Sherlock Holmes and The Case of The Bulgarian Codex

by Tim Symonds

  Holmes looked across at me to be certain I was following his train of thought. ‘After all,’ he added, ‘unless speared in the heart with a wooden stake, vampires retreat to their lair by dawn. Kalchoff waited just short of the rendezvous point. He may have checked the horse’s gallop with a tight rope. While the rider lay winded on the ground, he began to strangle him. If all had gone to plan, a day or two later the body would have been identified, the killing easily explicable as the result of a robbery. The husband’s death would irretrievably weaken Mrs. Barrington’s hold on her estates, lands which Kalchoff yearned to gain for himself. But imagine Kalchoff’s amazement when he found he was murdering a woman.’

  After a pause, Holmes added, ‘It was indubitably Kalchoff who lured Captain Barrington to his death in the forest, but it is clear from the Minister’s last words the timing of the murder was Ferdinand’s.’

  ‘I have a question, Holmes - ’ I began.

  My comrade offered me an encouraging look.

  ‘Namely?’

  ‘How would Kalchoff be certain that Captain Barrington would carry with him the most important clue of all, the note decoying him to his death? Wasn’t that a great risk? What if Barrington - Julia - had left it behind? The note would inevitably have led to the culprit.’

  ‘That’s why Kalchoff arranged the rendezvous at the obrok. It is unlikely a foreigner would know the exact location of such a shrine. The note contained precise directions, almost certainly accompanied by a sketch - you recall Mrs. Barrington saying her husband turned it this way and that - ensuring the victim would bring it with him.’

  ‘I can see why Kalchoff would murder Captain Barrington - but why would the Prince become involved?’

  ‘Cui prodest? Ferdinand’s mother and the nation press Ferdinand hard to remarry. Several prospects of Royal lineage have said no to his proposals of marriage, aware life in Balkan royal circles is likely to be both brutal and short. If not of his own station, then from Bulgaria’s Upper Crust. The Prince’s unusual gift to Mrs. Barrington - a pair of diamond swallows for her hair, given to him by the Viennese actress Kathi Schratt, and to Schratt by the Emperor Franz Josef- I took it to be a sign of unrequited love. After the killing, Kalchoff could say nothing to prevent his master waiting a while, then marrying Mrs. Barrington and absorbing her vast lands for himself. Ferdinand immediately saw through the request for a photographic session. He understood I was about to unmask the one witness who could implicate the Prince himself. It became imperative to eliminate him.’

  ‘Pretty gory stuff,’ I said with feeling, ‘thrusting the blade into his throat like that. Better a thrust through the heart - ‘

  ‘Even those of us who are not medical realise a bodkin in the wind-pipe makes it difficult to finish the sentence,’ Holmes broke in, drily. He looked at me quizzically.

  ‘Do you recall the Minister telling you the Prince’s favourite saying?’

  ‘‘Better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven’.’

  ‘I asked Penderel Moon if he had heard the words before.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It’s a quotation from Paradise Lost. Kalchoff knew he was supping with Satan. He would have been wiser to use a longer spoon.’

  ‘And Sir Penderel?’ I asked. ‘Was he in on the Barringtons’ masquerade?’

  ‘Most likely,’ came the reply. ‘A man so assiduous in England’s affairs will go far. We must have a word in Mycroft’s ear. I foresee Moon becoming our Ambassador to St. Petersburg, even the Vatican.’

  Chapter XXI

  IN WHICH HOLMES SPRINGS FURTHER SURPRISES

  IT was the morning of our departure. Our princely host assigned a chauffeur to drive us in the Royal Mercedes to the Danube ferry. I was like a horse smelling its home stables. In three or four days’ time we would be back in Baker Street. We would look down at the bright glint of straw adrift across the street, sniffing the perfume of coffee, the savour of bacon and sausages. We would once again be enveloped in an endless rumble of commissariat wagons rattling like plague-carts, the soul of London, the great ground-bass of London awake, as the poetic American traveller Madox Hueffer put it to me.

