by Rob Nunn
Springtime in 1901 brought another windfall to Holmes. He had just completed overseeing the forging of the Ferrers documents and clearing one of his men, Abergavenny, of murder, when a new opportunity arose.
“Watson,” Holmes half sighed, “I had hoped for a slight respite to devote some time to try over the Hoffman ‘Barcarole’ upon my violin, but that shall have to wait. A business opportunity has presented itself.”
“What is it, Holmes?”
“Shinwell Johnson has just sent word that the late Cabinet Minister, the Duke of Holdernesse, is missing his only son. He has gone missing from his room at the Priory School near Mackleton. We must act fast, for my informant says that the Globe has an inkling of it and is expected to be investigating soon.”
“The Duke of Holdernesse is a very respected man,” Watson warned.
“He is certainly one of the greatest subjects of the crown. And if word were to spread that his heir and only child had been abducted, chaos would ensue. I’m sure that we can contribute to the cause for a princely fee. Now, doctor, if you can be ready in fifteen minutes’ time, I will have a four wheeler ready for us.”
That evening found Holmes and Watson in the cold, bracing atmosphere of Peak County. The pair headed straight for Holdernesse Hall for an unscheduled meeting with the duke. When they arrived, they were shown into a waiting room. After a few minutes, the duke’s private secretary entered. He was small, nervous and alert, with intelligent, light-blue eyes.
“I was unaware that we were to have visitors today. The Duke of Holdernesse is not used to unannounced visits,” he stated.
“My apologies, my good man. We only found out about the duke’s missing son this morning. Otherwise, we would have sent word ahead from London,” Holmes responded.
The man was taken aback. “I’m sorry Mr.,” the man paused to act if he was remembering a name, “Mr. Holmes, but if anything of the sort were true, it would not be discussed.”
“Perhaps you should tell His Grace that I am here, and I intend to find his son.” Holmes’ demeanor changed from indifference to the stony resonance that Watson had seen chill men so many times before. “Dr. Watson and I propose to spend a few days upon your moors, and to occupy my mind as best I may. Whether I work with you or against you is, of course, for you to decide.”
The young man was suddenly in a state of indecision, but was quickly rescued by the deep, sonorous voice of the red bearded duke, who entered the room. “Forgive my secretary, Mr. Holmes. Wilder is only striving to protect my interests. If you have heard of this in London, I can assume that you are a man with his ear to the ground, so to say.”
“You might say that,” Holmes smiled. “I know much about this from informants, and I also know that a reporter from the Globe will be here within a day to start his own investigation.”
The last piece of information shocked both the duke and his secretary. “Tell me what you know, Mr. Holmes,” the duke said.
Holmes nodded, and Dr. Watson began. “Your son was not happy at home, and the boy’s sympathies were with his mother, whom you recently separated from peacefully. Which is why you enrolled him in the Priory School for the summer term, starting on May 1st.He was last seen on the night of May 13th, last Monday. His room was on the second floor, and his two roommates saw and heard nothing that night, proving that he did not leave by the door to the hall.”
Holmes continued, “Your son, Lord Saltire’s, window has a stout ivy plant leading to the ground. This was surely his exit. His absence was discovered the next morning. He had dressed himself before leaving. There were no signs that anyone had entered the room, nor were there signs of a struggle. Roll of the whole establishment was quickly called, and the German master was also found missing. Upon searching the master’s room, it was found that he had fled from his room quickly, only partly dressed. His bicycle was also found to be missing. This cannot be a coincidence.”
“How on earth could you know such things?” blurted Wilder.
“It is my business to know what other people don’t know. Now if I may continue?”
The duke nodded, his lips pursed at all the information Holmes was sharing.
“Inquiry was made here at your hall, but no sign of the boy. There was an official investigation, but it has proved disappointing. Since then, investigations have all but been dropped. This affair has been most deplorably handled. Surely there were some signs by the ivy that would have yielded clues to the trained eye, but they will have been trampled over by now.”
The duke harrumphed in agreement.
“Your son received a letter from you the day before he disappeared, correct?”
“That is correct.”
“Was there anything in your letter which might have unbalanced him or induced him to run off?”
“No, sir, certainly not.”
“Did you post that letter yourself?”
The nobleman’s secretary broke in heatedly. “If you insist on these impertinent questions, I will request that you realize to whom you are speaking. His Grace is not in the habit of posting letters himself. This letter was laid with others upon the study table and I myself put them in the post-bag.”
Holmes eyed the secretary coolly, conceding that his line of questioning had gone on long enough. The duke’s mood clearly showed that he found this interview to be abhorrent, yet necessary.
“You will want my help, Your Grace. I promise you that having me help you is much better than the alternative of the press finding out this information.”
The unspoken threat hung in the air.
“Of course we would welcome any discreet help you may offer us, Mr. Holmes.”
Holmes flung himself into the investigation. The boy’s room and that of the German master were searched and yielded no new information. A close inspection of the bicycle tire tracks were made, of which Holmes noted they were one of the 42 different impressions left by tires that he was familiar with. Holmes and Watson then pored over a map of the around the school to see which road the missing people could have taken.
