Sherlock Holmes Never Dies- Collection Four

by Copland, Craig Stephen

  What was not surprising to me was the arrival close behind her of some of the taller, young teenage women. Their long legs would have given them a distinct advantage on the rocks and steps. They were likewise given robes and glasses of cold water by their friends and the officials.

  A full hour passed until the last of the runners had crossed the line. I was pleased to see that Envoy Grant and his wife greeted every one of them, exchanged polite bows and presented them with a small printed card, bearing a citation from His Majesty, as well as a tiny Union Jack, stapled to a thin foot of doweling. Mrs. Munro stood for some time chatting in Japanese with the winning woman, and then I could see her surrounded by some of the younger girls. I assumed that she was no doubt encouraging their continued emancipation. Not surprising was her one-on-one brief conversation with the Russian, who had managed, as Holmes had predicted, to finish within the limit of the cut for the final race.

  The officials huddled together, going over the time lists. A piece of paper was then handed to the race official who stood and, beginning with the runner in tenth place, called out first the winners of the women’s race, and followed that with the winners among the men. A great cheer went up as the winning man and woman came forward and politely bowed. As they did so, Sherlock Holmes reached out his long arms, bearing a thick blue ribbon, with a medallion attached. With an unfeigned smile, he hung them around their necks. The press were all over the place snapping photographs of the event. It was, I thought, jolly good publicity for the Empire.

  “Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson,” said the elegant Mrs. Munro to the two of us once all the ceremonies were over. “I am so sorry that we cannot invite you across the street this time for a pleasant lunch. But we are holding a reception in three days at the Legation for the winners, and you simply must attend. It just would not be the same without you. The Japanese are all on fire to learn more about you.” She smiled warmly and touched the forearms of first Holmes and then me as she spoke.

  “If I were them,” answered Holmes, “I would be more on fire to learn about you, Mrs. Munro.”

  She responded with a merry peal of laughter. “My goodness, Mr. Holmes, I dare say you are trying to be charming. How thoughtful of you. I shall so look forward to seeing you again soon.”

  The reception was the type of stuffy affair that my friend, Sherlock Holmes, detests. We had to dress up in formal attire in spite of the now warm and humid weather. Both of us were accosted throughout the evening by gaijin and Japanese and endlessly asked the same questions. If either of us had to respond one more time to those who claimed to have been wonderfully terrified at the thought of an enormous hound, I am quite sure we would have howled at the moon and run off into the darkness.

  The winners of both the men’s and the women’s races were all present, now splendidly attired in their traditional kimonos. What surprised me as I looked over the crowd was the presence of Miss Esther Biddle, the Headmistress of the Quaker School for Girls. Beside her, and chatting amiably, were the Russian, Mr. Lobachevesky, and Mrs. Munro. As the headmistress had not been at the race at all and the Russian had only placed among those who made the cut and not among the winners, it seemed odd that they would be present. My curiosity got the better of me, and I approached them.

  “Miss Biddle,” I said, with as warm a smile as I could feign. “Such a pleasant surprise to see you here. I would never have guessed that you might be interested in elite athletics. Were you a runner yourself in your youth?”

  She laughed at my pleasantry. “Why hello, Dr. Watson, you know the girls are all still talking about your visit. And no, doctor, I was anything but a runner in my distant youth. But our team placed first in the last race, didn’t we Nick?” She addressed the question to the Russian who was standing beside her.

  “Yah, that we do. Three girls from out team finish in first twenty runners. We are proud of them.”

  “So that is why we were invited, Doctor. Our girls did us proud. And don’t you agree that they clean up wonderfully and look beautiful in their kimonos?” She gestured with her hand to the crowd. Every Japanese women present was wearing a kimono, had her hair bundled up on top of her head, and frankly I had a difficult time telling one from the next. I guessed that some of the tall younger ones might have been her students, but beyond that, I was at a complete loss.

