The Criminal Mastermind of Baker Street

by Rob Nunn

  After three days of convalescence in France, Watson and Holmes returned to Baker Street. To regain his ambition for work, Holmes took to cocaine, restoring his fierce energy for bouts of time. After two days of furious notes and messages returning his organization to working order, it was evident to Watson that his friend could not continue at this pace; he simply wasn’t restored yet. Even though he had observed Holmes’ energy return, Watson could see that the stimulant would eventually drag his friend back into a black depression once again.

  Colonel Hayter, who had come under Watson’s professional care in Afghanistan, had a house near Reigate in Surrey, and had frequently asked his old friend to come down for a visit. With a little diplomacy, informing Holmes that the establishment was a bachelor one and that he would be allowed the fullest freedom, Holmes fell in with Watson’s plans, and a week after their return from Lyons, Holmes and Watson were under the colonel’s roof.

  Holmes and Watson spent their first few days with the colonel fishing and reading, but Holmes was unable to relax for very long. He began work on a monograph on the art of acting and disguise until a new puzzle presented itself. After demonstrating his extraordinary skill at analyzing handwritings to solve the local problem, he completed his monograph and stated to Watson, “I think our quiet rest in the country has been a distinct success. It has been a charming stay, and I shall certainly return, much invigorated, to Baker Street tomorrow.”

  When they arrived back in London, Holmes encouraged Watson to set up his own medical practice, citing that if any authorities investigated them, Watson would need to show a source of income. Agreeing with this logic, Watson dedicated the next few weeks to building up a practice in Holborn and spent the evenings hearing Holmes tell of his exploits such as a burglary at Arnsworth Castle, before he had to spend some time in Odessa on a matter of business.

  On the evening May 20th, Watson returned home to find Holmes in front of the fire.

  “Welcome home, Holmes!” Watson greeted his friend.

  “Thank you, Watson. It is good to be back in London. I fear that Russia lacks the creature comforts of home.” Holmes waved Watson to his armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a spirit case and gasogene in the corner.

  “Your business is taken care of then?” Watson asked after he had made them both a drink.

  “Yes, the Trepoff murder has been dealt with. I made a stop on my way back and procured our next client.” Holmes indicated a sheet of thick note paper.

  Watson read the note. “There will call upon you tonight, at a quarter to eight o’clock a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very deepest moment. Your past services to one of the Royal Houses of Europe have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated. This account of you we have from all quarters received. Be in your chamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor wear a mask.”

  Looking up from the paper, Watson asked, “You said you procured this client?”

  “Perhaps I speak too freely. I made myself known in certain circles, aware that this gentleman is looking for someone to handle a delicate problem. What can you deduce from the note itself?”

  Watson carefully examined the writing and the paper. “The man who wrote it was presumably well-to-do,” he remarked, endeavoring to imitate Holmes’ process that he had witnessed over the years. “Such paper could not be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong and stiff.”

  “Peculiar - that is the very word. It is not an English paper at all. The man who wrote the note is a German. Do you note the peculiar construction of the sentence - ‘This account of you we have from all quarters received.’ A Frenchman or a Russian could not have written that. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It only remains, therefore, to meet with this German who writes upon Bohemian paper, and prefers to wear a mask. And here he comes, if I am not mistaken.”

  A slow and heavy step was heard upon the stairs and in the passage. It paused outside the door and then there was a loud and authoritative tap.

  “Come in!” said Holmes.

  The man who entered was six feet six inches in height, with large chest and limbs. His dress had a richness which would be looked upon as bad taste in England. His hand had just finished adjusting a black vizard mask, which extended down past the cheek bones.

  “You had my note?” he asked in a deep, harsh German voice. “I told you that I would call.”

  “I did,” said Holmes. “Pray take a seat. This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson. Whom have I the honor to address?”

  “You may address me as the Count von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honor and discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extreme importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate with you alone.”

  “It is both or none,” Holmes replied flatly. “You may say before this gentleman anything which you may say to me.”

  The count shrugged his broad shoulders. “Then I must begin by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years, at the end of that time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too much to say that it is of such weight that it may have an influence upon European history.”

  Holmes and Watson both agreed to the terms.

  “And you will excuse this mask. The august person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I may confess at once that the title by which I have just called myself is not exactly my own.”

  “I was aware of it,” Holmes said dryly, settling himself down in his armchair and closing his eyes. “If your majesty would condescend to state your case, I should be better able to advise you.”

  The visitor sprang from his chair, and paced up and down the room in uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore the mask from his face and hurled it to the ground. “You are right,” he cried, “I am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?”

