Thirty-Nine Steps from Baker Street

by J. R. Trtek

  Holmes raised his brows slightly.

  “An individual at the stern of the launch then shouted back these words: ‘I have the nose full with your complaint.’” Farrar said. “He also called out, ‘Our errand is the more important: you can take poison on that.’”

  My friend’s brows surpassed their previous acme, and his lips curled into a smile as he gripped the cherrywood with his teeth. “Gad,” he said before withdrawing the pipe from his mouth. “The simple elegance of the observation it makes your report all the more sweet.”

  “We thought you would be pleased,” said Shinwell Johnson with satisfaction.

  “I clearly do not grasp the reason for your shared sense of fulfilment,” I noted. “Are rudeness and disdain for the safety of others sufficient to mark a person as being a German spy?”

  “No,” said Holmes, holding his pipe aloft. “Our own countrymen exhibit those tendencies altogether too often themselves. Rather, Watson, it is the method of expressing such attitudes that is of interest. ‘I have the nose full’ and ‘you can take poison on that’ are the direct English translations of distinctly German phrases.”

  I waited for elaboration.

  “A German might say, ‘I have the nose full’ instead of ‘enough is enough,’ as we would,” explained Farrar.

  “And ‘you can take poison on that’ is roughly akin to saying ‘you can bet your life on it,’” added Johnson.

  “The hand aboard the motor launch may have lost his temper when Master Evans berated him for recklessness,” observed Holmes. “He had sufficient control to speak in English, but he still expressed himself through his native idiom,” he added. “That is my conclusion. Did Master Evans note the name of the launch?”

  “Yes,” said Johnson. “It is called the Nemesis.”

  Holmes smiled as he again studied his pipe. “A perhaps revealing title.”

  “One you will no doubt take to heart,” I said in a droll voice.

  “Just so,” replied my friend. He turned to Farrar and Johnson. “Have you more?”

  “There is a sequel of sorts,” said Farrar. “The Belisama reached the docks safely and unloaded her cargo of brick. After taking on the coke for Murston, she set sail three days later, heading down the river toward the coast. As the barge passed the Trinity lighthouses,190 she encountered the Nemesis again, also headed downstream, but this time at a safe distance.

  “Nonetheless, Tatty Evans recognised the launch and shouted at the crew again, venting his anger at the previous incident. Everyone on board the other craft ignored him, except for two men—one pointed a finger at his own temple, and the other threw an object at the barge. That hit the water nowhere near the Belisama, but the mere act outraged Master Evans even more.

  “As the launch was the much swifter vessel, it quickly vanished from view, and that was that, but Evans was now bent upon vengeance. Returning to London days later, he tried to discover where the Nemesis tied up in order to speak to its captain. His enquiries failed to locate her, however, and so he came to us in hopes that we might track down the launch.”

  “And what does Mr. Evans wish to do when the other boat is found?” asked Holmes.

  “Give the captain and crew a piece of his mind, apparently,” replied Johnson. “It has become an obsession with the man, if you ask me.”

  I stared knowingly at Holmes as the agent characterised Evans’s state of mind, but my friend did not look in my direction. Instead, he took two more puffs on his pipe before setting it down.

  “There is nothing conclusive contained in those events,” he remarked, making a steeple of his fingers. “However, it would appear that at least one crew member of the Nemesis is a native German, though that says nothing about his loyalties in the present conflict, let alone the likelihood that he is an agent of Berlin. Still, it is a most intriguing brace of episodes that you have presented.”

  Farrar and Johnson shifted in their seats as Holmes fell into silent thought.

  “And where is the Belisama now?” my friend enquired after a moment. “I assume that, since Master Evans has just brought the matter to your attention, his vessel is still here in London, at its usual mooring?”

  “It is, sir,” replied Johnson. “Until Tuesday.”

  Holmes turned to me. “Do you fancy a trip to the St. Katharine Docks, Watson?”

  “Now that I am returned from Biggleswick, I am at your disposal.”

