The Wilhelm Conspiracy (A Sherlock Holmes and Lucy James Mystery)

by Charles Veley

  “Was this the mask?” Holmes showed her the watch cap. Several inches above the knitted lower border, two eyeholes had been cut out, leaving a jagged fringe around the two openings.

  The nurse nodded.

  Holmes asked, “What colour were his eyes?”

  “Blue, I think. Or brown. Maybe they were—oh, I can’t remember! It all happened so quickly—”

  “Would you recognize his voice?”

  “He didn’t speak. Just gestured with that gun of his—a pistol, I don’t know what kind—and pushed me ’round.”

  “Did you notice anything else about him? His hands? The way he stood? The way he smelled? Try to remember, no matter how trivial it may seem.”

  The nurse shook her head. “Just the pistol. But I remember those eyes, even though I can’t remember the colour. They were cold and hard.”

  A few moments later we stood at the far end of the corridor, at the top of the staircase. Chill, moist air surged around and over us, bringing with it the salty tang of the sea. We looked down to the bottom of the stairs, where the door to the outside had been left wide open.

  I awoke just after dawn the next morning in my room at Radnar House. From my window I could see the dull-grey waters of the Channel and the beginnings of the sunrise. The rain had passed and there were patches of blue sky that promised fairer weather. Closer to the hotel, at the edge of the cliff, I could see a tall, slender figure striding through the high grasses and up to the edge of the lawn. It was Holmes, in his jacket without his Ulster. He carried a rifle.

  He looked up towards my window and waved, but did not beckon me to join him.

  I dressed quickly, nonetheless. I opened the door of my room.

  Lucy James stood before me.

  She had raised her right hand, about to knock. Her green eyes were wide with excitement. Upon seeing me, she reached out and took my arm, turning into the hallway to walk towards the staircase. We might have been going to the dining room for breakfast together, although it was nearly an hour too soon for that.

  “He’s outside with a rifle,” she said as we turned for the stairway. “I bet it’s the same rifle that wounded the police sergeant.”

  “Very likely.”

  “He told Mr. Lansdowne he didn’t want to go to Germany.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Mr. Lansdowne told Harriet and she told me. Why doesn’t he want to go?”

  As we reached the bottom of the main staircase, Lucy led me to a pair of upholstered chairs that were positioned at the edge of the hall, where we could continue our conversation in private. Briefly I described the events of the previous morning, including the threat from the Germans.

  “Harriet didn’t mention any of that.”

  “Did she tell you she works for the War Department?”

  “Only that she sends reports to Mr. Lansdowne’s people from time to time. I didn’t ask her to elaborate.” She sat up straighter, placed both hands in her lap, and all the light of the morning seemed to dance in those iridescent eyes of hers. I could not help recalling our initial meeting in D’Oyly Carte’s office, when she had first so captivated both Holmes and me. Now her youthful bravado had a deeper assurance beneath it, though she still had an air of unguarded vulnerability. I wondered how much of the change was attributable to her accomplishments on the stage since then. I also wondered how much had come from her finally having the certain knowledge that came from meeting her true parents and discovering that her father was Sherlock Holmes. I felt pride for him and for her.

  “It’s good to sit with you, Dr. Watson,” she was saying. “I was in such a rush Saturday.”

  “It’s good to see you too, Lucy,” I replied, quite conscious of the fondness I had always experienced for her, and feeling a little uncomfortable at the formality of her addressing me as “Dr. Watson.” I know she must have perceived my emotion, for she took a deep breath before she went on.

  “So the Germans are toying with him. One afternoon their message is in the papers, and the next morning they are on his doorstep.”

  “It was an odd message.”

  “They are showing him they know where he lives, and that they can reach out to harm him at any time.”

  “You can see why he wants you to stay apart from him.”

  “Whenever I want to help him he pushes away. He’s doing that now.”

  “He is concerned for your safety. With every case there is risk—”

  “I know, and this case looks like it could be a doozy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A corker. Difficult. Dangerous. I will help him.” Her eyes went to the French window alongside the main foyer door. “And I’m not going to take no for an answer.”

