Northgate indicated he was willing, and by degrees we discovered that he had thought of the consequences if we did not retrieve his property, and was in full agreement that he had been perhaps a little careless, and should have taken more notice of the dangers Lestrade had described to him. He was deeply distressed at Len Rogers’s injuries, and in short, was a chastened man.
Lestrade asked questions, now and again Holmes interpolated another query, and once even Western thought of something to ask. At that Lord Northgate stared. “I don’t wish to be rude, but who are you, sir?”
Holmes looked up. “This is Mr. Frederick Western, although I suppose,” he said, turning to Western,” now that your grandfather is dead and his son before him, you are Sir Frederick?”
“I don’t use the title,” Western said shortly. No doubt all of us were reflecting on the difficultly of being both a fence and a titled man. Western grinned. “Yes, I can guess what you’re thinking. You’re right. But if my estate is returned I’ll live there and be a landowner again. London can go hang, for all I care.”
Lestrade had no intention of allowing any diversion. He returned to Northgate with another question and the answer electrified us.
“Yes, Von Stowen had the papers, though I thought he left them in the rooms beyond mine. A man visited him some hours before you came. I listened at the door and heard him say something about the situation being about to change and that he’d be able to get away tomorrow.”
“Did he say anything more about that?” Lestrade reminded me of a terrier on the trail of a large rat.
“I couldn’t hear it all. Something about his family taking charge and making his way out by Black Clocks.”
Lestrade stiffened. “Could it have been Blackly Docks?”
“That’s possible. As I have said, his voice was indistinct at that point.”
Holmes nodded. “Blackly Docks would be a good place from which to leave the country, as the docks there are used only during the day and mostly by men of substance who have their own yachts. Lord Northgate, did he indicate his plans for you?”
“Indeed. I was to be his prisoner. He intended to send for me early tomorrow morning and have me taken straight to whatever boat he had waiting. I was to be removed overseas to a place he had prepared.”
“Did he say why?”
Lord Northgate’s face reddened with fury. “He did. He claimed that a man as clever as me could draw up other campaigns, and that it was always useful to have alternatives. They’d fetch good money, too. I said I’d be damned if I did. He said I’d be damned if I didn’t, and there were ways of persuading me that I would not appreciate. I’d have said more, but he walked out of the room. Damn the man, did he believe he could make me turn traitor?”
Holmes gaze met mine and we said nothing. I had seen things in Afghanistan of which I do not speak, but both of us knew that almost any man could be broken in time. Von Stowen might be of the old nobility, but looking at Holmes I had no doubt that the spy would use any means to attain his ends.
Once Northgate had recovered somewhat from his rage, Lestrade asked. “Do you think that to be his only reason for kidnapping you?”
His Lordship looked thoughtful. “No, I think to start with he took me by mistake, in a way. Tony Risingham said to me that Von Stowen was the only man with whom he had discussed my campaign, and he had Von Stowen’s address. I went there, showed—very carelessly—that I knew him and knew him to have been told of my campaign, and he understood that so long as I was free, he was in danger. I think that originally he merely meant to keep me captive and have me released once he was safely away.”
He snorted. “Then he lost a portion of my project. He’d ordered someone to bring him the envelope, forgetting that there were two: one smaller, concerning fortifications. When the papers were brought to him the second envelope was left behind, and before he could recover it, you had taken the house. It was then he demanded that I recreate that section of my work, and when I refused, he said that he would take me instead, that once he had me elsewhere I’d be glad enough to obey. He’d make certain of that.”
Northgate looked at us. “I believe that he was tempted to murder me as the simpler alternative, but for his idea that I could create other projects and make him rich. From what I overheard, those about him were unhappy about being left with the dead body of a ‘toff,’ which they must dispose of.” He grinned abruptly. “They said that one of their own going missing wouldn’t bother most, but a lord brought the coppers.”
Lestrade smiled back. “It did. Now, we had better make arrangements to meet at Blackly Docks. Holmes, do you prefer to go tonight or in the morning?”
