“I did not say she committed suicide Mr Petch.”
Our visitor looked puzzled, frowning. “But you said...”
“I said she was discovered hanged.”
The elderly engraver’s eyes widened in horrified comprehension, as he digested the awful meaning of Holmes’ words.
Succinctly and clinically my colleague related the events which had occurred at Chiswick High Road, and his certain conclusions, though delicately excising the more appalling details of the scene. After showing the shocked old man the scorched, reconstructed note he concluded: “It is important that you retain this news privately to yourself Mr Petch, for you see, Inspector Lestrade of the yard, while a decent enough fellow, is of the firm conviction that this was a suicide – I have little doubt that you and he will be in some communication shortly. However, for the coming days it is essential that he retain his erroneous conclusions, for if he is alerted to the true facts he will likely launch a clumsy murder hunt with all the inevitable vulgar tantarah that will ensue.
“The name of Perkins Bacon & Petch will be blazoned across every penny-dreadful news-sheet in London and the City – the result will be that our quarry will instantly go to earth who knows where, concealing with him that which we must at any cost retrieve – the plates and the paper. Therefore I urge you to remain entirely circumspect for the present, and certainly until I lay my hands upon the criminals responsible.
“And now I advise you to return to the comparative safety of your home and await my wire.
“You shall leave discreetly, and in disguise – I observe we are not so very different in stature, you and I. The boy downstairs will summon a hansom to the door so you may mount unseen; however, I suggest you cover your face with your muffler and don my old town-coat and this deerstalker; in the event that our watchful friend over yonder should glimpse you, he will most likely believe it is I departing.
“Should he follow it will be because he will want to learn where I go and whether you may have told me anything which might threaten their plans.”
And thus it was that around noon, a somewhat calmer Mr Henry Petch departed Baker Street. Holmes stepped to the window, peered cautiously down into the street and chortled “Most entertaining Watson! Come see! The apparent sight of Sherlock Holmes jumping nimbly into a cab has put yonder Neanderthal ruffian into a perfect lather of bewilderment! Should he follow or should he stay?
“He is quite irresolute in the matter. Aha! He hails another cab and... Yes, now he intends to pursue with all speed! Let us trust he takes pleasure in his fruitless chase to Richmond, for that leaves the coast clear for us to depart unobserved.”
I looked up at Holmes quizzically. “We are leaving? Where then, do we journey?”
He laughed lightly. “To be quite candid, I have not the faintest notion! But the sooner the blackguard yonder departs, the sooner may we make our plan. Our destination will depend entirely on what we learn from the cabman I have summoned, for only he knows where his murderous fares finally alighted after completing their wicked mission. He should be here...” For the second time that morning we heard a cab rumble to a halt in the street below. “...momentarily I do believe.”
There followed shortly the sound of the heavy street door slamming shut, then cumbersome footsteps slowly mounted the stairs, pausing twice in their ponderous ascent. The parlour door opened to reveal quite the stoutest, baldest, widest, most corpulent, muscular, strongest and jolliest-looking fellow I believe I ever clapped eyes upon.
That this preternaturally large gentleman could even pass between the door-jambs was to me a physical wonder, let alone the notion that he might be spry enough to vault atop a cab.
Shrewd dark eyes peered out from his spherical phizog like two plump currants in a glossy suet pudding. He beamed at us amiably which disconcertingly but rather comically caused his eyes to vanish momentarily into his melon-like face. Holmes addressed him genially. “Mr Solomon Warburg I believe?”
The mighty Mr Warburg turned towards my colleague expectantly. “Ah, then you will be the renowned Mr Sherlock Holmes; I have here the note which your page delivered to the cab-stand earlier, though for the life of me I cannot see how attending here may be to my advantage, unless you wish me, in particular, to convey you gentlemen to some destination of your choice – if so I believe I may justly claim that few cabmen know the streets of London better than I!”
Holmes produced his leather pocket-book which he carefully positioned upon the dining table just beyond reach of the cabman’s giant, scarred, crab-like hands, whereupon the latter’s eyes reappeared upon the instant.
