by Dick Gillman
The fort itself had been built but a few years earlier when the need for defences to repel foreign invaders heading towards London had been thought singularly important. The walls of the fort were stout and some 20 feet in height and enclosed some garrison buildings. A small crowd had gathered at one corner of the fort and it would appear that Mr Duval had elected to launch himself from the ramparts. My thoughts, both as a doctor and a simple observer, were that this was immensely foolhardy.
As we approached, we were hailed by a fellow wearing a leather apron about his waist and asked to pay our sixpence which we duly did. Having now paid, we were given a small hand bill as a memento of the occasion. This showed both the date and a photograph of the intrepid flyer standing smiling beside his craft.
I nodded towards the same figure now standing on the parapet and said, “I trust that he will still resemble his photograph after this endeavour, Holmes!”
Holmes nodded grimly. “Yes, for he is my ticket for entry to Portman Square.”
As we stood and watched, it appeared that final adjustments to the craft were being made. Looking about us, it seemed that the choice of the fort for this venture was indeed a sound one. Being one of the highest hills around London, wind travelled up the slope of the hill towards the fort. If the wind direction were to change slightly, then the launch site could be simply changed by walking a little further round the wall. All, it seemed, had now been made ready.
The glider itself appeared to be a somewhat rounded, triangular shape which I determined to be akin to the outstretched wings of a bird. The structure was made from bamboo poles over which fabric had been stretched. Various wires were attached which were in tension and I assumed that these helped maintain the shape of the craft. Beneath this 'pair of wings' was a wooden bar upon which Mr Duval could be seen grasping tightly.
Holmes tugged slightly at my coat sleeve, saying, “I think, Watson, that it might be wise if we were to retreat somewhat, if only for our own safety!”
Looking around me, I could see that other members of the public had had the same thought and were to be seen fanning out from the fort, almost at a trot. We followed suit and, after a brisk walk, we found ourselves some fifty yards from the wall with the wind at our backs. However, it was no longer the gentle breeze that we had observed in Baker Street. It was now blowing more strongly and with the occasional much stronger gust. As we watched, Duval's assistants held up the back edge of the craft and, with a shout of “On y va!”, Duval launched himself into the teeth of the wind. Dipping slightly, the craft then picked up the wind. Almost like a sail, it billowed slightly and then moved forwards and away from the wall with Duval hanging from a harness beneath. It appeared that he had, at least, some control of the direction in which he was travelling. As he changed his position along the wooden bar, it seemed to distort the shape of the wings.
“Wonderful!” I cried as I watched Duval glide slightly towards us. It was at that moment that a sudden gust from behind us almost pushed us forwards towards him. My eyes were still on Duval who was now only some 10 feet from the ground. Suddenly the front edge of the 'sail' rose up, causing a lack of forward momentum. With an anguished cry from Duval, both he and the craft plummeted to the ground with a splintering crash.
Chapter 4 – Broken bones and an invitation
For a moment I stood aghast but then began running the 20 or so yards to where Duval had crashed to Earth. My first and only thought was for my new patient. He lay slumped, unconscious, beneath a tangle of shattered wood, steel wires and a still billowing torn canopy of material. Pushing away what I could, I suddenly realised that Holmes was beside me as I scrambled to free Duval from his harness and the debris of his glider. It was immediately clear that one of his arms was broken as it lay at an improbable angle to his prostrate form. By now, others had arrived and were jostling each other, moving ever closer for a better view.
“Keep clear!” I yelled, “Give me space, I'm a doctor!” With some reluctance, the crowd drew back and only when Holmes held forth his cane with some menace, did they retreat sufficiently for me to fully examine the fallen Duval.
“How is he, Watson?” asked Holmes, glancing down at the lifeless form.
“I am unsure”, I replied. I could not discount any internal injuries until he regained consciousness. Slowly, Duval opened his eyes and winced, crying out in pain.
