Sherlock Holmes and the Holborn Emporium

by Val Andrews

  As soon as we had arrived, late in the evening of Friday, Forrage himself met us at the door which a footman had opened, and he waved aside the looming, portly butler. ‘Leave us, Higgs, I want to speak privately to these gentlemen. If I’m needed I will be in the library. But only if it is urgent.’

  The library was splendid with its rows of beautifully leather-bound volumes. Holmes glanced at these and said, ‘When you purchased this mansion, Forrage, I note that you took on all of its trappings save the books in this library. I see that despite their quality they are not of an age to match that which we espied in the hall and corridors. Notice, Watson, that the bindings fairly gleam with mod-ernity.’

  Forrage was gruff. ‘How do you know that I did not take on a library and have all the volumes rebound?’

  Holmes reached up and removed a book from its shelf. ‘H.G. Wells? I notice also a set of Rudyard Kipling, perhaps too recent to require rebinding or to have been more than a decade in your hands.’

  Forrage grunted. ‘You have made your point, Holmes. I took on a furnished house from Lord Porting, but with a bookless library . . . the only things the poor old codger could not bear to part with. Well, a library usually grows, but I am a busy man with little time for reading, let alone browsing about in bookshops. I sent Higgs to the nearest bookshop with a couple of hundred pounds. First, of course, I had the shelves measured so that the right number of volumes could be purchased.’

  Secretly I thought that I had never before heard of books being purchased by the yard. I observed that Forrage was impatient and uneasy. We were soon to learn why.

  ‘I say, look here, there has been another of these beastly notes, but this time it has arrived here instead of at Forrage’s! Can’t even get away from it all at the weekend at my retreat. Not a word of this, Holmes; if the other shareholders get to know of this I really will be finished. Shares in Forrage’s have already dropped dangerously. Look at this, man!’

  He pointed dramatically to a fast becoming familiar sight, a white folded piece of paper. It lay upon his library table. Holmes made no movement so I examined it and read aloud the message, as usual neatly typed in capital letters:

  PROTECT THE UNEATABLE

  I added, ‘Don’t tell me he is threatening to poison your guests? I cannot quite think of any other connection to the word “uneatable”. What do you make of it, Holmes?’

  My friend examined the note carefully and then said, ‘The infamous Oscar Wilde once referred to a fox hunt as “The unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable”. Obviously he makes some reference to your meet which I understand will be held upon the morrow. But I note something else that is significant. There is no threat implied, he simply suggests that you protect the fox. Further, I have noted with interest that the past few notes have dropped any suggestion of bribe or ransom being paid. This is rather strange. Well, it would be fairly easy for you to avoid any trouble implied by this note; you need only cancel your fox hunt. Leave pursuit of the “uneatable” for another time and leave Reynard in peace.’

  Forrage had shot Holmes several sharp glances as he spoke. But he only said, ‘I cannot do that, I would be a laughing stock locally, especially if the reason for postponement were ever learned. As for my guests, they must not get a breath of any sort of threat or they would wonder why I would take such a step. What possible excuse could I give to call off ?’

  I put my word in. ‘Could you not say that there was an outbreak of distemper among your hounds?’

  Forrage retorted, ‘Everybody knows that my pack is kept and tended far too carefully for that to happen. No, I will not disappoint my guests or make myself a laughing stock in Henley. The hunt must proceed.’

  Holmes shrugged and his voice implied that he had offered the only advice that he could. ‘So be it then, my dear Forrage. I can only say that I will observe events with interest.’

  Forrage’s voice grew weary as he said, ‘Yes, well you do that, and it wouldn’t hurt if you were to get one of those presentiments of yours.’

  We left Forrage in his library to supervise the removal of our baggage to our rooms, which were upon the second of the two floors above. The servants were also housed on that floor and I remarked upon this to Holmes who replied, ‘How apt, Watson, for I am indeed a servant, as you are yourself. I serve them when they lose a friend or relative or some valuable through foul play. As for yourself, you serve the public too, when they tire of ruining their health through over-indulgence or accident.’

