by Rob Nunn
“That was the original plan,” Carruthers admitted, “but I began to have feelings for Miss Smith, and I had hoped to protect her from Woodley.”
Holmes sighed. “I am not interested in your emotional status, Carruthers. We are here to settle an outstanding account.”
“I will pay it,” the young woman stated flatly.
All eyes turned to her, unsure of what to say next.
“If what you say is true,” she continued, “That my father had found gold and is now dead, I am not interested in anything associated with his death or the horrible events that have followed. Mister Carruthers, you have tried to help me and I thank you for that, but I can never look upon you without knowing that you concealed my father’s death from me and that you were once in partnership with that brute. No, my father’s gold was never mine and it can only remind me these horrid events.”
Holmes took the opportunity presented. “Miss Smith, this is a very noble gesture, and it will certainly absolve Mister Carruthers of his debt to me. I would also like to volunteer my services in helping you to find a profession and lodgings in London or anywhere you choose.”
“Thank you, Mister Holmes. I appreciate your kindness. May I ask one other favor, as well?”
“Of course,” Holmes answered graciously.
“Would you be able to find a place for me where Jack Woodley will never find me?”
Holmes nodded. “Miss Smith, I promise you that Jack Woodley will never bother you again.”
Holmes turned to the sham preacher. “You will transport him to London on tomorrow’s train. Woodley will be left at the Bar of Gold and you will leave England. Do I make myself clear?”
The terrified preacher nodded.
“Mister Holmes,” Carruthers began.
Holmes waved his hand dismissively. “Go away, Carruthers. My business with you is finished.”
Carruthers and the preacher slunk from the room and Holmes turned back to Miss Smith. “I will arrange everything with your father’s estate. I will leave a train ticket for you. Here is my card. If you would call on me in three days’ time, I will have everything ready for you to begin a new life away from this place.”
Watson and Holmes escorted the young woman to her lodgings and took the day’s train back to London.
“Holmes, surely that gold is worth much more than Woodley and Carruthers owe,” Watson ventured.
“Quite so. The young lady did not want it, so I will graciously take it off of her hands. Some of it will be used for her arrangements. And the rest, Doctor Watson, the rest will find a nice home in our coffers.”
“And Woodley? What are your plans for him?”
Holmes touched the spot on his forehead. “Mister Woodley owes me quite a bit. And he will be working off his debt to me for quite a long time. In fact, I may put him to work with the notorious canary trainer that my other employees detest so much.” Holmes chuckled, “That should teach him to find out who he is talking to before he throws a punch.”
Chapter 14: Brother Mycroft is Coming Round
“Ignorance can be dangerous, Watson,” Holmes mused one morning, flipping down the newspaper.
“How so, Holmes?”
“You are obviously unaware of the attempt on our lives last night.”
Watson slammed down his cup and wiped coffee from his mustache. “Nonsense. Surely, you realize it is too early for such a joke.”
“You prove my point. You are ignorant of the danger that you were in just hours ago. Last night, an agent of ex-President Murillo made an attempt on our lives. We were only saved by the alarm being raised by the sentry I had placed opposite our door.”
“How could I know nothing of this?”
“It could be that no sound reached your room upstairs. Or it could be that the effects of your drink during billiards last night had a stronger effect than you imagined,” Holmes smiled.
“Nonetheless. What are we to do about this, Holmes? How can you sit so idly knowing that a powerful man wishes you - us - dead?”
Holmes waved his hand. “Murillo is no longer a powerful man. His attempt last night was quite possibly his last attempt at relevance. Since he has been deposed by his former subjects, he commands no power. And the final card he had to play was the lone agent that was so quickly dispatched by my own men. However, I suppose we should take some precautions for future safety.”
Holmes wrote out two notes while Watson wrestled with the fact that after all these years, Holmes was still able to surprise him.
“These two moves should insure future safety for us, Watson. Dispatch Allard to San Pedro to ensure that Mister Murillo is no longer a threat to us. And I would like to hire a discreet builder to construct a secret room for us in Baker Street just to make sure that we have a last line of defense. I believe Mister Oldacrein Norwood would be acceptable.”
Watson read the notes and rang for the maid. “But why didn’t you tell me of the danger from Murillo? I don’t remember ever hearing his name from you before.”
“Do you recall the theft we orchestrated from the Dutch steamship Friesland?”
“Or course. It was a beautiful case.”
“Our heist from that ship was bound for San Pedro to fortify then-President Murillo’s war chest from his usurpers. And when the payment never arrived, Murillo was ungraciously removed from office. I’m sure he blames me for his departure from power, but I can hardly be at fault for his poor management, now can I?” Holmes smiled.
“Hardly,” Watson chuckled. “but I would ask you to keep me aware of future threats.”
“Of course. It was callous of me to not do so. In fact, you are in danger at this very moment.”
Watson started. “From whom?”
