The Lost Casebooks of Sherlock Holmes (20 page)

There was a silence. Sir Arthur could scarcely bring himself to the point. At last he looked up and said, ‘It is the same, and yet it is worse.'

‘Because it is Prince George?'

Our visitor stared at the carpet and shook his head. ‘Because Prince George will one day be King George.'

I interrupted and said, ‘But surely his elder brother, the Duke of Clarence, will be king?'

‘He would be,' Sir Arthur said quietly, ‘if he lived. I shall have to tell you so much that I must add this as well. The Duke of Clarence suffers from a wasting disease. I would give all I possess to be proved wrong, gentlemen. Yet I doubt that the Duke will even outlive his own father. The plot against Prince George is a plot against our future king.'

History was to prove Sir Arthur right, for the Duke of Clarence died not long afterwards, while his grandmother was still queen. I did not dare ask what the wasting disease might be for so often, even in the case of great leaders like Lord Randolph Churchill, it proves to be syphilis contracted through youthful folly.

‘I believe, Sir Arthur,' Holmes said gently, ‘you must trust us with the nature of the plot.'

The royal secretary nodded. ‘It is this, Mr Holmes. Howell claims first to have letters and documents which establish a marriage, contracted upon the island of Malta, between Prince George and the daughter of Admiral Sir Michael Culme-Seymour of the Mediterranean Fleet.'

To my astonishment, Holmes threw back his head and laughed in the heartiest manner that I had heard from him for a long time.

‘Oh, he does, does he? I believe I know a little of the British constitution, Sir Arthur. In the first place, the Royal Marriages Act of 1772 would make such a union unlawful. Prince George may not marry without consent of the monarch until he is twenty-five. When he is over twenty-five, he may marry by giving a year's notice to the Privy Council and there being no objection from the Houses of Parliament within that period. Prince George is scarcely of an age to dispense with royal consent for a lawful marriage.'

Sir Arthur was briefly but gravely displeased.

‘Had that been all, Mr Holmes, I should not have bothered to come to Baker Street or to trouble you in any way. Of course, Prince George denies that, having met Miss Laura or Miss Mary Culme-Seymour on the island of Malta, he eloped with her. Yet if this story is made public and believed—even half believed—how could he make a royal marriage later in the face of all mankind? If he did so, could he be crowned with the rest of the world believing that he had taken his solemn oath to Miss Culme-Seymour and fathered children by her? It will not do to talk of the Royal Marriages Act! That has no validity to the common sense of the human race. If this story were believed, he could not be crowned. That much is certain. If he were not crowned, under such circumstances, the very foundations of the monarchy and the state must tremble. Do you not see that?'

There was a slight, scarcely perceptible movement of Holmes's eyes and the laughter went out of them.

‘You must forgive me, Sir Arthur, if I do not follow you in seeing why those foundations must tremble. Howell claims to have documents which would establish the existence of a morganatic marriage between Prince George and the daughter of Sir Michael Culme-Seymour. Whether there are grounds for believing this to be so is something I will not ask. Whatever the outcome, would you not be wise to call Howell's bluff without delay, to let him do his worst? The nation will forgive a young man who makes a romantic marriage. Let him abdicate his claim to the throne, if necessary. If neither Prince George nor the Duke of Clarence should be king, there are three sisters. Any one of them might be queen in her own right.'

‘If it were as simple as that, Mr Holmes, I should not be here.' Again Sir Arthur gazed at the carpet. ‘The lie of a secret marriage is but one of the items with which Howell or his client threatens us. The others are not lies. Forgive me, I do not find this easy. Might I have a glass of water?'

The water was poured and our visitor continued.

‘Prince George is at sea a good deal. When he returns to Portsmouth, there has been a young woman to whom he goes. One with whom he lives and one whom he knows, in the biblical sense. Howell's client has her name, the address of the house, the stolen letters, the times of the prince's arrivals and departures.'

‘Indeed,' said Holmes thoughtfully. ‘Yet Howell is a mere collector of documents, Sir Arthur, not the midnight spy.'

Sir Arthur brushed the objection aside. ‘Whatever the prince's dealings with Miss Culme-Seymour may be or may not be, she is a respectable young woman of good family. It is not the case in Portsmouth, where he has chosen for himself and indiscreetly. Howell has the details from his client.'

