by John Hall
‘Of course.’
‘And this Gottfried doubtless has a house, lands, an estate?’
‘A veritable castle, Mr Holmes. But why do you ask?’
‘They know the country, the language –’
‘Oh, German is widely spoken, and universally understood!’
‘But their forces are considerably stronger than mine,’ Holmes pointed out. ‘It is not that I am afraid, madam, but rather that it is as well to form a realistic view of one’s chances.’
‘You forget, Mr Holmes, that you would have one staunch ally,’ said Mrs Norton.
‘You? Hardly, madam! I yield to no man in my admiration for the modern woman, but this is man’s work.’
‘Clearly!’ said I, with what scorn I could muster. ‘Only a complete fool would fail to realize that Mrs Norton meant me!’
‘You, Watson? But your wife, your practice –’
‘Leave all that to me, Holmes. Now, where is your Bradshaw? We can probably get a boat train tonight, and –’
Mrs Norton coughed, delicately but with meaning. ‘I was referring neither to myself, nor to Doctor Watson,’ she told us severely.
‘Who, then?’ asked Holmes.
‘Why, to Wilhelm! The king, that is to say. He will, naturally, be anxious to do what he might to help.’
‘Ah, the king, to be sure,’ said Holmes. ‘You are right, of course, madam. And I think that lets you out, Watson. A fact for which Mrs Watson will be grateful, no doubt.’
‘Oh, so that’s what you think, is it, Holmes? Well, you can think again! I shall not dream of letting you wander about the Continent on your own.’
‘But your practice?’
‘Oh, things are quieter now than they have been. Anstruther or Jackson would handle my work. They have both done so often enough in the past. If they are busy, they can divide it between them, come to that.’
‘And your wife?’
‘Ah.’ I thought a moment. ‘Mary will understand perfectly, I feel sure. That is, once I have explained matters to her.’
‘My own needs are few,’ said Holmes, standing up and consulting a railway timetable. ‘Yes, we have a few hours yet. Plenty of time to take Mrs Norton here to your house, Watson.’
‘Oh, but surely there is no need?’ said Mrs Norton. ‘Now that you are going, Mr Holmes, there can be no objection to my remaining here? And, indeed, I might just as well return to my hotel, or go back home to Godfrey! He will be missing me, I know. I want to be no trouble to anyone, least of all to dear Mrs Watson!’
‘No trouble at all,’ I said.
And Holmes shook his head. ‘This Karl may return, to see what has become of you. Or he might send one of his agents. Should he learn that you are not dead, that you have escaped, this is the first place he will look. And your hotel, and your home, will be next on the list. I will be much happier if I know that you are safe with Mrs Watson.’
‘Well, if you positively insist, Mr Holmes.’
‘If you will allow me a moment to pack my bag?’ said Holmes. ‘Then we shall arrange a small subterfuge. It will, I fear, mean that you must forgo Mrs Hudson’s excellent steamed fish, madam, but I am sure that Mrs Watson’s cook will provide something equally digestible and nutritious.’
‘It was to have been Lancashire hot-pot tonight!’ I muttered, not without a tinge of regret.
‘Oh, if you’re hungry you can buy a sandwich at Victoria, or somewhere,’ said Holmes, in his most offensive tone. ‘There remains but one question, Mrs Norton. In all our dealings with the King of Bohemia, and with yourself, we have often mentioned this photograph, or heard it mentioned, but we have not the slightest notion of what it depicts, other than that the king and yourself are both in the photograph.’
‘The papers which Karl has stolen are contained in a morocco leather document case, blue in colour and about this size,’ said Mrs Norton, indicating with her hands a rectangle of some ten inches by eight. ‘They consist of the king’s letters to me, twenty-three of them, if we are to be precise –’
‘By all means let us be precise,’ said Holmes.
