Sherlock Holmes and The Adventure of the Ruby Elephants

by Christopher James

  ‘Another stone!’ I exclaimed. ‘It is as if we are in the Valley of Diamonds.’

  ‘And are blinded from the truth,’ said the Maharajah, ‘by the brilliance of their light.’

  ‘The seventh is not until next week,’ said the Maharajah. ‘We have plenty of time to plan our next move.’

  ‘I think not,’ retorted Holmes, ‘for if he was consistent in his methods, then the numerals would be subjected to the same treatment as the letters. This means that the rendez-vous is due to take place tomorrow, the 4th of August at 4pm. Gentlemen, we will need to return to London with all speed.’

  William, the sly coachman, was waiting at the front of the house, ready to transport us back to the station.

  ‘My heart alive!’ he cried on seeing us. ‘That was a short trip, Mr Holmes. Did you get what ye wanted?’

  ‘We concluded our affairs, if that’s what you mean, thank you,’ I confirmed.

  ‘I was talking to Mr Holmes,’ snarled the insubordinate man.

  ‘I would be grateful if you could take us directly to the station,’ said Holmes. ‘If we make good speed, we should be in time to catch the 4.15 to King’s Cross.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, Mr Holmes,’ William sang in his toadying manner, ‘we should soon be lolloping along nicely.’ We had barely passed the gates when he was off again. ‘Thas a rum business that was last night. If only I could have caught those fumble fisted hoodlums, they would have got wrong off me.’

  ‘I’m sure they would have,’ said Holmes impassively. ‘By the by, is that a new hat you are sporting this morning?’

  ‘That it is,’ the coachman said vainly.

  ‘And a new cloak?’

  ‘It is and a beauty ‘ain’t it? A rather fine mawkin, I make all in all, don’t I?’

  ‘A mawkin?’ I queried.

  ‘What you gentlemen might call a scarecrow.’

  ‘Perhaps you have come into a little money of late?’

  ‘Like I said, the Maharajah is a generous man.’

  ‘I did not see him tip you when we arrived.’

  ‘Must have slipped his mind.’

  ‘You didn’t perhaps take another lucrative fare?’ my friend asked. ‘Perhaps yesterday evening?’ William did not reply and when we arrived at the station with only seconds to spare, I handed over a pair of farthings.’

  ‘He stared at the two tiny coins in his open palm.’

  ‘Well there’s a titty-totty tip,’ he complained.

  ‘More than you deserve,’ Holmes replied contemptuously.

  ‘Go to heck, the pair of you.’

  ‘A crook if ever I saw one,’ growled Holmes as we swung our own bags onto the train.

  Holmes appeared lost in thought as he gazed out of our carriage window. The sunlight burst through the rows of Scots Pines like light greeting a prisoner through the bars of his prison cell.

  ‘What’s your view on the Maharajah?’ he asked.

  ‘He strikes me as a capital fellow,’ I replied.

  ‘Trustworthy?’

  ‘Entirely.’

  ‘He seemed a little affronted when I asked him not to join us in London.’

  ‘You gave him a perfectly sensible reason; that he would attract unwarranted attention.’

  ‘And what of the paper and typewriter?’

  ‘What of them?’

  ‘He had stocks of the same stationery and the letter was composed on an identical typewriter.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Once you gave me the idea of the typewriter, of course I simply visualised the keyboard. This was enough to allow me to decipher the message. I did not need the actual typewriter to prove my theory. I wanted to see if it was a match.’

  ‘And it was an identical match?’

  ‘Identical.’

  ‘The same machine?’

  Holmes nodded.

  ‘Good God,’ I cried. ‘Do you believe he wrote the letter?’

  ‘It is a possibility. Did you see his face when I presented the letter in its legible form? For a fraction of a second, there was a flash of fear on his face. This was before he explained the big mogul was a diamond. Is it not possible that the great mogul may not refer to a diamond at all, but to a man?

  ‘The Maharajah himself?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘He has made no attempt to hide the fact that he wants the diamonds,’ I reasoned. ‘He has saved our lives on two occasions and the entire English aristocracy can vouch for his integrity.’