Holmes chuckled and took up a pipe from the Moroccan table next to his chair. Stuffing it with the plugs and dottles left from his smokes of the day before, he replied, “From everyone, my dear Watson. You should always remember that our line of work creates enemies and competitors that wish us ill. It would do you well to always keep that in mind. Think of the danger that thugs such as Brooks or Woodhouse pose whenever you start to feel comfortable with your position in this city.”
Watson nodded in agreement and returned to his coffee. “Well, Holmes, since we were not murdered last night, what is on the docket for today?”
“I am expecting a payment of four thousand pounds from to arrive from Threadneedle Street before noon. And I had originally meant to spend today planning a robbery of one of richest men in London, Lord Mount James, but after a review of his person yesterday, I realize that the man is such a miser that his house would hardly have anything worth our time. I suppose I can turn my attention to Sir Eustance Brackenstall in Kent.”
“I believe I’ve heard that name before. Isn’t he a confirmed drunkard?”
“That he is. His household is considerable, but also a tumultuous one. That should allow our men cover one evening. He is a perfect fiend when he is drunk. There was a scandal about his drenching a dog with petroleum and setting it on fire that was only hushed up with some difficulty. Between you and I, he is the type of man that I thoroughly enjoy taking from.”
“Capital,” Watson replied. “What are your intentions for Sir Eustance?”
“He has recently had many modern changes and an entirely new wing added to his house. All of the servants sleep in this modern wing. The central block is made up of the dwelling-rooms, with the kitchen and Brackenstall’s bedroom above, with his wife’s maid sleeping above their room. There is no one else, and no sound could alarm those who are in the farther wing.
“We will endeavor to lure Mrs. Brackenstall and her maid away from her home for an evening. That same night, one of our men will engage Sir Eustance in town and invite him for a drink to discuss leasing his land for a hunt. Our man will ply Sir
Eustance with enough drink and a little additive to make sure that he sleeps through the night. Our expert force will then have a fairly free reign.”
Watson smiled at his friend’s plan as the maid entered. She took the two notes from Watson and handed Holmes a telegram.
“Well, well!” said Holmes. “Brother Mycroft is coming round.”
“And why not?” Watson asked. “It would do well for your brother to visit you once in a while instead of constantly ordering you to his club.”
“Why not? It is as if you met a tram-car coming down a country lane. Mycroft has his rails and he runs on them. His Pall Mall lodgings, the Diogenes Club, Whitehall - that is his cycle. Once, and only once, he has been here for that business with the Greek interpreter. What upheaval can possibly have derailed him? The Brackenstall business must wait, I’m afraid.”
“Does he not explain?”
Holmes handed Watson the telegram and paced in front of the fireplace. It read, “Must see you over Cadogen West. Coming at once.–Mycroft.”
“The name recalls nothing to my mind. But that Mycroft should break out in this erratic fashion! A planet might as well leave its orbit.” Holmes stopped suddenly and faced Watson. “By the way, do you know what Mycroft is?”
“You told me that he had some small office under the British government. But he strikes me as someone with more influence than a typical worker bee. Your family seems to be one full of secrets...”
Holmes smiled. “I did not know you quite so well in those days. One has to be discreet when talking of high matters of state. You are right in thinking that he has a more substantial role under the British government. You would also be right in a sense if you said that occasionally he is the British government.”
“My dear Holmes!”
“I thought that might surprise you. Mycroft draws four hundred and fifty pounds a year, remains a subordinate, has no ambitions of any kind, will receive neither honor nor title, but remains the most indispensable man in the country.”
“But how?” Watson asked.
“Well, his position is unique. He has made it for himself. There has never been anything like it before, nor will be again. You could say that is a family trait. He has the tidiest and most orderly brain, with the greatest capacity for storing facts, of any man living. The same great powers which I have turned to my organization he has used for this particular business. The conclusions of every department are passed to him, and he is the central exchange, the clearinghouse, which makes out the balance. All other men are specialists, but his specialism is omniscience. We will suppose that a minister needs information as to a point which involves the Navy, India, Canada and the bimetallic question; he could get his separate advices from various departments upon each, but only Mycroft can focus them all, and say offhand how each factor would affect the other. They began by using him as a shortcut, a convenience; now he has made himself an essential. In that great brain of his everything is pigeon-holed and can be handed out in an instant. Again and again, his word has decided the national and international policy.”
“The unseating of President Murillo...” Watson interjected.
Holmes nodded. “It was beneficial to us both. Mycroft thinks of nothing else other than governmental policy save when, as an intellectual exercise, he unbends if I call upon him and ask him to advise me on one of my little problems. You can now see why I defer to him in so many matters?”
“Of course, having such a powerful ally, and he having you to carry out certain deeds, must be a great boon for both of you.”
“Yes, but Jupiter is descending today. What on earth can it mean? Who is Cadogen West and what is he to Mycroft?” Holmes mused.
“I have it!” Watson cried, and plunged among the litter of papers on the sofa. “Yes, here he is! Cadogen West was the young man who was found dead on the Underground on Tuesday morning.”
Holmes sat up at attention, his pipe halfway to his lips. “This must be serious, Watson. A death which has caused my brother to alter his habits can be no ordinary one. What in the world can he have to do with it? Please, Doctor, enlighten me upon this case.”
