"The game is afoot, Watson."
The hoarse whisper as the ticket collector bent down to retrieve a fallen coin startled me. But why should I have been surprised to see Sherlock Holmes himself, presently the most unremarkable ticket collector the Royal Parks had ever boasted? He passed on, exchanging a few gallant remarks with the young lady next to me, which made me wonder if my friend had not courted more young ladies than he acknowledged, whether in pursuance of his profession or otherwise.
Of course. A brass band concert. Holmes was expecting Meyer himself to be in the audience, and for von Holbach to join him. But when? The concert proceeded without incident, though I was scarcely in a mood now to appreciate it. A rousing selection of Gilbert and Sullivan choruses concluded the concert, and the audience rose for the National Anthem, sung with deep feeling and solemnity on this opening day to the week's festivities. I was in great anxiety. Holmes had vanished, the band was packing its instruments, and the audience was drifting away. Now was the time and yet I could see no one amongst the groups of lingering spectators to answer Holmes's description of Meyer.
At last I spotted Holmes, on the platform, and hurried as unobtrusively as I could to be at hand. He was busy helping the band with their instruments and the music stands, no doubt to gain a vantage point over the audience. A few people had mounted the bandstand to congratulate the players, and I watched an insignificant man in mackintosh and Homburg hat approach the tuba player to shake his hand, though a less musical instrument I have yet to hear.
"Watson!"
Holmes's shout sent me running for the steps to his aid, as unbelievably he hurled himself between the two men. Amid the general alarm, the tuba player recovered his balance and aimed a vicious blow to Holmes's body sending him staggering back. I caught a glimpse of the most malevolent eyes I have ever seen, and then he was pinioned, by myself and, I recognized with relief, Lestrade. I had not recognized him, in his guise as ice-cream vendor. His whistle was even now summoning his constables.
"Herr Meyer, we meet again. I trust you enjoyed the sea air at Broadstairs." Holmes addressed the handcuffed Meyer. "And now the letter, if you please."
"Too late," he cried in triumph.
Horrified, I remembered the other man. There was no sign of him.
"Holmes, von Holbach has gone," I groaned, blaming myself.
"That is only to be expected, Watson. He is a diplomat." "You are remarkably cool, Mr Holmes," Lestrade said. "I take it this letter is of little importance then?"
"On the contrary, it is perhaps the most vital instrument for the maintenance of peace in Europe since the Treaty of London guaranteeing Belgium's neutrality in "thirty-nine."
An evil smile came to Meyer's lips as he saw Holmes examining the music stand. "The peace is lost, Holmes," he chuckled, as Lestrade finished a fruitless search of his pockets, hat and shoes.
"Do not be so sure, Meyer," my friend said quietly, his lean figure bending down to pick up Meyer's tuba.
It was from there, deep and safe within the confines of the bell, that he plucked a sheet of paper. I caught a brief glimpse of a familiar and illustrious crest before Holmes whisked it from our sight. "It is Sunday, Watson. But somehow I think Sir George will forgive us if two informally dressed visitors call upon him at his home."
Jubilee Day promised little sunshine as Holmes and I took our places in the seats reserved for us at a window in Whitehall. The grey old road, however, was ablaze with colour, both from the decorations and the scarlet coats of the soldiers lining the route.
"You have not explained, Holmes, how it was you picked upon the very place where the fateful meeting was to take place."
"A matter of deduction, my dear fellow. Meyer could not be found in London. Constabularies the country over had been instructed to watch for him. Useless. He could not appear there or in London in his own guise."
"But he made no attempt to disguise his heavy beard and figure."
"The best disguise is in the eye of the observer, not the face of the quarry. You saw a tuba player; I saw what I expected. Meyer simply absorbed himself into the part of the bandsman."
"Excellent, Holmes."
"Not at all. Once one recalled the man's passion, it was merely a question of scanning the programme for suitable venues. I have listened to many execrable brass bands in the course of the last week. For a violin player it was torment."
Fortunately the sudden noise from the crowd distracted his attention from my involuntary smile.
As the Colonial troops began to pass the sun shone out at last, and "Queen's weather" blessed us for the rest of that memorable day. After the Colonial contingent came the advance guard of the Royal procession. The mass of colour, scarlet, gold, purple and emerald, was followed by an open carriage drawn by eight cream-coloured horses. In it, sat a small figure, clad in black, with touches of grey, quite still under a white sunshade. Gone now was any desire to feast the eye on dazzling colour; for a moment the crowd was silent, even the sound of the horses' hooves could be heard. The carriage had no escort; nothing could come between Her Majesty and her people. Then the roars of the spectators rose to the sky.
Holmes's eyes followed the carriage as it made its way along Whitehall." I am told that when in due course circumstances permit, I may expect a knighthood."
"Holmes, my dear fellow, that is no more than you deserve," I replied warmly.
"You are mistaken, Watson. I shall, should a knighthood be offered, be obliged to refuse it."
"Refuse, Holmes?" I was astounded." Surely such an honour can be nothing but welcome."
