Sherlock Holmes and the Adler Papers

by John Hall

  Holmes laughed. ‘Our client was not absolutely honest with us at the start of our investigations, it is true. And yet I think we have not done too badly, save for the actual recovery of Mr Norton, and the returning of him to his wife.’ He nodded through the carriage window. ‘And perhaps we may tidy up those last loose ends. They are returning, so we should have some answers soon, and we can possibly look forward to completing the case in a satisfactory fashion.’

  Von Gratz and Markus climbed into the carriage, and we set off back towards the Albion Hotel. ‘Well?’ asked Holmes at once.

  Von Gratz gave a shrug. ‘He asked us in readily enough, and seemed at his ease.’

  ‘No sign of guilt, of wanting to avoid you?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘And no sign of the man whom we followed to the house?’

  ‘None,’ repeated von Gratz.

  ‘And yet the papers were there, on his desk,’ Markus put in.

  ‘What? I never saw them,’ said von Gratz.

  ‘You recall that I wandered about the room?’ said Markus. ‘I picked up a book here and there, glanced at his pictures. I could not of course, actually rifle through the papers and so forth on his desk, but I took particular notice of what was there. The package which Mrs Norton had earlier was there, under some letters and what have you. I could not mention it to the colonel, obviously.’

  ‘Well done,’ said von Gratz. ‘And now, Mr Holmes? Do we get a squadron of lancers, return and arrest the fellow?’

  ‘That rather depends upon whether Mr Norton is in the house,’ said Holmes.

  ‘He is not,’ said Markus at once.

  ‘And how can you know that?’

  ‘I mentioned that I had leave of absence from my regiment – the colonel very kindly substantiated my untruth –’

  ‘For the purpose of maintaining the deception only,’ added von Gratz with a laugh.

  Markus went on, ‘I said that I planned to spend some weeks in the capital, myself and a couple of other officers, devoting ourselves to riotous living. Maurice at once offered us the run of his town house. Now, he would hardly want three or four officers in the place if he had a prisoner tucked away there, would he?’

  ‘It seems unlikely,’ Holmes agreed.

  ‘In any event,’ said von Gratz, ‘it is quite unnecessary to keep Norton here in the capital. Maurice, if he plans to blackmail the king, must be here, where the palace is; and the papers must be here, too, to reinforce the threat. But Norton is not a key part of the main scheme. He is, or was, needed only to help Maurice acquire the papers, and thus he might be hidden away anywhere.’

  ‘That is quite true. But it scarcely helps us,’ said Holmes.

  ‘It may not be as bad as it seems, though,’ said Markus. ‘Maurice has an estate in the country, miles from anywhere. Just the place to keep a man prisoner, for no-one but Maurice’s own servants go near the place.’

  ‘Ahah!’ said Holmes, sitting up. ‘That sounds the very place we are seeking. How do we reach this estate? And how soon can we get there?’

  ‘A train to Saltzenbach, then a cab,’ said Markus. ‘That is quicker than taking a carriage the whole way.’

  ‘Horses?’ asked von Gratz, like a true cavalryman.

  Markus shook his head. ‘The way is through forests and mountains, Colonel. An express will outrun a horse in that country.’

  ‘And when is the next express?’ asked Holmes.

  Von Gratz shook his head, and looked at Markus, who said, ‘I do not think there will be another tonight. Early tomorrow morning? I am afraid I do not know the precise times, but the manager at the hotel –’ and he pointed out of the carriage window, to show that we were now approaching the Albion – ‘should have a time-table.’

  We rushed into the hotel in a body, and Holmes asked the startled concierge, ‘Have you a railway time-table?’

  ‘Why, yes, sir. A moment, if you please, and I shall bring one to you. Oh, sir,’ he added, as he turned away, ‘there is a lady to see you. In the smaller sitting room.’ And he pointed the way.

  Holmes glanced at me and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Mrs Norton?’ I hazarded. ‘It surely cannot be anyone else.’

