by June Thomson
‘Is there a possibility that Maurice Callister passes on the secrets from inside the laboratory itself?’
‘No, my dear Sherlock, there is not. We learned that lesson from the Cadogan West affair. All the plans of the submarine are kept in a safe to which only Jeffreys has the key; not that this need discourage Callister. He has a phenomenal gift of almost total recall and could easily memorise details of any of the designs he was working on. Two of Inspector Drury’s own men have been placed inside the laboratory and monitor all Callister’s movements. No one is allowed inside the building without a pass and, as the only telephone is in the main office where one of Drury’s men acts as chief clerk, Callister cannot use that to communicate with anyone outside.’
Holmes observed drily, ‘You would appear to have stopped up all the earths. How is it possible that your fox still manages to elude you?’
‘Through the only bolt-hole which is left open to him, I assume. Every Friday evening for the past few months, Callister has been in the habit of travelling down by train to Cornwall, returning to town on Sunday. And no,’ Mycroft added, anticipating his brother’s query, ‘he communicates with no one on the way, either at Paddington station or on the train itself. Drury’s men who travel with him make sure of that. While in Cornwall, he stays at a small villa, “The Firs”, which his father, Sir Douglas, had built on his own retirement and where he lived until his death.
‘“The Firs” is remote, isolated on top of a rocky headland, called Penhiddy Point, on the north coast of Cornwall and some distance from the nearest habitation. The whole area was notorious in the past for shipwrecks and the property includes an abandoned lighthouse, known as Penhiddy Beacon, which fell into disuse some time ago when a new lighthouse was built on another, more convenient headland. A set of steps has been cut into the cliff, giving access to a small landing stage from which the lighthouse can be reached by rowing-boat in calm weather.
‘I give you these details because, since Callister has been spending each weekend in the villa, he appears to have set up his own laboratory in the lighthouse, part of which was converted by his father into a studio. Drury’s men have observed him taking equipment and supplies there by boat and, when he is in residence at “The Firs”, he spends most of the day at Penhiddy Beacon.
‘There are two mysteries surrounding Callister’s trips to Cornwall which make me believe he uses them to communicate with his German friends. The first concerns an elderly housekeeper, a Eurasian woman, Miss Mai, who lives permanently at ‘The Firs”. She is an old family servant of the Callisters, having acted as ayah to the two boys when they were young and later as nurse to Sir Douglas during his last illness. The enigma involves her weekly grocery orders which are delivered to the house from the nearest town, Portswithin, a small fishing port, by the suppliers and shopkeepers. The point is, Sherlock, the quantities of food are too great for one elderly lady to consume, even allowing for the fact that Callister spends every weekend there. We suspect another person must be living permanently at the villa in addition to Miss Mai but no one has seen who it is, not even Drury’s men who have acted on occasion as delivery men. Nor are any messages passed to and from the villa in the baskets. They are vigorously searched and there is no reason to suspect the local butcher, baker or candlestick-maker, all loyal Cornishmen, of being German spies.
‘The second mystery concerns a fishing-boat, the Margretha, which since the time Callister has been kept under observation has been seen close to the headland at irregular intervals; not every weekend. I stress that point. Having spent several days out at sea at the fishing-grounds off the Irish coast, it anchors near a small, uninhabited island near Penhiddy Point, less than an eighth of a mile from the lighthouse. Drury’s men have kept it under close observation both day and night but the activities on board appear to be perfectly innocent. The crew spend the time sorting fish, cleaning decks, mending nets. As far as can be ascertained, no communication of any nature passes between Callister and the men on board the boat; no signals; no flashing lights; no secret rendezvous at night.’
‘And yet you believe that this boat is the means by which Callister passes details of the submarine plans to von Schlabitz-Hoecker?’
‘I am convinced of it. Its mere presence there is suspicious.’
‘Could you not find an excuse to board and search her?’
‘The boat is Dutch-registered and we do not wish to take such action until we have positive evidence of Callister’s guilt. But you take my point, Sherlock? It would be easy enough to pass on any papers to Germany once the boat returns to Holland.’
‘What activity does Callister engage in while the boat is anchored off the island?’
‘Exactly the same as every other weekend when it is not there. He rows out to the lighthouse quite early in the morning, taking a picnic basket with him, enters the beacon and presumably spends the day working in his laboratory. In the evening, he re-emerges, feeds the seagulls, and attends to his fishing-lines before rowing back to the steps and returning to “The Firs”. His routine never varies.’
Holmes’ lean features took on an expression of even keener attention.
‘Fishing-lines!’ he exclaimed.
‘He has set up two fixed rods on the lighthouse rocks which he baits in the mornings when he first arrives. Later, before leaving, he examines them, removes any fish from the hooks and places them in the basket. That is all. I assume the catch is cooked and eaten that evening for supper. You consider the fishing-lines might be significant?’
‘It is possible. In so unusual a case, any fact could be relevant. What other information can you give me about Callister?’