I moved to where he could see me fully, saying, “You are safe, Mr Duval. I am a doctor.” Duval tried to move but I gently restrained him. “You have had a nasty fall and your forearm is, I fear, broken. Do you have any great pain elsewhere?”
Duval shook his head and I allowed him then to sit upright, it taking him a little time to do so. “I think I will survive, thank you, Doctor. I appear to be mostly intact, save for a somewhat bruised body and equally bruised pride!”
I smiled, saying, “Excellent, I believe both will mend with time.”
Duval nodded and smiled in return, saying, “I think that is more than can be said for my poor Damselfly.”
Looking around me, I saw that his machine was, indeed, mostly matchwood. However, I was able to pick up two short but sturdy lengths of bamboo. With my pocket knife, I was able to trim the ends of the bamboo and also to cut two strips of fabric to act as bindings. “I think, Mr Duval, your creation may still serve a purpose. It is necessary to apply a splint to your broken forearm. I will be as gentle as possible but I fear it will be most painful whilst I manipulate the arm into position. Are you ready?”
Duval took a deep breath and nodded towards me. I had the two pieces of bamboo laid out parallel to his arm which was resting on his thigh. It appeared to be a simple fracture and as gently as I could, I moved the broken portion so that it lay in the same plane as the rest of his arm. Duval bore the pain well, and once it was in position, I was able to splint the arm with the bamboo and fabric from his glider.
Duval smiled weakly at me. Beads of perspiration could be seen upon his brow. “Thank you, Doctor. May I enquire your name… and who is your friend?”
I looked across at Holmes in some concern. I was unsure what to answer for this was a situation we had not envisaged. “I am John Watson...”
“And I am William Holmes,” said Holmes, leaning forward and shaking Duval's good hand.
The crowd was now starting to disperse, seeing that the machine was damaged beyond repair and no further flights would be forthcoming. I helped Duval to his feet, asking, “What will you do now, Mr Duval?”
Duval looked around him. “There is nothing here of value but I have again learned more from my adventure. I believe I will return to London and seek out a perhaps more permanent remedy for my arm.”
Holmes stepped forward, saying, “May we offer you a ride to the railway station, Mr Duval? Having a doctor on hand for your journey would, I'm sure, provide some small measure of reassurance.”
Duval thought for a moment before replying, “Yes, that would be most kind. Are you travelling to London?”
Holmes smiled and offered his arm. “Indeed we are and at your service for the duration of the journey.”
Our dog cart was waiting close by and, in but a few minutes, we were back at Bromley Station. Walking onto the platform we were indeed fortunate that a train was already in steam and standing ready to depart. Hurrying aboard the train as best as we could, we settled down in a compartment in readiness for the journey home.
It was some twenty minutes after we had left Bromley Station that Holmes brought out his sketchbook and laid it on the seat beside him.
Holmes leant forwards slightly, saying, “My purpose for coming to Bromley today was twofold, Mr Duval. I was, of course, wishing to observe your flight but I was also hoping to meet you. Some few years ago, I was engaged by a gentleman in London to join a small group of engineers who were tasked to develop a powered flying machine.”
As I watched, Duval jolted upright as though he had sat on a tin-tack, stammering, “You were employed by Max...”
> Holmes swiftly held up his hand to stop any further indiscretion, saying abruptly, “I cannot name him, Mr Duval... but you plainly know the gentleman. During this time, we designed, built and flew a machine of grand proportions powered by two light weight but powerful compound steam engines.”
Duval was now sitting back with his mouth open. After a few moments he had collected himself and was able to say, “So, it is true! I had heard rumours, as had we all, but you were there?”
Holmes nodded slowly and passed his sketchbook to Duval. As he opened it with his one good hand, I thought for a terrible moment that Duval had had a seizure. No sound came from the man. He seemed to be scarcely breathing as he stared at the pages of figures and diagrams within.
Finally, he sat back in his seat, his face in raptures. “Thank you, Mr Holmes. My work will now continue. I do not suppose that I could…?”