  My guess was correct. The small sitting room, little more than an alcove, but entirely private, being well out of the run of the everyday business of the hotel, had only one occupant. Mrs Norton rose to greet us as we entered, and her first words were, ‘Have you found him? Godfrey, I mean? You followed that dreadful man, and you would not return had you failed, so you must have found him?’

  ‘We have hopes that your husband may be recovered shortly,’ Holmes told her.

  Mrs Norton’s face showed bitter disappointment. ‘I had hoped that he would be with you,’ she said. ‘You have been gone so long, that I thought –’

  ‘We believe that we know his whereabouts,’ said Holmes, in his most soothing tone.

  ‘Oh? And where is he?’

  Holmes hesitated – even under those circumstances, he hesitated! His innate reluctance to reveal information prevented his acting like any ordinary man.

  I said, ‘We think he is held at the country estate of Maurice von Ormstein.’

  ‘Oh! Maurice? Are you sure?’

  ‘We cannot be absolutely certain, madam,’ said Holmes, glancing at me with some annoyance – quite unjustified annoyance, if you ask me – ‘but we shall take the first available train, and test our theory.’

  At that moment, the concierge entered the room, bearing a small fat book. ‘The time-table, sir,’ he said.

  Holmes snatched the little volume from him, and riffled through it. He found the page he sought, read eagerly, then looked up with some exasperation. ‘The first direct train is not until eight, and that is not an express. The first express is not until after nine.’

  ‘That will permit us to get a decent night’s sleep, start refreshed, then,’ I said.

  But Mrs Norton cried, ‘Surely not! We must go at once, if there is the slightest chance of rescuing Godfrey. Can we not hire a special train? I shall pay for it myself.’

  ‘No need, madam,’ said von Gratz. ‘We can do even better than a special, I fancy.’

  ‘How so?’ asked Holmes.

  ‘The royal train,’ said von Gratz. ‘It is kept in readiness for His Majesty, whenever he might need it. I can telegraph from here, and it should take no more than an hour to prepare the engine. That gives us time to arm ourselves, and pack what necessities we may need.’

  ‘That is capital,’ said Holmes. ‘You telegraph, Colonel, and we may leave immediately, I fancy, for we have no need of elaborate preparations.’

  ‘Indeed not,’ said Mrs Norton, as von Gratz made to leave the room. ‘Although I do wish that I had brought my old “walking-clothes” with me, for the current fashion is not exactly conducive to ease of movement,’ and she looked down ruefully at her long and elaborate dress.

  I knew that by ‘walking-clothes’ she meant the masculine attire which she had adopted as a disguise in the case which first brought her to our attention, some time previously; but other than that I had not the least idea as to what she meant to convey.

  Holmes, however, was quicker than I. ‘You surely do not mean that you wished to accompany us, madam?’

  ‘And you surely do not mean that you wish me to remain, sir?’

  ‘But – the danger! And –’

  ‘What is that to me?’ asked Mrs Norton. ‘A wife’s place is by her husband’s side, especially when that husband is himself in trouble or danger.’

  ‘It is only fair, Holmes,’ I put in.

  He shot me a venomous look, then his face cleared. ‘Perhaps you are right, after all,’ he said. ‘But you must undertake not to interfere, madam.’

  ‘Oh, I am not one of those who see the roles of men and women as perfectly interchangeable,’ said Mrs Norton. And she said it with a little laugh that probably fooled Holmes, but would not have fooled me, or any other married man!


  Holmes mumbled something or the other, then asked me in a loud voice, ‘Have you your revolver, Watson?’

  I all but groaned aloud at this pitiful attempt to convince Mrs Norton of the dangers of the projected enterprise, and answered him, ‘Yes, Holmes, I have it, and a couple of boxes of cartridges.’ At which he subsided into a sulky silence, cheering up only when von Gratz returned to say that he had telegraphed to the station, and all was arranged.

