Sherlock Holmes & The Master Engraver (Sherlock Holmes Revival)

by Husband, Ross

  The giant obediently trotted off and returned shortly with a heavy ladder over twenty feet in length, which he manhandled into place as if it were a child’s toy.

  When Shadwell was safely ensconced out of sight in his watchman’s hut, Holmes and I scaled the ladder and stepped onto the gleaming black expanse of the newly-tarred roof. With the sketched plan in one hand, he carefully paced out certain dimensions, until he had narrowed his area of investigation down to two areas, apparently no different to my untutored eye, to any other.

  He strode around with long, slow steps, looking for all the world like some giant exotic species of spindly black insect; on four occasions he lay flat and examined the surface minutely with his lens, at the conclusion of which he let out a soft grunt of satisfaction.

  We descended the ladder, whereupon he proceeded to examine the windows closely, occasionally sliding the blade of his pocket-knife between frame and window – all appeared solid. Eventually we entered the building. To our right ran a long corridor leading off which, on the left, was a short corridor and beyond that, doors accessing two rooms. The interior was aged and utilitarian, dingy green and white, and smelled pungently of metal, oil, ink and paper.

  We stepped into the smaller corridor to the printing room door, which was now open. Using one of his new keys, Holmes locked it, tried the door, then unlocked it and entered. We threaded our way between three large, silent presses. Holmes strode to the far end of the room, where stood a steel-barred cage the full height of the room, filled with boxes and stacks of paper.

  He stood in deep thought for some minutes before this massively armoured steel cathedral, stacked high with some of the most precious paper in the land. He scrutinised the ages-worn, stained stone floor around the cage minutely, and the massive fixings of the heavy steel cage both to the floor and ceiling. It appeared to me to be inviolable. Holmes used his second new key and proved it was not so.

  Some minutes later, with an air of quiet satisfaction, he emerged from the printing room and slipped a folded blank sheet of watermarked paper into his briefcase. Exiting the smaller corridor we turned to our left and entered what I assumed to be Henry Petch’s office. The room was simply but tastefully furnished with a fine old Oriental carpet on the highly-polished wood floor; the oak-panelled walls displayed an assortment of framed, coloured engravings of orchids, along with proof copies of various security documents and bank-notes. The centre of the large room was dominated by a wide twin-pedestal, brown leather-topped partner’s desk.

  To its right against the wall stood a massive oaken work-bench, illuminated by a substantial frosted-glass, heavily barred window and three gas globes; on the bench sat a long rack containing a row of much-worn, gleaming steel burins; I counted thirty slots but twenty-eight burins; there were two empty places. Needle-sharp, hair-thin curls of steel and copper glittered here and there across the work-top.

  But what seized Holmes’ entire attention was the huge, gleaming green enamelled, steel and brass Chubb safe embedded deep in the wall at the far right-hand corner of the room.

  We stood before it in silent deliberation for some time; it was about the height of a tall man, and sufficiently wide to admit the two of us abreast; so this was the impregnable fortress that safeguarded the modest yet priceless slabs of elaborately incised base metal that had the power to raise, or to ruin, an entire economy...?

  Returning to the oak workbench Holmes opened his attaché case; carefully he set out the wafer-thin rat-tailed files, a stub of candle and a box of vestas. Before the safe once more he retrieved a long, slim gleaming key from his waistcoat pocket. With all the extreme delicacy of an entomologist pinning some matchless specimen to a card, I watched him gently slide the key deep into the lock’s inner mechanism. Imperceptibly slowly, holding his breath, he turned it.

  Throughout the ensuing interminable seconds I was gratified to hear four soft metallic clicks. Exhaling slowly Holmes grasped the heavy steel release lever.

  He gently turned it anticlockwise and we were rewarded by the sound of well-oiled bolts retracting effortlessly into their keeps. The heavy door soundlessly swung open on its massive forged hinges to reveal steel shelves stacked with neat leather packets of differing sizes – before us lay the plates to print almost limitless supplies of many of the world’s major currencies, and the means to create bearer-bonds of infinite value.

