The Scottish Ploy

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “As you wish, Baron,” said Holmes. “Let me express my sympathies to you once again—”

  “I accept your condolences,” the Baron interrupted. “Your help was most appreciated. No doubt the whole terrible event would have been more distressing were it not for your quick thinking. That said, I must tell you I am perturbed by recent developments. It is bad enough to have policemen at the house at all hours, but now I understand that you have encouraged Sir Cameron to return to Scotland before his wife arrives in London, when she has been waiting only for the weather to clear so that she may join him. I am most troubled by this.” He finally looked directly at Mycroft Holmes. “You will explain yourself, if you please.”

  It was precisely the question Holmes was expecting. “In my position, Baron, you would have done the same thing,” he said in his deferential-but-assertive manner. “Think for a moment, Baron, on the unpleasant events of the last four days. Sir Cameron has received threats before now, but they have not been acted upon. Yet, since he has come to London, evidence suggests he has been in harm’s way. There was an attempt made on his life, perhaps two. You cannot be sure that Herr Kriede’s death was not another such attempt gone awry. Rather than put Sir Cameron—and possibly Lady MacMillian—in danger’s path, it seemed wisest to send him back to his own estates until we may be sure he and his wife may meet without fear for their lives.”

  Baron von Schattenberg heard this out politely. “Then you believe Herr Kriede might have been killed in Sir Cameron’s stead? I thought you did not support that theory.”

  “I have not been persuaded either way,” said Mycroft Holmes, still standing. “But as long as that remains a possibility, I cannot think it would be to your advantage, or ours, to bring the two together. What would such a reunion avail anyone if it ended in tragedy?” He made a sign to me indicating I should go to the alcove beside the fireplace; I complied as inconspicuously as possible. “Consider, Baron, what trouble our two governments would have if it turns out that Sir Cameron has been the target of more than one attempt on his life and it is learned that we did nothing to keep Lady MacMillian from sharing his risks.”

  “I think it should be her decision,” said Baron von Schattenberg, a little of his former animation returning.

  “If she has all the facts, as we know them, to hand, and is still ready to undertake a visit, then I might agree with you. But as the police have not yet determined the reason for the poisoning, I, for one, do not think I can advise her.” Holmes walked toward the window where the velvet draperies were drawn over the dismal evening. “If you are prepared to do this—”

  “No,” said the Baron. “Put that way, no, of course not.” He sat down as if exhausted. “I do not want to ask her to wait longer, but perhaps you are right.”

  “If any hurt should befall her, it would not redound to your credit, or mine,” Holmes said, driving the point home with every sign of concern. “I shouldn’t think the police would encourage such a visit at this time, either. If you want to consult Chief Inspector Pryce, then do so, by all means. I am persuaded he would not like you to bring Lady MacMillian here until some progress has been made.”

  Baron von Schattenberg clasped his hands together and I noticed for the first time that his knuckles were swollen with arthritis. “If it weren’t for this miserable storm, Lady MacMillian and her uncles would have been here last week. Then we should not have had to bother with these concerns.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Then we should have had to account to her uncles why we had permitted her to come into peril without giving them warning of it. And we might have had a double catastrophe to deal with, instead of just the one.” He finally took a seat across from the Baron. “You may not think so now, but this storm has served you very well.”

  The Baron was eager to be convinced. “What should I tell her uncles when I wire them?”

  “If I were you, I should be candid about all that has happened. Only fools would insist on pursuing the visit under such circumstances,” said Holmes, marshaling his arguments and heading into the fray. I took out my notebook and prepared for a lengthy spate of memoranda, for I had no reason to think that Mycroft Holmes would not make the most of this opportunity to bring Baron von Schattenberg around to his point of view.

  FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

  It is almost eight and Sutton has not returned from the Diogenes Club; he has maintained MH’s habitual visits to the minute before now, which should have brought him back here no later than seven-forty-three or -four. I am somewhat troubled by this unprecedented delay. It is most unlike Sutton, who, if nothing else, is punctual. If I cannot find Sutton on the street, I will ask for him—in the persona of MH—at the club. If I can learn nothing there, I will speak to the Golden Lodge guards, to find out if they noticed anything irregular. I do not like to assume the worst, but I am truly worried that I have not seen him, even if he decided, for some unknown reason, to approach the flat from the rear ...

  I WAS still busy talking with Egmont Eisenfeld about Herr Kriede—Paul Farbschlagen having been reluctant to discuss his late colleague—when the butler came into the library, saying, “Excuse me, Baron, but there is a young lady here to speak to Mister Holmes. She says it is urgent.” From the butler’s expression, this was highly suspect.

  Mycroft Holmes glanced at the mantle clock, which had just chimed half-eight, and said, “What is the nature of her errand?”

  “That she would not impart to me,” said the butler in condemning accents. “She claims it has something to do with your club.”

  Holmes looked mildly surprised. “Did she?” He rose and inclined his head to the Baron. “If you will excuse me a moment, I will attend to this.”

  “A young woman looking for you?” said the Baron with ponderous humor. “My dear Mister Holmes, take your time.”

  “—and he was hoping to advance in diplomatic service, as we all do,” Eisenfeld was saying. “His family were wholly landed people, so they did not encourage him, though they knew it could be to their advantage—” He broke off as I lifted my hand. “Yes?”

  “Mister Holmes is leaving the room,” I said, and waited to see if he called for me. When nothing more happened, I gave my attention to Herr Eisenfeld once again. “You said that he had some money of his own?”

  “An annual stipend. Nothing extravagant.” He shrugged.

  “So would you expect him to have money troubles? You said he didn’t gamble or bet on horses. Could there have been anything else?” I had heard nothing so far that made me suppose that anyone in London was angry enough with Herr Kriede to want to kill him.

  “Nothing he ever mentioned. He did spend time in public gardens, as I told you, but he did so because of his love of flowers.” Egmont Eisenfeld did not share Herr Kriede’s weakness, I supposed from his faintly contemptuous expression.

  I was about to try another avenue of inquiry when Mycroft Holmes came back into the library abruptly. “I must—Guthrie.” He was white around the mouth, and although his demeanor was not much changed, I could tell he was in distress. “Baron, a thousand apologies. I fear I must leave at once. Guthrie come.”

  “Has something happened?” the Baron asked as he half-rose to his feet. “Have you had news?”

  “Yes. Yes, I have had news,” said Holmes. “I must attend to— Forgive my departure, Baron.”

  “Does it have to do with this case?” Baron von Schattenberg asked.

  “This case?” He blinked once as if trying to comprehend. “Oh, yes, I would think so,” he said, motioning to me.

  “Then Godspeed, Mister Holmes,” said Baron von Schattenberg with genuine encouragement.

  I gave a little bow to Herr Eisenfeld and went to Mycroft Holmes’ side. “At your service, sir,” I told him.

  “Come. Miss Gatspy has brought us a message that requires our imme
diate and personal response.” He paused at the door to bow, then left the library with uncustomary haste.

  “Miss Gatspy?” I asked as the door closed behind us.

  “Yes. Tyers sent her.” Holmes had lengthened his stride so that I had to run to keep up with him. At the door the butler handed us our over-coats and umbrellas and let us out onto the porch with a minimum of fuss.

  Miss Gatspy was standing at the foot of the steps, wrapped in a cloak of boiled wool, and holding the stay-rein of her horse harnessed to her sylphide. “We had better hurry,” she said. “I will tie my carriage to the rear of Hastings’ cab so we may talk on the way back to Pall Mall.” She suited action to words as quickly as may be, then climbed into Hastings’ cab as Mycroft Holmes and I came down the steps.

