Sherlock Holmes and the Holborn Emporium

by Val Andrews

  ‘It’s for the old man, eh? Cor, when he knows I can read again perhaps I will get promoticated!’

  I stifled a chuckle, until his footsteps were heard upon the stairs with their renewed elasticity and the front door had banged shut. Holmes said, ‘Upon my word, let us hope that his rediscovered reading talent does not lead him to The Strand magazine.’

  I said, ‘More like Aly Sloper’s Half Holiday!’

  Holmes admonished me. ‘Really, Watson, you show your age. That particular juvenile journal is long extinct. But I’ll wager he follows the exploits of “Weary Willie and Tired Tim” in Chips!’

  Sherlock Holmes never ceased to amaze me with the fingers that he kept upon the public pulse. But I suppose a knowledge of modern juvenilia was as important to him as his background in the classics. All is grist to the investigator’s mill.

  ‘Friend Forrage has received another threat, Watson, and you will see that it is again typed upon a similar sheet of paper and neatly folded.’

  My breakfast had, of course, been ruined, so I pushed aside my now cold platter of bacon, eggs and sausages. I spread the note which had been passed to me carefully upon the unspoiled portion of the table cloth and took also the lens which he passed to me. I could see that the type was pristine as before and the paper was of the same make. It read,

  BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH

  It was even more terse than its forerunners, and less easy to understand as to meaning. I said, ‘It is a Shakespearean quotation, of course, but how it can be applied to a department store in November is beyond me.’

  ‘Do you know what an “ide” is, Watson?’

  ‘Something to do with the calendar?’ I said, vaguely.

  He shook his head. ‘An “ide” is the archaic name for a small fish. Scholars of Shakespearean English have long disagreed as to whether it refers to a minnow or a stickleback.’

  I remembered fishing with a net for such tiny fish as a lad, but had not realised that they were of several kinds, referring to each darting silvery prize as a ‘tiddler’. I remarked, ‘When I was a boy I kept them in jamjars; some of them had red around their fore fins.’

  ‘Those were sticklebacks; the red only appears during the breeding season when they will fight all other small fish to the death. Despite their extremely small size they have razor sharp teeth. I have, as you saw, sent a message to Forrage to the effect that we will be with him at midday. That will give us a little time to try an earn our crust.’

  So the reader will appreciate that the best laid plans of your humble scribe concerning early to rise were completely spoiled, certainly playing no part in making me healthy, wealthy or yet particularly wise. We donned our hats and greatcoats and bundled into the first cab that appeared which happened to be a motor taxi. I caught Holmes’s eye as we sped toward Holborn. He said, ‘You need not say anything, Watson: I am fully aware that it is neither a hansom nor yet the third to make its appearance. All rules, my dear Watson, were made to be broken, and time is of the essence.’

  I consulted my hunter. He perceived my action though it was subtle of execution.

  ‘I know we have two hours before we consult with Forrage but I believe I indicated that we might yet add to that reputation which I felt yesterday we were set to redeem.’

  He ordered the cabdriver to turn into Leather Lane and to stop near a side entrance to Forrage’s. He entered the store briskly and forgoing the lift he led the way up the stone steps which rather contrasted with the luxury of the rest of the store. Most people used the lifts or central staircases, which were of course extremely inviting. We reached his goal, the pet department, where he espied and gesticulated in the direction of that department’s manager, steering him towards the aquarium tanks. He said, ‘Grab a small net from the display, Watson, we may need it.’

  The bemused manager blinked in disbelief as Holmes plied the tiny handling net among the silvery little fish in the first display tank. The net resurfaced, containing a small fish, even smaller than the others, but with angry red about its head and front swimming fins. He snapped at the manager, ‘Fetch a fishbowl, man, with some water, for we need the evidence.’

  The manager did as Holmes bade him and soon the detective had delved into most of the tanks and had collected fully half a dozen of the fiery little specimens. He suggested that the tanks should then be checked for dead or dying fish. After five minutes the man had made careful inspection and had discovered only a single fatality and only two wounded fish. It was considered that the wounded fish would recover and the manager was about to dispose of the mangled silvery corpse when my friend restrained him.