Holmes bent forwards and took the sketchbook from Duval's grasp, saying, “No, I’m sorry, I could not allow it. In truth, I should not have kept this. The machine was destroyed...burnt, as were all the other papers. I could not bring myself to toss years of my work into the flames.”
Duval looked saddened and nodded, saying softly, “Of course, of course.”
The train had slowed and we were now travelling through the outskirts of our great metropolis, Charing Cross was just a few minutes away. Holmes now sensing his opportunity, added, “But I would be willing to allow you to see more of the work if...”
Duval shouted out, “Tomorrow! You must come to my house tomorrow and... and bring the good doctor!”
Holmes looked doubtful but, seeming to see the pleading look on Duval's face, he agreed and Duval was overjoyed. Taking out his silver pencil, Holmes opened his sketchbook and wrote down Duval's address in Portman Square and made a note of the invitation to tea at half past ten.
With something of a jolt and a cry of pain from Duval, the train stopped at Charing Cross Station. Holmes and I saw Duval safely into a cab and bade him goodbye before hailing our own Hansom to take us back to Baker Street.
Safely back in our rooms we sat and enjoyed a pipe of tobacco. I turned over in my mind the events of the morning and the more I did so, the more I thought that Claude Duval was guileless. From what I had observed, I truly believed that his sole interest was to further science, even at the risk of putting his own life in peril. Satisfied with my own assessment of the man, I decided to seek out Holmes’ opinion of Duval.
“Well Holmes, this morning I witnessed a masterly grand deception… but it truth, it does not now sit well with me. Claude Duval appears to be an honourable, though single minded, man.”
Holmes was sitting in his leather armchair with his knees drawn up tight against his chest and was drawing slowly on his pipe. After a few moments, he blew out a thin stream of blue tobacco smoke and nodded slowly. “Yes, I agree. What I have done troubles me greatly for I believe I have deceived an honest man and even more, to my shame, I have given him false hope. I am almost certain that the events at Portman Square are not in any way linked to this man, although he may, inadvertently, be the catalyst for them.”
Holmes was again silent before turning to me and asking, “Have you reflected on our meeting with Charlotte Chalmers?”
I thought for a moment before replying, “Well, she seems a pleasant enough girl.”
Holmes roared with laughter and at once I felt like a fool. “No, no, dear Watson. I did not mean her character, I meant had you analysed what she said and drawn any conclusions?”
I stumbled a little, saying, “Why... err... no. Have you?”
Holmes was still amused as he began to recount his own thoughts on the meeting. "Let us firstly consider the Duval household, Watson. Claude Duval and his wife are French and reside in a fashionable district of London. He is something of, let us say, a pioneer in the new field of aviation. At present, I cannot see how he may be linked to the unfortunate happenings at Portman Square. Madame Duval is a socialite and enjoys the company of the wives of men of importance in one field or another. Her social activities include regularly inviting these ladies to tea at her home.
I nodded in agreement and waited whilst Holmes took another draw upon his pipe. As I watched, I saw his expression change.
Taking his pipe from his mouth, he now wagged the stem of it in my direction, saying, "It is this aspect of her social life that intrigues me… but I also find it the most worrisome. I have done some little research and each of the ladies present, when Mrs Mayfield fell ill, has a husband who is an important figure in his own field.”
Holmes began to count them off, touching each of his fingers with his pipe stem as he did so. “Firstly, there is Johannes Van Burren. He is the chairman of the Dutch East India Company. Secondly, Clive Holcroft. He is the First Secretary to His Majesty's Treasury. Thirdly, we have Lord Stevens, an important underwriter at Lloyds of London and finally, Thomas Mayfield, a director of The South Western Railway and a man tipped to become Lord Mayor of London."
I considered what Holmes had said and searched for some common thread but could find none. "Is there anything other than their friendship with Madame Duval that links these women?” I asked.
