Sherlock Holmes and Young Winston - The Jubilee Plot

by Mike Hogan

  A gorgeously dressed functionary in a plumed hat and blue cloak entered and took a place on a sofa. A servant handed him a glass of sherry and a plate of biscuits.

  “His Highness the Thakore of Gondal was the last guest to arrive,” he said in response to an enquiry by the senior herald. “I very nearly had to reprove him.”

  “Was he wearing an emerald necklace?” I asked.

  “I am the herald charged with ensuring that Court regalia are correctly worn. His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales is most particular. You have no idea how many - well, never mind. There is a large green tick on my list beside the Thakore’s name. That means he wore everything British in the right places. I did not notice any gaudy emeralds.

  “He wore his KCIE and the Jubilee Medal and several Indian decorations with which I am unfamiliar. Any purely decorative items are not within my purview, although I do express an opinion on any tawdry or gimcrack regalia. The Indians, overall, are tastefully attired, in their fashion. Those one has to watch are often from the Balkans. The Greek ambassador expected to wear no less than three sharp instruments and two pistols to a garden party. I disabused him of that airy notion.”

  A tiny bell, one of a row of ten or twelve above the door, chimed. The heralds exchanged smug smiles.

  “The Queen and her guests are seated and supper is begun.”

  A footman opened the door and Inspector Lestrade burst in. He looked haggard, his hair was awry and his dress uniform was rumpled.

  “I had to walk,” he said, panting. “Not a cab to be had.”

  I permitted myself my own smug smile.

  “Is this man Mr Sherlock Holmes?” asked the senior herald, pointing at Holmes.

  “He is, sir. And these gentlemen are Doctor Watson and Winston Churchill, the son of Lord Randolph.”

  “Oh,” the herald simpered, bowing to Churchill. “The Duke of Marlborough’s nephew.”

  “Kindly send your people to return Doctor Watson’s tricycle,” Churchill said sternly. “And my flag. A Life Guard attacked us even though we displayed the Union Flag from our topmast. It was an act of piracy.”

  We assembled outside the Music Room. Two guardsmen with fixed bayonets stood on either side of the door. Their young officer was between them with a drawn sword. Colonel Roebuck appeared and the heralds apprised him of the situation.

  “The man may have an infernal device,” said Holmes in a conversational tone.

  The heralds blanched. Colonel Roebuck drew his revolver and nodded to a footman. He stepped forward and unlocked the door.

  Colonel Roebuck and Holmes charged in. The officer and guardsmen followed him. The room was empty.

  “He smoked a cigar,” said Colonel Roebuck pointing to a packet of three, with one missing, that lay on a side table beside the sofa. “The insolent swine.”

  “It is also possible, although unlikely given that he would be recognised as an impostor by his fellow princes, that he may have joined the Queen for supper,” said Holmes.

  The officials looked at him in horror.

  We followed the heralds, still at a slow march, to the Supper Room. I peered through a crack between two doors.

  “Can you see him?” asked Colonel Roebuck.

  “No, what with the mirrors and the plate, the gas and electric lights and all the diamonds and medals gleaming I can hardly focus on anything.”

  Churchill stopped a passing servant and took his empty tray. He placed a napkin over his arm, handed me his deerstalker and, to the dismay of the court officials, opened the doors and marched into the Supper Room. He took an imperious turn around the table, waved at several of the diners, and came back out again.

  “One place is empty.”

  “My God, a Fenian dynamitard is loose in the Palace,” cried Bluemantle.

  “That is a possibility,” said Holmes. “But I suspect that the object of this charade may be connected with lucre rather than assassination. Where are the Royal jewels kept?”

  Inspector Lestrade turned to the guardsmen. “You and you, with me. Are your rifles loaded?”

  “Our duty is to protect Her Majesty, sir,” the young officer said stiffly. “We are not under your command. I intend to station my men at the doors, and accompany the Queen as she leaves.”

  “Quite right,” said Holmes patting him on the shoulder.

  Lestrade hurried away.

