The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part III

by David Marcum

  “Your men have blown it now!” I remarked to Lestrade.

  “Not at all,” replied Holmes. “The plan went exactly as I had specified. One moment, and I shall be back.” With a few steps, Holmes was inside the caravan, the tails of his long coat flying behind him; in a second he was back at our side.

  “I have seen all I need to see,” he said, smiling.

  “Will you please tell me what on earth is going on?” asked Horburgh, evidently still far from convinced.

  “Yes. You have witnessed the arrest of the culprits you have been looking for since this morning. Your men should have the two acrobats under control by now, and all that remains is for us to repair to the professor’s, and I shall explain everything to you concerning this interesting little diversion.”

  But a severe shock awaited us on arrival at the professor’s cottage. Sergeant Canterville, who had been left in charge, came rushing out to meet his superior.

  “You’re not goin’ to believe this, sir,” he gasped, “but a second person claimin’ to be the Patriarch arrived here half an hour ago!”

  “What?” cried Horburgh. “What have you done with this impostor?”

  ““I have him securely handcuffed and under lock and key in the professor’s kitchen.”

  “Good man. Well, Mr. Holmes,” said Horburgh with a sarcastic glance at my friend, “how does this fit in to your theory?”

  “Confirms it in every respect,” Holmes replied with a smile. “Indeed, only a few hours ago I predicted the same - I told you, did I not, that the Patriarch would turn up in the fullness of time?”

  “With respect sir,” said Canterville, “this is definitely not the same man who arrived last night!”

  “Of course it isn’t - I never said that it was. It is the real Patriarch, though, and I should lose no time in releasing him if you wish to avoid a charge of wrongful arrest. I suppose I ought to say the same regarding Captain Tierney, though I am inclined to think that a night in the cells will do him no harm whatsoever. Now lead on, Inspector.”

  It took some time to explain the train of recent events to the newly arrived and astonished Father Philxenous, particularly as to how he received a telegram informing him of his own disappearance; but once the entire party was seated in the professor’s drawing room, Holmes began his recapitulation.

  “I am afraid, Professor, you were taken badly in - the person who appeared last night, claiming to be the Patriarch, was the thief himself,” he said. “It is astonishing how stage make up and a false beard can take one in. It is highly likely that someone had intercepted your mail and knew of the arrangements between yourself and Father Philxenous. That person could not have been from the Coptic community; the reason will be clear in a moment. It was obvious to me from the outset that the escape of a thief, under the conditions described to me, was completely impossible. I had wondered at first whether the thief had got out through the skylight, but the idea that he could also take along an unwilling hostage was, frankly, ludicrous. You will recall the photograph of the footprints - the strange pattern? The thief was not drunk but was-”

  “Walking backwards!” I ejaculated, as the realisation dawned upon me.

  “Indeed, Watson. I deduced that what happened was that the thief, who was probably Dino Eusebi, once he had stolen the document, opened the window, climbed down the roan pipe, and walked backwards towards the fence. You will recall my initial difficulty in establishing the direction in which the bushes had been pushed, but it soon became clear that the person had gone away from, not towards, the house. Incidentally, as Watson would tell you, the involvement of acrobats in burglaries is by no means uncommon: cases in Hillerød, Denmark in eighty-four, and in Kensington in ninety-two spring to mind. In the latter case, the Eusebi brothers were actually amongst the suspects, but Inspector Gregson lacked the proof to bring the case to court, and, as it happened, I was in Tibet at the time, and therefore unable to assist. On Monday afternoon, Luigi had been lying in wait for the genuine Patriarch at the station, in order to waylay him. You will recall Merryweather’s evidence of the man loitering in the Waiting Room. Of course, the real Father Philxenous never turned up, because he had arranged to come on the day after Coptic Easter - Pascha - which, as you know Professor, is next Monday, not yesterday.”

  The Patriarch nodded in silence.

  “Hence my deduction concerning the person who intercepted the mail. I have no doubt that it was an accomplice of the Eusebis, probably in the sorting office at Mount Pleasant, for the district is full of Italians. So, Inspector, I am afraid that Captain Tierney, despite his behaviour, was something of a red herring. The words which made up the ransom note - which was, of course, entirely spurious and cleverly designed to mislead us - were cut, not from the Army and Navy Illustrated as we initially thought, but from the Showmen’s Gazette, of which I attempted to make you a present. I obtained it from the Ringmaster, a Mr. Bartram who, I should add, is not only entirely innocent in this matter, but has also now lost two acrobats, a strongman, and a dancer, and will probably have to close down. The Showmen’s Gazette, I observed, contained an advertisement by that gentleman, as well as photographs of the Eusebis, whom I recognised immediately. There was also an article on the plans to develop Battersea Fields as a pleasure garden. Had you read it, you would have discovered such words as ‘Patrick’, ‘matriarch’, ‘carriage drive’, and so on - I need hardly elaborate on their significance. Obviously the Eusebi brothers cut their note out of this.

