Sherlock Holmes

by Keisuke Matsuoka

  Throughout all of this, Ito never forgot his first impression of a train in London. Throughout his rise through the Japanese government, one of his greatest ambitions remained the construction of a railway. He pushed to include railway construction in development plans he worked on with Shigenobu Okuma, and in June 1872 finally procured provisional operation of the new Tokyo to Yokohama line, extending from Shinagawa to Yokohama. In October the entire line opened in earnest, going all the way to Shimbashi.

  1881. Spurred by his encounters in Berlin he maneuvered his political rival Okuma into resigning. Okuma had supported an English-style parliamentary constitution, but Ito preferred to adopt a Prussian-style constitution which maintained the imperial prerogative. Real progress had been made toward establishing a parliament and the drafting of a constitution.

  March 3, 1882 (5th year of Meiji). He travelled Europe on orders by Emperor Meiji to study the various constitutional systems of the West. He left on the 14th of March. He visited the University of Berlin and University of Vienna to study historical jurisprudence and political administration. The groundwork was laid for the creation of a cabinet system and the drafting and enactment of the Constitution of the Empire of Japan.

  At this age, patches of white began to appear on Ito’s head. In Europe, he realized he would soon be 41. His had been a tumultuous life. The establishment of a genuinely modern Japan was close. He was certain his goals were in reach.

  On February 12, 1883, he left Berlin and travelled to Brussels, Belgium. On March 3, exactly one year after receiving his orders from Emperor Meiji, he set foot in London once again.

  Ito had changed much since his first visit to the British capital. He could look at the city with much more perspective. He no longer had to scurry through the shadows, eking out a meager existence. He was surrounded by an extensive contingent of hangers-on and treated as an honored guest of state; his time was consumed with relentless royal audiences and scholarly meetings. His plan was to spend two months studying the English constitution.

  However, there were two people with whom Ito wished to meet while in London, by whatever means necessary. If the older brother of that strange duo he had rescued, all those decades ago, had entered government service as he had said, Ito thought finding him would be a simple matter.

  3 He changed his name from 俊輔 to 春輔, which both read as “Shunsuke.”

  5

  Hirobumi Ito’s attachés were vociferously opposed to the idea of his wandering London unattended. They stared at him in affront at the mere suggestion. Japan was on the cusp of modernization—allowing one of the driving figures of that movement to walk the streets unguarded was sheer folly.

  Ito, however, was far more proficient in English now than during his first time in London. So he made a personal request to the British Home Office staff, asking one of the clerks if there was a civil servant named Mycroft Holmes—of what sector, he didn’t know. The clerk replied that he would look into it.

  It was early in April, a typically dismal, overcast afternoon. Claiming he wanted to shut himself up for a time in one of the reference rooms at the British Library, Ito managed to detach from his group and slipped out a window. Though he was in his forties, his physique had been hardened by war. He easily passed through the garden and hopped into a carriage, giving the coachman the address he had jotted down: “221B Baker Street, please.”

  He’d heard Mycroft was responsible for auditing books for a variety of government departments. Ito had been able to send him a telegram, but Mycroft had politely refused to meet. The answer Ito had received was markedly reserved, and he couldn’t help but feel some misgivings as he read it. But then, perhaps the other man’s answer was only natural. After all, he was being contacted by a foreigner he had met only once in his teens. And, too, the Home Office had briefed Mycroft on Ito’s title and situation in all its minute details. Perhaps that, too, had put Mycroft off.

  But Mycroft had sent his brother’s address. Sherlock apparently now worked as a private detective. As a result his place of business, which also doubled as his residence, was open to visits from the public. Ito was in high spirits as the carriage jostled him side to side. A detective! It was the perfect career for Sherlock. Though Sherlock must have improved significantly in his sociability; after all, when dealing with clients, grace and manners were vital. He would now be 29 years of age. Ito wondered what sort of man he had become.

  Baker Street was a broad road stretching from north to south in the West End, running from the northeast corner of Hyde Park to the southwest corner of Regent Park.

  The building the carriage slowed down in front of was one that might be found anywhere through London. Rows of sash windows, trimmed in white, lined its rich brown brick walls. It was a lodging house, and must command a considerable rent. The small entryway was crowned with an arch window bearing the inscription of 221B.

  Ito rang the bell. Shortly after, the door was opened. An elderly woman in a simple dress poked her head out.

  Mycroft had also confided the name of the building’s landlady to Ito. He removed his top hat. “Good afternoon, my name is Hirobumi Ito. It is Mrs. Hudson, I presume?”

  “Ah,” said Mrs. Hudson, a smile spreading across her face. “You’ve come early. We had a telegram from Mr. Holmes’ brother. You’re quite the distinguished guest. Is your party…?”

  “I am alone. My apologies for coming unannounced. Is Mr. Holmes in?”

  “I’m sorry to say he’s been down to Leatherhead since the sixth. We expected him back this morning, but he’s yet to make an appearance. I’m afraid things can be quite sudden with Mr. Holmes. It was a young lady that came around before seven, asking that I ring him up.”

  “I see. Being a detective must be a very difficult job. Like a physician.”