‘Very well. Twenty-three letters, then, in the king’s hand, sealed with red wax, his crest embossed in the seals. They, of course, are of lesser importance, for they might be laughed off as forgeries. The king’s writing, though distinctive, perhaps even florid, is not difficult of imitation; the paper, with the royal watermark, might have been stolen; and as for the crest, the double-headed eagle of the von Ormsteins, its duplicate might be seen in a dozen second-hand jewellery shops in Clerkenwell. The important thing is the photograph. As for its subject –’ and here Mrs Norton fumbled in the bosom of her dress, and produced an ordinary cabinet-sized photographic print, which she handed to Holmes.
He studied it intently, and I leaned over his shoulder to look. The photograph had every appearance of having been taken by an enthusiastic amateur. It showed a young couple seated in a boat, a steam launch by the look of it, on what was pretty clearly the Rhine, for the background showed the sort of high wooded cliffs that you see there, and there was even a ruined schloss in the far distance. The king was dressed in flannel trousers and a striped blazer, and had a straw hat on his head; Miss Adler, as she had then been, wore a summer dress in the style popular some five years previously, and was hatless, her long hair tumbling about her shoulders. She gazed up at the king, who himself had turned his head to glance down at her. As I gazed at the king’s face, all the sardonic thoughts that had passed through my mind earlier were driven out, for it was obvious that he was head over heels in love with Miss Adler. It was equally obvious that she adored him. All in all, they might have been any young, loving couple who had just got married or engaged. More to the point, nobody who saw that photograph would ever believe that the king could possibly love another woman as he had loved Miss Adler! I saw at once that therein lay the great danger it represented to the king’s happiness.
‘Who took the photograph?’ I asked.
‘Oh, Bertie. Bertram von Gratz, I mean. A great friend of the king’s, who was on holiday with us then.’
Holmes said, ‘Irrespective of the identity of the photo-grapher, how do you come to retain this, madam?’
‘Yes!’ I added. ‘And if you have the photograph, then what the – that is, what has Karl got?’
‘Karl has the original plate,’ said Mrs Norton quietly. ‘What the photographers call the “negative”, I believe. You see, a clever mechanic might even have faked the photograph, and that is what the king would claim were it only the prints that were in existence. His Majesty could, and would, call his own experts to swear that this print was bogus, and all its fellows too. But the original plate will show clearly that it is genuine. With that, Karl may make a hundred copies, if he will.’
‘Odd that he didn’t spot this print, though?’ I mused.
‘Oh, but he did,’ said Mrs Norton. ‘Or, rather, he gave it to me.’
‘Oh?’ Holmes and I spoke together.
‘Yes. He returned yesterday, bringing the picture with him. I think it was to taunt me, to show me that he actually had the papers. He tucked the picture in my dress, saying that if – when – I were discovered, the photograph would merely add to the king’s disgrace. Did I not say as much just now?’
‘No, madam, you did not,’ said Holmes.
‘Oh, but I was so faint! I must have forgotten.’
I was unconvinced by this, and half expected Holmes to make some further remark, but all he said was, ‘Very understandable, given the circumstances. And you want me to follow Karl, recover the plate, and hand it to the king before any harm is done?’
‘To me, Mr Holmes,’ said Mrs Norton quickly.
‘But would it not be safer in the king’s hands?’
Mrs Norton smiled wanly. ‘You see how much trouble the wretched thing has caused already, Mr Holmes! My fear has always been that the king, possibly influenced by one of his ministers, would attempt to do me some harm. The photograph
is my only security, and even then it has not been wholly reliable. I shall not feel safe until I have it back, and can make some proper arrangements for its safe-keeping.’
‘I understand perfectly,’ said Holmes. He glanced at me, and went on, ‘Now I must get my things together. Watson, might I trouble you to borrow a hat and scarf of Mrs Hudson’s?’
In a very short while we were ready. Holmes ignored Mrs Hudson’s protests that the steamed fish was ready and would spoil, and sauntered out into the street, while I stood watching from a side window. When Holmes signalled that all was well, I took Mrs Norton, suitably disguised in an old hat and shawl, out to the cab which Holmes had summoned.
‘I saw no-one,’ said Holmes as we rattled along towards Paddington, and my own little house. ‘But then there is no reason why Karl, or anyone else, should suspect that Mrs Norton is at liberty.’
