Sherlock Holmes & The Master Engraver (Sherlock Holmes Revival) (24 page)

The smallest quiver of a smile flickered momentarily over Holmes’ lips. “A perfectly reasonable explanation constable and an even more reasonable cause to desert your post momentarily. No great harm is done; indeed, without your short absence for twenty minutes, I would likely lack a most valuable clue now in my possession. I trust you will not have too much longer to wait before your colleagues arrive. And now I bid you goodnight constable.”

It lacked a quarter of seven before we arrived at the familiar entrance of the Charing Cross Hospital. We were directed to a ward on the first floor, where we found a constable seated at the door; he leapt to his feet. “Good evening gentlemen; Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson I imagine? The Inspector told me I may expect you.” Holmes nodded with satisfaction. “Tell me Constable, has Mr Warburg received any visitors since he was admitted?”

The policeman thought for a moment. “Apart from Inspector Lestrade, there were a couple of burly heavies...” Holmes visibly stiffened “...but they were his two lads. The Inspector said it was all quite in order. Talk about ‘like father like son’, they were gigantic as well.” Holmes relaxed.

At this hour the ward was hushed and dimly illuminated. Warburg’s bed was instantly distinguishable among the dozen in the room, by the almighty bulk of the man under the blankets; he appeared to be sleeping calmly, propped up on several pillows, one tree trunk-like arm resting across his barrel chest, the other at his side, encased in bandages.

The mere fact that he yet breathed was testimony to a most extraordinary constitution – rarely have I seen such dreadful injuries inflicted even after the most sadistic of beatings.

I judged he would be a very long time healing, if indeed he survived. When the perpetrators were eventually apprehended, the charges must surely include attempted murder?

I reached for his wrist and felt the pulse; it was improbably vigorous. “Something of a medical anomaly would you not agree, Doctor Watson?” I turned to see who addressed me. A tall silver-haired doctor peered at me over half-moon tortoise-shell spectacles and extended his hand to each of us in turn.

“Doctor James Moffatt; Inspector Lestrade advised me of your visit gentlemen. I am pleased to meet you, but I’m afraid I must warn that regardless of his great strength, this Goliath still tires extremely quickly; I regret I may permit you no more than ten minutes.”

Our murmured discourse must have awoken the somnolent giant for he stirred, opened his eyes, and after a few moments appeared to recognise us.

Painfully, a smile broke across his dreadfully abused face. His eyes vanished as before, but this time within a grim patchwork of puffy black, purple and yellow bruises, sutures and abrasions, surrounding a savagely broken nose and crusted, torn lips.

Doctor Moffatt discreetly withdrew to the far side of the ward, while a nurse considerately brought two chairs for us. Holmes leaned close to the bedside and quietly addressed the supine man.

“My dear Mr Warburg, no-one is more heartily glad than I to see the leviathan finally wakes; do you feel sufficiently recovered to speak with us?” Warburg, with a titanic effort, levered himself up onto his good elbow; I swiftly wedged another pillow behind him whereupon he sank back gratefully with a vast sigh. Wryly he croaked “Well Mr Holmes, so much for my attempt to ascend your ladder of observation and deduction, and so much for the ‘
wisdom of your Solomon
.’ I felt, perhaps I might have been of assistance to you in some small measure; instead, I fear I have played the part of
rosh ha-kesilim
.” Holmes smiled; quietly he murmured:

“Ah he, the Biblical Chief of the Fools. Well, I fear I must agree Warburg, you have indeed been extremely foolish, but then you have also been courageous, enterprising and resourceful; predictably you have of course impeded my investigation and yet curiously, at the same time you may, perhaps, have advanced it. Sadly, in so doing, you have paid a most dreadful price for your well-intentioned but ill-advised intervention in this affair.”

Warburg chuckled weakly, causing him to cough and wince in pain. When the spasm subsided he said with a crooked grin “Indeed gentlemen, indeed I have, but do you... suppose...” he lapsed into a fit of painful coughing “...my handsome good looks are... lost forever?” He rolled his eyes upward as if to view his own forehead. “But then it now seems than I am worth ten pounds more than when I visited Cubitt Town!” He spoke slowly and indistinctly through battered and swollen lips. Holmes smiled and I laughed out loud, occasioning a stern glance from the nurse; that a man in Warburg’s dismal straits could, improbably, summon up a jest seemed almost beyond belief.

