The Whitehall Papers: Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

by Maurice Barkley

  A wheel scraping on the curb signaled our arrival at Whitehall. We went directly to the chambers of Lord Bethnal, who we found surrounded by his five associates and two representatives of the police. As Mycroft introduced us we received polite, but rather cool greetings especially by Lord Bethnal and a Mr. Franken who was the Secretary of State for the Home Department. Inspector Hayslip and Commissioner Ballinger, who were more than familiar with Sherlock Holmes, made it plain we were intruders and not wanted.

  “My dear Mycroft,” said Lord Bethnal, with a harried look on his face, “we fully appreciate your concern, but our position remains unchanged. Commissioner Ballinger has a most excellent plan, backed by the full power and expertise of Scotland Yard. There is little need to include your brother in this.”

  “Perhaps,” said Mycroft, “the Commissioner would do my friends and me the favour of explaining his plan?”

  “Very well,” said Commissioner Ballinger, “considering your position. Although I must say, I agree with his lordship. We don't like too many fingers in the pie.” Having made it plain whose fingers he was referring to, he continued. “We will send a man in as requested—rather, demanded in the note. He will have genuine currency and will follow the routine exactly. What the blackmailer will not know is that just after dark we will have fifty men in vacant buildings just across the street and on either side with a view down the alleyway that runs to the rear.

  “On emerging from number 51, if our man is successful, he will raise both arms, which is our signal to sound a portable siren. Of course, if we spot the culprit at any time before that, we will be quick to collar him. Now, on hearing the siren my men will emerge from the nearby buildings and line up at ten foot intervals all down Stainsby Road in front of 51. In addition there will be squads up each side street and down the alleyway behind. I even have teams of men to seal off the sewers. Finally I will have several men on nearby rooftops, although I doubt we will need them. I think you will agree that nothing could escape a trap so constructed.”

  Mycroft, with eyebrows raised, said, “Whatever makes you think our criminal will even show up if he has to wade through a crowd of police to get to his destination?”

  “Really, Mr. Holmes,” This time it was the irritated and irritating Mr. Franken, “have you forgotten already that the police will be in position early on? I might also point out many of the buildings in the area are empty, but I am confident the police can obtain the cooperation of any occupants.”

  I simply could not resist commenting on this tomfoolery. “These occupants will then know that the police are planning a major operation and since the blackmailer has requested this exact location it stands to reason that he knows it well and may have contact with some of said inhabitants.”

  “Mr. Ballinger,” said Sherlock, breaking his silence, “as usual the good doctor is correct. Have you solicited an opinion of this plan from any foot patrolman who patrols that area?”

  “Whatever for?” the Commissioner asked. “This situation requires our best talent. I would hardly reverse the order of command. A foot patrolman's job is to obey the orders of his superiors, not to comment on or judge those actions.”

  “I believe,” Sherlock interjected, “that the man's job is also to know his beat. I am familiar with the area and I am sure any officer who works there will tell you the residents therein keep a sharp eye out for the law. Your presence will be common knowledge throughout the district within minutes of your arrival—day or night. No, I tell you that you have set yourselves an impossible task. My guess is you shall never see your quarry, which by the way is almost certain to be a hireling and not the man you are after. I strongly recommend you first obtain your photographs and only then set the hounds on your man.”

  “First of all, Mr. Holmes,” said Commissioner Ballinger, who moved closer in an aggressive manner, “if the man we capture is a hireling, so be it. He will have the photographs, the retrieval of which is after all the most important part of our task. In addition he will have an address to which he is to deliver the money. We can squeeze it out of him.”

  Lord Bethnal came out from behind his desk. “I can see I must make this final. You have voiced your objections, but I prefer to place my trust in Scotland Yard. I must insist on your full cooperation from this point on. Nothing must distract us from the job at hand.”

  “So be it,” said Mycroft, with a great sigh. “I will return to my office to await your pleasure.”

