Sherlock Holmes Never Dies - Collection Five: New Sherlock Holmes Mysteries - Second Edition

by Craig Stephen Copland

  Two hours later we found ourselves on our way back to the station in one of Wright’s many landau carriages. My wife shook her head and laughed.

  “Oh, my. That really was quite something, wasn’t it?”

  “It was indeed,” said Holmes. “Quite incredible.”

  “Well then, Sherlock” she continued, “are you going to become an esteemed corporate director? Join the St. James Club? Or White’s? Will you still have time for us poor common folk?” She laughed and enjoyed giving a tease to our Bohemian friend.

  “Somehow, I think not,” replied Holmes. “I will, however, review all the data that I will be provided with. It might prove to be very interesting. And I do not believe that I have told you about what I discovered about the lads from Cambridge, have I?”

  “No Holmes, you have not?”

  “The fellow from Birmingham, Kenneth Arkell, was employed directly by London and Globe to sell shares to the people of the Midlands.”

  “I knew that, already, Holmes.”

  “Ah, yes. Of course, you did. Our young friend, Hall Pycroft, works for the brokerage house of Hichens Harrison.”

  “Yes, Holmes. We know that.”

  “And did I also mention that Hichens Harrison was one of the brokerage houses that had the account to sell the bonds of London and Globe?”

  “No, Holmes. You did not tell us that.”

  “It must have slipped my mind. And the young lad, Geoffrey Delacroix, that worked at the Bank of England. He was in the regulatory division, the one that oversaw the reports of the companies listed on the London Stock Exchange. It appears that his portfolio included the inspection of the filings of London and Globe.”

  “We now have a coincidence, do we not?” I observed. “And if I remember correctly, was not the young journalist chap, the one from the Financial Times, working on a story about London and Globe? That makes it a criminal conspiracy, does it not?”

  “Excellent, Watson. You excel yourself.”

  “But what of the fourth chap, the lad working for the engineering division of the City of London. What could he possibly have to do with international mining ventures?”

  “Young Arnold Bush,” said Holmes, “had been assigned the responsibility as the representative of the City of London government to oversee the construction of the new Bakerloo line.”

  “Ah ha!” both my wife and I blurted out. It all fit together.

  “And just how,” I asked, “do we tie them all back to Mr. Wright. He did not impress me as the type who would resort to murder.”

  “I have to agree, with John, Sherlock,” said my wife. “He was utterly full of himself and the greatest braggadocio I have ever met. But I cannot imagine him deliberately harming anyone. Believe me.”

  Holmes chuckled. “No, but I would not be surprised to find that there were others whose fortunes are tied to his that might.”

  Chapter Ten

  Convincing a Crown

  ANOTHER WEEK HAD PASSED without my hearing from Holmes. So, on the Sunday morning, I returned the visit he had paid to me, quite certain that he would not be warming a pew of any church.

  Being so familiar with 221B Baker Street, I opened the door, climbed the stairs, and let myself into the parlor. At the best of times, Sherlock Holmes was an untidy man, and it was immediately obvious that this morning was far from being the best of times. The room looked as if a bomb had been dropped on it. Everywhere, on the sofa, the side tables, the floor, the mantle, there were files, papers, newspapers, ledger books, and ashtrays in need of being emptied. The only clear space was immediately in front of the hearth. In that space, there was a large cat, curled up and asleep. Another cat was curled up on one of the chairs that normally belonged to the table. Seated at the table where I had enjoyed so many of Mrs. Hudson’s meals, were Sherlock Holmes and Hall Pycroft.

  “Ah, Watson. Wonderful to see you. Pull up a chair, and we shall try to explain what we have been up to. Yes, just tip the chair forward and dump Sidney on the floor and come and be seated.”

  I glared at the chair and looked at Master Pycroft.

  “I couldn’t just leave them all alone in my rooms. Not after all they have been through,” he said.

  I bit my tongue and brought the chair to the table. Holmes lifted several files from the place in front of me and added them to a pile beside him that already resembled the leaning tower of Pisa.

  “What we have,” said Holmes, “is a copy of the filings with the Bank of England for all of the firms in the Wright Group of Companies for the past year, as well as every prospectus issued, and their complete bank records.”

  “Good heavens,” I said, “how could you possibly have obtained their bank records? Those are not made available to the public.”

  Holmes did not answer me. He just looked around the room and began to hum some tune from that infernal nonsense Pinafore.

  “Ah yes,” I said. “You called in Mycroft.”

  He shrugged. “That is a possibility. Nevertheless, we have made some startling discoveries. I could not have done it without the assistance of our friend Hall. The young man really does know his stuff.”

  Hall blushed and smiled. “It is not all that difficult if you have to look at these things every hour of every day.”

  “Would you kindly explain to Dr. Watson what it is that you have discovered?”

  “Yes sir. I’ll do my best, sir. It’s a bit complicated, but beginning almost a year ago, not long after the construction began on the Bakerloo line, some strange things began to appear in the records.”

  “Did they?” I said. “And what were they?”

