The Secret Files of Sherlock Holmes

by June Thomson

  The Margretha was still anchored off the small island but there was no one on board and it was not until shortly before eight o’clock that we observed any movement.

  It was then that we caught sight of a figure which emerged from the coppice on top of the headland and began the descent of the cliff steps; our first glimpse of our quarry, Maurice Callister.

  Through our field glasses, it was possible to pick out certain details of his appearance. He was slight in build and dark-haired, not more than in his early thirties, and was wearing a loose cape, a curious choice of garment considering the warmth of the morning. Because of the deformed left shoulder, which was thrust higher than the right, he moved with a strange crab-like motion, awkward but surprisingly agile. With one hand, he steadied himself on the wooden rail which ran alongside the steps; in the other, he carried a picnic basket.

  Having reached the bottom of the steps, he crossed to the landing stage, climbed into the rowing-boat and, casting off, started to pull with strong, even strokes towards the lighthouse.

  Turning my glasses momentarily towards the Margretha, I observed that no one was on deck and the craft appeared deserted. I also noticed that Callister appeared uninterested in its presence, not so much as turning his head in its direction and, once he had landed on the lighthouse rock, seemed totally absorbed with mooring his own boat and scrambling up the granite boulders, basket in hand, to a flat expanse of rock which immediately faced the lighthouse entrance. Here he paused, setting the basket on the ground, and squatted down over two fishing rods which had been wedged into crevices between the rocks.

  As we watched, he reeled in the lines, baited them and cast them back into the sea before, picking up the basket, he climbed rapidly up the flight of stone steps that led up to the lighthouse door, which he unlocked. Seconds later, he had disappeared inside the tower.

  Drury consulted his pocket-watch.

  The whole action, from the time Callister had appeared on top of the cliff to the moment he had entered Penhiddy Beacon, had taken exactly twenty-three minutes and five seconds.

  ‘And, gentlemen,’ Drury added, ‘we shan’t see him again today for another twelve hours when the sun sets.’

  Drury was correct. We were awarded no further sightings of Callister although signs of activity occurred from time to time on board the Margretha. Members of its crew could be seen on deck cleaning and sorting fish, discarded scraps of which were thrown overboard to the gulls; gear was attended to, decks scrubbed. As Mycroft had observed, it all seemed perfectly innocent.

  As for ourselves, we passed the hours as best we could in reading or talking in low voices, these periods of inactivity interrupted by short walks to relieve our cramped limbs. Holmes spent most of the time either studying his book of birds or observing the living examples as they wheeled and gathered about the cliffs, marking off on the page each individual species of gull, tern or shearwater as he recognised them.

  It was past eight o’clock and the sun was just beginning to dip towards the horizon before Callister reappeared.

  In the meantime, the man whom we had observed lounging on the deck of the Margretha the previous evening had again taken up his position on the after-deck where he stood, as before, pipe in mouth and leaning his forearms on the rail, it being his habit, it appeared, to enjoy this brief respite before dusk descended.

  He seemed to take no notice, not even glancing up, as Callister emerged from the lighthouse and, locking the door, walked across to the water’s edge a little distance from the place where the rods were positioned, where he again squatted down on his heels and, opening the basket which he had set down beside him, took something from inside it which appeared to be bread.

  I use the word ‘appeared’ because his back was towards us and the folds of the loose cape he was wearing hid his hands and arms. But there was no mistaking the handfuls of white morsels which he flung into the air towards the flock of sea-birds which, as if well used to this evening ritual, had begun to gather about him screaming excitedly, some circling above his head, some diving to scoop up the fragments before they fell, while others of a more sedate and temperate nature, if such human characteristics can be attributed to birds, bobbed about in the sea close to the rocks, waiting for those pieces of bread which would inevitably fall into the water.

  The feeding over, Callister brushed the last crumbs from his hands and, still with his back to us, crossed the few feet to his fishing lines and, again squatting on his heels, reeled them in and removed two fish from the hooks which he placed inside the basket before once more casting the lines out to sea.