  Holmes reached again for his pipe. After making certain its fire had not gone out, he said to the pair of agents, “There was one last matter to which you referred, I believe.”

  Farrar glanced at Johnson, who nodded.

  “Yes, sir,” said the former. “It is not a potential case brought by a would-be client, in the manner of the other two, but rather something that I myself observed yesterday—or, rather, someone whom I observed.”

  Sherlock Holmes brought the pipe up to his lips and nodded for Farrar to continue.

  “Well,” the younger man said, “yesterday I stopped at the Lloyd Corner House in Piccadilly to meet with friends.191 It was there I chanced to see at a far table a man I knew who frequented the Golden Lamb’s Cave before the war.192 That fellow was a German who went by the name of Dietrich Baumann. I knew him as Dieter then.”

  Holmes’s eyes widened as he puffed.

  “On this occasion, I did not accost him, nor did I give him the slightest attention,” Farrar said. “I am certain he never noticed me, but I did discreetly observe him, getting close enough at one moment to even hear his voice, and I can swear it was Dieter, sir. He appeared to now be going by the name of Denis, however, and there was no trace of foreign accent in his speech, as there had been five years ago. He was talking like an Englishman, and I heard him claim to hail from Manchester—and certainly he sounded as if he had been born and raised in Canal Street itself.”193

  “Yet you are certain he was the German with whom you were acquainted before the war.”

  “Without question, Mr. Holmes.” Farrar shrugged. “Dieter had two distinctive moles on one cheek, as did this man. And, having become closely acquainted with him, I am quite sure that this fellow was Dieter.”

  “Did you pursue him further that day?”

  “Once I was certain of his identity, I thought it best to steer clear and not attract his attention in turn,” Farrar said. “But after he left in the company of an army private, I made some discreet, indirect enquiries, and I gleaned small pieces of additional information.”

  Holmes looked expectantly at Farrar.

  “He spoke to more than one person about working in the vicinity of the gasworks,” said the young man. “Though in what capacity and for what firm, he did not mention.”194

  “Did you make any observation of his person from which conclusions might be drawn?” asked Holmes.

  “Aside from identifying him as Dieter, only one,” Farrar replied. “I recalled the fellow having soft, gentle hands,” he said, somewhat self-consciously. “Now, more than once in the Corner House, he hoisted a glass while I watched from within my own coterie of friends, and I caught a good look at his hands. They appeared as smooth as I recalled them being years ago. Whatever work he performs, sir, it cannot be heavy manual labour.”

  Holmes nodded. “What more did you know of this Dieter before, when he lived openly as a German?”

  “At the time, he said he was from Berlin and employed at the German embassy as a footman. He waited upon one of the diplomats in particular.”

  “Do you recall which one?” Holmes asked pointedly.

  Farrar thought for a moment. “The fellow he served had a title,” he said. “It was a Baron Von Hertung or Herling, I believe. He said that person was—”

  “Baron Von Herling,” said Holmes. “The Chief Secretary of the legation.”

  “Yes,” said Farrar. “That was his position.”

  “Chief Secretary,” repeated Sherlock Holmes. “And the overseer of Heinrich Von Bork, we may recall,” he added, casting a
look in my direction.

  Farrar and Johnson looked on expectantly.

  “Well, I believe you have given us a very slight but also very firm handhold,” Holmes said. “The mountain top is not assured, but we now have something with which to begin our ascent.”

  Johnson reached over and gave Farrar a friendly slap on the back. “You’ve done mighty well, lad,” he said. “Should we follow upon this opening, Mr. Holmes?”

  “Yes, but discreetly,” said my friend. Pointing the stem of his pipe at the pair of assistants, he first addressed Farrar.

  “Attend the Corner House in Piccadilly with regularity,” Holmes said. “And discreetly make the rounds of those clubs you think Dieter might visit.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Farrar, appearing somewhat puzzled. “You mean for me to observe him only, or to follow him as well?”