“But if they had taken this road, they would have been seen,” Watson offered. “It is the only road.”
“A good cyclist does not need a high road,” said Holmes. “The moor is intersected with paths and the moon was at the full. No, Doctor, we will have to search the moor.”
It was soon reported that the missing German master had been found on the moor, dead with his head bashed in. Holmes and Watson rushed to the scene in hopes of finding sign of the duke’s son, but the only sign was that of cow tracks through the grass. Upon closer examination, Holmes noticed that the cow tracks didn’t show them to be walking, but galloping across the moor!
Holmes and Watson followed the tracks to a nearby inn where they found horses out back that had recently been shod.
“We are warm at this inn, Watson,” said Holmes. “I can’t possibly leave, but I don’t wish to arouse suspicion from the landlord. I think we shall have another look at it in an unobtrusive way.”
The two men slipped across the path and into the bush. Just moments after they had taken their spots, a cyclist came swiftly along - the duke’s secretary! Wilder leaned his bicycle against the wall of the inn beside the front door. Holmes and Watson kept up their vigil as the twilight slowly crept down. After some time, Wilder poked his head out of the door and looked down the path, evidently expecting someone. Soon, a second figure walked into the inn and a lamp was lit in an upstairs window.
“Come, Watson, we must really take a risk and try to investigate this a little more closely. I must have a peep through that. If you bend your back, I think I can manage.”
Holmes climbed onto Watson’s shoulders and quickly returned back to the ground. “Come, my friend. Our day’s work has been quite long enough. I think that we have gathered all that we can. It’s a lo
ng walk, and the sooner we get started the better. I promise that before tomorrow evening we shall have reached the solution of the mystery.”
At eleven o’clock the next morning, Holmes and Watson were ushered again into Holdernesse Hall.
James Wilder greeted them coolly. “You have come to see his Grace? I am sorry, but the fact is that the duke is far from well. He has been very much upset by the tragic news of the German master.”
“I will see the duke, Mr. Wilder,” Holmes stated.
“But he is in his room.”
“Then I will go to his room. I will see him in his bed if I must,” Holmes replied with a cold and inexorable manner.
Wilder surveyed the man in front of him and chose not to argue. “Very good, Mr. Holmes, I will tell him that you are here.”
After a tedious wait, the duke appeared in a sorry state. As he slumped into a chair behind his desk, he seemed to be an altogether older man than he had been the day before. “Well, Mr. Holmes?” he asked.
“I think, your Grace, that Mr. Wilder should leave.”
The secretary started to object, but the nobleman waved him away. After Wilder had closed the door behind him, the duke asked, “Now, Mr. Holmes, what have you to say?”
“The fact is, your Grace, that Dr. Watson and I are only interested in this problem for the reward that has been offered. I should like to have it confirmed that you are willing to pay for my information.”
“Certainly. I have offered five thousand pounds to anyone who will tell me where my son is.”
“I fancy that I see your Grace’s checkbook upon the table,” said Holmes. “I should be glad if you would make me a check. The Capital and Counties Bank, Oxford Street branch, are my agents.”
The duke sat stern and upright. “Is this a joke, Mr. Holmes? Where is he?”
“He is, or was last night, at the Fighting Cock Inn, about two miles from your park gate.”
Instead of looking relieved, the duke’s concerned look stayed on his face. “And whom do you accuse of his kidnapping?”
Holmes stepped forward and touched the duke on the shoulder. “I accuse you. And now, your Grace, I’ll trouble you for that check.”
The duke’s face plunged into his hands. “How much do you know? Does anyone else besides your friend know?”
“I saw you enter the Fighting Cock last night where your son was being held. I have spoken to no one.”
“I shall be as good as my word, Mr. Holmes. I am about to write your check, however unwelcome the information which you have gained may be to me. I must put it plainly, Mr. Holmes. If only you two know of this incident, there is no reason why it should go any farther.”
Holmes smiled and shook his head. “I fear, your Grace, that matters can hardly be arranged so easily. No, I think twelve thousand pounds is the sum that you owe me.”
“But this is blackmail!”
Holmes sighed. “I admit that I find blackmail repulsive, but I find it more repulsive that you have exposed your innocent younger son to imminent and unnecessary danger to humor your guilty elder son, James Wilder.”
The duke and Watson both looked at Holmes, astonished.
“The resemblance is most notably in the jaw,” Holmes mused. “My eyes have been trained to examine faces, and not their trimmings.”
“It is true,” the duke confessed. “James is my son from a woman who would not marry me. He hated my young legitimate heir from the first with a persistent hatred. When James determined to kidnap Lord Saltire, he did so without my knowledge. You remember that I wrote to him that day. Well, James opened the letter and inserted a note asking Arthur to meet him in a little wood near the school. I am telling you what he has himself confessed to me...”
Holmes leaned forward and interrupted. “The check please, your Grace. Once we have concluded our business here, I will hurry back into town and escort the reporter arriving on the one o’clock train back to London. You will send a servant out to fetch your son from the inn, and no one need know the details of your deplorable behavior.”
