“I do now. Thank you for enlightening me.”
“Well now, the letters are in coded language, and we have not been able to completely decipher them but what we have seen in them is very revealing, disturbing, and, if I may be so blunt, treacherous and treasonous.”
“Ah, that is serious. But may I ask how you were able to discern treason in messages which you had not been able to decipher?”
“I only said, Mr. Holmes, that we were not able to completely decipher them. There was enough to convince us that the matter was extremely serious. Now, rather than going into it in detail, I will have copies of the messages delivered to you, and you can see for yourself. The immediate element that will strike you is that all of the salutations and closings are written in the Russian language, and are considered by those of us who are familiar with the Slavic languages, to be quite affectionate terms of endearment. Our good lady’s relationship with this agent is highly suspect for quite unspeakable reasons and not merely matters of great import to the state.”
“Oh, my. That is a concern.”
“Yes, Mr. Holmes, it is indeed. You must know that the Russian Baltic fleet is due to arrive any day now in the waters of the East China Sea. Anything that would connect our Legation to the battle would be most unfortunate, as we are entirely neutral.”
“Are we, indeed?” asked Holmes. “I thought we were rather better disposed to the Japanese?”
“If you must know, Mr. Holmes, our preferred result is that both sides would lose and that both their navies would be heavily damaged. That would leave our fleet paramount in the region, and both of them needing more vessels, which, of course, they would buy from us. Now do you understand, Mr. Holmes?”
“It is as clear as crystal. Thank you.”
“Very well. That is really all I have to say to you this afternoon. Please do what you can as quickly as possible to find our missing attaché. And once you have done that, kindly furnish enough irrefutable evidence against Mrs. Munro, formerly Miss Federov, to send her packing, with or without her husband. Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all. Good day.”
He strode over to the door and held it open for us. We rose and departed the room. Our diligent Tommy was waiting for us in the vestibule, sitting with his arms crossed over his chest. He jumped up from his chair on seeing us and bowed.
“Ah, Sherlock-san and Dr. John-san, I trust you had an excellent meeting with the Secretary. While I was waiting, I received some interesting news. May I share this news with you, gentlemen?”
“By all means,” I said.
“Your first lecture has been confirmed. You have been given a very high honor. You will deliver your lecture in the Kabuki-za. Only the most respected of Japanese actors are ever allowed on stage at this place. It is a mark of the respect with which you are held in Japan, dear Sherlock-san.”
“Please,” said Holmes, “do thank whoever is to be thanked for the honor. I assume that those attending will be members of the Sherlock Holmes Society, those with nothing better to do than argue over the romanticized stories that our good doctor has written about me?”
“Oh, no, Sherlock-san. Those are the common people. They will not be allowed to attend until later. This lecture is reserved for the Prime Minister and his cabinet, and all of the diplomats from many countries, and the heads of the shrines and temples, and the leaders of our industries, and our most prestigious professors. It is a very noble crowd who will be listening to you.”
“Oh, well, in that case, will I need a translator or do they all speak English?”
“No, Sherlock-san. They all try to pretend that they speak English, but most do not beyond a few words. I have the great honor of serving as your translator. However, you may be sure, sir, that all of them have read your stories since they have all been translated into Japanese.”
It dawned on me that I should have a word with my agent, Arthur Doyle, as I was not aware of having received any royalties for the sale of the stories in Japan. Pirated copies were to be expected in France, of course, but I had, perhaps naïvely, held the Japanese to a higher standard.
“Very well, then, Tommy,” said Holmes. “We shall put on a capital show for all those dignitaries.”
The lecture was to be given in two days, and I expected that Holmes would devote his time to polishing his delivery of his favorite speech, The Science of Deduction, and tailoring it specifically to the interests of the Japanese. I would recite one of my published stories as an introduction to the main event, but I could prepare for that while strolling through the streets of Tokyo, which I did. There was a broad boulevard that served as the perimeter of the Imperial Palace grounds, separated from the palace itself by a deep moat. The embankments were still gloriously adorned by cherry trees in bloom, and so I did the entire three-mile walk several times while rehearsing my delivery of the story. I invited Tommy to walk with me, but he declined, apparently more concerned about whatever Holmes might get himself up to than about me.
Around five o’clock on the day of the lecture, Tommy called for us and escorted us the several blocks through Ginza to the ornate white building where we would perform. The Kabuki-za was a most impressive building. The gleaming white exterior gave evidence of a mixing of Western architectural style with the traditional structures of Japan. The interior, however, rivaled any of the great opera houses of Europe, the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden or even La Scala notwithstanding. In the spacious lobby all of the paintings, antiquities, and other objets d’arte that had been sent for the British cultural exchange were on display.
As expected, Holmes and I were led to the stage. A row of chairs stretched across the proscenium in front of the main curtain. We were seated, along with several others who I did not recognize and I looked out in amazement at the full house in front of me. On the floor, to my right, were the gaijin, the foreigners, mostly British, who were dressed in formal finery as if attending the opening night of the opera. On my left were the leading members of the Japanese government and armed forces, some of whom were in formal Western dress, and others, the women especially, gloriously displaying every color of the rainbow in their stunning kimonos. The men’s Japanese garb was subdued by comparison but elegant and impressive all the same.