He brushed this aside with a smile. "You know my methods, Watson. I would consider the majority of my cases more suitable to be worthy of such an honour than this present affair. As an exercise in the pure logic of deduction it has proved disappointingly simple."
"Simple, Holmes?" I rebutted this argument energetically. "With such an enemy, and so much at stake?"
"Yet the game so narrowly won." We watched as the carriage finally disappeared from our view. "No, Watson, they may keep
their honours, and I shall continue to remain Their present and future Majesties' most loyal and faithful retainer, Mr Sherlock Holmes."
Part IV: The Final Years
By 1898 the number of Holmes's recorded cases seemed to be running down. This does not necessarily mean that Holmes was investigating any less, but that Watson was not recording them so avidly. We know that Holmes was often critical of Watson's accounts, sometimes mercilessly so, and he was also very strict over what Watson could publish. The cases towards the end of the century, therefore, were almost certainly more secretive, but also perhaps of less interest in terms of unusual incident. The only ones that Watson did publish were "The Retired Colourman", which overlapped with the unpublished case of the two Coptic patriarchs, and "The Six Napoleons". It is almost certain that during this period Holmes also investigated the disappearance of the cutter Alicia and the fate of Isadora Persano. I have the papers about that last case but there remain some unresolved details which make it as yet unready for publication.
The Case of the Suicidal Lawyer - Martin Edwards
The change in the century did not diminish Holmes's caseload. Within a week or two of the death of Queen Victoria, Holmes was heavily involved in at least three cases.The first was the Abergavenny Murders. Martin Edwards, a writer who is also a solicitor, was allowed access to old files in the archives of the Director of Public Prosecutions, which enabled him to reconstruct the case. At the same time circumstances arose which allowed Sherlock Holmes to revisit one of his very earliest cases,"The Musgrave Ritual". After considerable research Michael Doyle, who is not related to Watson's agent, or so he tells me, was able to piece together this strange coda, which at last settled matters after over twenty-five years in "The Legacy of Rachel Howells". It also resolves a mystery noted by Conan Doyle himself in his later writings.
"You have arrived just in time, Watson," Holmes said as I returned to 22 lb
Baker Street after a stroll one crisp February morning. There was a twinkle in his eye as he added, "I am expecting a visit from that rarest of creatures — a lawyer who is prepared to put his hand in his own pocket, rather than that of one of his clients, to pay for my professional services."
"Wonders never cease, Holmes!" I said lightly. "The circumstances which bring him here must be remarkable indeed."
My friend gave a dry chuckle. "They possess certain features which are of interest. It seems that Mr Matthew Dowling took a young man into his firm believing him to be a Dr Jekyll, but now has reason to fear that he may also be in partnership with a Mr Hyde."
I was delighted to see Holmes in a genial humour. For several months he had been engaged on a series of cases of the utmost consequence and of late his temper had begun to suffer. I regarded this as a warning sign that he might again be putting his health at risk. Some of his investigations had to be conducted in circumstances of the greatest secrecy and it must suffice to say that on one occasion during this period the destiny of a throne depended upon his personal intervention. Other cases excited the attention of the Press and general public throughout the land and I may in due course put them into print. These included the business of the Lincoln seamstress and her extraordinary pets and the conundrum which I have referred to in my notebook as the case of the melancholy wicket-keeper.
The strange features of those puzzles, coupled with the undeniable pleasure Holmes experienced in seeking to succeed, through the rigorous application of logic, where extensive police work had failed, at least meant that he had no need of artificial stimulation. I feared above all that he might resort again to cocaine if boredom threatened. For all that, I was concerned that the nervous energy he had expended would once again take its toll. He was himself aware of the punishing effect on his constitution of the long hours he had been working and in recent weeks a couple of chance remarks had suggested that he was beginning to contemplate retirement. Much as I relished our collaborations, my first concern was his well-being and the eagerness with which I anticipated his response to a fresh challenge was therefore matched by the silent hope that it would not tax him beyond endurance.
"So your new client has a junior partner who leads a double life?" I asked.
"Of sorts. Perhaps you would like to read what the solicitor has to say?"
He tossed me a letter bearing the previous day's date and a private address in Doughty Street.
Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes, — I am aware of the considerable esteem in which you are held as a consulting detective and my cousin Mr Toblas Wrigley speaks highly of your work in connection with Madame Montalambert's affidavit. I should therefore like to consult you personally in a matter of the utmost sensitivity. It concerns not a client of my firm, but rather Mr John Abergavenny, whom I invited to become my junior partner a little less than twelve months ago. I took him in, believing that he was a competent, likeable and trustworthy young fellow who would adhere to the same high standards which I have always set for myself. Yet his personality has suddenly undergone a grotesque and inexplicable transformation. He has become an incompetent and a debauchee. He has also threatened to commit suicide. I have taxed him on these matters, but his response has been wholly unacceptable. I have no wish to be unfair to him, but I cannot permit conduct which may damage the firm whose reputation I have laboured these past thirty years to establish, especially as we act for clients in the most sensitive transactions. I am left contemplating the need to dissolve our partnership, but before taking such a drastic step, I should be most grateful for your professional opinion. If it is convenient, I would propose to call upon you at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. I understand from Mr Wrigley that you charge at a fixed rate and for the avoidance of doubt I should make it clear that for a first consultation, I would regard the fees you agreed with Mr Wrigley as entirely reasonable.
