“Edward Palmer, printer of Turnham Green, suspected of being behind the great land-sale fraud in Arizona; he produced and sold to the gullible, certificates giving them all title to the same tract of quite useless land which he neglected to mention was several hundred miles from water.
“Benjamin Wilkes of Gerard Street, noted watch and clock-maker, rumoured to have masterminded the platinum robbery at Albion & Co of Hatton Garden.
“And here we have William Jarman, a respectable metal fabricator and steel-worker by day, and by night a cat-burglar and safe-cracker.
“Finally, I list the most unsavoury of all, Lieutenant-Colonel Roland Chatsworth, retired – cashiered actually – and also that most squalid and despicable of miscreants – a thief of other peoples’ secrets and a blackmailer.
“As I say, Watson, you may take your pick! I am convinced that all these men work for or with Moriarty, and all pay tithes to him.” Villainous as they sounded, it seemed to me that his list of miscreants did not seem so promising; with Moriarty apparently under such close surveillance, I could envision few of these confederates who might have masterminded the theft of the plates of The Bank of England. I looked dubiously at Holmes. “I agree they sound a most unsavoury lot, but I cannot see that an undertaker, an ex-Indian army big-game hunter or a Lambourne racehorse owner is especially qualified for the commission of this crime, less still a cashiered Colonel who exists by blackmail; but perhaps the dealer in stolen securities, the cat-burglar or the watch and clock maker-turned precious metal robber...?”
“I have an early notion Watson, but at this stage it is, perhaps, founded upon a coincidence and I have told you how deeply I mistrust them! Coincidence is very often a feeble vindication for two strikingly similar data for which everyman is unable to perceive an explanation” and he resumed his pacing. I had listened attentively to Holmes’ discourse, the lengthiest I had yet heard him deliver of the sinister Professor Moriarty and his gang; and from his precisely chosen words I realised with a thrill of fearful exhilaration, tempered with that caution natural to any recently-married man, that should we pursue this investigation full-course we might well face mortal hazard once again.
And yet at that instant I already knew that I would without hesitation join with my friend to the end of this adventure, for better or worse, wherever it might finish.
* * *
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Mist Thins
Unsurprisingly, after talking well into the night, I slept somewhat later than usual next morning; I clearly longer than Holmes, which I observed from his evident early departure and the cold remains of a meagre breakfast – occasioned no doubt by that unfeasibly feverish state in which he habitually existed when scenting the spoor of his quarry – the exact opposite of the dismal, self-pitying, condition of lethargy and ennui that invariably overtook him when he lacked the stimulus of a case to kindle his excitement and mental powers.
Having breakfasted, and awaiting his return, I was in train of stripping and cleaning my long unused service revolver when Holmes burst into the parlour in a state of some excitement. He eyed my revolver.
“So despite my counsel, you have decided to run this business to the end Watson?” I turned and laughed; “I might pretend that old habits die hard – that I am merely following old army instincts and maintaining my weapon – but could you ever have doubted that I will offer whatever support I may?
“You will allow that an army Surgeon-Major, even one invalided out of the service, if equipped with a commandingly heavy-calibre revolver, and with the experience to use it to good effect may at some desperate point in the game, be able to tilt the balance somewhat in our favour?”
He looked quietly thoughtful for a moment. “With or without your revolver Watson, there is no other man I would rather have at my side in a tight pinch. If you are, indeed, prepared to throw in your lot with me on this adventure, then it is certainly wise that you have that heavy gun loaded and in good order; but your eternally dependable steely nerve will serve equally well for me, my friend.”
This comment pleased me to the highest degree. He joined me at the table and dropped the customary bundle of the morning’s newspapers between us. “Now Watson, the talented but unlovable Isaiah Pollitt did duly deliver a note detailing the only two locksmiths in London he considers capable of forging keys suited to the task. It is my belief that one of them most likely made the keys used in the robbery. I propose today to establish which one – I trust you are free to join me?”
