Sherlock Holmes: The Quality of Mercy and Other Stories

by William Meikle

  “Arrange for a pair of rooms, Watson,” Holmes said as we entered. “I will make our presence known and see what happens.”

  The innkeeper was rather too surly for my liking, but he took my money easily enough, and showed me up to a pair of rooms that were better appointed than I had expected. I took the opportunity for some quick ablutions, and by the time I went back down to the bar Holmes had already made quite an impression.

  It was getting on in the evening and, the day’s work done, dock workers and sailors made for the bars to spend their shillings. The White Horse and Griffin, being in a central location, got a great deal of this custom, helped by the fact that the local working girls seemed to use it as their central hub of operations. The place was a noisy babble of songs, shouts and laughter.

  Holmes sat at a table of half a dozen burly sailors, and he had them all laughing and joking. I knew of old that this might take some time. I sat on a stool at the bar, sipped cautiously at some strong brown ale, and smoked a most welcome pipe.

  No one spoke to me, but Holmes was doing more than enough of that for both of us. After half an hour he left the table and came over to me, keeping his tone relaxed, but speaking low enough that we wouldn’t be overheard.

  “If anyone asks, we are from Harrogate, and we may or may not have a means of getting into—and out of—the Big House, depending on who is asking.”

  I immediately caught his drift. Holmes was spinning a web, in the hope that a fly, in the guise of either a smuggler or a smuggler’s client might get himself entrapped.

  He left me alone again while he started to work another table. I was onto my second pint of ale when someone spoke to my left.

  “Can I bother you for a match, sir?”

  The accent was faint, but distinctly European, one of the Germanic nations. I turned toward him. He was better dressed than any of the sailors or dockworkers, wearing a well-tailored wool suit and a pair of hand-crafted leather boots that looked to have cost more than many of the bar’s patrons would make in a year. He bowed his head and nodded quickly, in that way Europeans do when introducing themselves.

  I handed him my matchbox, and he lit up a most pungent Turkish cheroot. He offered me one, but I declined, preferring my pipe. And with that, the conversation—and the game—was begun.

  Over the course of the next twenty minutes I discovered that he was Prussian, military, and not above cutting corners if there was money to be made. I suspected much more. I was rapidly forming the opinion that he was working for a foreign intelligence agency, and that I was being approached about stealing state secrets from the “Big House.” He had not directly broached the subject, but this was not my first time at the game, and although Holmes was much better than I at this kind of verbal fencing, I would like to think I was holding up my own side of the negotiations rather well.

  My sangfroid was soon rudely shattered. I had been—or so I thought—controlling the conversation when I was hit by a question to which I had no answer.

  “And what of the boy?” the Prussian asked.

  I was spared from an obvious lie when Holmes came to my rescue.

  “Leave that to us,” Holmes said. “The father was sloppy the last time. It will not happen again.”

  The Prussian seemed content with that answer. He promised a decision on the morrow, and bid us a good night.

  “What did I just agree to, Holmes?” I asked.

  Holmes shook his head. “Not here. Let us go to your room and have a smoke; I’ll tell you what I have discovered.”

  We waited for five further minutes to make sure no one was paying undue attention to us, and went to my room. After we had lit up, Holmes told me what his round of the tables had uncovered.

  “We are indeed in a smuggler’s den, Watson,” he said, smiling grimly. “I cannot tell you just how many things are on offer in this establishment tonight, but it would astound you. Most pertinent to our case is the gentleman with whom you were in conversation. He has been around here, off and on, for six months now and has been paying good money for a variety of things from whisky to tobacco, and most of all for anything that comes out of the “Big House” in Harrogate. Mycroft has been running a leaky ship for quite some time.”

  I put two and two together. “And the infected prisoner … he was the go-between? The one bringing secrets to the Prussian?”

  Holmes nodded. “It would seem so. He and his boy.”

  “I keep hearing about a boy. I assume it is crucial that we find him?”