  “We must scour the building,” said Colonel Roebuck. “Turn out the Guard, muster the Yeomen. Get the Highlanders back, and have them reinforce the gates: no one in or out. I want every inch of the palace searched for this Indian. I want him found. That is my last word on the matter.”

  Holmes smiled. “Just lend me a footman, would you? Someone who knows the Palace.” He buttonholed a passing footman. “This one will do.”

  Colonel Roebuck nodded. “Go with this gentleman, and show him to the private chambers. He may see the vault.”

  “Sir,” the man nodded and turned to Holmes with a bright smile. “Tuppenny tour, gents? This way. Jevers is the name, sirs.”

  Holmes, Churchill and I followed him.

  “Is the Palace your usual station, Mr Jevers?” I asked.

  “Just Jevers, sir. No, sir, I’m at Windsor most of the year. Bit quieter there, and fewer draughts in the winter as the walls are thicker. What with all the levees, receptions, and balls for the Jubilee, they’ve had to bring in staff from all over. We’ve got Scotchmen from Balmoral that I’ve never seen in me life before. They don’t hardly speak the language. And that fellah ordering me about, he’s new too. My boss is Mr Pyle, he’s a stickler, but fair.”

  We walked along wide corridors hung with dingy portraits.

  “Can we move a little faster?” I asked urgently.

  “Oh no, sir, this is the Palace Pace. We cannot skip around in the Palace. That would never do. The Prince is most particular.”

  “Do you serve the Queen at Windsor?” Holmes asked.

  “I do, sir. I bring her the post and the newspapers. She likes the illustrated papers, especially the crime reports. And anything on those dreadful Parnellite bombers, the treasonous beggars - pardon my French, gentlemen. And Punch. I read some bits from Punch sometimes and make her laugh. She likes a good laugh, sirs; in a regal way, of course.”

  “She has a penchant for all things Indian,” said Holmes.

  “True enough, sir. Her Majesty has a strong sentiment for India. It’s causing a bit of a to-do, if you catch my meaning. It’s the two new Indian servants she got this year; they don’t know our ways.”

  “Would you become suspicious if you saw an Indian in the private areas of the Palace?”

  Jevers considered. “I don’t know as how I would, sir. She likes well-bred Indian boys; takes a fancy to them. They flutter their long eyelashes and say pretty things in their singsong accents. Makes a nice change from the Germans.”

  “Her interest is grandmotherly,” I suggested.

  “Exactly, sir. We are used to the more presentable Indian princes being invited for tea, or even late supper, with Her Majesty’s ladies-in-waiting in attendance, naturally. So an Indian prince wandering about the private apartments wouldn’t be, you know, something that would ring alarm bells.”

  He opened a door that led to a quiet corridor. A footman stood outside a set of double doors.

  “All right, Joe?” asked Jevers with a lift of his eyebrows.

  The footman nodded warily. Holmes sniffed the air and winked at Churchill.

  “I say, my man,” said Churchill in a patrician tone. “Did a young Indian prince pass you a half hour ago? He smoked a cigar and carried a plate of digestive biscuits.”

  The tall footman nodded. “The Prince of Gondal. The gentleman is indisposed. Her Majesty had offered him the use of the sofa in her private recepti
on room.”

  “You knew him?”

  “He came to tea last week with a couple of his mates.”

  “I am here to test security at the personal request of Colonel Roebuck,” said Holmes. “The jewels are kept in the room next to the Queen’s bedroom, I imagine.”

  Jevers nodded confirmation. “The Crown Jewels are in the Tower,” he said as the footman opened a door with a key on a long chain. “The personal ones are usually at Windsor, but we have some of them here for the Jubilee.”

  “She is a woman as well as a queen, Watson,” Holmes murmured, as Jevers swung open the door. “She keeps her trinkets close.”

  Mountain of Light

  We trooped inside a small room.

  An ornate Chubb safe, eight feet tall and ornamented with the Royal arms, stood before us. A small, baize covered card table was in front of the window. There were small baskets full of bedding on the floor. There was a pungent smell of -

  “Dogs,” said Jevers, following my gaze to the baskets.

