Sherlock Holmes and The Other Woman (5 page)

“You must think me a fool,” she said.

“I believe people in love are often fools, Miss Kidwell. You were deceived by a very clever trickster. However, I shall make every effort to find him, if I can. Now, what can you tell me about him?”

“I don't know how much is true. He said he was from Capetown and had been in England for six months. He definitely had an accent and that never changed.”

“Do you think his accent really was South African?”

“I thought he was German, but I don't know. I don't know what a South African is supposed to sound like.”

“And his appearance?”

“Well, he's very tall, perhaps taller than you, but not by much. He has very fair hair, like pale gold, and bright blue eyes. He dresses well, but not really like a toff, now I think about it.”

“How so?” I rose to get a cigarette from the Turkish slipper and stood by the mantle watching her. There was no doubt she was making an effort to be truthful and cooperative.

“Well, his suit was made of good stuff but it was old. It had been taken in and mended a few times but I could do a better job of the sewing and I'm no seamstress. You'd think a man like that could afford a proper tailor. I offered to mend it for him.”

“Hmm. Yes. Go on.”

“And the coat was heavy, suede with silk lining and a nice fur collar, but that was old, too. The cuffs were frayed.” She forced back more tears. “I can't believe I let him fool me like that...”

“He claimed to be a diamond merchant?”

“Yes, he did. He knew an awful lot about jewels. He told me about the cut of diamonds and how gems just look like little bits of stone when they're mined and it takes craftsmanship to make them look the way they do in a piece of jewellery. He said when he gave me a ring it would be the best of all the Cs. I thought he meant like the seven seas, but he explained that diamonds, well gemstones, have a standard of carat, cut, clarity and oh, I know there's another...”

“Colour. Well, it may mean nothing, but on the other hand it suggests he took time to study the subject, or at perhaps had worked for a jeweller at one time. I understand Mrs Prentiss owns no expensive jewellery?”

“No, Mr Holmes. I mean, she has her wedding ring and some nice earrings, but nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing anyone would go to any length to steal.”

Watson returned with a tray. He poured a cup of coffee for each of us.

“Drink that, Miss Kidwell,” he said. “I am sure you'll feel better for having something hot inside you.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said. She drank the coffee too quickly and coughed. Then she took one of the cheese sandwiches my friend offered her. I suspect she'd had nothing to eat or drink for some time.

After she'd eaten, she said, “He said he was going to be rich. That he knew where there was treasure for the taking and there would be no harm in it because it they were no Christians who hoarded it.”

“No Christians?” Watson said. He glanced at me. “What an odd way of saying it. I assume he meant scoundrels.”

“You're certain of his words, Miss Kidwell?”

“Yes, Mr Holmes, absolutely certain. I worried over them, you see. I mean, hoarding sounds like something a thief might do. I was afraid he'd get hurt.”

I glanced at Watson and saw my concern reflected on his face.

At length there was nothing more she could tell me. She rose to leave but stood, undecided. “I know what a fool you must think me, Mr Holmes, but a woman knows when she is loved. Avery would not stay away from me by choice. Something's happened to him or someone is keeping him from me. He does love me.”

There was nothing to say to that. For a moment we all stood together in silence, then suddenly she wailed, “Where am I to go? What am I to do? I have no money, nowhere to live, my family want nothing to do with me. Oh Lord, what's to become of me? I might as well just throw myself in the river.”

Watson wrote something on one of his cards and handed it to her. “Hush, now,” he said. “Go to this address and explain your situation. They will look after you until the baby is born. You may tell them I sent you. Here's a little money to tide you over for a day or two.”

He placed a few coins in her palm and closed her fingers over them.

“You're a proper gent, sir, and no mistake. Thank you.” She turned to leave then, facing me, said, “If you see Mrs Prentiss will you please tell her I'm so very, very sorry for all the trouble I've caused. I know she'll never employ me again, but I want her to know I understand now what I've done. Please will you tell her?”

“Yes,” I said. “I'll tell her. And if I find any news of your Avery Rickman I shall let you know.”

She left a sight happier than she had arrived. I stood at the window and watched her waddle down the street.

