Sherlock Holmes & The Master Engraver (Sherlock Holmes Revival) (27 page)

“In the ordinary way of things Mr Holmes, the note would be confiscated, the depositor informed that it was a forgery and, naturally, he would receive only a receipt for it, but no manner of financial compensation whatever.

“However, in this case I judged it far too dangerous to risk a public panic by letting knowledge of this sensitive and privy information pass into the common domain.

“I instructed Mr Tenbury-Ripon to accept the note and to inform Mr Kauffmann in an offhand manner that it was merely a trivial Bank mis-print, a rare but not unique event, and therefore in this unusual case we would of course honour the note’s value, and thanked him for bringing it to the Bank’s attention.

“It seems Mr Kauffmann was a little intrigued but nonetheless perfectly content with this arrangement. Tenbury-Ripon knows no more than he has been told; and even should he suspect that something is amiss, he is a loyal, highly ambitious but most discreet young man and without reservation, shrewd enough to keep the matter close; I make little doubt that he may even one day sit behind my desk.”

Holmes rubbed his bony hands together vigorously in evident satisfaction. “That is excellent Mr May, extremely skilfully played if I may say, and certainly precisely what I would have advised. No needless suspicions have been aroused and with luck Mr Kauffmann will believe that nothing more notable than a small curiosity passed across his counter, and thus think no more of it.

“But now we must see if we can discover how it came into Mr Kauffmann’s possession, and swiftly too. I presume that this note was presented to Mr Tenbury-Ripon, and he, passed it to you in precisely this condition for as we can observe, it has been folded in half and folded again into four at some time since it was printed, yet shopkeepers do not customarily fold their takings, but bundle them flat – is that not so?”

“Indeed, Mr Holmes. Such creasing is typically exhibited after the note enters circulation, when certain persons as are not accustomed to carrying a pocketbook – usually for the reason that they rarely if ever are in possession of a sufficient quantity of paper-money to justify such a gentleman’s essential – very often fold a note and stuff it into a trouser pocket, a rather vulgar custom but commonplace enough. However, it does seem to me, if I may say that you appear oddly satisfied with this event.”

Holmes’ cold grey eyes had taken on that strange appearance which I had seen on many occasions when confident that he was fast-closing with his quarry; distant and far-away as he were staring fixedly upon a remote horizon, yet curiously alive, sharply focused and intently concentrated.

From his alert demeanour, which put me affectionately in mind of a malnourished bloodhound, I felt sure that the apparently random appearance of this third note, and its creased condition had somehow significantly advanced his hunt. At that moment I would have given scant odds indeed that the criminals could elude this doughtiest of detectives.

After some thought, during which May and I remained deferentially silent, Holmes eventually continued: “I believe I may now set your mind at rest Mr May – I am confident that the appearance of this note is not an augury as you fear, that
‘it has begun’
. Very far from it; in fact I much doubt if the criminals’ principal is even aware of the note’s circulation.

“We know the villains are pinning all their hopes on cowing you into handing over a vast ransom for the return of the stolen materials, or face a deluge of harmful fraudulent currency being unleashed into your carefully-balanced economy. They would not knowingly reduce the gravity and menace of their own threat. They know well that you are fully aware of their competence to print and circulate – what need is there of a third reminder?

“From what I have learned tonight, therefore, I believe I may state with considerable confidence that it is most unlikely you will be required to meet their terms. Should you be minded so to do, it would be the most needless, the most costly, and the most monstrous of travesties of all that is decent and right.

“With the appearance of this note I now feel certain that they foolishly and unwittingly have revealed their Achilles heel and it is within range of my arrow.”

At this the distinguished banker appeared almost to grow in stature; his back straightened, his brow became smooth once more, his tensely clenched hands slowly uncurled, and a look of infinite relief flooded visibly over him.

“I will not enquire the basis for your evident confidence Mr Holmes, for your abilities in such delicate and sensitive matters are legend, and I can find no flaw in your logical analysis of the situation. I have read Doctor Watson’s accounts of your methods of observation and deduction and though it appears to me that while they have been, on occasion, most unusual, we do find ourselves in a most unusual, perhaps unique situation. You have greatly buoyed me up.”