  I followed the hotel porter down with our boxes, reflecting on the rhythm of our cases, dimly discerning certain dominant harmonies. Each was a play in three acts, the first with the freshness of the first raindrops of the Monsoon, our dinner at Simpson’s Grand Cigar Divan; the second dark, sumptuous and violent, the Prince’s fairy-tale palace, the murder, the vampire-ridden forests of Mount Vitosh. Now we would take our bow and glide out silently, in the English fashion, like the calm of a great ocean following the storm.

  At the Palace, we climbed the Red Staircase for the last time. Sir Penderel Moon was waiting in an ante-chamber. He greeted us warmly. ‘Mr Holmes, and you too, Dr Watson, I must thank you both from the bottom of my heart over the Barrington matter. You have solved a despicable crime.’

  ‘Will you be asking Her Majesty’s Government to make a formal protest?’ I enquired. ‘The Prince seems to have been deeply implicated in Julia’s murder. Regardless of her subterfuge, she was a British citizen.’

  The Legate’s cheery smile froze. ‘Dr. Watson!’ he returned with a horrified look. ‘Would you grant Kalchoff in death his greatest wish in life - to drive the Prince into the arms of the Hun?’ He shook his head vehemently. ‘It is vital the matter is left to settle quietly and discreetly. In all Europe Great Britain has no ally, and it may be doubted if she even has a friend. We have no need to add more hatred. Her Majesty’s Government intends to make no protestation regarding the murder.’

  Realising how taken aback I was by his words, in a calmer but still-urgent tone he went on, ‘You must forgive me. I am not here to wish you God-speed but to inform you that Downing Street begs you to tell nobody of these events. To make them public would deeply embarrass and undermine the Prince. Imagine your charge being laid before the Cabinets of the Great Powers. In common manhood they would feel obliged to take the matter up. It would set in motion a very active press-service throughout Europe and beyond. From an excess of pique, the Prince might well forge an alliance with the Kaiser and the Sublime Porte. The Balkans are poorly provided with roads and means of communications. The Bulgarian railway tracks would offer a most efficient link between the two Empires, to great military and commercial value. It would be gravely to the detriment of peace in our time.’

  He shook his head. ‘No! And again no! Singular chance put in your way a most whimsical problem. Its solution must be your only reward. Captain Barrington will disappear for ever, the case never resolved. He will become a Balkan legend, sighted on moonlight nights on the slopes of Mount Vitosh, an Englishman in full dress uniform, riding a great charger, bearing who knows what message from the nether regions. If you weaken Ferdinand by implying he condoned, even instigated the murder - above all, that the murdered husband of a woman long rumoured to be the object of desire by the Knyaz himself turned out to be female, a female whose wondrous mustachios were a deliberate copy of the Prince’s - why, the whole of Europe would laugh themselves silly! Under the avalanche of mockery and scorn, the Russian Tsar may well seize the opportunity to send his armies across the Danube and replace Prince Ferdinand with a Grand Duke of his own choosing. Soon the summer grass will be growing fast, the Tsar’s cavalry would grow fat on its way to burn the Palace to a cinder. Dr. Watson, you are a military man. Look in the direction of the Danube with a telescope. Even from here you will see a hundred heliographs and a thousand observation-balloons winking and glinting in the evening sky. Precisely how long could Ferdinand’s light field-batteries hold out against five Divisions of Cossack irregulars, each mounted rifleman equipped with three of the most modern magazine-rifles, and backed by the heaviest field-guns yet built?’

  The Legate stretched out his hands. ‘To you both must accrue the satisfaction of knowing you have so
lved a despicable crime and that the perpetrator is dead. I repeat, for the sake of peace in our time, you must never repeat a word of this to anyone. Never.’

  He broke off to stare hard at me. ‘Dr. Watson, you can achieve great effect through your pen. You may rightly feel all Europe should ring with your comrade’s name, that Mr. Holmes should be ankle-deep with congratulatory telegrams. May I have your - ’

  ‘I give you my word,’ I conceded reluctantly.

  ‘No reference to the matter at all, either spoken or in writing?’

  ‘I have pledged my word.’

  At that moment the Prince arrived.

  Sir Penderel lowered his voice, ‘Unless of course the fellow loses his throne.’

