The Secret Notebooks of Sherlock Holmes (17 page)

‘And now, Lestrade,’ he concluded, laying down the pen, ‘I suggest you arrest Chafer and charge him with the murder of Billy Wheeler. The rest of the crew involved in the assault on the young man and the insurance fraud may be rounded up later. But I do most earnestly advise you to put a guard on the
gang-planks
so that none of the crew can escape. Meanwhile,
Mr Corbett, the ship’s mate, will show you the way to the captain’s cabin.’

Much bemused by Holmes’ masterly control of the situation, Lestrade, who under the circumstances had no other option, followed Corbett out of the cabin and we heard the tramp of their feet and those of the accompanying uniformed officers proceed along the passage on their way to arrest Chafer, Deakin taking the opportunity to scuttle out after them like a frightened rabbit released from a trap.

‘You see what I mean about the oldest trick in the world, Watson?’ Holmes remarked as the door closed behind them.

‘You mean, of course, Brewster’s supposed statement?’ I replied.

‘Of course, my dear fellow. If you want someone to confess, all you have to do is declare you have irrefutable proof of his guilt. Unless the suspect is unusually hardened and, in my experience, he is most often not, then he will invariably crumble and confess all. It often works. There is a story, probably apocryphal, of telegrams being sent to various members of a gentlemen’s club stating quite simply, “Flee the country. All is discovered.” It is claimed that half a dozen of them did exactly that.

‘You may also have noticed that it was not necessary to lie directly to Deakin. I simply asked him if he knew that Tommy Brewster had made a statement about the events on board the
Sophy Anderson
before he died.’

‘At the same time drawing his attention to the legal document,’ I pointed out.

‘Oh, that is perfectly acceptable under the rules of the game,’ Holmes replied with a shrug and a smile. ‘Any conjurer or stage magician uses exactly the same ruse when performing a trick. He makes sure the audience’s eyes are directed towards what he wants them to observe. Anyway, whatever the method employed, it has been a good night’s work, do you not agree? I suggest we return to Baker Street and celebrate its conclusion with a whisky and soda in front of the fire.’

Of course, it was not the end of the affair. After months of investigation on the part of the police in rounding up all the original members of the crew of the
Sophy Anderson
who could be traced and who had agreed to the insurance fraud and been present at the murder of Billy Wheeler, they as well as the main participants in the events were sent for trial at the Old Bailey and were sentenced to various terms of imprisonment, including the McNeil brothers who had set up the scheme in the first place. Because of his direct participation in the murder, Captain Chafer was sentenced to be hanged.

Thomas Corbett, like most of the others, was found guilty of conspiracy to defraud and was given ten years in gaol.

It is with mixed feelings that I have to report that he did not live to serve out this sentence. Eighteen months
later he died of a heart attack while in prison; a sad end for a man of such courage and honesty but probably one he himself would have wished for.

In recognition of these qualities of his, I have decided not to publish this account but will place it among my other papers in my despatch box, a decision, I feel, which would also have met with his approval.

It was not long before my marriage that my old friend Sherlock Holmes was asked to enquire into a matter involving one of the crowned heads of Europe. It was of such delicacy that, although Holmes himself has referred to it obliquely in public on two occasions,
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I
believe the time is not yet ripe for a full account of the case to be published, a decision with which Holmes heartily concurs.

I shall therefore place this record in my despatch box along with those other written accounts which, for various reasons, may never see the light of day, even though I know from the many letters I have received that there is considerable curiosity among my readers to know the full details of the case, roused, I might add, by those two references I have already mentioned.

It was, I recall, a pleasant morning in early autumn
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when Holmes received a letter introducing him to the case. Considering the illustriousness of our correspondent, as we only later discovered, it was a curiously anonymous missive, bearing no coat of arms or other insignia to indicate the identity of the individual concerned, not even an address. However, the quality of the writing paper and envelope suggested it was someone of wealth and discernment.

Having read through the single sheet of paper and raised a quizzical eyebrow at its contents, Holmes passed the letter to me.

The handwriting was clear, educated and bold, the message short and to the point.

‘Dear Mr Holmes,’ it read. ‘Having heard excellent
reports of your skill as a private consulting agent, I beg your assistance in a case of great importance.

‘As I am in London for a limited period only, I should be exceedingly obliged if you could find the time to see me this morning at 11 a.m.

‘As the matter is of great delicacy, I trust I can rely on your discretion.’

In contrast to the legibility of the letter itself, the signature was almost indecipherable but, on close scrutiny, appeared to be Erik von Lyngstrad.

‘A German gentleman?’ I suggested as I returned the letter to Holmes.

‘Perhaps,’ he conceded with a shrug. ‘We shall find out in an hour.’

‘So you intend to see him, despite the shortness of the notice?’

‘I think so, Watson. No other client has presented himself. Besides, I am curious to find out what this matter of extreme delicacy involves.’

‘An
affaire de coeur
?’ I suggested.

Holmes burst out laughing.

‘My dear Watson, you are an incurable romantic! But you may well be correct. Shall you stay and find out?’