“Well, the young man had apparently fallen out of the train and killed himself. He had not been robbed, and there was no particular reason to suspect violence. There has been an inquest and a good many fresh facts have come out. Looked at more closely, I should certainly say that it was a curious case.”
“Judging by its effect upon my brother, I should think it must be a most extraordinary one.” Snuggling down in his armchair, Holmes continued. “Let us have the facts.”
“The man’s name was Arthur Cadogen West. He was twenty-seven years of age, unmarried, and a clerk at Woolwich Arsenal.”
“Government employ. Behold the link with Brother Mycroft!”
“He left Woolwich suddenly on Monday night. Was last seen by his fiancée, Miss Violet Westbury, whom he left abruptly in the fog about 7:30 that evening. There was no quarrel between them, and she can give no motive for his action. The next thing heard of him was when his dead body was discovered by a plate-layer, just outside Aldgate Station on the Underground system in London at six on Tuesday morning. It was lying wide of the metals upon the left hand of the track at a bend. The head was badly crushed - an injury which might well have been caused by a fall from the train. The body could only have come on the line in that way. Had it been carried down from any neighboring street, it must have passed the station barriers, where a collector is always standing. This point seems absolutely certain.”
“Very good. The case is definite enough. The man, dead or alive, either fell or was precipitated from a train. So much is clear to me. Continue.”
“It can be stated for certain that this young man, when he met his death, was travelling in this direction at some late hour of the night, but at what point he entered the train it is impossible to state.”
“His ticket, of course, would show that.”
“There was no ticket in his pockets.”
“No ticket! Dear me, Watson, this is really very singular. According to my experience, it is not possible to reach the platform of a Metropolitan train without exhibiting one’s ticket. Was it taken from him in order to conceal the station from which he came? It is possible. Or did he drop it in the carriage? That is also possible. But the point is of curious interest. I understand that there was no sign of robbery?”
“Apparently not. His purse contained two pounds fifteen. He had also a checkbook on the Woolwich branch of the Capital and Counties Bank. There were also two dresscircle tickets for the Woolwich Theater, dated for that very evening. Also a small packet of technical papers.”
Holmes gave an exclamation of satisfaction. “There we have it at last, Watson! British government - Woolwich. Arsenal - technical papers - Brother Mycroft, the chain is complete. But here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to speak for himself.”
A moment later the tall and portly form of Mycroft Holmes was ushered into the room. At his heels came Inspector Lestrade. Watson bristled at having an official of the Yard in their rooms, but knew certain formalities must be adhered to if he and Holmes were to stay undetected by the force.
Mycroft struggled out of his overcoat and settled into an armchair. “A most annoying business, Sherlock. I extremely dislike altering my habits, but the powers that be would take no denial. Given the present state of Siam, it is most awkward that I should be away from the office. But it is a real crisis. I have never seen the Prime Minister so upset. As to the Admiralty - it is buzzing like an overturned beehive. Have you read up the case?”
“We have just done so,” replied the younger Holmes. “What were the technical papers?”
“There’s the point! Fortunately, it has not come out. The press would be furious if it did. The papers which this youth had in his pocket were the plans for the Bruce-Partington
submarine. Its importance can hardly be exaggerated. It has been the most jealously guarded of all government secrets. You may take it from me that naval warfare becomes impossible within the radius of a Bruce-Partington’s operation. Every effort has been made to keep the secret. The plans, which are exceedingly intricate, comprising some thirty separate patents, each essential to the whole, are kept in an elaborate safe in a confidential office adjoining the arsenal, with burglar-proof doors and windows. Under no conceivable circumstances were the plans to be taken from the office. If the chief constructor of the Navy desired to consult them, even he was forced to go to Woolwich. And yet here we find them in the pocket of a dead junior clerk in the heart of London. From an official point of view it’s simply awful.”
“But you have recovered them?”
“That’s the pinch. We have not. Ten papers were taken from Woolwich. There were seven in the pocket of Cadogen West. The three most essential are gone - vanished. You must drop everything, Sherlock. It’s a vital international problem that you have to solve. Solve this problem, and you will have done a good service for your country.”
“It seems to me perfectly clear,” said Lestrade, who had been listening impatiently. “He took the papers to sell them. He saw the agent. They couldn’t agree to the price. He started home again, but the agent went with him. In the train, the agent murdered him, took the more essential papers, and threw him from the carriage. I don’t see the need to include a civilian in such a matter of national importance.”
Mycroft looked at Lestrade as a professor would look at a young child explaining the laws of physics. “My brother has been specifically requested by the Prime Minister after a previous dealing, of which the police force was not aware. While the government appreciates the work that your force does, there are some times when a private citizen can be more useful than a battalion of officers.”
Trying to keep Lestrade’s ego from derailing the conversation, Holmes interjected. “Of course I would be happy to assist the government and the official force in any way possible. At the moment, I am only working on a monograph of the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus, which can certainly wait until this more pressing matter has been resolved. Lestrade, I am at your disposal.”