A small lectern had been placed at the front of the stage, and I anticipated that Holmes and I would deliver our talks over the next ninety minutes and be on our way.
I had seriously underestimated the patience and endurance of a Japanese audience.
The evening was called to order by a chap that I assumed was the master of the theater. He spoke for some twenty minutes and was followed by the Minister of Culture, who did the same. Three more Japanese gentlemen, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, the Prime Minister himself and finally the representative of the Emperor.
Our very faithful helper, Tommy, was in a chair behind Holmes and me and was leaning forward so as to offer commentary and translation. The western diplomats and commercial barons were visibly restless, but the Japanese endured every repetitive speech, listening attentively and applauding warmly. It occurred to me that had this event been held in Royal Albert Hall the audience by now would be snoring or finding excuses to walk out. Of course, had it been held in Carnegie Hall the volatile New Yorkers would have heckled the speakers off the stage and chased them down Seventh Avenue.
Finally, it was the turn of the Envoy of Great Britain, Mr. Grant Munro, to speak. Wisely, he kept his remarks brief and witty. I confess that I was more interested in watching his wife, the object of our suspicions, as she sat in the front row of the foreigners, to see how she responded to her husband’s public persona. I had to give her credit – she did not betray an iota of disrespect for the man and the office she was betraying to a rival foreign power. Instead, she was all rapt attention, never looking anything but adoring of the handsome, articulate man behind the podium. She was a consummate actress and earned my respect.
When it came my turn, I strode to the podium, accompanied b
y Tommy as my translator, and recited one of the most popular of the stories I had written about Sherlock Holmes – The Adventure of the Speckled Band. I had been advised that the Japanese, although outwardly not particularly religious, had an abiding fascination with all things evil and macabre, and, of course, anything that was tied to murderous doctors and poisonous snakes from India stirred their blood. I was quite sure that everyone in the hall knew how the story would end, but they hung on to my every word. I could hear many grown women whimpering like frightened children as I described the horrific way that the villain had planned to murder poor Miss Helen Stoner. They all applauded generously when I came to the end. Dr. Grimesby Roylott was sitting dead and gruesome in his chair, and they seemed quite convinced that justice had been done.
Holmes then ascended to the podium, accompanied by loud but orderly applause, and delivered his most famous lecture, The Science of Deduction. Readers of my stories are aware that from time to time Holmes has accused me of romanticizing and sensationalizing his adventures for the sake of entertaining my readers. But on this particular evening, our roles were reversed. Holmes clearly enjoyed adding to the horrific and gory details of the crimes, dwelling on the depths of depravity, and expanding on the scandalous behavior of the criminal minds of England. The verbal outbursts from the men and, again, the childish whimpering from the women, was sufficient evidence required to indicate that a good time was being had by all.
A brief reception was held for us following the event. For the first half hour, both Holmes and I were monopolized by various Japanese dignitaries who graciously bowed and gave generous compliments, but who, if I were to allow myself uncharitable thoughts, might also be seizing the opportunity both to practice their English and, feigning modesty, demonstrate their masterful knowledge of detective stories. All the while, I could see Mr. and Mrs. Munro patiently waiting until our hosts were done with us before approaching to chat. When the opportunity to do so finally came, they walked to our side and shook our hands. For several minutes, we exchanged chit chat about the similarities of the weather in Tokyo and London, both being damp with London being colder, and then we moved on to a review of our tour of the country. The two of them made a most elegant and charming couple, smiling warmly and making no end of witty remarks that brought an involuntary smile even to the face of the taciturn Sherlock Holmes.
Yet again, there was not a single hint of duplicity in the performance given by Mrs. Effie Munro. Not once did I catch her averting her gaze to see what else was going on in the room or see her paying less than complete attention to the conversation taking place amongst us. A very polished performer indeed, I had to admit.
Chapter Seven Our New Friends
OUR ENVOY CONFIRMED THAT SHERLOCK HOLMES would be the honored guest who would award the prize at the upcoming footrace, sponsored by the British Legation and Industries. It would take place in just a few days and would involve three complete circuits around the Imperial Palace grounds. The men would run their race first, followed by the women. I was surprised to hear that Japanese women were permitted to engage in such a contest.
I asked, “Is His Majesty’s Government encouraging the emancipation of women and female suffrage here in Japan?”
“Oh, good heavens, no, Dr. Watson,” replied Mr. Munro. “The British Empire does not interfere in the cultural practices of foreign countries, not even in our own colonies. But the current regime in Japan has been on a tear towards becoming a modern industrial nation. They have a desperate need for dedicated, reliable laborers in all their new factories, so they have to reverse centuries of demanding that young women remain in the fathers’ homes in their villages. Now they must become independent, move to the cities and work in the factories. The request for us to have a women’s athletic event as well as a men’s came from the Diet. So, of course, we went along. And it should be a splendid spectacle, don’t you agree?”