  He was right, of course, and perhaps one should never take offence at being so considered. I returned to the sub-ject of the business in hand, seating myself upon Holmes’s bed as he hung his clothes. I left my own unpacking until later. We had both refused the offer of a valet’s services.

  ‘What do you think about this latest note being delivered here instead of at Forrage’s?’

  Holmes replied, ‘Well, doing so presents no particular problems for our quarry. Forrage’s home address is no secret, having been the subject of a magazine article recently. But I think a word with Higgs before dinner might be in order. Speaking of which, you had better get about your sartorial business, Watson.’

  He set about laying out out his dress clothes and patent boots as I left him to do the same. I dressed hastily, and when the dinner gong was heard I emerged to throw a hastening word over my shoulder as I made to descend the stairs. But I saw no sign of Holmes until he appeared a little later at the dinner table. He whispered, ‘Higgs saw no one deliver the note, which of course he says he did not take to Forrage himself. He infers that his master discovered it upon the library table.’

  The other guests, stockholders and their elegantly clad ladies, comfortably surrounded a not over large dining table. The silver cruets, decanters, trays and napkin rings were all engraved with the initials of the nobleman who had been the late owner of Henley Grange. The meal was extremely lavish, as was the circulation of wines and spirits during and after. There was a pause between the soup and the savoury during which Forrage addressed the company present, saying, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I wish you to meet that eminent detective, Sherlock Holmes. By the way the gentleman with the walrus moustache is none other than his friend and colleague, Dr John Watson. I thought I’d make the introduction: Holmes and Watson are not here in their professional capacities of course. But you know I always like to have something or someone interesting at my house parties. Let me take this opportunity to remind you of the meet tomorrow morning. Since the local hunt was discontinued, I have started one of my own. Never a dull moment at Forrage’s, what?’

  There were polite ‘bravos’ and muttered encouragements. The diner upon Holmes’s left introduced himself, ‘George Thompson, how d’ye do, gentlemen? Old Forrage says that you are here for pleasure rather than business, but I think he should engage you to enquire into the continued downward path that the jolly old Forrage’s shares are taking. Thinking of selling mine, at a loss of course, before they hit rock bottom. Can’t understand it; they usually go sky high at this time of the year. But the retail trade is a funny old game, it only takes a whisper in the market to start a decline.’

  Thompson was not the only one to express such sentiments. Sir Hubert Carding had much the same to say when we were introduced to him later and were out of Forrage’s earshot. He enlarged upon the theme slightly. ‘You know there is some kind of rumour going about concerning Forrage’s, as if someone knows that there is going to be a tragedy at the big store. Old man Forrage is looking a bit peaky too, don’t you think? It’s as if he knows what it is all about. I am doing what I can, but I am seriously thinking of putting my shares on the market. Now you are a shrewd man: young Baskerville fairly sings your praises. What would you do if you had shares in Forrage’s?’

  Holmes was as ever a master of diplomacy, at least when he chose to be. ‘I would be alert, but be sure not to jump the gun. Rumour is a lying jade, please remember that.’

  Sir Hubert looked thoughtful, then winked at Hol
mes and nudged me as he wandered off to circulate. When he was gone, I said, ‘He seems to be voicing the general feeling of unrest. It would only take a breath of this latest threat concerning the fox hunt to set the cat among the pigeons. Pity you do not ride, Holmes, but rest assured, I will keep my eyes open at the meet.’

  My friend replied, ‘Oh, I ride well enough, Watson, it is just that hunting does not interest me, even this one, save where its itinerary may involve our interests. As you say, you will be my eyes and ears, but I will not be entirely outside the frame. Speaking of riding, I fancy a canter this very moment. Keep the flag flying, whilst I take one by moonlight on the safest horse I can find.’

  I would have liked to accompany Holmes upon this unexpected moonlight ride, but realised that he wished me to remain and keep the flag flying. I felt sure that his forthcoming equestrian activity was no mere whim.