Yours faithfully MAXWELL DOWLING
I thought for a moment before saying, "You deduce that he is a solicitor rather than, say, a stockbroker or other professional man, because that is Wrigley's line?"
"Not that alone. The prolixity of Mr Dowling's literary style suggests to me that he learned the law in the days when legal draughtsmen were paid by the word. It is a fussy letter, yet it makes the salient points. There is, too, the phraseology that he employs which I would associate with a lawyer rather than, say, a financier or a medical man. He cannot be a barrister, however, since members of the Bar do not practise in partnership. Above all, though, I would refer you to the obvious fact that this letter appears to have been composed by a man who is genuinely troubled by a mystery which he wishes to resolve with all due speed."
"Hence the early appointment?"
"Precisely. You will note, however, that he takes care to specify with some precision the terms upon which he proposes to contract for my services. Think of all those others who have anxiously sought my assistance over the years. Who else but a lawyer would take such trouble? I do not accuse Dowling of possessing an especially mercenary turn of mind. I would rather say simply that the habits of a lifetime are seldom abandoned, even in extremis. Depend upon it, my boy, this new client is a solicitor. But there is a ring at the bell. We shall soon have an opportunity to test the accuracy or otherwise of the inferences I have drawn."
We heard a measured tread upon the stairs and within moments Mr Maxwell Dowling was ushered into our room. He was a man of about sixty, small, neat and anxious in manner. He wore a hat, gaiters, black trousers and pince-nez attached by a long ribbon to the lapel of his frock-coat. He studied us both through the glasses before giving a bow which seemed to denote satisfaction with what he observed.
"It is good to meet you, Mr Holmes. Thank you for being prepared to see me at short notice. I must admit I have not myself read the accounts of your exploits penned by your faithful chronicler here, Dr Watson.Young Abergavenny has yet to persuade me of the appeal of sensational literature. But as I mentioned in my letter, I have heard from my cousin that you are intrigued by the bizarre, and the matter which brings me here is nothing if not that."
"If we are agreed that I am to charge you by the hour for my services," Holmes said, with a touch of mischief, "perhaps it would prudent for you to explain the details without more ado."
"Ah yes. Forgive me, my dear wife has been known to complain that I am a trifle long-winded." Dowling coughed. "Ahem. The further and better particulars. Certainly. I should first say, Mr Holmes, that I am solicitor with a small office in Essex Street. For the past three decades I have been a sole practitioner acting for a number of — if I say so myself — most distinguished clients. But during the past eighteen months or so, my wife has been encouraging me to think of the future. As a result, I began to look around for a partner, someone who might come into the business with a view in the long term to buying out my share of it."
Our visitor paused and I had the distinct impression that he was about to confide in us at some length concerning the financial anxieties faced by a man in such a position. Holmes was no doubt of the same mind, for he said briskly, "And so you took in this Mr John Abergavenny?"
"Yes, he had been working for a firm in Holborn with which I have regular dealings. He seemed a splendid fellow, an ideal choice. Hard-working and capable, a thoroughly decent young man. Above all, there was no question as to his integrity. He seemed to be a man I could trust and that, of course, was a matter of the most fundamental importance. He was the first to admit that he was not in the same league as his gifted elder brother, but he made it clear that he was determined not to be wholly over-shadowed."
"His brother?" Holmes asked.
"Hugh Abergavenny. The name may be familiar to you."
My friend raised his eyebrows. "Indeed. He was a lawyer, too, as I recall."
"You are correct, although he practised at the Bar rather than as a solicitor. I have seen him more than once in court and I can assure you he had a rare gift for winning over a jury, even in cases where he was appearing on beh
alf of the most undeserving wretch. It was a sad loss to the legal profession when he decided to devote his time to writing rather than to his career. A mistake, if I may say so, which Dr Watson here has been wise not to make."
"I could not claim," I said hastily, "to possess a fraction of the imaginative powers of Hugh Abergavenny. I must have read all of his books, although I think I am right in saying he has published nothing for some years. I regarded his early novels as splendid thrillers, reminiscent in some respects of Le Fanu and Wilkie Collins."
"As I said earlier, I cannot claim to share your enthusiasm for writing of that kind, but I would readily acknowledge that it is remarkable that he should have prospered in two such distinct fields. For John, on the other hand, success has not come so easily. Yet what he may lack in natural talent, he has always compensated for with persistence."
Holmes nodded. "That counts for a good deal in the law." "Assuredly, Mr Holmes. When we first met, John confessed to me that he had long nourished a burning desire to emulate
his brother as a writer of thrilling tales, but I sought to convince him that his future lay in enjoying the security that a partnership in a sound legal practice can provide. Certainly, after he joined my firm he did not mention his literary ambitions again and I thought I had been able to concentrate his mind on the creative possibilities which exist within the law of real property."
"So until the recent sequence of events mentioned in your note, you had no reason to regret your choice of partner?"
The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures Page 49
