by Anna Elliott
WATSON
Holmes’s voice had taken on that silken tone I have heard many times before, and a thrill went through my entire frame. I did not know what was about to occur, but I recognized very clearly the signs that Holmes’s web had been spun and that his prey was soon to be trapped.
Ernshaw and Sir Michael settled back into their seats.
“Yes, just one thing,” Holmes went on, “if you could be so kind as to spare us a moment or two more. And perhaps your assistance. I think it may prove most valuable in the interests of justice.”
“My assistance?” asked Sir Michael.
Holmes shook his head. “Forgive me for not making myself plain. It is Lord Ernshaw’s help that might assist us.”
“Only too pleased to do what I can,” said Ernshaw. He smiled politely, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands once more.
“Then, Lord Ernshaw, would you tell us what you know of the whereabouts of your sister.”
The polite smile remained fixed on Ernshaw’s face, but I now thought it had turned lifeless, a forced grimace, rictus-like and devoid of genuine feeling. He said, “I don’t see why you would ask that.”
“I shall explain,” Holmes said. “But first, Inspector Lestrade, would you kindly step over to stand behind Mr. Ernshaw.”
Lestrade gave me a look of grim satisfaction as he got to his feet. He whispered, “Now I know why I’m here.”
“Once again I shall be brief,” Holmes said, after Lestrade had taken his position. “Gentlemen, Mr. Ernshaw’s sister, Clarissa Ernshaw, has the married name of Torrance. Do not trouble to deny the connection, Mr. Ernshaw. The records at Somerset House are quite explicit. I have examined her marriage certificate and both your birth certificates.”
Ernshaw stared haughtily at Holmes. “And?”
Holmes went on, “I wondered if she might have been in touch during the last two days, considering that she is your business partner and fellow owner of the Grand Hotel in Shellingford.”
“I know nothing—”
Holmes held up his hand. “Do not trouble to deny that, either, Lord Ernshaw.”
Mycroft spoke for the first time. “The Grand Hotel is listed as an asset of Empire Holdings, a corporation which was floated for public subscription several years ago. Not all of the shares were publicly subscribed, however. The majority is held in your name, Lord Ernshaw, and that of your sister. I presume that you floated only the amount you needed at the time.
“The two of you were most clever and most enterprising. Three years ago, as part of the government and railway program to bolster the tourist economy in Shellingford, you arranged for a substantial quantity of public funds to be set aside for the renovation of the Grand Hotel, as a destination that would attract the vacationing public. You failed to disclose, of course, that you were profiting by the transaction, since it added value to the hotel and thus to your own personal fortune, at the expense of the British taxpayer.”
“I categorically deny any wrongdoing.”
Mycroft shrugged. “There is more. Sherlock?”
“Indeed, there is,” Holmes said. “When the hotel was constructing its hydrotherapy rooms and equipment, you arranged for additional expansion, to include excavation of a large underground storage room and a tunnel leading to the hotel dock. The dock itself was also expanded. The new structure enabled the unloading and loading of cargo vessels—not the size of the freighters that ply the London docks, but large enough for your purposes. Do not bother to deny that you authorized the funding for the construction, Ernshaw. Your signature is on the approval documents, which the excavation and construction companies insisted upon seeing as proof of funds before commencing the work. I was able to view those documents for myself at the hotel office, after the explosion and before I returned to London. I also saw records of rental payments to the hotel that were so generous as to be excessive. Upon my return, I found that those exorbitant payments came from Ming Donghai, the man responsible for the theft of the opium. I also found that you and your sister both were seen in the company of Ming, in London, on the day after my death had been reported.”
“Seen by whom?”
“One of my Irregulars followed you, at my instruction.”
“A packet of lies,” said Ernshaw, staring fixedly ahead. “The testimony of a street urchin. Laughable.”
“There will be proof enough when you are tried in a court of law,” said Holmes. “Or in the House of Lords, if you insist on being judged and humiliated by your peers. Since your actions provided a place of concealment for the stolen opium, you will be charged with abetting the theft of British Government property. Given the high value of the property involved, as you pointed out less than a week ago, your actions constitute a treasonable offense. I am sure you are aware of the penalty for treason.”
Ernshaw’s hand went involuntarily to his neck, which appeared even thinner and more frail than I recalled from our first meeting.
Holmes continued, and his voice took on a graver, more solemn tone. “In Kensington, there was a young woman who loved a London Police detective. The two intended to marry. The detective went missing and the young woman came to me for help. She became my client. But within the week, both the detective and the young woman were murdered. The mother of the young woman, and another police detective, were also murdered; that second detective leaves behind a widow and three children. All four murders were committed to conceal the stolen opium hoard from which you profited, Lord Ernshaw.”
“You cannot prove—” Ernshaw began.