  “You are merely to note his presence. For the moment, do not attempt to observe him at length, should your paths cross. I do not wish him to notice you. I merely desire to learn what premises he frequents; we will not worry at present about whether there is any pattern to his visits to those establishments.”

  “I understand, Mr. Holmes.”

  “Dieter will be more closely observed and followed in time, but by someone else,” my friend said without further explanation. “Your charge is to lay the groundwork for that task.”

  “Of course,” said Farrar. “I’ll be certain to not exceed my boundaries.”

  “Good. Meanwhile,” he said to Shinwell Johnson, “I wish you to reconnoitre the area of the gasworks.”

  Johnson curled his nose. “I don’t fancy having to endure the aroma of that district,” he said, “but I will do my best, sir.”

  Holmes smiled. “Have Farrar describe his German in greater detail to you, if he has not done so already, and of course keep an eye out for the man. However, your prime duty is to discreetly investigate the nature of any businesses—particularly newer ones—in the area surrounding the gasworks, as well as to keep an eye out for any items of interest that present themselves. Our opening is a slim one, and we must try to coax it wider, rather than apply brute force.”

  “We understand, sir,” replied Johnson.

  My friend sat silent for a moment and then motioned for Farrar and Johnson to depart. Both rose from their chairs, and Holmes and I got to our feet as well.

  “The information about the German was excellent work,” declared Holmes, “and I believe that the matter of Tatty Evans and the Belisama will also prove most fruitful. Meanwhile,” he added in a light tone, “I hope you have good fortune in resolving your female client’s case of the uneaten breakfast.”

  “We will see to them all, sir,” said Johnson. He stood and shook hands with Holmes, as did Farrar, and the two bade me farewell also before seeing themselves out of the sitting room.

  Holmes leaned against the mantel as we heard Martha escort the pair to our house door. He placed the cherrywood between his teeth and raised his chin. “With these developments, Watson, we have our first glimmerings.”

  “The beginning of the next act?”

  “Yes,” he said. “After Galloway and Biggleswick, the third act, which I expect to play out here in London. Let us hope it is the final one in our drama.”

  The next day, Holmes and I journeyed down East Smithfield Road to the St. Katharine Docks, which a half century earlier had been amalgamated into the London Docks.195 We passed furious activity while skirting both the East and West Basins, observing ships being unloaded and their goods immediately placed in warehouses that were built right upon the quayside. At length, we came across the barge Belisama, anchored in a far reach.

  She was a fetching craft, having been recently painted, with a yellow stripe running round her flared sides and ends, and a transom as shapely as any champagne glass. Standing on deck, between the mainmast and one leeboard, was a tall lad in an open, ragged wool coat whom I took to be the mate or perhaps a hand, if the master was able to afford an additional crewmember. Holmes called down to him, and the fellow looked up, shielding his eyes against the sun.196

  “Aye, what ye want?” the young man asked.

  “I wish to speak with the master, Tatty Evans,” replied Holmes. “Is he about?”

  “No,” said a large bearded man who emerged from the open fore hatch. “He’s below. Well,” he added, looking at his upper body, which was visible above the opening. “Half below, at least. I am Tatty Evans, sir,” he said amiably, stepping onto the deck. “Might I do something for you?”

  “May we come aboard first?” asked my friend.

  Evans gestured for us to join him on the Belisama, and I followed Holmes onto the sailing barge. The young man we had first encountered stepped aside to allow us to pass him and face the vessel’s master directly.

  “I am Sherlock Holmes,” said my friend, extending a hand. “I come as an ally of Mr. Johnson and Mr. Farrar, whose agency I believe you recently consulted. This is my associate, Colonel John Watson.”

  “Aye,” replied Evans, accepting Holmes’s greeting and then taking my hand in turn. “I read of your adventures when I was younger than Old George here. Go back down below and finish what I started,” he told the boyish mate, who disappeared down the fore hatch.