“I’m sure your knowledge of this great metropolis is quite unequalled Mr Warburg, and indeed it is that particular competence which may today enrich you a little. You will find that I am not ungenerous in such matters.
“The fact is that I wish urgently to locate an old friend of ours from many years ago. Regrettably I have mislaid his details. Now my colleague, the good Doctor Watson here, happened by chance to be hurrying along the Chiswick High Road the night before last, in the direction of Shepherd’s Bush, and he swears he believes he glimpsed our friend alight from your hansom around ten o’clock in the evening and enter a large house on the High Road, while you appeared to remain at the kerb; lacking the time to stop and enquire he smartly made a note of your number.
“Now I am wagering on your memory being as sound as your knowledge of London’s Streets, in which case...” and Holmes meaningfully slid the wallet to within an inch of the huge meaty hand. “Do you perchance recall the fare in question; if so I would be much gratified to learn where he hailed you and where he finally alighted, and thus I may be able to locate his place of residence?”
Warburg furrowed his brow in thought for a space. “That would be the tall gentleman, moustachioed, in company with a rather muscular, squint-eyed and very much overly-weighty man,” (which struck me as droll uttered by Warburg, provoking comical private thoughts of pots and kettles) “...and he hailed me on the Embankment. From there we journeyed to the High Road in Chiswick, where he instructed me to wait at the kerb-side. He was carrying a small, bulging canvas bag. Nothing of significance occurred for almost an hour, except for a skinny street urchin who stopped briefly to pet the old nag. In due course my fares reappeared and directed me to proceed with all haste to an address in Richmond, where he delivered a letter or some such to a large, handsome villa. I also noted his bag now appeared to be empty.”
Holmes nodded eagerly “And from there, Mr Warburg? At what address did you eventually drop our friend? Tell me exactly what you observed, with no embellishment or conjecture if you please.”
“Well Mr Holmes, it wasn’t precisely what you’d call an address as such. We drove for some while until we arrived south of the river at Greenwich Marsh right by the reach on the peninsula. They set down by the footpath that leads off to the right to Manor Way, which is where I expected them to go, towards East Greenwich or maybe Over Brickfield; but no, not a bit of it.
“Now here’s the oddest thing; they alighted and climbed down the stone steps at the pier to a rotten old wooden jetty on the East bank of Blackwall Reach, where they clambered into a brand-new skiff and brisk as you like rowed away into the sleet and rain and the dark, and then they vanished from my sight, to go I saw not where.”
At this Holmes appeared somewhat vexed. Tapping a bony white finger meaningfully on his wallet he said “Oh dear Mr Warburg, I had hoped you might have been rather more helpful; I had anticipated you might have an address, or at the very least, a more limited locale. This is indeed most unfortunate. Think man, think! Is there nothing more you can recall, no matter how trivial it may appear to you? It really is a matter of considerable urgency that I contact my old friend.”
Without taking his intelligent beady eyes off Holmes’ thick wallet for a moment, Warburg said carefully “From what I recall Mr Holmes, I do believe you required me to relate exactly that which actually occurred, ‘with no em
bellishment or conjecture,’ by which I understood you to mean, that which I myself saw until the moment the pair of them vanished from my sight. This I have related most accurately.”
Then with a smile: “If, however, you are prepared to reward me for my paltry efforts at your own craft, which I know to be the observation of events and the deduction of their causes or likely outcome, well then...” he let the notion hang, charged with promise but clearly lacking a satisfactory financial transaction for its completion. Holmes smiled at this cheery impertinence, slid a ten-pound note from his pocket book and placed it before the cabman.
“Touché Mr Warburg; perhaps this may encourage your deductive capacity?”
