Sherlock Holmes and The Adventure of The Cold-Served Revenge

by Petr Macek

  The most famous attempt to disrupt the palace was the Gunpowder Plot in 1605, in which Catholic extremists attempted to detonate a charge of gunpowder during the opening ceremonies of the sitting of parliament. The conspiracy was uncovered after one of the Catholic nobles received an anonymous warning not to participate in the celebrations. The palace administration launched a search and discovered the charge and one of the conspirators, Guy Fawkes. The participants in the conspiracy were sentenced to death in Westminster Hall.

  The original palace was also the site of an attempt on the life of Prime Minister Spencer Perceval in 1812. When he left the members´ lobby of the Lower House, he was attacked and shot by John Bellingham. Perceval is the only British prime minister to have been assassinated.

  All of this was running through my head as the parliament staff dressed in knee breeches, stockings and coats with starched collars were graciously dismissed from Mycroft’s personal security and we walked to his office on the top floor.

  We made our way though corridors lined with enormous bookshelves and paintings of famous figures, passed through rooms in which history was being written and ascended staircases, of which there were perhaps a hundred in the whole gigantic palace. Indeed, the building has more than a thousand rooms and several kilometres of hallways!

  Finally we arrived in the third floor office, where Mycroft bade us sit on a comfortable leather sofa, poured us sherry and offered us cigars.

  “Not for me, the last one almost killed me,” said Holmes.

  Mycroft snapped shut the mahogany case and transferred his burly frame to the desk.

  “Gentlemen, allow me to get straight to the matter,” he said dramatically.

  Long introductions were not among his habits. He was a man of action.

  “I have called you here on a matter of utmost national importance!”

  “I would not expect you to rouse me from the grave for anything less,” said Holmes.

  “Yes, I know that you are officially dead and are engaged in the pursuit of your killer,” said Mycroft. “It is indeed this fact that can ensure the necessary discretion in this sensitive matter, and perhaps even has something in common with your case.”

  The official opened a drawer in his desk, took out a thick paper envelope and placed it on the writing pad. For a moment he played with its edges indecisively, but then he opened it, not for the first time judging from its broken seal, and took out a letter written on handmade paper and passed it across the desk to Holmes.

  “This letter was waiting for me when I returned from Fulworth three days ago.”

  The detective began devouring the lines, but the contents for now remained hidden from me. The only thing that I noticed with astonishment was the personal seal of King George![12]

  “Was it written by who I think?” I asked.

  Mycroft did not reply. He only lit a cigar and silently released clouds of pungent smoke to the ceiling while Holmes read.

  “Fascinating,” said Holmes when he had finished reading the mysterious letter.

  His misanthropic elder brother nodded seriously and fell to thinking.

  It vexed me that I was the only one in the room who still did not know what was afoot. I coughed with embarrassment and shot an inquisitive glance at my friend.

  “Excuse me, doctor,” said Mycroft, “we do not want to keep you in the dark. We first have to clarify what precisely is going on. The letter is indeed from His Majesty. It is a request to the secret service for help. He wants to find his nephew, Lord Bollinger, who recently vanished without a trace.”

  “Bollinger... that name means something to me,” I said, searching my memory.

  “Albert Bollinger is de facto the King’s foster nephew,” said Holmes. “He is the son of Queen Mary’s brother. We met him once briefly.”

  Now I remembered meeting this man. He had then been still very young, with handsome and noble features, remotely resembling his aunt with her piercing brown eyes, oval face and pointy chin. Today he must have been over thirty. Years before I had spoken with him at a court reception, one of the few to which Holmes had accepted an invitation.

  “But I still do not understand why his disappearance, though lamentable, should be investigated by the secret service and not the police,” I said. “And what makes you think it is connected with the attempt on Sherlock’s life?”

  Mycroft became even gloomier and the corners of his mouth drooped.

  “Lord Bollinger and his family own industrial enterprises in northern England. I need not emphasise that these include important munitions factories. After the destructive fire in Curry, the factory in Manchester has been our most vital one for half a year. Bollinger is someone whom His Majesty regularly consults regarding research and development. The King has even entrusted him with drafting secret strategic documents for protecting the country if the tension between us and Emperor Wilhelm[13] escalates into war.”

  “What types of documents are they?” asked Holmes.

  “Designs for new types of weapons, war machines and everything connected with them,” said Mycroft. “Then there is tactical information and deployment plans for our armed forces.”

  “Now I understand why the King is so concerned with his disappearance and why you see a clear connection between our two cases,” said the detective, returning the letter.

  The connection was now becoming evident to me too.

  Holmes’s brother had connected Bollinger’s disappearance with the death of Italian factory owner Minutti, whose letter, sent just before his death, had apparently provoked the attempt on the detective’s life. Both men had been, and we hoped the King’s nephew still was, renowned industrialists and among the main developers and manufacturers of arms.