Arrived at my small establishment, I quickly explained the situation to my wife. She is perhaps the kindest of women – I can undertake that she is certainly the most understanding! ‘Of course Mrs Norton must stay here,’ said Mary. She added with a brave little smile, ‘And of course you must go with Mr Sherlock Holmes to save the poor king.’
I thought it best to refrain from pointing out that the king had, when all was said and done, only himself to blame for his predicament, and murmured something appropriately platitudinous.
Holmes is not normally particularly sensitive to the feelings of others, but he seemed to perceive that Mary was not entirely happy at the thought of my leaving her in this way. With a reassuring glance, he told her, ‘I promise you, Mrs Watson, that I shall take the greatest care of the good doctor. I am sure you must be anxious, and indeed it is a great deal that I ask of Watson – and of you – but perhaps I might have a private word, and try to allay any misgivings?’
‘It is quite unnecessary, Mr Holmes,’ said Mary, but he took her arm gently and steered her into a quiet corner. I, meanwhile, took the opportunity to have a word with Mrs Norton, suggesting rest and a light diet for a day or so, and prescribing a mild restorative and also a sleeping draught, as I felt that the horrors of the past couple of days might return when darkness fell.
I looked up to see Holmes escort Mary back to the centre of the room. ‘So you see, you may rely upon me,’ he said, with a bow.
‘And you upon me,’ said Mary, with a laugh. ‘To look after Mrs Norton, I mean.’
‘Well, Watson?’
‘I am all but ready,’ I told him. ‘I shall just throw a few things into a bag, and I’m your man. Call a cab, if you wish, for I shan’t be long.’
Holmes glanced at Mary, who was fussing round Mrs Norton, and followed me out of the room. I dashed upstairs, fully expecting that Holmes would do as I asked him, and go out into the street to call a cab, and then return to the ladies. I was thus somewhat astonished when, as I was putting the finishing touches to my hasty packing, I looked up to see him enter the bedroom and put a finger to his lips.
‘Holmes?’
‘What do you think to Mrs Norton, Watson?’
I stared at him. ‘Attractive, of course –’
‘I meant, what do you think to her story?’
‘Oh, the story! Well –’ I hesitated. ‘What do you think, Holmes?’
‘I think it very odd that someone tied up in a chair, bound and gagged and left to starve to death, should entirely forget that their tormentor had returned the next day in order to torment them further!’
‘Oh, that might be the strain, the shock –’
Holmes waved a hand impatiently. ‘The crux, the very heart, of this whole matter is the photograph, Watson. Would Mrs Norton fail to recollect that she had the photograph, or a copy of it, about her person? Why, I believe that if we had not mentioned the photograph, she would never have shown it to us! How believable is that?’
I shrugged. ‘I can only repeat, Holmes, that the shock may have had something to do with it.’
‘You may be right,’ said he lightly. ‘It may, as you say, be the effects of her ordeal. But then tell me this – why should this mysterious “Karl” reveal the address to the driver of the cab?’
‘He could hardly expect to be taken there without giving the address!’ I pointed out with a smile.
Holmes regarded me severely.
‘Sorry, Holmes. I take your meaning, that the kidnapper could, and should, have given a more vague address, have walked with Mrs Norton from the next street or something of the sort. But then this Karl may not have realized that Mrs Norton was in London to consult you? He may have thought that he had no reason to conceal the real address?’
Holmes nodded. ‘I concede the point, though a clever man, as I take this Karl to be, would surely have made the logical deduction? Why else would Mrs Norton visit London, but to see me? I hasten to add that I ask the question not for any vainglorious reason, but because the Nortons have cut themselves off so thoroughly from England. If it were, let us say, a family visit, why should Godfrey Norton not be here along with his wife? It is his immediate family, not hers, when all is said and done.’
‘H’mm. One thing I can say, Holmes, without fear of contradiction, and that is that Mrs Norton was indeed suffering from fatigue, and was in some very real distress. I have worked for too long in the poorer quarters of the city not to know that when I see it. Of course, I cannot say just what the cause of that distress may have been, but it was real enough, I’ll swear to that.’