  ‘My dear sir, kindly place it in a small container. One of those intended to hold meal worms would do. Oh, and please place the swimming wounded into a bowl that I may take them to show Forrage. Tell me, sir, has anyone lingered near the tanks in any sort of suspicious manner this morning?’

  ‘No, sir, and in fact I have had very few people in here today. I would have noticed any interference.’

  Holmes pondered. ‘So the introduction was possibly made last night.’

  I asked, ‘How can you account for so little damage having occurred if the sticklebacks had been here all night?’

  ‘I imagine, Watson, that the tanks being in darkness saved the bulk of the fish from being attacked. It needed light, and a certain amount of heat generated by the lights over the tanks to enliven the evil little ides! We came here in the nick of time.’

  As we made our way to Forrage’s office, complete with fish bowls and meal worm case, I opened and shut my mouth a time or two, wishing to ask my friend a question but frightened that the answer would be so simple as to make me appear foolish. However, as so often in the past, Holmes raised the very point before I had dared to.

  ‘Does it occur to you, Watson, that there is one element to all this which makes little sense? The message told us to “BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH”. Yet we are at the end of November, and the sticklebacks are wearing their spring coloration and showing the ferocity which they only display at that season.’

  I did not admit to having had similar questions in mind because I felt that it might sound a little unconvincing. So instead I suggested, ‘Could these fellows be of tropical origin, perhaps from the antipodes where the climates are reversed?’

  He shook his head. ‘I seem to remember that there are only two varieties of stickleback native to these waters, and aside from the mainland of Europe I do not believe they occur elsewhere. There are the three-spined and the twelve-spined varieties. These specimens which we have “arrested” are of the three-spined variety. Notice the way they attack even each other in the bowl: one has already expired from a mauling. They build a nest in the reeds you know, Watson, and in this ruddy condition will attack anything that moves. The parent fish usually expire when the young have safely left the nest. They rely as a species upon a very fast replacement rate.’

  We were early for our appointment with ‘A.W.’ and he emerged from his office, angry that we had interrupted a meeting of his stockholders.

  ‘They have got some whiff of the troubles, Holmes, especially that concerning the elephant. I tell you, if any of this gets to the reporters of news I could be ruined. Well, what is it that makes you interrupt my meeting . . . we said midday.’

  Holmes explained the events of the morning, how he had deduced what were in fact the ides of March, and had anticipated how and where in the store they might do great damage. He showed the surviving fish in the bowl and the injured domestic stock. Then he opened the box and showed the grisly, mangled minnow.

  Forrage started. There was a begrudging tone of admiration in his voice as he said, ‘Bless my soul, you worked all that out, and managed to save the greater number of our pet fish? Only three affected among hundreds. Upon my word, Holmes, you are a shrewd fellow. Let me soothe these savage beasts and I will confer with you further.’

  We retreated to one of the cafés for a light snack of coffee and rolls. Ho
lmes had a glint of excitement in his eyes as he said, ‘My dear Watson, things begin to fall into place. I will not spoil the game for you, for very soon all will become clear to your brain. But one thing I will tell you, one thing I will dare to predict; there will be another message from our foes before the day is out.’

  The news that proved Holmes’s prediction to be correct occurred even sooner I imagine than even he expected. As we went into Forrage’s office he was standing with his back to us, hands held together behind that broad back, peering out at the London skyline. The boardroom table which had been set up in the apartment had not as yet been removed and Forrage wheeled around to face us and lifted a blotter at one of the set places. His action revealed one of those folded pieces of paper which were becoming so familiar. The store magnate snapped out, ‘Look at that, Holmes, another of the blighters!’

  Holmes seated himself in the chair where the note lay on the table. He opened the note carefully and read aloud, ‘THE IVORIES MAY BLEED. Mr Forrage, when did you discover this note?’