  Any one of them might be used to devastate a nation as mercilessly as would the mightiest army. Satisfied, he made to close the safe, when he paused in thought, smiled, and placed his new calling card within the vault, then relocked it and packed his attaché case along with the duplicate safe key and the unneeded candle and files. His hypothesis appeared to be taking substance...

  ‘...there is very little in this world that one man can devise, that another cannot discover...’

  After a detailed but apparently unrewarding examination of the remaining rooms and offices, yielding little fresh intelligence, we returned to the gatehouse where we were greeted by a newly-amenable Shadwell, plainly now much-impressed by Holmes’ enhanced stature as a senior officer. With a childishly solemn face he saluted crisply. “All in order Mr Watson Sir? Any further orders?” Holmes nodded benevolently at the simple giant’s zeal to please. He eyed the burly private’s huge shoulders, brawny arms and fists like hams. “No Shadwell, you have performed your duty well today, but I may perhaps have need of your unusual attributes in the future.” The ex-soldier flushed at this unexpected praise. “I’m your man Mr Watson Sir; anything you need Sir, you just ask Private Shadwell Sir.”

  Our next port of call was at number 98, Clerkenwell Road, where we speedily located the premises and house of Mr Nathan Madgwick, builder. In keeping with his trade, Madgwick’s modest house, yard and workshop appeared to be in trim repair, contrasting with the adjacent buildings which, once genteel, had now assumed an air of faded neglect.

  The door opened at Holmes’ knock to reveal a short, homely woman in a pinafore with three curious young children clutching at her skirts. “Mrs Madgwick I presume – I am sorry to inconvenience you but I am so rarely in London, and I would much like to discuss a small business matter with your husband. He has been highly recommended to me by an acquaintance” and he handed her his new card.

  “Might I have a brief word?” Mrs Madgwick, somewhat flustered, curtsied and darted into the small, tidy parlour taking her clutch of wide-eyed infants with her. Several moments later, after a whispered conversation within, which we were unable to overhear, Mr Nathan Madgwick appeared; of early-middle years and moderate height, a little on the corpulent side and with an open, amiably rosy countenance, he was respectably dressed in what I took to be his Sunday best – rusty black suit, fresh white collar and tie.

  With a slight air of puzzlement he said “Mr Watson I believe? Sarah informs me you have a business matter you wish to discuss. Gentlemen, will you step inside and take a small noggin to celebrate the season? We can be comfortable by the fire in the parlour.”

  A moment later, Holmes and I were seated before a small cheery fire in the neat cosy room, affecting to enjoy an execrably poor glass of Madeira while Mrs Madgwick shooed her inquisitive brood from the room. “Now then, gentlemen, how may I be of service? I understand I have been recommended, Mr Watson – may I enquire by whom?”

  “To be candid Mr Madgwick, the works I wish to discuss are not for me, but for a good friend of mine who is casting around for a reliable workman who might refurbish his orangery.

  “Quite by coincidence a business associate happened to mention to me that you had performed similar excellent work for him and at a very keen price as well.”

  Madgwick smiled. “I like to think that is a trademark of all our work Mr Watson. Who, pray, was it recommended my services to you?”

  “Ah yes – a Mr Henry Petch of Richmond; I am sure you will recall him. I understand you and your partner did excellent work on Mr Petch’s orchid house?” The builder’s rosy face instantly clouded
over. “Am I in some sort of trouble gentlemen?”

  “Why ever should you suppose that, Mr Madgwick?” said Holmes.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. “Well, I knew right from the start there was something a bit peculiar about that job Mr Watson. But the fact was, what with three little ones and Christmas on the way, and being short of work, I badly needed the money.”

  And then his account poured forth, as so often happened when Holmes artfully revealed a trifle of what he knew. Madgwick continued “However, as you appear to know something of the matter already, I may as well tell you the whole outlandish story. It was earlier in December I was visited by a very smart gentleman, a Mr Asa Bormanstein – he sounded English but I thought he had a very faint accent, German maybe – anyway, he said he knew where there was some profitable work to be done, glazing and the like, but it couldn’t be done except on the 19th of December – not a day before and not a day after.

