Sherlock Holmes (12 page)

Holmes returned the report to the ambassador
and, for a few moments, we sat in total silence as we digested its
content. I was so shocked that I blurted out, “How can this royal
personage put himself, and therefore his country, at risk so?”

The ambassador's face bore a thin smile and
he simply said, “Curiosity, Dr Watson...and an amazing disregard
for danger. You will no doubt appreciate how difficult it is to try
to restrict the movements of such an important person.”

Up to his point Mycroft had said nothing.
“Anarchist...an interesting word. It comes from the Greek meaning,
'without ruler'. You see now, Sherlock, why you have been invited
here tonight. It is of vital importance that we protect this person
and make him aware of the very real risk he runs of being
recognised and killed out of hand. Her Majesty's government cannot
be seen to interfere openly in this matter and neither can the
Italian government be seen to be restricting the movements of its
Royal family. His Excellency is acting at the direct request of
senior members of the Italian Royal household in an effort to
ensure that this cavalier behaviour does not end in tragedy.”

Holmes sat for a moment, his fingers held
steepled in front of his lips whilst his formidable brain reflected
on the facts. “Ernesto, it is imperative that I have a list of his
formal engagements for the week and I must follow the royal person
next time he goes out incognito. It would appear that he restricts
his visits to these clubs to the evenings.” He paused, adding, “I
may have to retain the services of some of my more 'unofficial'
observers to watch the embassy.” It was clear that the ambassador
was about to question this but Holmes held up a finger, saying,
“Have no fear, Ernesto. My spies are invisible and completely
reliable. They will bring me the information speedily and follow
discreetly until I can take up the scent.” The ambassador
nodded.

In response to Holmes’ request, the
ambassador reached into a drawer of his desk and produced a list of
engagements. This he then passed to Holmes. I knew from what Holmes
had said that he intended to enlist the services of the Baker
Street Irregulars. These being a group of street urchins who were
fiercely loyal to Holmes and who had, on several occasions, been
his eyes and ears on the streets of London. Holmes smiled and rose
from his chair, a clear signal that nothing further could be gained
from the meeting.

 “I will be in touch, Ernesto, as soon
as I have something to report. In the meantime, please call off
your dogs. We do not want them to precipitate our friend being
recognised by association.”

The ambassador nodded. “I will see to it
personally...and thank you, Sherlock.” 

After saying our farewells we left the
embassy by the back door. Holmes led me again through some back
alleys and, on hailing a cab, we returned to Baker Street.

Sitting in our rooms, having a final pipe of
tobacco before retiring, Holmes turned to me, asking, “What did you
make of this evening's visit, Watson?”

I paused for a moment before responding.
“Well, I found out that you were an old friend of the Italian
Ambassador and that a member of the Italian Royal family has too
much curiosity for his own good!”

Holmes laughed heartily. “Bravo, Watson! You
have it in a nutshell! I found it intriguing that nobody actually
spoke the name of the royal person. Even the report by Inspector
Frosali to the ambassador didn't name him but used the letters
'UR'. No doubt a cipher for Umberto Rex or King Umberto, as we know
him.”

I nodded and smiled. “Yes, the ambassador
almost let the cat out of the bag...but not quite.”

Holmes rubbed his chin, asking, “But why so
cautious… even within the confines of the embassy? Perhaps, Watson,
they suspect that there is someone there who cannot be trusted. We
shall see.”

The following morning Holmes was busy looking
through our scrap book where newspaper clippings of interest were
filed. “Ah, here we are! A photograph of King Umberto.
Capital!”

At that moment there was a knock at our door
and Mrs Hudson appeared and, beside her, a dirt streaked urchin.
“Mr Holmes, I really do object to you having these 'persons' in
your rooms. Is this the one you wanted?”

Holmes smiled as he looked up. “Why yes! Come
in Wiggins”

The lad gave Mrs Hudson a scowl and sauntered
into our rooms. “Watcha, Mr Holmes. What do you want?”

Before us stood the figure of a lad of about
12 or 13 years, dressed in clothes that were torn and ill fitting.
Unkempt hair was sticking out from beneath an equally tatty cap
which he wore at a jaunty angle. His trousers were torn at the knee
and held up by a piece of string tied at the waist. Looking at his
boots I could see that they were terribly scuffed with the sole of
one beginning to become unstitched.