  “Something bad is happening exceeding all borders,” said Mycroft, summing up our thoughts. “We all know how the international situation is becoming more complicated. These connected disappearances or deaths of people directly or indirectly responsible for the defensive capabilities of nations do not bode well. In our case, I would be willing to concede that Bollinger was captured by the German secret service, but Italy is neutral, at least for the time being. Germany hopes that she will become her ally and Minutti’s death does not fit. There is no logic or order, which is what terrifies me most!”

  “What do you need me to do?” asked Holmes.

  The official extinguished his cigar and folded his arms.

  “Your task is to confirm the connection between Bollinger’s disappearance, Minutti’s death and the attack on you,” said Mycroft gravely. “You must determine who has an interest in threatening the European arms industry and if possible thwart the plot.”

  “To investigate Minutti’s murder I will have to visit Italy,” said the detective. “Can I count on the government’s support?”

  “I am afraid not,” said Mycroft shaking his head. “Germany could consider any official activity on the territory of its neighbour and potential ally as a provocation. If you have any problems, the Ministry will not get involved.”

  “How ideal,” said Holmes, rising from the sofa.

  I rose too. We were ready to depart.

  “Do not be sarcastic,” his brother rebuked. “Your country does not deserve it.”

  “I was not being sarcastic,” said the detective, smiling. “On the contrary, the fact that no officials or policeman will interfere greatly increases my chances of solving the case.”

  “Then you accept the assignment?”

  Holmes slapped his brother on his pudgy shoulder.

  “Let no one say that I turned my back on my country.”

  For the first time since I had known him, Mycroft smiled.

  “Nobody would dare,” he said. “One does not speak ill of the dead.”

  10 Waverley (1814), by S
ir Walter Scott (1771-1832).

  11 Westminster Palace, now the seat of the Parliament of Great Britain, dates from the year 1097 and is the oldest preserved part of Westminster Hall. The palace served until the 16th century as the residence of the monarch. Most of the present building dates from the 19th century, when the palace was reconstructed after a devastating fire.

  12 George V (1865 -1936), who ruled from 1910-1936. He continued the anti-German stance of his father Edward VII. Although under his reign Great Britain won the First World War, the Empire emerged greatly weakened.

  13 Wilhelm II of the Hohenzollern dynasty (1859 - 1941), who from 1888 - 1918 was German Emperor and King of Prussia. He ascended the throne at the age of 29 after the 99-day reign of his father Frederick III. He stirred international controversy by his uncompromising attitude to the building of the German fleet, which the UK perceived as an attack on its naval hegemony. English efforts to improve relations with Germany foundered. Wilhelm generously supported the army, which under his rule became the largest and best equipped in the world. From the moment he came to the throne he did not hide his warlike ambitions and was undoubtedly one of the architects of the First World War. After his overthrow during the November Revolution of 1918 he fled to the Netherlands.

  IV: Behind the Walls of San Michele

  We did not return to Fulworth the evening after visiting Mycroft. All of the local clues were known to us and we did not want Barlow to suspect anything. Holmes only asked his brother to have the police watch the parish and the pastor’s movements during our absence and provide us with regular reports.

  The next task that the detective entrusted to Mycroft’s security unit was to contact Rolls-Royce in Manchester to obtain a list of Silver Ghost owners. We hoped by means of the key letters to obtain the name of the man to whom Barlow had written the cheque. Under normal circumstances he would of course have taken this step himself, but time was of the essence. With perhaps a hint of optimism he hoped that the police could handle this relatively simple task.

  We spent another day and a half in London making preparations for our journey, quickly so as not to lose the trail.

  Holmes and I had been to Venice before, but this watery city, cleft by hundreds of narrow canals, never ceased to enchant and astonish me. Clamorous modern Italy here met the poignant and romantic beauty of ancient palaces, intensified by the reflected September light in the twilight. When we arrived the omnipresent water was dotted with boats, vaporettos and gondolas. Minutti lived here with his family, because most of his companies were scattered across northern Italy.

  On the journey the detective studied Mycroft’s files. They contained information about Minutti and Lord Bollinger, their habits, families and friends, and if such were known by the secret service, rumours about their affairs and perversions. It was up to Holmes to determine what information was important and could contain a clue about what to do next.

  The evening after our arrival we took rooms in the Regina Hotel near the Santa Lucia station, tired after our long journey. We went straight to bed without even taking supper, as though we knew that this night would be the last for a long time when we could sleep in peace.

  We were awoken by the sound of Italy; the unmistakable jumble of street noises, shouting, heckling and spirited conversations in the street under the window; a din that only the citizens of this sunny and excitable country could make. We ate a light breakfast and headed off for the city, to a meeting without which the investigation could not get underway.

