by J. R. Trtek
“I believe I express the opinion of virtually everyone in this hall by saying that Mr. Blenkiron’s remarks are taken to heart here tonight,” said Moxon Ivery as chairman. “I particularly commend his views on the matter of the Stockholm Conference. Indeed,” he said, “I am in a position to bear out all that Mr. Blenkiron has said in that regard. I can assure him on the best authority that his surmise is correct, and that Vienna’s decision to send delegates was largely dictated by advice from Berlin. This has been admitted in the German press, for I have seen such a report.”
As the audience continued to applaud both Ivery and Blenkiron, I sat still in my chair, realising the significance of the former’s assertion. I saw the American beam proudly as he shook hands with the chair. Then, holding Ivery’s fist aloft with his own, Blenkiron looked out at the audience, eventually catching sight of me, whereupon his smile grew ever broader. And, as his gaze remained upon me, I raised my hands and began to clap—not for his recent remarks, but rather for his success in exposing Ivery as the compatriot of Gresson, and an undisputed member of the Black Stone.
“I say, Colonel,” commented Letchford as he remained standing and witnessed my gesture. “Have you suddenly come over to our point of view at last?”
“I applaud the man,” I replied. “Not his remarks.”
As the meeting disbanded, I glanced back toward the platform before leaving the hall and saw Ivery and Blenkiron conversing with Richard Hannay in his guise of Cornelius Brand. Realising discretion was called for, I did not allow my concentration to linger upon them and left the hall promptly.
As I walked home to my cottage, I considered going to London the following day to inform Sherlock Holmes about Ivery, though I was certain that Blenkiron would be conveying the revelation soon enough. As it was, when I returned home, Scaife immediately gave me a telegram that decided the matter. The message was from Holmes and displayed his typical brevity: “Please arrive Paddington tomorrow, first train without fail.”
The following day, as instructed, I arrived early at Paddington Station in London, where I was met by Holmes.
“My latest housekeeper left but yesterday” were his first words to me. “I suppose she failed to give notice only because I informed her I was considering letting her go,” he said as he signalled—silently, out of habit—for a taxicab.173 “In any case, she took the cook with her this time as well, and I’ve nothing to offer you save the usual—if fewer—cold cuts, which we shall have to fetch ourselves. There will be ample time before we must attend a meeting at Traill’s Bookshop, and countless rounds of dining out thereafter.”
“Will Blenkiron be in attendance?” I asked as a taxi rushed by without stopping. “He was in Biggleswick of last night. Holmes, do you know—”
“That Ivery is our man? Yes, I do. Blenkiron himself sent a coded telegram to Bullivant last night, and Inspector Magillivray came round to convey its contents to me. It seems that later, over dinner with Blenkiron and Hannay, Ivery also admitted to being aware of the second report contained in the false article: the allegation that the Kaiser had tried to coax peace among Russia, Austria, and Serbia before the war broke out.
“That our man is Ivery does not greatly surprise. I always viewed Letchford and Aronson as unlikely spies, so that the choice essentially lay between Ivery and Wake, and I was inclined to trust Miss Lamington’s intuition with regard to her cousin. Nonetheless, it is premature to let the younger man off the hook just yet. He may still be allied with Ivery.”
I nodded as Holmes signalled to the next taxi, which continued down the street.
“But to return to your question, Blenkiron will be in his bookshop—I believe he had arranged to have Ivery himself accompany him to London on a later train from Biggleswick. Hence, my insistence that you take the first.”
“I see.”
“Bullivant and Mycroft will be present at this meeting as well, as will Inspector Magillivray.”
“Not Hannay?”
Holmes shook his head. “He will be coming to London tomorrow to meet separately with Blenkiron. For him to come to town on the same day as you and Blenkiron was thought to appear a bit too suspicious.”
“You know,” I added as a third taxi also ignored us, “Blenkiron was most convincing at Moot Hall last evening. I believe that is the first time I have witnessed the man in the field, playing the old game.”
