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

by Charles Veley

  “Quick as lightning,” said Carte.

  “It is lightning, sir,” said Tesla. “Though on a smaller scale than that found in nature. Mankind is not yet capable of—”

  Carte interrupted. “Is it safe?”

  “It is as safe as the electric arc-lamp spotlights that are used in nearly every theatre today. Those, I might add, are also my invention. I have demonstrated this one many times before many audiences. If you stand near my transformer coil, which gives the apparatus its increase in voltage, you will feel an unmistakable sensation of health and well-being. You see, Mr. Carte, electricity represents our very essence of life—”

  “Never mind that. How would you like to bring your invention out of this little room and show its power to an entire theatre audience, including two monarchs—this very night?” At Tesla’s nod, Carte continued, “Then I’ll tell you how we’ll manage it. In our first act we have a scene requiring thunder and lightning. We provide the thunder by twisting and shaking a flexible sheet of metal. Your apparatus will provide the lightning. Also, we have a faery queen in the show, and your violet rod that glows can be her magic wand. Oh, no, I see a wire connects the wand to the machine. That would spoil the magical effect. But with proper screening, I think those shiny steel globes could create remarkably realistic flashes of lightning.”

  “They are flashes of lightning. As I was saying—”

  “Quite so. Will you do it? Permit the use of the machine? Imagine the effect on the Prince of Wales and the Kaiser when they learn that you have created this awe-inspiring power. Both men will be attending tonight’s performance, you know.”

  “How will my machine be protected?”

  “The same way all our equipment is protected. Our stage manager will keep it safe.”

  “I will need to remain close by during the performance. Backstage, of course.”

  Carte agreed. Tesla remained in the anteroom tinkering with his equipment, while Carte led me into the theatre auditorium. “I must attend to things backstage,” Carte said. “You are welcome to stay for as long as you like.” He motioned to the seats at the back of the auditorium. “Oh, and I see your friend is here as well. Please say hello to him for me.”

  I drew in my breath. There in the back row, his fingers steepled beneath his chin in that familiar pose, sat Sherlock Holmes.

  22. OBSERVATIONS WITHOUT CONCLUSIONS

  “Holmes,” I said quietly, taking a seat beside him. “The Kaiser wishes to hire you to find—”

  “In good time, old friend.” He held up his finger for silence. “Let us see what we can of the rehearsal. We may not be able to attend the performance tonight, so let us take this opportunity to appreciate Lucy’s talents.” So saying, he sat up straighter in his seat, steepled his fingertips together once more, and fixed his gaze on the stage before us.

  I have often remarked on Holmes’s ability to concentrate his attentions on the artistic realm, despite the urgency of professional matters. On this occasion his behaviour generally ran true to form, although the performance was frequently interrupted for adjustments to the staging. The placement of the twin globes of Mr. Tesla’s lightning machine for maximum effect, I recall, took up a good deal of time. Holmes merely closed his eyes, waiting until he heard Lucy’s voice. Then he would come awake, leaning forwards in his seat and watching intently as she performed in that effortless manner of hers, by turns coquettish, innocent, adoring, and fiery, as the story required. He spoke only once, leaning towards me and murmuring, “For her this is still as natural as breathing.”

  The hands of my pocket watch stood at nearly one o’clock when the rehearsal ended, and Carte told the company they would find a light luncheon waiting for them at the Parkhotel. I had expected that this would be my opportunity to report, and in particular to recount my conversation with von Bülow, in the privacy of our relatively isolated spot at the back of the auditorium. But Holmes stood up abruptly. He withdrew an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to me. “This was waiting for you at the front desk of the hotel,” he said. “I took the liberty of opening it.”

  The message read: KURHAUS #51. 2:00 TODAY. Gruen.

  “Who is ‘Gruen’?” Holmes asked.

  “He came to my room last night. He says he has an associate who has the jewel box. His price is one hundred thousand gold marks. By the way, Arkwright telegraphed us from Baden-Baden. His report indicated that the Germans had the jewel box for two weeks, only to have it stolen away by an unknown party. Presumably that is the associate of Gruen.”

