Sherlock Holmes

by Dick Gillman

  Holmes thought for a moment before replying, “If the service chamber was drawn accurately and to the same scale as the rest of the plan, I estimate it to be a room some fifteen feet by eight feet. Taking into account its purpose, there may well be some pipework to contend with. I suggest that we dress in clothes that will allow us some freedom of movement… and bring an extra pair of thick woollen socks.” This seemed a strange request but I delved into my wardrobe and chose a Harris Tweed jacket, a woollen jersey and some plus fours that I had worn when grouse shooting some years before. Returning to our sitting room, I found that Holmes had selected similar clothes. Seeing me, Holmes could not help but chuckle and make the comment, “Perhaps the grouse season is uncommonly early this year in Westminster, Watson!”

  I smiled and nodded but, in the back of my mind, there was the serious thought that we were indeed hunting men! Holmes, I saw, had packed his burglary kit and was now checking his revolver. He had already pocketed some extra .45 calibre ammunition, a box of matches and a small candle. With a nod to me, we were off.

  Chapter 10 – Meeting Sean O’Leary

  Summoning a cab, we travelled in silence for the fifteen-minute ride to Downing Street. We had made the decision not to travel directly to Richmond Terrace in case some Fenian lookout had been posted. Instead, we alighted at the corner of Whitehall and Downing Street. This allowed us to walk casually across the road and then onwards towards the entrance to the iron-gated stairway. Although only early afternoon, the skies were darkening. A storm threatened and distant peals of thunder could be heard.

  Dressed as we were, we played the part of visitors from out of town, looking around us and pointing at different buildings. I have to say that our choice of clothing gave some credence to this subterfuge and we were able to determine that nobody was watching the area around the entrance to the chamber.

  As we reached the corner of Richmond Terrace, I realised that Holmes had been counting his paces. Looking back, we could see the entrance to Downing Street. Turning to me, Holmes said, “I estimate that Number 10 is some eighty yards away from here; the chamber is some twenty yards short of that. Do you remember the marked twine?” I nodded as I thought back to Lestrade’s office. “Once the engine and waggons have been placed in the pipe, it has some sixty feet to travel before it is beneath its target. The marked twine is attached to the brass release ring. After sixty feet of twine have passed, a good pull upon it will release the spring-loaded anchors which then hold the engine and its deadly cargo in position.”

  I stood and thought for a moment. “Tell me Holmes, with the dynamite some sixty feet away inside a pipe, how is it to be detonated?” This key element was something I had simply failed to consider.

  Holmes’ face was grim. “I believe that, as well as trailing the twine behind it, the engine will also be pulling a length of slow-burning fuse attached to the detonator cap of the dynamite. A sixty foot length of fuse burning at, perhaps, one foot per second would give adequate time to escape to a safe distance.”

  I walked the few yards into Richmond Terrace just as it began to rain. Seeking some shelter, I found the doorway inset into a wall and topped by a triangular, Georgian lintel bearing the monogram ‘LHPC’. Set within the doorway was a stout, green-painted gate made from round, iron bars. The missing paint and patches of rust showed that it had stood guard there for several years. Surprisingly, it was secured with what appeared to be a new padlock.

  Holmes moved forwards and grasped the new padlock, saying, “Yes, they would not want to be disturbed. The old lock will have been forced and replaced with one of their own. Stand in front of me, Watson, whilst I attend to this.” I moved so that Holmes could work within the inset doorway, my body shielding him from full view and, unwittingly, from the rain! Reaching for his burglary tools, he set to work. It took but moments before he was pocketing them once more but it was sufficient time for me to become quite wet. Holmes passed me the opened lock before entering the gateway with me close behind him. The landing was in shadow and I could barely make out a stairway and iron handrail that descended into darkness.

  Holmes reached into his coat pocket and from it he removed a pair of woollen socks. Leaning his body against the wall, Holmes slipped the socks over his shoes. I watched, intrigued. “Think of this passageway as a large cave, Watson. Any sound we make will echo and carry. We do not want to forewarn our quarry.” I nodded and followed suit, the socks would indeed deaden our footsteps upon the concrete floor.

