The Confidential Casebook of Sherlock Holmes

by Marvin Kaye

  The baroness’s laugh was most unladylike. “Watson, you are wise to my game!”

  Holmes’s voice shifted to his regular register. I should not have been surprised by the detective’s deception. After all, he had played these tricks before. Still, I had to admit to a certain annoyance. “Holmes,” I began. “Why must you always—”

  The detective answered before I could even complete my thought. “As a doctor, you are trained to be observant. If my disguise might fool you, even for these few brief moments, I might then be able to pass out into the world.”

  “Pass out into the world? Then you mean—”

  Holmes pulled off the bonnet and the wig beneath. “Yes, we must once again visit a certain embassy.”

  “Wearing a disguise?” I shot back, my annoyance still all too plain. “Pardon me, Holmes, but do you believe this is the best—”

  “After what occurred yesterday morning?” He cut me off with a single motion of his lace-covered hand. “Watson, it is the only way.”

  At that, I thought back on recent incidents. My annoyance evaporated at once, for I had to agree.

  It was only the day before that we were introduced to the troubles of a small Balkan country. Holmes asked me to accompany him to an appointment involving a case “of some interest,” as he phrased it. Though I pressed him on the topic, he would say no more.

  Holmes and I were less than a block away from the tiny foreign embassy in a very fashionable section of London when we heard the explosion.

  “A bomb, no doubt,” my friend remarked to me, not even breaking his stride. “In a carriage in front of the embassy. I had been expecting as much.”

  It was all very well for Sherlock Holmes to expound upon his theories, but I was a doctor and felt it was my duty to rush ahead to aid the wounded. I ran about the corner to see a great blackened spot before the iron gate that guarded the embassy. I called out my profession, in case there were any in need of me.

  A tall, well-appointed man in a well-pressed uniform stepped from the middle of the devastation. A large hole stood in a brick wall by his side, the iron-work to either side twisted hideously by the force of the explosion.

  The man smiled pleasantly at my approach despite the fact that he obviously had been shaken by the explosion.

  “Most generous of you, Doctor. However—” He paused, and bowed to another who came up by my side. I glanced that way and discovered that Holmes had only been seconds behind me. The fellow in the uniform was a gentleman of such breeding that he immediately put us both at our ease. He nodded to me, to acknowledge that his answer now included both Holmes and myself. “The damage has been done to property, rather than to people, in large part due to your letter.”

  “You are Colonel Gelthelm?” Holmes enquired.

  “The same,” the colonel agreed. He smiled at the detective. “Most fortunately, no one was hurt. We are most grateful for your warning.”

  So Holmes had already alerted the embassy. Apparently the explosion had only been a surprise to me. I looked at my old friend. He spoke before I could even frame a rebuke.

  “Watson, the evidence was everywhere. Most obvious, of course, were certain developments in the foreign columns in the news.”

  I nodded. Even I knew of the great upheavals all these small Balkan republics had been experiencing of late.

  “And of course,” Holmes continued, “a quick glance at the shipping news told me of the arrival of a boat from this embassy’s home country. And it would be remiss of me not to have noticed that announced lecture series to be delivered by Professor Van Zummann.”

  “Van Zummann?” Here was a name that even I was familiar with. “You mean the anarchist?”

  That he was lecturing should have come as no surprise. Living in such a metropolitan district as London, one might be exposed to every view imaginable. All very well when people were willing to conduct themselves in a civilized fashion. However, things seemed to happen about Van Zummann that were anything but civilized.

  Holmes nodded. “Despite his radical views, Van Zummann has committed no crime.”

  I could not believe that Holmes was discussing this fellow so calmly. “No crime for which he has been convicted!”

  Holmes nodded. “Most astute, Watson, for I know from my dealings with Scotland Yard that Van Zummann’s name has arisen on more than one occasion concerning unsolved crimes—and murders.” He nodded to the blackened gate before us. “There is an assassin at large, Watson—a man, I believe, who considers himself a master of disguise, for the description of the guilty party varies slightly in every case, even though there are certain common qualities of stature and bearing.” The detective’s tone was dismissive, for both he and I knew the true master of disguise here. “And Van Zummann has often been found, a day or two before the event, in the vicinity of these heinous crimes.”

  “Pardon,” Colonel Gelthelm interrupted. “But a gentleman of your acquaintance has been here before you, and might hold something useful.” He pointed to the embassy steps, still unharmed beyond the blasted gate. “I took the liberty of calling the police.”

  “A wise precaution,” Holmes agreed. Both he and I turned towards the steps to see a familiar figure scowling in our direction as he approached.

  “Inspector Lestrade!” I called. He winced at the mention of his name, as though, at the moment, he found no joy in being a policeman. Still, he nodded at both of us in turn.

  “Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson. I have passed a most unrewarding few moments within these walls.”

  “Then you were here before the explosion, Lestrade?” I asked.

  My question only caused his grimace to deepen. “A lot of good it did.” I had rarely seen the inspector so out of sorts.

  “There was little you could do,” Holmes replied. “The carriage would have appeared quite suddenly.”