‘If I may,’ I replied a little stiffly for, to be frank, I was somewhat annoyed by his amusement at my expense. However, curiosity soon overcame any chagrin on my part and, taking the
Morning Post
, I sat down by one of the windows from where I could watch the street while glancing through the newspaper. Holmes had settled
down with
The Times
and so we passed the next hour in companionable silence until the sound of a cab drawing up outside the house alerted both of us to the arrival of his client.

A few moments later, there came a ring at the front-door bell, footsteps were heard mounting the stairs and the boy in buttons
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ushered in a tall, well-built gentleman with a noble, upright bearing and finely modelled head whose clipped moustache and beard gave him the air of a senior army officer.

There was a military air also in the brisk, authoritative manner in which he shook hands with Holmes and myself and announced his name as Count Erik von Lyngstrad.

Here was a man, I felt, who was used to commanding others.

‘May I introduce my colleague, Dr Watson?’ Holmes continued. ‘I should be much obliged, sir, if, with your permission, he remains during our interview.’

‘Indeed! Indeed!’ Count von Lyngstrad agreed, bowing in my direction with a little formal click of his heels which also suggested military training as well as a Continental background. His voice was deep and his English excellent, containing only a very faint foreign accent, the origin of which I could not quite place.

The formalities over, the three of us seated ourselves,
Holmes in a chair set a little apart from his client’s and in such a position that he had his back to the window, which afforded him a clear view of the Count’s features while leaving his own in shadow. His expression was curiously immobile, a facial rigidity I had noticed before when his mind was most engaged. But behind those lean features which had the inflexibility of a Red Indian chief’s, I knew his thoughts were working at speed like a steam locomotive under pressure.

Placing the tips of his fingers together, he leant back in his chair.

‘In your letter,’ he began, ‘you refer to a matter of extreme delicacy. Let me assure you on behalf of myself and Dr Watson that not a word of what you tell us will pass beyond these four walls.’

The Count bowed his head in acknowledgement of Holmes’ guarantee.

‘Thank you, Mr Holmes,’ he replied. ‘It was partly because of your reputation for discretion that I have decided to consult you. Not on my own behalf,’ he added hastily, ‘but on the part of a very old and dear friend of mine.’

Holmes’ features maintained the same grave, listening expression.

‘I understand,’ was all he said in reply. ‘Pray continue, sir.’

Count von Lyngstrad hesitated as if not sure where to begin and then, after a moment’s silence, he took up his account.

‘About two months ago, this friend, whom I shall refer to as Herr Braun, was called to the bedside of an elderly and very sick uncle of his who wished to make a death-bed confession. It seems that six months earlier, the uncle, a gentleman of impeccable reputation, had taken a valuable jewel from among the family heirlooms and had used it as collateral to meet a debt of honour. The loan was only temporary and, within a month, the uncle was able to pay back the borrowed sum with interest and to retrieve the jewel, which he replaced in the family strongbox. The crisis appeared to be over.

‘However, when he had first handed over the heirloom to the money-lender, the uncle, whose instinct told him not to trust the man too implicitly, had marked the piece of jewellery with a tiny scratch which would be invisible to anyone not aware of its presence. On examining the jewel when it was returned to him, he found the scratch was not there and he realised he had been tricked. The heirloom was not the original gem but a copy.

‘This discovery came as a final blow after a period of great distress, for it was a close member of his own family who had accumulated the large debt which the uncle had felt obliged to repay. In consequence, the uncle suffered a stroke which left him partly paralysed and bedridden. Fearing another stroke would kill him, the uncle sent for his nephew to confess the loss of the family heirloom, the nephew being the titular head of
the family and therefore the guardian of all the family property.’

It was apparent that the Count, who up to that moment had related the facts in a straightforward and unemotional manner, had now reached a point in his narrative which caused him personal concern.

Resuming his account again, he continued more hurriedly, ‘As I have already said, all of this happened about two months ago. As soon as I learnt …’

The personal pronoun fell into the ensuing silence like a stone into a pool of still water. I was aware that I started up in my chair instantly alert, while Holmes, who has better control over his emotions than I, moved not a muscle but remained as motionless as a statue. As for the Count, I observed a faint flush infusing his handsome features before, quickly recovering his composure, he said with a smile, ‘Ah, gentlemen, I am afraid I have let the cat out of the bag, as you English so charmingly express it. I am, of course, the nephew in question.’

‘And the uncle?’ Holmes enquired, raising an eyebrow at his client, who appeared about to continue his account.

The Count smiled again.

‘You are very quick, Mr Holmes. I had intended to pass over the uncle without further explanation. In fact, there was no relationship between myself and the elderly gentleman, except that between a master and an old and trusted servant. The man is now dead and I am
anxious that his reputation should remain as unsullied as it was before all this tragic business concerning the family jewel. No one else knows about its loss and I would prefer that it remained a secret known only to us.’

‘Of course,’ Holmes agreed. ‘Pray continue.’