But Holmes cut him off, his tone inexorable. “I repeat. Four innocent lives taken, and four more irrevocably harmed. Eight lives for which you, Lord Ernshaw, will one day be called to account, if not in this world, then in the next.”
Holmes gestured to Lestrade. “Now, Inspector Lestrade, will you please arrest this man.”
The inspector placed a hand on Ernshaw’s bony shoulder. “You are under arrest,” Lestrade said, “and anything you say may be written down in evidence and used against you.”
“I admit nothing,” Ernshaw said. “Sir Michael, none of this can be proven. I have done nothing wrong.”
Sir Michael looked at Ernshaw with disgust. “Inspector, please take this person out of my sight.”
A moment later, Ernshaw was handcuffed. We waited in silence as Lestrade led his prisoner from the room.
78. THE BELL TOLLS
WATSON
After a few more moments of silence, Sir Michael gave an involuntary shudder. “What a serpent I have harbored,” he said. “I worked with him every day and I never had the slightest notion. I hope you’ll catch his sister, Lansdowne,” he added.
“We’ll find her,” said Lansdowne.
Sir Michael turned to Holmes. “What made you suspect Ernshaw?”
“At first, it was only a trifle,” said Holmes. “If you recall, Mr. Chancellor, you were to meet with us here, on the morning after the first chest of opium was discovered. But you did not attend, which was most unlike you, given the enormous financial implications, and the possible link to the diamond case we had concluded last November. I asked Mycroft to look into the matter. He learned that you had gone to Buckingham Palace due to a last-minute summons, which later turned out to have been a clerical mistake. Yet no one on the Royal staff would say why the summons had been sent.”
“You think Ernshaw arranged for the mistake?” asked Sir Michael.
“I do now. At the time, I thought it odd that you would have sent a substitute, when you might simply have asked for the meeting to be rescheduled. I wondered if there was any connection with the location of the meeting having been at Lloyd’s. I have since learned that Lloyd’s insures the Grand Hotel. I expect Ernshaw wanted to be on hand to steer the conversation away from what might have become a sensitive topic.”
“Or simply to learn how you proposed to locate the opium,” Mycroft said, “so that he could take precautions if necessary. That became moot, of co
urse, when you refused to take the case.”
“Indeed,” said Holmes. “I noted his attempt at studied indifference when I declined. He is not a talented actor. His facial expressions betrayed his glad relief that I would not be meddling in his affairs, and then his suspicion that I would investigate on my own. On that point he was correct, of course.”
Jacoby looked puzzled. “If he didn’t want you to investigate, why did he lay such emphasis on the treasonous nature of any crime connected with the stolen opium? He said it would give you such great powers.”
“He made the argument for appearance’s sake, hoping we would believe he truly wished me to take the case. On reflection, I think he also feared exposure for his treasonous involvement with the opium hoard. This genuine fear provided a foundation for his otherwise hypocritical emotion.”
“But you kept searching for the opium,” Sir Michael said. “Why?”
“Swafford’s murder was an affront that I could not allow to stand unpunished. Then the following day, I learned that two innocent women had been killed in London,” Holmes said.
“And one of the women was your client. She had to be avenged as well.”
I saw the familiar tight little smile on Holmes’s face. He gave a brief nod of acknowledgement.
“Then you learned that Lord Lynley had been killed in Shellingford. And Lucy was in Shellingford,” said Mycroft.
“She was,” Holmes said.
“Is that why you had to die?” asked Sir Michael.
Again, the little smile. “I had to create the illusion that my investigations had been conclusively ended.”
“Glad it was only an illusion,” said Sir Michael.
“I only wish we could get our money back,” said Jacoby.
“I have two suggestions that may help you,” said Holmes.
Jacoby brightened. “You do?”
“First, I believe there is legislation allowing the Crown to recoup losses for property stolen from Her Majesty’s Government.”
“By seizure of assets owned by the thieves,” Mycroft said. “Good idea. I would think the Grand Hotel would fall into that category.”
“Also, Lord Ernshaw’s estate is considerable,” said Holmes.
“Then we might sell it,” Sir Michael mused. “And the hotel, if we can find a buyer—”
“—and then you might share the proceeds with the Society,” Jacoby added.
Holmes interrupted. “You can work those arrangements out among yourselves. As to my second point, Lord Lansdowne, I would further suggest that the Department of War has realized considerable financial savings from the recent events at the hotel, since the opium will no longer be available for sale to those who would attack the Crown. I would suggest that some of this savings might also be applied to the purpose of compensating the Crown, and, of course, the Society, for its previous financial injury.”
“Hear, hear!” said Jacoby, brightening considerably.
“I might add that Ming had the support of the Chinese Emperor,” Mycroft said. “We may be able to use that point to our advantage as we negotiate our new Hong Kong treaty.”
“We will take it under advisement,” said Lansdowne.
“I hasten to add,” said Holmes, “that I want no monetary compensation for myself.”
