Across the room, a vast printing press was thundering away. Again and again the gleaming engraved steel plates hammered down on an endless supply of sheets of crisp white paper, while an equally incessant stream of money poured out of the maw of the great mechanical beast. The whole operation was being supervised by three tall, thin elderly, silver-haired gentlemen who appeared to be marking time, each referring to a heavy gold watch on a gold Albert chain, festooned with intricate keys; they were accompanied by a dark moustachioed man, who was presently engaged in counting out money into the waiting hand of the maid I had earlier encountered, while upon the settee an elegant and elderly lady poured forth a voluble stream of rapid Italian.
A gang of tar-daubed labourers was busily occupied in stacking ten-pound notes in neat, regimented bundles.
Holmes paused at my entry, smiled oddly, then set to fiddling with renewed vigour. As the whole assembly appeared to be quite immersed in their revels, I decided my wisest course would be to make my way home and discuss these interesting matters with Mary.
I descended to the street, hailed a cab and was not in the least bit surprised to see that it was driven by the same cheery glazier who I had previously encountered repairing the tropical glass-house.
I paid the cabbie his very modest twenty pounds fare, tipped him a further ten, and entered the house to find my wife sobbing her heart out. “John, the butcher has presented his account for the Christmas goose and it is eighty pounds! Where ever shall we find the money?” I smiled cheerfully. “Never fear my dear” – I reached into my pocket and passed her a generous handful of... rapidly-melting snow...
While I make no claim to be an expert on the inner workings of the human mind, I am cognisant of the commonplace that the imaginings of our dreams are oft-times more readily understood upon waking, when critical reason once again assumes direction of that most baffling of organs, the human brain... Waking early, I spent the dogwatch hours considering – even jotting down in lengthy, but rather more ordered, detail – my recall of the events of my dream.
Now, reviewing my notes it seems to me that I had not so much spent my night in bed, but rather, in Bedlam.
As a medical man of some considerable training and experience, I do not particularly hold Mr Freud’s theories in any special or credulous regard. They do not to me, upon rigorous scrutiny, appear to be particularly scientific in their origination.
And so I do not necessarily suppose that unconscious dreaming thoughts provide the key to unlock the secrets of one’s waking dilemmas, and yet I was oddly and most forcefully persuaded that somewhere in that lunatic nocturnal adventure, I had glimpsed deep into the heart of this dark mystery.
Was there, concealed within that insane play in which I had taken the passive observer’s part, a compass that might point to the culprits? Reader, how profoundly I yearned to possess Holmes’ unique analytical abilities; to be able to exercise that mysterious skill which only he can bring to bear in such problematical situations – the gift of sorting the players into their proper places – the prime suspects, their accomplices, the unwitting assistants and lowly hired hands quite ignorant of the far greater and more sinister enterprise into which they had been gulled. At the conclusion of my lengthy but quite ineffectual deliberations I was really none the wiser, save for the fact that I was struck by one most disquieting notion; every player in my nocturnal escapade could readily be accounted for within Mr Petch’s narrative, with a single notable exception.
Who was the tall shadowy man I glimpsed behind the glazier? I was convinced he was one and the same, apparently heavily moustachioed, as the man who appeared to be directing the printing of the currency at the lunatic revelry of my dreams in Baker Street. I could make no more of the troubling matter and resolved to keep my thoughts private until such time as matters became clearer.
* * *
Christmas day passed quite uneventfully. I spent much of the time reading before the fire; at two o’clock Mrs Hudson served a very decent lunch of goose and plum pudding, which I consumed with relish. Holmes, by contrast, was in a high fever of activity; he spent the morning issuing a flurry of telegraph messages, drafting and then despatching letters by hansom, and throughout all, paid scant attention to my various comments and questions, and even less to our meal, much to Mrs Hudson’s evident frustration.
