‘Have you met him?’ I asked.
‘Once at a reception in Paris. As one might expect, he is a plausible rogue who speaks excellent English and has the most charming manners. He claims to be descended from the cadet branch of the Hapsburgs. As I have not been able to trace him in the Almanack de Gotha,3 I suspect less exalted origins. But whatever his antecedents, he is expected to arrive shortly in London, which was the reason for Monsieur Rogissart’s visit.
‘Three months ago, the Baron moved his field of activities to France, first to Paris, more recently to Lyons. It was here that he and his company began to attract the attention of a certain Monsieur Chalamont, who owns an engineering firm in the city and who was introduced to the Baron as a potential investor. However, his application was refused.
‘In the course of my enquiries on the Continent, I travelled to Lyons and spoke to Monsieur Chalamont. He believes he was rejected because he asked too many searching questions of the Baron into the diamond manufacturing process in which, being an engineer, he was naturally interested. His suspicions aroused and his amour propre wounded, for no one likes to think his credit is unworthy, Monsieur Chalamont began to make a few discreet enquiries of his own into the Netherland-Sumatra Company. He is fortunate in having several influential friends and, like a stone dropped into a pool, the ripples began to spread until they reached Monsieur Rogissart at the French Ministry of Finance in Paris.
‘In turn, Monsieur Rogissart also made enquiries and was much alarmed at what he discovered. In France alone, Baron Maupertuis had succeeded in persuading over a hundred eminently respectable citizens, among them members of the aristocracy and wealthy businessmen, even bankers, some of whom recommended their own clients as potential investors.
‘Monsieur Rogissart was placed in a dilemma, the horns of which were exceedingly sharp. On the one hand, there was merely rumour and speculation. No one had openly complained, certainly not the Baron’s shareholders, who seemed perfectly satisfied with the arrangements. To authorise an official investigation might cause a scandal. Suppose the Baron’s enterprise were legitimate? He himself is a wealthy and prominent individual with many acquaintances in high places. On the other hand, if the Netherland-Sumatra Company is indeed fraudulent, Monsieur Rogissart could hardly ignore the whispers and permit him to continue deceiving the good citoyens of France.
‘A covert inquiry could take many months and, as I have already explained, the Baron is intending to move his enterprise to England.
‘It was at this point that Monsieur Rogissart decided to come to London and lay his suspicions before our own Treasury officials in order to forewarn them of the Baron’s arrival and to ask for their assistance in setting up a joint investigation which would prove either the Baron’s guilt or his innocence.
‘The problem was passed to my brother Mycroft whom you met not long ago in the course of another of my cases.4 It was he who recommended Monsieur Rogissart to come to me.
‘We come now to the nub of the matter, Watson, and the reason why I have confided in you. Baron Maupertuis is expected to arrive in London in four days’ time. If he follows his usual modus operandi, he will stay here for three to four months before moving on to his next field of conquest, which we have good reason to believe will be the United States of America. Mycroft is strongly of the opinion that, once there, the Baron will gather in what capital he can from his new set of investors and then will quietly disappear, possibly to one of the South American countries where he will assume a new identity. He is highly intelligent and must realise that any fraud can run for a limited term only. It is therefore essential that he is brought to justice before that happens.
‘I have a plan in mind for unmasking him for which I shall need your assistance.’
‘Of course, Holmes,’ I said readily. ‘I am willing to help in any way I can.’
‘I have arranged to meet Mycroft at six o’clock at his club.5 I should like you to be present. Mycroft will have in his possession a letter of recommendation sent by Monsieur Rogissart in the diplomatic bag from a certain Marquis de Saint Chamond, one of the Baron’s most valued investors whom, on my last visit to France, I succeeded in convincing, after much persuasion, of the fraudulent nature of the Netherland-Sumatra Company. With all the enthusiasm of the newly converted, he has agreed to help in its exposure. In his letter, he has recommended to the Baron a wealthy English acquaintance of his, Sir William Manners-Hope, as a potential investor. You, Watson, shall take the part of Sir William.’