  “Well doctor, the Wright Group has twelve different companies. See, here’s the list. There’s the Imperial Minerals Exploration Company. It’s doing work in South Africa. And here’s the Yukon Mining Company and they’re doin’ work in Canada. And the Imperial Gold and Silver Company is concentrated in the Cape. And the rest of the list is just like that. Now all of their statements that they file with the Bank of England or issue to their shareholders and bondholders look as if every one of the companies has lots and lots of cash and other assets.”

  “That makes sense,” I said. “They are all engaged in mining and all bringing out gold and silver and diamonds and precious metals, so yes, that makes sense.”

  “Well, not exactly, doctor. You see the Wright companies do not actually own the mines or do the mining. The mines are all owned by other shareholders, of which Wright is just one. The Wright companies mainly buy and promote and re-sell the shares. Now that is quite acceptable and everything should be all just fine. But at the end of September just past, they were supposed to issue dividends and interest payments and they didn’t do it. They told everybody that they were retaining the capital so that the mines could be further capitalized and made more productive. Now companies can do that, but their investors usually aren’t too happy about it. But what with all those blue bloods on the board and Mr. Wright being who he is, nobody raised a fuss. There was a short article in the Financial Times, but nothing else was said.”

  “Very well, I fail to see the problem.”

  “What we saw in the bank records was that no money ever went to the mines. At least, not much. Instead I could see that on the twenty-ninth day of every month, or if that day were a Saturday or Sunday, then on the Friday before, one of the companies would loan money to another company.”

  “That is permitted, is it not?” I asked.

  “Yes, of course. But it takes several days for the transaction to be completed and recorded on the books of the receiving company. So, what happens is that the loaning company records the loan as bein’ receivable and that is what is says on their statements at the end of the month. But the receiving company doesn’t show it on their books for the same month because they haven’t got the money yet. It’s still on the way. Well, sir, like I said, it started about a year ago with just one company loanin’ money to another. But after three months there were four companies d
oing it. And by last month all the companies were doing it.”

  That did strike me as odd. “How much money has been moved around?”

  “That’s what we’ve been working on. It’s not real clear because he uses ten different banks. Six are here in London, three are on the Continent, and one is in New York. And each company might have accounts at more than one bank, and by last month each of the companies was making loans to two or three of the other companies, not just one.”

  “Very well, what is your estimate of the total amount being loaned,” I asked again.

  Hall paused and looked at the columns of figures he had written on the ledger sheet in front of him.

  “It’s not all that easy. You see starting about six months ago they started making the loans in shares of the mines and shares of the company and not just in cash. So, I’ve had to go back and find the value of all of those shares at today’s rates.”

  “And what did you find?” I pressed.

  Hall shook his head slowly. “It looks as if those shares have been overvalued on their books by a factor of at least five, and up to ten. So, the value of the loan receivable in cash is much less than what appears, since it is the claimed value of the stock.”

  “Come on then, lad,” I said. “Give me a number. How much money is on the books but really is not there?”

  He looked again at his ledger sheet and then looked up at me and whispered. “It’s more than two million pounds.”

  I was shocked. “Two million pounds?”

  “Yes doctor. It’s hard to believe, but when you add it all up, the company loans and the inflated stock values, that’s what it comes to.”

  “Where, in heaven’s name, did the money go?”

  “That’s a bit complicated as well. Some of it, several thousand pounds was transferred from companies that are publicly listed and over to those that are privately held.”

  “Held by Whitaker Wright?” I asked.

  “No. Held by his wife and children. His son is only fifteen years old but he owns one hundred percent of the shares in International Ventures Corporation. And then it looks like that company paid out in dividends in cash to the boy. And the same for the company his wife owns, and the one his daughter owns. But that’s only part of it. Most of the money has been moved over to the company that is financing the Bakerloo line. I can’t tell if it was all used honestly, but the expenses for everything they have done is a long way over what was expected. And it has all taken much longer than what was planned. So, their payroll is going to be several times more than they planned, and their cost of blasting is more. And same for the steel that’s used in shoring up the tunnels and for the track. It would just be a wild guess on my part, but it looks like the line is going to be three times more than was budgeted and it will still be at least two years before it is completed and begins to bring in revenue from the sale of the tickets. That company has already passed the credit limit that Barclays’ set for it, and so it has been receivin’ loans from the other companies. It is not a nice picture, sir. I don’t know how they can go on much longer.”

  “Master Hall,” said Holmes. “Please take a moment and review your numbers and give us a reasonable estimate of how much longer the companies can continue.”

  “It’ll take me another hour to do that, sir.”

  “We are patient. The cats are content. Pray proceed.”

  I walked over to the bookshelf and took down a volume to read. Holmes lit a pipe. On my way back to my chair, I glanced at the work the young chap was doing. His pencil was moving at lightning speed scribbling down numbers in column after column. What was utterly amazing was that it appeared that he was adding, subtracting, multiplying, dividing and assigning fractional figures entirely inside his head. Obviously, he had an aptitude for this task and his education had not been in vain.

  An hour and a quarter passed and he put down his pencil and looked up at Holmes and me. His eyes were quite wide and he was shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Six weeks at the most. They cannot survive past the end of November.”

