Sherlock Holmes and the Egyptian Hall Adventure

by Val Andrews

  Holmes turned to me and said, ‘Come Watson, here is a man after my own heart!’

  The pathologist smiled and said, ‘Our occupations follow similar lines and patterns. We observe and interpret, through our experience.’

  *

  After leaving the mortuary we spoke at some length with Lestrade. The inspector was forced to admit that he had made little headway with his murder enquiry. From what he told us it appeared that his gallery for interrogation almost exactly matched our own.

  ‘Oh, and how are you getting on with that other little matter Mr Holmes… you know, the missing ring? I have heard rumours of a titled lady who lost valuable property yet made no official complaint.’

  Holmes replied, ‘Well Inspector, since you say no complaint has been made how can there be a loss? Come you are a stickler for officialdom?’

  Lestrade winked and touched his nose, ‘But we both know about it, do we not? Though I’ll grant you, whatever I have heard, I cannot force a complaint. But I’ll wager you know something about a very mysterious business!’

  Holmes was saved from further cat and mouse activity by the interruption of Lestrade’s plain clothes sergeant. He obviously wished to convey some information, yet hesitated due to our presence. Lestrade waved effusive hands and said, ‘You may speak before Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson freely sergeant. Let us hope that in the future they will extend the same courtesy to us!’

  “Mr Maskelyne, ‘e says ’is ’orrible callipers ’as reappeared!’

  I noticed that Lestrade consulted his notebook before he corrected his man. ‘You mean his horologist’s callipers!’ ‘Well gentlemen, shall we go to the Egyptian Hall and take a butchers at these callipers?’ Holmes was unsurprised by the inspector’s use of East End slang, saying, ‘By all means, shall we take an “is as does” or a “ball and chalk”?’ Lestrade looked puzzled. ‘I know what a “ball and chalk” is, but an “is as does”?’

  Holmes chuckled, ‘Handsome is as handsome does! Surely you know the old adage Lestrade. I will lend you my monograph on London street argot. You might find it useful.’ We took an ‘is as does’ to Maskelyne’s.

  *

  The Grand Old Man of the Egyptian Hall received us affably enough; though he always appeared to have the look of a man with a secret to hide. Perhaps this was to be expected. However, he seemed ready enough to talk about the mysterious reappearance of his ‘horologist’s calliper’.

  Holmes allowed Lestrade to examine the instrument first. I don’t think the inspector was as interested in it as perhaps a policeman should have been considering it was a probable instrument of murder. He passed it to Holmes, saying, ‘The distance between the teeth seems right, corresponding with the fingers on a hand. Beats me why whoever took it to do this grisly deed should have returned it. After all, some risk must have been incurred in doing so.’

  Holmes said, ‘At a quick guess I would say that whoever it was hoped that they would not have been missed. We can assume therefore, Mr Maskelyne, that the instrument is not in daily use?’

  Maskelyne said, ‘Quite so, it is used but once a week to wind the mechanism of my stenographic automata. One winding is enough for a number of performances.’

  Lestrade asked, ‘Might we trouble you to demonstrate the use of the calliper sir? I appreciate the secret nature of your apparatus and don’t wish to pry into that… just the use of the instrument.’

  Although Maskelyne replied, ‘Quite so, of course!’ I felt sure he was not absolutely delighted with the idea. Nevertheless, he cheerfully led the way to the spare room next to the fatal dressing room, where his automata was stored. He opened the lock with his complicated system, and threw open the door.

  Lestrade asked if he could open the apparatus and show us the manner in which it was wound. Although Maskelyne did not ask us to stand well back, his attitude made us do so. He opened the door that revealed the giant ‘clockwork’, and applied the calliper so that it grasped a cog, the projections fitting the spaces between the cogs exactly. I could see that Holmes was fascinated, and not as unfamiliar with such arrangements as were the inspector and myself.