  Callister then picked up the basket and, clambering down the rocks to his boat, began to row back to the landing stage, thus completing the pattern of actions which Mycroft had described to us.

  The activity on board the Margretha also followed the same routine which we had observed the previous evening.

  The lounging figure remained on deck, to be joined after a short interval by another crew member who, as before, emptied a bucket overboard before lowering it on its rope and filling it with clean water, inadvertently banging it against the hull as he did so. The bucket was then hauled back on board and the man disappeared with it below deck.

  In the meantime, Callister had regained the landing stage and, having moored his boat, had begun the ascent of the cliff steps, basket in hand, to disappear shortly afterwards into the coppice of trees which surrounded ‘The Firs’.

  Shortly afterwards, Cotty arrived to take over night-watch, relieving us of our duties.

  As Holmes, Drury, McGregor and I made our way back to the cottage, I remarked, ‘Everything appeared perfectly normal. As far as I could see, nothing unusual occurred.’

  Drury agreed with me.

  ‘It is the same every weekend, doctor. Callister repeats the same actions, in the morning baiting his hooks, in the evening feeding the seabirds and removing his catch from the lines. The same can be said of the men aboard the Margretha. I cannot for the life of me see how any communication is made between Callister and its crew.’

  Holmes, who had been strangely silent during this exchange, broke in at this point to ask abruptly, ‘Can you not, Inspector?’

  Drury looked utterly astonished.

  ‘You believe some message was passed? How was that achieved?’

  ‘You observed the man on deck, the one smoking the pipe?’

  ‘Of course I did, Mr Holmes. He is there every evening when the Margretha is anchored off the island. But he does nothing except stand with his arms on the rail.’

  ‘Arm, Drury,’ Holmes corrected him. ‘This evening you may have observed that he had only one arm on the rail. The other, the one furthest from us and therefore hidden, was by his side. Then there is the man with the bucket to consider.’

  ‘But surely he is only emptying slops over the side!’ I protested.

  ‘And filling the bucket with clean water,’ Drury added.

  ‘He is certainly filling the bucket with something,’ Holmes conceded. ‘By the same token, Callister’s picnic basket is used to convey some object to and from the lighthouse. However, should we examine it, which I propose to do tomorrow morning, I dare say we shall find it contains more than a packet of ham sandwiches and some stale bread for the gulls. And speaking of which, my dear Watson and Drury, may I recommend Saint Matthew, chapter six, verse twenty-six, which advises us to observe the fowls of the air? While you are so doing, spare a thought also for the birds of the sea.’

  As he finished speaking, we reached the door of the cottage and, thrusting it open, Holmes strode ahead, leaving the rest of us, after a bewildered exchange of glances, to follow.

  Once inside, Holmes, whose mental energies seemed to be running at a high pitch of excitement, threw himself down on one of the chairs and, taking out his notebook, began writing in it at great speed. Drury and I waited in silence as his pencil raced across the paper. Then, tearing the page from the book, he tossed it across the table towa
rds us before, folding his arms, he flung himself back in his chair.

  ‘There!’ he declared. ‘That is my chain of reasoning, the final link of which is now in position. Follow that for it is the line which leads directly to the centre of Callister’s treachery.’

  With Drury leaning over my shoulder, I eagerly scanned the sheet of paper.

  It read:

  Japan

  France

  The circus

  Miss Mai’s grocery orders

  The abandoned lighthouse

  The Margretha

  The picnic basket and the bucket

  The fishing lines

  The feeding habits of seabirds, especially the species Phalacrocorax carbo.

  ‘Holmes,’ said I, laying down the sheet, ‘I have to confess it means nothing to me. It is a mere enigma.’

  ‘No enigma is ever mere to those who cannot solve it. Nor is any mystery quite as complex as one imagines. You do not follow my reasoning? It is perfectly straightforward. I set it out under those nine simple headings so that the links between them could be more easily grasped. Well! Well! You disappoint me, my dear fellow. You, too, Inspector Drury, for I can see by your expression that you also have failed to follow the logic. Nevertheless, are you prepared to act upon it, even if you do not understand it?’