  Our trio departed the room and once outside Mycroft added, “And to await word of your failure.”

  “Cheer up, dear brother,” said Sherlock. “We may be able to salvage something if we are at liberty to go to work after the great scheme fails. I think for now Watson and I will return to our rooms until you need us.”

  “Yes, I suppose that is logical. I will stand watch here and keep you posted as best I can.”

  Our journey home was swift and silent. Holmes was quiet and gloomy the entire trip. He brightened considerably when we discovered Inspector Lestrade impatiently awaiting our arrival.

  “Blast it all, Holmes,” he blurted, without removing the pipe from his mouth, which resulted in a small volcano of ashes and sparks. “Where have you been? Never mind—you're here. The guard you suggested I detain for questioning has vanished. What made you suspicious of him?”

  Holmes saw my puzzled look. “The Inspector is referring to the note I left for him. The guard in question is the one in the corridor—the one who saw nothing.” He turned to Lestrade. “I do have a theory about the escape and what you have just told me tends to verify my thinking. I should like to accompany you to the Bow Street jail to look over the ground. Perhaps then I will be able to offer you a complete picture of yesterday's events.”

  “As close as ever with your information,” Lestrade growled.

  “Not close,” Holmes replied, “careful. Any little reputation I have would suffer if I were too quick to speculate. I might also mention the pleasure I derive from the hunt. Would you deny me that?”

  “Great heavens, NO!” cried Lestrade, while rising to leave. “Let's get on with it then. Oh, yes, thank you for the use of your sofa.”

  “Give me just a moment,” said Holmes. “I must write a note to my brother. It is important he knows our whereabouts.”

  For the second time that day we found ourselves clopping through the hazy streets of London. The rain had stopped, but the clouds remained to impart a grey, cold cast to the city.

  I count myself among the fortunate in that I am an infrequent visitor to the prisons of this country. That they are dismal, grimy and black to the soul is one's expectation, but the oppressive melancholy that enters the mind as one trudges through the dank, sour corridors is enough to make the average citizen wish for nothing but to be quit of such a place forever.

  Accompanied by Warden Elder, our entrance from the main gate brought us first to the guard station in the L shaped corridor. A new sentry stood there as the guard from the previous day was still missing. After a few moments of silence, Holmes accidentally dropped a small coin. The stone walls magnified the sound many times. He picked it up and proceeded down the corridor to examine the guard's quarters and small supply room.

  “We found the convict’s discarded clothing here, “Lestrade said.

  We went on to the heavy door at the corridors end and stepped out into the desolate yard.

  “Warden Elder,” said Holmes, “do all three of these doors open inward?

  “Yes, they do, sir,” said the warden, “same as most exterior doors.”

  There were many footprints pressed into the earth that everywhere bore the small uniform furrows of the rake. I had expected Holmes to study the ground, but he gave it barely a glance as he walked to the centre of the area and looked at the three doorways.

  “You missed the ground, Holmes,” Lestrade called out. “Time was, you would be trotting around like a beagle close on his rabbit.”

  “To what end?” Holmes asked. “Yo
u and other officials made the only trails I see. Perhaps a broader view might reveal more. I wonder if we might go up in the guard tower. I should like to view the yard from the vantage point of the guard who witnessed the drama.”

  Warden Elder took us to the first door, which was under the tower and then led us up a spiral stone stairway. A landing at the top gave us a complete view of the yard. We could see all four corners and everything in-between.

  “Ah! That settles it, “Holmes exclaimed. “A very clever man planned this escape. He took full advantage of that which was available.”

  “All right, Holmes,” said Lestrade, “enough mystery. You seemed to have solved it to your satisfaction. Now is the time for revelations.”

  “You are quite right, Inspector. I now know enough of the details to be sure of the method of escape.”

  “Escape you say,” said the warden, fairly closed-mouthed until then. “The duty guard sealed the gates mere seconds after the convict went through that door.”