I observed just the smallest flash of a self-satisfied smile pass almost invisibly across Holmes’ lips. And while my clever friend always eschewed the public spotlight, he very occasionally permitted himself a tiny moment of self-indulgent satisfaction at the praise of those whom he considered his peers.

“You are exceedingly kind Mr May” said my colleague “but let us hold a little longer for our laurels – and certainly until the Derbies are securely upon the villains’ wrists, they incarcerated and enjoying the hospitality of Inspector Lestrade’s tender mercies, and your plates and paper are once more safely under lock and key. Now, if you have no further matters to bring to my attention, I shall terminate this little meeting, for there is a great deal I must set in place, for one of our five days is now elapsed.”

When eventually Mr May departed, clearly somewhat more reassured than upon his arrival, Holmes collapsed limply in his chair before the fire. My friend looked drawn and care-worn, and I began to suspect that the immense responsibility of solving this case of national importance was starting to bear down upon him like the heavens upon the shoulders of Atlas. I wanted to quiz him more about the evening’s unexpected development, but already he had withdrawn completely into that strange and taciturn world of his own creation, in which nothing existed for him save his extraordinary intellect, the grand engine that powered his unique deductive abilities.

“Have a care to take some rest old friend” I said gently. “There are only two ends to burn on even the mightiest candle. Sooner or later they must meet and consume it entirely.” He opened his weary eyes and smiled lazily. “Fear not my dear Watson – this is my rest; it is stultifying inactivity that so fatigues me.” And he reached for his pipe.

Silence descended once more; aware that any further attempt at conversation would be as rewarding as attempting conversation with a Trappist monk, I stole noiselessly to my room and retired for the night, leaving him to his introverted silence of deduction...

When I awoke the following morning my first chilling thought was that this was the commencement of the second day; I conceived it must have been inordinately early, for only the faintest glimmering of dawn penetrated the drape, yet strangely my watch upon the bedside table reported that it lacked only five minutes of nine o’clock. Upon parting the bedroom curtains I realised the cause; the overnight fog had curdled into a vile and impenetrable miasma, fuelled by the innumerable meagre soft-coal fires, each battling feebly against the winter chill in countless thousands of dwellings across the city. Our modest hearth was but one of the guilty culprits.

Outside, the gloomy consequence was that the windows at 221B appeared to have been swaddled during the night with dense, dirty, ochre-coloured gauze. Even at this morning hour, the street lights were still lit, but to miserable effect. Save for one or two hardy souls groping blindly through the murk on foot, the street beneath was perfectly empty; no street-vendor cried, no tradesman’s wagon or brewer’s dray rumbled by, no hansom plied its brisk business; such was the horrid, sinister stillness that had descended across the paralysed city.

While dressing I sombrely reflected that as a dismal consequence of this unhealthy air, my medical practice would inevitably be beleaguered by wheezing asthmatics, chronic bronchitics and every other manner of poor suffering soul certain to be afflicted by the jaundiced atmosphere, and I had no doubt that many would succumb to these noxious vapours long before the primroses next bloomed in Regents Park.

It is a sad commonplace of our modern metropolitan times.

I entered the parlour to find Holmes seated at the window, still in his night attire and dressing-gown, glaring moodily out at the sickly glow of the near-invisible gaslights in silent Baker Street below; I perceived upon the instant that he was in the vilest of humours. “Ah, good morning Holmes” I said cautiously.

Tetchily he retorted “I defy you, Watson, to present me with one single redeeming feature of this benighted morning. There is, for my purpose, nothing good about it in the least part. The hunt cannot ride with blind hounds, and hope for a kill. And no more can I! I am unsighted like Polyphemus! I am blind as Lear’s Gloucester! Quite as sightless as a common bat!

“How are we to comb the rookeries in The Isle of Dogs in such conditions?

“Pah! You could barely see to comb your hair in this murk; I much doubt that any cabbie would venture to take us so far without an army of torch-men to lead the way! And still time marches inexorably onward. These infernal fogs can last for days...”

