Pryce managed not to chuckle. “You are a clever man, Mister Holmes, one the criminal classes might call a peevy cove. I am much relieved that you are on my side.”
“So long as you are on the side of Her Majesty’s government, I am,” said Mycroft Holmes in genial warning.
“Whomelse would I serve?” Chief Inspector Pryce asked as he got to his feet. “Well, I will not keep you any longer. I have still to talk to the Baron, and then I must be about making arrangements for the body. Is there anything you can do that might smooth the way for that?”
“I have prepared a memorandum for you to present to the coroner and to the Customs officer. It may prove useful.” He went to the small half-desk in the corner and pulled out a sheet of paper with a few lines scrawled on it. “If there are any difficulties, have a message sent round and I’ll try to sort it out for you.” Handing over the paper, he added, “I don’t suppose I have to admonish you to tread carefully.”
“No, you do not,” said Chief Inspector Pryce. “I have been given enough of these cases in the last year to know a proper mess when I see one.”
“You will want to be alert in your dealings on this case. There is more at stake here than you know.” He shook hands with Chief Inspector Pryce.
“Mister Holmes, I am not naive, nor am I in awe of the aristocracy. In this case, everyone is holding something back. Including you.” This last was direct but not intended to offend.
Mycroft Holmes shrugged. “I regret that I cannot be more forthcoming.”
“Oh, I don’t want to compromise your work, and so long as it does not run at cross-purposes to my investigation, I will not do or say anything that might lead to trouble for you. But if the case should require that I delve into areas that it could be diplomatically awkward to explore, I will do as my conscience and my duty require me to do.” He went to the door, Holmes following behind him. “Within limits you have been most helpful, and I shall keep that in mind.”
“What can I be but grateful?” said Mycroft Holmes as he opened the door and let the Chief Inspector depart into the growing storm.
I rose from my place and went into the small entry-hall. “What do you think, sir?”
“I think that Chief Inspector Pryce is a very canny man. And I think that I must soon call on Inspector Strange, to get his assessment of the man, for I cannot make him out on such brief and official acquaintance. I will say he is a notch above most of the officers I have met, and that is not simply because he has better manners. You and I have encountered many rogues with public school accents and arms over the door who were hooligans or worse beneath their polish. No, this man perplexes me.” He stood by the door for a short while, lost in thought, then turned and went down the hallway toward his study. “Come, Guthrie. We have notes to search. We may not be dawdling.”
“As you wish, sir,” I said, and went to fetch my portfolio and my sheets of paper I had taken from the file in the study. “I have the material here to hand.”
“Very good. Come along and let us set to work again.” He seemed full of industry, but there was a preoccupation in his eyes that was also in his voice, and that caused me to wonder what was on his mind beyond the task he had set for us. Had Chief Inspector Pryce caused him such perplexity that he was unable to concentrate on something as important as the possibility of his being the object of schemes set in motion by the Brotherhood? I could not believe it, but I did not want to challenge him on that account. Taking up the papers and my portfolio, I returned to the study and sat down at the table to continue my work. One thought occurred to me. “If Sir Cameron intends to keep his mistress at the house in Deanery Mews, won’t this new arrangement force him to find other lodgings for her?”
“To tell you the truth, Guthrie,” said Mycroft Holmes in a voice of exasperation, “I do not care if it inconveniences Sir Cameron’s amorous escapades. I do not want another such incident as yesterday’s on our plate, and I fear we will have just such a misfortune if he remains in public.”
“Do you think the Brotherhood is behind it?” I asked carefully.
“I think it is likely, but that is not the same thing as proving it.” Mycroft Holmes paced the room for a bit, then went off to his library, returning with four books in his arms, two of considerable age. These he set down on the table and began to read through them in a hurried way that indicated to me he was looking for something specific among the texts. I did not interrupt him, but did my best to continue my work, saying nothing to disturb him as I searched for the links he wanted established. Finally he rose, taking one of the older books, and began to read from it.
“One of the services demanded of loyal Turks was the presentation to the Ruler of a youth of great beauty for the purpose of ensuring the good-will of the Ruler as well as securing an ear at the Court. This practice has been undertaken for generations and will undoubtedly continue for generations more.” He snapped the book closed. “That was written in 1749, and it is as true today as it was when Sir Charles Greeleigh wrote it. I knew something of Mister Kerem’s story struck a chord. If I had not had so much on my mind, I would have recalled this before now. The young man was a pledge to the Brotherhood. That was why he had the new tattoo on his shoulder.” He sat down and opened another of the books.
“Does that mean the Brotherhood brought him here?” I asked, trying to follow his assumptions. “It would appear to be involved because of the tattoo. But you are suggesting this is more than a crime turned to their advantage.”
“Oh, most certainly it is. They brought him here as a bribe. If only I had some inkling as to whom they intended to influence, I might then be able to discern more of their plan.” Holmes bent over the pages of the second book, his brow beetled in concentration. “I know I have an account of a similar incident in France some years ago. If I can find it ...” His voice trailed off.