  “I doubt that you are in a position to bargain.”

  “Oh, that’s not going to matter. No bargaining will be required. I’m quite prepared. But look, there he is outside.”

  She got to her feet and in a few moments we were outside the hotel portico and standing with Holmes on the wide gravel carriage path. He nodded at me and said, “Good morning, Lucy.”

  “Good morning.” She eyed his jacket critically. “You must be freezing. Haven’t they cleaned your overcoat?”

  “Watson and I will visit the garrison at Dover Castle after he has eaten breakfast. The hotel concierge promised to have my Ulster ready before we leave.”

  She glanced towards the edge of the cliff. “Breakfast won’t be ready for an hour. Did you find footprints?”

  “The trail is an indecipherable sludge.”

  “Because all you men walked up and down it in the rain. What about where you found the rifle?”

  Holmes pointed to the grass at the edge of the cliff, some twenty feet away from the trail. He shook his head.

  “Is there a depression in the grass where he may have waited?”

  “Farther down along the trail there is a shallow impression in the cliff. It has a clear view of the beach where we were standing.”

  “Were there cigar ashes? Rifle shells?”

  “The area had been swept.”

  She looked at the rifle in Holmes’s hand and spoke, almost to herself. “He saw you arrive, followed you, got into position, waited until the Army men had taken the body, and then shot poor Sergeant Stubbs. Lord Lansdowne’s men arrived at the hotel, so they would have heard him if he fired another shot. He didn’t want to risk that; he dropped his weapon and walked away. The question is, did he come back later?”

  Instead of answering, Holmes said, “Please tell me about Miss Radnar. Can she be trusted? And be quick.”

  “Why?”

  “She will be with us in a moment.” Holmes gestured in the direction of the hotel. Harriet Radnar walked swiftly towards us with a determined stride, the skirts of her long black dress billowing beneath her black woollen shawl. Her head was bare, save for the black headband. Her long blond tresses streamed behind her on the wind. Behind her, two horses and a black carriage were departing, clattering away on the gravel drive.

  Lucy said, “Both of us were shunned a lot at school, she because of her British aristocratic airs, and I because I had no family. So that brought us together.”

  “Why was she sent to America?”

  “She doesn’t get along with her stepmother. Her father can’t abide it when they argue. She doesn’t know about—you and me.”

  Holmes nodded in acknowledgement as Miss Radnar joined us.

  She looked at Lucy for a moment, then at Holmes. It may have been my imagination, but I thought she was noticing a resemblance between daughter and father. She gestured at the departing carriage. “Inspector Lestrade has gone back to London. Another carriage is waiting at Kerren House. Mr. Tesla is inside it. We shall ride with him to the garrison.”

  Holmes’s gaze narrowed. “We?”

  “The Secretary wants me there. He has told you that I work for him, has he not? Besides, I have a feeling.”

  Lucy said, “If you’re going, I’m going.”


  9. AT THE GARRISON

  We arrived nearly fifteen minutes late for the medical officer’s examination at the Army garrison. Fitzwilliam, the strapping young lieutenant who had met our carriage, had looked quizzically at Holmes at first, clad as he was in his indoor jacket while the rest of us wore overcoats against a wind that seemed to have lost none of the chill it had taken up at its arctic origin. Once introduced, however, the lieutenant had been effusive in his admiration for Holmes. Also, I thought, he was inspired by the prospect of escorting and holding the attention of the two ladies.

  I wished Lucy and Harriet were less politely attentive as the lieutenant took us on an unnecessary tour of the Dover Castle perimeter. He paused repeatedly to point out historical features, spending more time than needed, I thought, in explaining how the garrison fulfilled its current mission, which was to guard the coastline against smugglers. Then he stopped us where we had a clear view of the port below. A naval vessel was unloading a cargo of wounded men. Some lay on their stretchers beneath drab olive blankets. Others stood on crutches, their bandaged limbs protruding from beneath their khaki uniform greatcoats.