  “Well done, Watson,” Holmes said. “We shall meet this most helpful fellow together. Eventually.”

  He led me outside, to the stage door entrance. We waited in the cool air until Lucy and Harriet emerged. Holmes congratulated them on their performances, making small talk while leading us along the pavement in the direction of the Kurpark. Above and behind us, the early-afternoon sunlight filtered through the still-green leaves of the tall trees, casting odd bits of light and momentary shadows. To the north-west, I could see dark clouds.

  When we were out of the hearing of the other actors and musicians, Holmes asked, “What news, ladies?”

  Harriet was the first to speak. “I had a wire from Mr. Arkwright this morning,” she said. “His concert has been cancelled. He will be joining us this afternoon.”

  “Did he say why?” asked Holmes.

  “I recall the entire message,” Harriet said. Her eyes widened as she recited, like a proud schoolgirl, “‘Concert cancelled by Lansdowne’s order. Will join you at Parkhotel this afternoon.’”

  “Most interesting,” Holmes remarked.

  “Also we have a message from one von Bülow, a German diplomat. He entered our railway carriage when we had crossed the border yesterday. But no doubt Dr. Watson has already given you that information.”

  “The Kaiser wants you to find a missing object,” I said. “I did not have time to tell you—”

  “It is no matter,” Holmes said.

  “Von Bülow said those two German embassy thugs had been sent to hire you,” Lucy said. “By the way, we saw them again this morning.”

  “Let us set that aside for the moment,” said Holmes. “Anything else?”

  “This morning we also saw the Kaiser himself, marching with his soldiers. He ordered a tree to be taken down. A short while later it was split in half, apparently by lightning. To induce the lightning, they apparently employed some apparatus hidden in a large military van.”

  “Where?”

  “It was just over there, in the park.”

  We looked across the wide boulevard. Where the tree had once stood, only a low stump remained.

  “So we have four incidents of interest,” Holmes said. He held out one hand, tapping one finger after another as he continued. “First, on Sunday the Germans send thugs to warn me not to interfere with them. Second, on Monday the same thugs attack us in Dover. Third, yesterday they send a diplomat to say that the attack was a mistake and that they want my assistance to recover a missing object, which we may assume is the same weapon that we are seeking. And fourth, this morning they demonstrate quite publicly that they apparently have the weapon in their possession after all.”

  “Quite a puzzle,” said Lucy.

  “What are we to conclude from all this inconsistency?” asked Harriet.

  “I recommend,” Holmes replied, “that we conclude nothing at all.”

  Lucy gave me a knowing glance. Her lips silently formed the words I told you so.

  23. ESPIONAGE

  We walked with the ladies as far as the Parkhotel, where they left us to join the rest of the company for luncheon. Holmes and I continued across the boulevard and entered the Kurpark, that wide expanse of encapsulated nature wherein several hours earlier we had seen such a remarkable demonstration of man’s ability to intervene.

  Holmes set out immediately and with assurance along a path that led, as nearly as I could discern without a compass, due north. Across t
he rolling lawn to our right, we saw white-clad players on distant tennis courts, and far beyond them to the east, barely distinguishable figures that might have been golfers playing on smooth green fairways. Our path was somewhat uphill, so I was unable to discern what lay on the other side of the green slopes and shrubberies that lay before us.

  “You do know the way, Holmes,” I said as we walked.

  “I have visited the Kurhaus once this morning. If I am not mistaken, Lord Kerren and Lady Radnar are there at present. You will recall I had assigned myself the task to follow Lord Kerren, and I have not confined my activities solely to rest and recreation.”

  “How did you proceed?”

  “I knew the address of Lord Radnar’s flat from Lansdowne. I reasoned that Kerren, being short of funds, would want to take advantage of his sister’s hospitality. So I made the flat my destination. I was there soon enough to watch Kerren arrive. The weather being fine at present, Lady Radnar left the windows open and I was able to hear her telephone to make the appointment for her brother. If I heard correctly, his doctor is named Olfrig.”