“Won’t argue with that,” said Jacoby.
“I do, however, have one request,” said Holmes.
Holmes stood, walked over to Jacoby, and spoke for a brief interval, so quietly that the rest of us were unable to hear.
Jacoby nodded.
A short while later we left the Underwriters’ Room. Holmes was a few steps ahead of us. I walked with Jacoby, Mycroft and Lansdowne, reflecting inwardly on how much had changed since our little procession had first entered this vast space only a short time earlier this afternoon. At that initial moment I had feared we might be marching to a stern confrontation and a grim outcome. Now, thanks to Holmes, the villainous Lord Ernshaw had been led off to face punishment, and we were leaving in triumph.
Then I heard a single, sharp, clear ring emanate from the Lutine Bell.
It had been struck once: the signal for a loss.
A shocked hush fell over the Underwriters’ Room. I stopped and looked back.
Within the rotunda and beneath the bell stood a Lloyd’s attendant, an old fellow wearing a red robe. He was holding a thick white rope attached to the bell.
Then he reached up and pulled down hard on the rope, puffing out his cheeks with the effort, ringing the bell again, and again, and yet again. After the eighth ring he stopped, let go of the rope, and stood motionless.
Eight rings, I thought.
Eight lives.
The echoes of the eighth ring died away.
Beside me, Jacoby was speaking, his tone hushed. “We’re starting a fund for police widows,” he said. Then he added, “Mr. Holmes thought you’d want to help.”
My emotions surged. I turned to where Holmes had been.
He was no longer in the room.
THE END
HISTORICAL NOTE
This is a work of fiction, and the authors make no claim that any of the historical locations or historical figures appearing in this story had even the remotest connection with the adventures recounted herein. However …
1. In 1897 Sun Yat Sen published Kidnapped in London, the account of his kidnapping and incarceration in the Chinese Legation the previous year. The government of China continues to occupy the building described in that book as being located on the corner of Portland Place and Weymouth Street. The building is now the Embassy of the People’s Republic of China.
2. The Grand Hotel in the fictional seacoast town of Shellingford was inspired by the Royal Hotel, a grand old Victorian structure still operating in the very real seacoast resort town of Skegness, in Lincolnshire, where recently were found the ruins of an underground hydrotherapy center. No smugglers’ tunnel has been discovered at the Royal, although that portion of the Lincolnshire coast was notorious for smuggling and for underground storage bunkers built into the sand dunes.
3. Another hotel tunnel on the other side of the Atlantic, however, is known to have been used for smuggling purposes. At the Congress Hall Hotel in Cape May, New Jersey during the 1920s, American bootleggers smuggled cargoes of alcoholic beverages from an oceanside dock directly into the hotel basement. Today that basement is enjoyed by visitors as an underground sports bar and pizza restaurant.
4. The HMS Lutine disaster was the most famous maritime loss in the 330-year history of the Lloyd’s Company. The ship, a former French frigate converted for Royal Navy transport use, sank in a gale while carrying gold and silver in sufficient quantity to prevent a stock market crash in Germany. Divers still search for the sunken treasure, which is rumored to include the crown jewels of Holland. The ship’s great bell was salvaged in 1858. The bell continues to hang in the atrium of the Lloyd’s underwriting room, where formerly it was rung once for bad news and twice for good, for the very practical purpose of ensuring that all underwriters heard bad news or good news simultaneously. The bell is now rung to commemorate special occasions.
5. The theft of three opium cargo ships insured by Lloyd’s underwriters is, as far as the authors are aware, entirely fictional.
6. The authors make no claim that the events described herein were in any way connected with those occurring in June 1898, when the Government of China signed a 99-year lease with Britain granting possession of the New Territories and increasing the Hong Kong area under British control by more than twelve times.
Lucy James and Sherlock Holmes will return.
A NOTE OF THANKS TO OUR READERS
Thank you for reading this latest book in the Sherlock Holmes and Lucy James Mystery Series.
If you’ve enjoyed the story, we would very much appreciate you going to the page where you bought the book and uploading a quick review. As you probably know, reviews make a big difference!
The other seven adventures in the
series are currently available in e-book, paperback and audiobook formats.
To keep up with our latest escapades, please visit our website: www.SherlockandLucy.com
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Anna Elliott is the author of the Twilight of Avalon trilogy, and The Pride and Prejudice Chronicles. She was delighted to lend a hand in giving the character of Lucy James her own voice, firstly because she loves Sherlock Holmes as much as her father, Charles Veley, and second because it almost never happens that someone with a dilemma shouts, “Quick, we need an author of historical fiction!” She lives in Maryland with her husband and three children.
Charles Veley is the author of the first two books in this series of fresh Sherlock Holmes adventures. He is thrilled to be contributing to the series, and delighted beyond words to be collaborating with Anna Elliott.