  “Light the gas,” said Holmes. He leapt to the window and closely examined the sill, and then the baize covering the table. He grunted and shook his head. To the astonishment of the footmen, he lay face down and scrutinised the carpet.

  “Notice the smell, Watson. And the three points of interest connected with the carpet.” He held up a pinch of dust.

  “The smell of dogs, Holmes?”

  “Ha! Open the safe.”

  “Open the safe? We can’t do that, sir,” said Jevers. “There’s only three keys. One’s with Her Majesty’s principal Lady-in-Waiting, one’s with the Steward of the Household and one is with the Prince. We can’t open it, sir. You can see that it’s untouched.”

  Holmes knelt and examined the lock through his glass. He tut-tutted. “On the contrary, there are scratches, recent scratches, around the key hole.”

  He grinned at me. “Messy and amateurish. Churchill, have you the Boulogne-sur-Mer penknife? May I borrow it? And Watson, your tiepin, if you please.”

  The footmen stood aghast as Holmes fiddled with the lock. “I should have taken up a more profitable profession,” he said a few moments later as he pulled down the handle and swung the heavy door open.

  I watched wide-eyed as Holmes opened the topmost of several red-leather jewel cases. Inside lay a glittering diamond brooch, mounting a single large, oval diamond and hundreds of tiny brilliants. He took the brooch out and held it to the gas light.

  “You might check the other cases, Churchill, although I do not think they bothered with anything else. This is what they wanted and they were pressed for time. The stakes are so very high.”

  “It is a pretty thing,” I said. “That diamond must be worth a significant amount for all the trouble the thieves took to take it.”

  “It’s value?” Holmes murmured dreamily. “The gods fought over it; great men and women coveted it. The stone once adorned the Peacock Throne of Shah Jahan, the builder of the Taj Mahal. The King of Persia invaded India, defeated the Moghul Emperor and took the Throne, but the famous diamond was missing from its accustomed place.

  “A faithless servant told the king where the Emperor had secreted it. On the eve of his return to Persia, the King invited the defeated Emperor to a Durbar, a feast of reconciliation. As he said his goodbyes, the King insisted on exchanging turbans with the Emperor as a token of friendship.

  “King Nadir Shah of Persia undid the Moghul Emperor’s turban alone in his chamber that night, and the diamond was revealed. He was so bedazzled that he exclaimed, ‘Mountain of light!’ Thus, the jewel was named. It was part of Lord Dalhousie’s loot after the Sikh War. Young Duleep was forced to come to London and hand it to the Queen on a silken cushion as a spoil of war. It is worth an empire: it is the Koh-i-Noor diamond, the key to the Punjab.”

  “My God, Holmes,” I exclaimed. “Thank goodness, the thieves were thwarted. I wonder what disturbed them.”

  Colonel Roebuck appeared at the door and gaped at the open safe.

  “There has been attempt on the Koh-i-Noor, Colonel,” I said. “Thankfully, it has been averted.”

  “It is a pretty bauble. And it is the nucleus and focus of death and destruction,” Holmes said. “No man may wear it without invoking a terrible curse, but he who holds it has the Punjab in his grasp. I suppose we should make certainty doubly sure.”

  He breathed on the brooch and nodded to himself. In a sudden swift movement, he broke it in two and picked the Koh-i-Noor from its setting. We gasped as tiny diamonds fell to the floor like sparks from a fire.

  “Pass me your visiting card, would you, Watson?” said Holmes calmly. He examined the gem closely though his magnifying glass.

  I took a card from its case and handed it to him. I was in a daze. The two footmen were wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Colonel Roebuck had reddened to the point of apoplexy. Holmes put the card behind the diamond and held it to the gaslight. “Churchill, read.”

  Churchill peered up at the gem. “Dr John Watson, 221B Baker Street.”

  Holmes flicked the jewel to Jevers. “Paste.” He brushed tiny diamonds from his coat and turned to me. “Come, we must follow while the trail is fresh.”

  Footmen and court officials darted out of our way as we clattered down staircases and along corridors at the run.