  “I reasoned that the real Patriarch would come here immediately he saw the telegram saying that he had gone missing, and I knew that we should see him soon enough. Thus my advice to you to call off your search. Incidentally, I suppose you will all have deduced that that Dino’s sprained ankle was entirely spurious. In fact, this is his walking stick which I took the liberty of rescuing for you, Inspector, as you will no doubt need it as evidence for the trial. It is an unusual specimen, quite an antique in itself. Heavy, too. I should not like to receive a blow from this. Would you like to examine it, professor?”

  Beasley took hold of the walking stick and examined it, more, it seemed to me, out of politeness than from genuine interest, for it was clear that one aspect of the case still perturbed him.

  “Now, is there any detail which I have missed?” asked my friend finally.

  “Where is the Scroll?” Lestrade and Horburgh cried almost in unison.

  “The Scroll is in this house,” my friend replied with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

  “But where?” asked Father Philxenous who had been following the conversation silently.

  “It is in the professor’s possession,” replied my friend.

  “My dear Mr. Holmes,” began the professor warmly, “whilst I acknowledge that you-”

  My friend held up his hand. “Doctor Watson will tell you that I love nothing more than a dramatic denouement to a case. Hand me the stick, please.”

  With a twist and a click, Holmes produced a roll of parchment from inside the hollow stem of the cane, and placed it upon the table. I recognised the queer Coptic characters immediately. A cry of mingled triumph and relief erupted from Beasley.

  “They had to conceal it somewhere,” said Holmes, “until they were ready to sell it. An ankle sprain was the ideal bogus injury. It had the ring of truth about it when Luigi actually brought in another acrobat to work with him. It also meant that Dino could go anywhere without letting the precious Scroll out of his sight.”

  Father Philxenous, stood up and bowed politely to us. “I could not have believed this unless I had seen it with my own eyes,” he said slowly and deliberately. “You are blessed with a gift from God, Mr. Holmes.”

  “Words cannot express my gratitude to you, for bringing this most precious, rare, and sacred relic back to me,” said the professor.

  “I must add my thanks,” said Horb
urgh frankly, “and to that also my apology for ever having doubted you in the first place.”

  “We had best be off then,” said Holmes, “I believe that there is just time for us to catch the last train.”

  “But not, surely, before I present you with some reward for your exertions on my behalf,” said the Professor, standing up. “My chequebook is in the writing desk. After all, I should have been happy to part with my last penny in order to have the Scroll back.”

  Holmes held up his hand.

  “Not at all, Professor Beasley,” he replied. “Success is my reward, as both Doctor Watson and Inspector Lestrade will confirm.”

  The case of the Two Coptic Patriarchs, as it became known, finally came to court a few months later. It was kept off the front pages, however, by the sensational disappearance of Dr. Ray Ernest in Lewisham during the week that the name of Josiah Amberley gained infamy in the national press.

  The Royal Arsenal Affair

  by Leslie F.E. Coombs

  We had just finished our breakfast when Holmes’s brother, Mycroft, made one of his rare visits to 221b Baker Street. Despite his massive physical presence and slow, seemingly deliberate movements, I knew that his brain, like that of his brother, hummed with energy, as if it were one of those dynamos that were becoming increasingly more frequent wherever one went. Without further ado, he explained the reason for his unexpected and early visit.

  “Sherlock, the Prime Minister has made me responsible for the recovery of a machine that was stolen.”

  “A machine, you say,” responded Holmes.

  Mycroft continued. “Yes, a machine or apparatus. Although I am not privy to what its purpose is or how it works. I understand that its loss is of the greatest concern to the government. It must be found, and the villains who have taken it apprehended without delay. Sherlock, you are the only one who is capable of undertaking such a task. I can assure you that if the machine is not found and the villains who took it put it to work, then, as I understand it, the consequences would be disastrous.”

  “Mycroft, I am sure you are aware that I do not undertake an investigation unless I am given all the facts,” was Holmes’s response. “I cannot proceed if something is withheld for social, family or political reasons.”

  “Of course, I understand that.”

  “Surely, Mycroft, you can tell what sort of machine it is?” Holmes asked. “May I know how big it is?”

  “Let me just say, as an estimate, half the size of this room and about a half a ton in weight when its major parts are put together,” responded Mycroft reluctantly.

  Holmes put down the taper with which he was about to light his after-breakfast pipe. He rarely allowed his features to register surprise, but this time his mouth was open and his eyebrows raised to their fullest extent.

  “Half a ton and as big as half this room?” he exclaimed. “An elephant indeed! I shall have to study the place from where it was stolen. Considering what little information you have been able to give me so far, I trust that will not present any obstacle?”

  “I can tell you,” replied Mycroft, “that it was taken from an annex to the Royal Arsenal at Woolwich only yesterday. There’s no time to be lost. I propose that we go there as soon as you are dressed and ready.”

  Holmes put down his unlit pipe and went to his bedroom, discarding his dressing gown onto the floor.

  Mycroft picked up the discarded dressing gown, saying, “My brother has some very untidy habits.”

