“No time. They’ll be fine,” said Lestrade.
Without any further explanation, Lestrade walked quickly toward to front door of the hotel. Once there, he and Percy stepped into the first cab in the line, and I clambered up into the second one. I had met Inspector Forbes a few times in the past and immediately queried him.
“Inspector,” I said, “can you tell me what this is all about?”
“Don’t rightly know myself, doctor. All I know is that there was an incident in Greenwich, just by the Observatory, and it has the Yard perfectly spooked. It must be serious if Lestrade is calling in Sherlock Holmes right straight away. Beyond that, I’m as much in the dark as you are.”
The Langham is only a few blocks from Baker Street, and we arrived at the door of 221B within ten minutes. I still had a key to the door on my key ring and let the four of us in. Percy Phelps and the two inspectors followed me up the stairs and into the familiar front room. Holmes was comfortably sitting there, clad in a dressing gown and holding his pipe in one hand and a book in the other. He at first looked pleasantly surprised to see me and then broke into a broad smile when the three other men entered the room.
“Percy! How grand to see you again but, oh my, this looks serious,” he said, barely disguising the expectation in his voice. “Please, all of you, be seated. A brandy, perhaps?”
Chapter Two
Gut-Wrenching Anarchy
LESTRADE IGNORED HIS OFFER. “Holmes, we have a problem.”
“So it would appear. Do tell,” said Holmes, sloping back in his chair and stretching his long legs out in front of him.
“There was an incident in Greenwich,” said Lestrade. “At 4:50 this afternoon a couple of schoolboys were walking through the grounds of the Observatory. They hear an explosion, and not far from them they see a pillar of smoke rising. They run up to see what it’s all about and they come on some poor bloke who is lying on the ground, his coat smoldering. He has his hand, or what’s left of it, wrapped in his handkerchief and he’s bleeding from it. But his jacket and sweater are also half blown away, and his stomach is all a bloody mess. So, the lads run like the devil and fetch the park attendants. They come running and the fellow, who is still alive and able to talk, says to call a cab to take him home. They say nothing doing and rush him over to the Seaman’s Hospital where he lives for a bit longer, and then he dies.”
Holmes had been puffing slowly on his pipe whilst listening to Lestrade’s recitation. When the inspector paused, Holmes waited and looked at him with a puzzled look.
“My dear inspector,” he said. “For the past decade, you have waited to call on my services until you knew that you were in far too deep to find a way out. Now you come here barely two hours after this incident. If this were only a case of another pathetic anarchist with a few sticks of dynamite, you would send your men out, track down all his network within a week and either have them behind bars or fleeing to America. Obviously, there is something more to this case, or you would not be here. Please elucidate.”
“Right, Holmes. It weren’t no ordinary run-of-the-mill anarchist. In this bloke’s pocket, we found a detailed set of plans to the Greenwich Observatory. On it are a series of Xs showing where he was going to place his dynamite. If he had succeeded, he would have blown the Greenwich clocks to kingdom come. Those clocks send the time signals to every port all over the world, and not only our Fleet but the navies of our allies and the entire merchant marine depend on them. If they suddenly stopped there would be chaos on the high seas. Ships could be lost and flounder. All the shipping lanes of the globe would grind to a halt. It would be a financial disaster. The stock markets would crash.”
“Ah, now that is interesting,” said Holmes, “You have a visionary anarchist who is smart enough to do his homework beforehand, yet still stupid enough to blow his guts out. Wherein is the issue?”
“The issue, Holmes, is that those plans were secret. They were stamped with the seal of the Admiralty, and they are kept under lock and key in the vault. No one who is not authorized can ever get into them. But somehow, he got them. Are you understanding me now?”
“But you have them back, and he failed to do any damage.”
“In the same vault are the plans for every British warship currently at sea, or has its keel already laid, or is planned. All of them. And the plans for all the major merchant ships, and every other large vessel registered in the Britain. That vault was penetrated. Are you getting this, Holmes?”
Holmes sat up in his chair and looked at Lestrade, Forbes, and Percy. Poor Percy was as pale as a sheet. Holmes turned to him.
“Percy, was your office responsible for the security of that vault?”
He made no reply. He closed his eyes and nodded his head.
“You will, I presume, report this immediately to Sir Ughtred and the Cabinet?”
Again, Percy nodded.
“And they,” Holmes continued, “will report it to the Prime Minister?”
Another nod.
“A shame that he is a Liberal,” said Holmes.
“’Tis,” said four voices in unison.
“Very well, gentlemen,” said Holmes. “I do not wish to make assumptions about your activities, but I assume that Scotland Yard will make an immediate list of all possible suspects, trace all their bank deposits and telegrams, talk to their neighbors, and winnow out the impossibles. Is that correct?”
“That’s what we legal detectives have to do, Holmes,” said Lestrade.
“And what then is it you wish me to do?”
“You know bloody well what we need you to do, Holmes. You need to do those things that we cannot because we are bound by the statutes and courts of this country. We have no idea who this dead bomber was and no record of him anywhere. You need to find out who he was and penetrate his network.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“No. In the cab on the way over here, Mr. Phelps told me that he has two Frenchies who have been guests in his office for the past several months. Those two are at the top of my suspect list.”