  “Very much so,” Holmes said. “I have known as much since examining the lock and window back in the laboratory.”

  He puffed on his pipe before continuing.

  “You see, the lock on the window wasn’t a real lock at all; it was a dummy, put in place solely for the purpose of making the window look secure. And as for the window itself, it was obviously too small to allow a man entry … but a boy could have squeezed through easily. And indeed, there were telltale scuff marks on the frame to indicate that such a method of entry and exit had been used on several occasions.”

  “But where is the boy now?” I asked. “If he too is infected …”

  I did not have to complete the sentence.

  “Exactly,” Holmes said. “But our luck is in. The second group I spoke to tonight was more than happy to direct me to an address after I gave them a few shillings. What do you say to a nighttime jaunt?”

  Pausing only to collect my service revolver and overcoat, I followed him out into the night.

  As we walked up the hill out of town to the north, the night fell quiet around us and a mist started to roll in off the North Sea, bringing cold air with it that made me grateful I had thought to bring the overcoat.

  I remembered something Mycroft had mentioned in Harrogate. “I say, Holmes,” I said. “Weren’t we told that the prisoner was not local to Whitby?”

  Holmes laughed. “Indeed we were, Watson. And he isn’t. Sailing songs are as distinctive as an accent, and are often used in far-off harbors as codes to distinguish one group from another. The particular song our poor prisoner has stuck in what is left of his mind is used almost exclusively among sailors from Liverpool. All I had to do in the bar earlier was ask for the lobscouse, and they knew straightaway who I meant.”

  “But why did the local police not know of him?”

  Holmes laughed again. “The police do not give out shiny coins when asking questions. Gold buys a measure of trust that is not afforded to officialdom, especially in a place where criminality is rife.”

  By now we had reached the northern end of the town proper, a long terrace of fine townhouses. The shoreline path dipped down toward a sheltered inlet, and we had to go slowly in the dark, for the crashing of waves far below told us that the cliff dropped off vertiginously just to our right.

  The path brought us to a ramshackle group of wooden shacks in various states of disrepair.

  “Our man had lodgings here,” Holmes said. “Let us see if we can track his movements.”

  That proved easier said than done. We got short shrift at the first two dwellings, with no answer to our questions beyond a grunted refusal to speak and doors closed in our faces.

  “Tell them you’re a doctor, Watson,” Holmes said as we approached the third. “And you’ve come about the sick boy.”

  I didn’t have time to question him, as a wizened old lady opened the door of the house. She looked me up and down suspiciously, keeping a tight hold on the door, ready to slam it shut at the slightest provocation.

  “I’m a doctor,” I said, loud enough that I would be heard, not just in the house itself, but in the neighboring properties. “I’ve come about the sick boy.”

  At first I thought she was going to ignore me, then she pointed along the row of huts.

  “Last one on the left,” she said, “But they’ll not thank you for the visit. Thieving bastards, the lot of them.”

  With those words of wisdom, she too slammed the door in our faces.


  Holmes smiled. “Last on the left it is, then. Come on, Watson. Nearly there.”

  The last house on the left proved to be in even worse repair. The wood of which it was built was rotted and warped, and paint peeled off in large flakes. When I rapped on the door it felt soft, almost pulpy.

  No one answered.

  Holmes was in no mood to be kept waiting. He stepped past me and put his shoulder to the door. It immediately fell open, and I smelled the stench of death. I would have pulled Holmes back, but he had already gone on ahead and entered the dwelling. Clasping a handkerchief across my face, I followed him in.

  There was no light to show us the way, and the smell got even worse inside.

  “Over here, Watson,” Holmes said.

  My eyes were slowly adjusting to the gloom. Holmes stood beside a glowing stove, looking down at a bed. The thing that lay there had once been a child, but was now little more than a carpet of fibrous yellow vegetation. It swayed, like wheat in the wind. And as I bent closer I saw that there were pustules among the fronds, like festering boils, pulsing in a most obscene manner.