  “It was an apple cart, actually, with no horses attached,” the uniformed gentleman amended most politely. “One moment, there appeared to be a great crowd about the thing, half a dozen people or more. The next, the crowd was gone, and the cart was pushed against the gate.”

  Holmes nodded as if this was precisely what he had expected to hear. “It is the manner of such things. If I recall, there was a similar occurrence in Belgrade only three months ago.”

  “So you know of Belgrade?” the colonel asked with obvious admiration. “Because they were unprepared, the devastation to that embassy was far worse.”

  Holmes glanced back at the street, his face disturbed by the slightest of frowns. “I do not expect this to be their only attempt. And the next will be far more subtle.” He turned back to the uniformed man. “I will need to speak with everyone within the embassy.”

  For once, the other lost his smile. “I am afraid that is quite impossible.”

  “I assure you,” Holmes replied calmly, “I am the soul of discretion.”

  “Your reputation precedes you in this matter,” the other agreed. “Unfortunately, even that will mean nothing to the Grand Duke.”

  “I can certainly vouch for that,” Lestrade interrupted. “The difficulty, that is. He simply refused to see me!”

  Colonel Gelthelm nodded his head brusquely at Lestrade’s statement. “The duke has taken over our little embassy in order to put some distance between himself and the troubles we are having at home. Perhaps in reaction to that, he guards his time jealously.”

  “Even if the Duke’s life is in danger?” I asked incredulously.

  “Alas, the duke is a difficult man. He deals very brusquely with affairs of state. Nothing is allowed to interfere with his social calendar.”

  “Perhaps,” my friend replied, “we might find a way around that difficulty.”

  Holmes’s voice pulled me from my reverie. “You recall how we left the embassy, Watson. I have been in touch with the uniformed man with whom we spoke, Colonel Gelthelm. He will provide us certain assistance.”

  Once again, Holmes’s plans were far beyond me. “Assistance
? Assistance with what?”

  “The embassy is hosting a tea this very afternoon, and the baroness will put in an appearance.”

  “You mean you intend to go into this strange place, alone and in disguise?” Even though I knew Holmes made a habit of this sort of thing, I thought it particularly unwise in this instance, for more than one reason. “There is no telling where Von Zummann may strike!”

  “Exactly, Watson. I will not make a move without you.”

  “You wish me to come along?” Apparently, I was to be continually astonished.

  Holmes rose then, smiling as he straightened his skirt. “It is not at all out of the question for the baroness to bring her personal physician!”

  So it was that, later that afternoon, I found myself once again at the embassy gate, this time in the company of the Baroness Von Stuppell.

  I had decided, for the ruse to succeed, I would indeed have to think of Holmes as the baroness. As Holmes reminded me, our primary purpose was to prevent Von Zummann from causing any more mischief. Anything else would be unthinkable.

  The baroness stumbled a bit as she descended from the carriage. She gave me the slightest of coquettish smiles. “I could have had a bit more practice with the shoes.” I felt my cheeks redden slightly at Holmes’s—rather, the Baroness’s—difficulty. Perhaps it would be better if I looked straight ahead.

  Colonel Gelthelm was waiting for us at the gate. “Ah. The tea has just begun. Punctuality is much prized in my country.” The colonel, ever the gentleman, did not comment on Holmes’s appearance.

  He waved us forward with a white-gloved hand. “Come. There is a side entrance reserved for special guests.”

  The baroness curtsied ever-so-slightly and followed the colonel along the walk to a second iron gate. I took up the rear, following her small, quick, yet measured steps, her bustle swaying ever-so-slightly before me. Even I, who knew him so well, found all traces of Holmes absent from the actions of this noblewoman.

  Taking a ring of keys from his belt, the colonel unlocked the second gate. He led us through a doorway beyond, into the interior of the embassy, filled with rich drapes and even finer carpets. From the quiet opulence of the halls, there was certainly no hint of the unrest in their home country.

  But even the rich carpets could not hush the commotion rapidly approaching behind us.

  “Out of my way!” a voice shouted hoarsely. “State business!”

  The colonel turned to look at the disturbance. “Please, Count Orlock. These are our guests.”

  “Guests?” the voice called back derisively. “All step aside for the decision makers of the realm!”

  At that, the baroness and I turned about as well. We were being approached by three men in dark suits, two of whom were quite tall and muscular. The third individual was much shorter and smaller boned than the others. He was also the one doing the shouting.

  “I warn you! Out of the way or heads will roll!” With that, the diminutive count walked straight into the baroness, no doubt proposing to brush the intruder aside. The count bounced off the baroness’s ample chest. The baroness did not move. Count Orlock picked himself off the floor as if he had meant to fall there all along. He quickly walked around the lady, shouting for the others to follow. The two larger men glared at the baroness as they passed as well.

  The colonel coughed apologetically. “You will have to forgive Count Orlock. He becomes frustrated with the way the grand duke conducts his affairs.”

  The baroness spread her fan so she might look over it to the military man. “I have heard rumours of this, that he surrounds himself with women?”

  Colonel Gelthelm nodded ruefully. “Our duke has gotten on in years, and claims he will spend what little time remains to him in those pursuits he truly enjoys.”