  ‘Act upon it, Mr Holmes?’

  ‘Yes, act upon it! Put a series of actions into motion! You could acquire the use of a rowing-boat, could you not?’

  Drury, who seemed mesmerised by the speed of Holmes’ mercurial mind, could only nod dumbly.

  ‘And warrants for the arrest of Callister and any of his accomplices?’

  ‘They could be drawn up but would need the signature of a magistrate.’

  ‘Which no doubt could be easily arranged if the right influence is brought to bear. As could a coastguard cutter to board and search the Margretha. I suggest I telephone my brother Mycroft immediately so that he can begin to pull the necessary strings and set his puppets dancing.’

  Without any further delay, we started off on foot for the nearby village of St Auban where we parted, Holmes and Drury to the police house to use the telephone, I to the Fishermen’s Arms inn where Holmes later joined me in the privacy of the snug where our conversation could not be overheard.

  I could tell by the light in my old friend’s eyes that he had been successful.

  ‘I have spoken to Mycroft,’ he told me in a low rapid voice, ‘and everything is in hand. A coastguard cutter will be standing by tomorrow morning to board and search the Margretha on suspicion of smuggling, once we have made our own move. Drury is at this moment arranging for a rowing-boat to be placed at our disposal in a small cove near the coastguard’s cottage, out of sight of the lighthouse. This will convey us to the beacon where we shall land once Callister is safely inside his laboratory. Drury will have in his pocket warrants for Callister’s arrest and any accomplice on a charge of treason as well as an authorization to search “The Firs”. Mycroft will see to it that a magistrate in Penzance is immediately alerted by telephone and will be ready to sign the warrants later this evening.

  ‘Meanwhile, Drury will contact the police station in Portswithin to arrange for an official motor car to take him to Penzance to obtain the necessary signatures. Drury will also ask for the same car and driver to be standing by tomorrow morning at half past nine on the road outside “The Firs” to convey Callister and his accomplice to London for questioning. What a remarkable instrument the telephone is, Watson! Remember the old days and how we were forced to communicate by telegram? How cumbrous a method it now seems!’

  ‘Indeed it does, Holmes. And speaking of communicating, will you now have the goodness to explain your “chain of reasoning”?’ said I, taking from my pocket the sheet of paper on which he had written down his nine headings and laying it flat on the table in front of him.

  But Holmes was in a mood to tease.

  ‘There is barely time,’ he replied with a twinkle. ‘Inspector Drury will be joining us shortly to wait for the car to take him to Penzance. Besides, my dear fellow, think of the intellectual pleasure it will give you to cudgel your brains a little longer over its solution!’

  I was no nearer solving Holmes’ ‘chain’ when the following morning the four of us, Holmes, Drury, McGregor and I, set out once more for the hide. Nor could I understand my old friend’s evident satisfaction at what we witnessed there.

  As before, Callister descended the cliff-steps and began to row out to the lighthouse. Shortly after he landed, the man with the bucket again appeared on the deck of the Margretha and lowered it overboard to fill it with sea-water. There were only two divergences from this normal routine, as far as I could ascertain. One was the presence on deck of the pipe-smoking member of the crew who, on this occasion, was seated on an upturned fish-crate and appeared to be mending a net. The other was the time it took Callister to bait his hooks. One of the lines seemed to have become entangled for he crouched over it for five minutes or more, alternately tugging it in and paying it out, until at last it was freed. Then, reeling both of them in, he took bait from the basket, fastened it to the hooks and, casting out the lines, retreated once more inside the beacon, taking the basket with him.

  Holmes, who had been watching these activities with great absorption, let his field-glasses fall on their strap around his neck with a chuckle of pure pleasure.

