The Secret Files of Sherlock Holmes

by June Thomson

  I shall be in London between November 1st and the 20th, staying at the Desborough Hotel, Strand, and should be most grateful if your reply could be addressed to me there.

  It was signed ‘Jonas T. Vanderbilt, Professor of History’.

  ‘You wrote to him and arranged a visit?’ Holmes inquired of Sir Edgar.

  ‘Indeed I did. I sent a letter to his London hotel, suggesting he should come on November 10th by the same 10.15 train that you caught. But you are surely not implying that he was behind the burglary? He seemed most respectable. Why, I even sent the carriage to meet him at the station!’

  ‘What was his appearance?’

  ‘He was a tall, elderly, white-haired gentleman; a little stooped in the shoulders; spoke, of course, with an American accent and was highly knowledgeable about Tudor architecture.’

  ‘He was shown over the house?’

  ‘Not all of it but, yes, I conducted him round the main rooms, including this one, the dining-room where we had luncheon, and some of the bedrooms. He was most grateful for the opportunity and wrote me a charming letter of thanks.’

  Sir Edgar broke off at this point as the butler entered to announce that Inspector Biffen had arrived and was waiting in the hall. Having conducted us there, Sir Edgar introduced us to the man before excusing himself on the grounds of some matter of urgent estate business which had to be completed before luncheon.

  Biffen, who was accompanied by a police constable, was a lean, narrow-eyed and thin-lipped man who clearly resented Holmes’ presence and mine for he shook hands stiffly, remarking in a sneering manner, ‘Sir Edgar has every right to call in whom he pleases, Mr Holmes. But for all your reputation, you will not have any success with this case. The clues are too few. In fact, I have this very morning sent a telegram to Scotland Yard, requesting assistance. I am expecting a reply at any moment. Not that we have been exactly idle. Only half an hour ago, my men, continuing the search of the gardens under my express orders, have discovered the place where the villains entered the grounds. I doubt if you would have found it.’

  ‘Probably not, Inspector,’ Holmes agreed suavely. ‘I should like, however, to be shown where it is.’

  With bad grace, Biffen conceded and we followed him across a large sweep of lawn, surrounded by carefully tended herbaceous borders, to a shrubbery at the far side of which he halted in front of a high brick wall.

  ‘That’s where they got in, Mr Holmes,’ Biffen announced with an unpleasantly triumphant air. ‘You can see where the ivy has been disturbed on the top of the coping.’

  ‘But how’, Holmes inquired, ‘did they manage to scale the wall? It is all of fifteen feet high.’

  Biffen’s smug smile immediately faded, to be replaced by a much more chastened expression. It was quite clear that the question had not occurred to him. The mystery, however, was soon solved, at least to Holmes’ satisfaction.

  The constable was despatched to fetch a ladder and, when he returned with it, Holmes leaned it against the brickwork and, mounting the rungs, carefully parted the strands of ivy before examining the stone coping with the aid of his powerful pocket lens.

  ‘Most satisfactory!’ he remarked, descending and dusting off his hands. ‘As I had expected, Watson, it is yet another example of the high degree of efficiency with which this pair of thieves operates. But come! We must return to the house and complete our examination of the scene of the crime.’

  Deliberately ignoring Biffen, he set off through the shrubbery although, once we were out of earshot of the Inspector, he remarked to me in a low voice, ‘Judging by the two parallel marks in the coping, our villains used a rope ladder fitted with hooks. By such means, it would be a matter of a few minutes for them to enter and leave the grounds. I wonder if Biffen will come to the same conclusion? I admit I could not resist the temptation to goad him a little by withholding the information. He is such an insufferable fellow.’

  He turned to look back and, following his glance, I saw Biffen hastily scrambling up the ladder, shouting to the constable who remained below to hold it steady. At the sight, Holmes gave a chuckle of sardonic amusement.

  On our return to Whitestone Manor, Holmes resumed his minute scrutiny of the cabinet locks, finally laying down his lens with the remark, ‘Whoever picked these was an expert, Watson. Apart from a few tiny scratches, the brass escutcheons are barely marked.’