  ***

  Ferdinand was beautifully attired in a shimmering gold tunic, black breeches, and a large black beret surmounted by a lightly jewelled gold aigrette. In his right hand he carried the sword stick like a baton. ‘I designed this uniform myself,’ he explained with a hint of self-mockery. ‘I have given myself a promotion. Yes, Dr. Watson, we Balkan Princes can do that sort of thing. Enough of being just a General. As from today, I am the first Bulgarian Field Marshal in the history of the world.’

  The four of us walked down the grand staircase towards our waiting vehicle.

  ‘You will be safer crossing my country by road rather than rail,’ Ferdinand said. ‘The Bulgarian railways are heavily supported by assassins and spies without number wandering back and forth between Vienna and Stamboul like souls adrift in Dante’s Inferno, l sol tace. My driver will take you to the ferry-boat and see you across the Danube in time to catch the Orient Express to Paris. My private carriages will again be at your disposal. Gentlemen, I cannot exaggerate the pleasure I have had from your presence in my country. I hope this will not be the last visit you make.’ He added with a mischievous smile, ‘I shall have to think up more plots to get you here.’

  From slightly behind me, Holmes’s hand came forward, stretching towards our host. It held a telegram. The Prince took the envelope, removed the slip of paper, and held it out in the sunlight to read. He looked at Holmes sharply, his eyes wide, as though a stab of fear was passing through him. Then, just as suddenly, his face broke into a grin of delight.

  ‘Mr. Sherlock Holmes,’ the Prince continued, thrusting the telegram back into my comrade’s waiting hand, ‘not for nothing are you known as the Baker Street Demon. Your skill has exceeded all that I have heard of it. You are indeed the master.’

  Holmes returned the telegram to a pocket in his Poshteen Long Coat and acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod. We turned and stepped away. Even before we reached the vehicle the Prince bent his face into his hands, wracked by a burst of unstoppable laughter, then, regaining his full height and a solemn expression, he raised a hand in a military salute.

  From the comfortable seats of our vehicle, I turned for one last sight of the bewitching palace. A bemused Sir Penderel was staring at the Prince. Ferdinand bent over again, shaking with compulsive laughter, waving the sword stick above his back. We turned a corner. The Prince and his Palace were lost to sight.

  When the noise of the wind and the vehicle’s motor made it impossible for our driver to hear my words I turned to my companion.

  ‘Holmes, I am unable to contain my curiosity for a moment longer. What was that telegram all about?’

  ‘It was merely a message from the Library of the British Museum.’

  ‘A message from the Library of the British Museum?’ I parroted in wonderment. ‘And on what subject were you in touch with the British Museum?’

  ‘The preservation of ancient parchments.’

  His brevity exasperated me. ‘Holmes, I insist on the detail! What did the Library say about the preservation of ancient parchments? Why should such information first seem to put the fear of God into the Prince and then make him nearly collapse with laughter?’

  ‘It concerns the Codex.’

  ‘Ah, the Codex, of course!’ I responded with a chortle. ‘I shall never forget the look on his face when he found it had been returned. The very name Sherlock Holmes must have - ’

  ‘It may not have been as great a surprise to Ferdinand as you imagine,’ my comrade interrupted.

  I swivelled to look directly at him.

  ‘By which you mean - ?’

  ‘To judge from your expression, Watson, the Prince must truly be as consummate an actor as the Roman emperor Nero. You recall my axiom that misdeeds bear a family resemblance? That if you have the details of a thousand at your finger’s end, it is odd if you are unable to unravel the thousand and first? What of the distant echo of The Adventure of the Second Stain? Tell me, according to the Prince, how long had the Codex been stored in that cave?’

  ‘Almost from the day he took the throne.’

  ‘So he informed us. How long has that been?’

  ‘Twelve years.’

  ‘Thirteen to be exact, since 1887,’ Holmes replied. ‘He has a superstitious aversion to the number thirteen, hence he used twelve. Nevertheless, even one year would have been out of the question, let alone a baker’s dozen.’

  ‘I don’t follow you, Holmes.’

  ‘He gave us four reasons for hiding the Codex in the cliff-caves, one supernatural, and three scientific. Do you recall the latter?’