  I recalled the cold, rainy morning at Portsmouth jetty sixteen years earlier that had occasioned my own harsh and lonely homecoming from the Afghan war. Memories of Candahar, my wound, my illness, my weakness—they all returned. My impatience turned to pity. I asked Lieutenant Fitzwilliam where the men had been.

  “South Africa or India, most like. You can see the Victoria on the horizon, steaming away. These are the lucky ones. They’ll go to Buckland Hospital, not far off. On Victoria there’ll be more, and they’ll go to Netley Hospital near Southampton. My brother went to Netley when he lost his leg in the Transvaal.”

  Tesla spoke up. “They would heal more rapidly if they had the benefit of my electrotherapy machines,” he said. “Do you think the British Army would be interested in that, Mr. Holmes?”

  Holmes turned and walked onwards without reply.

  Finally we crossed the castle moat and ascended the wide stone steps to the second floor of the outer building. There, another young lieutenant saluted crisply and told us “the Secretary himself” was waiting. He opened a heavy oak door and showed us into the great hall, a cavernous stone enclosure, cathedral-like in its breadth and height.

  In one of the triangular alcoves built into the enormously thick castle walls, we saw the yellow light of electric lanterns. In this alcove the medical officer in charge of the examination had set up his shop. Red bearded, with a brown leather apron cloaking his barrel chest, he was engrossed in examining the blackened object that lay before him, illuminated by a cluster of floor lamps that surrounded the steel examining table.

  Lord Lansdowne saw us first and murmured a quiet word or two into the ear of the industrious medical officer. The man looked up instantly. Lansdowne introduced Holmes, Tesla, and me, but referred to Lucy and Harriet as “Mr. Tesla’s assistants.” The medical officer, introduced as Major Dawes, looked dubiously at the two young women.

  “Not a fit sight for ladies,” he said.

  “They will stand back and avert their gaze if they find it necessary,” Holmes replied, striding quickly to stand at the foot of the table. He took his magnifying glass from his pocket. “Now, Major, what have you learned thus far?”

  In a few terse sentences, the major reported his findings, while Holmes shuffled around the body, squinting at the blackened flesh through his magnifying glass. Beneath a one-inch layer of char, the musculature was intact and not inconsistent with that of a drowning victim. The man had not drowned, however, as the lungs were not waterlogged. The cause of death appeared to be massive crushing of the skull, accompanied by severe damage to the mandible and maxilla. There were no rings on the fingers, and, due to the burning, no identifying scars or other skin markings.

  Holmes nodded. “Mr. Tesla, could this burning have been caused by your apparatus?”

  The slender inventor was pressing a lavender handkerchief, presumably perfumed, to his nose. “Possibly. If we might examine the sheep that Kerren used for his earlier experiment—”

  “The animal was served as mutton in the hotel restaurant. I interviewed the chef this morning,” Holmes replied. Holmes turned back to the major. “Have you catalogued the contents of the stomach?”

  “They indicate a beef stew, with carrots and peas, recently ingested at the time of death.”

  “Which was?”

  “Judging from the state of decomposition, no more than one week ago.”

  “Anything else?”

  The major shook his head, whereupon Holmes took out the tape measure he habitually carried on his person and spent a few moments bent over the subject, moving to and fro. Then he stood, pocketed the tape measure, and faced us.

  Lord Lansdowne asked, “Well, Mr. Holmes?”

  “A most singular case. We shall want a list of any persons who have gone missing from the Dover area since the fifteenth of August, the date that Lord Kerren closed up his laboratory.”

  “But if the time of death was no more than one week ago, I fail to see why we should investigate persons who may have been missing for nearly a month and a half.”

  “It is as well to be inclusive” was Holmes’s only reply.

  At that moment we heard raised voices from the great hall entrance, and then someone called, “Henry! I have urgent news!”

  Lord Lansdowne looked momentarily startled at the use of his given name, but he seemed to recognize the voice. “It’s all right, then, Lieutenant,” he said. “Mr. Arkwright may enter.”