Holmes shook his head. "None that I can determine... the only link being that they are part of a select circle of women who gather socially in threes or fours for tea at Madame Duval's."
Still curious, I continued with my questioning. "Do you see some opportunity for criminality here, Holmes?"
Again Holmes paused and took a moment before replying. "Blackmail is the obvious choice, Watson. All these women have powerful husbands who have information which is of value, both commercially... and internationally. But if this is so, how is this woman able to gain some hold over them whilst in each other’s company? Let us consider for a moment Mrs Mayfield and her illness at the Duval's."
I thought again about how we had considered possible causes, saying, "From what Charlotte said, the only food that was consumed whilst taking tea was some home-made biscuits... and we cannot even be sure that Mrs Mayfield consumed one. Charlotte told us that they were freshly baked and both she and the cook consumed one and suffered no ill effects. Also, the other guests were unaffected."
Holmes sat back in thought before replying, "Yes… but we cannot rule out the possibility that Mrs Mayfield had consumed something toxic at her own home before visiting the Duval's. What of the possibility of a seasonal infection being passed between the members of the group at their meetings?"
I smiled, for this was something that I had considered and, from my experience as a doctor, discounted. "I think not, Holmes. I have seen no such infection within my own practice and, apart from the odd running nose; the populace seems extremely healthy, given the time of year. In any case, such an infection would not strike down a person in such a way nor in such short a time as that taken up by a tea party."
Holmes steepled his fingers and looked quizzical. "It is indeed most interesting, Watson, that you have touched upon the action of this illness for I find it fascinating. Does it not strike you as strange that Mrs Mayfield is suddenly afflicted by terrifying hallucinations whilst those around her are not? Is it even more unbelievable that the other ladies present seem quite oblivious and unmoved by her physical distress? Indeed, Mrs Mayfield is so distressed that she has to be taken from the room.”
Holmes paused for several moments before continuing, “This is a most puzzling paradox, Watson. We are reliably told of four ladies, sitting together in the same room, three of whom are calm and serene, quite oblivious to their friend becoming highly emotional and fearing for her life! I think I may have to call upon one of the three and enquire further."
With that, Holmes took out his notebook and scribbled madly before ringing for Mrs Hudson.
Chapter 5 – Madame Adelinda Duval
Sitting down to breakfast the following morning I found myself eating alone. A place had been set for Holmes but the only evidence that he had taken breakfast was an
empty tea cup and a side plate with a small amount of butter still adhering to it, together with a few crumbs of toast.
It was a little after half past nine when Holmes appeared, swathed in hat and muffler although neither could hide the jovial expression upon his face.
"Where have you been Holmes?" I chided. "I was concerned that you would be late for our outing to Portman Square!"
Holmes was eager for me to put on my own coat and muffler, saying, "Make haste, Watson, for the case becomes ever more curious!" With that, he scooped up his sketchbook and stood waiting expectantly.
Doing as he requested, we were soon in Baker Street and hailing a cab. Once in the cab and on our way, my curiosity overtook me. I needed to know more but, before I could ask, Holmes was in need of my counsel.
Turning towards me, he asked, "Tell me, Watson. What do you know of memory and, more specifically, its temporary loss?"
I was, for a moment, at a loss myself and I needed a moment to think. "Well, it is not really my province, Holmes, but a loss of memory can be caused by several factors. It may be due to the ageing process or from a physical trauma to the brain, causing amnesia. It may also be caused by some traumatic psychological event or even induced by drugs."
I looked towards Holmes and saw him slowly nodding. "Yes, it is as I thought. This morning I visited Lady Stevens as I am known to her husband. I had taken the liberty of sending her a telegram yesterday afternoon, asking her if I might call." Holmes now had a curious smile upon his face whilst saying, "I wanted to enquire, particularly, as to the health of Mrs Mayfield after her sudden illness. You will be surprised to hear, Watson, that her Ladyship had no knowledge of Mrs Mayfield's illness and was indeed concerned to hear of it!"