  Holmes said, ‘The mechanism is indeed beautifully made and although powerful is more subtle than that used in any of Houdini’s automata.’ Maskelyne mellowed a little and motioned Holmes to come closer to the apparatus. He quietly pointed out various points of interest in the machine’s construction. Lestrade and I still stood back, feeling that the beckoning gesture had been meant for Holmes alone. The inspector met my gaze and the ghost of a smile played with the corners of his mouth. Then he gazed skywards for a few seconds.

  We had retained the hansom, ordering its driver to await us at the theatre entrance. As we passed through the auditorium and into the lobby of the old theatre, David Devant appeared as if from nowhere. Maskelyne, obviously feeling his manager more than capable of performing the polite farewells, retreated, no doubt back to his eyrie.

  ‘Mr Devant, Inspector’

  Holmes spoke as if inviting two co-conspirators into some magic circle. ‘May I ask you both to co-operate with me and give me your trust, for I believe that if you do, we can bring this terrible business to a just conclusion this very night.’

  To say that I was amazed at the boldness of Holmes’ prediction would be to put it mildly indeed.

  He continued, ‘Inspector, could you be here at the conclusion of tonight’s performance with two or three discreetly placed constables? This is to prevent the departure of anyone connected with the entertainment.’ Lestrade grunted, which I took to be a grudging assent. Holmes then turned to Devant and said, ‘Mr Devant, we are both clear as to what is to happen, are we not?’

  The conjurer nodded wisely and escorted us to the hansom. As we drove away from Piccadilly, Lestrade asked, drily and with a touch of sarcasm, ‘Might I be permitted to know what this “something” you have arranged with Devant might be? I realise that I am only an Inspector of Detectives, but I do operate more efficiently when kept fully informed!’

  Holmes chuckled, though not unkindly. ‘Inspector we have been involved, you and I, in many an adventure. I believe I can safely say that to some extent Scotland Yard has benefited from our collusion?’

  Lestrade coloured slightly, cleared his throat and then said, ‘I believe I have once or twice had occasion to be grateful for your aid Mr Holmes. Indeed once or twice you have noticed some detail that has eluded me. But dash it all, a fellow likes to be kept informed.’

  Holmes replied, ‘This may be one of those occasions, like those you have mentioned where I have noticed some trifle that has eluded you. If you co-operate, as I have requested, you may make an arrest this very night.’

  Lestrade said, ‘You realise that you have no official place in any of this and my superiors will be furious if I waste time and resources.’

  Holmes played a strong card. ‘I don’t think you will waste either and all kudos will be yours.’

  I realised that my friend was dangling the fattest of maggots in front of a hungry roach. On reflection, perhaps a minnow in front of a pike is more apt. But certainly there was something fishlike about the way in which Lestrade opened and closed his mouth two or three times before he replied.

  At last the inspector said, ‘All right Mr Holmes, I’ll go along with you. But this “something” of yours, whatever it is, had better work!’

  *

  Back at Baker Street I did not press Holmes for the details of his plan, which, if I understood him correctly, might solve the mystery surrounding poor Cyrano and see his killer apprehended in a matter of hours. He had told me very little more than he had told Lestrade. This I found a little hurtful, and I believe my manner toward my friend was a trifle cool.

  Holmes said, ‘There have been too many “breaking of silences”! You know Watson, there are times when I simply have to keep my own council. You see, even a trusted friend could unintentionally reveal some crumb of information, some mere trifle, but enough to put upon his guard
the very person I least wish alerted.’

  I understood, at least I thought I did, and I told him so. But I fear that I spoke without any great degree of conviction. Indeed, there could have been a touch of irony as I asked, ‘Will you be wanting my company during your evening’s adventure?’

  Holmes chuckled at my remarks, though not unkindly. He said, ‘Oh Watson, really, as if I could even contemplate embarking upon such an adventure without you. Before you think the worst of me, dear friend, I would like you to cast your mind back to that affair at Baskerville Hall, which by the way, I am surprised to note you have not yet bored your readers with! Do you remember that I sent you to Dartmoor, and led you to believe that I was still in London?’

  I answered warmly, saying, ‘I do indeed. You put me to the task of sending reports to you at Baker Street when unknown to me you were hidden out upon the moor, and living in a stone-age hut. I was furious when I discovered this fact!’