Holmes’ voice became more serious. “Now,
Wiggins. I have a job for you. Do you know the Italian embassy in
Belgravia?”

Wiggins nodded. “Yeah. Me and my Dad was
nearly done for peddling near there. We had to dodge into the back
alleys and scarper.”

Holmes picked up the newspaper clipping
showing the photograph of King Umberto in dress uniform and held it
up. “Excellent. I want you to watch the rear entrance of the
embassy and as soon as you see this man, you must get word to me
immediately and follow him. Got it?”

Wiggins peered at the photograph. “He ain’t
gonna be dressed like that, is he?”

 Holmes laughed. “No, he will be dressed
like a workman.”

Wiggins nodded. “Usual rates, Mr Holmes?”

Again Holmes smiled. “Yes, a shilling a day
and when you send word and have followed him, I shall give you a
guinea.”

Wiggins beamed. Holmes reached into his
trouser pocket. “Here's a shilling. Start tonight from six o'clock
until ten o'clock.”

Wiggins touched his cap, saying, “I'll be
there Mr Holmes.” and with that he skipped down the stairs.

We didn't expect to hear anything the first
evening but about a quarter to seven we heard the bell ring
frantically downstairs followed by the racing of feet on the
stairs. Our door burst open and in flew little Alfie, the smallest
of the Baker Street Irregulars, closely followed by a panting Mrs
Hudson.

“Quick, Mr Holmes! Wiggins says that your man
has taken a cab to the Kingsland Road.”

Mrs Hudson grasped Alfie by the scruff of the
neck, saying, “I tried to stop him, Mr Holmes.”

Holmes held up a hand, saying, “It's alright,
Mrs Hudson, I was expecting Alfie.”

Mrs Hudson looked down at the squirming
ruffian in her grasp and let him go, saying, in a doubtful voice,
“If you are sure, sir.”

Tossing Alfie a sixpence, Holmes gathered his
coat and muffler from the stand by the door and ran down the
stairs. I was quick to follow and soon we were both in a cab
heading for Kingsland Road.

“Do you know where he is going?” I asked.

Holmes nodded. “He is almost certainly going
to the aptly titled, 'Anarchist Club.' A notorious meeting place
for anarchists from all over Europe. Here, Watson, take this. You
will need it to gain entry to the club.” Holmes took from his coat
pocket a newspaper and he thrust it in my direction. I held it
close to the lamp of the cab and could see that it was a copy of
'Liberty' which seemingly was an anarchist publication. I pushed it
into my coat pocket next to where my trusty service revolver lay
nestled. I had taken to carrying my revolver as soon as the word
'anarchist' had been mentioned!

After a few minutes ride in the cab we
arrived at Kingsland Road. The area was a mixture of housing for
the well to do with much poorer housing in the back streets. As we
walked along, a slight, shadowy figure came up alongside Holmes. I
recognised the voice of Wiggins, even though he spoke in a stage
whisper. “He went in there, Mr Holmes, with another geezer.”
pointing to an alleyway at the side of one of the shops.

“Excellent work, Wiggins. Here’s your
guinea.” Holmes passed the gold coin to the boy who swiftly
pocketed it.

“And another thing, Mr Holmes. There was a
bloke following them. He went in there too.”

Holmes was immediately alert, asking, “Did
you get a look at him?”

“Nah, he was wearing a dark coat and muffler
but he was smoking and he dropped this just before he went in. I
picked up the stub for you.”

Wiggins rummaged in his jacket pocket and
pulled from it a short cigarette stub. It was too dark to examine
it closely but Holmes held it to his nose. “Ah, undoubtedly French.
We might yet find him!” I had briefly forgotten Holmes’
encyclopaedic knowledge of tobacco and was cheered by his
optimism.

Holmes led the way and we were soon at the
dim alley. A few yards in were two doors about six feet apart.
Holmes stopped at the first and knocked, a slot in the door opened
and we could see a pair of eyes examining us. The eyes flicked from
Holmes to me and then a gruff voice said, “Who's this?”