  “Why, indeed?” murmured Holmes. “Your majesty had not spoken before I was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Falstein, and hereditary King of Bohemia.”

  “You can understand,” said the King, sitting back down and passing his hand over his forehead, “that I am not accustomed to doing business in my own person. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to an agent without putting myself in his power. You have just only been recommended from one of my advisors and I have come incognito from Prague for the purpose of consulting you.”

  “Then, pray, consult,” said Holmes, shutting his eyes again.

  “The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a lengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known adventuress Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you.”

  “Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor,” murmured Holmes, without opening his eyes.

  Finding her biography in between that of a Hebrew rabbi and one of a staff-commander who had written a monograph upon deep sea fishes, Watson handed Holmes the filing system to him.

  “Let me see,” said Holmes. “Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year 1858.Contralto, La Scala. Retired from operatic stage. Living in London. Your Majesty, as I understand, became entangled with this young person, wrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous of getting those letters back.”

  “Precisely so. But how - “

  “Was there a secret marriage?”

  “None.”

  “No legal papers or certificates?”

  “None.”

  “Then I fail to follow Your Majesty. If this young person should produce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to prove their authenticity?”

  “There is the writing
.”

  “Pooh, pooh! Forgery.”

  “My private notepaper.”

  “Stolen.”

  “My own seal.”

  “Imitated.”

  “My photograph.”

  “Bought.”

  “We were both in the photograph.”

  “Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed committed an indiscretion. You have compromised yourself seriously.”

  “I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I am but thirty now.”

  “It must be recovered,” Holmes stated.

  “We have tried and failed. She will not sell it.”

  “Stolen, then.”

  “Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked her house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice she has been waylaid. There has been no result.”

  Holmes laughed. “It is quite a pretty little problem.”

  “But a very serious one to me,” reproached the King. “I am to be married and she means to ruin me. A shadow of doubt as to my conduct would bring the matter to an end. Irene Adler threatens to send them the photograph. You do not know her, but she has a soul of steel. She has the face of the most beautiful of women, and the mind of the most resolute of men. Rather than I should marry another woman, there are no lengths to which she would not go - none. She said that she would send it on the day when the betrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday.”

  “Oh then, we have three days yet,” said Holmes, yawning. “That is very fortunate. I have one or two matters of importance to look into. I shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress. And, as to money?”

  “You have carte blanche. I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom to have that photograph.”

  Smiling, Holmes continued, “And for present expenses?”

  The King took a heavy leather bag from under his cloak, and laid it on the table. “There are three hundred pounds in gold, and seven hundred in notes,” he said, handing Holmes a slip of paper with Miss Adler’s address written on it.

  “Then, goodnight, Your Majesty, and I trust that we shall have some good news for you.”

  As the wheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street, Holmes turned to Watson. “I first heard rumors of the King’s dalliance with an American woman while I was in Odessa. Having some familiarity with women of the sort, I knew that the King would be most anxious to have the matter handled discreetly. I have made some inquiries into Miss Adler, but was not able to find out much more than the index told you. Tomorrow, I will look into the matter myself.”

  “Surely you could send agents out, Holmes.”

  “If all the King’s horses and all the King’s men could not get his photograph back again, it is a serious matter indeed. Plus, a client such as ours will appreciate a personal touch to this matter. I’m sure he will show his gratitude in the end. Now, if you would be good enough to end your work day and return here by three o’clock tomorrow, I should like to chat this little matter over with you.”

  With that, Watson retired for the night, and left Holmes to his pipe in front of the fireplace.

  Watson returned to Baker Street at three o’clock from practice the next day, only to find the rooms empty. Just before four o’clock, the door opened, and a drunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and with an inflamed face and disreputable clothes walked in. At first, thinking the man to be one of Holmes employees, Watson was startled to see that it was actually Sherlock Holmes in disguise! Holmes nodded to Watson and vanished into his bedroom, emerging minutes later in respectable clothes. Holmes stretched his legs out to the fire and laughed heartily. “Pour me a glass of Montrachet, Watson, and I will lay out my activities for the day.”

  Holmes had left Baker Street that morning dressed as an out-of-work groom. After finding Irene Adler’s home in St. John’s Wood, he lounged down the street and helped Adler’s employees rub down her horses, receiving a small payment, a drink, some tobacco, and plenty of information.

  “She has turned all the men’s heads down in that part,” Holmes said. “She is the daintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. She lives quietly, sings at concerts, drives out at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for dinner. Seldom goes out at other times, except when she sings. Has only one male visitor, but a good deal of him. He never calls less than once a day, and often twice. He is Godfrey Norton, a lawyer. That sounded ominous. Was she his client, friend, or mistress? Before I could balance this new information and what it meant for the photograph, a hansom cab drove up to Briony Lodge, and a handsome gentleman sprang out. Evidently this was the man of whom I had heard. He was in a great hurry and rushed into the house with the air of a man who was thoroughly at home.