‘I think I should like to meet this client,' Holmes murmured.

‘There is worse,' Sir Arthur continued. ‘Prince George and the Duke of Clarence are named in another matter. It concerns a girl in St John's Wood whom they share between them. I cannot put it more delicately.'

‘One moment, Sir Arthur!' Holmes raised his hand more gently than his voice. ‘This sounds such a
canard
that I must break a rule I made for myself just now and ask you whether this is true—and how you know it can be true.'

‘Because Prince George himself told me,' our courtier said sadly. ‘He called her a clipper or some such name from yachting.'

‘And Howell or his client knows all this? That the young woman in St John's Wood is shared by the royal brothers?'

‘Yes, Mr Holmes, he knows it. And even if the story of the royal marriage is a
canard
, as you use the word, the other stories are true. If there is a public scandal and those are proved to be accurate, will not the world also believe the marriage story which cannot be so easily proved?'

I sat in my chair and listened to such things said and discussed calmly in the familiar surroundings of the Baker Street rooms. It was as if someone would come in presently and tell me it was all a joke or a misunderstanding. The heir to the throne, who was indeed king twenty years later, had confessed to having a paid woman with whom he slept in Portsmouth—where Miss Culme-Seymour was also to be found!—and to sharing the bed of a girl in St John's Wood with his own brother, which had more than a hint of incest. In all the time I had known Sherlock Holmes and in all the cases of crime and infamy whose details had been paraded before us, I had heard nothing to equal it.

This was far worse, however, because the sin of lust had opened the way to the crime of blackmail.

‘There is another matter,' Sir Arthur said sadly, ‘which touches the Duke of Clarence, though it does not involve Prince George.'

He sipped his water and seemed scarcely able to continue.

‘You had best tell us all, Sir Arthur,' Holmes said kindly.

‘Very well, Mr Holmes. You recall that the courts dealt lately with certain cases arising from a house in Cleveland Street, where unnatural vices had been practised. It touched both Lord Arthur Somerset of the royal stables and Lord Euston, though the latter was quite innocently associated with the place.'

‘Something was reported by the papers,' Holmes said vaguely.

‘It was not reported, Mr Holmes, that the Duke of Clarence was innocently at that place and was seen by witnesses. At the first hint of impropriety he left, as did Lord Euston. Indeed, Euston threatened to knock down the first man who spoke to him.'

‘Then Howell knows all this?'

‘A number of people know of it, Mr Holmes, but only Howell seeks to make something of it. The scandal that he threatens over the so-called marriage may come to nothing. Yet when he talks of the girl in Portsmouth, another in St John's Wood shared by the royal brothers, the fact that the Duke of Clarence—however innocently—was in that house in Cleveland Street, he talks of what is true.'

Holmes shrugged. ‘Then you had better buy from the scoundrel whatever papers he possesses at whatever price he asks.'

Sir Arthur Bigge shook his head. ‘It is not so simple, Mr Holmes. He will not sell them. His client's documents are in a bank vault, as he calls it. They will remain there in confidence so long as he is paid on behalf of that client. If the client were to come to any harm, those documents would be published to the world. They are, you might say, his form of life insurance. Set aside the business of the Culme-Seymours and think what the rest of the scandal might do.'

‘So you are to pay him—and pay him again whenever he asks—and in exchange for that the papers remain where they are?'

‘Unless you can find means to outwit him, Mr Holmes.'

For a moment Holmes said nothing. Then he looked directly at our visitor.

‘I have no doubt I shall. However, if you will take my advice, Sir Arthur, you will put Mr Howell from your mind for the present.'

‘Ignore him?'

‘Ignore him, if you prefer to put it that way. I will tell you, here and now, that none of this is the work of Charles Augustus Howell. Oh yes, he is party to it in a small way. But behind him there is a far stronger and more devious mind. The client. If I am right, the client is a man who might crush Mr Howell—or any one of us—in a single clenching of his hand. If I am right again, this is a man who has not so far demanded money because his true reward would be power beyond price. He holds this threat over you in order that he may be your equal—beyond the law, above the law, perhaps above the Crown itself. That is not Howell, Sir Arthur. That is a man whose shadow falls on his victim with an unearthly chill. I almost seem to know his name.'