Only later that Christmas Day evening, after he had consumed three pipes of Barkers’ strongest Twist in complete silence, and a lengthy telegram and two hand-written notes had been delivered, did his mood mellow. The contents of the telegram appeared to cause him some small perplexity, while the two notes plainly improved his spirits considerably.
“Forgive me Watson; I don’t doubt I have been a somewhat churlish companion at Christmas, but now matters are resolving themselves by the hour!”
“I am heartily pleased to hear it. What news?” “Well, for one thing I suspect I now know who is not the perpetrator of the crime, and second, it is not only London’s sole consulting detective who was at a loose-end over the festive season!”
“To whom can you be referring Holmes?”
“I refer to a pair of our city’s most accomplished criminals. They exist at the polar extremes of their mischievous trade, and I have crossed swords with both in years past. But they have their uses.
“So do not be in the least bit surprised if, in the morning, there are one or two rather unsavoury types at work here. But be most circumspect in what you say in their hearing – they are both exceedingly proficient criminals and will only be present in, what shall I say, a technical capacity. They need know no more of our commission.”
* * *
CHAPTER FIVE
A Den of Thieves
The following morning I again awakened early, and upon entering the parlour, was greeted by a strange sight, and two even stranger visitors. I could discern upon the instant, from Holmes’ lively demeanour, that he had made significant progress in his enquiries.
The workbench had been moved and quite cleared of the, presumably concluded, chemical experiment, now replaced by a rank of Bunsens, a gas-ring, retort stands and other small equipment whose application I could not immediately determine. Holmes desk, for the first time in my recall, was wholly cleared of any papers or articles of any kind. The room smelled faintly of hot wax.
“There you are Watson, timely as ever! There is hot coffee on the table. But first some introductions; gentlemen, this is my estimable friend and advisor Doctor John Watson, who works closely with me from time to time. Should either of you sustain hurt during our work, I advise you to stay close by him, for he is a very fine physician and surgeon.
“Watson, these gentlemen are what you might rather loosely term ‘professional associates.’” I nodded in the direction of the two gentlemen, the one – small, scruffy and unkempt – occupied at the chemical bench, the other, tall, richly and expensively attired, lounging languidly by the fire.
Holmes indicated the occupant of the fire-side chair. “Watson, let me first present Herr Otto-Dietmar von Huntziger, who takes great interest in fine jewellery, old masters, bullion and precious stones – sadly, other people’s. I recall we were last professionally engaged over the matter of the stolen Hartz sapphires. Apart from his unparalleled expertise, I especially commend him for the fact that in no case in which I suspected his involvement, was violence ever employed; but too, I never have been quite able to secure evidence conclusive enough to bring him to trial... yet.”
Von Huntziger snapped out of his chair like a jack-in-the-box, clicked his heels for all the world like a Prussian cavalry officer on full-dress parade, and bowed stiffly. He was a tall, lean, athletic and handsome man, I would guess between fifty-five and sixty years with dark piercing eyes, heavy moustache, rather self-consciously cultivated and cultured, but still carrying that aura of late youth that departs so many, so early. Expensively – almost foppishly dressed, rather dandyish, he cut a fine figure if you like that sort of thing.
; With only the very faintest of accents – high Austrian I thought I detected – he replied with a grin; “I give you good morning Doctor Watson.” And we shook hands. The robber-aristocrat addressed Holmes.
“Come now, Mr Holmes, those little adventures are surely history for us now. Certainly you came close enough in the Hartz caper to warm my back, but you have to own there was never any proof of my involvement. You and I have lunged and parried on several occasions in the past, and I admit that never have I had a greater care than when I sensed you had your eye upon me.
“But that is all in the past. We must accept that in our few little duels, we both wear our Schlager-scars with honour, with a worthy draw for both combatants. And anyway, as you well know, I am now retired in my modest house in London, where I occupy my days cataloguing my small collections and live a very quiet life.”
“Pah!” cried Holmes. “Balderdash and piffle! Flatulent nonsense!
