“Well done, Watson,” Holmes said. He paused a moment before continuing his discourse. I sank back down into my seat.
“These men were not the last to be extinguished in this manner. I believe that there are likely many others whose deaths were falsely attributed to illness, and whose demises were never reported.
“This operation endured for several years,” Holmes went on, “until the Boer conflict broke out. This was no doubt welcomed by our triumvirate; war is an excellent cover for illegal activities. One might consider whether they played any part in its beginning or continuation…” At this Holmes paused, clearly thinking of yet another avenue of possible investigation. “In March, however, when the ceasefire was ordered and a treaty seemed inevitable, our men began to panic. There was vast wealth still untapped. A treaty would mean the region would be granted its independence as suzerainty to the Crown and British officials would be crawling over their lands. Our trio, fearing exposure, wanted to conclude their operations as quickly as possible, but the treaty was due to be signed in August, far too soon. As a result, they sought ways to slow down the peace process and once more called on Nayar.”
“Are you suggesting Nayar was the one who killed Disraeli?” I asked, earning me astonished looks from almost everyone in the room.
“Why kill Disraeli and not Gladstone, who was sitting PM at the time?” Gregson asked.
“While Prime Minister Gladstone wanted peace, Benjamin Disraeli saw things differently. But he was already a weak man, and could not be relied upon to oppose the treaty with any great strength. Therefore they decided to kill him. His death—they hoped—would create a national sensation. There’d be great outpourings of both grief and affection and the political machinery would inevitably slow down, perhaps delaying the signing of the treaty. It was a vain hope, but they were desperate.”
“How could an Indian get so close to Disraeli when he was already ill?” Gregson asked, genuinely distressed by the notion.
“Among the odds and ends left behind in Newcastle were clothes that upon reflection could have been used to pass Nayar off as a house servant. As you know, Inspector, servants tend to be overlooked, little seen and heard less. Nayar could easily have disguised himself, gained access and managed to slip the oil extract into his food, tea, or even medicines. No doubt with all the comings and goings of doctors and messengers and well wishers, one more servant would never have raised suspicion, especially with Disraeli’s secretary out of the country.”
Gregson uttered an oath and looked sharply at Frobisher and Haldaine. Both men refused to meet his eyes. He turned to me and I gave him silent confirmation that yes, this reached the top of government and involved a dearly loved figure. He was obviously aghast. Holmes’s voice never wavered during all this, sounding sure and strong as he ticked his way through the narrative, outlining all of our suspicions.
“Nayar appears to be more resourceful than I imagined,” said I.
“Think of it, Watson. Nayar was a performing magician, travelling around England and performing his tricks. Suppose he was one of several such magicians, all free to roam at whim. If we check with South African authorities, I suspect a confederate of his was performing there when the poor solicitor died. If true, he should be apprehended and interrogated to see how far this ring went.”
The dark-suited man withdrew a small book from his pocket and made a note, clearly receiving the message from Holmes.
“What solicitor is this?” Gregson inquired, clearly befuddled by the international intrigue.
“While all this was happening in England, work on the treaty progressed in South Africa, and Nayar was called into action, using the ricin extract to kill a solicitor by the name of Charles Lewis. Lewis was part of the Boer contingent working on the treaty, and for all we know others were also dispatched. The news of Lewis’s death only made it as far as the British papers because of his relative status in the Boer community. Who knows how many others died in these villains’ attempts to upset the peace?
“Here in London, Chatterton-Smythe grew scared, no doubt after hearing—through his connections at the Admiralty—of Dr. Watson and my investigations into goings-on in South Africa. In fact at the time we were ignorant of the scale of the affair. We were only making inquiries at the behest of a mother seeking news of her son. Nayar was sent to dispatch me to my maker, though as luck would have it, he failed. A second attempt was made by another member of his gang on a northbound train, and a third, Nayar himself once again, back here in London. It was during that encounter that the fakir met his end.
