by Petr Macek
“Yes, I noticed you eyeing him. Do you think he is important?”
“Perhaps. I suspect that he is Colonel Tankosić.”
“Who is that?”
“Do you not read the papers? Vojislav Tankosić!”
“I do not recall ever reading about him. What’s it all about?”
“The colonel is one of the most important Serbian nationalists,” Holmes explained. “He is a member of the Young Bosnia party, made up of Serbs, Croats and Bosnian Muslims who seek the independence of Bosnia and the unification of all of its occupied territories. Tankosić and others recently founded an even more radical organisation called the Black Hand. The atmosphere in the Balkans is tense; they are preparing for war. The members of the movement are even voluntarily enlisting in the Serbian army. Tankosić leads a Serbian irregular militia that is fighting the Turks in Macedonia.”[22]
“But what is he doing here?”
“I am afraid that he too is headed to Glinney. Anges is a necessary transfer point.”
“You think he is on his way to a meeting with Alice?”
“Precisely. The consequences of such an alliance could be far-reaching.”
“How can a Serbian activist threaten England?”
The detective wiped his sweaty brow.
“The whole world is now a boiling cauldron; you know this all too well yourself. One small spark and everything will explode. You heard what Mycroft said, and Alice is playing her hand. She has already obtained control over the factories. She knows our strategic plans and can blackmail the government, or she can sell secrets to our enemies. If war erupts, her position will only strengthen, as attention will be directed elsewhere. And it will gain her considerable profit. If she supports the Black Hand they will certainly cause the explosion that she needs and her dream of war will come true. The Black Hand will achieve its political objectives and Lady Darringford will satisfy her lust for power and money.”
A sad prophecy. There would never be peace in the Balkans, which was exactly what our lady wanted.
“She spared no time in arranging to negotiate with the Black Hand,” I said.
“It was her only play. Now that she knows about us, time is of the essence.”
“What shall we do?”
“First we must confirm whether it is in fact Tankosić.”
“Will you introduce yourself?”
“I will do it another way. Wait here, I will be back directly!”
So saying he entered into the crowd. The next match was already well underway. The peasants and the stranger were in a kind of frenzy and rhythmically chanted the name Green Danny, a pit-bull terrier who was just now acquainting the rats with his fangs.
Blood spurted from the ruptured arteries and each geyser led to much cheering, applause and stamping. From the back row I watched as Holmes slipped through the crowd to the side of the mysterious man. At the railing the detective leaned as far forward as he could and began waving to encourage the animal combatants. The men behind him did not appreciate this and it led to much shoving and jostling.
I assumed this was the detective’s intention. He immediately apologised and pressed himself against the stranger in order to give the unhappy lot behind him a better view. Then I lost track of him as the roaring crowd closed in. I could only guess what was going on in the ring.
The mass of bodies blocked my view as the spectators pressed forward as close as possible. It served the detective’s ends perfectly. Some twenty minutes later he came back without anyone having noticed anything amiss.
“It is indeed him,” he said. “I managed to search him in the confusion. He is not carrying identification papers, unfortunately, but I found a ticket in his pocket for tomorrow’s morning train to Glinney. It must be him. As soon as Tankosić comes to an agreement with the Darringfords they will reveal Lord Bollinger’s strategic plans and will equip him with those monstrous weapons whose patents they stole. War will be inevitable.”
“He must be stopped immediately! He must not get to Glinney.”
“No, that will not help us,” said the detective. “He is no doubt expected at the castle, and if he does not appear, Alice’s suspicions will be raised and she shall again disappear.”
“But what else can we do?”
“You are right about one thing, we must act immediately. Midnight is coming. If we set off for Glinney now, we will get there before daybreak.”
“You want to travel there by night?” I said horrified.
“There is no alternative. It is our last chance to catch her!”
“It is all too fast!” I croaked. “How will we get there? We don’t have any means of transport. And assuming that we do make it all the way to Glinney, what do you want to do when we arrive? We have no way to conquer their fortress and we will never rouse the police so early.”
“If you permit, I will address these questions on the way,” he said, hurrying out of the barn.
We returned to our room and changed. Holmes grabbed a bag and threw in the most important items that we would need. On the table he left the innkeeper money and a letter in which he asked him to inform certain people should we not return by noon and to send the rest of the luggage to Mrs Hudson in Fulworth.
Only then did he start to arrange transport.
There were only a limited number of methods to choose from. In front of the house stood a parked car and in the stable there were several horses. He chose the latter, even though the car was much faster. They did not belong to us, of course, but Holmes decided that we were entitled to steal them for the higher good.
“If at all possible we will return everything,” he said, for good measure scrawling a note with his address onto the boards of the stable.
“Although nobody would hear us start the car, we would never get near the castle in it,” he continued. “In the stillness of the night the sound of the engine would alert them to our presence miles away.”
He threw a couple of saddles over two burly geldings, tightened the belts, threw the bridle and led them out of the stable before anyone noticed the theft.
