Sherlock Holmes and the Adler Papers

by John Hall

  With that, von Gratz and Markus had to be content. Von Gratz repeated his promise to contact the Ministry of Justice, to determine if possible whether their secret police had anything to tell us about the anarchists, and then he and Markus took their leave.

  It had been a long day, and not entirely devoid of excitement, so I was more than ready for my bed. But before I said ‘Good night,’ I had to ask Holmes, ‘Do you really suspect that Moriarty is involved, then?’

  ‘Well, it is the sort of audacious scheme that one might expect of the professor. He may well have got on the trail in London – you recall that the king had rather foolishly employed some roughs to waylay Miss Adler, as she then was, before he employed my services. The professor, with his eyes and ears everywhere in the criminal underworld, may well have got his first hints then. Those whom the king employed may even have been Moriarty’s men.’

  ‘And the burglary in Paris, Holmes. I recollect your saying the last time I saw you that you suspected Moriarty of extending his operations to the Continent. It all fits together very neatly.’

  ‘It does, Watson, although that does not prove that my theory, my suspicion, rather, is correct. But it is the most credible notion I can think of.’

  ‘Again, though, I must ask if it gets us anywhere?’

  ‘Oh, I think it does, or it will. If Moriarty is involved, then the local ruffians will be aware that there is a newcomer in their ranks, as it were, even though they may not know his identity. Moriarty has a way of making his presence felt. A few discreet enquiries among the shadier inhabitants of Dopzhe should –’

  ‘Should get us a knife in the ribs, Holmes!’

  He waved this minor point aside as irrelevant. ‘I shall make it clear that we have no interest in their activities, but are merely seeking information about one of their competitors. They should welcome the chance to eliminate a rival, Watson!’

  Not for the first time, I felt this was misreading the situation rather badly, but it is no use arguing with Holmes, so I gave a grunt and a nod that might be interpreted any way you chose, and said good night.

  As I went out into the corridor to walk the few paces to my own bedroom, I reflected that it would have been so much simpler had we been able to arrange the meeting between Mrs Norton and the kidnappers, and follow the miscreants to their den. It was all very well for Holmes to theorize about Professor Moriarty, or for von Gratz to speak of anarchists, but they might both be wrong. And if they were right, anarchists are shy and retiring folk, not the sort of people to reveal their hiding places in a hurry; as for Moriarty, I knew that Holmes had been on his track for a couple of years now, without making any appreciable progress. What was the likelihood that our clumsy enquiries in the dives and dens of Dopzhe would produce anything other than that knife in the back of which I had made mention? No, if the photograph were not shattered, we could have observed the meeting, trailed the villain – if the photograph had not been smashed! ‘If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.’ And unlucky beggars we were too, I thought. To have had the photograph in our hands, quite literally, and to lose it in so slapdash a manner. If only we still had that plate! Or again, if only we had thought to bring the fake plate along with us. As I have said, it was almost impossible to detect that it was a forgery, the tones being reversed; so that if Mrs Norton had the fake to show, the villains would be convinced, at least until such time as they could make a print and discover the truth. Time enough, at any rate, for Holmes and me to follow, to act.

  I stopped dead, outside the door of my room. Fool that I was! I did not have the fake plate, it is true. But I knew where it was. It was in the safe, and I knew where the safe was, and I knew the very combination that would open it!

  It was now late, almost two in the morning, our deliberations having dragged on somewhat. Gottfried and Karl, like more law-abiding citizens, would be in their beds asleep. Or they should be.

  Why should they not? They would have seen the plundered bookcase, and assumed that we had been misled, outsmarted by a puerile trick stolen from Edgar Allan Poe! Yes, they would hastily check the safe, see that its contents were untouched, as they thought, have a stiff brandy and soda; exactly as you or I would do in the circumstances. Why should they not be sound asleep? And equally, why should I not return, commit a second burglary, and thereby save the day?