‘I, Holmes?’ I cried, much taken aback at this suggestion.
‘Yes, you, my dear fellow. The ruse is quite simple. I would undertake it myself if I had not met the Baron in Paris. He is a remarkably astute man and is quite capable of seeing through the most elaborate disguise.
‘When the Baron arrives in London, he will stay at the Hotel Cosmopolitan6 where he has already engaged a suite of rooms. You will write to him there, on headed paper from your London house, enclosing the letter of recommendation from the Marquis and requesting an interview. I have arranged to have the writing paper specially printed and the Baron’s reply intercepted, so that presents no difficulties.
‘At the appointed time, you will arrive at the Hotel Cosmopolitan and be shown up to the Baron’s suite.’
‘But what if he asks about the Marquis?’
‘Oh, he undoubtedly will. He quizzes his potential investors most closely but always in the most charming and oblique manner. That is, however, not a problem. Before you meet him, I shall prepare you thoroughly in both the matter of your acquaintance with the Marquis and in your own antecedents as Sir William.
‘I am quite sure he will accept you as an investor. The letter from the Marquis will guarantee that. Like all parvenus, the Baron sets great store on his aristocratic clients. You will then hand over a banker’s draft for £500 and the Baron in turn will give you your share certificate in the Netherland-Sumatra Company and a diamond which he will claim was recently manufactured at his laboratory in the Hague.
‘It is at this point that I must rely on you, my dear fellow. I know from my enquiries on the Continent that the Baron does not deposit his hoard of stolen diamonds in the hotel safe but keeps it somewhere in his suite, always in another room to the one in which the interview is held. For reasons which I do not propose explaining at this moment, I should like to know exactly where they are kept. That is why you are so essential to my scheme.
‘When he leaves the room to collect the diamond, you must use all your powers of observation in an attempt to discover precisely where the stolen gems are hidden.’
‘Surely you are asking too much, Holmes!’ I protested. ‘If he closes the intervening door, I shall have no means of knowing.’
‘I admit the task is difficult but it is not impossible. There should be certain clues; for example, the length of time he is gone from the room or whether you hear even the faintest sound of a drawer being opened or a key being turned in a lock. There may also be signs about his person, fibres perhaps upon the knees of his trousers, suggesting he has knelt down upon the carpet, or dust upon his sleeve which would indicate that he has reached into some less accessible corner, overlooked by the chambermaid.’
‘And if I fail?’ I asked.
‘Then so be it,’ said he with a shrug. ‘When the time comes, I shall have to search for the diamonds myself. That could, however, be a lengthy process which I had hoped to avoid. They are not kept in some obvious place such as a strong box. The Baron never travels with one. But they must be hidden somewhere he regards as secure. He makes no secret of his wealth and is therefore an obvious target for thieves. And now, my dear fellow,’ Holmes concluded, ‘it is time we called a cab and set off for our meeting with Mycroft. He is punctuality itself and expects the same courtesy in others.’
We found Mycroft Holmes waiting for us in the Strangers’ Room, the only part of the Diogenes Club where conversation was permitted.
Unlike his brother, he was a c
orpulent man, stout of figure and massive of feature, with a somnolent air about him in marked contrast to my old friend’s energetic manner. It was only in the sharpness of his expression that I could discern any fraternal likeness.
That expression was evident as we entered and he saw that I had accompanied Sherlock Holmes, although he shook hands cordially enough with me.