  “It’s Dr. Watson, that shares the lodgings, who is the physician. Will you wait inside? I’ll put on the tea.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Ito, as he was shown in. Going up the stairs, he was led through the first door.

  The room he entered left him speechless.

  While the fireplace, furniture, and other ornaments might appear elegant to the Japanese eye, they would hardly be counted ornate by English standards. The room was fairly spacious, with a second room off the back—likely the sleeping quarters.

  The room, however, was in a state of extreme disarray. Mountains of books and papers lay toppled across the easy-chair and sofa, leaving absolutely no space to sit. A Persian slipper stuffed full of tobacco had been left lying out; there were cigars in the coal scuttle. A stack of unopened correspondence was pinned to the mantelpiece with a jackknife, and scattered next to it was a variety of paraphernalia including a pipe, a syringe, a knife, and several bullet cartridges. One wall was the proud bearer of an assortment of bullet holes, which formed a pattern spelling out the letters “V R.”

  The writing desk was also covered with an array of chemical apparati and materials. This was likely the source of the strange odor that permeated the room. A mummified finger bone lay haphazardly next to the butter dish and a violin rested on the table with its case.

  Mrs. Hudson withdrew, leaving Ito alone in the disorder. He approached the unlit fireplace. A crooked fire poker had been tossed upon the floor, as baffling as everything else in the room. It looked as if it had first been bent nearly double and then bent back to its original shape. It would require preternatural strength to achieve such a feat. Surely it could not have been the work of the delicate young boy Ito had once known, fully grown though he now should be.

  Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed on the stairs. Ito could hear the voices of two men, engaged in friendly conversation. “Still,” said one of the voices, “it was quite astounding such a powerful venom should go undiscovered during autopsy.”

  The other voice was deeper in tone, aloof yet also strident, exhibiting a turn of phrase
that was oddly distinct. “Undoubtedly he had been schooled in his fiendish methods in the Orient,” said the owner of the voice, “as only the most cunning savage would hit upon such a technique. Having pacified the serpent, he had trained it to return at the sound of his whistle.”

  The door opened. The first man to enter appeared to be in his thirties. He was of fairly average height with a thick neck and well-developed frame, and sported a mustache and a grey suit. A smile lingered on his lips, but when he saw Ito he stopped short. “Sherlock, you have a guest,” he said.

  The man who followed behind him was exceedingly tall. He must have been over six feet in height, and was thin and gaunt. His slim limbs, jutting out from his frock coat, looked almost unnaturally long.

  The man seemed older than his natural years. But that had been the case even when he had been a boy. Ito recognized his hawk-life nose and sunken grey eyes. Perhaps it was the severity of his expression, or his square, jutting jaw, but Sherlock gave an impression now of being even more stubborn and unyielding than he had been before. His facial expression was exceedingly cold, accompanied by a scowl—as if he had just encountered something distasteful. His brow was knit with a heavy crease.

  Ito was a swirl of conflicting emotions. “We finally meet again,” he said.

  The man in the grey suit reacted graciously. The same could not be said of Sherlock Holmes. He strolled past Ito without a word and took the pipe up from the mantelpiece. Persian slipper in one hand, he stuffed the pipe with tobacco. He never even made eye contact.

  Ito was at a loss. The man in the suit glanced at him apologetically. “It is good to make your acquaintance. I am Sherlock’s friend, John Watson.”

  Sherlock quickly raised a hand to restrain Watson. As his eyes remained pointed downward as he spoke, it was not entirely clear to whom he was speaking. “I am far too busy to meet anyone without an appointment.”

  Watson furrowed his brow. “That is news to me. I remember you allowed time for Miss Helen Stoner, though she came at a very early hour.”

  Had Sherlock’s brother not contacted him? “I am sorry for coming unannounced,” said Ito, “but I had no other chance. Today was the only day available.”

  Sherlock continued to avoid looking Ito in the eye. He wagged his finger like a conductor as he spoke. “A fact of which I am well aware, Shunsuke…Excuse me, Hirobumi Ito, as you are known now.” Ito felt a sense of relief. “You remember me, then.”

  “Hmph,” Sherlock grunted, though the expression on his face remained distant. “I recall the mole on the right side of your nose.”

  “I’m pleased you also know my current name.”

  “Certainly, you are very well known, numbering among a very few persons now central to the Japanese government. I am in the habit of monitoring the newspapers closely, and could not help but read of you. The red disc in the center of our national flag shall no longer appear like a wafer over a sealed empire, but henceforth be in fact what it is designed to be, the noble emblem of the rising sun, moving onward and upward amid the enlightened nations of the world. Quite the rousing speech.”

  So Sherlock was familiar with his San Francisco speech! Ito was delighted, though the hint of mockery in his voice did give him pause. “I must give credit to England for introducing me in my younger days to the concept of a modernized nation.”

  Sherlock stuck his pipe into his mouth and lit it with a match. He rested one elbow against the mantelpiece and blew out a puff of smoke. He made no attempt to speak again.

  “Perhaps you have a commission?” asked Watson.

