The Criminal Mastermind of Baker Street

by Rob Nunn

  Upon seeing Watson’s talent, Holmes took to writing himself. In fact, it was said that he had become a hermit among his bees and books. But Holmes, with his strangely retentive memory for trifles, was working on his magnum opus. After many pensive nights and laborious days watching the little working gangs among their hives as he once watched over the criminal world of London, Holmes spent time in the great garret of his little house stuffed with books to produce the fruit of his leisure years, The Practical Handbook of Bee Culture, with Some Observations upon the Segregation of the Queen.

  But Holmes’ quiet retirement was too good to last. World events were conspiring against his quiet lifestyle. Germany was flexing its muscles and making all of Europe nervous. The Balkan War loomed on the horizon. Holmes, just like the rest of England, followed these world events with a sense of foreboding. And one day, he received a telegram from his brother Mycroft. “Be at home at noon tomorrow.”

  Knowing that Mycroft did not issue orders such as these lightly, and typically being at home during this hour of the day anyhow, Holmes awaited his expected guest. He planned to see some government official, or possibly his brother if the issue was a serious matter. Holmes was even prepared to beg off activity if the Foreign Minister arrived at his home. But Holmes was completely surprised when the Prime Minister crossed his threshold and seated himself upon the sofa.

  “Mr. Holmes,” the Premier began, “we are aware of your past history as both a rogue and an accomplice to our covert operations. Germany is currently collecting great amounts of intelligence on mother England. The fact is, things are going wrong and no one can understand why they are. Agents have been suspected and even caught, but there is evidence of some strong and secret central force. It is absolutely necessary to expose it. I know that you are leading a retired life and have turned away offers of great value, but I implore you to take this task on for the greatest value, that of the security of your nation. Mr. Holmes, will you use your remarkable combination of intellectual and practical activity to help your government?”

  Holmes paused for only a moment before responding. “Mr. Prime Minister, you have my word that I will do what I can to be of service. If you would send all relevant materials to my humble home, I will spend my time poring over them. I would prefer to work from my own quarters, but if I must return to London, I will do so.”

  Scores of documents soon arrived and Holmes could quickly see that this was a most serious matter. Although he had hoped to be able to consult from his home, strong pressure was brought upon him to use his every resource, and he soon did. Holmes sent a plan for someone to infiltrate Germany’s organization of spies and thieves to deduce the head of the spy ring, starting in America, instead of the European countries where new faces would face tougher scrutiny. Of course, word was sent back from the Prime Minister’s office that they wished Holmes himself to be their agent, bringing him out of retirement for one last bow.

  Returning to his old resources of disguise, Holmes found himself in Chicago, Illinois in 1912. There, he met with agents from the Foreign Office, who assisted him as he acquired the correct American accent and wardrobe. When the time was right, Holmes posed as an out-of-work auto mechanic from Altamont, Illinois and took to hanging around garages throughout the city. After many conversations about Teddy Roosevelt and Comiskey Park, Holmes was able to use a few tricks picked up from Birdy Edwards’ experience infiltrating a secret society in Pennsylvania more than two decades before, and joined an Irish secret society of bitter Irish Americans, full of hatred for England. There, he was quickly dubbed “Altamont” by the regulars, and his infiltration of the spy ring began in earnest.

  After months in Chicago, Holmes’ handlers informed him that his next step would take him to Buffalo, New York. The Foreign Office created a family member for him to visit out east, and Holmes left Chicago for Buffalo. Knowing that he would need to be accepted by the new group more quickly than he had been in Chicago, Holmes requested letters vouching for his character from the head of Chicago’s Irish society. Using this inroad, Holmes was not only welcomed as a fellow brother-in-arms, but was able to find employment at a local garage, where he whiled away his too abundant free time discussing his hatred for America and Britain with the other Irish idlers.

  Altamont’s well-known hatred for English and Americans led him to be recruited for a mission in Skibbareen, Ireland, where he and a few select others gave serious trouble to the constabulary. While in Ireland, Altamont became involved in gun-running against Britain. From these activities, he eventually caught the eye of a subordinate for the German agent, Von Bork. The agent recommended Altamont to his superior as a likely spy, and Holmes was soon hired as a British mole. Over the next few months, Holmes earned the utmost confidence of Von Bork, and was able to subtly undo most of his plans and lead five of the German’s best agents to prison.

  Through the two years Holmes spent as a double-agent, his quiet life had been filled with excitement. His only regret was the horrible goatee he grew as part of his disguise. All of Holmes’ hard work came to an end on August 2, 1914.

  That morning, Holmes had sent a message to Von Bork. “Will come without fail tonight and bring new spark plugs. –Altamont”

  Von Bork waited in the study of his stately manor with baited breath for the gem of his collection, secret British naval signals. Once this item was in his possession, Von Bork would be received back in Berlin in the highest quarters for all of his work. The rest of his family had fled back to Germany, and he was alone with only his old British housekeeper left to keep him company. The agent began to pack his papers in a valise for his early morning departure when he heard the sound of a distant car. When it arrived, a passenger sprang out and advanced swiftly, while the heavily built, elderly chauffer settled down like one who was resigning himself to a long vigil.

  “Well?” asked Von Bork as he greeted his visitor.

  Holmes, under the guise of Altamont, waved a small brown paper bag above his head. “You can give me the glad hand tonight, mister. I’m bringing home the bacon at last!”

  “The naval signals?”

