“Yes, if the arrangements my uncle and I have discussed were to remain in place.”
“The arrangements to meet in Dover?”
“Correct. By the way, my engineers made more than one copy of Kerren’s jewel box apparatus while it was in our possession, Mr. Holmes. Allow me to demonstrate the capabilities of another version of our weapon.”
So saying, the Kaiser stood up before his throne. At this signal, one of the three uniformed officers strode to the side of the room and drew back a heavy tapestried curtain. Behind it was a tall open window. Outside of the window we saw only darkness. But then, moments later, powerful electrical floodlights illuminated an armoured four-wheel military vehicle about the size of a freight truck and bearing the muzzle of a large artillery gun at its front end.
“You will notice a vehicle outside. Yes? You see it? It bears armour and artillery comparable to that of an Eclipse-class protected naval cruiser.”
The uniformed officer moved quickly away as the Kaiser strode to the window and stopped. He drew himself up to attention, bringing his polished boots together with a sharp click. He raised his right hand. With the same exaggerated gesture we had seen from a distance as he strode in the Kurpark, he snapped his fingers.
The electric lights around us dimmed. Outside, the light from the floodlights also grew fainter.
Then the military vehicle burst into flames.
30. A DIPLOMATIC BARGAIN
The electric lights outside and around us in the throne room came back to their full brightness. Fascinated, we watched the spectacle of the burning vehicle for a few moments. Then the Kaiser turned around, executing a perfect military about-turn, as though he had been on a parade drill, and marched back to his throne. The uniformed officer drew the heavy curtain shut.
Wilhelm resumed his position on his throne, obviously pleased with the effect his demonstration had created. “We do not know,” he said, “whether either of our copies can produce a result as powerful as the original. I shall bring this latter version with me to Dover, as scheduled, a week from Sunday next. Its performance can then be compared with that of the original jewel box—which by then you, Mr. Holmes, will doubtless have recovered.”
“You would place your version of this potentially priceless weapon within the borders of England?”
“Just as you have placed your own priceless personages within the borders of Germany. Just as my uncle does, year after year, and as my grandmother the Queen did before him. If our nations are to work together, they must trust one another.”
“Very well, then,” said Holmes. “Let us discuss my fee.”
“Name it.”
“One million pounds. In bearer bonds.”
I gasped involuntarily. Holmes was referring deliberately to the sum taken from Kent, the traitorous banker, the previous November. But by his doing so, he was also directly, and most undiplomatically, referring to the outrageous use intended for those funds, which, had it been made public, would have surely brought our two nations into an immediate war.
Wilhelm blinked once, but his imperious expression did not change. “Your reasons for naming such a . . . princely sum?”
“I do not ask for the sum to be paid to me, Imperial Highness.”
“To whom, then?”
“To no one, Imperial Highness.”
“You will kindly explain.” Wilhelm sat up a bit straighter on his throne, and his gloved right hand clamped down on his withered left hand as though he were bracing himself.
Holmes continued, “It has come to my attention that nearly one year ago your government sent one million pounds in bearer bonds to a London bank, and that the bonds were lost. I ask that this transaction—that obligation of the London bank, to speak with precision—be overlooked and forgotten. Such an action would accord well with the proposed new spirit of cooperation between our nations.”
“I have no knowledge of such an obligation. Do you, von Bülow?”
“Not in the least, Imperial Highness.”
“So is it possible for me to overlook and forget an obligation which I never knew of in the first place? That would be a question for philosophers to debate, I suppose. But we are practical men here. So my answer is that I accept your terms. Von Bülow, see that Mr. Holmes receives cash for his expenses and that his luggage is packed and brought to the railway station from his hotel.”
“The latter has already been accomplished, Imperial Highness.”
Wilhelm smiled in satisfaction. “Mr. Holmes, you will accompany von Bülow and me to my private railway car, where we shall travel together to Baden-Baden. We will arrive shortly after three a.m., at which time you can conduct an interview with the guard who allowed the theft of my jewel box. He may have been complicit in the theft, or he may merely have been incompetent. But nevertheless, he failed, and I do not tolerate failure.”