“Now, if it suits you, in case Von Stowen finds a way to leave earlier than he planned, or if word gets to him that his prisoner has escaped. In which case he’ll know that we may learn something to his disadvantage, if only his true name.”
So that was what we did, leaving Lord Northgate to recover in the comfort of his home. Holmes, Western, Lestrade, and I piled into a police vehicle that Lestrade called and we were driven through London in the direction of Blackly Docks. Once there, we found a hotel and settled for the night, taking dinner in a private dining room where we could talk freely once the staff had left us alone.
Topics, while beginning with Lord Northgate and his papers, soon after shifted to Western’s lawsuit and the possibility of finding the letter that might save him. Holmes asked a number of questions, most of which Western could answer. At last Holmes nodded. “That is useful. Now if you will, start from the beginning, tell me what happened as if you were watching, leave nothing out. Begin from when your great-grandfather called for Mr. Pierce, the lawyer, and go on from there until Pierce was killed. Include anything of which you know that may have occurred thereafter.”
Western nodded. “My great-grandfather, whom I always called Grandy, sent for Mr. Pierce, saying that he needed to sort out a few things. I had this from the Hall servants, you understand. Once Pierce arrived, they drank a little and talked informally. Then Grandy dictated a letter. It said that, according to custom, he wished to leave to me that portion of the Pentwood estate that always went to the cadet line of the Westerns. His son was dead, and his son’s son, my father, was a wastrel. Because of that he had never acknowledged the claim, but now that I was twenty-one, the estate could properly be left directly to me. The letter then said that he left me Marshford Hall and the lands belonging. He also listed of what this inheritance was comprised.”
“Who signed the letter?” Lord Northgate asked.
“The lawyer wrote it, noting that it was written at the express wish and dictation of his client. He then called in three servants, and they all watched as my great-grandfather signed, they signing thereafter as witnesses. Mr. Pierce remained for some time after that, drinking and talking with Grandy, until he said that he must leave to be home before dark. Old Trenshaw, Grandy’s butler, told me that Pierce placed the letter in his briefcase and departed.” Here he hesitated.
“It was gossip, and Trenshaw couldn’t be certain, but he thought that when Pierce opened his case, there was a large bundle of banknotes within it already. I think that unlikely myself, for what would Pierce be doing with a large bundle of notes? As for Pierce’s movements after that, he cannot have gone directly home or back to his office since he was run down in High Street East, which is well astray from the direct path between those places.”
Western shrugged. “If he had the briefcase with him then, it must have been stolen after the accident. A reward was offered, but no one came forward and the briefcase was never found. The court said that all this was merely hearsay and that there was no proof. Trenshaw refused to admit what he knew since he had been eavesdropping, and hence my case fell to pieces.”
Holmes looked thoughtful. “Tell me of Mr. Pierce. You knew him. What sort of man was he?”
“Meticulous in his business.” Western laughed. “Outside of it he liked women. He was married, but women
liked him also.”
“Tell me, exactly where was Pierce crossing the road when he was run down?”
Western detailed that section of the street, and confirmed that the lawyer had been crossing from south to north. Holmes nodded, heard out the remainder of Western’s tale including more information on Pierce’s habits, and having finished our dinner and gone over our plans for the morning, soon thereafter we retired for the night.
We rose just before first light the next morning and together with several men loaned to Lestrade we went to Blackly Docks. There were a full dozen yachts in the area, some of considerable size, and I was at a loss to know which we should watch. Holmes considered the vista and spoke softly.
“Lestrade, set your men there and there in twos,” he pointed.
I saw that this would cover the main departure points and Lestrade nodded agreement, giving orders to that effect. Holmes disposed us at other points, with Lestrade directly by the dock entrance, and the two of us farther along the stream. Western had wandered off, and since he had dressed like a man who might own a small yacht or be interested in purchasing one, he too blended well into the landscape.