  “I'm afraid, Warden Elder, when the alarm sounded your man was already outside the prison and well on his way.”

  “You will have yourself a job convincing me of that,” said the warden, his moustaches bristling.

  “Then I'll begin,” said Holmes. “This morning, Dr. Watson read to me the newspaper account of the escape. I felt there was a strong possibility the guard in the corridor had in some way assisted the prisoner in his attempt. Since the guards carefully searched the jail, it was the only logical alternative. What I have just seen makes my assumption a certainty. In fact, the view from here provides us with a further proof I had not expected. Notice if you will how each of the three doors is set about a foot into the wall. From here, because of the sharp angle, one cannot even see the second and third doors, only the archway cut in to the wall. Further, those doors swing inward, away from the yard, when opened. They could be wide open this very minute and we would not know of it.” Holmes pointed to the yard. “From here we can see what we could not see while standing down there.”

  “I see only dirt and footprints,” said Lestrade. “What are you looking at?”

  “Rake marks,” said Holmes. “A man raking such a large area falls naturally into a rhythm comfortable to his body. I see that the strokes of the rake are short and very straight. As you look down the yard, the pattern continues until it reaches the middle door leading to the guard's quarters. Here it changes abruptly. Now the strokes are a bit longer and somewhat curved. Each sweep of the rake describes a small arc. I can only conclude some other man raked the second half of the yard.”

  “Yes, yes, I see it now,” cried the warden, fairly jumping up and down. “You were right, Lestrade, the man is uncanny.”

  Holmes smiled ever so slightly and continued. “As I have constructed it, the events ran as follows; the convict entered the yard through the door beneath us and began his work under the surveillance of the tower guard. I cannot imagine any guard standing here for a full hour with his eyes riveted on a man performing such a mundane task. I'm sure the prisoner received no more than an occasional glance and this was important to the scheme. This is where he took advantage of the guard not being able to see the door. When, in the course of his work, he reached the middle door, he simply stepped through, as it was standing open.

  “At the same moment the corridor guard, dressed as a convict, took the rake and continued the job. He must have been positive no one would use the corridor during the half hour he would have to spend in the yard. The convict meanwhile, changed clothing just inside the doorway—probably to a guard's uniform. He then made his way to the deserted corridor and thence to the front office and his freedom. Later, when the guard in disguise reached the farthest door, he went through, quickly removed his convict's garb, most likely worn over his official uniform, threw it in the supply room and ran to his post. I might add that the corridor guard made a major error which alone would have exposed him, had no other evidence been available. The coin I dropped in the corridor was a test to verify that in the closed, stone walled area, any sound would echo. When I opened the door to the yard, it made a scraping noise in the frame and all three hinges squeaked loudly. It would have been impossible for even the most negligent of guards not to have heard the noise.”

  “Amazing,” exclaimed Warden Elder. “You could have been present during the actual operation. I take my hat off to you, sir.”

  Lestrade interrupted. “Yes, well done, but our problem now lies outside these walls.”

  As we left the tower Holmes said, “Before we part, Inspector, would you satisfy my curiosity as to the identity of the prisoner?”

  “Well, considering all you have done I can hardly refuse. I can depend on your silence, although it is not an official secret and the papers will have it soon enough. The convict is known only as Samaritan. Not The Samaritan—simply Samaritan. We have never learned his real name. He is, in short, a mercenary spy. He was for hire to anyone who had his price and in his profession his price is the highest because he is the best. Done the dirty on us several times he has, but he slipped up on his last trick and we had him tucked away here for ten years. At least we had him for almost six months of his time.”

  “I am,” Holmes said, “generally familiar with the career of Samaritan, but I cannot see why he warrants the secrecy.”

  “Official embarrassment, my friend. Our leaders are quite sensitive when someone makes them look the fool. Their wounds are raw because some things he involved himself in were so sensitive, public prosecution was out of the question. That man is very important and very dangerous. I will spend my time exclusively in running him to ground—if indeed we can do it.”