“Baby?” I asked Watson.

“Oh yes, no doubt about it. Wretched girl. I don't know what's to become of her, Holmes, I really don't.”

Chapter Five

Wednesday 30 March 1898

I slept better last night and woke feeling refreshed. There has been no word from Beatrice; I can only hope she is on her way home. I telephoned Lestrade and gave him a more complete description of Avery Rickman.

After breakfast, I made my way to Holborn. I decided to start in the Hatton Garden area. It is quite an extraordinary place, a perfect replica of a shtetl right in the heart of London. Most of the diamond merchants here are Jews. The ultra-religious hurry by wearing long ringlets, full beards, and black frock coats. The locals call them ‘Whitechapel cowboys', I suppose because of the big hats they wear.

Lestrade was able to help me in one area. He suggested that if I want information about the locals I should speak to Inspector Glaser. The man has been assigned to this district for the past five years. He seems to be well liked and trusted by the community. No easy task in an environment as suspicious as this.

“It's because I'm Jewish, too,” he told me when I met him. “I'm not a true insider, of course. I am not in the jewellery business, and I'm not from Russia or central Europe as so many of the merchants are. I'm a Londoner through and through. Nor am I particularly religious and, more to the point, I am a policeman. However, the people here trust me well enough because they know I will keep the peace and protect them as best I can. But I won't stand for any monkey business either. If a man commits a crime I will find him and lock him up and I don't care if he's a gentile or a rabbi.”

His eyes flashed as he looked at me and I found myself smiling. “You are a man after my own heart, Inspector Glaser.”

We sat in a kosher café that has a clear view of Hatton Garden. Even as he sipped his Turkish coffee, Glaser's eyes never left the street. Little, I believe, escapes his notice. Though I seldom have much regard for the official police force, there is so vital a sense of intelligence and honour in the fellow's demeanour, I found myself instinctively trusting him. He is a strongly built man though some three or four inches shorter than I. His hair is thick and curly. Unlike many of his coreligionists, he goes bareheaded. His profile tends more to the Roman than to the Jewish. From the glances that follow him, I believe he is much admired by young women.

“The people in this area have a reputation for insularity,” I said, watching the endless stream of black-coated men hurrying down the street outside. “They are not welcoming of strangers.”

Glaser's eyes flicked from the street to my face. “Can you blame them? They have been hounded from every place they've ever lived and suffered unspeakable cruelties and atrocities. No, trust does not come readily. That said, once you have gained their acceptance they will show you extraordinary loyalty.”

“So if a stranger were to show up he would stand out?”

“Unquestionably.” He leaned towards the window suddenly. Out on the street an urchin, following close on the heels of one of the ‘cowboys', stopped and turned. Glaser tapped on the glass. The boy turned, gave a cheeky grin, waved, and ran off.

“Young Weiss. One of the best pickpockets in the city, but he knows better than to try something with me watching him.”

“Do you need to go after him?”

“No, I shall talk to his mother. Believe me, she's worse than a month in Pentonville.” He grinned.

“What else do you know about this Rickman fellow, Mr Holmes?” he said.”Other than his claims to be a diamond merchant?”

“Well, he purports to be South African, but might be German, or anything else, for that matter. I am told he speaks with an accent, but that could be fake. He has very fair hair and blue eyes and he is my height or a little taller.”

He whistled. “Such a man would certainly stand out, and I haven't seen anyone who fits the bill. Nor have I heard of any new merchants, not for some time. As for an accent, well, most of the dealers are from Russia or Germany or Poland so an accent would not distinguish him, not here.”

Glaser downed the last dregs of his coffee. The café owner came over and refilled his cup. He nodded at my own, still full cup and I shook my head. The man handed Glaser a pastry. The policeman said, “Thank you, Avram, but it's a bit early for me to eat.”

“Put it in your pocket for later.” The man patted Glaser on the shoulder and said to me, “Twice this past year men tried to break into my place. Both times young David caught them. He's a mensch. You know what that means? Mensch?”

“It's German for ‘man'.”

