by J. R. Trtek
Having already finished a full dinner in Soho less than an hour earlier, I asked the attendant to bring me only a small portion of spiced fish, duck, and onions accompanied by lychee fruits. The tea was strong and woody, and as I sipped it amid my rough surroundings, I found myself now feeling strangely at ease, though I knew I had waded into a sea of uncertainty.
At length, I paid for my meal and left the restaurant, noticing across the street that same fellow who had been following me since I had set foot in the Causeway: a tall lascar who, bundled in a cloak, leaned in the shadow of doorway. The man appeared to take no heed of me, but I knew he was the one who had dogged my steps for the past half hour.
I paused at the pavement’s edge, pondering my choices of action. I could not throw the man off my trail, and yet I did not desire him to watch me rendezvous with Sandy Arbuthnot. And so, unsure of success, I resolved to confront the foreign sailor, hoping to frighten him off by embarrassment, though I understood I was taking a great risk.
“Do you seek something from me, sir?” I called out across the flow of human traffic.
The man ignored me.
Glancing in both directions along the Causeway, I crossed the street and stood three feet from my stalker.
“I asked if you have business with me, sir.”
The lascar huddled in his cloak and turned his face to me, though his eyes were still hidden by darkness.
“Answer me, man,” I demanded, stepping within an arm’s length. “I will brook no harassment.”
“I’m not intending to give any, sir,” whispered Sandy Arbuthnot. I gave a start as the young man leaned forward, allowing a street light to illuminate his face, which even then I could not recognise as his; voice was the only clue to his real identity.
“Mr. Holmes said we were to meet on the Causeway, Colonel Watson.”
“Yes,” I mumbled. “I apologise for the misunderstanding. I foolishly thought to look for you in your normal guise.”
The young man smiled. “For the past several days, sir, this has been my normal guise.”
“I see.”
“Ask me which way to the docks.”
“What?”
The agent held out his hand in supplication and muttered phrases in a foreign tongue.
“Why, which route do I take to the East India Docks? Can you tell me?” I said for the benefit of those passing within earshot. Down the street, I heard the lilting notes of a wooden flute.
Arbuthnot again thrust his hand toward me, and I awkwardly dug in my pockets for a few coins, which I dropped into his palm.
“This way, sahib,” he said loudly in a guttural voice not his own.
I walked behind the disguised man at first, but soon he slowed his pace so that we fell even with one another, and at a moment when we found ourselves removed from the nearest of our fellow pedestrians by a few feet, he whispered to me, “I believe we are being followed.”
“Could it be one of our own agents, stalking us as you stalked me?” I asked in a low voice.
“Mr. Holmes did not indicate such would be the case, sir. Here,” he suddenly said in the accent he had assumed previously. “This way.”
We passed through an alley, past a cluster of five Chinamen and on to the adjacent street. As we rounded the corner, I was struck by a strong aroma that I recognised as the sweet musk of opium. Two horse-drawn wagons rolled by in opposing directions, and Arbuthnot, in his alien attire, steered me round both as they passed in turn, so that we might gain the opposite kerb.
“He’s a devilishly persistent sod,” whispered my guide as we negotiated yet another corner. “If we cannot lose him, I must remove him.”
“How?”
“I’m carrying a truncheon, and with it can perform more than one trick taught me by an old dacoit from the Chilapata Forest.”251
I followed closely behind without comment. We turned yet another corner to enter an almost deserted, dimly lit street, where Arbuthnot lightly pulled me into an alley.
“We wait here,” he whispered, taking the thick baton from his belt and raising it above his head, as if ready to strike.
Suddenly, from the edge of my vision, I saw the nightstick pulled out of Sandy’s hand from behind. Arbuthnot whirled round, his hand turning to present its sweeping edge, which the intruder deftly avoided by quickly crouching.
“Wait!” whispered the stranger urgently, holding up his hands. “It’s me, lad!”
“You?” said Arbuthnot in a low voice. “Good God,” he said, extending a hand to assist Shinwell Johnson to his feet. The two smiled at one another in the dark alley, shaking hands with a single stroke before the older man returned the truncheon to Sandy.
“I should have realised it was you,” said Johnson, gesturing to Sandy’s clothing and facial disguise. “My actions were perhaps a bit rash.”
“Heavens,” I said in a hushed voice. “Porky, why are you here?”
“Well,” answered the agent, somewhat awkwardly, “I was actually looking out for you, Dr. Watson—I mean, Colonel.”
“How you address me hardly matters. What seems far more important is your purpose. What do you mean by saying you were looking out for me. At whose request?”
“That of Mr. Holmes,” said Johnson reluctantly.
“I do not understand,” I said. “Please elaborate.”
Shinwell Johnson looked back and forth between Arbuthnot and me, and then he quietly explained. “Mr. Holmes told me that you were going to rendezvous with Sandy this evening in Limehouse, and he asked that I follow you to make certain you came out safe and sound.”
I began to speak, but Johnson quieted me with an upraised hand. “Mind you, Colonel Watson, I told the owner that, despite its reputation, Limehouse wasn’t going to be a place where you’d be likely to fall foul of anyone.” The man bowed his head. “Mr. Holmes said he understood that but that he was not willing to take any chances with your safety. I was to dog your steps until you had your meeting and had gotten out of Limehouse.”