“Well Mr Holmes, as a younger – and considerably lighter – man it so happens I used to skull that stretch of the Blackwall Reach; at that time of night it flows north, then becomes Bugsby’s Reach and turns south. Once the tide turns it runs pretty fast thereabouts. This means that if you propose to cross the water, you may not row directly over because the fast-running northerly current will defeat your best efforts; you must start your journey further upstream from your intended destination, and so effect your crossing slant-wise. Your, ahem, ‘friend’s’ very muscular companion was a powerful hand at the skulls and clearly calculated not to run due North with the current, but to cross the Reach over to the far bank. If I am right in this, then at the point they disappeared from my view, I deduce their course could only have headed them for Saunders Ness landing-stage at Cubitt Town which is on the south-eastern tip of The Isle of Dogs, just south of the Millwall Docks. They could not land anywhere else, for either side there are deep mud-flats for some distance, where only barges may anchor. I could with ease have delivered them directly to Cubitt Town by a less circuitous route; I therefore conclude that whatever their business, they were most anxious that even a lowly cabman such as I should not have recollection of their final destination.” He grinned roguishly and quoted from the Old Testament: “Consider this, and be thankful for the wisdom of your most humble Solomon for telling it.”
Holmes beamed with evident approval and slid the bank-note beneath Warburg’ waiting fingers.
“Admirable work Mr Warburg; I commend you for it. Clearly you possess uncommonly sharp eyes but also the all too-uncommon wit to understand what they observe! Now I am intimately familiar with the majority of this great Capital of ours, but I confess this Cubitt Town is somewhat unknown to me. What manner of place is it?”
“If you have the stomach for it then I will tell you Mr Holmes. It exists on the proceeds of manufacturing cement, bitumen, asphalt and shipbuilding. It is nowadays a noisome, Ungodly, mean and squalid place, much frequented by scoundrelly rogues, footpads and ne’er-do-wells.
“The airs from the black marsh are sickly and evil, and most of the denizens worse. It is a perilous place where disease, drunkenness and paucity abound, while honest men are ground down until they are become little more than ill-made, weary, scraggy nubs of their former manhood, blear-eyed and tallow-complexioned.
“In Cubitt Town there are no sunlit uplands, only dark alleys and darker creeks. The fetid dwellings are become unwholesome tumble-down rookeries, squeezed cheek by jowl with open cess-pools and dank crumbling warehouses, where I doubt not that fierce and wicked men pursue their nefarious trades.
“Poxed whores and shell-and-pea shysters ply their shabby trades, while innocent babes cry plaintively for food in their cold cribs. That, Mr Holmes, in answer to your question, is what manner of place is Cubitt Town, and in this I do not speak the least slander of it.
“To be candid, and I do not wish to affront, I am astonished that a ‘friend’ of two gentlemen of evident quality such as yourselves would, by choice, visit so mean a place... unless the man you seek were a detective like yourself – or mayhap... a villain?”
Holmes scrutinised our visitor shrewdly with renewed interest.
“You are an astute and clever man Mr Warburg; I trust I may also count discretion among your several evident qualities? However, I choose not to answer your unspoken question except to confirm that yes, you are perfectly correct; the man I seek is certainly one of those two!”
Warburg smiled knowingly. “Then I shall not cause further offence by venturing my own personal opinion as to which I believe him to be Mr Holmes.” He fell silent, and for a man apparently so articulate he appeared to be at a loss as to how to proceed. Somewhat diffidently he cleared his throat and continued:
“I would not wish to presume Mr Holmes, but I have ardently followed Doctor Watson’s accounts of your cases with the keenest interest and have, since reading the first relation, hankered once more after directing such modest capabilities as I may possess to assisting in the solution of such puzzles.
“Indeed, throughout most of the Doctor’s early accounts, I believe I stayed almost apace with your own astute conclusions. I once had thought to pursue a living in the merchant banking business; however, I became aware that my name and Semite heredity might militate against me in certain circles.
“I very quickly realised that analysing the past and predicting the future values of currencies and securities was not so very different from the analysis of subtle facts and the causes of puzzling circumstances, and thus I tried my hand as a private investigator, with some success as matters turned out.
“You see, for a few years, Mr Holmes, we shared much the same profession, or as I prefer to view it, a precise and scientific calling, although I am sure you would not have been aware of my lowly endeavours; I was by a long measure further down the professional ladder, but I followed your activities on your lofty top rung with the greatest admiration.