  There was no need to tell Holmes, no need to trouble him. It was perfectly safe, I could see no danger at all in it. I still had the little dark lantern which Holmes had given me. I had thrown it on my bed when we first returned to the hotel, and there it was still. I went into my room, took the lantern and pushed it into a pocket, and found a scarf, hat and coat, all in two minutes or less. Then I was out in the corridor, and hastening as quickly and quietly as I could down the stairs.

  The place, as you may imagine, given the lateness of the hour, was deserted. Only a sleepy concierge at the reception desk struggled to his feet, asking me, ‘Is anything wrong, Monsieur?’

  ‘Not at all,’ I assured him. ‘Can’t sleep, a slight headache, a little fresh air, that’s all,’ and I went out into the dark and empty street.

  There was a cab rank outside the hotel, but that too was empty save for one old fiacre whose driver sat slumped in his seat, asleep. I was obliged to climb up and shake him, and he looked at me with a good deal of resentment, until I showed him my purse and promised him double the usual fare. I told him to take me to the street wherein lay Gottfried’s mansion – though I did not tell him the number – and we rattled off, with the concierge, evidently intrigued by these unwonted nocturnal activities, standing on the hotel steps staring after us and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

  I got down from my carriage at the end of the street, waited until my driver had vanished from sight, then made my way down the mews at the back of the houses. The stable cottage was in darkness, and I tried the carriage gate and the postern door, but both were locked.

  I wrapped my scarf about my face and pulled down my hat, then I scrambled over the wall at the same spot as before, or very near. I pushed through the shrubbery, minced delicately across the lawn, and tried the windows. All were fastened, including the one which Holmes had opened earlier that evening, but that same one yielded to my penknife blade, and I was soon inside the house.

  All was in darkness, and I lit my lantern but closed the shutter, so that only a narrow beam was thrown out. I made my way across the room, which seemed three or four times larger than I remembered, into the corridor, up the stairs.

  Not until I reached the landing did I pause, and only then did the full enormity of my actions come to my fevered brain. What on earth was I thinking about, to commit burglary, and alone? Then I pulled myself together. I had come thus far undetected, unsuspected, I might as well play the man and see the thing through. I made my way to the door of the room that I knew to be Gottfried’s bedroom. He would be in there, of course. Asleep, unless I were very unlucky, but still in there. But then need I go through the bedroom to reach the study? That was the way we had gone earlier, but I recollected that there was another door in the study, presumably leading to the corridor in which I now stood. If that were so, the study door should be the next one down. I moved to that door, tried it. It opened soundlessly, and I stepped inside and moved the beam of my lantern round.

  As I had thought, I was in the study. Being careful not to trip up over low bookcases this time, I went to the section of bookshelf on the wall which concealed the safe. I moved the fake books, revealing the safe. I moved the shutter of my lantern to give a slightly more powerful beam, reached for the dial –

  At that moment, the connecting door to the bedroom was thrown wide. The lights had been lit in there, and the broad beam of light fell full upon me as I lurked by the safe! I do not know what I ought to have done. I do know that I simply froze, stood there as if turned to stone.

  Behind me, a voice said, ‘Mr Sherlock Holmes, I presume?’

  That broke the spell. I turne
d, bowed as best I could under the embarrassing circumstances, and replied, ‘I fear that I cannot claim that honour, sir. I am Doctor John Watson, at your service.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ The man at the door moved into the room, and I now saw firstly that he was holding a revolver, and secondly that another man stood behind him. The first man was the one whom von Gratz had pointed out as Duke Gottfried. The other one I did not know, but I took him to be Karl, the man I had seen muffled up outside the gate earlier; he had something of the appearance of the king about him, but a dissipated air which marred his looks.

  ‘Duke Gottfried, is it not?’ I said, with what nonchalance I could summon up. ‘And this, if I am not mistaken, is Herr Karl-Heinz von Ormstein?’

  Gottfried bowed. ‘You are well informed, Doctor. As am I. You are known to us, sir, as Holmes’s creature, his lackey. And doubtless you are here now at his bidding?’