  A short cab ride brought us to the railway station, and a very deferential station master escorted us to the platform where the royal train stood waiting. We had a slight delay, for no train, even a royal one, can be made ready literally ‘upon a moment’s notice.’ The engine must still be fired up, and what have you – my vagueness here reflects my ignorance of the technical procedures – but the delay was not by any means as lengthy as might have been expected. I rather fancy that the ‘royal’ appellation referred only to the carriages, which were indeed luxuriously, royally, appointed, and that the engine was simply the first that was more or less fired up and could be moved, but I cannot be sure. In any event, some twenty minutes after our arrival at the station, we were able to settle back into the leather seats and doze off, as the train raced through the night bound for the little country town of Saltzenbach.

  ELEVEN

  The town of Saltzenbach lies in a fold of a mountain range which is, I think, a northern and western offshoot of the distant Carpathians. I understand that the town was originally a prosperous place, its wealth coming from the salt mines implied in the name, but it now bears the same air of faded grandeur and neglect which characterizes much of Bohemia, and these days the place largely depends upon seasonal visitors for its continued existence.

  This is mostly hearsay, for the railway station is a short distance outside the town, and then it was still only early in the morning when the train pulled up, so that my first-hand observations were necessarily fleeting. We found a cab outside the station, and von Gratz asked if the driver knew the country estate of Maurice von Ormstein.

  ‘Count’s hunting lodge, you mean, sir?’

  ‘That is the place. You know it?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The driver hesitated. ‘Fair old drive, sir. Six or seven miles.’

  ‘No matter, we shall pay whatever it costs.’

  ‘And the count’s not there just at the moment, sir,’ said the driver, with an admirable reluctance to take our money under false pretences.

  ‘No,’ Holmes put in, ‘we are to await him there. That reminds me, I am not sure if he sent word to his people to expect us. I don’t suppose there is a telegraph to the hunting lodge, is there?’

  ‘Bless you, sir, no such thing,’ said the driver.

  ‘So no means of getting a message to there quickly?’

  The driver smiled. ‘Well, sir, the count usually telegraphs here, to the station – there’s a telegraph here, you see – and the station master he would ask me, or one of my mates, to drive to the lodge with the message. That way, we don’t lose too much time, see?’

  ‘Yes, I see. An admirable arrangement. You would not happen to know if any message was received and forwarded last night, I suppose?’

  ‘There wasn’t, sir. I’ve been there all night, more or less, and the station master would’ve come and asked me to drive up there, had he received a telegram.’ The driver looked at Holmes anxiously. ‘They might not expect you then, sir?’

  ‘No matter,’ said Holmes. ‘We shall announce ourselves, for it is as quick for you to take us as it would be for you to take a message!’

  ‘True enough,’ said the driver.

  ‘Be so good as to tell me when we are almost there,’ said Holmes.

  ‘Very good, sir.’ And the driver shook the reins to start his horse off.

  In a lower tone, Holmes told us, ‘That is excellent. Maurice has evidently not yet examined the plate closely, or made another print from it.’

  ‘No reason why he should,’ I said, ‘unless he suspected Mrs Norton here of treachery, and the fact that he has her husband will make him inclined to rule out that possibility. As you told the driver, Holmes, we shall announce ourselves.’ And I took out my revolver and checked its cylinder.

  We drove on in silence through the forest for an hour or so, and it was growing properly light, when the driver slowed down and called to Holmes, ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but you asked me to let you know when we were nearly there?’

  ‘I did, and thank you. Stop, if you would. Now, how far away are we, and where is the lodge from here?’

  The driver pointed with his whip to a bend in the road, which here was little more than a track through the trees. ‘Just follow the road, sir. Five minutes’ walk. Shall I go on?’

  ‘No, I have a fancy to continue on foot,’ said Holmes. ‘Wait here for us. The lady will stay here, too. Just until we make sure that they are expecting us,’ he added, in an attempt to explain this odd behaviour.

  The driver shrugged, as much as to say that all the gentry were mad, and the English gentry were perhaps the maddest of all, but that, so long as his fare were paid, their madness was of no consequence to him.

  Holmes strolled along as if he were taking a walk before breakfast, but as soon as we turned the corner and could no longer be seen from the cab, he dived into the trees, and the rest of us followed him.

  ‘We must approach quietly,’ he told us, ‘for these villains might have orders to harm Mr Norton in the event that the house is stormed.’