The Duke of Holdernesse solemnly wrote out the check and handed it to Holmes.
“I think that my friend and I can congratulate ourselves upon a most happy result from our little visit. There is one other small point upon which I desire some light. The horses used in the abduction were shod with shoes which counterfeited the tracks of cows. Where was this extraordinary device found?”
The Duke thought for a moment, and the led Holmes and Watson into a large room furnished as a museum and to a glass case. “These shoes were dug up in the moat of Holdernesse Hall. They were used to throw pursuers off track. They belonged to the marauding Barons of Holdernesse in the Middle Ages.”
“Thank you,” said Holmes. “It is the second most interesting object that I have seen in my time in the North.”
“And the first?” the duke asked.
Holmes folded up his check and placed it carefully in his notebook. He patted the book affectionately, and turned to leave Holdernesse Hall without another word.
Chapter 17: As Active as Ever
On an autumn day in 1901, Holmes and Watson sat in the respective chairs, Holmes engrossed in an analysis of the documents found in the Coptic monasteries of Syria and Egypt while Watson studied a monograph on obscure nervous lesions, when the page boy delivered a calling card.
“It seems that Lord Balmoral is visiting us personally today, doctor,” Holmes stated.
“I would presume it is to pay his gambling debt.”
“I surmise there is more to the story than repayment of a debt. He has always paid by messenger in the past.”
A middle aged man entered 221B and Holmes greeted him with the easy air of geniality which he could so readily assume.
“Lord Balmoral, it is good to see you in person. I believe it’s been since McMurdo’s boxing benefit all those years ago,” Holmes smiled once everyone had been seated.
“Yes, I’m afraid we tend to socialize in different circles, Mr. Holmes,” Lord Balmoral condescended. “Although, I admit to seeing Dr. Watson now and again at the track.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t cross paths very often,” Holmes answered. “I tend to shy away from those unwelcome social summonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie. Now, what can I do for you today? Surely, it is not to accept payment of your debt to me, for those are never done in person.”
“No. I will send my payment by courier as usual. I have come to you with a business proposition, Mr. Holmes.”
Holmes cocked an eyebrow and motioned for his guest to continue.
“Of course, I wouldn’t normally stoop to such behavior and sully my title, but my unfortunate streak with the horses lately has put me in a bit of a bind.”
“Is that so? I would think the payment you received for your picture collection a few years ago would shore you up.”
“It was a fine price, but the combination of my son Robert’s scandal and my horse not performing in the Wessex Cup were disasters that I have not been able to fully recover from, even after these years. But I am not here to discuss my financial matters with a man such as yourself, Mr. Holmes. I am here to offer a business opportunity.”
“Then please,” Holmes motioned grandiosely with his arm, “let us benefit from your generosity.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the man, Steve Dixie. He seems the kind of association you would have. He has an opportunity to defraud the Sultan of Turkey of a sizable sum. He needs financial backing, but I am not at liberty to fund him at this time. I agreed to act as an intermediary between you and him as he said it would not be possible to bring this opportunity to you personally.”
Watson pursed his lips at the mention of Steve Dixie and waited for Holmes’ response.
“He was correct in saying that it
would not be possible for him to meet with me, Lord Balmoral. For Steve Dixie is a mad bull and a cowardly ruffian that I would expect a man of your exalted stature to have better sense than to be associated with. After he killed young Perkins outside the Holborn Bar a few weeks ago, he has been in my sights as someone that London should rid itself of. I will not do business with such a man, and in whatever ludicrous plan he has. My work is quite sufficiently complicated to start without the further difficulty of false information.”
Lord Balmoral sprung to his feet, indignant. “How dare you accuse me of lying, Mr. Holmes!”
“Don’t be noisy, Lord Balmoral. I find that after breakfast even the smallest argument is unsettling. I suggest that a stroll in the morning air and a little quiet thought will be greatly to your advantage. I am not interested in your ‘opportunity,’ but I will be interested in your payment that is due to me next Thursday.”
With a huff of offense, Balmoral strode from the room. After he had slammed the door on his way out, Holmes and Watson looked at each other and both burst out into a roar of laughter.
“What preposterous nonsense!” Watson exclaimed.
“That was a very poor attempt at getting free money,” Holmes chuckled. “I’m not sure how Lord Balmoral and Steve Dixie met, but I can assure you that neither of them has any involvement with the Sultan of Turkey. What rubbish.”
“Perhaps there might be a germ of an idea there, though. Could branching out to international royalty be an avenue to pursue?”
“I prefer the smaller crimes as of late, Watson. The larger crimes are apt to be the simpler, for the bigger the crime, the more obvious, as a rule, is the motive. I can use finesse in smaller dealings that don’t attract as much attention. Take for instance our new endeavor with the tide-waiter. It will pay enough to be worth my time, but not large enough to cause a scandal. And as a bonus, I expect it will drive Colonel Warburton, the customs man, mad.”