We travelled first to an address in Tavistock Street, to the premises of J MacFadzean – Locksmith. Mr John MacFadzean was without doubt an accomplished and respectable locksmith – with a busy, tidy well-equipped establishment, indeed he showed every outward indication of a skilled and honest man about his lawful occasions.
He smiled and greeted us. “Good day gentlemen; how may I be of assistance?” Holmes released the latch on his attaché case. “Mr MacFadzean? I require keys to be made from these – could you oblige me?” and he opened the case to reveal two perfectly flat slabs of hardened brown modeller’s clay, each bearing a row of impressions. Abruptly the man’s smile vanished, and his eyes hardened with suspicion. Coldly he replied “I could, Sir, but I will not. I am sure you are perfectly well aware that these impressions are of keys to some of the highest security locks ever devised. Whatever it is that they safeguard, it is clearly of huge value. I would respectfully suggest, Sir, that if you were indeed the legitimate owner of these safes, you would well know to approach the makers, who will be happy to supply additional keys upon the appropriate proof of ownership. And you are not the first to approach me with impressions of these self-same keys...” His voice took on an edge of scorn “... a Mr Bormanstein – perhaps one of your associates? I refused him also” and he turned away. Holmes closed the attaché case; “I owe you an apology Mr MacFadzean – I have been less than candid; the matter is, you see, of some considerable delicacy.” He placed his own calling card upon the counter. “I am investigating an extremely serious crime.”
Comprehension dawned on the locksmith’s honest face as he studied Holmes’ personal card. With a broad smile he said “Now I understand Mr Holmes; in that case I shall repeat my earlier question, how may I be of assistance gentlemen?”
“I have reason to believe that keys made from impressions very similar to these were used in a most audacious theft – I suspect they were made with common glazier’s putty, by a Mr Bormanstein. I believe him to be both dangerous and determined, and I am most anxious to apprehend him. Be good enough to tell me all that you recall of his visit, Mr MacFadzean.”
The locksmith nodded sombrely. “I’ll be glad to help Mr Holmes – I knew from the moment he set foot in my workshop that there was something seriously amiss. It was late on Thursday, the 19th of December – a most perturbing episode – I was visited by a rather unsettling gentleman of extremely sinister appearance. He was dressed in smart business attire, perhaps fifty-five or sixty, slim but muscular and athletic, somewhat above average height, a pale complexion with a heavy moustache, something of the military trim to it.
“He carried an expensive leather attaché case. At variance with his outwardly respectable appearance was the odd fact that he appeared to have what looked much like fresh garden soil under his finger-nails, one of which had a smear of something, perhaps putty, upon it. I thought this rather strange for a man of affairs.
“His eyes were most striking in appearance, smouldering under a heavy beetling brow, cold and unforgiving – deep-set, giving an entire appearance of great menace.
“He required me very speedily to make an additional set of keys for his premises, including the one to his Chubb safe. The cost, he claimed, was of no consequence; the work was to be done solely by me in complete privacy, in the shortest possible time – and certainly by or before the 21st day of the month, and with absolute discretion.
“Somewhat taken aback by such a suspicious commission, I enquired his
name and the nature of the premises for which the keys were to be made, and if I might see the originals from which I would have to work; he replied that his name was Bormanstein and that the keys were for one of his warehouses out near the London docks. He could not provide the original keys, as he claimed they were all in constant use for twenty-four hours of every day. Instead he showed me a set of impressions taken in putty.
“You may imagine, gentlemen, that upon hearing this suspicious tale I resolved to have nothing to do with the affair, and terminated the conversation. He left with a veiled threat to the effect that I should forget him and his request, less mischief befall me.”
Holmes completed writing a note and frowned darkly. From long acquaintance I knew well that his demeanour, like a sharply shaken kaleidoscope, could change in an instant; a thunderous frown might pass over his countenance in a moment, to be replaced instantly by his customary saturnine inscrutability; on this occasion, however, a radiant smile illuminated his sharp features – and vanished in a second; those unfamiliar with his unusual character mistook it for disdain. I knew, however, something lively had lightened his mood. “I am greatly obliged to you Mr MacFadzean; your account has been both concise and precise, and your description of this Bormanstein character, quite invaluable.”