“Then arrest them,” said Holmes.
“I cannot. They’re diplomats. I cannot even make their time here difficult without having the French getting their sooo vetements in a knot and screaming about diplomatic immunity all the way from Paris.”
“Ah, but you do not care if I were to that that.”
“I do not care a flying fig, and furthermore I never said that, now did I, Holmes?”
“My dear inspector, I will immediately proceed to not working on anything, and will inform you of everything I never discover.”
“Fine by me,” said Lestrade.
“Well, then, gentlemen,” said Holmes. “Allow me to bid you a good evening and return to your diplomatic soirée. I extend my sympathies to Dr. Watson and Mr. Phelps who will have to explain to their wives how it was that they were able to escape an evening of pomposity and pretension whilst the ladies had to endure it. Have a pleasant evening.”
Holmes has an annoying habit of rubbing his hands when he is pleased with his prospects, and he was doing it again.
Percy and I returned to the Langham in time to find our wives standing at the door of the now nearly empty hall and looking not-in-the-least pleased or patient. I was sure they were going to take a strip off our hides, but the dark clouds on our faces silenced them.
We rode in silence back to our home and only after I had finished a full snifter of brandy did Mary broach the subject of the evening.
“Well, darling, are you going to tell me what happened, or is it all terribly secret?”
“No, dear. Some of it will be in the papers tomorrow, but the possible consequences are awfully frightening.”
I then relayed all that I had heard and understood, and then I posed a question to her.
“Those French chaps, we had fifteen minutes with them, right?” I said.
“Yes, why?”
“What did you think of them? You know, your woman’s intuition an
d all that.”
“They are very impressive men. Wonderfully polished, suave, men of the world, and as handsome as a maiden could ever dream of.”
“Darling,” I said, “Even I could see all that. That’s not what I asked you for.”
“No? Very well, then, I suppose I could add that I would not trust those knaves as far as I could throw them, and neither would Annie.”
“And would you like to tell me why?”
“No. I would not. And I would not because there is no why. There are only those things that a woman knows, and they cannot be explained rationally to a man, but they are never wrong.”
Had I been a wiser man that I am, I would have left it at that, but I was not.
“My dear,” I said. “That does not help me to understand. Come, now. What was it about them? What did they do that made you feel like that?”
She gave me a bit of a look before responding. “If you must know, it was because I could see them, both of them, mentally undressing me in their minds until I was standing stark naked in front of them. That is why.”
I knew I should not have asked.
I was certain that Holmes would be right on the case. Its combination of intrigue and importance would make it irresistible, and he would most likely go with little food or sleep, replaced by copious amounts of coffee and tobacco for however long it took to solve.
The next day, Thursday, passed and I heard nothing. By Friday afternoon, my curiosity had the better of me, and I walked over to Baker Street after finishing my appointments at my medical office. Mrs. Hudson greeted me at the door, warmly as always.
“Oh, Doctor, how lovely to see you. I am so sorry I missed you on Wednesday evening. I heard that you came charging in to Mr. Holmes along with the police. Well, you must have done something to him. He didn’t come home at all last night and has just come back this past half hour. Shall I let him know you are here?”
Holmes was pacing back and forth and did not stop when I entered. He gestured me toward my familiar chair but remained on his feet.
“What ho, Holmes? Any news? Was it a worthy challenge?”
He said nothing and continued pacing, yet smiling ever so slightly. I waited.
Finally, “The initial stages of my investigation were ridiculously easy. A first-year London bobby could have managed it. I can only assume that Lestrade assigned it to me so as not to announce to the demi-monde that Scotland Yard was investigating them. A complete abuse of my time and talents.”
“Oh, come, come, you’re still an Englishman and mustn’t complain. So, what did you learn?”
“The schoolboys and park attendants who found the poor fool spoke to him before he was taken to hospital. They reported that he had a distinctly French accent. Had they said he was Irish, I would have been faced with a list of three dozen known dynamiters, every one of whom could have been inebriated enough to blow himself to pieces. But a Frenchman? That made it easier. All the French anarchists in London collude in the bowels of the Club Autonomie on Windmill Street in Fitzrovia. I went in disguise and soon learned that the dead man’s name was Martial Bourdin. He is a radical tailor from Paris who has spent time both in a French prison and in America; which one was the greater punishment for his crimes is a matter of debate. He has been in London for the past year and associates constantly with his fellow anarchists. All that is left for Lestrade to do is raid the club and round up all of the members. And that will be that.” He snapped his fingers for dramatic effect.
“But where did he get his dynamite?” I asked. “I thought that our government had restricted its purchase and use. And how did he know how to make a bomb?”
“Very good, Watson. Now, those are interesting questions. The second one is easily answered. In his pocket was a book borrowed from the British Museum Library. It gave detailed instructions on how to make a bomb. Unfortunately for Mr. Bourdin, it was in English, and it would appear that the chapter on how not to have your bomb explode when holding in your left hand against your stomach must have been lost in translation.”
“Fine, but how in heaven’s name did he have the plans for the inner working of the Observatory?”