  ‘Then what is our best course?’ asked Markus.

  ‘To approach the place unobserved, and spy out the land.’ And Holmes set off through the trees before we could ask any more questions.

  The hunting lodge was built of timber, great logs split in two, and it was on a grand scale – I fancy there must have been ten or a dozen bedrooms in it. The forest came pretty close to it, so we quite easily got within a dozen feet of the house. There was no sort of garden round it, but there was a little range of outbuildings, one of which was evidently a hen house put there to provide the lodge’s owner with his breakfast eggs, for we could hear the birds scratching and cackling, and an aggressive cockerel strutted about on the path before the front door.

  As we lurked in the trees just behind this hen house, trying to work out our best course of action, the front door of the lodge opened, and an old fellow came slowly out. He must have been seventy years old, perhaps more, and he had a sort of canvas sack in his hand. He came towards us, and we crouched lower in our hiding place. But the old chap was merely attending to the hens, throwing handfuls of corn or some similar fodder to the cockerel, then scrabbling in the little hut for the eggs. As he moved round towards us, Holmes stood up, threw an arm round the old fellow’s neck, and pulled him into the cover of the trees.

  ‘No need to be alarmed,’ said Holmes. ‘We have no quarrel with you.’

  The old fellow mumbled something in the local dialect.

  Holmes repeated his assurance in German, and the old man replied in the same language, but with a thick accent, ‘I knew no good would come of it!’

  ‘Did you, indeed?’

  ‘I did. Fifty years and more I’ve worked for the count’s family. Man and boy. And my father before me. And I never knew anything like this, not in all that time. Nor my father neither. Turn in his grave, he would, if he was alive to see this, and the old count would do the same.’

  Without bothering to debate the logical paradox, Holmes asked, ‘And what exactly is going on here?’

  ‘Them fellows.’ This was said with a good deal of contempt, and then he unbent sufficiently to add, ‘And that other poor chap, that they’re keeping locked up. Never known such a thing.’

  ‘That is why we are here,’ said Holmes. ‘We are here to rescue the poor man who is locked up.’

  ‘I dunno,’ said the aged retainer doubtfully. ‘I mean, the count himself said it was all right.’

  ‘But you know better,’ said Holmes. ‘After all, there
has never been anything like this in fifty years, has there? Certainly not in the old count’s day.’

  ‘That’s right enough.’

  ‘And what would your father say?’

  ‘Oh, he’d have plenty to say! Knew his mind, my old man, and not afraid to speak it. Nor to use his fists, neither.’

  ‘There you are, then,’ said Holmes persuasively.

  ‘Well –’

  ‘And we are not asking you to run any great risk,’ added Holmes, ‘but merely to return to the lodge, and let us follow you inside. What do you say?’

  ‘I’ll do it!’

  ‘Capital! How many of them are in there?’

  ‘Three. Four, with the fellow who’s locked up.’

  ‘Very well. Just say and do whatever you would normally say and do, and leave the rest to us.’

  The old man nodded. We checked our pistols, and the old man led the way to the door, pushed it open and stepped inside, while Holmes and the rest of us followed cautiously.

  From somewhere inside, a voice called in German, ‘Is that you, Jakob?’

  ‘Who else would it be? Got some nice eggs here.’

  ‘You took your time –’ and the speaker, a short man with a ruffianly aspect, broke off as he came into the room and saw us.

  Holmes immediately put his revolver to the man’s head. ‘I shall not hesitate to shoot,’ he told him. ‘Where are the other two?’

  The man pointed to a door. ‘In there.’

  ‘Watson, you keep an eye on this fellow. And you – Jakob, is it? – could you find some rope to secure our prisoners?’ Holmes nodded to von Gratz and Markus. ‘Ready, gentlemen?’

  They signified assent, and whilst I levelled my revolver at the first villain, Holmes threw open the door and burst into the next room, followed closely by the others. I heard an exclamation of surprise, an angry curse, then the sounds of a scuffle. A moment after, Holmes emerged, a look of triumph on his face.

  ‘Now,’ he asked the man whom I was watching, ‘where is Mr Godfrey Norton?’