‘Very little. As I have said, the man is a recluse. However, last summer he broke his usual pattern of behaviour and requested a month’s leave from the laboratory, during which he visited France. Jeffreys acquainted me with this fact when we were building up a dossier on Callister. It seems he sent picture postcards to Jeffreys’ young daughter for her album from each town where he stayed. If you wish, I could send Callister’s file to Baker Street this evening by Government messenger.’
‘Pray do. When a man of strict habits breaks the pattern …’
‘… one has cause for suspicion,’ Mycroft Holmes agreed. ‘Quite so. Am I to assume from your reply that you are willing to take up the investigation in Cornwall? Yesterday, I received a report that the Margretha has been observed fishing off the Irish coast which leads one to believe that on Friday she will anchor once again in Penhiddy Bay. I am much too fixed in my own habits to go scrambling about on cliff-tops. Besides, there is an urgent meeting with the Japanese Overseas Trade Minister I must attend to.’
‘I shall certainly accept. The case has some remarkable and challenging features. I take it the invitation includes my old friend, Dr Watson?’
‘Of course, my dear boy! Who would dare separate you? You are the Castor and Pollux of the investigative world. And now that I have your acceptance, which, knowing your disposition, I must confess I had expected, let us attend to the practicalities. Here are two first-class return tickets for the morning express from Paddington on Friday. By catching this train, you will avoid Callister who always travels down in the late afternoon. Inspector Drury will meet you at Penzance with an official car and will escort you to his headquarters which he has set up in an old coastguard cottage. Take only a minimum of luggage with you but be certain to pack your field-glasses. They will be most necessary. Should there be any difficulties you may contact me by telephone from the police house at St Auban, a small village only a short distance away. Rest assured that you have full Government support for any action you may undertake. However, I should warn you that I want Callister taken cleanly, with proof positive of his guilt which will satisfy a court of law. Any mistake will be seized on by the Opposition, especially the disarmament lobby led by Hugo Callister, to discredit the Government, which could bring about its downfall. The Prime Minister has personally requested me to stress
that point.’
‘I understand,’ said Holmes quietly. ‘There is one question I should like to ask before Watson and I take our leave. Is Maurice Callister aware he is under observation?’
‘Probably so; he is, after all, highly intelligent. But he shows no sign. It is possible that he considers his method of passing the secret plans to Germany so clever as to be undetectable.’
‘He seems a worthy opponent. There is nothing else you can tell me about him?’
‘Only that he once had an interest in the circus, a hobby he appears to have abandoned since he began work at the Woolwich laboratory. You will see it is remarked on in his dossier which I shall send round to your rooms tonight.’
I was not present when Callister’s file was delivered at Baker Street, Holmes and I having parted outside the Diogenes Club to return separately to our different lodgings, and I did not, in fact, see my old friend again until we met at Paddington station on Friday morning to catch the express train to Penzance.
However, the contents of the dossier were clearly in the forefront of Holmes’ mind, for no sooner had we settled ourselves in our first-class compartment than he remarked, ‘The circus, Watson. What does that word convey to you?’
‘Clowns. Acrobats. Trapeze-artistes.’
‘Ah!’ said he thoughtfully. ‘And Chateaurenard, Claircourt and Montcerre?’
‘Nothing at all, Holmes; except they sound French.’
‘Quite so, my dear fellow. They are all small provincial towns in the Midi which Callister visited last summer. A strange choice, would you not agree?’ Then with an apparent change of subject, he continued, ‘I have spent two days researching into Sir Douglas Callister’s monographs at the Reading Room of the British Museum. What a remarkable family they are! Their interests cover so many widely differing subjects. Noh drama! Pacifism! Submarines! Such intellectual curiosity and such curious intellects!’
With that, he opened the small portmanteau he had brought with him and took out a book, the title of which he showed me. It was British Birds of Coasts, Estuaries and Lakes.
‘And now, Watson,’ he announced, ‘I shall satisfy my own intellectual curiosity.’
‘You are interested in birds, Holmes?’
‘As we are to stay on the north Cornish coast, it seemed an apt subject.’
His book, the morning newspapers and exchanges of conversation on general matters kept us both occupied until the train arrived at Penzance, where we alighted and where we were met by Drury, the tall, ruddy-faced Scotland Yard Inspector, dressed in shabby, unofficial tweeds, who conducted us to the waiting car.
The journey by road across the peninsula to the north coast took us through some of the most beautiful of English scenery until we reached our destination, a narrow, high-banked road about a quarter of a mile past the small village of St Auban.
‘We shall have to approach the coastguard’s cottage on foot, gentlemen,’ Drury informed us, leading the way towards a high-stepped stile. ‘The road, which continues on round the headland, passes Callister’s house and leads eventually to the small fishing town of Portswithin, about three miles away. If you would care to follow me.’
Having climbed the stile, we found ourselves on a stony track which led across a field of rough grass and which gradually grew more steep and enclosed. Low trees and bushes, stunted by the wind, grew on either side between rocky outcrops, obscuring the view although from time to time we caught glimpses of the ocean glittering ahead of us.
