by Dick Gillman
Holmes took out one of his cards from his card case and passed it to the clerk. “I have been retained by Mrs Carter to look into the death of her husband, Henry Carter.”
At this, the clerk perked up a little. “What? Harry’s missus? That’s different then, sir. I’ll be just a moment.”
In less than a minute, the clerk had returned with a large ledger. “Here you are, sir. You wanted to look at the days previous to the explosion.” The clerk flicked expertly through the pages and quickly found the relevant entries. “As you can see, sir, we didn’t have much luggage that week. We always asks the person leaving the luggage to give their name and address, just in case they forgets to pick it up. Then we gives them the ticket."
The clerk turned the ledger round towards Holmes who then began to look through the entries, running his finger down the page. I noticed that he had suddenly stopped and was looking most closely at one particular entry for the eleventh of April.
Holmes looked across to me. I could see a glint of fire in his eyes. Turning the ledger round to face the clerk, Holmes asked, “Can you tell me if this item has been collected? It has the number 514 written next to it.”
Without turning to look, the clerk said, “No sir, it hasn’t.”
Holmes looked puzzled at first and then his expression became intense. “Are you sure? Need you check?”
The clerk shook his head, saying, “I know it’s there, sir. It’s right next to the space where Harry’s bag was. I know because I was the one that signed ‘em both in. Look, here’s my initials and here’s the name and address of the man who left them. Two identical bags they were. When Harry picked one of them up, number 515, on the twelfth, he told me the bloke who left them had given him the ticket and half a crown to pick it up for him.” The clerk scratched his head and then continued, “Funny old world, ain’t it? Harry earns himself an extra half a crown and then, not a minute later, he’s blown to bits.”
Holmes nodded. “Yes, it is. I wonder, do you recall anything of the man who left the bags?”
The clerk thought for a moment before answering, “Yes, I do, as it happens. He was a stocky bloke, about your height, sir. He must have been strong ‘cos he had one of those bags in each hand and they are as heavy as lead! His missus was standing in the doorway, a redhead, she was. She looked like she had just stepped out of a shop window in Oxford Street.”
Holmes turned slightly towards me and whispered, “Moriarty! Stay here, Watson, I’m going to fetch the constable.” With that he turned on his heel and was gone.
The clerk looked somewhat bemused but his expression quickly changed as Holmes re-appeared with the constable at his side. Holmes pointed to the ledger and the entry for item 514, saying, “This bag is a vital piece of evidence, Constable. I believe that many people’s lives are threatened by its contents. It is vital that I take it and examine it. If anyone presents themselves to claim the bag, I must be sent word. They are to be immediately arrested and held incommunicado. I will send a telegram to Inspector Lestrade who will send men to relieve you. Do you understand?”
The constable nodded, stammering, “Yes… yes, Mr Holmes!”
Holmes took out his wallet and notebook and began writing. He turned to the clerk, saying, “This is a receipt for the bag, number 514. I shall leave a deposit of £20 which will, no doubt, cover any of the contents. I must warn you not to speak of any of this. If you do, you will be held as an accomplice to murder and surely hang!”
I truly thought the clerk was about to faint. His face was now ashen and he could only nod. Holmes, satisfied by the clerk’s compliance, held out his hand, palm upwards, waiting for the bag. The clerk scurried back into the office and returned with the heavy bag, carrying it with both hands. Holmes took it, raised his cane in salute to the constable and was off.
Chapter 3 - The rays of Herr Roentgen
Stopping only to send two telegrams, we quickly hailed a cab. I was greatly surprised when Holmes directed the cabbie to take us to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. The bag that Holmes carried was indeed heavy and, once out of the cab, it was clearly a relief when he deposited it close to the Porter’s Lodge. I was still mystified by events but stood guard over the bag whilst Holmes disappeared into an annexe of the hospital.
Holmes was gone but a few minutes and he returned, accompanied by a hospital porter pushing a trolley. The bag was duly loaded onto it and I followed as it was wheeled inside. My curiosity got the better of me and I tugged at Holmes’ sleeve crying, “For pity’s sake, Holmes. Tell me what’s going on?”