  “He’s a halfway decent one,” the master remarked. “He’ll be better when he truly is old and more practised, eh? Now then,” he said, “you are here in the matter of that accursed motor launch and its blaspheming crew?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very good, sir,” said Evans, twisting his face up into an expression of indignation. “Incivility riles me,” he confessed. “Some may suggest I forgive and forget, but behaviour such as theirs does not belong anywhere along the length of our sacred river, I tell you. I want nothing more than to dress down that irresponsible captain and crew, as is proper.”

  “I understand,” said Holmes. “And I am prepared to assist you.”

  “That is much appreciated, sir. Where do you propose to start?”

  “First, of course, we must find the craft. It is called the Nemesis, I understand.”

  “That is what was etched upon her stern plate,” Evans said. “When she came so close to us that first time, there was no difficulty reading it, by God. Uncivil and reckless, it was.”

  “I concur.”

  “And how will you find her?” the man asked. “Old George and I have looked up and down the docks here ourselves when we had the time, but there was nary a sign of her.”

  “I was going to suggest that you continue to seek her out upon the river, Master Evans, since you are the one with the sailing barge.”

  “But I have cargo to haul, Mr. Holmes. I cannot take days or perhaps weeks to find the Nemesis. Had I that luxury, I should not be here talking with you.”

  “Do you haul independently?” asked the detective.

  “Yes. I own the Belisama and hire her out to those who need her services, but I do have regular clients, such as the local Borough Council and the Smythe Brothers. Why?”

  “I propose to hire you to prowl the river in search of the Nemesis, Master Evans.”

  The burly captain laughed. “Is that not dressing the wrong man? I came to your associates in hopes that they would find her for me—and I am prepared to pay for the service. Now you wish to reverse the relationship?”

  “One may look upon it in that manner,” replied Holmes, reaching into a jacket pocket. “And yes,” he said, drawing out a leather booklet, “it is I who am now prepared to pay you, Mr. Evans.”

  The master of the Belisama was taken aback.

  “May I use that crate as a writing desk?” asked Holmes, who pulled out a kerchief, spread it upon the deck, and then knelt beside the box despite Evans’s lack of immediate response.

  “Well, of course you may, but—”

  “I am only slightly familiar with shipping rates these days,” said the detective as he unfolded the booklet, revealing a tablet of cheques. He removed a pen from another p
ocket and began to fill out the topmost form. “Still, I will multiply by a factor of five to be sure, yielding what I believe you will find to be a more than adequate payment for the amount of time you are likely to spend in your search. There,” he said, pulling the completed cheque from the booklet and holding it out to Master Evans. “I assume it is Tatty with a y?”

  “It is,” said the man before accepting the cheque. He held it with the fingers of both hands and read the amount many times over before exclaiming, “Llŷr, Poseidon, and Davey Jones combined!197 This amount is more than I would expect to reap in—”

  “And it is yours,” said Holmes with a smile. “If you agree to become my agent rather than my client. Of course, accepting the role of the one will serve the needs of the other.”

  “I see that point clearly, Mr. Holmes! You’ve a deal. The Belisama is your hire for—”

  “For as long as it takes you to locate where the Nemesis ties up. Should that require another payment,” my friend said, gesturing toward the cheque, “you need only inform me.”

  “Of course,” stammered Evans, carefully putting the slip of paper into a coat pocket. “But understand this, Mr. Holmes: the Nemesis, she’s fast. She’s like a clipper out there on the water, for sure, and the Belisama can hardly compete with her speed.”

  “I supposed that to be the case. However, I believe that by careful, successive positioning of your boat over the course of time, you may narrow your search effectively without need of actual pursuit. I will advise you with respect to such a strategy.”

  There was the sound of footsteps from below, and then the young man called Old George appeared in the forehatch.

  “Ha, Georgie!” said Tatty Evans. “You’ve come back up just in time to share a life of luxury. Here, lad, and listen to the man,” he added, gesturing toward Holmes.

  The master of the Belisama briefly explained his arrangement with Holmes, and my friend then spent a quarter hour discussing with the two men how their barge was to be employed in searching for the Nemesis. Afterward, the detective and I departed in order to make our way, silently at first, across the docks and on back to the East Smithfield Road.