  At this juncture, luncheon was announced and we joined Sir Edgar in the dining-room where our host informed us that only minutes earlier Inspector Biffen had received an answer to his telegram, brought from Great Walden by a constable on a bicycle, its message being that a Scotland Yard detective would be arriving on the two minutes past three train from London.

  ‘Did Biffen happen to mention the name of this Inspector?’ Holmes inquired with an offhand air.

  ‘A Letrade or Lestrade,’ Sir Edgar replied.

  Holmes exchanged a glance with me.

  ‘In that case, Sir Edgar,’ he said in his blandest manner, ‘I think it better that Dr Watson and I should leave before he arrives. We should not wish to cramp the style of the official police. Besides, we have completed our investigation here for the time being. No doubt you will be sending the carriage to meet this Scotland Yard detective at the station? Then, to save a double journey, Dr Watson and I shall take the opportunity of travelling in it to Great Walden.’

  ‘But the next train to London does not leave until twelve minutes past four!’ Sir Edgar protested. ‘You will have a wait of nearly an hour.’

  ‘The time will not be wasted,’ Holmes assured him. ‘There are several inquiries I wish to make in Great Walden before returning to town.’

  ‘What inquiries, Holmes?’ I asked when, the carriage having arrived, we had taken leave of Sir Edgar and seated ourselves inside it.

  ‘At the George inn, my good Watson.’

  ‘Oh, yes! I remember now you asked the coachman when we first arrived which was the best hostelry in the town and he recommended the George. At the time, I wondered why you should be interested.’

  ‘Is it not obvious, Watson? We have already deduced that it is more than likely that our villains travelled down by train from London. As it is also highly probable that they would not have arrived on a late train which would have few passengers, thus making their presence conspicuous, we may further deduce that they would have chosen one which arrived in the late afternoon or early evening. Now even burglars have to eat, so I have assumed that they would have dined somewhere in Great Walden. Hence the inquiries I propose to make at the George.’

  ‘Wait a moment, Holmes,’ I put in, perceiving a flaw in his chain of reasoning. ‘Why are you so convinced they dined at the George and not at some other hostelry in the town?’

  ‘Because, my dear fellow, it is the best, as the coachman indicated, and Vanderbilt, as we have learned from Sir Edgar’s evidence, has a taste for the good things of life. No man who can appreciate a glass of ’67 port is likely to dine anywhere except at the finest inn a town can boast of.’

  The George, where on Holmes’ instructions the carriage deposited us before continuing its journey to the railway station to meet Inspector Lestrade’s train, was a large, well-appointed inn, probably dating back to the days of the stage-coach, if not earlier.

  Inside the hostelry, Holmes sought out the head-waiter, inquiring of him, after a half-crown had exchanged hands, about any gentlemen who had dined there on the Friday evening, the night before the burglary at Whitestone Manor.

  ‘There were two of them,’ Holmes concluded, ‘one of whom was carrying quite a large bag, such as a portmanteau.’

  Yes, the head-waiter did indeed remember two gentlemen dining together that evening, one a tall, well-built man with a brown beard and eyeglasses. His companion who was much shorter, with a pale face and a dark moustache, had been in charge of a carpet-bag.

  They had arrived at about quarter to eight and had left shortly after ten o’clock, the taller of the two, who had pai
d the bill and had done all the talking, announcing that they intended to catch the 10.20 train to Ipswich.

  ‘Although I doubt if that was their destination,’ Holmes remarked as we set off on foot for the railway station.

  Here, further inquiries of the porter established the fact that the down train from Liverpool Street station arrived at Great Walden at seven thirty-five on a weekday evening, although the porter had not remarked on any individual passengers, there being too many arrivals.

  ‘And what is the first train to London on a Saturday morning?’ Holmes asked.

  ‘The twelve minutes past five,’ the porter replied.