Holmes smiled as he gestured, this time successfully, to yet another taxicab. “I do wish I could have seen it myself. However, once we arrive in Queen Anne Street, shall we enjoy the pleasure of my remaining cold cuts? Then, perhaps, I can interest you in allowing Martha to return as housekeeper here.”
I gave my friend a sardonic look as he opened the taxi door for me. “Ever the industrious plotter,” I murmured. “On several fronts.”
Two hours later, Holmes and I made our way to Haymarket Street. It was a bright and sunny morning, with a bit of haze in the eastern portion of the sky. An assistant clerk allowed us entry through an alley door into Traill’s, which had not yet opened for business, and led us directly to the second floor, where the door camouflaged by false book spines was ajar. Stepping into the small room behind it, we found Blenkiron, Bullivant and Mycroft Holmes.
“Ah,” said the elder Holmes brother. “Greetings, Colonel. I trust your stay in Biggleswick has been doing well by you. Certainly,” he added, glancing at his two companions, “it has done most splendidly by us. We now know who our Biggleswick man is—or at least, one of them.”
“I believe that was the work of Shinwell Johnson, your own sibling, and Mr. Blenkiron here,” I humbly suggested.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” said Blenkiron. “All for one, and one for all.”
“Yes, excellent work, Watson,” declared Bullivant, the first to stand and take my hand. “And welcome back to London—though a London now under siege, what with these renewed aerial raids. I suppose it’s a return to being under fire for you, eh?”174
“My visits to France were but brief ones,” I said, “and in each instance I was usually far removed from the front itself, other than one or two direct observations during lulls in fighting. I have not yet truly been fired upon, though I suppose if these assaults from above keep up, that will no longer be true. But then, that will simply put me among all the citizens of London in that regard.”
There was a knock at the open door, and Inspector Magillivray stuck his head into the gap. “Halloa, sirs,” he said. “Am I late?”
“Not at all,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Close the door on your way in, Inspector, and let us get down to business.”
We five then settled into a circle, and Blenkiron was given the floor.
“Well, as we were just remarking,” the American said, “the Biggleswick operation has succeeded in its first step. We narrowed our list of suspects, threw out the bait, and Mr. Moxon Ivery is the one who has been hooked. This Launcelot Wake fellow may be in league with him as well, according to Colonel Watson and Mr. Holmes, but Ivery is no doubt our big fish in the pond.
“Meanwhile, Abel Gresson’s probable routes south have been more closely defined as well: Shinwell Johnson and Andrew Amos in Glasgow have determined that Gresson regularly signs on as purser aboard a vessel named the Tobermory, a ship that plies the Hebrides. I believe all we need now is to identify the final link between Gresson in Glasgow and Ivery in Biggleswick.”
“And for that, we are employing Mr. Hannay,” interjected Bullivant.
“Correct,” said Mycroft. “Blenkiron will meet with Hannay tomorrow and direct our friend to travel to Glasgow,” he explained for the benefit of his brother, Magillivray, and me.
“He will go in his current guise as Cornelius Brand.” Blenkiron continued. “Once in Glasgow, Hannay will be assisted by Andrew Amos in getting acquainted with Gresson. Now that we know Gresson’s mode of travel, the hope is that Hannay can arrange passage on the Tobermory as a passenger and determine at what location my fellow American passes on his
information.”
“And to whom,” added Bullivant. “That person could well turn out to be Launcelot Wake.”
Holmes crossed his arms, saying nothing.
“I believe we will soon be in a position to eliminate this revised version of the Black Stone,” said Bullivant with an air of satisfaction.
Magillivray cocked his head and glanced at the spymaster. “And what about that old third head of Cerberus that keeps getting mention every now and then?”
“We have nothing definite yet,” admitted Bullivant.
“No,” agreed Mycroft Holmes. “However, my brother has an interesting theory about that, which—”
Just then I felt a slight shaking, accompanied by a series of dull roars.