  “He stayed in the house for half an hour, and I could catch glimpses of him through the windows, pacing up and down, talking excitedly and waving his arms. Of her I could see nothing. Presently he emerged, looking even more flurried than before. As he stepped up to the cab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked at it earnestly. ‘Drive like the devil,’ he shouted, ‘to the Church of St. Monica in the Edgware Road. Half a guinea if you do it in twenty minutes!’

  “I was just wondering whether I should follow them, when up the lane came a neat little landau. It hadn’t pulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it, rushing off to the Church of St. Monica also. I was just about to perch on the back of her landau when a cab came along. The driver looked twice at such a shabby fare, but I jumped in before he could object. Off to the church we sped after them. It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and of course it was clear enough what was in the wind. I hurried into the church when I arrived, only to find that it was completely empty except for the clergymen and the two people I had followed. Norton saw me and exalted, ‘Thank God! You’ll do! Come! Come! Only three minutes or it won’t be legal.’

  “I was half-dragged up to the altar, and before I knew where I was I found myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear, and vouching for things of which I knew nothing, and generally assisting in the secure tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, to Godfrey Norton, bachelor. It was done in an instant, and there was the gentleman thanking me on the one side and the lady on the other. It seems that there had been some informality about their license, that the clergyman absolutely refused to marry them without a witness of some sort, and that my lucky appearance saved them. The bride gave me a sovereign, and I mean to wear it on my watch-chain in memory of the occasion.”

  “This is a very unexpected turn of affairs,” said Watson. “And what then?”

  “It looked as if the pair might take an immediate departure, and so necessitate very prompt and energetic measures on my part. At the church door, however, they separated, and she told him that she would drive to the park at five as usual. I was left to make my own arrangements.”

  “Which are?”

  “Some cold beef and a glass of beer,” Holmes answered. “I have been too busy to think of food and I am likely...”

  Holmes was interrupted by a ringing of the bell.

  “Do you think that is the King calling to see about our progress?” Watson asked.

  “It is doubtful. He is too proud to make more than one visit here on his own accord. No, this will be someone else.”

  A slim youth in an ulster was ushered into the room. “Good afternoon, Mister Sherlock Holmes,” he stated. The youth hurried across the room and seated himself with his back to the window.

  Holmes looked quizzically at the newcomer. “I’ve heard this voice before. Now, I wonder who the deuce you are.”

  The youth tipped back the bowler that was pulled low to reveal the face of the most beautiful woman. “You will forgive the imprudent nature of my visit, but a certain nobleman has sent the most cunning agent to my doorstep recently.�
��

  “Well, really!” Holmes cried, and then laughed again until he was obliged to lie back, helpless in his chair.

  “What is it?” Watson demanded, looking between Holmes and the lovely woman dressed as a young man.

  “A touch, an undeniable touch! It’s quite too funny. Dr. Watson, may I introduce to you Mrs. Irene Norton, nee Adler.”

  Stunned, Watson stared at their visitor.

  Irene Norton smiled gracefully at Watson and then turned her attention back to Holmes. “I have been warned against you months ago, Mr. Holmes. I have been told that if the King employed an agent, it would most certainly be you. When my coachman alerted me of a suspicious man around the stables making inquiries this morning, I immediately called for Mr. Norton. When he arrived, we both thought this would be the best recourse. We must lure you out and make sure that the new arrival was the great Sherlock Holmes. I have been trained as an actress myself. Male costume is nothing new to me. After I left the church, I returned home and got into my walking clothes, as I call them, rushed to Baker Street, as your address had been given to me previously, and observed the same ill-dressed groom from the stables and the church enter the front door of this very house.

  “You really did it very well,” she continued. “You would have taken me in completely had I not been on guard against you specifically. And now I am here to appeal to your competitive nature, Mr. Holmes.”

  Holmes took up a glowing cinder with the tongs and lit his long cherry-wood pipe. “Pray, continue, Mrs. Norton. But I must warn you that I have already been employed by your adversary, and am unlikely to go against his wishes.”

  “That will not be necessary. For what I propose will benefit us both.”

  Holmes waved a hand, indicating for her to continue.

  “Mr. Norton and I feel that the best resource is flight while pursued by so formidable an antagonist. But I know that my absence will not appease the King. As to the photograph, he may rest in peace. The King may do what he will without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. I wish to keep the photograph only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a weapon which will always secure me from any steps which he might take in the future.”