The Secret Files of Sherlock Holmes

by June Thomson

  The little cones of brightness proceeded step by step, past my own hiding-place, illuminating briefly the gilded legs of chairs and the pattern on the carpet until they reached the far side of the room where they paused to hover like two luminous moths above the cabinet.

  As they did so, Inspector Gow rose from his place of concealment.

  ‘Now, my lads! At them!’

  There was a startled oath from one of the two figures, soon lost in the general outcry as we rushed forward, I among the mêlée, clutching my stick but hesitating to use it on the writhing mass of bodies on the floor in case I struck at friend instead of foe.

  To my great relief, at this moment the two constables burst in from the hall with their lanterns, the lamps were lit and it was possible at last to discern what was happening.

  Holmes, his face blazing with a look of triumphant exultation, was kneeling over the recumbent body of a man spreadeagled on the floor, his loaded riding crop raised, while the Colonel and the Inspector held another struggling figure by the arms.

  As the Inspector snapped on the handcuffs, I stood back to observe the captives.

  The shorter of the two, who I deduced was the yeggman, was a small, rat-faced individual with black hair and so white-complexioned and undersized that it seemed he might have been raised in some dark cellar, well away from sunlight and air.

  On the other hand, his companion, Vanderbilt, whom Holmes had been guarding on the floor, was a tall, well set-up man, broad in the shoulders and good-looking, with clever, mobile features which would have easily adapted themselves to the many identities he had assumed during his infamous career.

  Unlike his yeggman, who cowered back, snarling like a cornered dog, Vanderbilt stood erect, a smile playing about his lips, as the Inspector placed the handcuffs on his wrists. He then bowed to the Inspector before turning to Holmes to make an even deeper obeisance.

  ‘Mr Sherlock Holmes, I assume?’ he inquired in a courteous, educated voice which bore a trace of a foreign accent. ‘I have long wondered when I would find you on my trail. Mes félicitations, mon cher monsieur. Or, as Professor Galiano might have expressed the same sentiments, Congratulazioni! You have proved to be a worthy opponent.’

  ‘And so, too, have you,’ Holmes replied, returning the bow. ‘It has afforded me the greatest pleasure to take part in the chase. But the hunt is, I think, not quite over. Before Inspector Gow takes you and your accomplice into custody, pray do me the kindness to answer me one question.’

  ‘If I can, I shall be happy to oblige.’

  ‘Then what is the identity of the man who is behind your series of burglaries and whom I call the Magpie for want of his real name?’

  Vanderbilt laughed, throwing back his head.

  ‘The Magpie! That is an excellent pseudonym which suits him perfectly! But, my apologies, Mr Holmes. I very much regret that I cannot reveal his identity; not for reasons of thieves’ honour, you understand, but for a far more pressing consideration – money. I have discussed with the Magpie, as you call him, the possibility that I might one day be apprehended and have received his assurance that, should that contingency arise, a very large sum of money will be deposited in a bank account which, on my release from prison, I shall be able to draw on, provided I keep his identity secret. I am sure you can understand, Mr Holmes, that under those circumstances, my lips must remain sealed. And now, Inspector,’ Vanderbilt added, turning to Gow, ‘if you are ready, shall we complete the formalities?’

  As Inspector Gow stepped forward to escort Vanderbilt and his accomplice from the room, assisted by the police constables, Vanderbilt bowed again in Holmes’ direction but this time my old friend did not return the courtesy. Instead, he stood quite silent and immobile as the villains made their departure and the door closed behind them.

  Nor would he agree to join the Colonel and myself at a celebratory supper of ham sandwiches and glasses of whisky which the butler had laid out in readiness in the study. Instead, Holmes excused himself and went upstairs to his bedroom, exhausted, I assumed, by his exertions and the nervous tension of the past few weeks.

  He was in a similar subdued mood over breakfast the following morning and, when the time came for our departure, accepted the Colonel’s congratulations and thanks in a reticent fashion.

  It was not until we were in the train on our way back to London that I received any response from him.

  As I settled myself in a corner seat, I remarked, echoing Holmes’ own words after our visit to Whitestone Manor, ‘A most satisfactory night’s work!’