  ‘At the end of the meeting, when all but I had left. I tell you, Holmes, they are, several of them, on the point of putting their shares on the market at a loss. I tried to reassure them, but they were very grim, all of them. My last chance to rally them to my cause will be at my country house this weekend. All the shareholders, there are only six of them besides myself, I have invited to a house party. But what do you make of this latest curt threat?’

  My friend considered, then replied, ‘It could refer to the ivories in your fine arts department. Let us make our way there and see if anything seems amiss.’

  Forrage’s fine arts department has long been famous among collectors of the beautiful carved ivories, almost mass-produced in the Far East. I had so often admired those carved orbs, hollow and containing perhaps another such sphere. Then there were the figures of mandarins and rajahs ranging from a few inches high to life size. The staff, very grovelling in their manner, though perhaps mainly on account of the presence of ‘A.W.’, hovered around us as if competing to do our bidding. Forrage plainly disliked them and found this hard to conceal. ‘Anything amiss in here, Warburton?’

  ‘Oh no, sir, no, Mr Forrage. Everything is running as if on oiled tracks. Business is good too.’

  ‘Well, check all the ivories . . .’

  ‘I did that earlier, sir. Dusted them all, checked for any possible damage, and found everything shipshape and Bristol fashion, sir.’

  ‘Well, check them all again, just do what I tell you, and send a boy to my office if you notice anything at all unusual here. Guard those ivories!’

  We left fine arts and Forrage strode off impatiently, throwing a few passing words at us over his shoulder. ‘Report back to me, Holmes, if you will, before you leave.’

  We sauntered around fine arts for a while, looking at the pictures but always with half an eye upon the ivories. After an interval of about ten minutes the slimy Warburton sidled up to us and asked, ‘Anything in particular you are seeking, gentlemen? We’ve got some splendid Landseer’s and a cartoon by a French artist, Lautrec. Friends of dear Mr Forrage, are you, eh?’

  He was so subservient that he seemed almost about to turn his frock-coated person inside out. I replied, ‘Just acquaintances really, having a look round you know.’

  He became a shade less obsequious. ‘But you’ll be going to his house party though, I’ll wager?’

  Holmes just about managed to conceal his dislike of this tiresome hireling. ‘Very unlikely I would imagine.’

  ‘Ooh!’ Warburton put into this one elongated word a certain mixture of surprise and mild distaste. We were no longer to be fawned upon if we were not close enough to A.W. Forrage to be invited to his house party. He changed the subject. ‘Of course, if it were not this particular time of year and if the old man was not on the prowl, my friend Horace and I would be going up to the music room to hear the recital, isn’t that so, Horace?’

  Another similarly clad and of like manner minced over to Warburton’s side. He was even more slimy than his manager. ‘Oh yes, I enjoy a good piano recital in the music room. You don’t get, you know, common people at those.’

  ‘A piano recital . . . where is the music room?’

  I was a little surprised at the speed with which I found myself suddenly on my way to a recital, and in Forrage’s of all places. However, I mused, if there is a circus, who knows what might be partially hidden within the big store’s precincts. We seated ourselves in two chairs at the front of about fifty of them which had been arranged in front of a small dais upon which stood a Broadwood grand. A few more people eventually followed our example. There were perhaps thirty others seated beside ourselves when the musician mounted the dais. He was in full evening dress despite the early hour, and bowed to a smattering of applause. He said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, for my first piece I will play Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C Sharp Minor. Thank you . . .’

  As he backed towards the piano he threw back a mane of reddish hair and made to sit upon the stool. Once seated he started to fiddle with his cuffs and waggle his fingers. Then he held both hands aloft as if to bring his fingers crashing onto the keys. Like many a pianist before him he imitated Paderewski’s hesitance in bringing his hands down upon the keys. This hesitance saved him from a tragedy which to a pianist would be considered the most terrible of all.

  Holmes suddenly leapt to his feet and shouted, ‘Stop!’