‘So Dr Watson has agreed to play the part of Sir William,’ said he, subsiding into an armchair. ‘It is probably a wise decision, my dear Sherlock. If I may say so, Doctor, you give the impression of guileless trust, quite in keeping with a man prepared to throw away his money on a fraudulent enterprise. Now to practicalities. Here is the letter of recommendation from the Marquis de Saint Chamond which arrived at the Foreign Office this morning. With it is a banker’s draft for £500 which needs only Sir William’s signature. An account in that name has already been opened at the Kensington branch of Silvester’s.7 In addition, Inspector Gregson has already been apprised of those facts which it is necessary for him to know. However, I do not need to point out, I am sure, that he can do nothing without evidence: hard, irrefutable evidence which will stand up to scrutiny in a court of law. That is vital. Baron Maupertuis is an international criminal of the first order who must be caught. If he is not, there will eventually be a scandal which could have political as well as financial repercussions, not only here but in Europe. I do not know how you propose to set about gathering that evidence. I acknowledge it will not be easy.’
‘I have given the matter considerable thought,’ Holmes began, when he was interrupted by his brother, who held up a warning hand.
‘I prefer to remain in ignorance, my dear boy. But do remember, I beg you, that the Baron has many influential clients in high places. If you are contemplating breaking the law, I can offer you only limited protection, should your enterprise fail. I cannot stress that more strongly. I should not wish to see you behind bars.’
With that admonition, he rose to his feet and shook hands with both of us in turn, once more casting in my direction that look of sharp appraisal with which he had greeted me on my arrival.
It was quite evident that he doubted my ability to carry out successfully my part in Holmes’ scheme to bring the Baron to justice, a reservation which made me all the more determined to prove him wrong.
Therefore, on our return to Baker Street, I threw myself enthusiastically into the preparations for putting that plan into action.
First of all, the letter from Sir William Manners-Hope had to be written on a sheet of headed paper, giving a Grosvenor Square address, which Holmes had had printed for the occasion.
It was an easy task, as Holmes dictated its contents and I merely wrote at his direction. That done, and the letter of recommendation from the Marquis de Saint Chamond enclosed with it, I addressed the envelope to the Baron at the Hotel Cosmopolitan to await his arrival and Holmes summoned the boy in buttons8 to take it to the post.
The next part was more demanding and took up more time. This was my induction into Sir William’s supposed acquaintance with the Marquis for which, with characteristic thoroughness, Holmes had prepared a lengthy treatise, drawn up under headings and covering every aspect of their relationship. Over the next few days, I studied this assiduously, committing to memory so many facts about both gentlemen that, at the end, I felt they were old friends. In this manner, I learnt that the Marquis was a frequent visitor to London, where he had a house in Mayfair, and that I, Sir William, had met him at the Carlton Club, of which we were both members.9
Every evening Holmes cross-examined me as closely about my knowledge of these facts as a prosecuting counsel.
In the meantime, the Baron had arrived at the Hotel Cosmopolitan where he received my letter, for three days later his answer was delivered, sent to Sir William at his Grosvenor Square address and intercepted by Inspector Gregson, the Scotland Yard detective appointed to take charge of the official investigation.
In his letter, the Baron suggested that I, as Sir William, should meet him in his hotel suite at 3 p.m. in two days’ time.
Holmes greeted this invitation with jubilation.
‘The bait is taken, Watson!’ cried he, rubbing his hands together with delight. ‘In less than a week, we may see the trap close upon him. And now, my dear fellow, let us return to our labours, for by Friday you must be word perfect in your role.’
His catechism continued until shortly before my departure for my appointment with the Baron. Indeed, as I was taking up my hat and stick, Holmes shot a last question at me.
‘The name of the Marquis’s favourite dog, Watson?’
‘Justin,’ I replied. ‘It is a red setter and was given to him by his wife.’
‘Well done! All that remains is to wish you good luck, for much depends on your success in this affair.’
II
It was with this exhortation still in my mind that I arrived at the Hotel Cosmopolitan, a large and elegant building, where I was shown upstairs to the Baron’s suite on the second floor by a pageboy.
Hardly had I knocked upon the door than it flew open and Baron Maupertuis appeared on the threshold.
‘My dear Sir Wiliam! I am delighted to make your acquaintance!’ he exclaimed, shaking me warmly by the hand and drawing me into the room.