  ‘I resent the slur, sir! I am my own man, and I am here –’

  Gottfried waved a hand, and laughed. ‘I know very well why you are here,’ he said. ‘You entered this house earlier this evening, and took certain papers. Having discovered they were not what you sought – and I must congratulate you, or Holmes, rather, upon making that discovery so quickly, for they were excellent forgeries – having seen your mistake, Holmes sent you here, being afraid to come him-self, to see if you could not do better a second time. Am I correct?’

  I stood silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of provoking me. Then it occurred to me that I had a golden opportunity; I could still help Holmes, by convincing these villains that they were safe. That might not help Holmes find Mr Norton, and it would certainly not help me, for I strongly suspected that this precious pair intended to shoot me, and claim I was a burglar – which was true enough! But if they thought the genuine papers were still in their possession, they would leave Holmes alone, and thus if I could convince them that the papers were still in the safe, I should have removed one potential source of trouble. I let my shoulders slump, and muttered dispiritedly, ‘You are right, damn you! Right in every particular. Damn you, and damn Holmes, for getting me into this.’

  ‘You are out of your depth,’ Karl told me, not unkindly. ‘Look at that safe.’ I did so. ‘Do you know how many possible combinations of letters are possible? It is astronomical.’

  And Gottfried put in, with a sort of forced carelessness, ‘And even were you to open the safe, the papers you seek are no longer there. I moved them when I knew you had been in the house.’

  ‘What are we to do with this fellow?’ asked Karl.

  ‘Oh, let him go.’ It was, of course, Gottfried who said this, but he echoed my own sentiments to perfection! My spirits rose a little. Gottfried went on, ‘We have nothing to fear now. Doctor, my servants will – ah, show you out. You will please to tell Mr Holmes not to call upon me again, for it will be useless.’ And he touched a bell by the door.

  A couple of minutes later a butler arrived, tucking his shirt into his trousers and looking rather flustered. ‘Ah,’ said Gottfried, ‘would you fetch Hans and Fritz, and escort this gentleman out?’

  And the butler went off, to return shortly with a couple of sturdy footmen, both looking very sleepy and both looking very displeased at being woken from their slumbers. They evidently sensed that I was the indirect cause of their disturbed night’s rest, and they handled me none too gently as a consequence, frog-marching me down the stairs, along the corridor, down the drive, and – after the butler had made a great show of unlocking the main gate – pitching me headlong into the gutter.

  The butler made a few irrelevant remarks as I lay there, and the footmen too did not hesitate to give me their own opinions as to my appearance, ancestry and future prospects.

  As I stood up and dusted myself down, the trio wandered back to the house and their beds, and all I could do was stand there watching them.

  ‘Well, Watson,’ I told myself out loud, ‘a pretty botch you have made of this, and not for the first time!’

  ‘It is the truth,’ said a well-known voice from the shadows. ‘But what exactly is it that you have made a botch of ?’

  ‘Is that you, Holmes? You ought not end a sentence with a preposition, you know,’ was the best I could do for response.

  Holmes emerged from the shadow and laughed. ‘But seriously, what have you been up to?’ he asked, regarding me closely under the street lamp. ‘Not some notion of stealing the fake plate, was it?’

  ‘Why, yes, Holmes! I thought –’

  ‘You thought that we could give it to Mrs Norton, and she could give it to the villain, thereby allaying his suspicions for long enough to allow us to follow him?’

  ‘Just so.’ I gazed ruefully at my dusty boots. ‘It seemed a rather good idea at the time.’

  ‘Oh, the idea was good enough. It was merely the execution which – ah, fell short.’

  ‘Indeed. Still, I have made them think that we really do want what is in the safe, and thus convinced them that it is genuine.’

  ‘That is something, I suppose.’

  ‘But how did you know I was here, Holmes?’

  ‘I heard you sneak out of the hotel. Or rather I heard you moving about, making enough noise for a herd of elephants, and then leave your room, and I was curious, so I followed you. But I had to change first, for even here in Bohemia I am not quite so Bohemian as to wander the streets in my night-shirt. So by the time I got down to the lobby you had taken your cab, and there was not another on the rank, and I had to follow much of the way on foot. Fortunately the concierge had overheard you tell the address to the driver, and I knew immediately that you proposed to break in. I could not, for a moment, think why; but then I realized what you intended. It was a clever scheme, and I must congratulate you upon it.’