  I was astonished to hear the name of a famous violinist whom Holmes and I had seen on several occasions. For a moment I wondered if this could be a mere coincidence, but then Mr. Arkwright came towards us, removing his hat, and I saw the distinctive shaved head, completely bald, familiar to audiences at concert halls on both sides of the Atlantic.

  He strode briskly towards us, eyes flashing as if he were about to deliver in midstride whatever message he brought for Lord Lansdowne. Then his expression softened as he saw the ladies, and his aquiline features crinkled in a delighted smile as he recognized Holmes. “Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe? It is most comforting to be in the company of a fellow violinist.”

  “Dr. Watson here and I have both admired your virtuosity,” Holmes replied. “But I hardly qualify as your fellow.”

  “Though you own a Stradivarius, I believe—”

  Lord Lansdowne interrupted. “Adrian, I did not expect you until tomorrow. We were just finishing up here.” He turned to the medical officer. “Major Dawes, we will take our leave of you now. If you discover anything further, please notify me at once.”

  The major nodded obediently. As we turned to depart, I saw Arkwright give a momentary glance at the charred remains. Then he closed his eyes and shuddered.

  10. AN UNEXPLAINED EVENT

  Minutes later we entered the garrison commander’s office. The room had been built into a turret on the north-east side of the castle. The outer wall of the office had been modified to admit a pair of wide French doors. Through their glass panels we could see the familiar gapped stone fortifications that had once sheltered medieval archers as they crouched to fire their feathered missiles. Beyond, to the south-east, we could see the blue waters of the Channel. To the north was the grey line of the beach where we had found the charred remains. Above the beach were the white cliffs, and, atop the cliffs, the shadowy profile of Radnar House.

  Lansdowne motioned us to a conference table. “I have asked the garrison commander for a few minutes’ private use of his office.”

  “He has a superb view, doesn’t he?” said Arkwright, seating himself opposite Holmes and me and next to Harriet, who sat beside Lucy and Tesla. “I understand he can tell the time on the cathedral clock in Calais if the weather is fair. With binoculars, of course.”

  “From our hotel you can also see the clock,” Harriet said. “You can see this castle too.”

  �
�Let us get down to business,” Lansdowne said as he took his place at the head of the table. “We all have a single mission here—to find and recover a key component of an electrical weapon. Mr. Tesla here may be able to tell us more about the component. To accomplish this, we must work together. It is imperative that we know and trust one another. Now, except for Miss James, each of you is well known to me, and, Miss James, I believe that Mr. Holmes can vouch for you. I recall that you were of considerable assistance to us last November.”

  Lucy nodded. I glanced at Holmes, trying to remember if Lansdowne knew that Lucy was Holmes’s daughter, and saw him shake his head. The movement was barely perceptible.

  “Next, let me introduce Adrian Arkwright to the rest of you,” Lansdowne continued. “You may know him as a renowned musician. His performances throughout Europe and America, however, enable him to move in rarefied circles where he is in a position to acquire useful information.”

  “In plain English, I’m a spy,” Arkwright said, with a winning smile. “And if we’re trusting each other, I do have that urgent news to report.”

  “First let me complete the introductions. Mr. Tesla is known by reputation on both continents. He has been working with Lord Kerren, the uncle of Harriet Radnar—”

  “‘Working with’ Kerren is not accurate,” said Tesla, bristling. “I gave him access to my diagrams in New York two years ago. Shortly thereafter, all my records were destroyed in a fire. I have seen his work here, but only yesterday. He has assembled six of my electrical resonant transformer coils and connected them to six metal tubes, which are pointed at a metal ring. Whatever belongs on the ring is missing from the apparatus. I cannot describe it or vouch for its performance.”

  “Have you an idea as to the function of the missing part?” Holmes asked.

  “I cannot say with certainty. However, this ring is in a position to focus the energy from the six metal tubes connected to my six transformer coils.”

  “The way one can start a fire with sunlight using a magnifying lens?”