“What is that?” asked Magillivray.
Blenkiron rose in his chair. “Guns,” he said. “Guns firing. Do you think—?”
“Another raid from above,” declared Mycroft Holmes as more shots sounded. “Our defensive batteries must be firing.”
Bullivant opened his mouth to speak but paused as Sherlock Holmes left his chair and pushed open the chamber’s hidden door.
“Holmes,” I said warily. “What are you—?”
“Do you wish to come along to obtain a look as well?” the detective said before vanishing through the doorway.
In a heartbeat, I was up and following behind, alongside Bullivant, Mycroft Holmes, and Magillivray.
“It comes from the east,” said Sherlock Holmes, who stood at a window, looking in that direction.
“Perhaps we are hearing the guns at Wanstead,” suggested his brother as we all crowded to the window. Suddenly, booming from another compass point could be heard.
“And that could be the battery at Parliament Hill,” suggested Bullivant.
Suddenly, even louder reports washed over us.
“More still,” said Blenkiron. “And closer.”
“Those latest are the Tower Bridge guns, I’d wager,” declared Mycroft.
“Look!” said Sherlock Holmes, pointing upward, where great puffs of black smoke now burst across the wide expanse of blue sky. Fresh, dark clouds expanded and entwined with one another, creating a translucent blanket of gloom as the firing grew in power and frequency. To me, it was the front in France revisited in spirit, as well as a new front of conflict in fact, descending upon our homeland from above.
“There they are,” shouted Mycroft, lifting a pudgy finger toward the pane. “Some of them, at least.” He indicated an area near the horizon from which the black tendrils had receded, revealing a flock of dark specks moving steadily across the sky.
“They must be Gothas,” Bullivant said.175
“Shall we proceed to the basement?” asked Blenkiron.
The American’s suggestion was followed by a series of low rumbles, different in nature than the cannon fire we had been hearing. A moment later, smoke began to well up in the distance, a rising counterpoint to the puffs from artillery shells still bursting above.
“They have begun dropping their bombs,” said Magillivray.
“There’s no shame in displaying prudence,” said Mycroft Holmes, who turned to Blenkiron. “Yes, John, let us seek shelter.”
Bullivant and Magillivray followed the American toward the stair, and I took steps in the same direction. The elder Holmes stopped and turned toward his brother, who was still peering out the window.
“Are you coming, Sherlock?” he asked. “I’d rather that I not be forced to give you a direct order.”
“That has not occurred in over half a century,” replied the younger sibling. “It will not recommence now. Lead on, Mr. Blenkiron,” he said, leaving the window.
We descended to the ground floor of Traill’s, where a small group of assistants were covering bins and storing various items inside cabinets.
“Come along,” Blenkiron barked to them, and we all followed the man to a door that led to another flight of stairs ending in a rather sturdy, spacious area beneath the building.
“The pilings and joists have been reinforced in the last two years,” Blenkiron noted as we settled onto benches that lined the walls. “Even if bombs should strike in extreme proximity, we’ll be safe and secure. If they strike the building itself, however, we shall have to take potluck.”
“We need to obtain earlier warning of such attacks,” declared Mycroft Holmes. “Thus far, the acoustic mirrors have not adequately proved themselves.”176
“I’ve not yet told you, M, but I’m considering having our top agent in Belgium take a hand in this,” said Bullivant. “He believes he can provide an early alert when the Gothas are about to take to the air.”
“By all means, let us see if he can do that,” replied the elder Holmes. “I’d rather be able to take my time to find shelter.”
The small coterie of bookstore assistants, who were American agents under Blenkiron’s direction, huddled by themselves in a far corner, leaving the rest of us in relative privacy on the oppose side.
“Now then,” said our host, as we heard more distant rumbling, “where were we?”
“We were about to discuss that third head of Cerberus, which has eluded us for three years now,” said Mycroft. “Sherlock has something to say on the matter, I believe,” he added, turning to his brother.