I shared his desire to disappear as quickly as possible, for I knew what they did to horse thieves out in the country. I did not relish the thought of being lynched or tarred and feathered.
After helping the detective into the saddle and getting to grips with my horse I was already as battered as a bale of barley. We did not go fast, but judging by how I bounced and jostled in the saddle it was fast enough.
We had soon left Anges behind us and were headed over the dark hills and plains. It was not the most comfortable mode of travel.
The roads were miserable, the air cold, our clothing insufficient. We were warmed only by the thought, or rather the hope, that everything would soon end one way or another, and we were pushed forward by the terror of the feared Black Hand, the right hand of the devil.
In describing our journey, I will confine myself to saying that for all its beauty and diversity Scotland can be equally austere and inaccessible, especially when darkness falls and submerges the country into fog so thick that you could cut it with a knife. We rode as fast as our horses would go, resting only briefly, covering mile after mile.
Thanks to this punishing ride we indeed arrived in Glinney before sunrise, just as Holmes had predicted. We rode around the town and climbed into the highlands above.
The lofty stronghold emerged before us through the haze.
My heart leapt as I recognised the castle in the photograph. The hideaway in which she had found a refuge for the last phase of her criminal plan.
She had chosen well.
It was a mighty, impregnable mass of stone, surrounded by steep walls. Behind them was a rectangular main building, and two floors of narrow windows and square towers at the sides. We could not see more, but
assumed that there were two courtyards behind the large entrance gate to which the path led upwards.
We reined in our horses and stopped. Although we were still a few miles from our goal, we had to proceed the rest of the way on foot. I was short of breath.
“We shall leave the horses here,” said Holmes. “There is nowhere to hide them at the castle.”
Despite the long ride he dismounted nimbly. Where did he get the energy?
He untied the bag from the saddle horn and tethered the horses to a stake at the side of the road.
“Leave whatever you can. We need to move quickly!”
Easy for him to say; he must have had some perpetual motion machine inside his body, but I was already tired and weak.
But I could not let him go alone. I threw off my warm jacket, leaving just my waistcoat and scarf, and huffed and puffed after him.
We halted under the ramparts and turned away from the main gates, which were locked with several latches. The walls towered above us, but apparently presented no obstacle for Holmes. He examined them carefully, took the bag from his back and pulled out a crossbow with a long rope fastened to the end.
“With a little ingenuity you do not need heavy machinery to conquer the thickest walls. Can you climb with me?” he asked.
“Certainly not!” I gasped.
The detective looked around.
“About thirty yards to your right there is a little door, probably a side entrance,” he said pointing. “Go there; I will come for you. If you hear a suspicious noise, run.”
Although these days I was not much for running either, I agreed, not wanting to spoil his enjoyment of the plan. I made my way to the spot he had indicated and watched his performance. Taking into account his age and recent health problems, I could only marvel.
He tucked the legs of his trousers into his thick socks and armed the crossbow. He took aim and squeezed the trigger. The anchor with the rope trailing behind it sailed over the massive stone wall and I heard a faint clink as it hit the rampart. Holmes pulled the end of the rope until he was certain it held firm and secured it so that he could start climbing. The knots on the rope supported his hands and feet, as did small chinks in the masonry.
Holmes mobilised all of his strength. He could not give up, not when we had come this far. He pulled himself up the rope methodically, hand over hand, his feet searching for chinks in the masonry, higher and higher up the grey stone wall. No doubt he was cold; he wore only a sweater, and in the dark I saw the white puffs of steam as he exhaled.
Then he disappeared from view and I was alone in the darkness beneath the castle. I buried my hands deep in my pockets and waited crouched at the door. It was about twenty minutes before I heard Holmes quietly steal on the other side of the door and it opened. Over the hill the sun was just rising.
Inside the gate rattled and I slipped inside.
I found myself panting beside the detective in a cold narrow corridor.
He pulled me behind him into the castle, where perhaps only the builder knew the way. The corridors crisscrossed, every now and then unexpectedly dodging to one side, held together by passageways, storage rooms and stairs.
It was dark. Electricity had still not been installed. Sometimes we came across an unlit torch and in the third room Holmes found a kerosene lamp.
“I coiled the rope and hid it on the wall,” he said to me, when I finally saw him in the light of the lamp. “I got into the north courtyard. Wait until you see what I found there! Now we must go up to the living quarters. The crucial thing is to retrieve the stolen plans and patents. With a little luck we will get out before they awaken. Then Mycroft will call the cavalry!”
I nodded my agreement.
We scurried from the cellar to a large hall and from there to the grand staircase. The interior of the castle was imposingly vast, but simple, and was silent except for the distant tinkle of cups in the kitchen. The servants were already busy and it was only a matter of minutes before the masters awoke.
We were looking for a study. Surely that was where the Darringfords kept the stolen documents and perfected their schemes.
The windows were very small and all the doors were made of wood, giving the castle a bare character. Here and there was a tapestry, curtains or a dingy suit of armour.