Holmes smiled wryly. “We are going to apply a little modern medicine to solve a conundrum, Watson. To determine what is within…without opening it!”
I thought about this for a moment and then suddenly understood. I nodded slowly, saying, “Ah! The rays of Professor Roentgen!”
Soon we were led to a room set aside for the new science of ‘Radiography’. Looking around the room, there were to be seen several large devices that were fixed to the walls, each one connected by heavy cables to an electrical supply. However, my interest was taken by a small, portable machine that was wheeled over to our trolley.
I had taken a keen interest in the professor’s work from the very beginnings of what was, at first, called ‘Roentgenography’. As I watched, a glass photographic plate, in its wooden frame, was placed on the trolley and then the bag was laid sideways upon it. An assistant energised a large coil and a loud, buzzing noise filled the room. After a few seconds, the device was switched off and the photographic plate removed to be developed.
I marvelled at the array of equipment around me and was amazed how this new science had, in just five short years, made such an impact on medicine.
In what seemed merely a few minutes, Holmes had received the still damp glass plate and was to be seen examining it closely.
Holding the plate up to the light, Holmes looked grim. It was as though the very photographic plate itself was a harbinger of doom.
I joined my friend, asking, “What is it Holmes? What is inside the bag?”
Holmes held the plate against the light so that I could see it. In a quiet voice he said, “It is as I feared. There is a mechanism within the bag which is designed to detonate a quantity of explosive as the bag is opened. It is, I believe, identical to the bag that killed Henry Carter.”
I looked on, incredulous, saying, “You… you mean it is a bo–”
Holmes instantly held up his hand to stop me speaking further. “Have a care, Watson. We do not want to cause panic. I believe that the bag would be better examined back at Baker Street.”
Holmes touched his hat and gave a brief nod in the direction of the staff of St. Bartholomew’s as we left the hospital. I have to say that I was fearful all the way back to Baker Street. I was now most nervous to be in the vicinity of the bag, remembering the devastation at Liverpool Street.
Once settled in our rooms, Holmes placed the bag on our dining table. Beside it he placed the photographic plate so that the light from our window provided a source of illumination. Thus arranged, side by side, Holmes now had a skeleton view of the contents of the bag.
I was mindful that, when Holmes and I had examined the photographic plate, the majority of the bag appeared to be filled with an assortment of potentially lethal items of ironmongery. Holmes, noting my concern, said, “I think, Watson, that it might be better if only I were present whilst I defuse the explosive…just as a precaution.”
Shaking my head, I replied, “No, Holmes, I have the upmost confidence in your abilities. I will stay and give you, at least, some moral support.”
Holmes smiled and nodded. Opening his desk drawer of surgical equipment, he took from it a scalpel, an assortment of tweezers and several pairs of scissor clamps. Holmes paused for a moment as he studied a particular area on the glass plate. It seemed to show a metal rod attached to the clasp of the bag.
Pointing to it, Holmes said, “This appears to be the trigger for the device, Watson.
As the bag is opened, the rod is pulled backwards. It is, no doubt, attached to a mechanism that then fires a percussion cap which ignites the main charge.”
Picking up his scalpel, Holmes began by making a delicate incision at the end of the bag, close to the hinge. As he did so, I moved my position to get a better view. Holmes was now peering inside. Reaching for a scissor clamp, he attached it to something within the bag, out of my view. “Watson!” called Holmes, “Be a good fellow and hold this clamp… hold it as steadily as you possibly can.”
I hurried to his side and grasped the clamp, holding it firmly as if, perhaps, my very life depended upon it. Holmes now took up another clamp and, working painfully slowly, he manipulated the mechanism until he finally withdrew a small metal link. For my part, I stood like a stone statue, concentrating hard on maintaining a firm, steady, grip.
To my utter surprise, Holmes now opened the bag, leaving me still grasping the clamp. “Holmes!” I cried, “For pity’s sake, help me! I am still holding the mechanism!”
Holmes chuckled, saying, “Ah, yes, so you are, Watson. You may let go now.”