“By this time Chatterton-Smythe had become a risk his partners could not stomach, and they called upon Nayar’s underlings. They must have had at least three other individuals in their employ. I say this because they staged a death for Chatterton-Smythe that would have required several pairs of hands. Nayar’s kin was in custody during this time, indicating there is at least one other man at large. They sought to create a scandal, making it appear that a member of the House of Commons had died after murdering a woman of easy virtue.
“Mr. Haldaine here was growing concerned, but had yet to break faith with his partner in crime. Mr. Frobisher, however, no doubt the one of the three with the most capital invested in the scheme, decided to be rid of Haldaine and take the remainder of what the mines would produce for himself. A crude falling-out amongst thieves. Rather than go back to the Indians, who might betray him to Haldaine, he decided to engage local talent, a certain gentleman of the name of Alf, recruited from that well-known den of iniquity, the Lamb and Flag. He was dispatched to Barton Street with every intention of killing Haldaine, no doubt planning to disguise the murder as a robbery gone awry.”
At this Frobisher stirred in his seat, mouth opening, clearly uncertain what he wanted to say or do. Haldaine had begun examining the floor rather than appear a part of this most unusual interrogation.
“Today, I asked Inspector Gregson to bring me the documentation that Chatterton-Smythe had seen classified, as I believed it would help me unravel the web of land transactions and confirm our suspicions. It was the final piece of the puzzle.”
There was complete silence as Holmes’s narration concluded and the enormity of what had been revealed settled over the room’s occupants.
“That’s incredible,” Gregson said finally, breaking the uncomfortable quiet. “I will have to place these two men under arrest and sort this all out so they may be tried for their many crimes. I will need a medical examiner and an accountant and a barrister…”
He started to rise but Holmes gestured that he remain in place. “There is more,” said he.
Gregson’s eyes went wide with surprise. “What more could there possibly be?”
“We must not forget what brought us into this investigation in the first place: the fate of one Lieutenant Norbert Wynter.” All eyes were on Holmes. “I lack the specific information needed to be certain, but in reading carefully, there appears to be some secret and horrifying event which happened to part of the Naval Brigade from HMS Dido near a region known locally as Sorrow’s Crown earlier this year, which was covered up by someone in the government.”
“Sorrow’s Crown is one of the spots owned by this cabal,” I said.
“Yes, at the juncture of the Buffels and Slang Rivers,” Holmes confirmed.
“How did you figure that out?”
“The notations in the records, the seeming jumble of numbers I found in Haldaine’s handwriting at the East India Club. I kept assuming they were a cypher of some sort, the randomness of 33, 27, 50, 20, 59, and 10. It took me some time to realise these were coordinates, longitude and latitude for that exact spot. I finally determined their meaning when perusing the South Africa maps yesterday.”
“Anyone could have written those numbers,” Gregson said. “How do we tie a scrap of paper to Haldaine?”
“True, Inspector, but there is a distinctive loop to the threes and the seven is reversed, matching Haldaine’s hand.” Holmes
withdrew one of the scraps he had gathered at the East India Club and showed it first to me, then Gregson. “It matches those ledgers, once you can compare them. That is, if we’re allowed to prove our case.”
All eyes now turned to the dark-suited man, who had merely listened without nodding once in any direction to accept or refute the claims Holmes had laid before the group. He sat still, without betraying a single emotion, until finally, Frobisher spoke up.
“Is it true?”
The man in black nodded once.
Eighteen
The Man in Black
“What remains here, Mr. Holmes, is very much the provenance of the government of Great Britain, not her subjects,” the man said as he rose from his chair. He turned to direct his attention toward Gregson and added, “You have more than enough work to do, Inspector. First, we will cable South Africa and increase the security of all involved in the execution of the treaty. Now that we know what threats we face, it should be relatively easy to neutralise them.”
He then turned his back on the rest of us and reached for the door handle. As his hand touched the knob Holmes’s walking stick snapped against the wood, just above his knuckles.