  “No,” Ito answered. “Now that I am finally in London again, I simply wished to renew our acquaintance. Perhaps Sherlock has forgotten, but I made him a small promise before I left.”

  Sherlock finally turned his attention toward Ito. The expression in his eyes was piercing. “Call me Holmes. And if you refer to your promise to educate me in the martial arts, I have two reasons for no longer desiring your help.”

  A knock sounded on the door. Watson crossed the room and opened it. Mrs. Hudson stood on the other side, bearing a tray arranged with the tea things. “Mrs. Hudson, good,” said Watson. “They are at it now so I will take the tea in. Which is the sugar?”

  “Two reasons?” asked Ito.

  “The first reason is that you are now 41 years of age, which leads me to suspect you are no longer in your physical prime. Should you wrench your back, I would rather not be petitioned by the Japanese government for compensation.”

  “My country would never make such demands. I am here on a private visit.”

  “The second reason is that a very talented Japanese master has opened a dojo on Fleet Street, and thus I have already acquired the basics of jujitsu.”

  “I see. But what of karate and kenjutsu…”

  “They are unnecessary. The karate master I encountered two years ago was also Japanese. With his short limbs I was able to knock him down with a left straight before he could affect any true damage. The same is true of kenjutsu. A fencing lunge is more than adequate to take the throat quickly. In either instance, they are unsuited to my height.”

  Unexpectedly, Ito felt himself growing irritated. With 16 years as a politician under his belt, he prided himself on having cultivated a certain degree of forbearance. Sherlock’s provocations, however, struck a more sensitive nerve. He couldn’t help but take offense at hearing Japan’s martial arts so easily derided.

  Watson returned from the door. He held the tray in one hand and deftly cleared the table with the other. “So, what were we talking of?”

  “Nothing in particular,” Sherlock said, his pipe still stuck in his mouth. “I see there are three teacups. Mrs. Hudson might have saved herself the trouble. Our guest should be leaving shortly.”

  This final comment was too much to ignore. Ito fixed his eyes on Sherlock. “I have been overlooking your rudeness for the sake of old friendship, but I am surprised you find any work as a detective with manners such as this!”

  “I see you are angry. Would you care to know the reason for my coldness?”

  “I certainly would,” said Ito.

  “You burned down the British legation,” Sherlock said shortly.

  Ito faltered. Silence descended on the room. The awkwardness grew palpable.

  “The situation in Japan was very complicated at the time,” he defended himself, his voice unsure even to his own ears. “The Choshu Domain…”

  The detective snorted. “Joui. I assume this is what you refer to? Minister Ito, when I asked you if joui was a person you ought to have corrected me. You burned the legation immediately before you left Japan. Surely such an example would have proved enlightening to me.”

  “If I had told you about the legation it would have only upset you…”

  “Yes. I may have been a child, but at the very least I doubt I would have asked to go with you.”

  “I’m sorry. But it didn’t seem like a good time to explain such things.”

  “And what of Professor Williamson? His wife? Had you adequately explained the meaning of joui, I doubt anyone would have permitted you into their home. You and your four fellows were well aware of that fact, that is why you chose to remain silent. Am I mistaken?”

  “With joui we had taken our desire for reform too far. After coming to London, I realized our mistake.”

  “The only thing you realized was that you required British weapons and technologies to defeat the Bakufu. True civilization flows within the veins of British citizens. Your people are inveterate savages.”

  With each sentence the other man uttered, Ito was finding his anger harder to control. “I thought you an intelligent man, but it seems to me that you despise not just me, but all Japanese.”

  “Hardly,” Sherlock said, his tone growing even more pettish. “My treatment of you now is motivated by disappointment. As a child I
believed you to be a gentleman of distinction, but I know now that I was mistaken. The manner in which you have used your wives has been particularly egregious. You avoided the company of your first wife for many years, and even after marrying your second wife you continue to divert yourself with others.”

  Ito was taken aback. This was information about his private life that should not have been public. He sputtered vacantly. “How did you…”

  “I didn’t realize at the time, but the woman who came to your aid that day was a prostitute. The prostitutes of Cheapside are pragmatic by nature and would never trouble themselves with a client once their trade was accomplished. The only explanation is that you took an interest in the woman, made her acquaintance and paid her, but did not avail of her wares. Her actions were thus her manner of repaying you. Your fellows had blamed you for mashing, blamed you because you had a wife. Considering your age, however, you could not have been married for long before leaving her behind on an extended stay in England, which tells me there was little affection in the marriage.”

  “I’d thank you not to presume. Still, where did you learn of my second marriage?”

  “Despite being a man of your position, you were forced to sneak away in order to meet me. Your movements are restricted. Your attendants keep a close eye upon you. The cause? The behavior you engage in upon sneaking away. Your fellows would not be in a frenzy to keep such gossip from the newspapers unless you have a wife. I find it doubtful, even with your present fortunes, that you could have maintained a relationship with the wife you neglected so poorly in your earlier career. Therefore, it is only logical to conclude that you have remarried.”

  Ito was bewildered. He remembered the day he first met young Sherlock. The boy’s powers of deduction had been so astounding then that it was hard not to suspect he was peering directly into one’s mind.