‘I would not venture to contradict you, Watson.’ He stared into space for a long moment, then shook his head. ‘It may be genuine, the tale may be true. The anomalies I think I see may all be accident, coincidence, as you suggest.’
I regarded him closely. ‘But you do not believe that? You think she is lying to us?’
‘In my own mind, I am certain of it.’
‘But then what do you think is behind it? Did Mrs Norton and this Karl – if “Karl” indeed it was – engineer the whole business? Did they intend us to “rescue” Mrs Norton, then? And if so, why?’
Holmes shook his head. ‘There you have me, Watson. The obvious reason behind such an elaborate charade would be to gain our sympathy, to convince us that Mrs Norton is telling the truth, to make us believe implicitly in whatever she might choose to tell us.’
‘Again, I ask “why?” Holmes.’
He shook his head a second time. ‘It is, I fear, beyond me for the moment. We have insufficient data. In any event, you may be perfectly correct, it may have been a genuine error on Mrs Norton’s part, due entirely to the ordeal she has been through. By the way, Doctor,’ he added in the inconsequential way he sometimes had, ‘I seem to recollect that just before your marriage I saw you perusing the advertisement pages of various journals with a view to taking out a life insurance policy. Did you do so?’
‘Why, yes. It seemed sensible, what with getting married, assuming the responsibility for a wife, and what have you. The “Clerical and Medical” people got my modest trade, as seeming the most appropriate, and I have a couple of small policies with them. But why on earth – oh!’ and I sat down heavily on the bed.
Holmes nodded. ‘There may be some small risk, Doctor. I have some reservations –’
‘The only reservations that you need concern yourself about are our tickets for the ferry!’ I told him.
He silently shook me by the hand, then leaned over and peered into my shabby suitcase. ‘If you omit that pair of socks, Watson, and perhaps a couple of the spare collars, you will make room for your revolver,’ said he. ‘And a box, no, two boxes, of cartridges.’
THREE
Marriage is a grand thing, no denying that, and I shall defend it as an institution until my last dying breath. But as I sat there in the train with Holmes, polishing my old service revolver – for Holmes had, in his mysterious way, managed to secure a compartment that was unoccupied save for our two selves, and there was no fellow passenger to look askance at my refurbishing of the trusty old weapon – I found myself
whistling an old military air quietly, and all the old familiar thrill of the chase came upon me. I smiled to myself at the thought that I had used the word ‘old’ in my thoughts more times than I would dare to use it on the printed page. But what of that? For this was indeed just like old times, to be sure; nay, better, for at the end of the day, when the excitement and adventure was over and done with, I had a wife and a home to go back to! It had been too long by far since I had been involved in one of Mr Sherlock Holmes’s cases, I told myself. Then, too, it was just the sort of case I liked, plenty of excitement, not too much of Holmes’s usual sitting about speculating on abstract matters of this and that –
I became aware of Holmes’s sardonic eye fixed firmly upon me. ‘Well, Holmes?’
‘You seem remarkably happy, Watson.’
‘And why should I not be? I was just now reflecting that it is like old times, Holmes. Just the sort of adventure that I like, too. I’ve never been a great one for thinking – and none of your cheap sarcasm, Holmes! I meant only that I prefer something tangible to work at.’
‘Indeed, Watson. “A man of action” would cover it, I think.’ He smiled. ‘And in all sincerity, one could ask for no better man of action than you, Doctor. I am not sorry to have you with me, I confess, for your help may well be invaluable.’
‘Good of you to say so.’ I hesitated. ‘Only one point slightly mars things for me, Holmes. If, as you suspect, Mrs Norton is playing some deep game, then might Mary not be in some danger?’
Holmes shook his head. ‘If I thought that for a moment, I should never have allowed Mrs Norton into your house, Watson. No, if I am wrong and Mrs Norton is sincere, there is no danger. If I am right then I fancy that Mrs Norton will lose no time in absconding, for she will have business to occupy her elsewhere. Did you not mark the way in which she protested when I suggested her staying with your wife? She was all for returning to the Continent, and I suspect that is where her gaze will turn. Either way, Mrs Watson will be quite safe.’