“Your turn,” said he.
I held my breath, not sure how the official would react to Holmes’s temerity.
“Inspector Gregson, may I have a private word with Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson?”
Gregson blinked once then rose and hoisted Frobisher and Haldaine to their feet. He rapped his knuckles once on the door to summon assistance and a moment later the door opened. A constable helped the inspector escort the two once-powerful men out of the room. As it closed, the man in black resumed his seat, seemingly unperturbed by Holmes’s demand.
“You come across like a very proper gentleman,” said Holmes. “But your accent reveals you were raised in Leeds and your mannerisms speak of someone forcing himself to behave in a particular manner, going against your more rough-and-tumble upbringing. The cut of your suit is a season or two out of date indicating you are well paid but do not refresh your wardrobe to remain fashionable. All we are meant to see is a nondescript figure in a black suit, inviting no further scrutiny. I, on the eye, look past that veneer. I see someone rescued from poverty and trained first at Oxford, as noted by your cufflinks, and now working for some arm of Her Majesty’s Government. The occasional flexing of your hands shows you would rather have administered a royal thrashing to these felons, but remain loyal to your masters.”
The unnamed man let out a single laugh and sat back. “Lord, Mycroft has you described to a T,” said he.
I did not recognise the name, but if its mention was meant to get a reaction out of Holmes, it failed, although there was a momentary flash in his eyes which I suspect I was the only one to catch.
“I suppose Her Majesty owes you some form of an explanation,” he continued. “Your family has done much for Queen and country and might need your services in the future so let us consider this the beginning of a dialogue.” He reached across the table to one of the map cases, opened and then unrolled it to reveal a map of the region where the fighting between the British and the Boers had occurred.
“There were four major conflicts in this brief war,” the man said. I nodded, recalling the rushed history lesson we had received only days earlier from Professor West. “That is to say there were four battles that were reported. There were, in fact, five.”
Holmes nodded, but I am sure I gaped at the man. A fifth unknown battle seemed impossible. How could such a conflict have evaded public attention? He continued with his lecture, tapping a finger at a symbol labelled “Majuba Hill”.
“We offered peace on February 21st and the Transvaal independence was guaranteed. Paul Kruger agreed and President Brand of the Orange Free State endorsed the deal. That is the known history. The problem lay in the fact that Major-General Colley was slow to relay the news. The Majuba Hill battle took place, which delayed the peace timetable until March 4th this year, when the negotiations began at O’Neil’s Cottage. That was enough of a black eye to the Crown so when another battle took place, another humiliating defeat I should say, it was kept quiet.
“This fifth battle was joined between Schuinshoogte and Majuba Hill as Colley’s successor in command sought refuge at Mount Prospect. He was without the cavalry, and lacked sufficient ammunition. The ground was too steep, making it impossible for the twelve hundred men to successfully protect their flank. This area became a killing zone as the advancing British infantry were exposed to Boer fire from both the front and right flank. It was ugly, Mr. Holmes. None of our men made it closer than maybe fifty yards from the Boer positions, and they made a rather disorderly withdrawal under intense fire. What followed was a massacre.”
I stared at the man, unable to believe what he was saying.
“Given the location, this event became known as the Sorrow’s Crown Massacre. A small portion of the Naval Brigade that had fought at Majuba, some twenty naval troops from HMS Dido and HMS Boadicea joined their army brethren amongst the dead. There was only one poor man who survived the attack and he was horribly injured. He lasted long enough to make a full report. Once it reached the Admiralty and then Her Majesty, it was determined not to publicise a defeat sustained in a battle that occurred when everyone believed a ceasefire was in place. It would not have looked good for us, needless to say, and might have jeopardised the peace. As a result, the Queen herself insisted the report be classified, never to be revealed. The files of those men lost were ‘adjusted’, erasing any trace of evidence that the battle had ever taken place. The surviving officers are subject to a set of secret laws and should anyone so much as mention the Battle of Sorrow’s Crown, they will be arrested and tried for treason.”