At one time I saw him briefly in conversation with a man dressed as a deckhand before losing sight of him again. It was a weary wait, until at last we saw a figure approaching and Holmes stiffened like a terrier that catches a scent.
“Ivanhoe,” he murmured.
But to our surprise, the man turned away from the gates and strolled down a narrow path to the left. Lestrade gestured towards the nearest pair of his men, who emerged from behind the building where they had waited and walked in the same direction. Snarling, Lestrade turned to us.
“Why did he do that?”
“You know criminals. A spy is no different. Any of them know that prickle at the back of the neck,” Holmes informed him. “A man at whom many eyes stare tends to feel that stare and be alerted by it. This man is no amateur; he is a professional, and I would very much like to talk to him.”
“As indeed would I!” said Lestrade grimly, walking off in the direction Von Stowen had taken.
We pursued him, and had gone only a few paces when we heard shots and a shout of pain, followed by a death-cry. We all broke into a run and Holmes quickly passed Lestrade, while I brought up the rear as fast as I could lay foot to ground. Before us the ground fell away in a long, gentle slope and ahead we could see that our quarry raced for the gangplank of a steam yacht moored some three hundred yards away. Behind Von Stowen one policeman lay motionless while his comrade, clearly injured, struggled to rise.
Holmes swore, calling back to us. “That yacht flies a sovereign flag! If he boards it may be impossible to recover the papers.”
The yacht had steam up and could set sail at any moment. A figure poised at the top of the gangplank appeared to be exhorting Ivanhoe to greater speed. My heart sank. We had lost him! They would have the papers and there would be war…. With a Herculean effort I drew my gun while running as fast as I could. I had no hope of hitting Von Stowen at this distance, but I must try.
From a ragged clump of bushes I would have thought insufficient to hide a dog, a man burst forth as Von Stowen came level with him. He tackled the spy and together they rolled on the ground, tearing at each other like wolves. A shot sounded but still they fought. As I approached I could see that Von Stowen’s assailant was Frederick Western, who despite having taken a bullet, clung to his enemy. Von Stowen wrenched himself free, his coat pocket tearing in the process, and he staggered towards the yacht.
Holmes gave a great shout of delight and Von Stowen, no doubt hearing the triumph in that sound, turned to look back—at the packet of papers lying on the ground beside his last victim. Even as he stared, Western deliberately rolled on top of the envelope. Von Stowen hesitated, knowing even if he tried to retrieve the papers it would take time to move Western, and he had no time left if he wished to escape us.
A man on board shoved the gangplank onto the bank while others cast off the moorings. The yacht nosed out as soon as it was free and picked up speed downstream, with both current and engine driving it.
Panting and breathless, I halted, steadied myself, raised my pistol again and shot at Von Stowen while he hesitated. He reeled, a hand to his shoulder, but drew himself upright, turning to the yacht, facing it squarely as it came abreast of him and holding a salute. The other man, now on the shore side of the bow, saluted back, drew a pistol and shot once. Von Stowen crumpled with that final limpness that betokens a head-shot. I cried out in anger and would have returned fire but Holmes struck away my arm.
“Diplomacy, Watson! You should not shoot a prince.”
“Why not?” I asked savagely.
“Because he’s related to Her Majesty, and She wouldn’t like it. Besides, shooting him would not prevent his escape,” was Holmes’s calm reply.
I followed as Holmes and Lestrade made for our fallen comrade, and thrust past them to assist the wounded. Of the two policemen, one was dead, the other gravely hurt. I staunched the injured man’s bleeding, left Lestrade to call for aid, and joined Holmes where Western lay across the precious papers. He looked up at us.
“Beat him,” he said, his voice weak but jubilant. “After all that, he didn’t get away with them, even if he escaped himself.”
“No, he didn’t escape. His own people shot him when he failed and couldn’t get to the yacht,” I told him. “I imagine they didn’t want a public trial or for him to be able to name any names.”