  ‘Are you joking?’

  ‘Far from it. I only wish you had spoken to me, for this little contretemps might have been avoided.’

  ‘You mean you would have broken in yourself, and not been detected?’ I asked.

  ‘Not a bit of it. I should not have broken in at all.’

  ‘But then how would you get hold of the fake plate?’

  ‘I would not have done so,’ said Holmes calmly.

  ‘But –’

  ‘We do not need the fake plate. Or rather, we do not need that fake plate.’

  I stared at him. ‘But – oh! You mean that we could simply have faked our own?’

  Holmes nodded. ‘A couple of actors, the right costume, and the thing is done. Von Gratz is an expert photographer, he would take it for us. We shall do it tomorrow, and Mrs Norton can place her advertisement at the same time.’

  ‘So that all this –’ I stopped, and stared at him.

  ‘Just so, Watson.’ He started to laugh, and after a moment or so I joined in.

  NINE

  Holmes made a couple of minor changes to our original plan. The first was that on our return he spoke to the concierge at the Albion, asking him to place an advertisement in such of the morning papers as could be contacted at that ungodly hour, on the lines of ‘Irene assures Papa that all is well, and asks for a meeting as soon as possible,’ if I recall correctly. ‘The sooner the better,’ he told me. ‘The newspapers print their morning editions through the night, and we may be able to get the message into enough of them to do the trick. And then we must make plans to acquire our own forged plate.’

  ‘Let’s just hope they do not make their own print before we have found Norton,’ I said.

  Holmes answered, ‘I have hopes that we shall find him quickly. But even if we do not, there is no reason why they should wish to make a print, at least until the King of Scandinavia is here in Bohemia. In any case, we shall give them the print which we took from Gottfried, and the one which Mrs Norton has already. Why should they need a third?’

  I frowned at this. ‘Are we not running a risk, giving them the prints?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Holmes, yawning. ‘As someone said at the outset, the pri
nts might easily have been faked. No, without the original plate, there is little danger.’ He smiled. ‘Indeed, it might be rather amusing to challenge them to produce the plate, and make a print from it in front of reliable witnesses! That would tend to prove the suggestion that all the prints were faked.’

  ‘Well, if you are sure.’

  ‘I am certain.’ He yawned again, and glanced at his watch. ‘Dear me! It is later than I thought, and I am quite sleepy. It might be as well to get what rest we can, for we may be somewhat busy tomorrow – or later today, rather.’

  On that note we went to our respective rooms. I do not know about Holmes, but I slept like the proverbial log, not waking until almost ten that morning. Holmes had already breakfasted when I got down to the dining room, and he frowned and checked his watch. ‘The advertisement is here,’ he said, waving a newspaper at me.

  ‘What, the reply?’ I fear that I was still not fully awake.

  ‘Not the reply! Our original advertisement, the concierge succeeded in getting it into this morning’s edition. Now we must wait for the reply.’

  I groaned inwardly, for I knew that Holmes frets abominably when he is obliged to wait for anything of that kind. I told him, ‘We have another task, though. We must get the fake photograph made, and quickly, for the reply may be in the evening paper, and the meeting might be tonight. We need a fake to show them.’

  He brightened up somewhat at this, and outlined his second modification to the original plan. ‘I have decided that there is no need to hire actors,’ he told me. ‘It will be much safer, lead to less gossip, if we do the entire job ourselves.’

  I demurred slightly, but he insisted, and, instead of hiring actors for the photograph, Holmes and I took the parts ourselves! Von Gratz had a studio of sorts in his rooms, complete with a painted canvas backdrop depicting a country scene, and we sat before that, whilst von Gratz busied himself with camera and magnesium flare. I flatter myself that I did a reasonable job of masquerading as the king, while Holmes was able to indulge his taste for female impersonation, a taste which I try to discourage whenever possible, but which did seem justified in this instance.