‘Yet the name is not Howell's?'

Holmes shrugged. ‘I am probably wrong in my guess. Yet to blackmail our poets and artists is work for soft hands and men like Howell, whose crimes are those of weakness rather than strength. To attempt such a thing against the greatest power in the realm—the greatest in the world—requires a man with a will of steel and a heart proof against fear. That man is not Howell.'

‘Then you will not meet him or negotiate with Mr Howell?'

Holmes sighed. ‘I will meet him if you wish, Sir Arthur, since one must begin somewhere. But it will not be for the purpose that Mr Howell supposes.'

III

Such was the unwelcome commission that came our way. There was nothing for it but to arrange a meeting between Holmes and the man whom Sir Arthur Bigge took to be our enemy. It was less easy than I had imagined. Mr Howell was apprehensive, with good reason, of traps that might be set for him. There was not a room in London where he would consent to be alone with Sherlock Holmes. So it was that this most secret of negotiations occurred in the most public of places.

The two men sat side by side in steamer-chairs, hired by the hour along that stretch of Hyde Park that slopes down towards the waters of the Serpentine. They might have been taken for genial companions, but for their looks. The soft lines and shallow honesty of Howell's face was made a contrast to the sharp intelligence of Sherlock Holmes's profile that it was hard to imagine they had anything in common. Far off the riders moved in a light cloud of dust along Rotten Row, beyond the glittering waters of the boating-lake. The trees sighed in a light breeze and on the bandstand the musicians of the Coldstream Guards enlivened the sunny afternoon with the overture to
The Marriage of Figaro
.

Holmes and I had laid our plan. For the moment I sat at a little distance reading the
Morning Post
and was, I believed, unrecognised by Mr Howell. Much of the time, I could not catch the words that passed between the two men. Only at intervals, as the breeze dropped or the band fell silent, did I hear a few isolated exchanges.

‘My dear sir,' said Howell, in his whimsical insinuating manner, ‘it is a little curious, is it not?'

Holmes gazed at the spring sunlight among the trees of the park but his voice was as cold as the Himalayan snows.

‘You must forgive me, sir, but I am not here to discuss curiosities.'

‘All the same,' Howell said languidly, ‘it remains one. There is such a bother about a marriage which, arrived at unofficially or even by elopement, is an honourable estate among men, as the liturgy has it. Yet much less is said about common whoredom, even where the woman is shared between two brothers.'

‘You will do me the courtesy,' Holmes said acidly, ‘of confining our conversation to the issue.'

There was almost a lisp in Howell's voice as he said, ‘It is necessary, Mr Holmes, that those who have sent you here should understand one thing. I am no republican—indeed, I wish well to Her Majesty—but nor am I a sycophant. When a woman is bought and sold, it is whoredom, whether it be on the Ratcliffe Highway or in St John's Wood, whether the purchaser be a crossing-sweeper or a prince of the blood.'

Holmes said something but I could not catch it. They talked a little longer and I supposed that my friend might be trying to negotiate an outright purchase of the stolen documents, to put an end to the matter. At any rate, what I next heard, several minutes later, was Howell saying more loudly, ‘They lie in a bank vault, sir, let that suffice. That they should do so is my insurance against chicanery on your part or on the part of those who instruct you. Times, dates, documents are all there. Even if you could destroy those papers, you could not destroy the knowledge. Instructions have been given to those whom it may concern. If some misfortune should befall me or my client, the contents of those papers will be public knowledge within the week.'

Holmes muttered something else, which I could not quite hear. I caught Howell's answer.

‘Quarterly, Mr Holmes, is the suggestion. Each quarter day by banker's draught to an account which I shall open. It will then be forwarded to my client.'

Holmes spoke again and Howell replied.

‘My client allows me a little elbow-room,' he said suavely. ‘If you wish, you shall see a
résumé
of the contents of the documents—a bill of lading, as it were—which will entirely convince you of the necessity of our coming to an understanding. Better still, I shall bring you, within forty-five minutes, a page of a letter in Prince George's handwriting. You shall have sight of either—or both—if that will settle your doubts.'