“How will you go about gathering proof?” I could not keep from asking. “You say yourself that you lack crucial evidence.”
“I am hoping that Mister Kerem will make an error, and that will lead me to the information I need.” He rubbed his hands together.
“I must prepare myself.”
“In what way?” I perceived that his thoughts had raced ahead of what he had revealed to me.
“Once I find the account of that French case, I will know,” said Holmes, and delved into his books again, keen as a hound on the scent of a fox.
FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS
Word has come from hospital that the courier is improving at last. He has regained consciousness and although he is very weak, he is aware of his situation and his narrow escape. This is good news for the Admiralty as well as MH. I will plan to call round to visit the young man tomorrow morning, when I may obtain a full report from his physician. MH will want to review it ...
The storm is growing worse, a proper gale. There will be trees down on many streets, I shouldn’t wonder, and water standing in cellars all over London. I shall need to have the roof here inspected as soon as the weather improves, for I have detected a wet patch on the kitchen ceiling. No doubt there will be slates in need of replacement.
If there is any benefit in this storm, it is that Lady MacMillian cannot leave Holland while it continues, which means she will be kept, perforce, from arriving at least for another day or two, a most welcome respite ...
A note has been delivered from Sir Marmion, giving MH access to his asylum tomorrow from three until five in the afternoon. This is a slight adjustment in plans, but not enough to cause any real inconvenience. The Germans have not yet asked for a new meeting to complete the arrangements for Lady MacMillian s visit, and I begin to think that such preparations are increasing the problems dealt with rather than lessening them ...
FOR MOST of the afternoon the French case continued to elude Mycroft Holmes; I was aware of his increasing frustration, a
nd I supposed that there was nothing I could do to assure him he would prevail, so I kept to my searching, and gradually, a notion began to take shape in my mind, a notion that continued to define itself as I read on. Finally I put the pages aside, and said, “The boy who cried wolf.”
Mycroft Holmes looked up from the sixth book he had dragged in from the library. “What did you say, Guthrie?”
“I said ‘The boy who cried wolf,’” I answered. I was suddenly aware of the ferocity of the storm, and it shocked me to realize I had not heard it plainly until now.
“A cautionary tale for children,” Holmes agreed, nodding. “But what has it to do with your current task?”
“It is what I have seen in your notes. You have consistently remarked on the importance of warning others of impending danger, or the potential for danger. The circumstances you have discerned all deserved warnings, and all of those warnings are based on conjecture rather than on specific facts.” I laid my hand on the stack of transcribed notes. “Take a look, sir. It is most interesting to see that in each situation you have been put in the position of issuing admonitions and recommendations for protection that could, in fact, come to nothing.”
“Yes, I understand that,” said Holmes impatiently. “What does that have to do with—” He broke off as he picked up the two sheets on which I had written my observations. “Oh, I see,” he went on. “Yes, of course. If I issue too many warnings that come to naught, then no one will believe those that indicate a very real threat. Very clever, in many ways. It turns my own strengths against me. No wonder I could not discern it for myself: we are never so blind as when we must discount our own virtues.” He rose and went to lay more wood on the fire. “When Sutton suggested that these seemingly unassociated incidents were intended to confuse me, I agreed with his decision, for I could see how it was so.” He looked into the flames, musing. “I did not think they were set in motion to discredit me as well, and, of course, my enemies were counting on that. I thought physical danger was the aim, but this—I confess that had not crossed my mind. And it should have. I have allowed myself to regard myself with the high opinion I enjoy from others, and that is a mistake, although a flattering one.”
“You have had a great deal thrown at you, sir, and from many directions.” I knew this would not satisfy him, but I said it in the hope he would not be too self-critical.
“Which was part of the ploy, of course.” He brushed his hands together. “I must give them high marks for deviousness,” he said. “It is simple, elegant, and effective. I am ashamed to admit I had not seen it. I must confess that I was too willing to regard my handling of so many cases at once as enough of an accomplishment to provide me with the protection of my abilities, which has suited the Brotherhood very well.” He frowned, his eyes distant. “I am relieved that you have discerned my folly.” He looked over at me. “This is twice you have shown me the brink, Guthrie. I am most grateful, dear boy.”
I contained my satisfaction. “It is hardly worth remarking upon, sir. It is what you employ me to do. At another time I should have hit upon this much sooner than I did, but I, too, have found the piling up of events confusing.”
“Do not be too self-effacing, Guthrie. It doesn’t become you. Accept my gratitude.” He clapped me on the shoulder, his large hand gripping with surprising strength. “You and Sutton have been awake on all fronts, while I have allowed myself to be perturbed in a hundred ways.”
“There have been many distractions,” I agreed, repeating myself.
“As, of course, was the intention of those behind them.” He sat down again. “I am unsure what I might do best just now.” Taking a long breath, he went on, “I should review all my most recent actions, to try to winnow out the counterfeit threats.”
“I think most of them are genuine,” I said, feeling it incumbent upon me to be sure we did not underestimate our risks.