  I replied, “That is true. Yet his brain stores information in an extremely ordered manner.”

  Mycroft then said, “Dr. Watson, despite my brother’s frequent failure to acknowledge adequately the invaluable help you have given him on a number of difficult cases, I can assure you he does appreciate it, as I do. Therefore, you’ll come with us?”

  “If I can be of help, certainly,” I replied.

  As we went down to the front door, the brothers started to argue over the best and quickest way to get to Woolwich. Mycroft Holmes wanted to use the Inner Circle from Baker Street to Cannon Street Station, but his brother objected because he said he found the sulphureous smoke of the Metropolitan railway’s underground lines unbearable. Mycroft and I exchanged meaningful glances that said in effect, “What of the stifling tobacco smoke in the sitting room?”

  Once we had gained the pavement, Mycroft lifted an ornate silver cab whistle attached to his watch chain and summoned a growler. Within hardly a minute a four-wheel cab arrived.

  During our progress to Cannon Street Station, and then by a slow train to Woolwich Arsenal Station, Holmes said little. I surmised he was going over in his mind the task ahead, and inwardly complaining about the lack of information concerning the missing machine.

  When we arrived at the arsenal a number of gentlemen met us. No polite exchange of greetings and introductions. Just a nod or two. I had the impression that they preferred not to say too much about who they were and whom they represented. We were taken immediately to a large shed in the grounds of an annex to the arsenal. Its double doors had been torn off their hinges.

  Holmes’s first question, after studying the damage to the doors, was, “If the missing machine is of such importance or value, why was it not kept inside the arsenal walls where there would have been some measure of security?”

  One of the officials who was with us said, “Mr. Holmes, you are certainly correct in asking such a question. The nature of the machine is such that its purpose could have been betrayed by any one of the hundreds who work in the arsenal. We assumed that this unremarkable shed in this annex, whose sign on the gate indicates that it is nothing more than a clothing store, would attract no particular attention. We have been proved wrong,”

  “Perhaps you may be able to tell me of any thoughts you have about who has taken it,” said Holmes. “Obviously, because of its size, more than one villain has been involved.”

  The unnamed official replied, “Mr. Holmes, we are certain that those who removed the machine were those who had built it in the first place. Recently we learned of its whereabouts and took it into our custody. Unfortunately, we were not able to secure those who had invented it. However, we had forestalled their plan to put it into use for a criminal purpose. Our intention, in not destroying it, was to discover certain features that will enable us to be prepared to resist attempts to use similar devices in the future.”

  “Thank you for that information,” said Holmes. “I presume the police are now searching for the thieves?”

  “For reasons we cannot disclose, we do not want the police involved,” was the reply.

  “Oh, and another thing, although not of importance. What do you call the machine?” asked Holmes.

  One of the officials replied, “Mr. Holmes, it is just the X Machine. It cannot have a name that might reveal its purpose.

  Holmes then started to make a close examination of the interior of the shed. When he had finished and put away his large magnifying glass, he said, “I am right, am I not, in saying that the machine has a number of small wheels, some of which are castors?”

  “That is correct,” responded one of the officials.

  Outside the shed Holmes examined some tracks made by wheels leading to the road. He said, “Gentlemen, the wheel tracks, their disposition, and the size of the wheels indicate, I am certain, that a furniture pantechnicon has been used to take the machine away.”

  Holmes pointed to a number of footprints, saying, “These prints are those of at least six men; possibly even more. They also tell me that they were having to exert great physical effort; presumably to move the parts of the machine onto the pantechnicon. Furthermore, I conclude that the tracks in the roadway show that it has been taken eastward on this road, and that four Shire horses were needed to move it.”

  Holmes spent another five minutes examining the wheel tracks an
d the imprints of the horses’ hooves in the dried mud on the road. Fortunately, they were very distinct because it had rained in the night, but later the road had dried out.

  “Gentlemen, I suggest that Dr. Watson and I will take a trap and endeavour to follow the tracks made by the pantechnicon and its four Shire horses.”

  This was agreed to, a horse and trap was hired from a local stable, and we set off. Mycroft Holmes and the others went to the nearest station’s telegraph office to await events.

  “Holmes,” said I, “how did you conclude that the machine had been taken away in a pantechnicon pulled by four Shire horses?”

  “The singular nature of the wheel marks in the dried mud suggest the type of small wheels used under furniture vans so as to keep the floor as low as possible. The hooves of heavy draught horses, such as the Shires, are much larger than the average cart horse. However, I am going to have to depend on two clues that presented themselves outside the shed. One was two crushed hops, and the other the cracked shoe of the wheel horse on the nearside. They both provide a strong ‘question resolver’ whenever we have to decide which of a number of roads at a junction we should take. Furthermore, I have considered that the thieves would not have taken a westerly or southwesterly direction because of the steep hills leading to the high ground around Blackheath. They could, of course, have taken a route through Greenwich, and, despite my reluctance to add gambling to scientific detection, I am going to choose to turn east.”