  ‘Of course, you are right, Watson,’ said Holmes unconvincingly, then returned his gaze to the passing fields.

  The carriage bumped along the tracks and jogged me into a light sleep. We were on the outskirts of London by the time I awoke.

  ‘Pleasant dreams, Watson?’ Holmes enquired.

  ‘None at all,’ I replied, blinking in the late evening light.

  ‘The sign of a clear conscience,’ my friend said. ‘Now, let us pass a quiet evening at Baker Street ahead of tomorrow’s excitement. My copy of The Strand will be awaiting my attention.’

  FIFTEEN - The Rendezvous

  Holmes was up unusually early the next morning. I found him at 8.30am in the sitting room, already dressed and engrossed in the folding of a sheet of red paper.

  On the coffee table was a herd of no less than seven origami elephants that he had evidently just completed.

  ‘Marvellous!’ he exclaimed looking up. ‘Aren’t they marvellous?!’ I picked one up and inspected it.

  ‘Most ingenious; I never knew that origami was among your gifts?’

  ‘Neither did I,’ he confessed. I found a volume on the subject, The Secrets of Paper Folding, absorbed the salient points and applied them in the creation of this charming collection. ‘Did you know that recreational paper-folding has only been practised in Europe since the 16th century?

  ‘I did not.’

  ‘Have you ever tried it yourself?’

  ‘Well, I have been folding a copy of The Times for most of my adult life.’

  ‘Very good Watson,’ said Holmes with a thin laugh.

  ‘Impressive though this is,’ I reasoned, taking a seat opposite my friend. ‘Surely there is more profitable work we can do in advance of our appointment this afternoon?’

  ‘Such as?’ he asked abruptly, apparently affronted.

  ‘Well are we planning to go in disguise? Is there a possibility that Snitterton may attempt to make the rendezvous himself?’

  Holmes completed the eighth elephant with an emphatic final crease and set it down on the table.

  ‘My dear Watson,’ he said. ‘Have a little faith. Everything has been considered. What has not been revealed is the unknowable and only time can reveal the unknowable. Now what do you say in the interim to a pot of tea?’

  At midday I slipped out for a bag of apples and an almond slice. I also needed to clear my head. I was still somewhat fuzzy from my encounter with the dust of the Nazim Diamond and badly needed to blow off some cobwebs. I returned a little after one o’clock to find the sitting room empty. I tried the bedrooms and called out to Mrs Hudson but the house appeared to be entirely deserted. I returned to my chair to consider my next move, idly picking up one of Holmes’ paper elephants, turning it slowly to admire the handiwork. It was typical of his genius that Holmes could have mastered this difficult art so quickly and so perfectly.

  Presently I noticed some ink above one of the feet. I unfolded the elephant to reveal two letters printed in block capitals: AS. I pondered these for a while. Was it an initial? I listed the cast of characters we had encountered during our most recent adventures, but none seemed to fit the bill. I was loath to spoil another of Holmes’ delightful creations but by now my curiosity was aroused. I
unfolded a second to reveal the letters AT. Again I struggled to think of a person who could legitimately claim the initials. It was clear that Holmes had left me a puzzle, but for what conceivable reason? I quickly unfolded the remaining elephants and laid them flat on the table. AT AS COME YOU FOUR GIRL ARE SHRIMP. It was a short message and at present made little sense. SHRIMP GIRL and FOUR were all words relating to our appointment, so I arranged these together at the end. After some trial and error, I realised I had these at the wrong end, so instead tried them at the start to produce: SHRIMP GIRL AT FOUR COME AS YOU ARE. I stared at the message, wondering at Holmes’ thinking, while at the same time feeling not a little pleased that I had succeeded in unscrambling the message.

  What if I had failed to find the message or deciphered this simple puzzle? Clearly Holmes had gambled that I would manage both. Respecting Holmes’ wish for me not to change, I spent the remainder of the afternoon leafing distractedly through my ancient copy of the Arabian Nights, although was quite unable to concentrate. It was with some relief therefore when I finally stepped outside 221b Baker Street with my service revolver and a pair of Coxes apples in my pocket. I hailed a hansom to take me to Trafalgar Square.