  “Same as I said in my cable,” said Holmes around a half-smoked, sodden cigar. “Every last one of them, semaphore, lamp code, Marconi - a copy, mind you, not the original. Too dangerous.” Holmes slapped Von Bork with a rough familiarity.

  The German winced at the touch. “Come in. I’m all alone in the house. I was only waiting for this.”

  Holmes followed Von Bork into the study and stretched his long legs as he settled into an armchair as the German continued. “I’m shutting down tomorrow morning now that I have this,” he smiled as he indicated Holmes’ delivery.

  “Well, I guess you’ll have to fix me up also. I’m not staying in this gol-darned country all on my lonesome. In a week or less, from what I see, John Bull will be on his hind legs and fair ramping. I’d rather watch him from over the water.”

  “You’ve done splendid work and taken risks. By all means go to Holland, and you can get a boat from Rotterdam to New York. No other line will be safe in a week from now. I’ll take that book and pack it with the rest.”

  “What about the dough?” Holmes asked in his accent.

  Von Bork smiled with some bitterness. “You don’t seem to have a very high opinion of my honor. You want the money before you give up the book.”

  “Well, mister, it is a business proposition.”

  “All right. Have it your way. I don’t see why I should trust you any more than you trust me. Your check is upon the table over there. I claim the right to examine the parcel before you pick the money up.”

  Holmes passed the parcel to Von Bork and he undid the string and two wrappers of paper. He sat for a moment in stunned silence as he stared at the title which read The Practical Handbook of Bee Culture.

  The master spy had only an instant to glare at this title before Holme
s’ iron grasp gripped the back of his neck and a chloroform sponge was placed against his face.

  When Von Bork awoke, he found Altamont and the chauffer enjoying his wine while he lay bound on the sofa with a strap around his upper arms and another around his legs. Holmes had quickly gathered every dossier available and had Von Bork’s valise sitting at his feet.

  “We need not hurry ourselves, Watson,” Holmes stated. “We are safe from interruption. There is no one in the house except old Martha, Von Bork’s maid, who has played her part to admiration. She has collected the addresses of all of Von Bork’s letters and will meet with me at Claridge’s Hotel in London tomorrow. Ah, I see our friend is awake!”

  Von Bork broke out into a furious stream of German invective, his face convulsed with passion.

  “Though unmusical,” Holmes observed, “German is the most expressive of all the languages. As I look through your files, Mister Von Bork, I realize that you have a great deal to answer for!”

  “I shall get level with you, Altamont. If it takes me all my life I shall get level with you!”

  “The old sweet song,” answered Holmes. “It was a favorite ditty of the late lamented Professor Moriarty. Colonel Sebastian Moran has also been known to warble it. And yet I live and keep bees upon the South Downs still.”

  “Who are you?” Von Bork cried.

  “It is really immaterial who I am, but since the matter seems to interest you, Mr. Von Bork, I may say that this is not my first acquaintance with the members of your family. I have done a good deal of business in Germany in the past, and my name is probably familiar to you. It was I who brought about the separation between Miss Irene Adler and the late King of Bohemia when your cousin was the Imperial Envoy. It was I who saved from murder Count Von und ZuGrafenstein by the Nihilist Klopman. It was I...”

  Von Bork groaned and sank back into the sofa. “There is only one man. And most of my information came through you!” he cried.

  “It is certainly untrustworthy. Your admiral may find the new guns rather larger than he expects, and the cruisers perhaps a trifle faster. You have at last been outwitted. You have done your best for your country and I have done my best for mine.” Holmes turned to his other companion. “The papers are now ready, Watson. If you will help me with our prisoner, I think that we may get started for London at once.”

  Holmes and Watson hoisted the bound Von Bork into the spare seat of their little car with his precious valise wedged beside him. Soon enough he would be in custody in Scotland Yard.

  Holmes turned back to his old friend. “Stand with me here upon the terrace, for it may be the last quiet talk we shall ever have.”

  The two friends chatted in intimate converse for a few minutes, recalling once again the days of the past. As they turned to the car, Holmes pointed back to the moonlit sea and shook a thoughtful head.

  “There’s an east wind coming, Watson.”

  “I think not, Holmes. It is very warm.”

  “Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age. There’s an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew over England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it’s God’s own wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared.” Holmes paused for a moment in his reverie.

  “Start her up, Watson, for it’s time that we were on our way.”

  Acknowledgements

  This project started out as a simple article I’d hoped to submit to The Baker Street Journal, but soon ballooned into the book you hold in your hands. Without the help and support of the following people, The Criminal Mastermind of Baker Street would have probably never been completed. I would first and foremost like to thank my amazing wife and daughter, Amy and Savannah, who were understanding about the many days when I would hide myself away to research and write. Josh Monken for the seemingly never-ending edits and continuity suggestions. Chris Redmond for the great guidance in helping mold my original ideas and advice on the publishing process. Brad Keefauver for the encouragement and advice on the submission process. Scott Monty and I Hear of Sherlock Everywhere for giving me my first chances to write seriously about Sherlock Holmes. Sonia Featherson for unwittingly inspiring me with her Canonical quotes on Twitter. Steve Emecz and Rich Ryan for how welcome they made me feel through the whole publishing process .And finally, to the Parallel Case of St. Louis, the Noble Bachelors of St. Louis and the Harpooners of the Sea Unicorn for giving me a place to really dig into the Canon and bounce ideas off other Sherlockians.

  My blog can be found at:

  http://interestingthoughelementary.blogspot.co.uk/

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