  I was considerably taken aback when Holmes turned on me a most morose expression.

  ‘Is it, Watson? I find nothing in it to be sanguine about. For my part, I confess I am bitterly disappointed.’

  ‘But I do not see why, Holmes!’ I cried in disbelief. ‘After all, you have successfully arranged for the arrest of two professional criminals who will no doubt serve long prison sentences.’

  ‘Yes, two, Watson. Two! But the third, the Magpie, who organised this series of thefts, has slipped our net and while he remains at large I shall count this case as one of my failures. No!’ he added sternly, holding up a hand to cut short any further argument. ‘Not another word on the subject, there’s a good fellow. And you will oblige me by refraining from writing an account of the case unless it is for your own personal amusement.’

  It was my turn to be bitterly disappointed.

  ‘But, Holmes –!’ I began.

  ‘I am resolved. Do you wish to publish the story of my failure while at the same time – and worse still! – advertising to the Magpie my interest in his whereabouts together with my deductions concerning his identity? No, Watson. The public shall remain in ignorance of the case until such time as the Magpie is behind bars and I have restored to their rightful owners those family heirlooms which no doubt he is exulting over at this very moment.’

  And with that, he shook out his copy of The Times and retired behind it, leaving me to come to terms with his refusal and to turn over in my mind how I might slip at least a brief reference to the case of Vanderbilt and his yeggman into the published canon in order to prevent that remarkable investigation from passing entirely into oblivion.*

  * Inspector Lestrade refers to the burglaries in ‘The Case of the Notorious Canary-trainer’. (Dr John F. Watson)

  * According to the Oxford English Dictionary, ‘Yegg’ is said to be the name of a certain American burglar or safe-breaker. (Dr John F. Watson)

  * Mr Sherlock Holmes was correct in his prophecy. In July 1901, a Fingerprint Bureau was established at New Scotland Yard by Sir Edward Henry. (Dr John F. Watson)

  * Dr John H. Watson refers to a ‘loaded riding-crop’ as being Mr Sherlock Holmes’ favourite weapon in ‘The Adventure of the Six Napoleons’. (Dr John F. Watson)

  * Dr John H. Watson refers to this ability of Mr Sherlock Holmes in ‘The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton’. (Dr John F. Watson)

  * This Dr John H. Watson succeeds in accomplishing in ‘The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire’ where the case is listed among others under the letter ‘V’ in Mr Sherlock Holmes’ encyclopedia of reference. (Dr John F. Watson)

  THE CASE OF THE ABANDONED LIGHTHOUSE

  Because of the recent attempts to obtain and destroy certain papers in my possession, in particular my notes and memoranda concerning one specific investigation, my old friend, the great consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes, has suggested that I write two accounts of the case, one which shall be deliberately kept among my files and which I shall threaten to publish should these outrages continue,* and this one, the true narrative of the events which took place and which I shall deposit with other confidential material at my bank, Cox and Co. of Charing Cross.

  However, for reasons of the security of the realm, I shall refrain even in this secret account from referring to precise dates and facts in case it should, due to unforeseen circumstances, fall into the wrong hands.

  Suffice it to say that
the events occurred during the time when I had moved out of my former lodgings in Baker Street into my own rooms in Queen Anne Street and before Holmes’ retirement to Sussex.†

  One afternoon in early July, I received a brief telephone message from Holmes, requesting my presence at Baker Street promptly at six o’clock. Having taken a cab to my old address, I found Holmes pacing up and down the sitting-room, impatiently awaiting my arrival.

  No sooner had I entered the room than he thrust a sheet of paper at me, at the same time uttering the one word, ‘Mycroft!’

  I hardly needed to read the note, which had been sent round by special messenger, to understand the urgent and unusual circumstances behind Holmes’ summons.

  Mycroft Holmes, my old friend’s elder brother, acted as a highly-placed ministerial adviser and had the confidence of some of the most powerful men in the country. As Holmes had once observed, there were occasions when Mycroft was the Government.*

  The message read: ‘I have a most urgent matter to discuss with you. Please present yourself at the Diogenes Club this evening at six-thirty sharp. Cancel all other appointments and do not accept any private clients for the foreseeable future. If you wish, Dr Watson may accompany you. Mycroft.’