“In the circumstances, you show the most remarkable fortitude my friend” said Sherlock Holmes kindly. “But you will need to rest; for now, are you strong enough briefly to tell us the bones of what occurred last night, and particularly, what you might have seen? Inspector Lestrade has already informed us of events more or less up to the moment you arrived at Slater’s Yard.”

“Very well Mr Holmes. When I arrived at Slater’s all was quiet, and the place appeared to be deserted and in total darkness. The gates to the yard were slightly ajar, as were the doors to the large workshop. I chose this latter entry, as the main warehouse was securely locked and chained. Once inside I lit the old Irwin lantern I had brought with me; its light is poor but even so I could make out tar barrels, tools and the like stacked around the walls.

“There was a small pile of waste-paper in one corner – when I picked a piece up, it appeared to be an outer wrapper bearing a label from Portals Paper Mill... there were three of them on the floor. I know from past experience in banking exactly what they manufacture and thought this a mighty odd item to be found in a shabby warehouse in East London. There were also empty ink cans. I decided to retain the label in the event that it might aid you in your search for, ah, your ‘friend’”.

“That was most astute of you Warburg, and a most useful clue. Lestrade, with some considerable difficulty, later prised a fragment of it from your clenched fist while you were unconscious.”

“I am glad it has some value.

“Anyway, Mr Holmes, at that moment a dim glow suddenly illuminated the workshop; it appeared to emanate from behind a large tarpaulin hanging across the far wall so I immediately extinguished the Irwin and cautiously pulled back a corner of the tarpaulin, which, it transpired, concealed a pair of locked doors into the warehouse itself...”

“...one of which has a small glazed panel inset” interjected Holmes. “I discovered them myself only an hour or two back. They were padlocked, but it appeared that they opened into a bare and empty room.”

Warburg vainly attempted to reach for his water-glass, which I passed to him. After taking a long draught he continued his tale. “Well Mr Holmes, I assure you it was far from empty when I looked in. The glass was dirty, but I could see well enough to make out the heavy who rode in my hansom to Chiswick, along with a second taller man; his back was toward me; they appeared to be in discussion around a printing press, which the second fellow seemed to be tinkering with. He may have been the tall moustachioed man you seek.

“Also, if it is of relevance, the press was most recognisably an old Koenig, driven by a steam engine in the adjacent outside shelter. I assume, now, this is a case of forgery you are investigating.”

“Indeed Warburg” Holmes murmured. “Please continue.”

“The rest of the story is eloquently written all over this poor aching body Mr Holmes. As you can see, they were gifted a rather large page upon which to write, and it appears they were most determined to cover it closely! I was dealt a mighty blow upon the head from behind, which momentarily stunned me – indeed I staggered and almost was felled by the force of it; fortunately my skull is as robustly constructed as the rest of my frame.

“I turned; in the dim gloaming from the street lamp I made out two heavily-built thugs, both of whom I had noted drinking in the alehouse earlier that evening; clearly they had followed me.”

“You are correct” said Holmes. “The landlord himself confirmed to me that they appeared to be listening most attentively to your conversation with him; something to which you should perhaps have been more alert when nosing around foreign and dangerous parts. They followed you out only a few minutes after your departure.”

Our battered behemoth nodded ruefully.

“I have a lot to learn from you Mr Holmes. To resume then, one of them was swinging a heavy block and tackle on a short length of rope, no doubt the object that almost knocked me unconscious; the shorter restrained a large and vicious-looking dog on a chain. I decided upon the instant that I had a pretty fair chance of dealing with the two heavies but the dog, I judged, would prove a far more dangerous and unpredictable adversary and eliminating it from the ruck immediately became my most urgent objective.”

As I listened to this horrific account, I marvelled at the cool presence of mind that enabled him to plan his impending struggle. He continued “Having no weapon to hand, I proffered my left arm to the beast, which it immediately seized; with its jaws thus occupied I raised it off the ground and delivered my best, I may say my most famous blow, a punishing right cross, whereupon the animal fell unconscious as if pole-axed.”

I considered the monumental strength required to lift that monstrous dog clean off the floor with one arm. Warburg ruminated for a moment.