  “Stay back, Watson,” Holmes said. “This is even worse than I had feared.”

  The child was far beyond the reach of any doctor in any case. I did as Holmes requested and stepped back.

  “We need to inform the authorities …” I started.

  Holmes shook his head. “I’m afraid there won’t be time.”

  As if to punctuate that statement, one of the pustules popped, sending a fine spray of particles into the air.

  “Time to go,” Holmes said. In the same movement as he turned, he kicked over the stove at his side so that it fell against the bed, tumbling its contents over the covers. The coals were hot enough to start to smolder. A flame rose, sputtered, then it took firm hold. Holmes dragged me away as another pustule popped.

  “Hold your breath,” he whispered, and we made a dash for the door even as the bed went up in flame with a rush of hot air in our faces.

  By the time we got outside and turned, the whole building had taken hold and was burning fiercely.

  “Pray that we got it all,” Holmes said. “And I suggest we keep a close eye on ourselves for a while, particularly any patches of skin that were exposed while we were in there.”

  A party of locals arrived, intent on putting out the fire, but I was able, citing my medical credentials and implying the need to kill a disease, to make them stand away until the whole building fell in on itself

  I watched sparks fly high in the air and drift on the wind. I worried about plants I knew of in arid regions that used fire itself to aid in seed dispersal, and about that fine cloud of spores that came out of the pustule. Had we breathed any of them into our lungs? If so, then Holmes and I were indeed in trouble.

  Only time would tell.

  We waited until we were sure that the dwelling was completely engulfed before returning along the shore path to Whitby.

  “What now?” I asked Holmes. “Do we get the authorities involved?”

  “Not yet,” he answered. “We must find out if our Prussian friend has any of this vegetation in his possession. We cannot allow it to leave these shores. Can you imagine the potential there is to make a weapon from it?”

  I could indeed, and it scarcely bore thinking about. One would only have to introduce some material that was ready to release the spores near a population center and let wind and nature take its course. The results would be too horrifying to contemplate.

  “We could have the local police arrest him?”

  Holmes shook his head. “No. He will not be working alone. And we mustn’t allow him to become suspicious of us, for he will make a run for it too soon. We must gain his trust, and lead him along until we can find out where he keeps his stolen goods. We can only spring the trap when we know it will be safe to do so.”

  “We will be taking quite a risk.”

  Holmes nodded. “That we will, old friend. But, considering the alternatives, I believe it is a risk worth taking.”

  By this time we had almost made it back to our lodgings in the inn. Despite the fact that it was now past midnight, the bar was still full, and even noisier than before.

  There was no sign of the Prussian.

  “We will take him at his word,” Holmes said. “And await his decision on the morrow.”

  3

  In the end, we did not have to wait long the next day.

  Despite the continuing noise from the bar downstairs, I slept soundly enough. When I woke I spent some extra minutes over my ablutions, inspecting myself for any sign of infection, any trace of yellow. It seemed I was clean … for now, but thoughts of airborne spores and the sight of what had remained of the child were never far from my mind. It also meant my appetite for breakfast vanished as quickly as it had come.

  I found Holmes downstairs in the now-thankfully quiet bar. He too had forgone eating in favor of a cup of strong tea and a cheroot. I joined him in a smoke, and had just lit up when the Prussian came in from outside, brushing rain from his heavy overcoat.

  He joined us at the fireplace, and lit up a cheroot no less noxious than my own. “I understand you gentlemen were instrumental in clearing up some messy business last night?” he began without preamble. “It seems I am in your debt.”

  Holmes smiled. “Indeed, sir. It would not do for your hand to be shown so early in the game. The risk of widespread contagion was too high to be ignored.”

  The Prussian smiled back, but it never reached his eyes. I realized we were in the presence of a predator, and resolved to adjust my thoughts accordingly.