  After further questioning on Holmes’ part, we learned that only a few individuals had travelled on that train the previous Saturday, among whom had been two men, one a tall, clean-shaven, grey-haired gentleman, the other much shorter, dressed like a working-man in a cap and corduroy trousers and carrying a carpet-bag which the porter had assumed contained the tools of his trade. But, the porter added, they were not together and had stood at opposite ends of the platform as they waited for the London train.

  At this point, our own train arrived and Holmes and I climbed into a first class carriage where my old friend threw himself down on the seat with a chuckle of satisfaction.

  ‘A most satisfactory day’s work, Watson! We have uncovered a great deal of useful and pertinent information and shall still be back in time for dinner.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it has been successful,’ I replied.

  ‘“Suppose”, my dear fellow? There is no “suppose” about it! We are now in possession of a large number of facts, particularly those concerning Professor Jonas T. Vanderbilt, which no doubt is an alias but which will serve as his name until such time as we discover his real one. Not only is he a master of disguise but he is a man who plans these burglaries in meticulous detail. He has even gone to the trouble to have some writing-paper printed with the University of Chicago’s letter-heading. You noticed, I assume, how he changed his appearance from the elderly, white-haired professor who visited Sir Edgar last November to the gentleman with the brown beard who dined at the George, and again to the grey-haired, clean-shaven passenger who caught the early train to London? Three separate disguises designed, of course, to throw the police off the scent! He and his accomplice were also careful not to make the return journey together but appeared to be travelling separately. But height is less easily concealed and Vanderbilt is invariably described as being a tall man. He is almost certainly the brains behind these burglaries. His companion, who is much shorter, is probably what is referred to among the criminal fraternity as a yeggman.’*

  ‘A yeggman?’

  ‘Have you not heard the name before? It is a slang term of uncertain etymology which means an itinerant burglar or safe-breaker who travels from “drum” to “drum” committing the actual felony. A “drum”, by the way, Watson, in case that word is also unfamiliar to you, is a house or building, in this case the premises selected for the robbery.’

  ‘Yes, I am aware of that, Holmes,’ I put in.

  ‘We also know’, Holmes continued, ignoring my interpolation, ‘what equipment the yeggman brought with him. Apart from the usual cracksman’s tools of a glass-cutter and a set of “bettys” – picklocks to you, Watson – it included a rope ladder. It was for this reason I inquired at the George about a man carrying a large bag. Even rolled up, a rope ladder is quite bulky. The bag must also have contained the various wigs and moustaches, as well as the changes of clothing, with which they altered their appearances.

  ‘As for their movements on the night of the burglary, we can establish these in such detail that it is almost as if we are treading on their heels! They travelled down from London on the 7.35 train, dined at the George and then probably made their way to Whitestone Manor across the fields by a footpath. I noticed a sign for such a path on the drive from the station. Having gained entry to the grounds of the manor, they waited until all the lights of the house were extinguished before, donning their felt slippers, they effected their entrance through the drawing-room window and quietly helped themselves to those art treasures which Vanderbilt had already selected on his previous visit to the house last November.

  ‘On the same occasion, Vanderbilt was shown over the upper floor so he would have know exactly which bedrooms were occupied by Sir Edgar and the servants. He would also have had the opportunity to ascertain whether or not a guard dog was kept on the premises. Once the burglary was successfully completed, they then changed their appearances and walked back across the fields to Great Walden station in time to catch the 5.12 train to London. There is no doubt about any of that. The question is – was a third man involved?’

  ‘A third man, Holmes? But there can’t have been. There were only two glasses.’

  ‘I do not mean at the actual burglary, Watson. I am speaking of an agent of Vanderbilt and his yeggman who was responsible for the disposal of the art treasures once they were stolen. Alternatively, there may have been no middleman and Vanderbilt sold the objects directly to a collector with whom he had already struck up a deal.’

  ‘You are surely not implying that the items were stolen to order?’