“I see.”
“Mr. Holmes said his decision to send you was sudden and did not allow for Sandy to be warned that I would be following you, and I in turn had no knowledge of his disguise. I should have realised but did not comprehend that the fellow you had accosted was actually our compatriot,” Johnson said. “I saw only a lascar with a stick in his belt leading you off to parts unknown, and I determined that I must—”
“You cannot be faulted, Porky,” I said.
“Sirs,” interjected Arbuthnot, “this misunderstanding aside, should I not take you to the site where I believe the mustard gas is stored?”
“What?” I said. “You have found it?”
“Yes. I was in the act of leading you there when our most secretive third showed up,” the young agent said, playfully patting Johnson’s shoulder. “Shall we proceed, then?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“And, if I you will permit it,” Johnson said to me, “I’ll follow discreetly at a distance.”
I looked at him for a moment and then, nodding, expressed agreement with that plan.
Holmes’s veteran agent departed through the opposing entrance to the alley—the way in which he had come up upon our backs—and though I did not see him, I knew he was behind us as Sandy guided me for several more blocks to where a three-story brick building stood among others of its same general type.
“I believe that to be the one, sir,” whispered Sandy in his lascar disguise.
“Is there a watchman outside, as there was at the building near the gasworks?”
“I have not seen anyone outside guarding the place,” said my companion. “Here in Limehouse, shuttered buildings with no obvious activity are not unusual fare. I suspect that a sentinel in evidence would only attract attention. The guards are stationed inside.”
“How can you be certain that warehouse holds the mustard gas?”
“As Mr. Holmes would say, I cannot be absolutely certain, for I’ve not seen any cani
sters. However, I have observed a handful of men go in and out of that building, all of them Occidental—and one of them none other than Dieter Baumann.”
I grasped Arbuthnot’s shoulder. “You are certain?”
“This time, Colonel Watson, that word applies without any doubt.”
“Have you other evidence?”
“I made discreet enquiries in the area,” Arbuthnot said. “I dared not question anyone too closely, but while casting about for work in my lascar guise, I learned that several crates were loaded into the building recently, about the time when the warehouse near the gasworks must have been emptied. It could be coincidence, of course, but I am inclined to think not. I hope Mr. Holmes will be pleased.”
“I am certain he will overjoyed when I relate the news to him.” I paused for a moment and then added, “I am somewhat surprised that I was required to come here to take your story in person, however. Could you not have related this information via a note?”
“Mr. Holmes specified this procedure, Colonel. He wanted nothing written down, and he told me in no uncertain terms not to approach either Queen Anne Street or Safety House.”
“As you say. Well, I suppose you may provide me with whatever additional information you have, and I will carry it back to him.”
Arbuthnot related to me a small number of other details and then, in his lascar disguise, led me to the area surrounding the East India Docks, where I found a taxicab to convey me back to Marylebone. As the vehicle sped away, I saw the figure of Shinwell Johnson leaning against a streetlight, watching my departure.
The return trip across town was uneventful, and I entered my house late that evening to find Sherlock Holmes waiting for me in his armchair, dressed to go out. Another of his commonplace books lay open in his lap.
“I trust I have not kept you waiting” were the first words from my mouth.
“Indeed not, Watson,” said my friend in good humour, quickly closing the notebook. “I have been passing the time to good effect,” he added, holding up the cover. “How went your meeting with Arbuthnot?”
“He believes he has found the store of sulphur mustard.”
“Excellent!” the detective exclaimed. “The young man never ceases to amaze. You have all the details?”
“I do.”
“Good,” said Holmes, rising to his feet to set the commonplace book aside. “It will be a pleasure to report Arbuthnot’s success to Mycroft.”
“I take it, then, that we are leaving immediately for Safety House?”
“Yes. Mycroft sent me a message after you departed for Limehouse. He and Bullivant wish to see us this very evening,” he said, reaching for his coat and hat. “I do not know the substance, only that it is urgent. In any case, I am certain that your recitation of Sandy’s find will constitute the high point of our discussion. You do not mind leaving almost before you return?”
“No,” I said quietly as I followed my friend out of the sitting room. “However, I am curious as to whether Shinwell Johnson will be joining us, or will your company alone provide sufficient protection for me?”
Holmes paused in the hallway. Turning round, he looked at me with a slightly pained expression and asked, “He disclosed himself to you?”
“Under the circumstances, he had no choice—a luxury that was not denied you, however.”
“Old fellow, I—”
“Perhaps you should have trusted this mission to someone you think capable of defending himself. Or herself,” I added, “since not once have you expressed any concern for the safety of Mary Lamington as she pursues Moxon Ivery on the Continent.”
“Watson, you must—”
“I suggest you consider what I have said. And perhaps you may also take to heart my desire to be assigned elsewhere by the medical corps.”
The detective looked at me and then nodded. “I shall. Now then, if you are willing, might you still accompany me to Safety House?”
“You wish me to accompany you?”