Relieved, I slackened my grasp and was eager to view the interior of the bag. To my horror, I found that the clamp I had been holding so tightly was simply attached to a seam of the lining!
I was dumbstruck! I managed only to say, “What? I thought…”
Holmes patted me kindly on the back saying, “I could not see clearly into the bag, Watson. You seemed to be constantly changing position to get a better view and I needed the light. I thought it better to give you a task so that you might remain ‘tethered’, so to speak.”
At first, I felt tricked but, after a few moments, I laughed. I quickly realised the importance of giving Holmes the room he needed to complete that most delicate task. Now that Holmes had greater access to the mechanism, he quickly made it safe. The bag indeed was intended to kill not only the person who opened it but also anyone within several yards of it.
After my ordeal, I sat back in my chair, feeling the need to relax with a pipe of tobacco. “It is indeed a monstrous thing, Holmes. What will you do with it?” I asked.
Holmes did not answer immediately. He was again deep in thought. “I think, Watson, it will be evidence for the courts… but not before it has become our tool.”
Chapter 4 - A bomb, Lestrade and William Tindall.
It was in the early afternoon that we received a telegram from Inspector Lestrade asking us to join him at Liverpool Street Station. It took but moments for us to don our coats and head out once more into Baker Street. Once inside a cab, I could see that Holmes was rubbing his hands together, a clear sign that he was eager to continue with the case. He turned to me, saying, “I am most curious to see who has come to collect the second bag, Watson.”
I, in turn, was most curious to know why Holmes was now sitting in a Hansom cab with a bag containing a bomb upon his knee. Pointing to the bag, I asked, “Are you going to turn that over to Lestrade?
Holmes had a grim smile upon his face. “Not yet, Watson. It is an instrument of fear… and I intend to use it as such!”
Arriving at Liverpool Street, we immediately made our way towards the Left Luggage Office. However, as we approached, we were met by a constable who saluted smartly, saying, “Inspector Lestrade’s compliments, Mr Holmes. He’s waiting for you in the Station Master’s office. This way, sir.”
Holmes and I were led through the station, finally stopping in front of a large, mahogany door which bore a plaque that announced, ‘G. Stevens – Station Manager’. Knocking upon the door, the constable ushered us into the office.
The décor of the office matched that of the rest of the station. The walls were again a tired cream that had succumbed to years of exposure to tobacco smoke. A dado rail separated this from a questionable example of embossed wallpaper that, in truth, would have been more suited to the snug bar of a public house. Bookshelves were arranged along one wall whilst the opposite wall was decorated with framed photographs of railway engines and portraits of railway officials. The end wall of the office was dominated by a truly enormous railway clock and beneath it sat the familiar figure of Inspector Lestrade. To one side of him sat a despondent, uniformed, railway employee who was handcuffed to the burly constable standing beside him.
Lestrade rose as we entered and looked somewhat peeved, as he said, “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I trust that you will be able to explain why you think you are able to commandeer the officers of the Metropolitan Police.”
Holmes smiled and placed the bag on the desk in front of Lestrade. “Well, let us see, Inspector. A railway employee and several members of the public are killed in an explosion that Scotland Yard presumes, wrongly, I might add, to be the work of anarchists.” Holmes paused and pointed to the bag, saying, “The bomb was contained in a bag, not dissimilar to this one. Indeed, it was identical… for this bag also contains a bomb.”
The fear in the room was palpable. Lestrade had risen from his chair and had flattened himself against the wall. Looking around me, I could see that Holmes’ words had had a similar effect on all those present. Holmes leant forwards and opened the bag. Almost as one, hands went upwards to shield faces. The poor railway employee was almost lifted bodily from his chair by his handcuffed wrist. Holmes now delved into the bag and removed the mechanism, together with the bundle of explosives.
“Have no fear, gentlemen, for it is now harmless.” Holmes turned and looked directly at the fettered railway employee, saying,”… but imagine what damage it would have done to the person that opened it and to those around him.” Again Holmes reached into the bag. This time he withdrew a large handful of nails and screws.
