The Scottish Ploy (20 page)

“You did suggest that Vickers might have dictated them to Braaten,” I reminded him.

“And I still think it is not unlikely. But until I have more proof than intuition, I want to use deduction and logic wherever possible.” He took another sheet of paper and cleaned the nib of his pen. “I must send a note round to Inspector Featherstone, one to Chief Inspector Pryce, one to Inspector Strange—a second imposition for him. There are far too many police in these matters, and they are caught up in the deception, beyond doubt. But who among them is doing the damage? To what purpose is he doing it? And how?”

“Have you any theories on that head?” I asked him, aware that he was troubled by the layers of questions he had to consider in his work.

“I have one or two, but they are not fully supported yet, and I will no longer allow them to force my hand.” He dipped his pen in the inkwell and wrote quickly. “I’ll have Tyers carry these. Hastings can drive him.”

I was already concentrating on the material I was to review, but I said, “Do you think Mister Kerem will be able to have his brother’s body released?”

“I hope not,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Once it is gone, we will have no chance of finding out who butchered that unfortunate boy. Whom I suspect is
not
his brother.”

“So you have said,” I muttered.

“Yes, and I am persuaded it is the truth,” he declared, continuing to write. “There is too much that makes no sense on the face of it if he is supposed to be a relative. If he is not who he claims to be, then some of his actions make more sense. They are also more sinister. Go back to your review, Guthrie. The sooner it is completed, the sooner we may begin to stop the miscreants at their own game.”

I gave myself to my task, reading with attention and occasionally setting a page aside for closer scrutiny. Mycroft Holmes completed his letters and summoned Tyers.

“The direction for each is on the envelope. Have Hastings run you round to these places. Wait for a reply.” He gave the envelopes to Tyers. “I am sorry to send you out in this weather, but this must be attended to.”

“I will leave in ten minutes,” said Tyers, taking the envelopes handed to him. “I must be sure the fire in the cooker is properly banked before I leave.”

“Yes, indeed,” Holmes approved. “It would not do to start a fire.”

“My very thoughts,” said Tyers, and left us alone again.

“I trust you are not finding the day too dull, Guthrie,” Mycroft Holmes said as he went to take two volumes from the shelves. “I fear we will need hours and hours of meticulous review before we accomplish our task.”

“I prefer it to being shot at,” I said, hoping again to amuse him.

“No doubt,” he said, pursing his lips with distaste.

I put my attention to the pages, and hardly moved but to turn them for the next few hours. I was dimly aware when Tyers returned and handed Mycroft Holmes two notes, and I accepted the cup of hot tea that was brought in at about half-two. By the time Holmes dressed for his walk across Pall Mall to his club, I had completed all but the last half-dozen pages, and was ready to take a turn about the room to clear my head. I had just risen to my feet when I heard Sutton arrive at the rear door. Little as I wanted to admit it, I was glad the actor had returned to bear me company.

“Hello, Guthrie,” he said as he came into the library, casually but elegantly attired in a cut-away coat and silk gloves. “I thought you and Holmes were to have gone to the asylum today, and I was to visit the club.”

“Sir Marmion has asked that we reschedule the meeting,” I told him, and proceeded to sum up the purpose of his visit.

“So Holmes is going to the club; just as well,” said Sutton. “I hope I may get my tea out of this.” It was a gentle jibe, not intended to wound; Mycroft Holmes heard it from the door and answered him.

“You may get your supper as well, if you are minded to wait for it.” He was almost ready to leave. “How did the audition go, dear boy?”

“It went well, I thought. I have been asked to come round next week to read with the cast, and then we shall see. I am encouraged.” He smiled broadly. “My recent favorable notices have stood me in good stead.”

“Excellent,” Holmes approved. “I know you are capable of delivering a fine performance. I wish I could provide you with a letter of reference, but ...” He shrugged.

“No doubt the director would not know what to make of such work,” Sutton said lightly. “I am grateful to you for your offer.”

Mycroft Holmes laid his hand on Sutton’s shoulder. “There are few actors who can claim that their performances have saved lives, even helped to preserve Britain from her enemies.”

“You praise me too much,” said Sutton, a little color mounting in his cheeks. “I have done the work for which you hired me.”

“And modest, to boot,” Holmes said as he started toward the front of the flat. “How is it out there? Any slacking in the rain?”

