“‘There was no sign of forced entry,’ Harada said. ‘That much I was able to establish. By all accounts, no windowpanes had been smashed, nor had any doors been jemmied.’
“‘Then it must have happened during daylight hours. A much riskier prospect for the thief, and therefore indicative of a high degree of daring.’
“‘One presumes he came in with a bag containing the counterfeit netsuke, picked the lock, effected the substitution, and left,’ Harada hazarded. You can imagine my response to that remark, Watson.”
“All too well. You upbraided Harada for presuming anything.”
“Quite so.”
“I hope you were not as acerbic with the man as you tend to be with me. He was, after all, in a state of some distress.”
“I believe I showed restraint, while nonetheless making clear what a dim view I take of guesswork. My next move was to ask Harada how easy it might be to fence the stolen netsuke. Such rare and unique items might surely be difficult to sell. He replied that there must be wealthy collectors in this country or on the continent who would pay good money for them, not caring that they were purloined. Failing that, the thief might despatch the netsuke back to Japan, where there would be a market for them among certain unscrupulous individuals who, though well aware of their provenance, would nonetheless wish to own them.”
“What about ransom?” I suggested. “I am sure the emperor would have been willing to part with a handsome sum in order to guarantee his netsuke’s safe return.”
“I had the same thought. Harada said that neither he nor the museum had received a ransom demand yet. That, he added, did not mean that one might not be imminent. In reply, I averred that it depended to some extent on how recently the netsuke had been stolen. Harada had spotted the fakes only the previous day, but that was not to say that they had been installed in the cabinet no earlier than that. A week, a fortnight, even a month might have elapsed since the theft, and in the interim nobody had been any the wiser until Harada made his discovery. In that case, the absence of a ransom demand after so long an interval would indicate that blackmail was not the motive after all.”
“Harada mentioned that two of the netsuke had not been replaced with counterfeits,” I said.
“Capital, Watson!” Holmes exclaimed. “You have hit upon the most singular detail of the whole thing. Why take nearly all of them? Why not all? Why leave two behind?”
“Could it be that the thief failed to make convincing duplicates of those two? Perhaps they were too detailed to copy accurately. Or perhaps he felt it was enough just to steal the majority of the netsuke. Or, now that I think of it, perhaps he was rushed. He had only a limited span of time in which to make the substitutions and was forced to abandon the process before it was complete, for fear of being caught red-handed.”
“All very plausible inferences. In my view, there was only one way to get to the truth, and that was to visit the scene of the crime. Which is precisely what I did, in Harada’s company. We drove to the museum, arriving not long before closing time, and soon we were in the relevant gallery. The theft of the netsuke had not been made public yet, at Harada’s request, and the gallery remained open to all comers, although at that moment, with the museum about to shut its doors imminently, we two were its sole occupants.
“Immediately I set about examining the cabinet, in particular the lock. The lock – a pin tumbler – was not what one might call a daunting prospect, more a formality than anything. With a glass display cabinet, anyone desperate enough to gain access to the contents can always simply smash the glass. The lock affords some small measure of security but its role is largely symbolic.
“As I bent to scrutinise this particular one, I descried straight away a pair of nigh-imperceptible scratches at the top and bottom of the key slot. The brass had been worn away slightly, to a depth of less than a sixteenth of an inch. The scratches were marginally brighter than the tarnished patina around them.”
“Fresh cuts,” I said.
“Just so. And each betrayed a slight curve to the left.”
“Somebody had used a knife to force the lock.”
“Watson, you are excelling yourself today. Would that this intellectual acuity of yours were the rule rather than the exception.”
I bristled somewhat, but decided to accept the complimentary part of Holmes’s remark and disregard the rest. Really, if I had been unable to overlook or forgive the many verbal slights my friend had inflicted upon me over the years, it is doubtful he would still have been my friend.