Knowing that this gloomy and self-indulgent mood would serve only to obscure my friend’s powers of concentration at this most critical of times, I sought to lighten his disposition. “That is quite true Holmes, but we have too, on occasion, known them to lift unexpectedly and quickly. Come; let us hope for better weather, while you tell me of your plans for the day if you will.”

He glared balefully for a final moment at the fog outside and softened. “Of course you are right my wise and prudent counsellor! We must hope that the winter sun may burn its feeble way through this miserable gloom, so let us bank up the fire and I shall tell you of what I yet hope to achieve this day.”

Pleased at this welcome upturn in my friend’s blue funk, I loaded a generous shovel of coal upon the fire, placed the old Malacca cigarette box and some vestas upon the table between our easy chairs, and took my place alongside him before the cheery blaze. He drew deeply on his cigarette, exhaled long and slowly, and after some moments he spoke.

“Some of what I will now summarise, Watson, I readily concede, is informed assumption and some, informed deduction, and it is now that I look to you to moderate by playing the devil’s advocate, as ever you have done.”

I was surprised and not a little flattered by such uncommon deference shown me by Sherlock Holmes, and I sensed it signalled perhaps a rare moment of self-questioning under the weighty responsibility he had shouldered.

He continued. “Have you considered the matters I recently brought to your attention? The speed at which a strong, agitated man may walk when pressed by exigent circumstance; the rate at which a Koenig press may operate; the circle I inscribed upon the map – you have noted its centre and radius I know; and the odd tainted odours your keen sense of smell detected upon the three banknotes that have appeared thus far? To which I might add the curious matter of the threatening letter from Asa Bormanstein pinned to the wall, which strangely was not in evidence when Lestrade was present at the scene of the crime, still not there when Warburg made his ill-advised foray, yet was so prominently displayed precisely for me to discover later next day; and this despite what we believe to be a more-or-less continuous police guard upon Slater’s Yard. Do not those finer points, when considered together, become highly suggestive to you?”

I had already struggled to comprehend whatever connections the great detective clearly saw between these incongruent events, but save for my earlier estimate of a man’s walking speed, had failed miserably to establish any intelligent thread of logic between them; and while Holmes’ notoriously acerbic comments upon my attempts at deduction had without doubt mellowed of late, there was certainly no theory which I was emboldened to advance for his pitiless scrutiny. However, of one thing I felt reasonably certain – that of all these diverse factors he had brought to my awareness, there was one which stood out quite signally.

“I regret, Holmes, I am unable to make full sense of these matters, save to opine that the most significant must be the circle you inscribed upon the map, and it is my belief that the answers to all the other strange questions have somehow directed you in its placing and size.”

“You improve; I declare you improve almost daily Watson!” He lit another cigarette and after inhaling a few enthusiastic puffs, reached for the map and flattened it upon the table between us. “The circle, Watson, which is the focus of this hunt, has a particular radius and a particular centre. You may care to give further close thought to the placing of the circle’s centre on Cubitt Town, its radius – approximately three miles or so, and the interval within which we can estimate quite closely that the envelope was introduced to the scene at Slater’s Yard. Too, it might be worthwhile to consider why and how the letter and envelope came to be written and placed there precisely during PC Clarke’s brief absence, and a few minutes before the particular moment we discovered it.

“The speed of the press becomes significant in view of the fact the letter demanded that the ransom be paid in five days, failing which the counterfeit money will be released far and wide, which implies, does it not, that it will all be printed within that period of time?”

“That is certainly possible” I replied. “It is more than that – it is probable.”

He closed his eyes, placed his elbows upon the arms of his chair, fingers steepled as always when preparing to deliver one of his pedagogical explanations “You have before you, Watson, all those data that I have. The perfect logician, and to my knowledge there is none-such, might observe a single one of these facts in its context, and deduce not only its causes, but also its likely results. The great naturalist Cuvier could describe a complete animal merely by contemplating a single bone – how I would have enjoyed an encounter with that man and his mind!