“Not yet,” said Sutton. “They say it will be another day or two before we see the sun again.” He came over to the reading-chair and dropped into it.

“We shall all be growing fungus by then,” Holmes complained. “Still, I should think it would be prudent to keep my rain-gear to hand.” He went back to his dressing-room and emerged a short while later ready to depart. “I shall be back at the usual time; you might show Sutton the work we are doing. I would like his opinion when I return,” he said, and went out the front.

“I take it matters have worsened since I last saw you,” Sutton said in his best languorous air.

“Yes, they have,” I said, and did my best to explain recent events to him in as clear a fashion as I could. When I had finished, I said, “So you see why Mister Holmes is perturbed.”

“Perturbed? I would understand if he were raving; I would be,” Sutton responded. He had listened with abstracted attention, staring up at the ceiling and hardly moving; now he sat forward and clasped his hands together. “I should think dealing with Sir Cameron may be one way to address the problem now.”

“Why should we do that?” I asked, wanting to have as little as possible to do with Sir Cameron.

“Because he is a pig-headed, self-centered lout who is accustomed to using bullying and sullens to get his own way,” said Sutton. “If you want to buy a little time, persuade him he is being taken advantage of, and let him take on the uncles and Baron von Schattenberg. He doesn’t care a fig for diplomacy, and he has a reputation for making his own way. If you cannot turn that to advantage, you are not the man I know you to be.”

I stared at him, the sense of his recommendation so overwhelmingly obvious that I chided myself for not seeing it before now. “I think it could work,” I said at last.

Sutton grinned. “Of course it could work. And it would give you not one but two fewer problems to deal with: Sir Cameron would be aiding rather than thwarting you, and the Germans would have to make their arrangements with him instead of using Holmes as the negotiator.”

“I doubt Holmes would accept that,” I said, a bit regretfully.

“Then you must point out the benefits of such a ploy—at least for the next few days. From what you say, that is the crucial period, isn’t it?” Sutton exuded confidence and optimism.

“It seems so,” I said carefully.

“And since that is all you have to go on,” Sutton said, “it may be as well to plan around what you actually know than around conjecture.” He got up abruptly. “I am famished. Do you suppose that Tyers could make me a sandwich to tide me over until supper?”

“I don’t see why not. Ask him,” I recommended as I began to put my mind to the best way to convince Mycroft Holmes to take Sutton’s advice in regard to Sir Cameron.

Sutton was almost out the door when Tyers came in, pale as new cheese, a note in his hand. “What the devil—?” Sutton exclaimed.

I got to my feet and went to Tyers. “What has happened? You look dreadful.” I had a momentary impression of Miss Gatspy lying in a pool of her own blood, and a chill went through me. Then I made myself listen to Tyers.

“This was sent from hospital,” said Tyers, holding out the note. “The courier died.”

I stood very still, my mind struggling to grasp what I had just heard. “What did you say?” I asked as I seized the note and read it.

Dear Mister Holmes,

As per your instructions, I am regretfully informing you that the Admiralty courier brought to us for treatment of a gunshot wound took a turn for the worse at about one in the afternoon. It was not the expected outcome, for he had been improving steadily until this. His fever, which had been diminishing, suddenly shot up, his lungs became congested, and in spite of our best efforts he died at eleven minutes past four. A notice has been sent by messenger to the Admiralty.

Most sincerely,

Yr svt,

Humphrey Johnathon Albert Rawlins, physician, FRCS

“He was recovering,” said Tyers. “Our report yesterday was so encouraging.” His shock was lessening, which relieved me.

“Bullet wounds are unpredictable,” I reminded him. “If there was a sudden increase in infection, no one could have saved him.”

“Yes,” said Tyers, shaking his head. “I do not know how I shall tell Mister Holmes.”

Sutton took over. “Leave that to us. You go put a spot of brandy in your tea and do what you can to steady yourself.” He all but guided Tyers from the room, then came back to me. “He’s knocked all to pieces. Do you know why?”

“No,” I admitted. “I am baffled.”

“Then perhaps Holmes will be able to enlighten us when he returns,” Sutton said, sitting down once again. “Well, come on, Guthrie. We have work to do.”