“For your amusement Watson, von Huntziger’s ‘modest house’ happens to be a rather elegant Belgravia mansion built over four floors, with more bars and locks than could be employed in a moderately-sized private Swiss Bank, and the most charitable view you might take of his ‘collections’ is that he is their curator on behalf of others, all of whom have rather stronger title to them than he!
“And, my dear von Huntziger, retired you may be, but I am in my prime; have a care that I may not have lost all interest in the Hartz sapphires – perhaps I shall revisit the matter in due course.”
“The pleasure would be mine Mr Holmes; I confess to missing our little matches, though not, of course, when you come too close to scoring a point! But today we are colleagues, are we not?”
Holmes turned to me and remarked drily “You might well be advised to count your fingers Watson – the gifted Herr von Huntziger may have removed one without your even being aware.”
And the oddly likeable von Huntziger grinned carelessly once more – apparently a confident man with nothing to fear from Holmes, or at least not imminently. However, I have learned from long experience that where Sherlock Holmes is concerned, it is usually prudent not to start the process of chicken counting, until after the eggs are hatched – on occasion, well after...
Holmes, too, smiled amiably with no apparent malice. “Now Watson, let me present our other partner in crime: yonder sits Mr Elias Pollitt, expert locksmith and self-proclaimed ‘consultant on security’, once thought to be the finest crib-cracker in London... by strange coincidence, also now retired! However, I am quite satisfied that he is again on the straight and narrow path.”
“The second finest until I retired...” interjected von Huntziger good-naturedly. I smiled at this criminal, yet highly professional rivalry between two men so clearly from utterly different backgrounds and education, yet each according the other his due rank in the pecking order of their own villainous but ordered hierarchy.
A small, ferret-like, shabbily-dressed character with crooked, badly stained teeth turned from the workbench and awkwardly knuckled his forehead to me. “Pleased to meet yer I’m sure Doctor, an’ I truly was only ever an innocent suspeck, God’s truth.” He giggled “Heugh heugh heugh.”
And so with I little the wiser, he returned to his task, and with a soft roar of gas, ignited a whole cluster of hissing Bunsens directed at the base of some sort of blackened, smoking ceramic vessel. The sharp tang of hot metallic fumes, smoking white and acrid, soon started to taint the air. Holmes opened the window to clear the room.
While Pollitt continued with his work, Holmes, I and the elegant fop-doodle, von Huntziger, gathered around the fire; I observed that Holmes was keeping an unusually keen eye on every move the little man made at the workbench, having so arranged it that all was plainly visible.
“Perhaps, von Huntziger, you would be good enough to commence by summarising our earlier discussion, for the benefit of Doctor Watson?”
“Gladly Mr Holmes, but I would still give a handsome sum to know the location and contents of this safe that so urgently occupies your attention!”
At this unabashed impudence, Holmes shot him an icy stare. Von Huntziger raised his hands in mock apology. “No, of course I speak in jest! From the items Mr Holmes showed me, Doctor, we are talking of a very superior Chubb safe, diagonal-bolt model, although I am sure I merely confirmed what I suspect Mr Holmes knew already.
“As to the matter of illicitly purloining the contents, there are really only four feasible methods, one being markedly more practical than the others, a view with which Mr Pollitt agrees. Least practical in my opinion would be the use of explosives; not only would they occasion a significant report, and therefore would almost certainly raise an alarm; there would also be considerable risk of damaging the contents of the safe – it is extremely difficult to judge the size and placement of explosive charges precisely such that the locks are released or destroyed, without jamming the mechanism or damaging that which is stored within.
“A second possibility is the removal of the entire safe that it may be taken to a remote place to be dismantled and opened at leisure. However, the removal of a safe like this would involve large excavation works to free it from its secure fixings. This would also entail considerable noise and would necessitate the use of extremely large and bulky mechanical equipment to lift and transport it. Again, a swift hue and cry would be the almost inevitable consequence.”