“An unusual time for an interview.”
“Perhaps, but time is of the essence. The fellow has only recently been apprehended. He suffered some injuries in his initial interrogation. He is not expected to live much longer. Dr. Watson and the lady will remain here as my guests.”
Holmes stiffened. “I thought you believed our nations needed to trust one another. I do not think it is necessary for you to hold these two persons as hostages to my performance.”
“Merely a precaution.”
“Hold me as your hostage, and welcome,” I said, “but the lady is not connected with us.”
“Detaining her here will serve no purpose whatever,” added Holmes.
“Nevertheless she may be useful, in the event we require the cooperation of my uncle. I understand that he is quite taken with her.”
And with that, Wilhelm nodded to the three uniformed officers. Within moments Holmes was surrounded. A minute later, the great oaken door to the throne room had closed behind Holmes, von Bülow, Wilhelm, and the three officers.
The door locked with a metallic click. Lucy and I were now alone.
PART THREE
HITHER AND THITHER MOVES
31. PERIL BY NIGHT, PERIL BY DAY
Many questions raced through my mind as I tried to understand what had happened, and why Holmes had acted as he had done. Why had he spoken of the one million pounds in bearer bonds? Would not the reference to the failed assassination have been highly offensive to Wilhelm? Was it Holmes’s way of throwing down a gauntlet, of showing Wilhelm that we knew of his treachery?
Or was it a way to prove that, just possibly, Wilhelm himself had been unaware of a plot that his subordinates had instigated? If so, I thought, that might lend credibility to Wilhelm’s vision of our two nations working together in an alliance, based on mutual cooperation to develop Kerren’s weapon. But did Holmes really believe that Kerren had sold his invention to the Germans? And once Holmes had identified the thief and recovered the jewel box, what was to prevent the Kaiser from extracting vengeance? Or did Holmes already have some protective measures in his far-seeing mind?
Lucy’s voice interrupted my musings. In a tone of voice that I thought was unusually clear and distinct, she said, “I don’t understand why Mr. Holmes would do such a thing to me.”
“At least they are not aware—” I began, in an attempt to offer some encouragement, but she motioned for silence, drawing her index finger across her throat and then pressing it to her lips. She cut her eyes towards the bellpull that hung to one side of the throne. Alongside the wall beside the braided silken rope was a speaking tube. From the end of the tube a cork stopper dangled from a short cord. I realized that everything said in the room could be overheard by anyone at the other end of the open tube. To my horror, I realized that I had very nearly disclosed to the Germans the secret that Lucy was Holmes’s daughter.
“I will not accept this treatment,” Lucy was saying. As she spoke, she walked slowly and quietly around the perimeter of the throne room, pausing only to look behind the large hanging tapestries, one by one. “It is intolerable for a lady to be dealt wit
h in such a fashion. We have another performance tomorrow. I shall demand to speak with Mr. Carte. He will know what to do.”
She beckoned me to where she stood, beside a tapestry on the wall to the left of the throne. Lifting the heavy fabric, she pointed to the wall behind, where I could discern the outlines of a tall window amidst the shadows. She pointed at me, then mimed the opening of the window, then put her finger to her lips once more. I nodded and stepped between the curtain and the wall.
I groped along the window frame to find the latch. Behind me, I heard her voice, muffled by the thick tapestry, continuing her litany of complaints. “Surely someone will be along any moment to escort us to a proper place for us to wait. We are not animals, to be left locked in a room without explanation. The hour is late and we have had no supper, nor have we been offered so much as a glass of water.”
At last my fumbling fingers were able to open the latch. I bent my knees, placing the heels of my hands beneath the upper frame of the lower sash, and shoved upwards. There was no movement whatsoever.
“This is hardly royal hospitality,” Lucy continued behind me.