  “It sounds so straightforward when you describe it that way.”

  “I am sure you would inject more drama if you were recording this incident for your readers. However, considering the military and diplomatic circumstances of the case, I trust you will not do so.”

  “You may rely on me, of course,” I said, feeling somewhat nettled.

  After a few more minutes, we crested the hill. About fifty yards before us, the path led directly to the Kurhaus, a monumental building of brown sandstone, built along the lines, I thought, of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, though only about half the size of that famous structure. Atop the building was a tall copper-clad dome. As we drew closer, I saw that beneath the stately brown columns at the front portico, the tall double doors were open into the rotunda.

  Entering, we paused for a moment to take in our surroundings. Above us, the crown of the dome soared possibly a hundred feet or more over our heads. Around us, beautiful classical sculptures of Grecian goddesses looked down from arched niches in the curved wall above the wide marble floor. Two long hallways extended from the rear of the rotunda on either side. Between them, a uniformed nurse of middle age and stern appearance was observing us from behind a desk.

  Holmes strode up to her. “Guten tag. Doktor Olfrig, bitte.”

  The woman did not need to consult her directory. “Funf und zwanzig,” she said, and pointed to the corridor along our left.

  “Haben sie besten dank,” said Holmes, and we set out in that direction. Moments later we stood before the doorway to number 25. On the door was a brass plate bearing the doctor’s name.

  “Now we will continue to number 51.”

  “Why did we stop?”

  “I wished to observe the lock,” he said as we walked further down the long hallway. “It is a Chubb. The information will be useful when I return tonight.” Then he stopped. Holding his hand up in a gesture for caution, he said softly, “The door to number 51 is open.”

  I stayed behind him as we entered office 51, too apprehensive to notice the name of its occupant. We soon saw that gentleman, however, or the man I assume was he, for on the carpet face down lay a man in a white physician’s smock. At Holmes’s nod I felt for a pulse beneath the ear. There was one, and the breathing was regular, though the man was plainly unconscious. A large red welt was visible at the back of his head where he had obviously been struck down.

  Holmes whispered, “Do you recognize him?” and I shook my head. Holmes moved silently to a door on the far wall. As he opened it I felt a rush of cold air and saw another office, this one an empty examination room. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through a door open to the Kurpark.

  Looking out alongside the building, we saw the retreating forms of Dietrich and Richter. They walked rapidly in a hunched-over fashion, dragging the limp figure of a third man and keeping close to the outer wall. Each held one of the man’s outstretched arms. The toes of the man’s shoes dug wavering grooves in the gravel.

  When they had very nearly reached the end of the building, they stopped. Dietrich used a key to open a door. Then Richter bent over, picked up the limp form without apparent effort, and hoisted him over one shoulder, enabling me to see the man’s face.

  “Holmes,” I whispered. “That is Gruen, the man who came to my room last night.”

  The men disappeared from our view, closing the door behind them. We followed as silently as we could. Holmes tried the door through which the men had gone with their unconscious victim. It was locked. We could hear nothing from within. Holmes tried the adjacent window, but it too was locked, and the heavy curtains did not allow us to see inside.

  I bent to the keyhole. Keeping my voice low, I reported what I saw. “There are several lit electric lamps and tables, with shelves that appear to contain electrical equipment. On my right someone is moving, but I cannot quite make out who it is or what—”

  He interrupted. “Thank you, Watson. Now would you please stand back.”

  He had taken off his coat and wrapped it around his right hand. In the next instant, he had broken through the window glass and was manipulating the lock above the frame. In seconds, the window was open and he was climbing through. I was about to follow when the door opened and he stood before me.

  “Please see to Herr Gruen,” he said as he put on his coat. “Others will be here in a moment to investigate the noise. When they arrive, tell them we are acting on the Kaiser’s behalf. Von Bülow will confirm that the All-Highest is indeed our client.”