  I looked over at Holmes. “Perhaps you might wish to postpone becoming a director. Pity, I was looking forward to lunches at White’s.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The Empire Falls

  ON THE FIFTEENTH of November the headline in the Financial Times read:

  WRIGHT COMPANIES ARE IN TROUBLE

  The byline said that the story had been written by Simon Woodhouse and filed from New York. I was not surprised that it failed to disclose the shifting of funds through inter-company loans. Instead it claimed to have investigated several of the mines whose shares had been promoted by London and Globe. The mines, while not at all fictional, were producing ore at a volume far below their potential. When contacted by the reporter, they claimed that they had never received the funds from the sale of their shares, or if they had then it was not nearly enough to allow them to upgrade their operations and increase their production.

  The first story promised subsequent accounts of each of the major mines that had been promoted. Readers would be taken to Australia, and the Cape, and even as far as British Columbia. They would read the heartbreaking stories of hardworking men who had been crying out for years for better equipment and access roads, and enough capital to pay decent wages. They would hear about the miners who were not paid enough to support their wives and children, and about children going hungry and begging in the streets of Pretoria. Even white children were begging. Could anything worse be imagined?

  Holmes read the story and smiled. “Our arrogant young reporter is safe in New York, relying on his memory, and no doubt thanking God for the transatlantic telegraph. I do not doubt the accuracy of the stories but they are a far cry from exposing criminal behavior. They will depress the value of shares, but soon they will be worthless anyway. It is a good thing that we never managed to forward our funds to Mr. Wright.”

  On the first of December, as predicted by Hall Pycroft, the Wright Group of companies collapsed. The front-page headline of every major newspaper screamed about the multi-million-pound debacle. The companies had filed for bankruptcy. Thousands of shareholders, some of whom had invested their life savings, were immediately impoverished. The press hounded the Marquess of Dufferin and Ava and the cartoonists had a field day with humiliating cartoons of him. When asked for a statement, Mr. J. Whitaker Wright proudly claimed that he had done nothing whatsoever wrong. Those who invest in mining in the colonies knew they were engaging in a high-risk enterprise. “No risk, no reward. Caveat emptor and all that, my boy.” Investors took a risk with the hope of vastly increasing their wealth and lost. Tough luck; try again. Take it like a man. He had lost money too, but he wasn’t crying about it.

  Of course, Mr. Wright was still a hugely wealthy man. His estate was protected and his personal investments were in blue chip companies.

  On the fifth of December, Holmes, Hall and I paid a visit to the offices of Scotland Yard at their new headquarters on the Embankment. Inspector Lestrade and two younger inspectors sat around the table as Holmes and Hall tried their best to explain all of the complicated ways that London and Globe and its related companies had shifted their assets and cash around and falsely made it appear that they were solvent.

  Lestrade shook his head. “Holmes, a jury will never understand it. Wright will hire some fast-talking pettifogger and confuse the daylights out of the jury. I can’t even understand it and you’re trying to help me. There’s no chance of ever getting a conviction.”

  “My dear inspector,” said Holmes, “you know for a certainty that a massive criminal fraud has been visited on hundreds of citizens. Surely you must do something about it. You know that what took place was against the law.”

  “Look, Holmes. It doesn’t matter what I know. All that matters is what we and a crown prosecutor can prove in court beyond all reasonable doubt and do it well enough to convince a jury. Criminal intent with malice aforethought is the dickens to prove. Th
is doesn’t have a chance. And who knows but Wright may be right. Caveat emptor as they say. There is not a snowball’s chance in hell of the Yard’s securing a conviction in any criminal court in any assize in the country. So, I’m not touching it.”

  Holmes was glaring in anger at the inspector. He spoke in slow, deliberate words.

  “I find it difficult to believe, Inspector Lestrade, that you, of all people, would be willing to ignore a case that is tied to five unsolved murders and a massive fraud. Frankly, Inspector, I find it unconscionable.”

  These harsh words, delivered to a senior inspector in front of his underlings, were enough to destroy the amiable friendship that had been slowly built up between Holmes and Lestrade over the past decades. I fully expected Lestrade to politely but firmly tell Holmes to vacate the office of Scotland Yard and not to return, ever. But the response that took place was not what I expected.

  Lestrade leaned back in his chair and smiled at Holmes.

  “Mister Sherlock Holmes,” he said, “All I said was that I would not be touching it. I did not say that I was letting you off the hook. The Yard cannot help you, so I’m sending you over to the Royal Courts of Justice. They deal in matters of corporate malfeasance and I suspect that if anyone can mount a case against Mr. Wright and his confederates, they will. Their bar for proof is lower than our criminal courts. So, once they have convicted and sentenced him, I can work with them and put his arse in a wringer and suggest that he might get off with a reduced sentence if he would implicate any of his foot soldiers who were involved in the murders. I suspect he knows all about it. And then I can act. That, Holmes, is my plan.”

  Holmes smiled back at him. “Forgive my harsh words, inspector. I spoke too soon. And, pray tell, who is it that I am supposed to speak to at the Royal Courts?”