Finally we found it. The door to the study was bolted, but this presented no obstacle for Holmes, who expertly picked the lock.
We went in, leaving the door open just a crack behind us so that we could hear if someone was coming down the corridor.
The centre of the room was dominated by a massive round desk. It was covered with plans, maps, patents, samples of secret chemicals, and letters, which Alice and her brother studied late into the night. Apparently they felt so secure here that they did not even bother to put them away for the night or lock them in a safe. Next to them on the desk were a couple of plates and two unfinished glasses of red wine.
The detective eagerly gathered up the documents and hurriedly examined them.
“Patents from Minutti’s factory, copies of the originals that Pascuale showed us,” he cried. “I would not be surprised if his office is soon destroyed by a fire. And here are materials from Picard’s munitions factory!”
Indeed we found everything, including Lord Bollinger’s strategic war plans. Holmes handed me the most important documents and I stuffed them under my waistcoat. I had no other way to carry them.
“Please take a look around,” he asked me, fully employed with the jumble on the table. There was still a large wardrobe and chest in the corner that needed to be searched.
I looked through the chest, but did not find anything noteworthy.
“Interesting,” my friend suddenly mumbled. He stopped rummaging through the papers on the desk.
“What?”
“There are several documents here that confirm what I had suspected.”
He handed me a few of them.
The first was a letter from Emmeline Pankhurst, an official representative of the suffragette movement, expressing strong reservations about some of Alice’s actions. Although nothing of what the lady did had been made public and or performed openly on behalf of the secret faction, Mrs Pankhurst must have suspected something.
And she did not like it.
In the missive she distanced herself and the movement from Lady Darringford and warned her not to seek her ends under the auspices of the movement. The letter was dated several days ago.
It appeared to be the end of a long friendship.
“It seems that Alice and her brother’s plans are beginning to crumble,” I said.
“For the time being it is not critical. They have obtained what they needed, and as soon as the suffragettes realise the power that Alice has gained they will no doubt accept her once again.”
The second document was much more alarming.
It was something in German. From the little that I still remembered of the language, I understood that it was an order for military hardware.
So here too the Lady was negotiating the sale of British strategic plans with a no doubt highly placed German official.
The wheels of the war machine had begun to turn. We had come at the eleventh hour.
I added the documents to the others under my waistcoat and Holmes handed me a few more. I was already stuffed like a pillow, but in the wardrobe I fortunately found a travel tube with a carrying strap. I rolled up everything that I could into it and slung it over my shoulder.
Besides the tube the spacious and deep wardrobe contained nothing but coats and shoes.
I wanted to close it, but as I turned towards Holmes, I noticed in the mirror on the opposite wall the door opening and somebody entering.
My heart almost stopped beating, but I could not warn the detective without drawing
attention to myself. I took a few steps back, ducked inside the wardrobe and closed the door behind me. The detective raised his head and immediately understood what was happening.
He did not panic. He calmly turned to face the entrance to the room and stood still. In the crack between the doors I could watch what unfolded.
Lady Darringford entered brandishing a small pistol. Despite her perverse nature, she still looked like the most beautiful woman in the world.
“I was expecting your visit,” she said. “Nevertheless you are here early.”
“Better too early than too late.”
“It is too late for you anyway and for the rotten world as we know it.”
“What has made you despise the world?” said Holmes, shaking his head sadly.
“Men, Mr Holmes! Two representatives of this sordid species in particular.”
“Men? Why this hatred? Indeed, I thought that a man, your father, was your role model.”
“Do not dare utter his name in your filthy mouth!” she cried. “My father was the last real man and you are not even close to his equal! You were just lucky!”
“No doubt,” he agreed.
“John Clay was the first to take my father away from me,” she continued. “I assume there is no need to introduce him to you.”
“Of course not,” he said. His eyes suddenly widened with discovery. He already knew what my mind was still searching for.
“Do you want to hear who the second fiend was who took my father from me for good?” said the lady, her face so close to Holmes’s that their noses almost touched.
The detective bowed his head.
“No, I know who it was,” he said sadly. “It was me.”
Holmes? For God’s sake, how was he responsible for Alice’s madness? There was only one possibility. But it was so unthinkable that I could hardly believe it.
22 Tankosić was a member of the Central Committee of the Black Hand (Црна Рука), a secret organisation officially called Unity or Death. It was founded in 1911 by Serbian nationalists and participated in the assassination of the heir to the throne Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo on June 28, 1914 by activist Gavrilo Princip. Princip had wanted to join the Mladá Bosna movement, but was rejected due to his small stature. He therefore went to Prokuplje to request a personal interview with Tankosić, who rejected him because he was too weak. It is possible that this refusal was one of the reasons why Princip later tried to compensate for his lack of physical strength by committing an exceptional act. The assassination compelled Austria-Hungary to take action against Serbia, which led to the First World War, just as Holmes feared back in 1911.