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

I don’t know how I managed to get supper on the table tonight, but it is done, and MH is still conferring with G and Sutton. I am still struggling with the courier’s death, which has affected me deeply. He reminded me so much of my nephew, who is in the Navy, that I have allowed myself to become attached to his case, and this is the result. Young Clive is a good lad, and eager to advance himself on behalf of his country, as this courier was. That so much promise would come to such an abrupt end. I have seen it many times before without undue distress, but now I am as distraught as I would have been, had that lad been my nephew.

The Admiralty courier came and went at the usual hour, and for once I was able to offer the young officer a cup of tea for his trouble. I know I am trying to make amends to the lad who was killed, but I can think of nothing else to do.

No word yet from the police regarding the various inquiries in progress, which may mean there has been no progress, or it may indicate that there have been obstacles in their investigations, or deliberate avoidance of responding. We have received a preliminary report from Scotland Yard on the shot fired at Sir Cameron; there is nothing of use in it ...

MH is sending G home shortly, for he intends to get an early start in the morning, by calling upon Sir Cameron at his leased house, where Sir Cameron has taken up residence today. I can see how a man would have to recruit his strength for such an encounter ...

Sutton will stay over in case Holmes has need of him tomorrow. He says he would rather be useful here than fretting in his rooms, waiting to hear if he has got the part for which he auditioned ...

I do wish it would stop raining.

THE HOUSE
in Deanery Mews was a grand establishment three stories high, built roughly a century ago, and maintained in good order ever since. As we trod up the steps to the front door shortly before eight in the morning, I could see that Mycroft Holmes was not looking forward to our visit.

A harried butler answered our knock, doing his best to mask his confusion with excessive dignity. “I am afraid Sir Cameron is not at home to visitors, gentlemen. I will see he is given your cards.”

“Oh, we are not making a social call,” said Mycroft Holmes cordially. “We are here regarding the attempt that was made on his life. We need more information if we are to pursue the case vigorously. Ask him to come down for Mister Holmes of the Admiralty and Mister Guthrie. We do not mind him meeting us en dishabille, and you may tell him so.”

Short of throwing us out the door there was nothing the butler could do but take our over-coats and gloves and reluctantly admit us to Sir Cameron’s hired house. “I will inform Sir Cameron you are here,” he said stiffly.

“Much appreciated,” Holmes told him. He nodded toward three crates standing near the drawing room door. “I see Sir Cameron is providing some of his own furnishings.”

“Yes. They arrived from Scotland last night,” said the butler, more forthcoming than I would have expected him to be.

“I am sure Sir Cameron is pleased,” said Mycroft Holmes. “If you will tell us which room has a fire lit, Mister Guthrie and I will repair there to wait for Sir Cameron. Tell him we are entirely at his service.”

Nonplused, the butler left us at the door of a small sitting room just off the main corridor. It was a charming room on the east side of the house, and, were it not raining from low-scudding clouds, the room would be filled with light. As it was, there was a small fire on the hearth to take off the worst of the chill, and one of the gas-lamps was lit for our convenience.

“At least Sir Cameron should be sober at this hour,” I said, trying to find an amusing side to this most annoying chore.

“Hung-over, most likely,” Mycroft Holmes said, taking his place on a Queen Anne settee. “He is apt to be in a devilish temper.”

“And when is he not?” I asked. “Drunk or sober, the man is—”

“—a boor. Yes, I know,” said Holmes. “As we both have good reason to know. Still, I do think for once that may work to our advantage.” He smiled in mild amusement. “I believe that there is much to be gained if only Sir Cameron can be nudged into digging his heels in on our account.”

“I wish you had allowed me to bring my portfolio. I feel quite naked without it.” I chose a seat at a small writing desk next to the window. “More dreary weather,” I said, staring out at the rain.

“At least it is likely to slow the efforts of those seeking to shoot Sir Cameron or any of us. With such pluvial excesses, taking aim at any distance is hardly possible.” He had surrendered his over-coat and gloves at the door, as had I, and now he rubbed his hands together to keep them from getting cold. “I hope Sir Cameron will order more wood for the fire. These old houses—like my flat in Pall Mall—have not converted to burning coal. I would prefer a wood-fire in any case. It is nicer to smell.”

“I cannot argue,” I said. “But heating a house with wood is costly.”

“Guthrie, you remind me you are a Scot.” He did his best to chuckle at his remark, but the sound was hollow and quickly died.