  Striking a match against the brickwork of the wall, Holmes lit his stub of candle. He held the candle before him, the small pool of light illuminated barely two steps ahead. Slowly and grasping tightly the iron handrail, we descended into the darkness. After some twenty feet or so, there appeared to be some measure of relief from the darkness. A slight glow could be seen coming from a passageway at right angles to the steps. The passageway headed westwards, a direction I knew that would lead us beneath Downing Street.

  Hanging from the ceiling of the passageway were small electric light bulbs that ran away into the darkness like a drooping string of incandescent, yellow pearls. Holmes held his left finger to his lips and then plunged his right hand into his coat pocket, retrieving from it his revolver. The passageway was not quite wide enough for us to walk two abreast. I followed, a little to one side so as to have some view of what was ahead, walking slowly and silently, revolver in hand.

  I knew that there were some sixty yards from the foot of the steps to the service chamber but, in truth, my heart was in my mouth at every step. As we crept ever closer, I thought that I could hear faint voices. Holmes stopped and held up his hand. With ears straining, we waited for perhaps a full five minutes. Turning to me, he held up two fingers. I nodded for I too had heard two distinct voices from the passageway ahead. Holmes crept forwards again; the way ahead was becoming gradually brighter as we approached the chamber. We now flattened ourselves against the walls of the passage, trying to remain in as much shadow as possible.

  Slowly, slowly we inched our way forwards. The chamber itself was now within view. Pipes of different diameters, with isolation valves, appeared and then disappeared through the brickwork walls of the chamber. Some were barely four inches in diameter and I imagined them to carry telegraph cables. One large pipe running along the floor of the chamber bore the LHPC monogram. This, I knew, carried water at a pressure of several hundred pounds per square inch and was the motive force for lifts, presses and many other industrial processes.

  Two figures in shirtsleeves could be seen working at an open pipe of approximately eight inches in diameter. A section of pipe had been removed and the men were now placing a familiar brass object into the pipe… a ‘mule’! Looking down I saw four waggons ready to be attached. Beside them were stacked four bundles of dynamite, each with a detonator in place linked to a coil of fuse.

  I am not sure why I was distracted from watching the two men prepare the ‘mule’ but as I looked to one side I almost gasped! Sitting on a chair was the bound and gagged figure of a bedraggled young man. Although dirty and unshaven, I readily identified him as being Pavlin Konsulov. I tugged gently at Holmes’ jacket and pointed, drawing his attention to the presence of Konsulov. Holmes nodded.

  It was as I edged a little further forward that there was the sound of a sharp ‘pop’ and splintering glass. Looking down, I could see that I had trodden on one of several small light bulbs that had been deliberately placed in the passageway, just short of the entrance to the chamber.

  Hearing the sound, both men swung round, their hands diving into their trouser pockets. One man sprang to the side and sought refuge behind a piece of pipework, his pistol pointing in our direction. The other, I was amazed to see, ran to Pavlin Konsulov and placed his pistol against the young man’s head. He stood brazenly in plain view and shouted, “Come out, if you value this innocent man’s life!” I looked at Holmes; the pistol in his hand was now hanging loosely by his side. The fellow shouted again, “C’m
on, for I am an impatient man!”

  Holmes stepped out into the chamber saying, “There is no need to harm Mr Konsulov. He is, as you say, an innocent party to your evil plan, O’Leary!”

  O’Leary inclined his head slightly, saying, “Your pistols, gentlemen.” His companion stepped forward, pistol raised threateningly. Holmes let his pistol fall and I followed suit. Still with his pistol to Pavlin Konsulov’s head, O’Leary asked quizzically, “So you know me then?”

  Holmes’ face was as granite as he replied, “Know you? No, I do not… but know of you, yes. The scratches on your face are a testament to your wickedness. A few days ago I spoke with Catherine Ward’s parents. They were still numb with grief from the loss of their daughter.”

  O’Leary’s hand went to his scarred left cheek. He pressed his lips together, perhaps in some small token of remorse, saying, “Ah, Cathy… she was a spirited girl but became a casualty of the struggle.”