Outside on the pavement Holmes commented happily “If the likes of friend Lestrade and his colleagues were even half as observant as that young man they might well improve their performance. The mist thins, and my web draws ever-tighter.”
“Clearly Holmes, this ugly-sounding Bormanstein character did not possess an authentic set of keys, but how on earth do you suppose he managed to search Petch’s house and locate his keys without being detected?”
“Because he did not, Watson – another performed that small service for him. Let us walk for a while – I have been certain from the events described at our first encounter with Mr Petch that whoever surfaced in this affair would not have a set of authentic keys. But I suspected they would have something very nearly as good, in the hands of a locksmith possessing the appropriate skills You might call to mind the examination to which I subjected Petch’s Keys.”
I recollected the evening in some detail; I had been particularly struck by the odd manner in which Holmes had scrutinised the keys at inordinate length, extraordinarily closely, practically at the very tip of his nose.
“You see, Watson, my suspicions were deeply aroused by the apparently meaningless and random destruction of the hot-house, the predictable panicked departure of Mr Petch, and the curiously coincidental arrival of two workmen coincidentally ‘passing by’, miraculously equipped with all tools and supplies necessary to effect immediate repairs, and at a price which cannot conceivably have been in the slightest part profitable.
“I examined Petch’s keys and found something strange that had no natural place in association with their ordinary usage.”
“I saw nothing out of the ordinary, yet my eyes are perfectly sharp.”
“Indeed they are Watson, and yet I discovered the minutest traces of glazier’s putty, confirmed by its distinctive odour.”
“Good Heavens Holmes! How on earth did you find them?”
“I found them precisely because I was looking for them.”
From all the foregoing I started to see some pieces in the puzzle falling into place, but if my few deductions were correct, of a certainty Holmes would have most of the jigsaw assembled already – perhaps much of it from an early stage in this case.
“And what of the next locksmith?”
“Aha! He, Watson, our next port of call – one Aloysius Hawes by name; with the first locksmith certainly eliminated, it seems more than likely that we shall now meet the man who made the keys for Bormanstein! However, we will need to be rather more devious with this fellow. I shall take a small gamble – let us see if it pays a dividend.”
We located Hawes’ shabby premises in a squalid alley in Shoreditch; my instant impression was that he was certainly the type of dog to make the keys used in the robbery – a more impious, pernicious and degener-ate-looking scoundrel I have not observed in some time.
We entered the slatternly place, whereupon, somewhat out of character, Holmes appeared to become nervous. “Mr Hawes?” he enquired tentatively; “My name is Henry Bormanstein. I am led to believe that you are skilled at your trade... and, I hope, discreet?” I noted Hawes’ weaselly eyes signalled instant recognition of the name. “My business is of the utmost importance, Mr Hawes, and an honest answer to my questions may very well make my fortune and yours into the bargain.”
“Mr Bormanstein, you say?”
“You have heard the name before?”
“I might have, I might not. What exactly is your business with me, Mr Bormanstein?” Holmes fretted and appeared to be unsure of his next step. Hesitantly he said “I must now take you into my confidence Mr Hawes. My father, Mr Günther Bormanstein has two sons – I, and my brother, Asa Bormanstein.” Again I noted a clear sign of recognition in the locksmith’s eyes. “Our father is an eccentric old man, bitter, aged and sick, and soon to meet his maker; he holds no particular affection for either of us. Likewise, there is no great fraternal bond between my brother and I.”
Hawes appeared perplexed; “And how does all this involve me Mr Bormanstein?”
“This, Mr Hawes; over his lifetime my father accumulated a vast fortune in the South-African diamond business. Concealed in the family home – which is huge and rambling with many hidden passages and secret doors – there are two cunningly concealed vaults which contain a king’s ransom in cut diamonds, and stocks in gold and diamond mining concerns. Only he knows where they are, for he designed the house. His will takes a strange and spiteful form; he gave both of us one hour, separately, with the keys to the vaults, to find the treasure – the first to find it was to win all.”