Holmes agreed. “No, and after he’d not only killed a policeman as well as other men, and wounded a constable, he would have hanged. Prince Von ––—, the head of his family, would have taken offense and demanded satisfaction. And as you say, Watson, too much might have come out. One bullet made certain that secrets would not be revealed. He expected it; that was why he stood so still.”
I gazed after the yacht as it disappeared down the river and then stooped to examine Western. He had taken the bullet through his left side, a clean wound, a through-and-through, and while he would need to lie abed for some weeks, he would heal. I said so and Holmes carefully retrieved the envelope.
Lestrade came up to us, Lord Northgate at his heels. His Lordship seized the envelope, opened it, and flicked through the documents. “They’re there, all of them, since you already have the fortification papers. We have everything back.”
“Could he have copied them?” I inquired.
Lestrade chuckled. “He could have, but what would that prove? He’d have a bunch of papers in his own handwriting and who’s to say he didn’t invent them? No, his masters wouldn’t pay for that; they wanted a campaign in the verifiable handwriting of a man they could point to as an instrument of England’s intentions. They failed thanks to you, Western.”
Northgate reached down to take the fallen man’s hand. “Thank you. You saved the papers, my family’s reputation, and most importantly, you saved our country from an unnecessary war. It was no more than I expected from one of your blood, but it shall not be forgotten.”
He departed with Lestrade since aid was now in sight and the Inspector wished to see his men safely away to hospital. Northgate and the papers were sent under guard to Scotland Yard, where permanent disposition of the papers might be safely assured. Western lay back as men approached us with a stretcher.
Holmes looked down, an amused look in his eyes. “With that encomium, you can hardly return to your old trade, Mr. Western. I suppose I must find that letter.”
And thus it was that we spent a number of days sitting in various cafés in the town nearest what had once been the Pentwood Estate. There we drank tea, gossiped with the locals, and in the evening moved on to public houses, while I also circulated at several church socials, and listened to rumors at a number of charity group meetings. We came together each night to exchange our gleanings, and it was on the third night that Holmes narrowed his eyes.
“Say that again, Watson?”
“I was told th
at Mrs. Edwards was no better than she should be. She’s married to an old man, and my informant says that he’s close with his money and wouldn’t pay for the very fine dresses the lady wore for quite a few years…”
Holmes broke in. “Her address, Watson?”
On my description he frowned and I could see that he was calculating something. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, it may be so, the right area, the right distance.” He rose from his chair. “Come. Let us go talk of Mrs. Edwards to those who may know her.”
I persuaded him to wait until we had finished our dinners, but could restrain him no longer once the meal was completed. We sallied forth and I left it to my friend to introduce the subject. He did so with a delicacy that ensured none realized his purpose, but we gained much information thereby. Once we had returned to our hotel we sat in our room and Holmes looked at me.
“That’s it, Watson. She is the one. We’ll call on her in the morning.”
“They said her husband is old,” I protested. “What if he’s home?”
“Then she’ll find some excuse to meet us elsewhere,” was all Holmes would say, and he was right.
On our arrival at the lady’s door and upon her learning something of our mission, she refused to admit us but, lowering her voice, agreed to meet us at her church in an hour. We were there on time and saw her walking up the path. She was a handsome woman, a brunette with fine dark eyes, and while I knew she must be in her late thirties, she looked six or seven years younger. She led the way among the pews until we were hidden in a corner, where no casual entrant would observe us and none would overhear. Then she stared at us grimly.
“What do you want of me?”
“Only what is owed,” Holmes informed her. “On the day that Mr. Pierce the lawyer died, he carried a large sum of money. It was never found. He held it in a briefcase, in which was also a letter concerning an important bequest, and it too was never found. Mr. Pierce visited you, and left these items in your care.” He overrode her faint protest. “You used the money to buy yourself items which your husband would not provide. It was an unfortunate match, as you never wished to be wed to him….”
Sherlock Holmes in Something the Cat Dragged In Page 7