  “They look,” I said, “utterly lovely. I am sure you are very proud of them.”

  We chatted for a few more minutes during which I told the story, in a self-effacing manner of our escapade in the onsen in Atami. I refrained, of course, from any reference to Mr. O’Neill.

  They all laughed loudly at my description of Holmes and me clutching our towels for dear life.

  In response, Mrs. Munro said, “I go several times a year down to Atami. It is such a fun place to visit. The waiters and the hotel staff all speak a bit of English and an afternoon out on one of the boats in the harbor is as relaxing as anything I have ever experienced in New Jersey.”

  It occurred to me that she had not set the bar very high in her comparison, but I refrained from drawing this to her attention and made a note to myself to pass what I had just heard along to Holmes.

  While we were still chatting, a chap from the embassy assumed the role of major domo and called the gathering to order. For the next half hour, we stood and listened to yet more short speeches by Envoy Grant, by a chap representing British firms operating in Japan, and by their counterparts from the Japanese government. The details of the final race were confirmed. A full scholarship to Oxford would be awarded by His Majesty and the Emperor himself had agreed to be present at the finish line. He would give one of the most prestigious awards within the culture and history of Japan, an arrow made of pure gold, to the winners. One would be awarded to the victorious man and one to the woman.

  I leaned my head to Miss Biddle and whispered, “Is the Emperor going to climb Mount Fuji?”

  “No,” she whispered back. “He gets carried. But the rest of us will have to climb. I’ve done it twice before, and I can promise you, doctor, it is a joy to get to the summit, but it is far from easy.”

  As soon as the formalities were over, I felt Holmes’s hand on my arm.

  “Unless you have some very good reason for remaining here, my friend, I do ask that we leave straight away.”

  “In full agreement,” I assured him.

  As we walked back to the Legation, I passed along to Holmes what I had learned from my conversation with Mrs. Munro.

  “Thank you, Watson, that data is most useful. There is obviously a collusion that has taken place and connects all of the suspicious activities that I have been made aware of—the murder of the American, Mr. Boulanger, the strange disappearances of Mrs. Munro, and the equally inexplicable transactions in her bank account, the illicit connection to the Russian teacher, the self-imposed local exile of the attaché, and the British athletic events. They all are connected in some way, and Mrs. Munro is at the center of it all. They are clearly up to something but, so far, I am at a loss to deduce what in the devil it is they are planning. Any thoughts, Watson?”

  “Not the foggiest notion, Holmes.”

  “As I expected.”

  Chapter Twelve … A Revelation While South

  THE FINAL LEG OF OUR LECTURE TOUR would take us west and south to the cities of Nagoya, Kyoto, Osaka, Kobe, Hiroshima and eventually all the way to Nagasaki on the north-eastern corner of the island of Kyushu. Along the way, we would stop at several other smaller centers and, when it was all over, return by ferry to Tokyo. For the next three weeks, we would have no choice but to put Mrs. Munro and her clandestine Russian connections out of our minds and enjoy the natural beauty, the fascinating history, and the warm welcome afforded us by this unique nation. I was determined to do just that. Holmes was equally determined not to. He delivered his lecture in a diligent, professional manner but I could tell that his brilliant mind was elsewhere, never taking a rest from rolling back and forth over all the data of this p
uzzling case. He politely tolerated the effusive welcomes of the local people in each place and, if he could not find an excuse to bow out, visited all the nearby shrines, temples, and wonders of nature.

  I had to admit, that by the end of the three weeks I had come to the conclusion that, just like Scottish castles and ancient oak trees, once you have seen one ancient Buddhist temple or sparkling waterfall, you have seen them all. While sleeping on the floor on a tatami mat and a thin mattress might be fine for these Oriental chaps, I had gotten tired of waking up with sore shoulders and hips.