I sat stunned, unable to formulate a proper response to the revelation of such a heinous action. How could this be my country? My mind drifted back to Mrs. Wynter, desperate to believe her son was anything but a deserter. We had the proof of the matter, but could we ever tell her?
“Now, I have a question for you, Mr. Holmes. How did you find that which we had worked so hard to ensure no longer existed?”
“There is always a trail of connections, seen and unseen, sir. One simply needs to know how to interpret the signs. I believe, were one to exhume the graves of Mount Prospect Cemetery near Majuba Hill one would find more bodies than the official records from the February 27th battle could account for. Dr. Watson here interviewed comrades of our missing man, who confirmed that he never returned to the Dido. Inquiries into his whereabouts met with lies and obfuscation. I believe that is where he lies, along with several of his fellows who were likewise listed as deserters.”
“So, you divined a secret battle and an international conspiracy, simply because you were looking for one missing sailor,” the man said. It was not a question.
“Yes,” Holmes agreed. “Now, in the spirit of free and frank exchange, I have a question for you, my unnamed friend. Given your presence here and knowledge of our activities, you clearly represent some covert arm of the government. I desire to know how you became aware of my investigation.”
“Ah, that’s easy enough to answer, Mr. Holmes. We, like the late Mr. Chatterton-Smythe, have ears at the Admiralty. We already knew that a certain Mrs. Wynter had been making inquiries into the disappearance of her son. But you proved far more successful. I began studying you and following your actions from afar. Had you needed help at any point we would have come to your aid, but you seem to have a fondness for younger, and less law-abiding assistance.”
I chuckled out loud at the idea that the government allowed the street urchins to do their dirty work. On the other hand, I was getting quite perturbed at the number of people who had been following our trail. Hampton’s men, Nayar or his kin, the Irregulars, and now it seemed some secret branch of the government. This provoked a chill down my spine.
“Actually, sir,” said I, interrupting the exchange. “A little assistance might have been welcome w
hen Hampton’s men were stalking and attacking us.”
Holmes tightened his lips at that and we eyed the dark-suited man. “Again, you seemed to take it well and those unauthorised attacks occurred early in your investigation. Had they continued, we might have stepped in.”
“What of Hampton? He’s got to pay for sending those blokes after us,” said I.
“I suggest you check Mr. Hampton’s accounts,” said Holmes. “We were informed that Wynter had been paid through July, but if he died in February, who received those funds? I suggest to you that it was arranged as a sort of retainer for Hampton, funds he could use to recruit his men when necessary.”
Ah, yes, I nodded in agreement. It was all getting tidied up now.
“True. Be assured that within a day or two, Mr. Hampton will no longer serve in Her Majesty’s Navy and finding employment should also prove difficult. As for the men, to actually do his bidding they were following orders so I will see that their advancement opportunities are now curtailed.”
I made a noise to indicate my overall dissatisfaction with the plan but saw little else that could be done.
“Let me put it another way: why do you exist?” Holmes asked flatly.
I stared at the man, not at all expecting any sort of a satisfactory answer, but curious to see how he deflected Holmes from his course.
“Great Britain has enemies, Mr. Holmes. Powerful enemies. We are here to serve in our own way.”
There was another lengthy silence as the unspoken prospects filled the air.
“Now, gentlemen, I have work to do, so I need to know, before we open that door, if you will agree to keep every word of what you have discovered, from the true nature of Disraeli’s death to the events at Sorrow’s Crown, a secret? I cannot cut out your tongues, which would solve my problem most expeditiously.” He laughed, although I was not entirely sure he was joking. “But I know more than a little about you both. You are of good character and have done much good work in your own way. As it stands, Her Majesty owes you a debt for exposing the illegal mining and the deeds of those three men, but before I can allow you to leave this room she needs your promise of discretion.”
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