, smiled broadly, saying, "Please forgive me for teasing you so, Dr Watson, but I could not resist."
Again I was puzzled. I was sure that I had not met this gentleman before. Holmes saw my disquiet and, with a wry smile, said, "Watson. Allow me to introduce a friend of mine. This is the Bishop of Westfield, John Knowles." The Bishop nodded towards me again, smiling.
The Bishop was a tall man with a florid face and a mass of grey curls. Apart from his dog collar, his clothes suggested him to be a gentleman who worked in an office in the City. Holmes and the Bishop clearly had some catching up to do so I rang the bell for some tea. It was during this brief exchange between them that I noticed that the Bishop's demeanour had changed slightly from being jovial, to one with a hint of concern. Holmes, I saw, had also sensed this and had already moved a little further forward in his chair and was fully alert. We were both keenly waiting to hear the reason for the visit.
The Bishop was, I believe, on the verge of revealing it when tea arrived. Mrs Hudson placed a large tray in front of us and poured us each a cup. We sat back and sipped the tea for a few moments and then the Bishop appeared to become, once more, business-like.
Seeing this, Holmes took his cue. "Come John, you haven't travelled up to London simply to reacquaint yourself with an old university friend. How may I be of service?"
The Bishop seemed a little uncomfortable and shuffled slightly in his chair. Putting his cup down, he leant forwards towards Holmes and clasped his hands together. "It is quite a delicate matter, Holmes. I am afraid that there may be a scandal unless you can discover some way to prevent it. One of my parishioners came to me this week with some disturbing information regarding a fellow bishop, the Bishop of Sandbury. He is well known to me, a sound man… but I fear easily led.”
Bishop Knowles paused briefly to take another sip of tea. “My informant tells me that the Bishop of Sandbury has been seen several times entering an establishment in the West End which has, I believe, a questionable reputation. Ordinarily, I would have dismissed this out of hand but my informant is a person with impeccable credentials and has the highest moral intentions. I took it upon myself to enquire further and, in truth, Holmes, I fear the worst.”
Holmes was silent for a few seconds. He pursed his lips and then, in a quiet voice, said, “This is not the true reason for your visit, John. You could have gently and discreetly taken the Bishop of Sandbury to one side, countenanced him, and all would have been well. Tell me all.”
Bishop Knowles had turned a little pale and was loosening his collar. “You are right, of course, Holmes. Your brother, Mycroft, has been to visit me to enquire about the character of the Bishop of Sandbury. He informed me, in the strictest of confidence, that copies of certain government naval papers have appeared in the German embassy. How he knows this, I did not ask. He also informed me that the brother of the Bishop of Sandbury is a figure of some note in the Admiralty, here in London. On questioning me further, I had to tell him that Sandbury had some failings and it was then that Mycroft directed me to see you.”
Holmes was silent for a moment. “You think, then, that these naval papers in foreign hands and Sandbury's inappropriate visits are linked?”
The Bishop shook his head. “I don't know, Holmes, but I am extraordinarily concerned. A scandal must not envelop the church.”
Holmes held up his index finger. “Tell me, John, what is the name of this Bishop of Sandbury?”
“Why, it's Clive Mapleton.” replied the Bishop.
<
br /> Holmes nodded and then smiled. “Fear not, my Lord. We will do our upmost to avoid such an occurrence! Do you have an address for the establishment that the Bishop frequents?”
Bishop Knowles put his hand into his waistcoat pocket and from it he withdrew a slip of paper. Attached was a small cutting from a newspaper and these he passed to Holmes. Holmes smiled, saying, “Splendid! Then we will detain you no further.”
With that Holmes rose to his feet, a clear indication that the visit was at an end. It was plain that Bishop Knowles was more than a little taken aback by this rather curt dismissal but accepted it with all the grace that he could muster, saying, “Ah, yes, well... I look forward to hearing from you, Holmes.” Putting on his coat he shook hands with us both and left looking slightly bewildered.
Chapter 2 - The Massage Scandal
Once the Bishop had gone, I felt the need to say something to Holmes. “I thought that a rather brusque ending to our meeting with the Bishop, Holmes!”
Holmes was not at all perturbed. He was already thumbing through his copy of the Admiralty list. “I think this is a matter that requires our immediate attention, Watson. Let us consider the information we have. Firstly, the Bishop of Westfield is concerned by the possibly scandalous behaviour of Clive Mapleton, the Bishop of Sandbury. Secondly, Mycroft has intelligence that British naval documents have somehow made their way to the German embassy and thirdly, he has linked these papers to Captain George Mapleton, RN, at the Admiralty.”