I grasped the upper part of the frame and shook it front and back, trying to loosen the grip of the frame upon the sash. I felt a slight give. I did so again as Lucy continued, “This is hardly the behaviour of one who wishes to show the proper degree of respect due to an ally.”
Then I bent my knees and struck upwards with the heels of my hands, hoping the impact would further loosen the sash. There was a modest degree of movement. On my next attempt the sash slid upwards, far enough so that my arms could straighten fully, and, more importantly, far enough so that either of us could fit through. Cool air flooded around me. I peered out the opening. I could see the darkness of the lawn and shrubbery, some twelve or fifteen feet below. In the distance were the shadowy outlines of a large stand of trees. I also caught the scent of cooking.
Backing out from behind the tapestry, I turned to beckon Lucy to come to the open window.
To my shock, Lucy was standing in front of a tall uniformed soldier, who held her from behind with one hand. In the other hand was the hilt of a polished military sword, the blade of which he pressed against Lucy’s throat.
“He was in back of the tapestry the whole time,” she said, defeat and disappointment weakening her voice. The soldier smiled with satisfaction. But I could see her eyes, and they sent me a message of defiance. Instantly I understood that she was about to move, and I knew what I had to do.
Lucy twisted sideways, so suddenly that she fell through the soldier’s grip. At the same time I hurled myself at the soldier with all my force. As I reached the man, I lashed out with the heel of my hand, just as I had struck the window sash moments earlier, catching him on the side of his jaw with a sharp cracking impact. The man shrugged off the blow and stepped back, swinging the blade of the sword at me, narrowly missing my face. I dived at him beneath the blade and we fell together, grappling, to the carpeted floor, each struggling to gain an advantage. I knew my only hope was to remain close enough so that he could not effectively manipulate the long sword blade. My fingers were at his throat when I felt a sudden rush of air above me and, in the same instant, heard the hollow impact of a hard object against the top of the man’s skull.
The man went limp. As I separated myself from his sagging arms and got to my knees, I saw Lucy above me, holding a brass candlestick. She kicked the sword away from the man’s motionless fingers.
Instinctively I bent over him and pressed my fingertips to his neck, feeling for a pulse.
“He’s still breathing. Come on,” said Lucy in a harsh whisper. She bent down and grasped him by the collar, dragging him to the far side of the throne.
From the direction of the tall oak entry doors I heard voices. They were coming closer.
“There’s another window behind the tapestry on the far side,” Lucy whispered. “Can you open it?”
She drew back the tapestry so that I could see better, and moments later I had raised the sash as far upwards as it would go. I glanced back at her, readying myself to climb out, jump down, and then catch Lucy. But she shook her head. “That one’s a decoy. Come back this way!”
As we reached the first window that I had opened, we could hear the rattle of keys outside the oaken doors.
“Jump!” she whispered into my ear after we had slid behind the heavy tapestry. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Climbing into the window opening, I could hear the metallic click of the door lock. Then I pushed off and fell, trying to pull my feet inwards so as to lessen the impact upon landing, as we Army lads had been taught to do, imagining we were to leap and fall from mountain crevices in Afghanistan. As I hit, I rolled to one side. The sod was still soft from the weekend storms, so I was relatively unshaken as I rolled over onto one knee and looked up.
Fifteen feet above me, Lucy was standing on the ledge outside the window, facing the building. I realized she was attempting to press down the window sash, so as to deceive the Germans as to the side of the building from which we had made our escape. I heard a man’s harsh voice within the room, calling out in German.
Then Lucy was falling towards me. The next instant she had crashed into my arms and I was stumbling backwards beneath her, colliding with the earth.
“You’re intact?” she asked, getting to her feet, her eyes wide in the moonlight.
I stood beside her and caught my breath. Before us, less than ten yards away, were the silhouettes of tall trees. Beyond them were the moonlit waters of a small lake. Behind us the walls of the building towered above. We had landed at the north-west corner of the building. Light shone through a row of windows above us, and more light shone from windows at our feet. Bending down to look inside, within what was plainly a kitchen below the ground floor, we could see the white-capped figure of a plump cook. She was pulling a tray from an oven.