“A small knife,” Holmes said, “if inserted into the key slot and twisted anticlockwise with sufficient force, would open the lock as surely as the true key. I proved as much for myself with my own penknife. Harada was alarmed that the cabinet could be broken into so easily.
“‘If it is any consolation,’ I told him, ‘there isn’t a lock on a cabinet in this entire museum that I could not open in a similar fashion. No sufficiently practised and determined thief would have found this one anything but a minor deterrent.’
“Lifting the cabinet lid, I began studying the netsuke. I invited Harada to point out the two remaining originals and then compared those with the others. It was not difficult to see the difference, once I knew what I was looking for. The forger echoed the fineness of the craftsman’s chisel strokes on the genuine article with relative crudity. But the fakes showed an undeniable level of skill nevertheless. To the untrained eye, the contrast would have been negligible.
“I then performed a thoroughgoing survey of the entire room. You know how valuable I find that, Watson. One needs to obtain a, so to speak, global perspective on a problem in order to place the minutiae in context. I shall spare you the full inventory of the data I uncovered and confine myself to the relevant details. These were as follows. A plain wooden chair had been placed against one of the side walls of the gallery. Above it was a hook for a lantern. Behind it, in the crack between the skirting board and the floor, were a few minuscule flakes of pale wood. Each of these facts was intriguing, and the three together were highly suggestive.”
“Of what?” I enquired.
“Let us start with the chair,” said Holmes. “It was situated halfway along the room, looking inward. Who might sit in such a chair?”
“A museum guard?”
“Precisely. Yet its position did not afford the best vantage point. In fact, a much more logical place for a guard to have sat would have been at the far end of the room, for then he would not only have had a commanding view of the gallery but also of the three others which lay beyond, one after another in a row, each separated from the next by a narrow vestibule. In other words, his line of sight would have encompassed four galleries instead of just the one.”
“He chose that spot for the chair because of the lantern hook.”
Holmes feigned astonishment. “Has my old Watson been supplanted by a doppelgänger, in much the same way as the netsuke were replaced by counterfeits? Yes, Watson, the lantern hook. And as for the flakes of wood… Well, I was on the point of sharing my findings with Harada, and offering my interpretation of them, when who should enter the gallery but a guard. He was doing his rounds, clearing the museum of stray visitors before it closed. Nor was he just any guard, but a night watchman. I adjudged as much by the small flask he carried in one hand, the kind which might contain a goodly supply of tea to keep one going through the small hours, and the lantern he carried in the other.
“These two appurtenances acquainted me with his current professional specialism, but certain physical details about the man bespoke a former occupation, too. For one thing, his left earlobe showed the mark of having once been pierced. For another, a tattoo on his right wrist peeked out from his shirtcuff. It appeared to be two leaves at right angles to each other – that or a pair of fins, such as might be appended to the tail of a mermaid.
“In addition, his eyes bulged somewhat and his hair appeared dry and brittle, while his skin bore a couple of small, brown sc
aly patches. As a medical man, Watson, perhaps you would care to offer a diagnosis based on such symptoms?”
I thought about it. “The evidence is scant, and without seeing him for myself I would be reluctant to make a pronouncement. If, however, you were to put a gun to my head and compel an answer from me…”
“Let us assume I have resorted to such drastic measures.”
“Scurvy,” I said. “Bulging eyes, brittle hair and scaly skin are emblematic of the long-term effects of scurvy.”
“In short, the night watchman had once been a sailor,” said Holmes. “It was plain for all to see. He had the build for it as well, the kind of broad-shouldered, barrel-chested musculature that comes from hauling on ropes and hoisting sails. Nor was it long since he had quit the life of an able-bodied seaman. His fingers and palms still bore calluses from the aforementioned maritime labours, and the hole in his earlobe, where once an earring had hung before the greater formality of his new job necessitated its removal, had only just begun to close up.