  ‘It is not entirely impossible. You will recall the theft some time ago of the Fragonard from the Walpole collection which was purloined on the specific directions of Monsieur Henri de la Bertauche, the escargot millionaire, to add to his own collection of that artist’s work. We may be dealing with a similar situation here. Of course, if that is the case, the heirlooms can never be placed on public display but will have to remain for the private delectation only of whoever arranged their thefts. We may discover the truth when we apprehend Vanderbilt and his accomplice.’

  ‘You sound very sure they will be arrested.’

  ‘I have every confidence, Watson.’

  To tease him a little, I remarked, ‘Now that Inspector Lestrade has been called in on the case, you may find our old friend from Scotland Yard will beat you to the finishing post, Holmes. After all, if the evidence is there for you to uncover, there is nothing to prevent Lestrade from coming to the same conclusions.’

  ‘But he will fail to make the right connections, Watson. Take my word on that. I have studied Lestrade’s methods and I know exactly how his mind works. He may indeed uncover some of the facts of the Whitestone Manor burglary but he will not look further afield to the other similar thefts which have occurred over the past two years. It is one of the greatest weaknesses of our police force as it is at present organised. It is too fragmented. Each county constabulary is isolated within its own boundaries. They are like gamekeepers, concerned only with what happens inside their own little estates while the criminals, such as Vanderbilt and his yeggman, who recognise no such bounds, move freely between them. One would think the railways had not been invented! What is needed is some central intelligence agency to which each police force would send details of all major crimes that occur in their area. I know if I were ever appointed head of Scotland Yard – which Heaven forbid! – I should make the establishment of such a bureau my first priority.

  ‘It is because I have collected up all the relevant data that I am confident of bringing Vanderbilt and his accomplice to justice. Indeed, Watson, if you care to call in at Baker Street on Friday afternoon, I shall lay those facts before you. You can arrange to be free at half past two, can you not, my dear fellow? I shall be most disappointed if you deny me that pleasure.’

  It was difficult to refuse Holmes at any time, more particularly when he was in such a sprightly and good-humoured mood and, as he had requested, I returned to Baker Street at the appointed time to be met in the hall by a harassed-looking Mrs Hudson who, on my inquiring if anything were the matter, burst out with uncharacteristic agitation for one usually so calm, ‘It’s Mr Holmes, Dr Watson! He’s been up and down to the kitchen for the past two days asking for baking-powder and rabbits’ feet and goodness knows what else besides. And saucers! I have hardly a clean on
e left in the house. And that isn’t all. He’s asked the maid, the page-boy, even the postman, to pick up those little glass slides he puts into his microscope. He says it is part of a scientific experiment but it makes it very difficult for me to carry out my work.’

  I thought I could guess what lay behind the experiment although I admit some of the ingredients puzzled me and, on entering the sitting-room, I inquired, ‘What’s all this I hear about baking-powder and rabbits’ feet, Holmes?’

  Holmes, who was stooping his long, thin frame over his scientific bench, looked round at my query.

  ‘Rabbit’s foot, my dear Watson,’ he corrected me. ‘Singular, not plural. I fear Mrs Hudson has been confiding in you. An excellent woman in many ways but, like all her sex, she prefers the routine of daily life to an exploration of the esoteric. And not just baking-powder either. Come over here and see what I have been doing.’

  The bench was strewn with a motley collection of objects. In addition to the microscope slides laid end to end, there was a small regiment of saucers containing different substances amongst which I recognised soot, cigar ash, powdered charcoal and flour. The rabbit’s foot was also in evidence together with a selection of brushes which included Holmes’ own badger-hair shaving-brush. In pride of place in the centre of the bench stood the two port glasses from Whitestone Manor.

  ‘First of all, examine the glasses through the lens,’ Holmes continued, handing me that object. ‘You will observe that three fingermarks are clearly discernible on their surfaces, on one the imprint of a thumb and a little finger, on the other a second thumb impression. Do not trouble with the other marks. They are too blurred to be of any use.’

  ‘Yes, I can indeed see them!’ I exclaimed, surprised to discover how clearly the prints, which had been dusted over with a white powder, stood out against the glass. It was possible to discern the patterns of each individual mark.