  A telegram from the Second Minister, Redvers Humphrey, brought our peaceful sojourn on Kyushu to an abrupt halt. It arrived during our final week as we enjoyed the unspoiled natural beauty the island. Holmes read it, assumed a very perplexed countenance and handed it on to me. It ran:

  HOLMES: BELOW, LATEST MESSAGE INTERCEPTED FROM MRS. EKATERINA FEDEROV-MUNRO. YOUR ATTENTION TO THIS MATTER MOST PRESSING. PLEASE CONTACT ME IMMEDIATELY UPON RETURN TO TOKYO. HUMPHREY.

  Любимая моя:

  Only a few more weeks until your triumphal ascent to the peak of Mount Fuji. How you will astonish them, Ангел мой, with your courage and determination. Your accomplishment forever will be a source of pride to your country.

  You, my child of the moon who has grown into the most beautiful of human beings; you have already vanquished the princes and sent them packing. It is only the Emperor himself who remains. He will give you the golden arrow but with it, you will break his heart. And then the heavens will take you home.

  I have believed in you since the day you entered my life. I will believe in you always. I will be waiting for you at the summit of the sacred mountain to watch you receive the golden arrow and the bright yellow ribbon around your neck. As he bestows these upon you, the Emperor will be closer to you than He ever is to any of his people. Make the time last forever in your memory, in mine, and in all the struggling people of the world.

  Моё сердце полно любви

  Your Effie.

  Other than the unseemly nature of a married woman writing deeply passionate notes to a lover, I could make nothing of the contents, except that she was encouraging him to win the final race and might even have believed that he could.

  For the next ten minutes, Holmes read and re-read the letter. Then, as was his cherished habit, he sat back, closed his eyes and brought his hands and fingertips together. For another ten minutes, I watched his lips move ever so slightly, and his head shake from side to side as he carried on a disciplined, rational argument inside his mind.

  Then his hands suddenly dropped, and his eyes popped wide open.

  “Good Lord, Watson. They are planning the unthinkable. It’s all in the messages. It all fits together. Good Lord, the consequences would be disastrous. Calamitous. No just for Britain and Japan, but for the whole world.”

  “Merciful heavens, Holmes,” I sputtered. “What are you talking about? What are they going to do?”

  “If Lobachevesky wins the race he will be presented directly to Emperor, will he not?”

  “Yes, that is what is expected.”

  “He will kneel in front of the Emperor, and the golden arrow will be placed in his outstretched hands. Correct?”

  “Yes. I suppose so. But what of it?”

  “Oh, dear God, Watson. Can you not see? He is going to assassinate the Emperor.”

  I was speechless. Fear trembled through my body at what Holmes had just said.

  “No. He would never do such a thing. How could he?”

  “With the arrow, Watson. In less than a second he could turn it and plunge the tip directly into the heart of the Emperor. No one is even close enough to do any harm, but he will be. He has long powerful arms. He and his lover are the only Russians still at large in Tokyo. They will wreak revenge for the defeat of their navy. They will prove that they are the true victors of the war. Disaster will follow. Japan will invade Russia in retaliation. The French are allied with the Russians. The Germans and Austrian are friendly to the Japanese. We could end up in Armageddon.”

  “Holmes,” I said, gravely, “are you sure?”

  “Good heavens, Watson. No, of course, I am not sure. How could anyone be certain? The data is confusing and coded. We have yet to decipher the message in code. It is always dangerous to jump to a conclusion with insufficient information. But what little we know is clearly pointing us to a probable outcome that would be terrible beyond words.”

  He sat in silence, and I did the same, gripping the arms of the chair until my knuckles had turned white.

  “What,” I whispered, “are you going to do? Can you report your fears to Humphrey?”

  “No. The time has long past when we can make use of that pompous blowhard. No, Watson. The time has come for us to bring the evidence directly to Mr. Grant Munro and force him to face up to the duplicity, the treason of his wife. I shall request an emergency meeting immediately upon our return.”

  “We have only the one remaining lecture before we head back. Do you think you can manage?”