The cottage, a small, single-storey building of stone, stood in a natural clearing between these rocks and at first sight appeared derelict, its slate roof partly collapsed and all its windows closely boarded in.
To avoid being observed, we entered through a rear door into a small room, once a kitchen, judging by the rusted cooking range standing in the fireplace opening, and from there Drury showed us into the main living-room at the front of the building where he introduced us to Sergeant Cotty, a heavily built and moustached man, who was in charge of the night watch.
The introductions over, we were free to examine the room which would be our living quarters for the next two days. Because of the screens covered with black felt which had been nailed over the window to prevent even the smallest crack of light from being seen, the interior was lit by two hurricane lamps which hung from the ceiling. Folding canvas beds, of the type I had been used to sleeping on when serving in India, were placed in a row against the further wall, while a wooden table and four upright chairs occupied the centre of the room.
The Inspector seemed as proud of these living arrangements as a new bride, showing us the simple kitchen, comprising a paraffin stove and some boxes for storing food and cooking utensils which had been set up in one corner, and the washing facilities, a tin basin placed on top of a crate in the small rear room. Fresh drinking water, he informed us, was still available from an outside pump.
I had the impression that Drury who, as far as I knew, had been born and brought up in London, was enjoying the primitive and challenging nature of his new surroundings.
It was with equal pride that later, when we had stowed our belongings, he demonstrated to us the observation post which had been set up at the edge of the cliff and where he introduced us to the third member of his team, Sergeant McGregor, a keen and alert-looking young officer.
The post itself was a dense clump of furze bushes, the interior of which on the landward side had been carefully cut away to form a horseshoe-shaped hide or cover, such as are used on grouse moors to conceal the guns. Crates served as seats for whoever was keeping watch.
‘Comfortable, isn’t it?’ Drury asked, his eyes positively sparkling with delight at the simple ingenuity of these arrangements. ‘Quite a little home from home!’
Seated on these boxes, we had a clear view on the seaward side through small gaps in the bushes of the vista which lay before us. Immediately in front, a mere few feet away, the cliff plunged precipitously down to a narrow shore, composed of tumbled rocks over which the waves broke in scatters of white foam. Beyond lay a small, semicircular bay, less than half a mile in width and surrounded by more cliffs which swept round to form on the far side another headland – Penhiddy Point, as Drury informed us – which extended out to sea like an arm at the end of which stretched a long, bony forefinger of rock. This finger seemed to be pointing to an isolated outcrop which thrust itself up from the waves, its irregular and broken outline crowned by the tall, white, slender tower of a lighthouse which stood sentinel over the entrance to the bay.
I could understand the necessity for its presence for the surface of the cove was scattered with granite needles and small, submerged islets, their presence only apparent from the surge of water and spray as the sea broke over them. Any ship attempting to seek shelter in the bay, especially after dark, would run the risk of foundering on any one of these hazards.
A larger island lay between us and Penhiddy Point although its total area could not have been more than a few dozen square yards. It rose to a high peak and appeared to be inhabited solely by seabirds which swooped and circled above it or gathered in squabbling groups on every ledge and crevice, the rocks whitened by their droppings.
Anchored on the leeward side of this island was a fishing-boat. With the aid of our field glasses, we were able to read the name, Margretha, painted on its hull and to distinguish two members of its crew, one inside the wheelhouse, the other lounging on the after-deck, his arms folded along the rail as he smoked a short pipe, apparently enjoying the last of the evening sunlight.
As we watched, a third man appeared on deck to empty a bucket over the side which he then filled by lowering it into the sea and hauling it back on board by means of a rope. Having done this, he disappeared below deck.
On Drury’s instructions, we next turned our glasses towards Penhiddy Point and to a small coppice of densely planted trees on its summit which marked the position of ‘The Firs’ although the house itself was hidden by the branches.
Also just visible in the low dazzle of the setting run was a further headland, Portswithin Point, stretching further out to sea where the new lighthouse had been built to replace the old Penhiddy Beacon.
As the light faded, we returned to the cottage, leaving McGregor to complete his watch. Here a meal had been prepared for us by Cotty who left shortly afterwards to relieve McGregor at his post.
Callister, Drury told us, would arrive later that night from London and we could expect no further action until the following morning when our suspect would begin his two-day visit and our own surveillance of him would start in earnest.
We were wakened at half past six the next morning by Drury who was evidently still enjoying his rustic surroundings and who, by the light of the lamps, was preparing a huge fried breakfast of sausages, eggs and bacon for us on top of the paraffin stove.
Once that was eaten, the four of us, Holmes, Drury, McGregor and I, emerged from the lamplit cottage into the full brilliance of an early July morning, a little dazed by the sunlight which glittered on every surface of rock, leaf and grass-stem and especially on the wide, restless expanse of the sea which, like a vast prism with a million facets, flashed the light back at us, forcing us to shade our eyes as we made our way to the observation post. Here we relieved Cotty who, having assured us that there was nothing to report, returned to the cottage, leaving the four of us to take his place inside the hide.