  Holmes calmed me by saying, ‘Your memory is short Watson, for I remember that I was able to explain to you at the time that I had excellent reasons for my eccentric behaviour. There were those upon the moor who I wished to be absolutely convinced that I was not upon the scene. You admitted to me later your acting ability would not have been up to the task had you known I was there.’

  I had to agree that Holmes was right in his argument. Nonetheless I repeated my question.

  Holmes replied, ‘Indeed, I shall want you dressed and ready to depart for the Egyptian Hall at seven of the clock, stoutly shod and carrying your service revolver!’

  *

  I decided to take a late afternoon nap, leaving Holmes to his own devices. These consisted of perching himself upon the ottoman, producing clouds of acrid blue smoke from a meerscham full of the South African Differ-mixture.

  I lay upon my bed and thought about all the adventures that Holmes and I had embarked upon during the dozen or so years of our association. I remembered the pain of believing he had died at the Reichenbach Falls. How time had passed, so very slowly and painfully for me until that unbelievable day in ’94 when he had reappeared so dramatically. Since that day the clocks and calendars had again picked up momentum and life had again become rich, full and exciting. I remembered the fear of a year earlier that I might lose my friend when that savage nervous illness threatened to strike him down. My prayers for him had been answered, yet I could never admit to him that I, a doctor, had resorted to anything as unscientific as prayer.

  It seemed to me that no sooner had I nodded off than the bedroom door flew open as if propelled by a hurricane. There, all but filling the height of the door aperture stood Holmes. I guessed that he had not rested, although he seemed fresh and alert. He was sedately dressed in evening clothes, complete with cape, cane and opera hat. He looked at me accusingly as he took a thin gold watch from his waistcoat. He consulted the timepiece, returned it to the pocket and said, very loudly indeed, ‘Come Watson, stir yourself… The game’s afoot!’

  Chapter Eight – ‘Grand Finale’

  The performance at the Egyptian Hall was becoming for me all but commonplace. After all, this was the third time that I had witnessed it within only a few days. It is said that ‘familiarity breeds contempt’, yet Holmes sat forward in his seat as if not wishing to miss a moment of the performance. The programme was much the same, except that Maskelyne dropped one of his plates, and De Kolta had added one or two new items to his act (at least, they were new to me). During the interval I mentioned to Holmes that the ‘running-order’ had again been altered, and this was the case in the second half of the performance, too. Maskelyne’s son, Nevil, presented his mechanical secretary immediately before the ‘Animated Photographs’ which as usual brought the performance to its end.

  As the curtain descended and the last notes of the national anthem died away, almost reluctantly the audience began to leave the theatre. They were happy with what they had seen and obviously considered it well worth the modest entrance fee. Although most of them had seen the moving pictures for the very first time, my eavesdropping revealed it was De Kolta’s expanding cube that was the main point of conversation.

  ‘How did it change in size?’ and ‘Where could she have come from?’, these were the questions they asked each other as they poured out into Piccadilly. Their wonderment caused me to ponder: could this undoubted theatrical masterpiece be the cause of such a brutal murder… surely not? But perhaps I would soon know.

  Holmes waved a hand, indicating that we should walk down the centre aisle toward the stage. He clapped his hands, and as if this were a theatrical ‘cue’, the heavy velvet curtains were raised. These revealed the members of the cast, seated about the stage in front of the large moving picture screen. Devant stood centre stage, as if about to give a performance. Several pieces of apparatus used in the performance were still in evidence, including the automata, which was stationed in one of the wings. J.N. Maskelyne stood near it, as if protecting his ‘secret’. Cushions, stools, chairs from the dressing rooms, all had been brought into use for the cast and staff to be more or less comfortably seated. As we seated ourselves in the front stall seats, we were joined by Inspector Lestrade and his plain clothes sergeant.

  Devant spoke up, as if addressing an audience, ‘Mr Holmes, as you see, all is arranged as you requested. Now, our wish is your command!’

  Holmes said, ‘Inspector, Ladies and Gentlemen, I have asked you all to be here, that you might see Mr Devant’s very latest animated picture, or “film” as he tells me such is termed. Mr Devant, if you please!’