  The pianist sat there, an expression of disbelief upon his face, his hands still poised above the keys. Holmes ran to him and grasped him by the wrists, shouting, ‘Step aside man, or you will ever regret it.’

  The pianist stood sheepishly aside and Holmes seated himself upon the stool. He gingerly placed a long slim forefinger upon one of the ivory keys. He depressed it so slowly and experimentally that it scarcely made a sound. He tried it again with others, and then found what he was seeking. I was at his shoulder as he showed me what he had discovered, and in the very nick of time.

  ‘You see, Watson, there are wafer-thin blades of sharpened metal placed between certain keys which when de-pressed would have caused severe wounding to the pianist’s fingers. As we sat, waiting for the first note I remembered hearing an expression to the effect that a pianist would “tinkle the ivories”. A slang term, but it suddenly occurred to me that these could have been the ivories referred to in the latest threatening message.’

  Thus Sherlock Holmes’s ability to retain the trivial in his mind and turn it to as much advantage as scientific data had saved the hands of a pianist: his most valuable asset saved. He was full of gratitude as he introduced himself. ‘Sir, as you doubtless know, I am Lionel Fairburn, and might I know to whom I owe such a debt of gratitude?’

  But I took my cue from Holmes that we were to remain anonymous. He shrugged off the pianist’s gratitude, though politely, and we returned to confer with Forrage who was amazed and relieved by turns; but as ever did not show any great display of gratitude. He said, ‘I see, so it was just luck, Holmes, that you were in the right place at the right time and had this sudden presentiment. Well, I suppose we must offer gratitude to providence. This settles it: you will both join my house party for the coming weekend. I would feel more comfortable if you were there, Holmes, in case you should have more bright anticipations.’

  Holmes’s eyes blazed but he remained calm, eventually saying, ‘Who could refuse such a delightfully worded invitation?’

  Forrage reacted with a glare, which melted as he thought better of the retort that I have no doubt he first intended. Instead he said, ‘Oh, yes, quite, but I should have added that it will be a pleasure to have the company of yourself and the good Doctor. Dinner on Friday night, bit of a get together after, with my fellows of the board and, of course, their wives . . . so you will need to bring your tails rather than just dinner jackets. Oh, and bring your hunting togs as well, for we are holding a meet on Saturday.’

  We dined back at Baker Street, having missed luncheon entire
ly so I was as hungry as the proverbial red-coated rider. This fact reminded me regarding the details of our invitation for the weekend. I remarked upon the sartorial instructions. ‘Forrage must think that we are a real pair of oafs if he thinks that we would take dinner jackets to an affair where ladies will be present.’

  ‘A self-made man, Watson. He poses as a lord of the manor, but were he the real thing he would not mention such details. By the way, do you have any hunting clothes? You know, of course, that I do not hunt.’

  ‘Why yes, I believe I still have the necessary clothes and accessories somewhere, though I have not had occasion to use them for many years. But I fancy they will pass muster.’

  Chapter Six - The Wilde Quotation

  Henley Grange proved to be a stately home that had been well maintained. The neatly raked gravel of its drive and the gleaming new paint upon its doors and window frames showed in contrast to most homes of this kind that I had seen. Baskerville Hall, for example, where tragedy there had been, but no shortage of funds had existed, had presented a certain stately weather-beaten aspect, as if no need existed to create an impression upon anyone. But Forrage’s home, a splendid edifice built, I would hazard a guess, during the time of George the Second, seemed to gleam in a manner which shouted ‘nouveau riche’. It was splendidly furnished and there were large oil portraits upon the staircase in the manner of an aristocratic residence. It was rather as if Forrage had purchased a set of ancestors along with his splendid house. There was a stable yard where his ostlers and grooms tended the carriage horses of his visitors, and beyond that a barn in which was housed our host’s own vehicle, a gleaming Mercedes motor car with the name ‘A.W. Forrage’ painted upon each passenger door. The baying of hounds could be heard though the dogs could not be seen, but these sounds betrayed that Forrage kept his own pack.