  “I thought this a rather odd business but he assured me it was just his way of doing things, and the pay would be generous, very generous indeed, and as I said Mr Watson, I needed the money.

  “I was to have so many panes of glass of such-and-such dimensions ready-cut for very early on Thursday morning, about five o’clock, and he would call for me.”

  Holmes listened closely, and made the occasional note on his legal pad. “This certainly was a most unusual commission. Can you describe Mr Bormanstein for me?” Madgwick considered awhile.

  “I would say he was well set-up, perhaps of middle or late-middle years, army-style moustache, smart and athletically-built, strong-looking, well-dressed, maybe a tad taller than average. And there was one other thing – I had the distinct feeling he might have been a military man at one time; just from the way he carried himself you understand, as if he were rather more accustomed to giving orders, than asking favours.”

  “Thank you. Your description is indeed precise to a point – I feel almost as if I have already encountered the gentleman myself. Please continue with your most interesting account Mr Madgwick.”

  “Very well; I had old Noah fed, watered, harnessed and in the shafts, and the wagon all loaded in the yard by five o’clock as instructed. Mr Bormanstein had told me it would be a tolerable fair ride to the customer so I threw in the nose-bag as well.

  “Now imagine my complete astonishment when he arrives, attired in common working man’s clothes and carrying a bag of tools and a shovel, which he held was on account that he would assist with the work, but did not require any imbursement for his time. Now how strange is that?” Holmes made no immediate reply, except to smile briefly as if satisfied with an expected outcome. “A most unusual tale Mr Madgwick; please do continue.

  “There’s not much worth the telling for some considerable while now; we set off and for the entire journey it was like travelling with the Sphinx. I tried to draw him on the client, where we were headed, the nature of the works, but all he replied was ‘all in good time’ or ‘you’ll see by and by’ and such-like. We left London by the Chiswick High Road and shortly after, we passed over the bridge at Kew.

  “This cheered me considerably, as the folk who live thereabouts are in the main a well-heeled lot, but when we went straight past the Royal Botanic Gardens I realised we must be headed for Richmond, and indeed, so it proved to be.

  “And now, something very funny occurred; he told me to pull over on a smart suburban street and wait,

  where he sat in perfect silence, watching a large villa a short ways along the road most intently. I will confess I was starting to feel a mite uneasy about this whole outlandish business, but as I said, I much needed the money, and so held my peace.

  “We waited for perhaps half an hour in silence, when at a little past nine o’clock, the front door of the villa that so occupied his attention opened, and out stepped a tall, elderly, bespectacled man, very well dressed and distinguished-looking; he set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the railway station and as he passed us on the far side of the road I noticed that the poor fellow seemed rather agitated, muttering and frowning and shaking his head.

  “For some reason this appeared to suit my strange companion very well, for as soon as the old gentleman vanished around the corner, Mr Bormanstein directed me to drive to the small lane at the rear of the villa, and wait there while he confirmed the arrangements with the owner of the residence.

  “With that he sprang down and walked over to the front door, where I observed him in conversation with the lady of the house; I directed old Noah around to the back as instructed. There, from the seat on the wagon, I could see a large, most ornate hot-house with all manner of strange flowers within, but there appeared to be numerous missing or broken panes, and I perceived what looked like old sheets and blankets fixed over them. I also noticed that the white garden palings were broken down, and several shrubs seemed to have been uprooted and left on the lawn.”

  Holmes nodded in satisfaction.

  “Anyway, a little time after this my odd companion emerged from the rear door of the villa and summoned me over to the hot-house. He required me to replace all the broken panes, while he would repair the palings and gate, and replant the shrubs; this we did and the work was completed comfortably by two o’clock, when Mrs Petch came over to inspect all, and most happy with our work she seemed too. At this point she said to us something much like ‘Excellent gentlemen, my husband will be quite delighted; I believe, Mr Bormanstein, the sum we agreed upon was seven pounds five shillings was it not?’ ”

  “Well gentlemen, you might well imagine, that set me right back on my heels; my materials amounted to more than five pounds on their own, let alone my time, extra feed for Noah and all the travelling!