For ten minutes or so we remained in silence, waiting for Sir Cameron to make his appearance. When he finally came into the sitting room, it was clear he had just risen and probably had not slept alone, for there was a red mark in the shape of lips at the top of his chest where his nightshirt was open and his dressing gown of heavy hunter-green velvet did not cover.

“What in the name of the pox are you doing here at this ungodly hour, Holmes?” he demanded as he banged the door closed behind him.

“I am doing my best to protect you, Sir Cameron,” Mycroft Holmes answered with the demeanor of conviction.

“So you say!” He tramped across the flowered carpet as if to deprive the loomed buds of life. “I am not accustomed to being dragged from my bed at dawn by a civil servant who has failed to do any of the things he is supposed to do on my behalf.” He folded his arms and glared at Holmes; as usual, he paid no attention to me, and I was at liberty to scrutinize him: I noticed the puffiness around his eyes and the slightly sallow color of his skin, the sag beginning beneath his jaw, and the first touch of grey in his ginger hair.

“I apologize for inconveniencing you, Sir Cameron,” Holmes soothed. “But we must ask you to consider again the matter of Lady MacMillian’s escort.”

“Her uncles? You’re not here about that, are you?” He shook his head. “You have a bee in your bonnet about those uncles of hers.”

“As you should,” Mycroft Holmes said. “You have forgot the Married Women’s Property Act, haven’t you? You know that Lady MacMillian is entitled to claim all your marriage settlements so long as she is in the British Isles. With her uncles to assist her, she may be able to demand the income of her spousal grants, and no court in the land would refuse her. If she is not accompanied by her uncles, any suit she would bring would have a significantly smaller chance for success.” He stood still, letting Sir Cameron think through the potential monetary loss any such claim would mean to him.

“She wouldn’t,” Sir Cameron blustered.

“Perhaps not,” Mycroft Holmes allowed. “But you may be sure her uncles would.”

Sir Cameron’s scowl deepened. “You are telling me that my own wife wants to claim her marriage grants?” He took a turn about the room. “She has come into property of her own. What can she want with anything of mine?”

“Exactly,” Holmes said. “You must see it is her uncles who are behind this scheme.” He paused as if trying to soften a blow. “You have put yourself in a difficult position, coming to meet her here in London where you have your title but not your position to bolster you.”

“What are you saying?” Sir Cameron’s face was taking on a purple tinge as his temper mounted.

“I am saying only that were you in Scotland, you would retain more of your authority than you do here in England. I think it was a clever move, coming to London. It makes her uncles more able to pursue you on her behalf.”

I watched Sir Cameron weigh the matters in his mind, and I saw that his venality was uppermost in his considerations. “Why should it be any different here than in Scotland? I am a knight and a gentleman in either place.”

“Of course,” said Mycroft Holmes with mendacious sympathy. “You are also an acknowledged hero; the public admire you. This admirable reputation makes you noticed in the world, and there are those who seek nothing more than to discredit those who have risen the highest in the esteem of the British people. It would be a most distressing development to see you made into the butt of vulgar jokes all because your wife’s uncles attempt to claim what is rightfully hers, here, in the full glare of the press and the music-hall jesters.” He paused. “I do not want to deprive you of anything to which you are entitled, but I fear that once Fleet Street gets wind of this, they will trumpet it about in a manner that will be more scandalous than accurate, and any efforts on your part to diminish the furor would probably lead to more uproar.”

Sir Cameron cleared his throat. “What about that shot fired at me? Could that have anything to do with—?”

“With your wife’s uncles? I cannot say for sure that they did or they did not, but it might be most prudent to return to Scotland, at least until we can determine what role, if any, those gentlemen had in your recent fortunate escape. It should not take too long. That way, you will have the authority in the meeting, not the uncles. You will not be at the beck and call of Baron von Schattenberg, either.” Mycroft Holmes made his face into a mask of commiseration. “I know that retreat is repugnant to you, but if you are willing to leave London for a fortnight, then the Admiralty could determine what part, if any, Lady MacMillian’s uncles played in that unhappy event.”

This was more than Sir Cameron was willing to accept. “I am not going to be driven out of this house when my goods have only just arrived.”

“No, certainly not,” said Holmes hastily. “But if you go for a fortnight, your staff can have all in readiness for when your wife finally arrives, without her uncles to bedevil you.”