  It took a minute or two for us to settle into our cramped accommodation, and I was keenly aware of Miss Gatspy’s driving-habit pressing against my side. “Pardon me,” I said as I endeavored to pull out the lap-rug in its sleeve.

  “Never mind that, Guthrie,” said Holmes as he closed the door and tapped on the roof to signal Hastings to start. “If it weren’t raining and dark, I’d tell him to push his horse,” he muttered, then collected himself. “Now, Miss Gatspy, tell me everything you know. Be as concise as possible, but leave nothing out.”

  Miss Gatspy clasped her hands together. “Tyers found me on watch duty, and told me that Sutton, who should have returned from the club at seven-fifty at the latest, had not returned by ten-past-eight. He went down to the club to see if something might have arisen that had kept Sutton there—in your stead, of course—and was told that Mister Holmes had departed at his usual hour. Tyers then went to search for my fellow watchman, and asked him if he had noticed anything out of the ordinary at the time Mister Holmes usually came back to the flat. That man told Tyers that the rain had been too heavy for him to see clearly, but he recalled there had been an accident almost immediately in front of the club at the time Mister Holmes crossed the road. He said that the whole affair had been settled swiftly, the vehicles went on their way without apparent damage, and he supposed that Mister Holmes had—”

  “He was distracted,” said Mycroft Holmes heavily. “Since last Friday, my life has been filled with distractions, but none of them as unbearable as this one. If anything has happened to Edmund Sutton, I will—” He stopped himself. “When did you come into the picture?”

  “My colleague told Tyers that I was on duty at the rear. Tyers made sure of his information, and very sensibly, I thought, came and found me, and asked me to come to get you. I agreed with him, and set out. I told Tyers to remain at the flat in case Sutton should come back, or some word be sent.” She took a deep breath. “That is the sum of what I have been told.”

  “I see,” said Holmes quietly. “And do you have any suppositions you’d care to impart to me?”

  “I suppose I must have fears similar to your own: I think someone has kidnapped Sutton under the misapprehension that he has captured you,” said Miss Gatspy, putting words to the idea that had filled my thoughts.

  “Is there any other possible interpretation?” Holmes asked. “Might he have been injured in the street, and taken up to be carried to hospital?”

  “My colleague made no mention of such a possibility,” said Miss Gatspy, and went on more diffidently. “For the time being, it might be as well for it to appear that you have disappeared. If Sutton is in the hands of your enemies, his safety can only be possible if they believe they have taken the right man.”

  Mycroft Holmes nodded slowly. “Yes. I concur. Galling though it is, I must leave most of the investigation of this dreadful incident to you and Guthrie.” He went silent for the better part of a minute. “I am disinclined to bring in the police, or the Admiralty, at least not yet.”

  I finally spoke up. “I think that may be the most prudent course. You cannot be certain that the secret would be kept if it was put in the hands of the police. I mean the secret of your abduction, not of Sutton’s,” I added, to make myself clear.

  “Just so,” said Holmes. “Time enough to deal with the Admiralty if questions are asked. For now, the fewer who know of this, the better.”

  “I will make sure my colleagues are aware that your life will be in danger if they reveal anything,” said Miss Gatspy. “Members of the Golden Lodge know how to keep silent.”

  We had turned onto Piccadilly now, and Hastings urged Lance to a trot; we were jostled by the increased sway in the cab, but none of us complained of it.

  Something occurred to me. “Sutton has a performance tomorrow night, and for the following two nights,” I reminded Holmes.

  “It is not time for that yet,” said Holmes sharply.

  “But if he has not come back, or if he cannot ... perform?” I didn’t want to imply anything more unpleasant than that.

  Mycroft Holmes sighed. “Well, he has taken my place often enough; I suppose I shall have to take his.”

  Both Miss Gatspy and I were struck dumb by this possibility; finally she said, “Well, that would certainly preserve the deception. It is audacious enough that it might work.”

  “But, sir,” I protested as the complexity of the task struck me. “How can you?”