“I recall it had the self-same effect upon Charley Mitchell at The White Rose, but that was just a friendly bout... anyhow, when the dog went down, the two thugs set about me with a real will; I took many severe blows from the block and tackle, but as for fist-fighting, they were lowly street brawlers; indeed I believe I was close to gaining the upper hand when I was once again attacked, from behind.

“Something sharp stabbed hard into my shoulder – apparently the surgeon removed some kind of foreign knife. The police have it now.” He pointed weakly at the dressing at the junction of his thick neck and meaty right shoulder. I noted it was exactly at the medial end of the collar-bone where it joins the sternoclavicular joint, perilously close to the external carotid artery.

He continued “The outcry clearly had alerted the other two, whereupon I soon went down under an interminable welter of kicks and blows. I remember little more after that, gentlemen, except the lad finding me.” Ruefully he concluded “And now here I am, painfully paying for my imprudence, and richer by ten pounds which I can never, ever spend! I declare I must be the world’s first human counterfeit banknote!”

Holmes smiled at the outlandish brand across the big man’s forehead. “Indeed, but I suppose you make take solace from the fact that ten pounds rarely lasts forever; inevitably it dwindles and is soon gone. Now tell me Warburg, for I know you to have a keen eye for detail, describe for me if you will, the far end-wall of the workshop when first you saw it.”

Warburg screwed his eyes shut. “About twenty feet wide and ten high; brick and weather-board, being the outer wall of the warehouse, a large tarpaulin stained with pitch hanging from a beam, perhaps to conceal the doorway beyond. The three paper wrappers and several empty ink canisters in the right corner, several ladders, coils of rope and various contractors’ supplies, paint and implements against the wall to the left.” “That is all? Nothing, for example, like this, pinned prominently to the wall?”

Slowly and painfully, Warburg opened his bruised and swollen eyes and peered at the white envelope Holmes had produced from his pocket. “There was nothing like that Mr Holmes, I will assure you. Even with the dim light of the Irwin, that envelope would have been illumined like the Trinity Buoy Wharf lighthouse! No Mr Holmes, I swear upon the Torah that your envelope was not anywhere upon the wall.”

“That is good enough for me, Warburg, and also it happens to be the second piece of information of incalculable value that you have furnished. Now rest, my friend, for you are tired.”

And indeed, the man’s eyes were now slowly drifting shut. We stole quietly away, and headed back to Baker Street.

*        *       *

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Chief Cashier’s Dilemma

Breakfast next morning was necessarily a hasty affair. Today was the first of the five days before the deadline set by the criminals expired.

Holmes had informed me the preceding evening that he expected visitors around ten, and though the table had already been cleared, the faint savoury aroma of smoked haddock lingered yet. Save for the measured tick of the clock, the room was silent, when from behind his newspaper Holmes startled me: “How is your nose this morning Watson?” Puzzled, I set down the map of Lime house, Poplar and The Isle of Dogs I had been studying with aid of his lens, much mystified by such a very peculiar enquiry.

Drily I retorted “Well Holmes, as I am sure with your sharp eyes you will have observed, it is still here in its correct position upon my face and to my knowledge it performs its function as well as ever; it can certainly still distinguish a Fumé from a Fuissé.”

“Capital! I may have need of its services later, after this agreeable but lingering aroma of smoked fish is gone.” I was on the point of enquiring to what this most odd exchange could possibly refer, when Mrs Hudson entered. “Your callers, Mr Holmes” and she showed in two visitors; the first, Mr Petch – again nervous and highly agitated, as seemed his permanent and understandable condition nowadays – and a second gentleman whom I did not recognise, appearing only slightly less troubled; he was faultlessly attired in frock-coat, striped trousers high-cut in the old style, and grey silk waistcoat. Carrying a gleaming top-hat, grey kid gloves and silver-mounted cane, he looked for all the world like a well-to-do city banker – and so indeed he proved to be.

Holmes rose to welcome them. “Good morning gentlemen both; addressing the stranger he said “I am Sherlock Holmes. This is my friend and colleague, Doctor Watson, who is good enough to assist me on certain of my investigations; Watson, may I present Mr Frank May, the Chief Cashier of The Bank of England.”