  “My God, Holmes,” I said, panting behind him. “I hope that you are right.”

  Holmes paused and faced me. “The gem clouded when I breathed on it, Churchill read through it, its facets were too smooth, and it was flawless: glass or I’m a Dutchman.” He grinned at me, turned and skipped down a long staircase. “From Amsterdam, where the stone was last cut.”

  “What if you are wrong?” I said as we found ourselves in a hallway at the entrance to the Palace.

  “There is a tiny chance of that, I suppose; it almost happened in Buda, or was it Pesht, in ‘84.”

  “I should have visited you in the Tower, Holmes. I would have brought you a Dundee cake with a file inside.”

  Holmes led the way around the side of the Palace. He stopped near a sentry box and looked up at the window of the Vault Room that we had just left. The bear-skinned sentry looked on bemused as Holmes examined the ground in the light streaming from a ground-floor window.

  “The thieves will transmit the gem to Saint Petersburg and thence to the Punjab along the new Russian Imperial Railway as the signal for a general uprising of Sikhs,” he said. “But why did they take Kanji? Why not batter him to the floor, as they did the last time?”

  A group of workmen passed us walking towards the gardens at the back of the Palace and carrying large boxes. They were led by a man in a bowler with a sheaf of papers. I stopped him.

  “Who are you, sir?”

  “Brocks fireworks, sir, putting on the display for Her Majesty and guests.”

  Holmes appeared beside us. “Did you see a man, no, two men carrying a ladder? One wore a coat.”

  “The gas men? The gas company men are looking for a leak in one of the garden lamps. I wished them luck. We’re going to let this lot off later. We don’t want a gas leak, eh?”

  He passed on chuckling.

  Holmes turned to the sentry and pointed to the roof of the single-storey service block at the side of the Palace. “The man from the gas company put a ladder up to the roof of that building.”

  “Yes sir,” said the sentry. “He asked me to help, but I dursen’t leave my post.”

  “Cheeky, Watson,” said Holmes. “You see?”

  He turned back to the sentry. “Then the man pulled the ladder up and set it against the Palace wall. He carried testing equipment, is that right?”

  “Yes, sir, in leather bags. Looking for a gas leak and whistling, he was.”

  “You saw several flashes, then he came down with another man in a coa
t.”

  “That’s right sir,” said the sentry with a cheery smile. “A darkie. The fellah whistling said they’d used a torch to check for gas; a new invented electric torch, like, with no spark.”

  “Should we not have the gardens searched, Holmes?” I suggested.

  “You might get a squadron of horse to beat the bushes in the back garden, but I fear that the thieves have made their escape over the back wall. They probably went off in their gas company van, or the fake hansom. If they make for the Russian Embassy we may yet head them off.”

  I followed Holmes back to Colonel Roebuck’s office. The Colonel sat at his desk with his head in his hands. The Life Guards officer who had cut our flagpole sat with him drinking a dark whisky soda. Holmes explained his suspicions and gave a description of the gas van, dray and hansom, and of their probable occupants. At the mention of the Russians, The Life Guards officer jumped up, jammed on his helmet and waddled out of the room at a fine pace. The Colonel instantly snapped into action and called for his aides and a map of London. He was calling his men to arms as we left.

  Churchill waited in the Palace archway with the Goddess. “Those Indian lancers were riding her. I told them she must be instantly restored to me. They gave her a fine polish in recompense. They are stalwart fellows.”

  I climbed onto the captain’s seat and Churchill jumped up behind holding a large, new Union Flag on a long, spiked pole.

  “Back to the Travellers Club, Watson,” said Holmes “I need to consult my authorities.”

  He settled on the stoker’s seat and we set off. After a furious row and an appeal to Colonel Roebuck, the Highlanders opened the Palace gates. I was about to steer through them when a column of armoured Life Guards galloped ahead of us. Their commander saluted and Churchill dipped our flag in return.

  We sped along the Mall. The Goddess was as silent as the night and she flew like a bird. Even so, another column of horsemen, stern-faced Indian lancers, overtook us.

  “Where did you get that flag, Churchill?” I asked.