“My gaze returned to the fellow’s hands, for it was there that I sought signs that he indulged in a particular pastime – and found them. Each thumb bore a few tiny, crisscrossing scars on its ball, as did the tip of the forefinger of his left hand. In a trice, I had the full solution to the mystery. It was then just a case of exposing the culprit in such a way as not to anger him or provoke him to flight.”
“The culprit was the night watchman,” I said, “and you considered him dangerous.”
“Correct on both counts. He was a large man, hardened by the privations of shipboard life, possibly aggressive. He might attack. Equally, he might run. Either alternative was undesirable. I needed to handle him with finesse.
“In response to his entreaty that Harada and I must leave, I made noises of polite acquiescence. Thereupon, as we made to depart, I bade the fellow goodnight and offered him a compliment, in passing, on his proficiency in the art of scrimshaw.
“The night watchman thanked me automatically, then caught himself. His brow furrowed.
“‘How did you know I…?’ he began.
“The words trailed off, and there followed an almost comical cavalcade of emotions upon his face. Fuddled confusion gave way to dawning comprehension, which in turn gave way to weary resignation. At that point I knew he would come quietly, and he knew I knew, and each of us smiled at the other in a manner that was almost affable.
“‘You are not a policeman,’ said he. ‘Who are you?’
“‘My name is Sherlock Holmes,’ said I, ‘and you, sir, are guilty of one of the most elegant thefts I have been called upon to investigate.’
“Harada grasped the import of my words. ‘It is you who has stolen the netsuke?’ he said to the night watchman.
“‘Guilty as charged,’ replied the other, with an air that was as much rueful as anything. ‘I feel I should explain.’
“‘I feel you should,’ Harada said, with understandable severity.
“‘I am not a bad person, sir,’ the night watchman said.
“‘On present showing,’ said Harada, ‘I would dispute that assertion. Do you have any idea of the agonies your act has caused me? Let alone its potential political ramifications.’
“‘I know, and I apologise. Now that the jig is up, I see how selfish and unthinking I have been. In my defence, those little figurines – those netsuke – are among the most beautiful things I have ever laid eyes on. For me, just to be able to look upon them every night has been a privilege.’
“‘But simply looking at them was not enough, was it?’ I said. ‘You felt moved to possess them.’
“‘I couldn’t help myself, Mr Holmes,’ replied the night watchman. ‘I thought if I took just one, surely no one would mind. I mean, I’d heard one of the museum curators say that the Japanese emperor has thousands of the things. Would he really miss just one? Moreover, I knew I could fashion a passable substitute, so that the theft might well go undetected.’
“‘Because, like many a sailor, you have developed a facility for scrimshaw,’ I said, ‘as a hobby to occupy yourself during the long hours at sea.’
“‘What is this scrimshaw?’ Harada asked. ‘I am unfamiliar with the term.’
“‘Scrimshaw refers to miniature sculptures not unlike netsuke,’ I told him. ‘Sailors – whalers in particular – are fond of it. Their preferred medium is ivory or whalebone, sometimes sharks’ teeth. Is that not right, Mr…?’
“‘Kerrison,’ said the night watchman. ‘Saul Kerrison, at your service. And yes, that is right. In moments of leisure, men at sea are apt to etch away at a piece of ivory to help pass the time, creating sometimes very elaborate drawings and shapes. I shan’t ask how you ascertained that I used to be a mariner, Mr Holmes. I know enough about you to know that you are able to read a man’s entire life history at a glance.’
“‘Something of an exaggeration,’ I said. ‘Where you are concerned, however, the deduction about your former occupation was fairly straightforward. Similarly, I am able, without much difficulty, to deduce that you have spent the nights here in this gallery, seated in that chair, in the glow of your lantern’s light, assiduously carving replicas of the netsuke out of morsels of soft wood – pine, I believe. You have taken the precaution of sweeping up the wood shavings each time before your shift ended, but some few escaped your attention and have ended up lodged beneath the skirting board. I would submit that you use a short-bladed knife, the point and cutting edge of which have left their mark upon your fingertips on the occasions when the knife has slipped and injured you slightly. With that selfsame knife, you gained access to the display cabinet in order to remove the netsuke you covet so much and be able to copy them, one by one. Having completed each replica and placed it in the cabinet where the original belonged, you have then slipped the latter in your pocket and walked out with it when morning comes.’