“Oy, German. But in Yiddish it means...” he fumbled.

“A gentleman,” Glaser said. “A man worth knowing.”

“That's it, that's it,” said Avram.

Glaser slipped the pastry into his pocket. “Thank you, Avram,” he said.”This gentleman is Mr Sherlock Holmes. You've heard of him, yes? He's looking for a stranger who might be up to no good. South African, perhaps. Very tall. Very fair. You've seen no one?”

“Sherlock Holmes? I thought you were a character in a story book.” He guffawed and I found myself joining in. “I've seen no one like that, David. But I'll keep my eyes and ears open.” He pronounced the policeman's name ‘Da-veed'. He went away, still chuckling at my name.

After our coffee, Glaser led me through the meandering alleyways and lanes of his district. These thoroughfares are so narrow that in places neighbours can pass jugs of milk from their window to the people who live opposite. This might make for harmonious relations but the overall poverty has made this a high-crime area. Prostitution and thievery are stock in trade. There is violence, too, and the occasional murder. Still, compared with Whitechapel it is a very model of civility. Some of that, I surmise, is due to Glaser's constant vigilance.

I suggested this to him and he said, “I should like to take the credit for it, Mr Holmes, but there are enough religious Jews in this area to help keep the crime levels less than it might be. Not that a man cannot be both religious and a criminal, of course. Ah, here we are.”

He led me into a dark building. There was a lad about eight years old sitting on the hall floor. He nodded at the policeman.

“Any trouble, Ari?” Glaser said.

“Only old Nancy and Liza having a bit of a barney.” The boy grinned showing a mouth empty of teeth.

“Ari keeps an eye on things,” Glaser said. “He's as watchful as any bloodhound and twice as savage.”

“Bark's worse than me bite, though,” the boy said, broadening his toothless grin.

“Have you seen any strangers about?” Glaser said. “This gentleman is Mr Sherlock Holmes. He's looking for a tall,
goyishe
fellow. Fair hair and blue eyes. You've seen no one like that?”

“Not I, but I'll keep my eyes peeled.”

“Do. And pass the word on to the other lads, won't you?”

“Money in it?”

“A shilling for good information,” I said. “Half a crown if we catch him.”

“Cor. Right you are, sir. I'll spread the word.”

Glaser led me down the long dark hallway. “Don't give him or any of the lads money before you get their information, Mr Holmes,” he said softly. “They're good fellows, but they drink and then they're no use to anyone.”

The hallway led to a heavy door. Glaser knocked twice and said his name. I heard three bolts being slid back, then the door opened and we stepped into another age.

The room was about fifteen foot square and dominated by an enormous oblong table, at least twelve feet by eight, around which sat twenty men who were polishing, cutting, and setting precious stones. They were all engrossed on their own task and though conversation, in Yiddish, was continuous, it seemed to have no impact upon their concentration on their tasks.

There was a big window, very dirty and barred, that let in a cold light. Thin rays slanted down onto the table and came to life amid the glittering jewels.

I breathed in a coppery odour of metal and solvent and in an adjacent room saw another half dozen men soldering precious metals.

No one looked up when we entered. No one paid any heed to us at all. Glaser led us through a series of ramshackle rooms that defy logic. Not only is there no apparent order to the layout, but the flag stoned floor is uneven and catches the unwary foot. Nor can the visitor concentrate on his feet, for dense black beams crisscross the dingy ceiling. Some of the mare low enough to bash in a careless head.

We came into a small room at the back of the building. I was vastly amused to observe that a beam here, about ten feet from the floor, was decorated with a collection of leather pouches. A closer inspection revealed that these were filled with tobacco.

Most of the main room was in semi-darkness but one thin shaft of light from a very high, barred window illuminated a square of black silk upon a wooden bench in which half a dozen diamonds glittered like a coronation crown.

At the table sat three men. All had beards and skullcaps. All were dressed entirely in black. Something about their features, the hollow cheeks and the pallor of their skin, highlighted by that slant of pale light, made me feel I had stepped into the canvas of a Caravaggio painting. Here was chiaroscuro come to life. I had a fleeting moment of regret that my ancestor's gift for painting has not come to me. My next thought was what an image this would present to a photographer of B's talent.