  “I will do my best. We must not give any hint that we are on to anything. Maintaining normal behavior is imperative.”

  True to his word, Holmes delivered an energetic lecture, dwelling perhaps more than usually, on accounts of people who had been in positions of trust and who so violated it by their nefarious actions. We retired to our hotel, and I went to bed immediately, knowing that our morning would start early.

  It began, I must say, even earlier than expected. At four o’clock I felt Holmes hand on my shoulder.

  “Come, Watson. The game is afoot. Please rise, get ready and come with me to the station.”

  “Goodness gracious, Holmes. We have four hours before the train leaves for the port. What is your rush?”

  “I have not slept. This miserable hotel suite is too small to provide room to pace and think. The platform of the station is much better. Please, come at once.”

  I staggered from my bed, bathed quickly, dressed and packed. Within twenty minutes Holmes and I were out of our rooms and standing at the door of the hotel waiting for a cab to the station.

  “What about, Tommy? What will he do?” I asked.

  “He will get up at a reasonable hour, find us already departed, have a heart attack and come running to the station. What do you think he will do?”

  As predicted, Holmes spent the next two hours pacing back and forth along the station platform while I tried to scribble some notes. At the twenty minute mark before our train’s departure, I saw Tommy appear at the far end of the platform and come running pell-mell in our direction. His face was beet red, and the sweat was dripping off his brow.

  “Good morning, Tommy,” I said, cheerfully. “We were much too excited about our return to Tokyo to sleep, so we came a bit early. It would have been terribly inconsiderate of us not to let you sleep. I do hope you slept well.”

  “Yes, Dr. John-san, quite well. It is only that I did not wake up well. I was very worried that something had happened to you and Sherlock-san.”

  “Oh, come, come, Tommy. Where could we possibly go? Our sole destination is the station. The train is the only way to the port.”

  “Ah yes, doctor-san, you are right.”

  I felt sorry for the poor chap. I had become rather fond of him. He was invariably well-dressed, perfectly mannered, and entirely conscientious in carrying out his assigned tasks. Some mornings he seemed bleary-eyed, and I wondered what mischief he, being a young man, might have gotten up to late at night and far away from his home city. On many of our train journeys he, like so many other young Japanese men, fell fast asleep, waking just in time not to miss the station where they had to get off.

  The train took us across the island and over to the port of Kitakyushi. There we boarded the ferry to Tokyo. It would be a full two-day journey. Fortunately, it was a large domestic ferry, and the deck provided Holmes with ample room to pace back and forth. The seas were calm and the weather,
although damp, was warm and otherwise tolerable.

  Upon our return to the harbor of Tokyo in the evening of the following day, we took a cab directly to the hotel. Holmes had sent a telegram already to the Office of the Envoy, and a reply from the Legation was waiting for us at the Imperial Hotel. Holmes ripped it open while he stood at the front desk.

  “Excellent. It appears that our envoy will leave Tokyo in three days to travel to Singapore for a meeting. In order to accommodate my request, he has granted us an hour tomorrow morning at eleven. So, Watson, if you would not mind, please review all of your notes and have them ready for presentation. I will do likewise.”

  I would do so for a few hours and then would get some sleep. Holmes, indefatigable as always, would not sleep at all and would spend the entire night rehearsing the words he would say the following day, making sure that he had all his facts in order as he confronted Mr. Grant Munro with the unpleasant news of his wife’s unfaithfulness and treachery.

  At breakfast the following morning, Holmes ate little and said nothing. During the walk from the hotel to the Legation, he was likewise silent but quickening his pace. Having known and watched him closely now for a quarter century, I could tell that he was tightly wound up inside. I knew that inside his head the meeting we were about to take part in was being played out in every possible dialogue imaginable.

  “My dear friend,” I said. “Try to relax. Calm yourself. Think about something else. Think about England; about Regent Park, or Scotland Yard. Anything other than what is bringing turmoil to your soul.”