  As I arrived, the crowds were beginning to thin. The foyer was almost deserted as I walked out of the hot, dusty afternoon and into the cool, quiet of the National Gallery itself. The stone was as cold as the walls of a crypt. I took a moment to compose myself, entirely unsure what to do or who I was likely to meet. What possible advantage did Holmes believe he was creating by leaving me the cryptic note and denying me any sort of briefing? It seemed deliberately obscure. Above all, I was arriving empty handed. Whoever else was arriving at 4pm was expecting to be greeted by all eight ruby elephants. I felt instinctively for my revolver, but instead felt the wrong pocket. Inside was a small paper packet I had no memory of leaving, twisted shut. It was of roughly the same weight and appearance as a bag of humbugs. Was this a leftover from our encounter with Peaceheart, the mad confectioner? It seemed conceivable. I glanced at my watch. Five minutes to four. I was beginning to perspire. I was also quite conscious that I was now beginning to look suspicious. Just as an attendant began to advance in my direction, I strode purposefully towards a Turner painting and gave my best impersonation of a man genuinely interested in the man’s work.

  At two minutes to the hour, I realised there was no more time for procrastination. With an appalling sense of foreboding, I headed towards Room 35 and whatever fate lay waiting for me there. Sure enough, a figure was standing in front of the painting, perfectly still, with his hands joined behind his back. He wore a long purple coat and black boots. His hair was long and brown. I stopped in my tracks. Then, compelled by a sense of duty to my friend Sherlock Holmes, I pushed myself forward, feeling my heart thumping against my chest like a prisoner against the wall of his cell. As I approached, the figure slowly turned.

  ‘Macintosh!’ I shouted, with indescribable relief.

  ‘My dear, Dr Watson! Whatever are you doing here?’

  ‘I have half an hour to kill,’ I explained quickly, ‘and thought I would visit my favourite painting. Or fake, I should say. But what about you? What possible interest would you have in this copy?’ His skin was sallow and dark rings circled his eyes. He was perspiring freely and dabbed at his forehead with a silk handkerchief.’

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘You know I was in the habit of visiting this painting. Old habits die hard.’ I inspected his features at close range.

  ‘If I was to give a medical opinion,’ I said. ‘I would suggest that you would be better off in bed this afternoon. You are not well, Macintosh.’

  ‘Merely self inflicted,’ he said, brushing aside my concern. ‘“This evening’s folly, tomorrow’s regret,” if you take my meaning?’

  ‘Quite. Well, a little less indulgence would serve us all well,’ I laughed. I glanced at my pocket watch. It was three minutes past four.

  ‘Meeting someone?’ asked Abercrombie.

  ‘Oh, no I don’t think so.’

  ‘You look a little flustered yourself, Watson,’ noted Abercrombie.

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Are you sure you are not here to meet someone?’ he asked again.

  ‘It’s absurd really,’ I said. ‘We had a note, suggesting that someone would appear at 4pm.

  ‘For what reason?’

  ‘An exchange. For a pocketful of trinkets, we were hoping to take receipt of an exceedingly large diamond.’

  ‘Quite a bargain,’ said Macintosh. ‘And were you here to make the exchange yourself?’

  ‘Well,’ I said, feeling there was no need to hold back, ‘since the strange disappearance of Sherlock Holmes this morning, yes I am.’

  ‘Then I suggest we make our way to Nelson’s Column and conduct our business there.’ I was dumbfounded.

  ‘There is a small problem,’ I muttered.

  ‘Don’t tell me here, dear boy,’ he returned. ‘There are eyes everywhere. Let us venture abroad.’

  Macintosh strolled on ahead. An owlish looking attendant, who I felt had been watching me from the very moment I stepped inside, peered at me intently. He appeared to shake his head slightly, as if to warn me against following the critic. The entire business seemed wrong-headed and utterly confusing. I peered around in the vain hope that I would see Holmes leaning against the wall, smiling that confounded smile of his, about to tell me the whole thing was a practical joke. Holmes had a peculiar sense of humour and it struck me that it was entirely plausible that he would involve a harmless fellow like Macintosh in such a caper. The more I thought about this, the more convinced I became that this was the truth of the matter.