The three men glanced up when we entered. One beckoned with his hand and said, “David, come, see what
Reb
Schwartz has brought us.”

Glaser glanced at the gems and whistled. “That's quite a haul, Mordechai. They must be worth a fortune.”

“A king's ransom,” the man agreed. “Uncut, a king's ransom. Cut, mounted... ransom enough for five kings.”

“Five kings and an emperor,” said the man sitting beside him.

“Rabbi Steinmetz, Mordechai Schwartz, and Daniel Solberg, say hullo to Mr Sherlock Holmes.” With a barely perceptible nod of the head, he indicated that it was safe for them to speak to me.

“
The
Sherlock Holmes?” said Solberg, rising and shaking my hand. He was the youngest of the three, no more than forty. He, alone, was clean-shaven.”Well, well, this is an honour. It's not every day a real celebrity comes to call.”

“I suppose it's an honour,” Schwartz said, “And doesn't mean trouble for someone.”

“Pooh, pooh,” said the rabbi, and spat on the floor. “We don't look for
tsouris
, so
tsouris
should not look for us.”

“Tsouris?” I asked.

“Trouble,” Solberg explained.

“No trouble for any of our people, Rabbi,” Glaser said. “But for a
goy
who is pretending to be a merchant.”

“He is up to no good, this make-believe merchant?” Schwartz said.

“I think so,” I said. “He is certainly a liar, and he has been sneaking into the home of a woman and her children late at night.”

“Oy,” said the rabbi. “That is not good. Not good. But why do you look for him here, Mr Sherlock Holmes? Are there no places beyond our walls where such a man might hide? Sit, please. David, sit.”

Glaser and I sat at the table with the diamonds glinting in the dusty light before us. A few moments later, a young woman came in with a tray. She was about eighteen and had the brightest red hair I've ever seen. She poured the tea, spilling almost half. I surmise it is difficult to pour when your eyes are fixed upon the features of a handsome young policeman.

“Thank you, Rivkah,” Solberg said, pointedly. The girl left, leaving one last lingering gaze at the young man by my side. Solberg sighed, but not with any sadness. “You must forgive my daughter, Mr Holmes,” he said. “She forgets herself when our young friend comes to call.”

Glaser flushed. “She's a sweet girl,” he said.

“She's waiting for you,” Solberg said. His long beard shook with laughter. “In the old country I would have married her off, but this is a modern world. Ay, even here we must accept new ways.”

“Not too new, Daniel,” the rabbi said, patting the man on his arm. “Just because something is new doesn't mean it must be better. Still, Rivkah could do worse than David. He's a good man, for all he's a policeman.”

The rabbi passed around the cups and we sipped. The tea was black and flavoured with cherries. “Not quite what you're used to, I suppose, Mr Holmes,” he said. “But it is our way.”

“It is very good,” I said.

“About this stranger Mr Holmes is looking for,” Glaser said, not losing sight of our objective. “He is a tall man who claims to be from South Africa. He has fair hair and blue eyes.”

“We do business with a number of South Africans,” Schwartz said. “But not recently, and not so tall, as you describe.”

“Have there been any strangers in your community in the last few months?” I asked.

There was a lull as they pondered. This was followed by a conversation in Yiddish, too fast for me to follow other than a familiar German word or two. Glaser, listening, shook his head at me.

“It's a small community, Mr Holmes,” the rabbi said. “We know one another and strangers stand out.”

“From what you've told me, Mr Holmes,” Glaser said. “This man is lying about everything. Why should we trust him when he says he's a diamond merchant?”

“Your point is well made,” I said. “But I think this is a very peculiar lie. He could have claimed to be involved in any number of things. Fur, wine, politics... Something suggested this particular trade to him. I think he was taken by surprise and did not have a story ready. He is also knowledgeable. He knows gemstones, or at least the language of the jeweller.”

“Any man can sound like an expert,” Schwartz pointed out.

“True.”

“And a man can be a jeweller or work in the industry without being part of our community.”