  The job done we went our separate ways—Warden Elder to his office, Lestrade to Scotland Yard and Holmes and I back to Baker Street. It struck me as somewhat unusual that Holmes evidenced no further interest in the whereabouts of Samaritan. I said as much as we sat down to lunch.

  “My dear Watson, I have no clue to follow. Also we need to be available should my brother need us. Better the police should be hard at work on such a day. I might add that paths in the forest sometimes cross.”

  “Whatever do you mean by that cryptic statement?”

  “Just a little thought that crossed my mind—too indefinite for elaboration.”

  We finished our meal and spent an uneventful afternoon with the papers and a book or two. After a light supper, Holmes went to the lumber-room and dragged out a large file of newspaper clippings. “Reading up on Samaritan,” he said, in answer to my unspoken question. Knowing we might be active after midnight, I pulled the footstool up to the easy chair and closed my eyes for a short nap.

  A sharp tapping woke me from a rather deep sleep. I opened my eyes to see Holmes at the door taking a note from a commissionaire.

  “Ah, Watson, good, you're awake. It's two o'clock on this fine morning and I have here a note from Mycroft. Drink some hot tea while I read the message.”

  Holmes opened the letter and swiftly read its contents. “Mmm. Just as I thought—listen to this. Come at once to Stainsby Road. The grand scheme botched as expected. Money gone, quarry never sighted, no photographs.”

  Holmes threw the note on the writing table and reached for his traveling coat. “Wear something warm, Watson and bring a pocket lantern, we may be out quite late. Take along your pistol—I respect our adversary.”

  Our destination lay across the city from Baker Street. At that hour traffic is light and most of the streets deserted. This allowed our driver to deliver us to our destination in thirty minutes.

  In the middle of a remarkably gloomy block of buildings we found Mycroft standing in front of the sagging wreck of number 51. He was in the company of a great crowd of police who were moving aimlessly and awkwardly, as though trying to look occupied. A few curious citizens gathered together in a small group under a dim gas lamp on the opposite side of the street. They could be seen passing round the occasional bottle and most certainly speculating as to t
he presence of so many police in one location. The high officials responsible for the whole affair were a few yards down the street. They were deep in discussion among themselves and doing a good job of ignoring the three of us. Our trio in turn ignored them.

  We proceeded by the light of Mycroft's lantern to climb the less than sturdy stairs that lead us to the fourth floor and apartment number 9. Three police lanterns provided adequate light. After seeing the dusty, grimy floor, I remarked to Holmes it looked as though every policeman in London had been in the room at least twice.

  “Yes Watson,” he replied. “For every clue they gather they are likely to obliterate two.”

  Mycroft and I then stood aside while Holmes went to work. Apartment 9 consisted of a single room with one door opening to the hallway. It had one open window that looked out over the alleyway and on to a block of equally sad and abandoned buildings across the way. Ugly, green coloured wallpaper, badly stained, was peeling from the walls in great slabs that made a faint rustling sound when the air nearby moved. The room was bare and empty except for a single deal table standing squarely in front of the window. It was to this table that Holmes first turned his attention. From his coat pocket, he extracted his magnifying glass and swiftly examined its surface. Pushing the table aside, he then used his glass on the window and ledge. When he finished he leaned out of the window with one of the lanterns and looked about in all directions for a short while.

  Stepping back from the window he said, “I believe I have finished here. Let us have a look at apartment 11.”

  We moved down the hallway to the next apartment. It proved to be a duplicate of the first—completely barren save for a single deal table by the window. Three more police lanterns lit the scene for us. Holmes, without using his glass, looked at the surface of the table for a moment then leaned out the window with his lantern and looked to the left.

  “Excellent. Excellent,” He exclaimed, while walking to the centre of the room where he lit his pipe and puffed in silence for a few minutes. “Mycroft,” said Holmes. “We have what we need from this place. I'll explain later.”