  ‘Do you know what this urgent matter involves?’ I asked Holmes.

  ‘No; except it must be Government business. Mycroft concerns himself with nothing else. It must also entail an inquiry of some nature. Otherwise, why should he request that I take on no other clients? It is fortunate I am free, having just completed, as you are aware, Watson, the case of Lady Violet Fitzmorgan and the bareback rider. I have ordered a cab which I believe I can hear drawing up outside at this very moment. So let us proceed without any further delay, my dear fellow. We shall no doubt discover the exact nature of this urgent matter when we arrive for our appointment.’

  The Diogenes Club was situated in Pall Mall, not far from the Carlton and opposite Mycroft’s own lodgings. As Holmes remarked as we alighted from the cab, his brother’s life was conducted within a small and tightly drawn circle, consisting of his club, his private lodgings and his office which was just round the corner in Whitehall. It was rarely that he stepped outside its perimeter even to visit Holmes in Baker Street.

  I was already familiar with the club, having visited it before, notably on the occasion when Mycroft had introduced Holmes and me to Mr Melas, whose case I later published under the title of ‘The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter’,* and, as on that evening, Holmes led the way into the Strangers’ Room, the only part of the entire establishment where conversation was permitted.

  We entered to find the portly figure of Mycroft Holmes already comfortably installed in an armchair by the bow window which looked out on to Pall Mall. Much larger and stouter than his brother, Mycroft Holmes nevertheless managed to convey, despite his corpulent frame and air of physical inertia, an impression of keen intelligence and sharpness of intellect, evident in the dominant brow and the alert expression in his light grey eyes.

  Holmes had once informed me† that it was Mycroft’s omniscience of mind, his ability to store facts and collate them, which had made his services indispensable to Government ministers, and that it was on Mycroft’s advice that national policy had been decided on many occasions.

  The greetings over, Mycroft Holmes subsided heavily again into his armchair, waving a languid hand in the direction of a side table on which were standing a whisky decanter, a soda syphon and a tray of glasses.

  ‘As you are already on your feet, Sherlock, you may pour all of us a drink, thereby saving me the exertion. For my part, merely crossing the road to reach this establishment consumes enough energy for one evening. Thank you, my dear boy. You show a proper sense of fraternal duty. And now that we are all seated, our glasses charged, I shall come straight to the point. The matter I shall lay before you concerns nothing less than the security of this nation.’

  Pausing portentously to allow us to grasp the significance of this remark and also to refresh himself from his whisky glass, Mycroft continued, ‘You are no doubt aware of the present state of diplomatic relations between this country and Imperial Germany. Since his appointment of Admiral von Tirpitz as his Minister of Marine in 1897, the Kaiser has set about creating a powerful German navy which, it is feared, will be used to attack our Empire, our trade, even the British Isles themselves. Although the Admiralty has ordered the reorganization and rearmament of our own fleet, it is nevertheless thought that our best defence against any enemy naval attack lies in the development of the submarine.

  ‘It has therefore been decided to press ahead with research into a new prototype, based on the original Bruce-Partington design but much improved. There is no need, of course, to remind you of that particular invention and young Cadogan West’s tragic death when he tried to retrieve the plans from Oberstein, the foreign agent. Both you and Dr Watson were closely involved in that affair.*

  ‘Some time ago, the Admiralty set about enlarging and re-equipping the old secret research laboratory at Woolwich under the control of the eminent scientist, Roderick Jeffreys, who was instructed to recruit his staff from among the most promising young engineers and physicists he could find.

  ‘This brings me to my reason for asking you here this evening.

  ‘It concerns one of those young scientists, Maurice Callister, a brilliant man – a genius, one might say – who possesses a particularly inventive mind. You have probably never heard of him. He is something of a recluse and shuns publicity. However, his twin brother may be more familiar to you in the political field.’

  ‘You are speaking of Hugo Callister, are you not?’ Holmes inquired. ‘The Independent Member of Parliament for Dowerbridge and an excellent back-bench speaker on matters of defence?’