“‘All of that is true.’
“‘You may have started out intending to procure just the single piece of netsuke, but that did not satisfy your need, did it, Mr Kerrison? Once you had taken one, you wanted more.’
“Kerrison shook his head shamefacedly. ‘What can I say? They are such delightful objects. And having reproduced one of them with success, I could hardly resist attempting the same with another, and another. Their artistry posed a challenge to my skills as a scrimshander, and I like to think I rose to the occasion.’
“‘So much so that you were able to pull off the exchanges with impunity.’
“‘It is true. The very first time, I feared the imposture would be noticed, but it was not. That emboldened me. I had got away with it once; why not a second time? And a third?’
“Harada uttered a phrase in his native tongue that sounded very much like a self-recriminatory curse. ‘I have been such a fool,’ he said. ‘If only I had realised sooner that certain of the netsuke were facsimiles…’
“‘Stop blaming yourself, Mr Harada,’ I said. ‘The quality of Kerrison’s handiwork cannot be denied.’
“‘Thank you, sir,’ said Kerrison.
“‘More to the point,’ I went on, ‘whether by design or not, he played upon the fact that incremental changes to the status quo often go unnoticed. The first time Kerrison replaced one of the netsuke with one of his own, Mr Harada, you would have looked at the assembled netsuke and failed to observe that one of them was not its usual self. This alteration became assimilated into your impressions of the collection as a whole. Each subsequent alteration escaped your notice, likewise becoming assimilated. Your mind accepted that that was how the netsuke as a whole had always appeared, until you spotted that the hissing cat was a fake. That was when the general incongruity finally struck you. It took that one piece to spark a cascade of revelation.’
“‘The cat,’ said Kerrison, ‘was not my best work, I must admit.’
“‘Where are the netsuke now?’ Harada demanded of him. ‘Tell me you haven’t sold them.’
“‘Sold them?’ I said. ‘
Did you not listen to the man, Mr Harada? He is enraptured by them. I would wager good money that the ones he has taken have pride of place in his home.’
“‘They are laid out upon my table,’ said Kerrison. ‘I live alone. Each afternoon, as I set off for work, I cast a loving eye over them, and each morning, as I head homeward, all I can think is how much I am looking forward to seeing them again.’”
I said, “This Kerrison sounds a remarkably sensitive soul, not least for an ex-sailor.”
“There was in him an artistic spirit, Watson, you are quite right. Behind that coarse, navy-roughened exterior lurked the heart of an aesthete. For that very reason, I could not bring myself to discharge him into the clutches of the police.”
“What! You mean to say you let him go free?”
“I extracted from Kerrison his home address and his house key. Harada and I hastened off to Shoreditch, where he lived, and gathered up the stolen netsuke, which, as he had said, were laid out upon the table in his modest parlour. We brought the items back to the museum. Kerrison let us in through a side door, and we duly removed the fake netsuke from the cabinet and returned the originals to their rightful place.”
“But Kerrison was a thief. You took the law into your own hands.”
“It was not the first time nor, I suspect, will it be the last,” Holmes said. “In this instance I felt there was nothing to be gained from seeing Kerrison tried and sentenced. It would be a waste. I proposed to him that instead he devote his talents as a scrimshander to producing new work, with a view to perhaps selling his wares at a market stall. I am pleased to say that he took my advice, and you may find him, to this day, plying his trade at Covent Garden, Bermondsey and Brick Lane on various weekends. He fashions caricatures and other commissioned pieces, alongside generic representations of animals, trees and so forth, and earns a modest side-income from it, while continuing to work at the South Kensington Museum.”
The Manifestations of Sherlock Holmes Page 4