  ‘We have him!’ cried he. ‘The rowing-boat is waiting for us, is it not, Drury? Then let us go! It is time we drew in our own line and landed this prize catch of ours.’

  With Drury leading the way, we set off towards the far side of the headland where a steep path descended the cliff to a small cove. Here a rowing-boat, ordered by the Inspector the previous evening, was waiting for us.

  Dismissing the constable who had brought it round from St Auban, the four of us climbed into it and, with McGregor and Holmes at the oars, we rounded the point into Penhiddy Bay.

  It was a bright clear morning with only a light breeze barely ruffling the surface of the sea, which aided our progress. Within a short time, we had passed the small island where the Margretha lay at anchor, taking care to keep well clear of the vessel although by that time the two men had gone below and the deck was deserted.

  There was no sign, either, of the coastguard cutter which had orders to keep out of sight beyond Penhiddy Point until nine o’clock, by which time, Holmes had estimated, we should have landed at the beacon and it would be too late for the crew of the Margretha either to warn Callister of our presence or to make their own escape out to sea.

  Holmes’ estimation of the time of our arrival was accurate to within a few minutes for it was five to the hour when we landed, secured our own boat close to Callister’s and, scrambling over the boulders, gained the rocky plateau on which the beacon stood. A quick dash of about twenty yards took us to the foot of the steps leading up to the door which yielded silently on well-oiled hinges and gave us access to a small vestibule.

  To our left lay a room, its door swinging loose and allowing us a glimpse of an ill-lit chamber full of discarded lumber. Ahead of us, a spiral staircase ascended, its flight of stone steps hugging close about a central pillar and disappearing into the upper reaches of the tower. We ascended these as rapidly and as quietly as we could, confident that our footsteps could not be heard above the surge of the sea beyond the walls.

  On the ascent we passed several more disused rooms until we reached a landing about halfway up the beacon where freshly whitewashed walls and a new, secure door warned us that we had arrived outside Callister’s laboratory.

  Here we halted, crowded together into the small space, while we regained our breath and then, as Holmes raised his hand, a pre-arranged signal, we flung our combined weight against the door.

  Our entry took Callister totally by surprise.

  He was bending over a workbench on the far side of the room and, as we burst in, he spun about, his face expressing shock and consternation.


  I still have in my mind an impression of that curious chamber, fitted into the rounded tower of the lighthouse and therefore possessing semicircular walls against which a number of curved lockers and cupboards had been built with great ingenuity.

  Facing us was a window looking seawards, its upper light open allowing plenty of air and sunlight to flood in and giving an incomparable view of a vast expanse of sky and ocean until they fused together into the haze of the distant horizon. Through it, I also caught a glimpse of the coastguard cutter, which had rounded Penhiddy Point and was bearing down on the Margretha.

  Apart from these fleeting impressions, I have no clear recollection of what else the room contained or what objects lay scattered about on the bench where Callister was standing, except that they included lengths of wire, parts of an engine or dynamo and several open books.

  It was Callister I recall in greatest detail, especially the awkward lurch of his misshapen shoulder as he swung round to face us. But more memorable even than that was his head which, because of his small, twisted frame, seemed larger than normal. It was noble in its features, particularly the huge, brilliant eyes and the high arch of his forehead, distinguished by a deep widow’s peak of dark hair which gave the impression of a curious cap, such as medieval scholars wore, fitting close about the head.

  Beside him on the bench stood the picnic basket, a large wicker receptacle fastened with two leather straps, near which lay several small squares of fine, oiled silk.

  Callister, who had recovered some of his composure after the first shock of our precipitate entry, appeared quite calm as Holmes and Drury stepped forward, Drury to make the arrest, Holmes to search the bench and to remove one of the oiled silk squares and a little tube of paper, in shape not unlike a small, squat cigar, which he unrolled and, having read its contents quickly, passed to Drury.

  ‘I think you will find in there all the evidence you need for the charge of treason, Inspector. The rest,’ said he, laying his hand on the picnic basket, ‘is contained in here.’