“I do.”
“Then I shall,” I replied curtly.
“Good,” Holmes remarked quietly, turning to once more proceed down the corridor. “I shall fetch us a taxicab. I suppose, given the need for discretion, I will wait to hear all your report until it is first revealed to my brother.”
“Arbuthnot was most efficient,” proclaimed Mycroft Holmes after I had related the news that Sandy had found a building that likely housed the missing mustard gas.
“I had no doubt about his abilities,” murmured Sir Walter Bullivant.
“Indeed,” agreed Sherlock Holmes. His mood was far less ebullient than I should have expected at hearing the news I had obtained. “The pieces come together, do they not?”
“Yes,” said Mycroft cautiously. “However, this piece is a keystone of sorts.”
“And what does that mean?” asked his brother.
“I refer to the fact that the premier has been insisting that the mustard gas be seized the moment its hiding place is discovered.”
“What?” exclaimed Sherlock Holmes. “I was not made aware of that wish.”
“The building in Limehouse will be raided within twenty-four hours,” said Mycroft to his brother as Bullivant and I looked on. “The premier informed me only today that, when the location of the mustard gas was uncovered, it would then be taken without delay. That is what I had wished to tell you this evening. That Arbuthnot has discovered the hiding place even sooner than expected merely accelerates the schedule for implementing the premier’s wishes.”
“But that would be most premature!” declared Sherlock Holmes. “We have not yet assembled all the—”
“I do not disagree with you,” interjected Mycroft. He leaned back and interleaved the fingers of both hands. “However, I also understand the premier’s position in the matter, and it is he who is, well, the premier. I am obligated to follow his commands. So are you.”
“You cannot stop him?”
Mycroft smiled wistfully. “My powers of enforcement in government circles are waning these days, Sherlock,” he said. “And even my friendly advice is no longer heeded as closely as it once was. No,” he said after a moment’s pause. “The prime minister is determined to act; he will not allow the mustard gas to sit in London through another sunset.”
“He wished to round up the known members of the London Transport League as well,” added Bullivant.
Sherlock Holmes bolted to his feet. “But that is more than premature; it is utterly pointless, not to say most dangerous to our cause of rooting out Von Bork!” he declared. “There is no—”
“Calm yourself, brother,” murmured Mycroft. “I did achieve one small victory, and that was to persuade the government to keep its hands off the Transport League for the moment. The premier still wishes to take the haulers into custody, but he has agreed to wait awhile longer in their case. However,” the portly Holmes added, “he will not wait forever.”
Sherlock Holmes exhaled loudly. “I thank you for that much at least, Mycroft,” he said as he began to pace back and forth across the room. “The task before us is to implicitly assure Von Bork—”
“Or whoever commands the third German operation,” whispered Mycroft.
“To assure him that, though we know of the mustard gas, we have no knowledge of the Transport League, and therefore no awareness that the gas itself is but part of a larger German plan,” declared Sherlock Holmes.
“I have been cognizant of that need,” declared his brother. “And, if I may say, an approach has been forged that will assure us that the need is met. If you will please be seated again, Sherlock, I will elaborate.”
The detective once more took to his armchair. “Who will lead the assault in Limehouse?” he asked.
“Magillivray, of course,” replied Mycroft with a faint smile. “And he has invited both you and the colonel to observe the festivities, but—”
“We will pass on the offer.”
“Good,” said the elder Holmes.
�
��But do you not wish to witness at least this one fruit of your labour?” I asked.
Both Holmes brothers and Sir Walter looked at me questioningly.
“Having the two of you near the premises during the raid would hardly be prudent,” said Bullivant. “You see, Watson, if it were evident that Holmes were involved—”
“If that were evident,” Sherlock Holmes interjected, “then Von Bork—”
Mycroft sighed.
“Von Bork would suspect that I might have also discovered the London Transport League and fathomed its purpose,” his brother completed.
“But you have not yet determined that purpose,” I observed.
“A fact that does not deny the validity of my analysis,” said Holmes.
“We should try to make certain that whoever controls this spy ring does not realise we know there is more to its machinations than the sulphur mustard gas,” reiterated Mycroft. “To that end, we shall make it appear that the police have stumbled across the cache in Limehouse quite unintentionally.”
He turned to address his brother. “Magillivray will arrange for a disturbance to occur just outside the building: an assault on a man with a German-sounding name. That will elicit the arrival of many policemen, including Sergeant Scaife. In the course of quelling what will become a minor riot, Magillivray and his men will go inside the warehouse and fortuitously discover the presumed stockpile of mysterious containers. Some of the supposed German agents there will be allowed to escape, taking with them the tale of its accidental discovery.”
Sherlock Holmes nodded. “That should suffice.”
“Mind you,” said Mycroft Holmes, “Magillivray has agreed to place himself in a possibly embarrassing and humiliating situation, for no one besides Sergeant Scaife is to know of the arrangement for some Germans to elude capture.”
“Not even the premier himself?” asked Sherlock Holmes.
Bullivant looked at Mycroft Holmes, who returned the spymaster’s glance before lacing his fingers together and admitting, “No, not even he knows.”