“Sadly certain, shall I say, adverse circumstances contrived to cast a dark eclipse over my little enterprise and made it all but impossible for me to continue with my promising vocation. Nonetheless, would you take it improperly if I were to state that my humble services could be at your future disposal?
“I can assure you that for the purposes of close and stealthy observation there is nothing more unremarkable, nothing more commonplace and of a certainty, nothing more unmemorable than a growler and its driver engaged in his lawful business, whether waiting outside a railway station, a villa or an hotel in Mayfair for an hour or even two; or following discreetly behind a like vehicle, it may pass ubiquitously throughout London.
“One may go anywhere, observe and record everything, and yet remain quite unremarked. Should you judge such small service to be of value Mr Holmes, you may summon me generally within the hour by means of a note delivered by your page to the stand; otherwise, I am to be found most evenings at the Wig & Pen in Fleet Street where I room.
“I also have, somewhat unusually, discreet dark-shades fitted in my vehicle that may be drawn at the fare’s private determination, which small provision has on many occasions proved quite invaluable to certain distinguished clients who, for their own reasons, desire privacy and discretion.
“In conclusion, I would add the minor but perhaps useful credential that despite my rather uncommon stature, in a rumble I am still well more than a match for most big fellows, or even two – in my younger days, not so very long ago, I was the Shoreditch heavyweight boxing champion for four years running.
“My elder son, Joshua – a shipwright at Green’s Dockyard – now holds that title also and the younger, Samuel, the light-heavyweight.
“When the Devil presses, we may perhaps be of use...” Holmes made no immediate reply to this perfectly unexpected and rather startling petition; presently he responded.
“I believe it may be possible that I shall call upon your unusual services before very long Mr Warburg.”
The improbably large cabman solemnly nodded his acknowledgement. “May I now assume our business here is concluded? In that case I shall say thank you and bid you good day gentlemen, both.” With this he discreetly pocketed his imbursement, made a remarkably graceful bow for a man of his immense bulk and after squeezing through the doorway,
quietly closed the door behind him.
Holmes looked animatedly at me, his eyes alive with a look of fierce exultation. “I do believe Watson that the remarkable Mr Warburg has just repaired the break in our chain to Bormanstein, and in all probability, with a rather stronger link than that which our quarry so cruelly severed!
“Within the cranium of the observant, articulate and unfeasibly large Solomon Warburg I declare there resides more acute perception, imagination and deductive competence than might be exhibited by a half-a-dozen commonplace Yarders in a month!
“I fear his talents are sadly wasted in his present profession, but for all that, I believe he may be an exceedingly handy gentleman to know. Now be a good chap and hand down my cuttings index marked ‘R to T’ – I do believe I have heard of this unusual Mr Warburg prior to his appearance here today...
“...In connection with, was it Strathmore...? Strathspey... Strathdown...? No, I have it now! If I recollect aright it was The Strathcarron Diamond Theft! The year of ’82 if my memory serves?”
I ran my finger down the clippings pasted under ‘S’. “Saratoga Conspiracy Foiled... Seamere Green Abductions... Last Minute Reprieve for Strachan... Ah, I have it now Holmes! – it is from the St James Gazette, dated the 7th of May.”
I read the item aloud:
Strathcarron Diamond Theft:
Private Investigator Freed
by Scotland Yard!
‘The legendary Strathcarron Diamonds, property of the titled Streatley family for four generations, have vanished under mysterious circumstances. In an official statement issued today, Scotland Yard stated:
“Following the apparent theft of the famous diamonds, and their substitution with paste replicas, a private investigator, Mr Solomon Warburg was arrested on suspicion of theft. Warburg claims he was commissioned by Lord Streatley’s private secretary, Sir Martin Russell at a private, unfortunately unwitnessed, meeting at the family seat in Berkshire with the responsibility of personally conveying the diamonds securely to the family’s summer residence in Nice and delivering them in person to Lady Joan Streatley. Warburg signed a receipt for the stones, the which receipt he later passed to the yard in his own defence.
Sherlock Holmes & The Master Engraver (Sherlock Holmes Revival) Page 15