From the far side of the building, we heard the sharp, eager barking of hunting dogs. “Wait here,” said Lucy. She ran directly towards the lake and disappeared from view. I heard splashing in the water. Then, to my surprise and relief, I saw her reappear beneath the trees and come running straight back to where I stood. “A trail for our canine friends,” she said. “Now we must find the gate.”
Keeping close to the wall, we reached the far corner of the Schloss. Lucy, ahead of me, looked around and then stepped back into the shadows. “Arkwright and Harriet,” she whispered. “They’re at the front entrance.”
Hugging close to the cold, rough stone facade, I could see our two allies, waiting, watching the well-guarded gate at the far side of the circular drive as if they expected a carriage to come through. I picked up a small handful of stones from the gravel edge and tossed one in their direction. They paid no attention. On my third attempt, however, Arkwright noticed. He was with us a moment later, Harriet close behind him.
The barking of the guard dogs grew louder. Arkwright inclined his head in their direction. “Those dogs are searching for you, I take it?”
Lucy said, “We were hostages. The Kaiser wants to ensure that Holmes recovers the jewel box.”
“Well, the Prince wants the jewel box too. He’ll be in Dover Saturday, and he expects Holmes to deliver it to him personally. Where is Holmes?”
“With the Kaiser, on his way to Baden-Baden. The Kaiser’s guards locked us inside the throne room.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Baden-Baden.”
“Are you sure that is wise?” Harriet asked.
“At the very least, Holmes should know that we have escaped. And we may be able to assist him.”
“There is a train tomorrow morning,” said Arkwright. “We will need to hide you somewhere until then.”
A few hours later I felt a light tap at my shoulder.
Lucy stood above me. The moonlight shone upon her lovely face, her dark-green eyes set in firm resolve. “It’s time,” she said. “Harriet is already downstairs.”
I realized that we were once again inside the Schloss, in a vacant second-floor suite that we had reached by way of an open kitchen window. The light came from the setting moon outside of the windows.
“She’s had more of a reaction to Kerren’s death than I would have thought,” Lucy went on, “considering that she never liked him. Very unsteady, all of a sudden.”
I struggled into my disguise, the white jacket of a laundry attendant, which had been made for a much smaller man. The cap was too large. “Arkwright said these were the best he could do,” Lucy said. “Here are four laundry bags for you to carry. Suitcases are inside—supplied by Arkwright. One of them has your jacket and topcoat. Now, downstairs to wait for the diversion.”
The corridor was deserted at this predawn hour, as were the stairs and, thankfully, the short kitchen hallway that led to the delivery entrance. We could see two white-clad women within the cooking area, both busy over steaming pans and kettles. We were soon outside. The air had a dank chill about it. We walked down the steps that led to the paved drive. As I clutched the iron railing, the cold, wet morning dew clung to my fingers.
We looked around for Harriet, who was to have stood watch at the corner, but we could not see her in the shadows.
“What time is it?” Lucy asked.
Before I could retrieve my watch from my trousers pocket, we heard the wail of a fire alarm siren coming from the north-east of where we stood. The sky in that direction was too dark for me to be certain of what had happened, but I thought I detected a faint orange glow above the trees to our east.
“Arkwright’s completed at least one task,” Lucy said. “They’ve discovered the fire in the casino.”
Then we heard the distant clip-clop of hooves and the rattle of wheels on pavement. At the same time, from around the corner we saw Harriet running towards us.
“He’s coming!” she said quietly. “I could see him after he passed the guard station.”
Moments later, two black horses and a dun-coloured laundry wagon came into view. Seated on his driver’s perch, Adrian Arkwright hauled on the reins, and then clambered down as the wagon came to a stop. Under his limp brown canvas uniform cap, his face twisted in a wry grin. “Five minutes’ ride coming up. All aboard,” he said.
The Wilhelm Conspiracy (A Sherlock Holmes and Lucy James Mystery) Page 12