Lestrade had now recovered some of his composure, although he was to be seen wiping the palms of his hands with a handkerchief before asking, “Was that really necessary, Mr Holmes?”
Holmes’ face was now grim. “Yes, I believe it was. Henry Carter had, I believe, been paid to make an impression of a key. For this he was paid five sovereigns. However, I am of the opinion that the payment was simply an advance on a much larger sum which he expected to find inside the bag. I also believe that Julia Moriarty is behind this and that she cares not a jot for the lives of others. The bomb was simply an efficient way of removing evidence.” Holmes paused and pointed his cane towards the prisoner who was ashen and visibly trembling. “I take it that this is the fellow who turned up to collect the second bag?”
Lestrade nodded. It was clear that he was now angry. The thought that Moriarty could simply take innocent lives to protect herself was abhorrent to him. “Yes, this wretch had the ticket for the bag: one William Tindall. We questioned him but could get little out of him. He claims that he had been paid a few shillings to collect the bag and he was to deliver it to a local public house. He hadn’t been able to pick up the bag before because he had been away from his place of work due to illness.”
Holmes pulled up a chair and now sat facing the prisoner. Tindall was still shaking and regarded Holmes with frightened eyes. Holmes began, “Tell me all, Mr Tindall, for I am your only chance of avoiding the gallows.”
Tindall looked about him and realised that he had now but one hope. “Well, sir, I was having a problem with some people who I owed some money to. They threatened me, sir. They said that I would lose my job and the family would end up in the workhouse if I didn’t pay up.” Holmes nodded and waved his hand for Tindall to continue. “There was this one fellow who I had not seen before. He was big and muscular. He said that he had a way out for me. I could earn a great deal of money…in gold, if I was to complete a small task for him.”
Holmes again nodded, saying, “Was it something relating to your work on the railway?”
Tindall looked shame-faced. “Yes, sir. They offered me five sovereigns, in advance, if I would make an impression of a key. They said that if I did that, they would wipe the slate clean and give me a hundred sovereigns on top!”
Holmes held his forefinger to his lips
before asking, “This impression, it must have been for a very special key for it to be worth so much?”
Nodding, Tindall answered, “Yes, sir. As you can see from my uniform, I am a railway guard. On some trains there are safes or strongboxes to which I have a key. They wanted a copy of my key but I told them, it would do them no good for you need two keys…” His voice now died away as he finally realised how grievously he had been deceived. “They were going to kill me… with that bag! They said the hundred sovereigns were in there!” He now looked panicked, shouting, “I didn’t know anything about Harry, sir. I swear!”
Holmes stood and turned to Lestrade, saying, “You may keep the bag, Inspector. It may be needed for The Old Bailey. In the meantime, I would be grateful if you could keep our dealings with Mr Tindall confidential.” With a glint in his eye, Holmes continued, “He may become extremely useful to us in the future.”
Lestrade nodded, saying, "Do not concern yourself, Mr Holmes, for I have just the place for him at Bow Street Police Station."
Chapter 5 - An invitation for Mycroft
After saying farewell to Lestrade, Holmes stopped briefly at the station telegraph office to send a further telegram to Mycroft before hailing a cab and returning to Baker Street.
I must confess that I was full of questions. I restrained myself from asking until we were both ensconced in our chairs and had filled our pipes.
Sitting back, I asked, “Tell me, Holmes, what are your thoughts now we have met Tindall?”
Holmes paused for perhaps thirty seconds before replying, “It is not he who concerns me, Watson, it is the crime that has so far gone undetected that I find intriguing.”
I sat and could only utter, “What crime, Holmes?”
Holmes turned towards me. Taking his pipe from his mouth, he wagged the stem in my direction, saying, “Precisely, Watson! This is what we have yet to determine. It is almost the perfect crime for Moriarty. As far as the world knows, nothing has been stolen. Had Tindall not been ill, and had he opened the bag, we would have been none the wiser. Another foul deed blamed on a group of anarchists. It would have expunged any evidence that might have implicated Moriarty.”