“Yes,” said the detective. “It is a thought that, oddly enough, was inadvertently inspired by a comment from Mr. Ivery some time ago over dinner. He referred to honeybees becoming dormant, and I corrected him with respect to that claim. The remark made me think of a singular entry in Franklin Scudder’s notebook: ‘Must disturb the sleeping dog.’ Then it occurred to me that perhaps we have not yet detected the activity of the supposed third spy cell because it has been lying dormant.”
“Inactive, you say?” enquired Magillivray. “Why would it be sleeping?”
“A sleeping cell,” mused Mycroft. “That is an interesting way of putting it.”
“We know that Von Bork’s spy group and the original Black Stone were intended in part to independently gather information so that Berlin could check the veracity of one’s findings against the other,” said the younger Holmes. “We also know, however, that the Black Stone went beyond simple espionage to plot and execute acts of subversion, such as the assassination of Karolides. Might the supposed third group be intended to be held in reserve for the same purpose, to be activated only when desired or necessary?”
“And when would that be?” asked Magillivray.
“I believe it must be in the near future,” said Sherlock Holmes.
“If not the present,” added his brother. “John,” he said, addressing Blenkiron, “your nation’s entry into this conflict has thrown the advantage distinctly to our side. Berlin must act boldly and swiftly to counter it; otherwise, the addition of American resources and troops will break the stalemate. If the Germans have hidden reserves of their own, they must bring them into play very soon.”
There were louder rumblings than before, and I felt the bench under me quiver.
“They are getting closer,” Magillivray murmured.
Blenkiron smiled. “Indeed, they are.” He leaned against the foundation wall and looked at Sherlock Holmes. “And have you evidence that this possibly sleeping cell has awoke?”
“Not yet,” said my friend. “I keep searching for patterns of interest, however, and—with my brother’s and Sir Walter’s permission—I intend to continue that activity.”
“You know that you always have free rein, my lad,” said Mycroft.
“Of course,” chimed in Bullivant. “I assume that is why you requested that Watson here return to your side.”
“Yes, though I had not yet informed him of that fact,” admitted Holmes, who smiled awkwardly at me as the latest round of explosions above lifted dust from the basement walls.
“Your assistance here in London, old fellow, would be invaluable,” he said. “With Moxon Ivery now identified as the principal German spy in Biggleswick, your work there is done, a
nd I wish to arrange your permanent return to Queen Anne Street.”
I sat there as the rumblings above us died down, finding myself strangely disappointed at Holmes’s revelation. While I felt gratitude at my friend’s expression of need for my service, I nonetheless sensed mild anger rising within me at the prospect of being removed from Isham, where I had found a true purpose during the war.
I held those feelings in check, however, and forced myself to puckishly reply, “Well, I suppose that it is actually just a very devious method of getting Martha back to London.”
Our stay in the underground refuge was relatively brief. From the first firing of ground batteries against the approaching aeroplanes to the final rumbling of exploding bombs, perhaps no more than a quarter hour elapsed. We remained in the basement of Traill’s for twice that length, however, and then cautiously regained the ground floor.
Looking out the store windows, we could see no damage in our immediate vicinity, though portions of the sky were obscured by what I took to be dust and smoke from distant fires.
Inspector Magillivray excused himself and hurried off to join his fellows from Scotland Yard to assist in dealing with the aftermath of the aerial raid. As he left, we saw others emerging from neighbouring buildings.
“Well,” said Bullivant, “at least people now have the sense to huddle inside when the bombs fall.”
“Yes,” said Mycroft, turning to Blenkiron and me. “When we had the very first bomber raid last month, I understand most of the population simply stood and watched the aeroplanes out of curiosity, despite the danger.” He glanced with amusement at his brother. “You would think they would have learnt from the earlier Zeppelin attacks. Well, shall we return to our conference chamber?” he asked. “Sir Walter can convey the rest of our agenda to Inspector Magillivray.”