‘Very little remains to be told. As soon as I realised the jewel had been replaced by a fake by the money-lender, I made certain to find out all I could about him. His name is Baron Kleist.’

‘Ah, Baron Kleist!’ Holmes exclaimed as if the name were familiar to him. Rising to his feet, he went to a bookshelf in one of the chimney alcoves. Taking down his encyclopaedia of reference,
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he carried it back to his chair where he quickly turned to the entries under the letter
K
and began to read out loud.

‘“Baron Kleist. Antecedents unknown, although he claims descent from a cadet branch of the Hapsburgs. Immensely rich. Fortune derived mainly from dealing in currency, jewellery and
objets d’art
on an international scale. Also a money-lender and a blackmailer. It is rumoured he was responsible for the suicide of the Duchesse de Nantes and the Member of Parliament, William Pepper. Also suspected of forgery. Has no settled abode but moves freely between the major capitals.”’ Holmes closed the book with the comment, ‘A notorious character of whom much is suspected
but nothing proved. Unfortunately, I have never made his acquaintance but I understand he is at present in London. There was a small item two days ago in the
Morning Post
.’

‘Then if you agree with my plans, Mr Holmes, you may soon have the pleasure of meeting the Baron,’ Count von Lyngstad replied. ‘I have made enquiries and I am told he is at present staying at the Hotel Imperial
5
in Piccadilly, and has been in contact with a certain American millionaire, Cornelius F. Bradbury, who is due to arrive in England in a week’s time and who is a collector of rare items of jewellery, particularly those with an historic connection. It is my belief that the Baron is intending to sell my family heirloom, which is in the form of a pendant, to Mr Bradbury and that he has come to London for this very purpose, bringing the jewel with him.

‘This is where your services are called for. I have already had some enquiries made and I have no doubt that the pendant is kept in a small strongbox which the Baron always carries with him and which, I understand, he keeps in his bedroom, preferring not to entrust it to the hotel’s safe. Your task will be to remove the real pendant and replace it with the fake one without the Baron’s knowledge. This way, the Baron will suspect nothing, the fake jewel can be sold to the American
collector and a scandal of international proportions will be averted. Moreover, if the Baron should be aware of the substitution, he may seek his revenge and I have no wish to risk making such an enemy.’

‘You are indeed wise,’ Holmes said gravely. ‘Should his enmity be aroused, Baron Kleist has the means to finance and organise an implacable vendetta which could include murder. It is rumoured that Petro Cecconi, a member of the powerful Mafia family, ran foul of the Baron and was stabbed through the heart one evening as he left a restaurant in Rome, although, at the time, the murder was attributed to a falling-out between the Cecconi family and another Mafia gang, the Badaglio clan. I believe Baron Kleist travels everywhere with a bodyguard?’

‘Two, in fact, Mr Holmes. My own inquiry agents tell me that one guard accompanies him wherever he goes, while the other, Igor, a Russian gangster, remains in the hotel suite to guard the strongbox should the Baron leave the building for any reason. They are ostensibly manservants but both are armed and are, according to my informants, experts in the martial arts. I should add that my own agents are also staying at the Imperial in a suite of rooms, number twenty, adjoining the Baron’s at number twenty-four. If you take up the case, you will very likely meet them. One is named Oscar. He is a tall, fair-haired young man. The other, Nils, is short and dark and, being less conspicuous, is mostly engaged in shadowing Baron Kleist.

‘I understand from Nils that the Baron intends to go to the opera on Friday night with a young actress of his acquaintance and will afterwards dine with her at Claridge’s hotel.’
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‘May I ask how your informant knows this?’ Holmes broke in to ask.

The Count gave a smile.

‘How very perspicacious of you, Mr Holmes!’ he remarked approvingly. ‘Besides being an expert in the art of shadowing, Nils can also lip read. He managed to get close enough to the Baron one afternoon at the hotel reception desk when he was making arrangements for two seats to be booked at Covent Garden for Friday evening and also for a table to be reserved, again for two, at Claridge’s for later that same evening. As for the identity of the young actress, Nils has seen her in the Baron’s company on several occasions since his arrival in London. A few discreet enquiries on his part established her identity. Are there any more questions you would like to ask, Mr Holmes?’

‘Not for the moment, Count von Lyngstrad,’ Holmes replied. ‘Pray continue.’

‘As I was saying, it is unlikely the Baron will return to the Imperial until the early hours of Saturday morning. It therefore seems an excellent opportunity
for you to substitute the fake jewel for the real one. It will not be easy, Mr Holmes. You will have to find some means to get into the Baron’s bedroom past Igor, who will remain in the suite to guard the strongbox. You will then have to open it and relock it once the substitution has been made so that the Baron’s suspicions are not aroused.

‘I should perhaps warn you at this stage that the strongbox in which the jewel is kept is no ordinary container secured by a key. It has been specially made and is fitted with three separate locks, each requiring its own key, and is, I understand, kept in a leather grip which is itself locked and which is placed inside the wardrobe in the Baron’s bedroom.’