  I might have found this more astonishing if there were not so many things here already beyond belief. Still I felt compelled to ask, “How does any business get done?”

  The colonel’s expression became even more pained. “The duke will entertain certain matters of importance, so long as they are presented to him by members of the fairer sex.”

  “So my information was correct,” Holmes replied softly. For an instant, his tone reflected the detective and not the baroness.

  The colonel sighed in agreement. “It is a game—but then, can’t the same be said of all politics? But come, I must announce you to the duke.”

  He led us further down the hall to a double doorway guarded by a pair of men in grey uniforms similar to the colonel’s. They snapped to attention as we approached, then, at a single word from their colonel, they smartly reached forward and swung the two doors open wide.

  A grand salon lay beyond, filled with fifty or more finely dressed people. What struck me first about the crowd before us was that it was primarily composed of females; at a cursory glance, women seemed to outnumber men by five or six to one.

  “The duke is in his glory.” The colonel spoke to both of us in a low tone. “If you would follow me?”

  We boldly followed our guide into the room filled with women. And such women, ranging from their early twenties to perhaps four times that age; yet all shared such a richness of dress and refinement that even a world-traveled physician such as myself felt close to overwhelmed. The baroness, in her superbly tailored but sensible tweeds, seemed decidedly underdressed in such a company. Still, she glanced neither right nor left as she followed the colonel to our goal, paying no mind to the hushed conversations of the many women we passed, all of whom turned to regard the newcomer as we strode near.

  “If you might forgive us, my Duke!” the colonel called out as we approached a tight-knit group before us, with half a dozen women surrounding a white-haired man.

  The man looked distractedly away from where one lovely young lass stroked his brow.

  “Eh?” he muttered. “How dare you disturb my conversation?”

  “I do not mean to disturb you in the least,” the colonel interjected smoothly. “Rather, I wish to bring added interest to your afternoon’s socializing.” He motioned to the woman at my side. “May I present the Baroness Von Stuppell?”

  “You certainly may.” The duke freed himself from the crowd of women and approached the baroness, his face lit by the brightest of smiles. “It is an honour. You are a distant relative, I hear? It is a problem with royalty. We are all related somehow!”

  With that, he glanced at me, his voice shifting quickly from pleasure to disdain. “And who is this?”

  “Only my personal physician,” the baroness replied. A lace-covered hand rose to her brow. “Doctor, my salts!”

  The baroness swayed back and forth, nearly overcome by her surroundings. I fished in my medical bag and found a small bottle that would look appropriate to the purpose. I handed it to the baroness, who allowed one delicate sniff before returning it to me.

  “I am afraid I am quite overwhelmed to be in this place,” the baroness cried, fluttering her fan in our host’s direction. “I have so looked forward to being in your presence.”

  I feared the baroness might be overeacting, but the duke appeared quite charmed.

  “We should give our new arrival a seat!” He shooed away a nearby matron. “Baroness, if you would please?”

  She very definitely curtsied this time. “So kind.”

  “You are the sort of woman to whom I could act in no other way!” the duke declared.

  “I have heard, my good Duke, many tales of your refinement.” She giggled ever-so-slightly as she took her seat. “I must confess, however, that I did not expect to find someone so intelligent. Or so vital.”

  The duke puffed out his chest and stroked his medals. “We do not have enough contact with the London gentility. Surely, if more women like you exist beyond these walls, my embassy becomes more like a prison.”

  “More like a retreat, I would say, a beautiful place where one might find refinement”—the baroness looked at the duke with a certain directness—“if one only knew whe
re to look.”

  Colonel Gelthelm drew me aside.

  “The duke, my dear Doctor, is totally smitten. Finally, a cool, continental noblewoman of mature years who can challenge him.”

  I was struck speechless. Didn’t the colonel know the baroness’s secret? What if Holmes had not told him of the deception?

  “I can see the wisdom now in the detective’s plan,” the colonel continued in a confidential tone. “Perhaps the duke will heed our warning if it should come from such a source.”

  What could I do but nod?

  I heard a delicate cough near my shoulder. I glanced over to see a much calmer Count Orlock. He nodded pleasantly to both myself and the colonel, perhaps wishing to make up for past improprieties.

  “The duke will have a new conquest before the night is done,” he said in a voice just above a whisper.

  Perhaps, I thought, the baroness was being a bit too successful. I looked back to where she was still engaged in conversation with the duke. She made a small excuse and took a step away. The duke laughed heartily and took a step to close the gap.

  “Surely,” the baroness said demurely, “I am taking up far too much of your time.”

  But the duke only laughed again. “My time? It is our time now! The only way you shall be free of me is if you disappear from the face of the Earth!”

  “You flatter me far too greatly.” The baroness waved her fan. “I am just a poor child of the Continent, adrift in London society.”

  “No matter!” the duke rejoined. “With me you shall be very rich!”

  The baroness looked away. “A breath of air would be nice. You will excuse me while I take a look at the stars?”

  But the duke would give no ground. “The only stars I need,” he purred, “are in your eyes.”

  The baroness’s fan fluttered faster than ever before. “Doctor! My salts!”