He was a tall, heavily built man, verging on the portly, with clean-shaven, fleshy features. Yet, despite his large frame, he moved with surprising grace and lightness. In age, I should have put him at a little over fifty and if I had to choose one adjective to describe him, then it would be smooth. His silvery hair, brushed back from his broad, handsome forehead, was smooth. So were his clothes which fitted him like a second skin and which denoted the excellence of his tailor. His hands were small and plump, like a woman’s, and had the same softness to the touch. As he greeted me, I noticed that he bore on the little finger of his left hand a large gold signet ring, engraved with his initials.
Holmes had spoken of his charm and this was immediately apparent, although I was aware that, under his agreeably engaging manner, there was a more acute and watchful intelligence. It was particularly noticeable in his eyes, which were a bright, luminous blue, but in the centre of which the darker pupils were as hard and as fixed as flints.
‘Pray sit down,’ he continued, waving me towards an armchair. ‘You will take a glass of champagne?’
I was about to reply that it was a little early in the afternoon when he anticipated my objection, adding with a smile, ‘Just a small glass, my dear sir, to celebrate the occasion. It is such a very great pleasure to meet a friend of the Marquis de Saint Chamond. And how is cher Philippe? Well, I trust?’
‘I believe so,’ I replied, seating myself and accepting the proffered glass. ‘He was in excellent health the last time I heard from him.’
‘You exchange letters?’ he enquired.
‘Occasionally.’
‘And where did you meet him?’
‘At the Carlton Club a few years ago,’ I replied. ‘He was in London on business.’
‘Ah, of course! He owns a house in Knightsbridge, I believe.’
‘In Mayfair, actually.’
‘Really? You must forgive me. Was it not left to him by an English grandmother?’
‘You are mistaken, Baron. It was his great-aunt Sophia who married the late Lord Alferton.’
It was indeed fortunate that Holmes had prepared me so thoroughly for this examination, which the Baron conducted with great subtlety and skill, disguising it under the pretence of an exchange of social pleasantries about a mutual acquaintance.
I flatter myself that I passed this test successfully and also the subsequent enquiries into my own antecedents as Sir William. At least, the Baron appeared satisfied with my answers.
Rising to his feet, he said, ‘My dear Sir William, I am sure you will forgive my impertinence in asking you so many questions. As no doubt the Marquis de Saint Chamond has explained to you, there are many gentlemen anxious to invest in my
company from whom I choose only those I consider the most worthy. I feel I owe it to my other shareholders, among whom are some of the most illustrious names in Europe. I am therefore delighted to invite you to join their distinguished assembly. Congratulations, Sir William!’
Drawing himself upright, he gave me an oddly formal little bow.
I scrambled up from my own seat more awkwardly, smiling with sheer relief and also with a certain wry amusement at the Baron’s effrontery. The man had the infernal impudence to congratulate his victim for having been chosen to invest money in his fraudulent scheme!
‘And now,’ said the Baron, taking me companionably by the elbow and leading me towards a desk which stood under the window, ‘for the formalities, Sir William. If you care to make your payment, I shall take great pleasure in giving you your share certificate.’
As I signed the banker’s draft for £500 in Sir William’s name, the Baron took from the desk drawer a roll of parchment, elaborately inscribed with the name of the Netherland-Sumatra Company below the emblem of a golden eagle with outstretched wings, to which he added his own signature with a flourish of the pen. We then exchanged documents with as much solemnity as two heads of state handing over to each other copies of some important international treaty.
‘You will not regret this, Sir William,’ the Baron assured me. ‘I can promise that, in a year’s time, when I fully expect the laboratory at the Hague to be producing diamonds of one or even two carats, your shares in the Netherland-Sumatra Company will be worth many times their original value. As for the diamonds, you shall now have the privilege of seeing for yourself the excellence of the product in which you have so wisely invested your capital.’
The Secret Journals of Sherlock Holmes (A&B Crime) Page 20