  Then he turned to the inner office doorway and, a moment later, was gone.

  I looked around the room. On my right was the man who had called himself Herr Gruen. His arms were outstretched, his wrists strapped to a metal rack fastened to the wall. He slumped forwards limply, but his eyes were open. No longer present on his round face was the fixed smile I had seen the previous evening. It had been replaced by a pained grimace and an accusing stare.

  He said, “You betrayed me.”

  24. A MUSICAL INTERLUDE

  It was nearly two hours later when, feeling somewhat the worse for wear, I returned with Holmes to the Parkhotel.

  My mind still whirled with the events that had just occurred. I had attempted to persuade Herr Gruen that we had not betrayed him, to no avail. Holmes had pursued Dietrich and Richter, also to no avail, returning shortly afterwards with news that the two had had a carriage waiting and had last been seen driving west on the road bordering the Kurpark. As Holmes had foreseen, however, the Kurhaus staff were impressed by the name of von Bülow and of course, the Kaiser, so they were willing to overlook the expense of a broken windowpane. Also fortunately, Herr Gruen left almost immediately, refusing to make a complaint against his attackers, and we were not detained long after we gave our explanations of what we had seen. However, we were no further along in our quest to recover the jewel box. In fact, we had lost ground, for Herr Gruen had declared he would no longer use me as an intermediary. I recalled his haughty tone with some indignation. “Either you are untrustworthy or you are incompetent,” he had said as he bade me farewell. “In either case I cannot afford the risk that would ensue from our association.”

  As Holmes and I entered the hotel, I noticed a pleasant light musical air being played by a piano and a violin. The violin, I thought, had a particularly masterful and intriguing tone about it, but I listened only for a moment or two.

  The voice of the clerk at the registry desk had interrupted my reverie. “Mr. Holmes,” he called. “You have messages.” He turned to the tall array of mahogany pigeonholes built into the wall behind him. “And one for you, Dr. Watson.” He lifted two cream-coloured envelopes from two of the pigeonholes and handed one to each of us. Both bore the royal crest and seal. “Oh, and there is a telegraph message for you as well, Mr. Holmes,” the attendant said, reaching under the desk and pulling out the yellow envelope. “From New York.”

  �
��That one is of interest,” said Holmes. After opening it, however, his face fell. “I had expected another,” he said, holding up the yellow message paper. “This telegram is from Lord Radnar. He wishes me to state my fee for investigating the case that Lady Radnar requested us to look into. A prudent, businesslike request, although I fear I cannot comply. It seems I am already working for two governments on what may prove to be the same matter.” He folded the message and tucked it into his waistcoat pocket. “Now, Watson, do these two royal envelopes contain what I think they contain?”

  “We are each invited to the royal box at the theatre tonight.”

  “I ask that you will make an excuse for my tardiness. Now let us attend the performance being played out for us here at this very moment. Judging from the virtuosity, I believe the violinist is Mr. Arkwright.”

  A short while later we were in a reception room opposite the dining room, where chairs had been set up and an audience of perhaps twenty guests had gathered. Harriet sat playing a small piano, singing in a clear soprano, and Arkwright stood at her side, his violin tucked beneath his chin. They were performing a slow, melancholy piece in which the soloist expresses powerful emotions of longing and despair to an overlooking moon. At the end of the piece there was polite applause, so we took the opportunity to settle ourselves in the back row of chairs, where Lucy was already seated.

  Arkwright bowed to acknowledge the response from the audience, a glad smile wreathing his handsome features. With his shaven head, he looked almost cherubic. He nodded at the audience and spoke casually, as if the music had been part of a seminar on his musical craft. “These legato compositions are the most difficult. The temptation is always to press down hard as the note is sustained. But with a Stradivarius the technique must be altered. One cannot press a Strad too tightly, or it won’t give you what you want. I know at least one of our number who is well aware of that.”