Although von Huntziger’s lecture was absorbing, I nonetheless found it a bizarre experience to be observing Europe’s most renowned consulting detective seated companionably with one of Europe’s most proficient and prolific thieves, and I a respectable medical man, calmly discussing matters of high criminality in his consulting room while a locksmith and master safe-cracker worked industriously alongside, for all the world as if we were merely debating the preferred approach to repairing a broken cartwheel or freeing a stuck sash-window. Von Huntziger blithely continued:
“A third method which may appear to be attractive to the foolish, would be to attempt to pick the lock – a procedure with which I am sure you are probably quite familiar Mr Holmes, and indeed many lesser commercial locks can be defeated by this means.” Holmes chose neither to confirm nor deny von Huntziger’s speculation.
At this juncture Pollitt looked up from his work and snorted derisively. “As you see gentlemen, Pollitt agrees with me on this point. These Chubb high-security safes incorporate a mechanism designed to disable the entire system after one failed try at picking the lock; at this point any further attempts are quite futile, and the safe can now only be returned to normal operation by use of a special key which would be held by the registered owner.
“The need to employ this special key would immediately alert him to the fact that an illicit attempt had been made.
“By far the safest and simplest method is, therefore, with a working key, either one held by a legitimate key-holder or, greatly more challenging, to manufacture a perfect replica.
“The former route presents the not insignificant problem of purloining a key and returning it without being detected, or of co-opting, how do you say it – an inside man? This is not unusual in large robberies.
“The second, though more involved and complex, has the great advantage that the safe may be opened and closed at such an opportune time, and on such an occasion, that detection may be delayed for some hours or even days, thus much facilitating a safe and undetected escape.
“I may add, Doctor Watson, that Mr Pollitt and I are entirely in accord with this analysis – our expert credentials you have already heard from Mr Holmes.” This last was delivered without the smallest hint of irony.
Throughout this extraordinary dissertation, which in any other circumstance would surely be tantamount to conspiracy to burglary, I observed that Pollitt had ceased working with his massed burners, and was now engrossed in many intricate operations involving the use of exceedingly fine and thin files and a small metal vice which he had clamped to the bench, confirming my belated but grow
ing suspicion that Holmes was in train of somehow manufacturing duplicate keys!
At this point in our somewhat improbable convocation, the long-suffering Mrs Hudson entered bearing a tray piled with meat and cheese sandwiches, along with a glass of wine for von Huntziger and small beer for Pollitt, showing no particular sign of disapproval beyond a sniff in the shabby little locksmith’s direction, before sweeping out of the room in a rustle of bombazine.
A further hour or two passed, during which time Holmes and I took turns at watching Pollitt closely. In Holmes’ case, clearly to ensure that only one of each key was made, whereas my interest lay rather in marvelling at the precision, speed and dexterity of the man – a true craftsman at work.
Eventually Pollitt clambered down from the laboratory stool and approached Holmes deferentially. “’ere you are Mr ’olmes” and he dropped four complex, gleaming zinc metal keys into my colleague’s outstretched hand.
I remained silent as Holmes scrutinised them minutely through his lens from every angle.
Von Huntziger strolled over and peered down at the newly-formed keys. “May I look please?” Holmes passed him his lens. Von Huntziger examined them closely and smiled. “They are fine, very fine, indeed quite perfect. I believe I have never seen better.”
Holmes nodded languidly. “Now Mr Pollitt, what assurance do I have that these would open a lock, assuming of course, that there are locks to match?”
Obsequiously, the diminutive Pollitt replied through a mouthful of meat sandwich “Well Mr ‘olmes, Sir, there ain’t no guarantees in this kind of what you might call private consultin’ work, but my guess is that if – only if there was a safe to match o’course, just supposin’…” again his snigger “heugh heugh – these will likely work first time out, sweet as a nut.
Sherlock Holmes & The Master Engraver (Sherlock Holmes Revival) Page 6