  On hearing this, Holmes took a step forward. “Casualty you say? Good God, man! She was executed! Where is the honour in your struggle now?”

  The metallic click of a pistol being cocked seemed very loud in this confined space. O’Leary looked across to his companion, saying, “Steady Liam. Who are you? Clearly not Special Irish Branch… I admire a man of courage and the conviction to say his mind.”

  “I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my colleague, Dr John Watson. I have been attempting to locate Pavlin Konsulov and prevent you from destroying the Prime Minister, his Cabinet and officers of The Crown. These tasks have taken me some time but clearly I have succeeded in both.”

  O’Leary’s eyed narrowed. “You think so, do you? Why cannot I send this thing… this ‘mule’ along the pipe and blow them all to hell?”

  A grim smile appeared upon Holmes’ face. “They are not there! Do you think that they would remain in Downing Street, knowing you to be beneath? No, they are safe. To continue and to blow up an empty building would be folly. Bricks and mortar are easily replaced… great men, not so. There is but one entrance and exit to this place that we find ourselves in. I think you will find that Special Irish Branch will not barter with you for our lives… you are much too valuable a catch!”

  I could see that O’Leary was unsettled by what Holmes had said. Seeing him point his gun now towards Holmes, I thought for a dreadful moment that he was going to shoot him. “Liam, tie this pair up! What about you, Mr Konsulov? You have seen the plans for this chamber. Is there is another way out?” I looked towards Pavlin Konsulov. He, in turn, was looking at O’Leary and nodding.

  Holmes and I were now firmly bound and propped against the wall of the chamber. O’Leary had pocketed his pistol and was looking inside a tool bag. From it he produced a strange key-shaped iron tool. Bending forward, he inserted it into an iron manhole cover set in the floor. Heaving at it, he called out, “Liam, come and help me with this.” Together, the two men struggled but finally raised the cover. “Here is our way out, Mr Holmes. It is a new sewer, a welcome present from the late Sir Joseph Bazalgette for it will take us to the river.”

  O’Leary’s companion looked doubtful and looked hard at Konsulov. Turning back to O’Leary, he asked, “Can you trust him, Sean? After all, you shot his father in the back in cold blood! He perhaps would relish the prospect of revenge by sending us to our deaths.”

  O’Leary drew his pistol and again placed it against the head of Pavlin Konsulov, saying, “On your honour and the memory of your father, will this sewer take us safely to freedom?” Again, Konsulov nodded steadily.

  Holmes addressed the two Irishmen, “He is the only one here that you can trust to give you an honest answer. Bulgarians are deeply religious people. The memory of their departed relatives is something they hold most sacred. If you were to ask me, you would be uncertain as to whether I were lying or telling the truth. Threatening to shoot me would be pointless, for Dr Watson has no knowledge of the plans, and if you were to shoot him, then I would truly want revenge.”

  At that moment, there could be heard the sounds of voices and heavy boots in the passageway leading to the chamber. The two Irishman looked at each other, then at us. The voices grew louder. Liam made for the manhole and was quickly followed by O’Leary. As he lowered himself into the sewer, he turned to Holmes saying, “We will meet again, Mr Holmes” and then disappeared from view.

  I looked towards Holmes. His face was without emotion and I heard him quietly say, “Perhaps…but not in this life, Mr O’Leary.” Even as Holmes said this, we heard two fearsome screams from the manhole and then silence.

  Turning back to the passageway, a familiar voice called out, “Hello! What kind of a mess have you got yourself into here, Mr Holmes? All tied up are we?”

  Holmes sighed and looked up to heaven, saying, “O Lord. It is Lestrade!” I knew that the good inspector would take a great deal of pleasure in recounting how he had rescued Sherlock Holmes, the great detective. He also would revel in how Scotland Yard had foiled a Fenian plot to blow up Downing Street, Prime Minister and all.

  Chapter 11 – A Bulgarian custom

  Once released from our bonds, we made our way back along the tunnel and upwards to fresh air. The rain had increased and was now a downpour. A four-wheeler passed by and Holmes hailed it and, taking Pavlin Konsulov by the arm, he invited him to join us.