“Brilliant, Watson! And it is to that question that I will now turn my attention, regardless of whether or not Lestrade wishes me too. The emerging web of intrigue is altogether too appealing to be left to the Yard.”
His eyes were sparkling, and yet again he was rubbing his hands together.
He seemed so invigorated that I offered to propose a premature toast to the successful conclusion of this case.
“Not to the conclusion, Watson. To the chase. To the game.” And so we toasted.
Our reverie was interrupted by the bell on Baker Street. Soon we were listening to a very slow set of footsteps climbing up toward us. They stopped part way up and then started again, slowly.
“An elderly and rather unhealthy man is coming to meet me,” surmised Holmes. “I wonder who that could be.”
The figure that entered the room was not at all elderly. It was Percy Phelps but, dear Lord, he was ghastly pale. His face was unshaven, and his clothes looked as if he had spent the past two days living in them. I had not seen him looking so near death since that sad day seven years ago when we visited him as he lay on his sick bed in Woking.
“Percy,” I gasped and leapt to my feet. “Merciful heavens, my friend, what is it?”
He said nothing and walked slowly over to the settee and sat down. He tried to speak, but no words came forth. Tears appeared in his eyes and began to run down his cheeks. I reached for the decanter of brandy that was still open on the mantle and poured him a glass. He took a sip and then tipped the entire glass back and swallowed its contents.
“It’s a disaster,” he said. “A complete disaster.”
His lower lip began to tremble, and he dropped his face into his hands. For a minute, his body shook with sobs. And then he raised his head and took a deep breath.
“Forgive me barging in on you like this. But I am at my wit’s end. I have nowhere else to turn. I have put the entire British Empire at risk.”
“Calm yourself, sir,” said Holmes. “The Empire has been threatened many times before, and she still stands. Get a hold of yourself, man, and state your case. You can do it.”
“The plans for the Observatory,” he said.
“Yes, what about them?” asked Holmes. “Have you discovered how he got hold of them?”
“No. But what we did discover was a disaster.”
“Explain, please, sir.”
“We did a complete inventory of the vault. My worst fears came true. They were not the only plans that were missing.”
“What else?” asked Holmes.
“Over one hundred sets of plans are gone. At least sixty are of British warships — almost all of our ships for the past five years. And many of our largest merchant ships, and even several of the newest ferries. All gone. If our enemies or even our allies get hold of them, the advantage of the British Fleet will disappear almost overnight. The design and the capacities of every one of those ships will be known and used against us. It is a disaster, Mr. Holmes. And it happened on my watch.”
“Excellent,” said Holmes. “I much prefer it when clients come to me on their own behalf rather than sending a surrogate. So, since it is you who are seeking my help, and you are here now, it is best that we get to work. Would you agree, Watson?”
“Indubitably.”
“Excellent. Very well, Mr. Phelps, buck up. Time is of the essence. No time for whining. First, I need data, which you will supply with precision and concision to the best of your ability. Then I shall pay a visit to the scene of the crime and conduct an inspection. That is the best way to proceed. Would you agree, Watson?”
“Most certainly.”
“Brilliant. Come now, Tadpole Phelps. Play up, play up, and play the game. Let us get to work.”
Poor Percy looked at the two of us with bewilderment written all over his face. Had he not b
een in such a blue funk, I might have laughed. But the spirit that endured being beaten with cricket wickets when he was a lad asserted itself, and he sat up, ready to do his duty.
“Right,” said Holmes. “Now who had access to this vault?”
“There was myself, of course; my director, Sir Ughtred; my secretary, Charles; the Tangey family, that is the commissaire, and his wife and daughter who did the charring; three fellows from the engineering department, and two from the Prime Minister’s office.”
Holmes was writing down all of these.
“Good work. You are sure that is the entire list? No one else?”
“What about those French fellows who have been around for the past few months?” I asked.
“Good heavens, no. We would have to be mad before we would allow foreigners, especially Frenchies, anywhere near our secret documents.”
“Quite so,” agreed Holmes. “Although it would have been even more unthinkable had they been Italians.”
“Oh, yes. I suppose you have a point there.”
“Now then, what about those fellows from the Prime minister’s office? Were they Admiralty men?”
“No,” answered Percy. “They are political appointees. They showed up only after the recent election.”
“You mean they are Liberals?” asked Holmes.
“Well, yes, of course. Otherwise, they would not have been appointed.”
“Precisely,” said Holmes, “and for that reason they should remain on the list of suspects. The Tangey family — I recall that he had a tendency to fall asleep on his duty and that she drinks more than she should.”
“They have given exemplary service to me for ten years now. They are rabidly loyal to the Queen, and since coming over to the Admiralty, they have been excellent employees.”
“And what about the daughter,” asked Holmes. “She must be an independent young woman in her own rights now, is she not?”
“Yes, she is twenty-three years old and a very pretty young lady,” said Percy.
“And her character?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary for a girl her age and looks. From time to time a chap might be waiting on the pavement for her after her shift is over, and she sometimes arrives late to work in the mornings. The French fellows flirt with her, but she does her work diligently.”
The Naval Knaves Page 2