  “I trust I will not have to,” said Holmes. “But I know the lines and I have seen the production several times, and I have the advantage of having Sutton’s sides for his notes. If I must do it, I should not fail too utterly.”

  “Well,” said Miss Gatspy energetically, “that’s settled. Now let’s consider how we’re to handle this investigation.”

  The cab slowed as we turned down Saint James Street, and the way grew dimmer, as if in collaboration with our secrecy.

  “Tyers is crucial to our success,” said Holmes. “He must maintain the appearance that we are continuing on our usual tasks.”

  “I have a notion,” I said, unaware of the idea until I spoke. “Why mayn’t Tyers put it about that you have suffered a minor injury and are confined to your bed? This will keep anyone from questioning your absence from your usual activities, it will convince the kidnappers that they have succeeded, and it will lessen the chance that the police may take it upon themselves to intrude. I know, sir, that you are never ill and you have rarely been incapacitated in any way, but in this instance, I think it may provide you with the chance you need.”

  Mycroft Holmes tapped on the roof, and called out, “Take us in by the rear, Hastings.”

  “I planned to, sir,” the jarvy assured Holmes.

  Then Holmes turned to me. “It goes against the grain, but it will answer very well,” he said in that calm, measured way that indicated he was thinking very rapidly. “Yes. As you say, it is paramount that the kidnappers believe they have succeeded. For the rest, the device is a useful one. We must do all that we can to protect Sutton.” He rubbed his face. “You are a resourceful fellow, Guthrie. I don’t say it often enough, but it is true.”

  We entered King Street and Hastings pulled his horse to a walk. “Just looking about, sir,” he called down softly. “In case.”

  “Good man, Hastings,” said Holmes.

  “It seems empty enough,” Hastings said twenty seconds later.

  “Go ahead then,” said Mycroft Holmes, sitting as far back in the cab as possible so he could not be seen accidentally by anyone who happened to glance at the vehicle. He was silent as we entered the service alley at the rear of the buildings that fronted on Pall Mall on the south and Saint James’ Square and King Street on the north.

  “Hastings,” I said as we drew up, “will you go round to Curzon Street for me and tell Missus Coopersmith that I will be staying at my employer’s flat tonight. Ask her to pack a valise for me, so I will not have to run in tomorrow morning for a change of clothes.”

  “Right you are, Mister Guthrie,” said Hastings as he let down the step for us to ge
t out of his cab. “You’d best huddle together. The rain is getting heavier,” he advised, and Miss Gatspy and I contrived to conceal Mycroft Holmes between us—no easy task, for he was taller and of greater girth than either of us. But we did manage to present a confusing impression to anyone who might be attempting to watch us on this forbidding night.

  Tyers must have heard our approach, for the rear door opened as we reached the second floor landing. “Come in, do,” he said, bundling us inside into a darkened room. “Give me your coats, and then go into the library. I have closed all the shutters and no one can see in, no matter what vantage-point they may secure.”

  We blundered about in our haste to do as he ordered, and then we made our way to the library. I recalled, in that odd way you do when the stresses of life run high, that when I first went to work for Mycroft Holmes, six years ago, this had been a large storage room; he had changed its use when the books in his study and sitting room had reached a point of impossibility, overflowing their cases, the tops of tables, and the seats of unoccupied chairs. Then its two small, high windows had been considered something of a problem; now we were all glad that there was so little access from without.

  “Tyers,” said Holmes as he took a turn about the room, “have you any news?”

  Tyers did not waste time in recapitulating Miss Gatspy’s report; he looked directly at our employer and said, “Nothing, sir, not beneficial or otherwise.”

  “Has there been any communication since Sutton was abducted?” The words came out roughly but he did not flinch from them.

  “There was a note sent round by Chief Inspector Alexander, and another from Inspector Featherstone.” Tyers retrieved these from his inner waistcoat pocket and handed them to Holmes. “I believe both men expect an answer.”