I nodded my agreement but was not entirely convinced. We continued the conversation for a few more minutes and then made to take our leave. To my surprise, Mrs. Munro caught Sherlock Holmes off-guard with her final question.
“Mr. Holmes,” she said in a manner that bordered on flirtatious, “is it really true that in your entire career you have been bested by only one woman? Tell the truth now, was Irene Adler the only woman to have proven to be smarter than the country’s finest detective?” She then laughed infectiously.
Holmes appeared to be momentarily at a loss for words, but recovered and replied, somewhat imperiously, “I assure you, Madam, that there has indeed been only one woman who can claim that distinct accomplishment.”
“Only one so far,” she responded, again followed by a pleasant laugh.
Yet again, I was struck by the brazen ability of this American woman. I was quite certain that, given her access to secretive sources of information, she must have known or at least suspected that Sherlock Holmes had been sent by Whitehall to do more than entertain the Japanese populace. But here she was joyfully taunting him. It would not surprise me at all if she joined the select rank now inhabited only by Irene Adler.
Sherlock Holmes prides himself on eschewing emotions and depending on cool reason alone when involved in a serious case. That sense of pride, however, has been known to invade his emotional state in spite of his determination not to allow it. As we walked back to the hotel, I noticed that Holmes had quickened his pace, a sure sign that his anger had been piqued by the fearless taunting of Mrs. Munro. Upon reaching the hotel, he immediately retired to his room, without our customary few moments of tobacco and brandy, and without so much as a pleasant ‘Good night, Watson.’
When I descended the stairs to the breakfast room, the next morning I found Holmes already into his notes and files, his rice porridge and nearly raw morsels of fish already devoured. Without so much as a pleasant ‘Good morning, Watson,’ he immediately launched into our schedule for the day.
“I have sent notice to the Second Minister, that Humphrey chap, as well as to Tommy, that I wish to advance a portion of our schedule.”
“I am not surprised, Holmes. So, do tell, where are we going today?”
“To the School for Girls run by the Society of Friends. It is the place where the fellow that Humphrey identified as the Russian agent is working, using his role as a teacher of mathematics to cover his treachery. It is also the place to which Mrs. Munro’s notes and letters are sent on a regular basis.”
“Ah yes, the ones that are partially in code and replete with affectionate greetings and closings in Russian.”
“Precisely. The good Quakers who are in charge of the place had requested that we come and speak and assured us that they could accommodate a last minute change in schedule, since all they have to do is haul the girls out of their classes and into the Assembly Hall. Blessedly, we shall not have to endure two hours of Japanese formalities. I intend to take the measure of the Russian and attempt to deduce just what he and our dear Mrs. Effie are up to. I assured them that you would be prepared to recite an appropriate story, and I will again give them my lecture.”
“I shall be so prepared, although I take it that both of us will have to Bowdlerize our remarks somewhat, given the religious and irenic sensibilities of the good Quakers.”
“Precisely. It would never do to provoke the heating of the blood of the peaceful folk nor create palpitations in the hearts of their young charges.”
A group of Quakers from Philadelphia had, in 1887, established a school for girls in a pleasant suburban area of Tokyo, the Minato-ku, about three miles south of the hotel and Palace grounds. Tommy advised us that it would take us at least an hour to walk the distance, and so he quickly arranged a taxi.
The Friends School, or Fuendo Gakuen, was housed in an impressive set of wooden buildings, all whitewashed and immaculate. I was surprised by the large number of Japanese girls, several hundred of them ranging in age from ten through seventeen, who were all attired in starched and pressed uniforms. I had not thought that
the upper classes of Japanese families would want their children exposed to daily doses of a distinctly American version of the Christian religion, but the emphasis on academic achievement and the opportunity learn English had obviously trumped any concerns of religious indoctrination.
After a brief meeting with Headmistress Esther Biddle, we were led into the Assembly Hall, where the entire student body had gathered. They stood up as we entered and more or less in unison bowed to us. In a manner similar to the previous evening, first I and then Holmes spoke to them. I recited the story I usually did when addressing young people, The Man with the Twisted Lip. It was ideal for such a gathering as it created all sorts of fears of murder and terror but ended happily with a touch of romance. Tommy did, as always, a superb job of translating it, and the girls sat spellbound. Several of the younger ones in the front rows grabbed the hand of the one sitting next to them and acted as if they were thoroughly frightened. The tune of Three Little Maids from School floated through my mind.
I knew that while I was speaking, Holmes would be intensely surveying the audience, attempting to identify the Slav math teacher. As I concluded my recitation, I turned and passed Holmes as he took his place at the lectern. He indicated with his eyes and chin, the direction in which I should look. Upon sitting down, I looked out to the hall and quickly identified our suspect. There were only a handful of male teachers in the crowd and, since almost all of the students were of short stature, except for a few of the seniors, they were easy to spot. They all looked like earnest American lads from Philadelphia, but there was one fellow, seated near the back who appeared to be a recent refugee from Siberia. He was tall, fair skinned, and distinctly square-headed. I assumed that Holmes had already devised a means of speaking to him following our presentation.
Sherlock Holmes Never Dies- Collection Four Page 28