  ‘Exactly so, my dear boy. As a pacifist and an opponent of rearmament, he is something of a thorn in the Government’s flesh but I grant you his debating skills. In his own way, he is as gifted as his twin brother and shares with him certain eccentricities of behaviour although, unlike Maurice Callister, he goes out of his way to court attention.

  ‘Maurice and Hugo are the only children of the late Sir Douglas Callister, the former diplomat, and their peculiarities of character and outlook may derive from their upbringing. Their mother died at their birth and, as children, they travelled extensively abroad with their father to various foreign embassies, mostly in the Far East, although Sir Douglas served for several years in Berlin where he and his sons became friends with a certain Count Rudolph von Schlabitz-Hoecker and his family. In particular, Maurice Callister was very close to the Count’s son, Otto, with whom he shared an interest in scientific matters. Mark that fact, Sherlock! It has great significance.

  ‘As a consequence of their unorthodox education, both the Callister boys became excellent linguists with a wide knowledge of foreign cultures which bred in them what I can only describe as an international outlook. In Hugo Callister it takes the form of advocating political and economic co-operation, in addition to his well-known support of pacifism. He would, for example, dispense altogether with passports, abolish all frontiers and trade barriers and establish some kind of grand central committee which would govern the entire planet. Mere pipe dreams, of course,’ Mycroft added, with a sad shake of his head, ‘as we who live in the real world can testify.

  ‘As for his brother, Maurice, while he appears to have no particular party political beliefs, he nevertheless while at Oxford expressed the opinion that all knowledge and information, especially in the areas of scientific research, should be freely communicated between scholars regardless of their nationalities. That fact, too, is highly relevant.’

  Holmes, who had been listening to Mycroft’s account with great attention, interposed a question of his own.

  ‘Was not Sir Douglas Callister something of a scholar himself?’

  ‘I believe he published several monographs which tended to be on artistic subjects, such as Chinese porcelain or the use of masks in
Noh drama. No doubt his sons inherited their intellectual curiosity from him. However, to continue my account, Sir Douglas returned to England and the two boys were sent to Oxford where Maurice gained a double first in mathematics and physics. Later, he was awarded a Fellowship at St Olaf’s, the youngest man ever to have been given such a distinction. It was at this time that he came to the attention of Roderick Jeffreys and it was on Jeffreys’ recommendation that Callister was offered a post at the Woolwich laboratory to assist with the development of the new submarine, where he has access to all the plans and is involved in every stage of the research.

  ‘I come now to the nub of the affair. We have reason to believe that Callister is passing that information to his boyhood friend, Otto von Schlabitz-Hoecker, who is engaged in similar research on behalf of the German Admiralty.’

  ‘How do you know this?’ Holmes asked.

  Mycroft lifted a broad hand, like a flipper.

  ‘Is it not obvious, my dear Sherlock? We have our own agents in Germany who keep us informed of all aspects of the Kaiser’s rearmament plans. As soon as His Majesty’s* Government was alerted, I was asked to establish a team of experienced men who have been investigating Callister’s activities, at the head of which I have placed a Scotland Yard officer, Inspector Drury, whom I believe you have already met.’

  ‘Indeed I have. He is an excellent man,’ Holmes agreed warmly. ‘Watson and I worked with him only a year ago on the unfortunate affair involving the bishop and the actress.’

  ‘Exactly so. For the past three months, Drury and his men have been keeping a strict watch on Maurice Callister in order to discover the method by which he passes on details of the submarine to Otto von Schlabitz-Hoecker, so far without success. Callister is a strange, solitary individual who appears to have no acquaintances outside his place of work, owing possibly to the fact that he was born with a deformed shoulder. As far as the Woolwich side of the investigation is concerned, all reports are negative. He has modest lodgings close to the laboratory but receives no visitors. He walks to and from the research station but meets no one on the way. Since starting work on the Admiralty project, he has not even been in contact with his brother. I gather from sources inside the House of Commons that Hugo Callister disapproves strongly of any research into armaments, which is only to be expected, given his pacifist beliefs.’