  ‘Watson, where’s Holmes?’ It was Forrage who later made this enquiry. I told him that my friend had decided to take a stroll around the grounds. He was surprised though not deeply concerned, just mildly irritated. ‘What am I paying the fellow for? I wanted him to circulate among my guests, to keep their minds off the dashed shares. Nothing like a celebrity to take the thoughts away from business. Not even taking part in the meet tomorrow either, even after he made some sort of translation of that beastly note to the effect that the hunt was threatened. Don’t understand what Holmes is playing at, Watson.’

  I said, ‘Rest assured, Mr Forrage, that Holmes has your best interests at heart. I have never known him to indulge himself in seeking his own pleasures during an investigation. If I know him, he is at this moment smoking his pipe, deep in thought. I believe you can continue to trust the man who has already frustrated your enemies two or three times.’

  Forrage grunted, but left me to my own devices as he wandered off to attend to his guests. I confess that at that particular moment I did indeed wonder just what Holmes was up to, why he was out riding, and yet preferred to be thought to be taking a stroll. After circulating for a while myself, I decided that I should try to earn my corn, so to speak, and determined to do a little investigating on my own account. Accordingly I took myself off to the entrance hall and lit a cigar.

  Whilst doing so, I spied the butler, Higgs, who although not exactly having a quiet smoke himself, nevertheless gave the distinct impression of having absented himself from the proceedings in order to take a short rest.

  I went up to Higgs, and asked him, ‘Mr Forrage has, I think, already asked you about a note he received earlier?’

  Higgs looked surprised, but nodded, wordlessly.

  ‘Nothing to add to what you told him, have you?’

  ‘No, sir.’ He hesitated, ‘I fear I scarcely follow you.’

  I tried again. ‘At what o’clock did Mr Forrage arrive at Henley Grange today?’

  His look of surprise deepened, but he replied, ‘Around four, sir.’

  ‘I see. He left the store early, of course, to greet his guests. At what hour does he normally return, on a weekday, that is?’

  ‘Around nine, sir.’

  ‘I see,’ I said again. Then I frowned, for here was an inconsistency which even Holmes had failed to spot. ‘The store closes at six, though, does it not?’

  ‘I believe so, sir,’ said Higgs.

  ‘But Mr Forrage has a new Mercedes!’ I pointed out. ‘It can surely not take him three hours to drive down here?’

  ‘By no means, Dr Watson, but Mr Forrage’s habit is to spend between half an hour and an hour in a thorough inspection of the store when all the staff have departed, and before the night-watchman arrives.’

  ‘Oh? Odd, that?’

  Higgs frowned. ‘Mr Forrage is a very thorough, painstaking gentleman, sir. I understand that there was once a small fire at Forrage’s which broke out when the staff had gone and before the night-watchman had arrived. Mr Forrage very naturally wishes to avoid a repetition of so unfortunate an occurrence.’

  ‘H’mm.’ Then, thinking that perhaps this mysterious fire might be connected with the equally mysterious threatening letters, I asked, ‘When was that? And was the cause of the fire ever discovered?’

  Higgs thought. ‘It was several years back, sir. The cause was, I am given to understand, the failure — the “shorting”, I think the man said — of one of the new electric fittings which had just then replaced the old gas lights.’

  ‘I see. Still, it rather smacks of keeping a dog and barking oneself, does it not?’

  Higgs looked blank. ‘Sir?’

  I elaborated. ‘If it were me, I should have the night-watchman start an hour earlier, instead of wandering round the store myself !’

  ‘That was done at first, sir. But recently Mr Forrage changed things so that he himself checked the store. As I say, he is very thorough.’

  ‘H’mm. And he is also alone in the store for an hour every evening?’

  Higgs frowned, but nodded.

  I decided that I was perhaps pursuing the subject too far, and indeed for the moment had forgotten the purpose of my original question. Fortunately I remembered and asked, ‘By the way, was the note which Mr Forrage received delivered by hand?’

  ‘No, sir, he discovered it in the library when he went in there.’

  ‘Who do you suppose left it there?’

  ‘I have no idea, sir. I was in the vicinity for quite a long time, and it was not there when I gave the room a last-minute check to be sure the ashtrays were clean and so on. That was about half an hour before Mr Forrage arrived. Will that be all, sir?’