  Since we had risen early we did not have to hurry. I was tempted to pass through the Grand Canal, the main Venetian boat thoroughfare, but Holmes insisted that we go by foot. He was in good spirits after his years spent in the country. He liked this way of life and was impressed by the light-heartedness and speed of everything here. Vessels darted through the water as people travelled to work or from the markets, past petty verbal exchanges between gondoliers and people swarming the narrow sidewalks that weave through Venice and smack of quaint odours.

  We crossed what seemed like a hundred bridges before we arrived at our destination: St. Mark’s Square. Holmes selected a table in front of one of the cafés that had a fine view of the basilica and its tall bell tower.

  He settled into a chair and ordered a cup of coffee.

  “How beautiful, but to reside here longer than a few weeks would drive one to madness,” he said, stretching his body. “I am glad to see that the bell tower is almost rebuilt.”

  The detective was alluding to the last time we had been in Venice, in the case of the Doge’s diamond in 1901, only a short time before the five hundred year old tower had collapsed, the result of a fire long ago. No doubt fire was the plague of civilisation in the nineteenth century. It was a miracle that nobody had been harmed. The only victim of the falling building was the caretaker’s cat.

  I was jolted back into the present by the brisk footsteps of a swarthy gentleman with a cane. He approached Holmes, leaned on his cane and looked in the same direction in which Holmes fixed his gaze.

  “A morning such as this is practically invitations one to chat over a cup of coffee,” said the man, his eyes fixed on the basilica. “May I recommend that you give the band a few coins to play a folk song?”

  Without so much as glancing at the man, the detective wiped his lips with his napkin and winked at me.

  “Do you have a particular song in mind?”

  “How about La tabaccheria mia?”

  “Thank you, but I prefer to delight in the beauty of the city in silence,” Holmes replied. “Please, sit with us.”

  Mycroft had devised the code especially for this case. The secret service frequently used call and response so that people who had never met could identify one another. This was doubly important for Holmes, who was travelling under the name of his cousin Cedric[14].

  “Welcome to Venice, my friends,” said the man and he promptly sat down at our table.

  “Thank you, Mr ...”

  “No last names, please. Just call me Paolo.”

  He pulled out from his breast pocket a packet of folded documents and handed them to Holmes. The detective began to unfold them, but the man stopped him. He held Holmes’s hand under the table and looked around the square to see if we were being watched.

  “Wait until I leave,” he said. “You can never be too careful. This is a sensitive case, and if it was discovered that I have spoken to you, I would be in danger.”

  “What have you given me?”

  “What your London office requested. Records from the investigation of the death of Signor Minutti. These are copies of all the important documents and my notes. Judge for yourself.”

  “Excellent. If I need anything else, how do I find you?”

  The Italian agent discretely gave us another document.

  “I am at your service. Here are instructions for using the drop off point.”

  We assured him that we would use it only when absolutely necessary. Paolo once again scanned the square and then disappeared into the crowd. Everything had happened so fast that it seemed like a dream.

  As soon as he was gone, Holmes began hungrily examining the documents.

  “Let’s take a look,” he muttered. “Evidently, the carabinieri have not given the investigation the attention one would expect in the murder of such an important person.”

  “How so?”

  “Minutti was killed almost three weeks ago, but so far they have failed to find anything. Everything suggests that the case was simply set aside. Minutti was shot, but the police were unable to find anyone who had heard anything. His office is easily accessible and anyone could get in when the secretary was at lunch; but none of the hundreds of employees has testified that they noticed anything or anyone out of the ordinary. What’s more, everyone has an alibi. There are no finge
rprints or footprints at the scene of the crime, nothing at all. The perpetrator’s motive is also unknown. Minutti was rather well-liked.”

  “But there must be a bullet,” I said.

  “It was never found,” said Holmes. “Neither in the room nor in the body.”

  “Strange.”

  “Indeed. Nevertheless, the body has been returned to the family and was buried last week in the San Michele cemetery. In this way the opportunity to find other clues on the body of the victim has been all but eliminated.”

  He finished reading the document and began focussing on Paolo’s notes.

  “According to the findings of our mysterious friends, this is not just a matter of police incompetence, but a much more dangerous game involving people in high places. Apparently the authorities were not interested in shedding light on the incident. Paolo’s source even asserts that a small bribe was paid to one of the commissars!”

  “Outrageous!”

  “But effective. The chances of finding the murderer are now practically nil.”

  “If we found the recipient of the bribe it would lead us to the murderer.”

  “There is no evidence of the bribe; it is merely a suspicion. We do not even know who was meant to be its recipient. There are many in the local criminal hierarchy who are capable of thwarting an investigation. What’s more, I fear that the police will cover each other’s backs, just as they do everywhere else in the world, even in England. That is probably why Paolo thinks he is in danger.”

  “What about Minutti’s family? They have a great deal of influence. Are they not following the investigation?”