  After enjoying a good meal, the three of us sat in our rooms in Baker Street and smoked steadily. Pavlin Konsulov had bathed and had been lent some dry clothes. He looked refreshed and was now enjoying one of Holmes’ fine Havana cigars. Holmes leant forwards, asking our guest, “Tell me Mr Konsulov, what happened at your shop when your father was shot? Why were you held captive?”

  Pavlin Konsulov’s face fell. In excellent English he began his tale. “My father and I were approached by O’Leary to make the mules and waggons. He said they were to transport important documents securely from one office to another by underground pipes. As a boy and before his apprenticeship as a watchmaker, my father had worked in the mines. He knew the smell of explosives and he smelled it on O’Leary. My father became suspicious and challenged him. O’Leary became violent and took out a pistol. My father tried to protect me; he pushed me before him towards the shop door but I stumbled and fell.”

  Pavlin now looked grey but managed to continue, “O’Leary shot him in the back; the bullet passed through my father but he managed to run out into the street. That was the last I saw of him. After that, they bundled me out of the door. I was needed in case anything went wrong with the mules. No doubt they would have left me to die in the chamber after the fuse had been lit.”

  Holmes now explained how the grievously wounded Mihail had been brought to our rooms by a cabbie and how we had tried in vain to save his life. He also described how Mihail, in his dying moments, had asked us to find his son. In truth, whilst it was a sad story, I think Pavlin Konsulov took some comfort from it.

  We sat a little longer but I could not rest. I had a serious question that I was reluctant to ask. “Tell me, Mr Konsulov, when we were in the underground chamber, you indicated to O’Leary that it was safe to go down the sewer and that it would lead him to freedom. If you hold the memory of your father to be so sacred, how could you honourably do that?”

  Holmes interrupted at this point. “It is not a question of honour, Watson. Mr Konsulov acted most properly and answered truthfully. You clearly do not know the customs of Bulgaria!” With a wicked smile, he said, “Allow me to demonstrate. Mr Konsulov, your first name is Pavlin, is it not?”

  I looked across at Pavlin Konsulov and he shook his head. I was puzzled. Scratching my head, I said, “Forgive me, Holmes, I still do not understand!”

  Holmes was clearly enjoying my confusion. “Let me try once more. Mr Konsulov, is my name Sherlock Holmes?” Looking to Konsulov, I saw him again shake his head!

  I sat back, totally mystified. The answers were contrary to everything I knew to be true! “What is going on, Holmes?”

  Holmes was now laug
hing heartily. “It is very simple, Watson. The people within the Principality of Bulgaria have, to us, a most bizarre custom. They inhabit the only known region of the world where shaking their head means ‘Yes’ and nodding it means ‘No’.

  I sat in total disbelief! “That is…that is absurd!” I cried. “I… I mean no offence, Mr Konsulov, but it is unbelievable!”

  Konsulov was laughing heartily. “It is quite true though, Dr Watson. The Irishmen had gagged me as I had been shouting out to try and attract attention. Once gagged, the only way I could answer O’Leary was by nodding or shaking my head. I responded to their questions in a completely truthful way. Whilst they were holding me captive, I had seen a plan of the pipework around their lair.” Pavlin Konsulov smiled, “I have an excellent memory, Dr Watson. It is very useful when you have to remember where all the parts go inside a clock.” I laughed and nodded as he continued, “I remembered the location of the pipes around the chamber. There was indeed a sewer beneath but I realised that it could not be used as an exit.”

  Holmes nodded, saying, “Yes, the sewer beneath the chamber is an interceptor sewer. Storm water from many other smaller sewers is collected before it is delivered to a storage tank. You will recall, Watson, that it had just begun to rain as we descended to the chamber. As time passed, the flow in the sewer would have steadily increased, just as tributaries add to the flow of a river. The slope in the sewer is a gentle one yard per mile but, after twenty feet, there is a one hundred foot vertical drop down to the storage tank. The purpose of this vertical shaft is to prevent tidal water flooding into the sewers when the Thames surges.”

  I nodded but then yawned. It was now getting late and we all had had an exhausting day. Our ‘good byes’ were said and once Pavlin Konsulov had left, I needed no prompting to retire to my room.