Sir Cameron prowled the room like a caged animal. “I don’t like it,” he said at last. “I am not a fool to be hounded by ambitious men. No, I don’t like it.”

“What don’t you like, Sir Cameron?” Holmes inquired, the very model of solicitude.

“I don’t like having my hand forced by a pack of greedy Germans who ought to know better than to trespass on my good nature,” he said roundly. “But I do see the wisdom of what you say, Holmes. I am not one to take risks foolishly.”

I recalled the petulance and cowardice I had seen Sir Cameron display, and I agreed heartily and ironically with him.

“You have a keen grasp of these matters,” Holmes agreed. “No doubt you will want to think over what we have discussed, so I will not keep you much longer.” He went up to Sir Cameron, the very image of concern. “It is imperative that you wire your orders to Holland, and inform your wife, who is there with her uncles, that you will be unable to meet with her for two weeks. You may claim press of business, if you like, or any other reason that will not put her uncles on the alert. If you offer to pay for her accommodations in Amsterdam, I am certain she will consent to remaining there until you are ready to receive her.”

“Sans uncles,” said Sir Cameron.

“Naturally,” said Mycroft Holmes. “You will have to make arrangements in that regard, but I doubt those men want to cool their heels for two weeks. If you are in London, they may come, regardless. But if you are in Scotland, they will not.”

‘They have no stomach for the lion’s den,” said Sir Cameron smugly. “Who could blame them?”

“Precisely,” said Mycroft Holmes, turning the word to outrageous flattery.

“I could mention the weather, and advise them not to attempt the crossing while the storm is raging. In this weather, no one is going to cross the Channel unless it is absolutely necessary, in any event,” said Sir Cameron, as if the weather was his personal ally.

“Very likely, Sir Cameron,” said Mycroft Holmes, admirably concealing his growing exasperation. “But it would be wisest to inform Lady MacMillian that you will be away in Scotland for—”

“A fortnight. Indeed. I shall use the time to consult my solicitor. If Lady MacMillian has come into her inheritance—and she has—it is most unseemly of her to want to claim her marriage portion from me. This is what comes of giving women property rights. Their natural greed is allowed free reign and all of us who are married men suffer because of it.” He tugged at the sash of his dressing gown. “It may be as you say, and her uncles are promoting her desire for possessions, but I know her, and she is a worldly German woman, and I would not put it past her to want to gain control of as much of my fortune and lands as she can.”

This display of pettiness astonished me, even in one such as Sir Cameron. I had not thought he could cherish such small-minded resentments as he currently displayed. I was tempted to ask him if he were sure of himself, but I supposed he must be, and would be offended by any doubts I expressed; I exchanged a knowing glance with my employer and continued to watch their exchange.

“That may be the case; if it is, it would be wise to prepare yourself for that eventuality.” Holmes hesitated, as if uncertain whether to continue or let well enough alone.

“Yes.” He laid his thick hand on Mycroft Holmes’ shoulder. “You have been a good friend to me this day, Holmes. You need not fear that I will forget your timely warning, or your efforts on my behalf.”

“Thank you, Sir Cameron,” said Holmes with a humility I knew to be foreign to him.

“You are a good man,” Sir Cameron added, and turned away. “I will wait until this afternoon, and then I will inform my staff that I have had word from the north and must return at once to Scotland. I will leave my staff here to ready the place for my return, and I will take the train north tomorrow. That should be soon enough for our purposes, don’t you think?”

“If you make sure to send word to Lady MacMillian, yes, I should think
so,”
said Holmes. “If you like, I shall call on Baron von Schattenberg and inform him of these developments, so you will be spared one more chore.”

“A fine notion, Holmes,” said Sir Cameron. “You have a fairly sharp mind when you decide to use it.”

I could see that Mycroft Holmes was both amused and aggravated by this supercilious praise. “I am pleased you notice.”

Sir Cameron swung around. “I am not one of those dolts who thinks of nothing but himself, and cannot appreciate virtue in anyone but himself.”

“You are good to say so,”
Mycroft Holmes responded, his grey eyes snapping; I thought he was about to laugh aloud.

“Yes,” said Sir Cameron in fine self-approval. With bluff courtesy he cocked his head toward the door. “Well, I will not keep you. No doubt you have other duties than looking after me. You have been diligent on my behalf, and I will not forget it.”