  “Nevertheless,” the Prussian continued. “I find I need your services, to procure more of the … product.”

  Holmes leaned forward in his chair. “That will not be a problem. Provided the price is right.”

  The man smiled again. “Money is no object as far as my backers are concerned.”

  Holmes sat back, a smile on his lips. The Prussian did not realize it yet, but by announcing that he was not working alone, he had given Holmes another fact to add to the growing list.

  “Can you wait for two days?” Holmes said. “I need time to arrange things in Harrogate.”

  “Two days, but no more,” the Prussian said. “Then we must sail.”

  Holmes smiled again. It was obvious to me that he was learning much more from the man than the Prussian realized.

  “Shall we meet on your vessel?” Holmes asked. “It might be best to complete our business away from prying eyes?”

  The man finally realized it might be best to be more circumspect. “I shall send for you,” he said. “At noon, two days from now.” He rose, and clicked his heels together while nodding, first to Holmes, then to myself.

  Holmes laughed aloud when the man left.

  “Well, Watson. It seems we are to turn traitor. A rat to catch a rat.”

  If I had thought we might be heading back to Harrogate, I was greatly mistaken.

  “Mycroft will have the place tied down tight by now,” Holmes said. “A mouse will not be able to get in without him knowing of it. Besides, there is no need to go all that way for the … what did he call it? … product.”

  Holmes rolled back the sleeve of his shirt. There, just between his wrist and his elbow, was a penny-sized patch of yellow vegetation, tiny fronds already wafting in the heat from the fire.

  “Be a good chap and fetch a scalpel, will you, Watson?”

  I marched him up to his room and made him strip while I fetched the small emergency kit that went everywhere with me in my valise. On returning I found him standing, naked, in front of the fire, examining a saucer-sized patch of the vegetation on his hip with no more concern than if he had been looking at a particularly interesting orchid in a greenhouse.

  “It’s lucky we brought a doctor with us,” was all he said, then I was kept busy for almost an hour trying to remove the growths and clean the resultant wounds, all the time taking great care that I myself did not
get infected.

  “I may need something for the pain, Watson,” Holmes said when I was done. He had gone white as a sheet, and I could see by the trembling of his limbs he was near collapse. I got him to bed and gave him some morphine; enough to ease his pain, but less than a full dose, for I knew well his thirst for the narcotic might reassert itself, and I had already seen how much that particular battle had cost him in the past. He stayed awake long enough to give me some instructions.

  “Store the specimens in a jar from the kitchen,” he said. “We must have something to show the Prussian on his return. And pay off the barkeeper. Have him say we are away until tomorrow. No one else must know we are still here.”

  I did as instructed. The barkeeper seemed completely unperturbed at what I thought might be a rather strange set of requests before I remembered that a haven for smugglers such as this must lead to all kinds of peculiar goings-on. I passed him a shilling and he promised to fetch us dinner and supper, guaranteed that we would not be disturbed, and even brought me a clean glass jar from the kitchen without asking the purpose for which I wanted it.

  By the time I got back up to the rooms, Holmes had dropped into a feverish sleep. I carefully placed the infected tissue in the glass jar and, resisting a strong urge to consign it immediately to the fire, sealed it tight and put it on the mantelpiece.

  I checked Holmes’ body for any further infection. Thankfully he seemed clean, but I knew that vigilance was called for. Once any infection makes an appearance, it has to be carefully monitored, for a human body is frail, and easily consumed when weakened.

  I sat by the fire for most of that day, smoking more than was good for me and periodically checking Holmes and myself for signs of the yellow growth. My gaze kept returning to the glass jar on the mantelpiece. At first I was not sure, but after several hours it was very apparent; despite it being the only thing in the jar, there being nothing for it to feed on, the foliage seemed to be growing, a testament to its vitality. Such activity only made me more nervous than before. I checked on Holmes again, and this time found two small yellow spots on the back of his left hand, which I was able to excise and treat without waking him.