  “I was about to protest when Bormanstein gave me a very dark hard look; I don’t mind telling you Mr Watson, I was chilled by his expression at that moment; he did not appear to me to be a man to cross lightly.

  “When we mounted the wagon, I was yet again much startled when he very cheerfully passed me ten pounds, which was more than enough for my trouble.

  “I made to remonstrate with him but he appeared to take this as dissatisfaction, and upon the instant pressed another tenner on me. You can be sure that with that, I piped down pretty smartly, and privately blessed him for a gentleman! So, strange affair or not, that day’s work meant that the missus got the brooch she had set her heart on, and the little ones got their rocking-horse after all, with enough over for a fat goose, a fine ham, and this excellent wine we’re enjoying.”

  Holmes took a polite but minute sip of the abominable brew, pondered, and then raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I wish to be wholly clear on this point Mr Madgwick – you say that this Mr Bormanstein paid almost three times the disbursement he had received from Mrs Petch?”

  “That is so Mr Watson.”

  “Remarkably generous do you not think?” The rotund builder shifted uneasily in his chair but made no reply. Holmes smiled lightly. “Well, no matter; all things considered it was a pleasant Christmas surprise for you and your family, and I wish you joy of it” and with this he made to rise. “Did Mr Bormanstein give you his card, by any chance?”

  “No Mr Watson; he said he had neglected to bring them with him, but he did refer to interests east of the City near the docks – somewhere around Rotherhithe and The Isle of Dogs, I recollect. However, I understood that you came to speak to me about some work for your friend?”

  “Ah yes, of course; if you will kindly give me your calling card I shall be sure to pass it to my friend, along

  with a hearty recommendation – on that you may depend; I expect you will hear from him in due course.” And so with thanks and further earnest assurances, we departed the house of Mr Nathan Madgwick, builder, of Clerkenwell Road, and presently, hailed a cab for the lengthy drive to Richmond – as cabmen call it, a clock-and-a-half. Consequently we had some little time to ponder...

  * * *

  From the look of quiet satisfaction on his pale,
lean countenance, I felt that Holmes was content, pleased even, with what he had learned thus far; indeed, I sensed that the facts we had gathered fitted most satisfactorily to support whatever theory he was pursuing with that remarkable intellect he possessed. For me, however, this welter of diverse new intelligence served for the most part, only to further confuse the mystery. I recalled the exigent question Holmes had put to Petch after listing the players in the puzzle: ‘Can you name one, or a union of several, who would not stand to profit from the illicit possession of authentic Bank of England printing plates and paper to match?’ And in truth this, too, was my quandary.

  That a key, or keys, had been used in the perpetration of the theft seemed eminently clear, which undeniably tended towards the notion that one or more of the partners were involved, or either or both of the watchmen.

  I could give little credence to the involvement of Petch, appearing as he did to have no conceivable motive to jeopardise his own comfortable station, his reputation, that of his business and its, no doubt, lucrative association with The Bank. But what of the two curiously, coincidentally missing and unreachable partners? And did they indeed, even leave the country at all? I recollected that Perkins was said to feel some ambivalence about his prosperity, and ardently laboured to raise a very substantial sum for his mission work... and Bacon certainly seemed to live a lavish, perhaps costly, social life; might he, through indebtedness or some indiscreet liaison with an inappropriate partner, have made himself vulnerable to coercion or blackmail?

  As we passed by The Ritz Hotel, I considered what we had learned of the two watchmen, the hook-handed Gunton and the simple Jeremiah Shadwell. While I could not immediately envision any possible motive they might harbour, beyond simple avarice and opportunism, the inescapable fact remained that while they probably lacked the wit or the resources to effect such a crime, between the two of them they surely had unfettered access to the entire premises, both day and night – and more sinisterly I suddenly realised, ever since the complete factory closure for Christmas; they certainly did not lack for opportunity.