  I nodded, ‘Thank you, Higgs, do not let me detain you.’

  The butler bowed politely and went about his duties. I considered what I had learned. I wondered why Holmes had not thought to make such enquiries, but decided that he might have learned these things from another source and thought them too unimportant to impart.

  One of the big reception rooms had been cleared for dancing, with a small platform at one end where the musicians from Forrage’s tea lounge had been installed. They played a series of waltz, gavot and polka for the pleasure of the dozen or so rather ponderous dancers. I realised that it would be difficult for me to avoid altogether dancing with one or two of the ladies who had husbands disinclined or unable to dance. To the strains of The Blue Danube I waltzed around the floor with a Lady Grundy-Smythe, an ample lady with extremely large feet. She wheezed at the effort of dancing and confided to me, ‘We’ve all got shares in Forrage’s, y’know; at least my husband has, and I suppose so have these others.’

  She waved her closed fan in the general direction of other dancers, managing to give the gesture a somewhat dismissive touch. Then she continued, ‘The shares have gone down, you know, and I’ve advised Bertie to sell before it all ends in tears. But there, it’s only a few thousand.’

  I soon realised that Forrage got full value from his staff, for in addition to the musicians already mentioned, an interlude occurred when we were entertained by ‘Professor Stanley Collins’, the expert demonstrator from Forrage’s conjuring department. I already knew what a clever conjurer he was, but a demonstration is not always the same as an entertainment. Here the dynamic young man extracted real half-crowns from the air, from his elbow, from the sole of his pump and from the ears of spectators. As he caught each eye-catching silver coin he deposited it onto a saucer which he had placed inside his opera hat. As each coin dropped to make a satisfying ‘clink’ the conjurer made a comical remark. He finished with the coins by producing a final shower of them, causing them to cascade from his hand to the saucer. Next he performed with playing cards, making the four aces assemble together in a shuffled pack, causing selected pasteboards to rise up out of the pack when it was isolated in a glass tumbler, and to conclude a spirited performance he caused a tiny replica of a selected card to appear inside the cover of my hunter!

  Then, ‘direct from Maskelyne’s theatre’ rather than any department of Forrage’s, there appeared a ventriloquist, one ‘Nelso
n Hardy’, who appeared to throw his voice so that it seemed a pedler was selling his wares immediately outside the big bay window. One spectator was suspicious enough to run outside the building to ensure himself that a confederate was not providing the pedler’s voice! Then Mr Hardy took upon his knee a lay figure in a sailor suit, with a red-wigged, cheeky head and moving jaw. This doll appeared to take on a life of its own and continued to speak in a voice quite unlike that of Mr Hardy, even when that ventriloquist drank water and smoked a cigarette. The cheeky puppet made quite personal remarks concerning some of the company present, evidently annoying his master as much as those he tormented.

  After this modest but stylish entertainment had concluded, I was beginning to wonder just when and where Sherlock Holmes would make his reappearance. Then quite suddenly he was there, in animated conversation with another of the shareholders, Lord Preston. I wandered over to join him and in a manner very irritating and typical of him, Holmes asked me, ‘Where on earth have you been all evening, Watson? The last I saw of you was when you took to the floor with Lady Grundy-Smythe after which you seemed to disappear.’

  I was furious, thinking that he had actually remained present in the shadows, or that he had been enquiring of my activities among the guests. But later, when the company had all taken to their beds and we sat before the roaring fire, he said, ‘My dear fellow, you must not be too hard on me for saying what I did; I was merely trying to keep up the pretence of having been present the whole time. Forrage’s guests are not over-endowed with alertness.’

  ‘You mean you really did go off on that excursion of yours?’

  ‘I certainly did and very enlightening it was.’

  ‘Who then told you that I danced with Lady Grundy-Smythe, or even that I danced at all?’

  ‘No one, it was elementary. That you had been dancing I could see from the trace of french chalk on the toe of your right pump; that and the white glove protruding from your coat-tail pocket. That it was the lady I named was obvious because she is the only lady who was present of a height to correspond with the slight trace of cosmetic powder that decorates the right shoulder of your dress coat.’