  I stepped into a pool of sunlight and felt its reassuring warmth on my skin. Across the square, I could see Macintosh standing alone, leaning on his cane, staring directly at me. It was a little unnerving. A moment later I joined him.

  ‘Did Holmes put you up to this?’ I asked.

  ‘You mentioned a problem,’ he said, ignoring my question.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, my blood running cold once more. ‘I don’t have the ruby elephants.’

  He pressed his lips together and stared at me.

  ‘Of course you do,’ he said.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

  ‘Getting cold feet, Watson?’

  ‘Not at all,’ I said.

  ‘Then what’s that inside your pocket, besides your revolver?’ I felt for the package.

  ‘Pineapple cubes,’ I said, pulling out the paper bag. ‘Would you care for one?’ I twisted it open and extended the bag to Abercrombie. He peered inside, his face bathed in a faint reddish glow.

  ‘Splendid!’ he said, breaking into a smile. I glanced in myself to find eight ruby elephants at the bottom of the bag. He peered at my astonished expression.

  ‘You are either one of the world greatest actors, doctor, or one of its biggest fools. I know not which.’ I was still too surprised to speak. A beggar sidled up to us.

  ‘Got any tin for me?’ he croaked, baring his three teeth. ‘Two pucker gents like you must be weighed down with it. If either of you went overboard, you’d drop to the bottom of the sea before someone could say Davy Jones’ Locker! Let me lighten the loads on your pockets. Weak seams these modern breeches have. Very weak!’

  ‘Shoo,’ said Macintosh, taking a step away from the man.

  ‘Yes, would you mind?’ I asked.

  ‘Very well,’ he muttered, ‘but don’t say I didn’t warn you!’

  ‘Tell me, doctor,’ said Macintosh, casting his eyes around for further interruptions. ‘When did you decide to betray Sherlock Holmes?’ A large bird flew past my ear and settled on the head of one of the lions.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ I spluttered.

  ‘Demanding wife, is it? Snitterton pays well, doesn’t
he?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ I said.

  ‘Self denial is simply a method by which a man arrest his progress,’ intoned Macintosh. ‘A friend of mine said much the same thing. Shall we get on with it then?’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin envelope.

  ‘Rather lean for a diamond,’ I remarked.

  ‘This,’ he said, waving the envelope, ‘is the Great Mogul.’

  ‘How would I know?’

  ‘That is not my concern.’ He looked agitated and was now sweating profusely.

  ‘Macintosh,’ I said, raising my voice a little, ‘I could not possibly surrender the ruby elephants for a piece of paper. You would make me a laughing stock.’

  ‘Doctor,’ he warned. ‘You are drawing unwanted attention.’ Sure enough, several passers had noticed the fractious nature of our exchange. The beggar too was skulking within earshot. Macintosh’s eyes looked horribly bloodshot, beyond the worst hangover I had ever seen. I levelled with the man.

  ‘Do they have you in their power?’ For a moment he said nothing.

  ‘Just give me the rubies,’ he said sullenly.

  At that moment, I heard a shriek and a flock of pigeons scattered into the sky.

  A black shadow swept across the square; a sparrow hawk plucked the envelope from Macintosh’s hands and shot into the air.

  ‘No!’ Macintosh cried, extending an outstretched hand.

  A smartly dressed city gent brushed against him.

  ‘Do you mind?’the businessman asked brusquely and carried on his way. The beggar reappeared beside me.

  ‘Go away!’ I shouted.

  ‘It is I - Holmes,’ he whispered, gripping my arm. ‘We must leave now; we are in grave danger. There is no time to be lost.’ My head reeled as I suddenly recognised the man beneath the grimy façade.

  ‘Macintosh,’ my friend urged, ‘you must come with us.’

  The critic’s expression was one of infinite sadness.