I was quite dumbfounded by this fantastic fairy-tale, although I could see that Hawes was entirely gripped by it. Holmes continued his extraordinary fiction; “My brother, Asa, spent his allotted hour searching – greedily, and fruitlessly I trust.
“In view of the number of concealed compartments, trap-doors, passages and secret rooms throughout the house, I used my hour more wisely, Mr Hawes, in making my own arrangements that I may return at a time of my own choosing and search at leisure; it could take weeks to comb the place thoroughly. I will pay a tenth-part of the fortune to whoever assists me in finding it.
“Your next words may well make you richer than you ever thought possible Mr Hawes, or with a lie, you will never see me again, and you will continue making keys for shillings until the day you die in Shoreditch. On the other hand...”
I wondered where on earth this curious masquerade might possibly be leading. Hawes cleared his throat apprehensively. “And your question, Mr Bormanstein?” For answer, Holmes opened his attaché case to reveal his clay impressions. “Now think most carefully before you answer Mr Hawes; your future prosperity may depend upon it.
“Have you seen these keys before, and if so, did you manufacture a like set for my brother?”
Hawes peered at the slabs of clay; in swift succession I observed his crafty countenance signal recognition, suspicion and indecision but perhaps in the greatest degree of all, avarice.
He looked up at Holmes. “A tenth-part you say?”
“I believe I made myself perfectly clear on that point Mr Hawes.”
“Then your brother hasn’t found the treasure yet, else you would not be here now” Hawes retorted craftily.
“You may beat about the bush as much as you wish Mr Hawes, but I would remind you there are many other competent locksmiths in London.”
“Very well Mr Bormanstein. Your brother did visit me on...” he paused in thought “... the 19th it would have been. He required me to make a set of keys from impressions taken in glazier’s putty; he said they were for his warehouse somewhere on The Isle of Dogs, and they had to be completed for the morning of the 21st.”
; “You obliged him?” In a bitter voice Hawes replied “I did Mr Bormanstein, but he never told me about the diamonds – all he paid me was four pounds and fifteen shillings.”
“Damn and blast my luck!” cried Holmes in apparent despair. “Then he has likely beaten me to the prize!” A thought seemed suddenly to strike him. “That I may be quite certain it was my brother who approached you, please describe him for me, for he is quite distinctive in appearance – short and rotund, rosy face, always smiling, clean-shaven and some years younger than I?”
Hawes appeared confused. “Then your brother has an accomplice, for the man who visited me was taller and older than you, perhaps fifty-five years of age, lean, strong and muscular-looking, and he was very severe of countenance – a heavy military-style moustache, bushy eyebrows and black, glowering eyes. To be candid gentlemen, he rather gave me the shivers.”
“Did this accomplice collect the keys, or did you deliver them? Did he leave his address?”
“No Mr Bormanstein, he collected them in person.” Holmes locked his attaché case. “Thank you Mr Hawes. I shall visit my brother; if he has not yet located the safes, I will return, you shall make me a like set of keys, and I will search the mouldering pile from top to bottom. You may yet become a wealthy man...”
Back at 221B I pondered Hawes’ all too-coincidental description: ‘...perhaps fifty-five years of age, lean, strong and muscular-looking, and he was very severe of countenance – a heavy military-style moustache, bushy eyebrows and black, glowering eyes...’ I had heard something like it elsewhere, and recently too. I hunted through the jumbled stack of old newspapers nearest Holmes’ desk, where he had been seated the day I paid my unannounced visit in November; for once I was thankful that he was a compulsive, if untidy magpie for all data and news that might one day be usefully indexed in his numerous reference binders. I could not find it. Holmes looked at me with a knowing smile.
Sherlock Holmes & The Master Engraver (Sherlock Holmes Revival) Page 10