“Genuine perhaps, but more like traps set by a clever hunter: each capable of being sprung, but only if the prey is unwary enough to tread on one.” He nodded to himself. “Now that you point it out, I see it plainly. How very clever of them.”
I was not entirely listening. “Something just occurred to me, sir,” I said, not wanting to interrupt him, but not wishing to lose my thought.
“Yes?” he said. “What is it?”
“We have been provided intelligence that suggests that Vickers and Braaten are coming to England by way of Ireland, and we think that they have already reached the Hibernian shores, isn’t that correct?” I saw him gesture confirmation and hurried on. “What if they have already landed? What if all the bits of intelligence have been planted to throw you off, so that valuable time is wasted on searches that might prove fruitless because the prey is already gone? All the efforts made will lead to nothing, and the search might easily be—”
“Abandoned. Yes. And in the meantime, Braaten and Vickers will be at liberty to work their malign schemes without detection or hindrance until their damage is so great that they expose themselves. Very good, Guthrie. I can see you have learned to deal with these fell gentlemen on their own terms.” He sat back. “They killed two of our men to mislead us.” His face was stony; I knew he was much shocked. “None of this can be proven, and it cannot be bruited about, for fear of ... er, crying wolf. You have put your finger upon the pulse of it.”
I tried to smile; my hands were stiff from work and my head ached, but I still felt pleased with myself. “Thank you, sir.”
“No, Guthrie; thank you. I should have found myself playing into this very clever trap had you—and Sutton—not had the presence of mind to see these patterns. Dear me,” he went on, chagrined, “I was very nearly caught napping, and by the Brotherhood, at that.”
“Not without cause,” I said. “You have pointed the way; Sutton and I have only read the signs.”
“But they needed reading,” said Holmes. “All this is supposition, of course, but I am beginning to think that it is the most accurate assessment of the situation in which we find ourselves.” He laid his big hands flat on the table. “So we begin again.”
I sighed, knowing the task to be a daunting one. “With your transcribed memoranda?”
“Actually,” said Holmes with renewed industry, “we should begin with the dispatches from the Continent, and the reports from our men there. I need to refresh my memory on what precisely was said, and what sources our men relied upon for their intelligence.”
“That will take some time, sir,” I pointed out. “Would you mind if I sent a note round to Missus Coopersmith, telling her I shall not dine with her tonight?” My landlady made it a point to have Sunday dinner with her lodgers at tea-time, and would not be pleased by my absence.
“I’ll ask Tyers to attend to that now.” Holmes was already on his feet. “And I shall instruct him that you will take your mutton with me. If you would prefer, I will send the note, saying I require your services, so it will not fall to you to explain to her.”
“I will still have to explain how it happens that I am working on Sunday,” I said. “She is a stickler for keeping the Sabbath.”
“Well, in palmier times, I would endorse her habit. I think it is well for men to rest one day in seven. Unfortunately, our enemies are not so obliging as to permit us this luxury.” He pulled a sheet of paper from the box set out on the table, reached for his pen, and began to write; when he was done, he handed it to me. “I have left you space where you may append a note of your own.”
“I shall try to remain in her good graces.” I dipped my pen in the inkwell and set down a few words, saying how sorry I was to miss an excellent meal, but I knew she would want me to do my duty; I asked her to give a morsel of meat to Rigby on my behalf, and promised I would try not to waken her when I finally came in. It was clumsily done, but it would suffice. I gave it back to Mycroft Holmes. “There you are.”
“Wretched
weather to go out in,” Holmes observed. “Still, it can’t be helped.” He rang for Tyers, and when that worthy arrived, he said, “Have this carried round Curzon Street, will you, Tyers? Guthrie will be dining with me tonight and needs to inform his landlady of that fact.”
“Very good, sir,” said Tyers, and took the note.
“By the way, is it capon tonight?” Holmes asked.
“It is, sir, with crab-apples and ginger preserves for a relish.” He gave a satisfied glance at the papers laid out. “You’re making headway.”
“At last, yes, I think we may say we are,” Mycroft Holmes declared with an emotion that was perilously near satisfaction. “We are no longer on a tangent, which is all to the good.”
“Truly,” said Tyers. “Given the weather, should I summon Hastings to carry this?”
Holmes considered his answer. “No. No, I think not. Ask one of those Golden Lodge guards to make himself useful. They are already out in the storm, and they are mounted. One of them can manage the job while the other is gone for a short while. Even if the Brotherhood is also watching us, they should not pay too much attention to one man being gone, and on Sunday. The Golden Lodge’s agents are better equipped than anyone to deal with the Brotherhood, in any case. And Tyers, see they both have hot rum for their trouble.”
“Of course, sir,” said Tyers, and withdrew.
I watched this exchange with half an eye; my thoughts were still dwelling on the stratagem the Brotherhood had developed to mislead Mycroft Holmes, and the more I considered it, the more apprehensive I became. The Brotherhood knew my employer’s prodigious intellect and acute sense of detail, and had used these very qualities against him, inundating him with myriad bits of information with the intention that so much specificity would engross him so that he would not be able to discern the underlying purpose of their ploy.
The Scottish Ploy Page 19