  ‘I have them written down,’ I replied.

  ‘There is some way to go before we reach the River Danube, perhaps you would be kind enough - ?’ He pointed to my Gladstone bag.

  I pulled it to me and retrieved my note-book.

  ‘So, Watson, my dear friend, the first - ?’

  ‘The air in the cave interior is absolutely clean and free of dust.’

  ‘Good! And the second?’

  ‘The cave interior shields the Codex from bright light.’

  ‘Sunlight especially. Third?’

  ‘The ambient temperature is quite low. It hardly varies a degree throughout the year.’

  ‘Being?’

  ‘A permanent 11 to 12 degrees Centigrade.’

  ‘In our language that would be?’

  ‘A little over 50 degrees Fahrenheit.’

  ‘All in all, the caves would appear to be the perfect place to store so venerable a manuscript, don’t you agree?’

  ‘They would, Holmes,’ I replied. ‘So why - ?’

  ‘My dear fellow, there was one absolutely vital matter which our wily friend chose not to mention.’

  ‘That being?’

  Holmes withdrew the telegram from a pocket and handed it to me.

  ‘Read it aloud,’ he commanded. ‘I congratulate you, Watson. It was you who gave me the clue.’

  Deeply engaged by Holmes’s complimentary remark, I began, ‘‘Preservation of ancient manuscripts. Fumigate and store in a dust-free environment. Low light and temperature levels are critical. Exposure to sunlight should be kept to the absolute minimum. As a rule of thumb, the lower and more consistent the temperature the better’.’

  My eyebrows gathered in a frown. ‘Well, Holmes, so far it seems - ’

  ‘Please read on, dear chap.’

  I went on, ‘‘However, in the experience of the British Library the most critical requirement for conservation is low relative humidity, between a minimum of 30% and a maximum of 50%. This prevents the growth of fungi (mould and mildew). Relative humidities at the lower end of this range are preferable since deterioration takes place at a slower rate’.’

  I looked up at my companion with a puzzled expression. ‘Holmes, you said I gave you the clue - what clue?’

  ‘Humidity,’ Holmes repeated. ‘The fourth ingredient. The most vital of them all. When we set off from Sofia the Prince told us the monks used to produce a special wine in the galleries of the caves. According to him, it closely resem
bled the wine produced in Champagne - do you recall his peroration on the wines of Bulgaria?’

  ‘I do, yes,’ I replied, ‘but - ’

  ‘Anyone with the Prince’s knowledge of alchemy is aware that high humidity is an essential part of producing such wines. Humidity over 75% for red wine and over 85% for the white is ideal for wine-ageing and barrel storage. You must recall the extreme humidity of the Baptistery?’

  ‘It was very humid, certainly.’

  ‘About 80%, I would estimate. Would you agree?’

  ‘It was quite like the approach of the South Asia monsoon season, yes.’

  ‘I have remarked on this before, Watson, that you have been of the most vital use to me in several of our cases, and again in this. I spotted how you sweated like a pig despite the modest temperature. It certainly suggests your Polka and Mazurka days are over, my dear fellow. No more quick-stepping to a Fife and Drum band, you must embrace the Waltz and the Two-Step. Even before we reached the Altar stone it seemed odd to me that a manuscript of such antiquity and mystical power would be left in such conditions. I realised at once it was never taken from its hiding-place BECAUSE IT WAS NEVER STORED THERE. At most the Codex had been placed in the caves a matter of days, even hours, before our arrival.’

  ‘But the Prince said he had sought the advice of the British Museum, the very source you - ’

  ‘Certainly he said that, though I suggest it was extremely unlikely, or at the very least we can say he didn’t follow it,’ Holmes replied laughing.

  ‘Then why - ?’

  ‘Our friend needed to remove himself from the Capital while the murder of Captain Barrington took place. By dreaming up the theft of the Codex the Prince had a fine excuse to invite us to his country. By pretending the Codex had been stored in those far-off caves, he had reason to take us on a trip lasting at least three days.’

  ‘He must have overlooked what a fine chemist you are, until you handed him the telegram. That’s when he realised you had seen through the deception all along.’

  ‘He realised it at once.’