Holmes immediately replied, “A new comrade.”
I fumbled in my coat pocket and produced the copy of 'Liberty' that
Holmes had given me. On seeing this, the figure behind the door
grunted. There was a metallic 'click' and the second door swung
open. This door was independent of the first and controlled by the
gruff man pulling on a wire which passed through an adjoining wall.
As we passed through the second door, I observed that it had a drop
down iron bar that could be swiftly put in place in an emergency to
resist attempts at entry from the outside.

I did not know what to expect at this club.
As I looked around, my hand in my coat pocket was nervously
touching my service revolver. Holmes turned slightly towards me,
saying, “You won't need that in here, Watson. It would cause more
harm than good.” I mumbled an apology and we moved from the doorway
into the club proper.

Taking stock of my surroundings, I was amazed
at what I saw! I had expected some kind of dingy, bomb factory but
here was a small stage and a piano forte, a corner set aside as a
library with shelves of books, tables with men sitting playing
cards and even chess! Quite the antithesis of what I had
imagined.

Holmes found a table in a corner and we sat
down, I opened the copy of 'Liberty' and pretended to read. Holmes
took out his pipe and slowly filled it, he looked relaxed but his
eyes swept the room, taking in every detail. After a few moments he
briefly touched my arm and following where he was looking, I
casually turned my head in that direction. Sitting at a table, a
few yards away and in deep conversation, were two men who seemed
complete opposites. One was middle aged, well built, clean shaven
and dressed quite smartly. His flat cap covering a mop of dark
curls. The other was much older and was quite diminutive. His hair
was completely grey and he sported a fine, in fact, grandiose,
moustache. He was dressed as an artisan but on closer inspection,
his bearing did not seem to quite fit with his clothes.

As we sat, we were approached by what
appeared to be the barman-cum-waiter. “Good evening, comrades. Your
membership cards?”

I was a little concerned but Holmes produced
a well-worn card from his waistcoat pocket, showed it and pointed
to me with his pipe stem, saying, “This is a colleague of mine who
is sympathetic to our cause. He is my guest here this evening.”

The barman proffered his hand, asking, “It's
always good to meet new comrades, what can I get you?”

Holmes ordered two whiskies which arrived
promptly and we sat and sipped them. In a low voice, I asked Holmes
about his membership at the Anarchists Club. With a grim smile, he
replied, “It always pays to know in advance what the other team is
planning and who the players are.” Still smiling, he puffed
steadily on his pipe.

After some five minutes or so, there was a
loud tapping from the bar in order to get the comrade's attention.
A burly man stepped forward and addressed the assembled members.
“Comrades! Tonight we have a new member in our midst. One who has
shaken the hand of our illustrious comrade, Louise Michel. It is my
great pleasure to introduce to you, Comrade John Good.”

I was just taking a sip of whisky as I saw,
in disbelief, the diminutive figure I knew to be the King of Italy,
stand up and raise his hand in salute to the gathered comrades.
Indeed, in perfect English he addressed the membership. “Comrades!
Thank you for your welcome. I am so happy to be amongst you and to
witness your support for our struggle against oppression. Let us
raise our glasses in a toast to victory!”

As one, the comrades raised their glasses and
shouted “To victory!” I clasped my muffler to my mouth as I choked
and it required a couple of sound slaps on the back from Holmes to
help me breathe again. Fortunately, my choking had been masked by
the rousing cheer from the assembled members.

Several of the members went over to shake
Comrade Good's hand. Holmes went forward and I followed but, as we
approached, another fellow tapped sharply on the bar.

 “Comrades, I would also like to welcome
our new comrade. As a souvenir of his visit, I would like to
present him with this cartoon that I have drawn. It shows how our
movement will deal with these tyrants!”

Again a cheer went up as the artist presented
Comrade Good with the cartoon. I leant forwards and could see that
the cartoon had been quite skillfully drawn. It showed an explosion
representing anarchists freeing the working masses with cartoon
head likenesses of all the rulers in Europe, flying off into the
air like cannon balls. Again I almost choked and I felt for my
revolver as the artist pointed to his work, saying, “Look comrade!
How similar you are to this fellow!” pointing to the head of the
King of Italy which was flying skyward.