  Mr Devant clicked his fingers and the auditorium lights dimmed, whilst the still lighted projector started to throw an image upon the screen. The flickering picture could be clearly recognised as the exterior of Cyrano’s dressing room window.

  At this point Holmes gave Devant a ‘signal’, and the conjurer in turn signalled to the operator of the projector to stop the picture. On the screen all movement ceased, and there was just a giant picture of the exterior of the dressing room. Holmes said, so that all could hear him, ‘You see before you a halted picture of the dressing room window, captured by Mr Devant on the night of the tragedy. The date can be established from the news-vender’s board with its headline: “Kaiser bids for world peace!” Does anyone doubt that this film was taken on that day at that place?’

  Lestrade spoke up, ‘The board has been changed since and was different on the night before. Anyone can see that it is a picture of the outside of Cyrano’s dressing room. But what is your point Mr Holmes, save that someone took this er… film, on that particular night? Oh yes, and night it is, you can tell by the light, which seems to come only from that lamp-post to the right in the picture.’

  Holmes said, ‘Just have a little patience Inspector. Mr Devant, if you please!’

  The picture recommenced its flickering and as the window was seen to open a little, the figure of a man could be seen through it. As his head fully emerged, everyone gasped, ‘It’s Craig, Matthew Craig!’ As the figure clambered out with difficulty and hurried from the scene there could be little doubt. The picture flickered to its finish.

  Lestrade leapt onto the stage and walked toward the bemused Matthew Craig, who blurted, ‘All right, I can’t deny it now! That is me undoubtedly as you can all see. But how, and why were you filming that window Mr Devant?’

  The inspector said, ‘Never mind that for now, you admit, before all these people that the… er… image, is of yourself, and you agree that it must have been taken on the night of the murder?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’ve said so… what else can I do?’ The Illusionist’s helper had been shocked into a blurted confession and could see no way out of it. Lestrade laid a hand on his shoulder, saying, ‘Matthew Craig, I hereby arrest you for the murder of one Cyril Raymond, also known as Cyrano. I must caution you…’

  Lestrade got no further in his official ‘caution’, because Holmes rose from his seat and walked the four small steps onto the stage. He raised a hand
, stopping the flow of the police inspector’s words. Craig took advantage of this momentary silence to blurt out, ‘I didn’t murder Cyrano, the blighter was dead when I got to his dressing room!’

  At this point Holmes ‘took the stage’…

  ‘Inspector, what you have heard is true. All you can arrest Craig for is the theft of a diamond ring, and the probable theft of the plans, belonging to Mr De Kolta, for his expanding cube illusion!’

  At this news De Kolta launched into a furious speech and would have exploded into violent action had he not been restrained by Nevil Maskelyne and David Devant.

  Holmes continued, ‘I deduced that Craig had given Cyrano the plans on the promise that when the illusion was produced he would receive a large sum of money…’ He was interrupted by Craig, who shouted, ‘The blighter said he’d give me five hundred pounds, then when I got there he was dead. I searched everywhere for the money. I was desperate: Mr De Kolta was sure to find out. I wanted to get out of town. All I could find was a diamond ring in a trick box. I sold the ring and was going to go to Scotland, but when De Kolta got the engagement for the Egyptian Hall he seemed to forget that Cyrano had the secret. Cyrano was dead and could not tell, so I decided to risk it and stay.’

  Holmes had allowed Craig his say, because it suited his purpose. Now he continued. ‘I suspected Craig’s involvement for a number of reasons. He appeared with Cyrano in old fairground photographs, and I knew that he was as lithe as I, and could climb through an aperture too small to admit most other suspects. I secretly arranged with Mr Devant to make a “film”, in which I impersonated Craig, aided by a wig and some theatrical make-up. You may remember Watson we remarked on Craig’s unusual quiff. I am not without practice in theatrical disguise. The matter of the news-vender’s placard was not difficult to arrange, for a half-crown tip. Just think how many newspapers one must sell to get thirty pence! Now, is there anything not yet explained?’