Sherlock Holmes & The Master Engraver (Sherlock Holmes Revival) (3 page)

Our distinguished elderly visitor stared wide-eyed at my colleague in bewilderment.

“Good Heavens Mr Holmes! That is either a baffling marvel of deduction, or a rather tasteless charlatan’s parlour trick. How and when did you learn these things? Be so good as to enlighten me.”

Holmes smiled briefly with manifest satisfaction. I waited for his inevitable summation, based as far as I could determine, solely upon the briefest of introductions, upon our unexpected visitor’s appearance and attire, and a simple calling-card. He replied “My dear Mr Petch, I have known them from the moment you presented yourself at our table. As to how I know them, it is my business to know such things. But let me set your mind at rest – you are a walking autobiography Sir! I note from your calling-card that your firm is the well-known and respected London printer of currency and bonds, though it does not advert as much in so many words; that you are a senior partner is likewise similarly evident.

“That you are a master engraver required a little more application.

“Your gold spectacles are evidently costly and new, and of an unusually strong prescription – clearly, therefore, you require to work at unusually close range to your task. Given the senior years you have attained, I assume that they are not your first pair of eyeglasses; therefore a man who renews his spectacles from time to time, unless through loss or misfortune, may likely be compensating for progressively deteriorating eyesight, in your case hyperopia and possibly strabismus, caused by many years of intense and concentrated fine detail work, at extremely close distances.

“In addition, I observe a faint circular impress around your right eye, which could result from nothing other than the sustained use of a jeweller’s loupe for several hours a day.

“Add to that the most distinctive callus on the pad of your right thumb, running length-wise, and its crosswise partner on the outer edge of the first digit precisely between the first and second joints, then nothing save an engraver’s burin used habitually in your right hand serves to provide a satisfactory answer. Hendrik Goltzius’ self-portrait of his own right hand admirably illustrates the general effect. And with foreknowledge of your firm’s particular line of business, the matter resolves itself with ease.”

“And my heated glass-house?” Holmes pointed down. “A man who unwittingly walks around with a tiny orchid-bud lodged in his trouser cuff in the depths of winter could surely have acquired it only in his tropical glass-house.”

The cadaverous master engraver glanced down, retrieved the minute bloom and smiled briefly, the only occasion since he had entered the salon, then studied his right hand as if for the first time; he looked up. “Startling Mr Holmes; indeed astonishing. It appears that you have a mystical knack of being able to observe a man, shake his hand, and after the briefest conversation, divine his occupation, his history and his station in life; truly that is most extraordinary.” For the briefest instant, a look of exasperation clouded Holmes’ aquiline face. Somewhat coolly he replied “Sir, I do believe that is the first occasion I have heard my precise science of observation, analysis and deduction described as ‘a mystical knack’. I hope it may be the last.

“But should you have appetite for further magic and mystery, I shall tell you that you have very recently handled game poultry.” Petch’s eyes narrowed sceptically. “Then you will have spoken with the maitre d’hotel who surely informed you of the brace which my wife required me to collect, and which now rests in his custody on the counter in the lobby!” For answer Holmes smiled thinly, reached out a bony white hand and delicately plucked a tiny, red-gold iridescent feather from Petch’s cuff, held it high over the table and released it theatrically to float gently to the table-cloth – “
Phasianus colchicus
I rather fancy – the common pheasant.” The elderly engraver peered closely at it; he nodded and smiled ruefully, conceding equally the unqualified accuracy and absolute authority of Holmes’ remarkable faculties.

“I see from that rather arresting demonstration, Mr Holmes that the high recommendation I was given is well merited; you are accurate in every particular.

“I pray that when I lay our difficulty before you, you may be able to shine some light on what appears to me to be the very darkest of situations? There is all at hazard here – indeed, most likely the very stability of the entire economy of the British Empire!”

My colleague’s cold grey eyes glittered as he absorbed this grave statement and I could see that he was now as concentrated upon Mr Henry Petch as is a gun-dog upon a falling bird. I saw upon the instant that the case was entirely to his heart.

With a trembling hand, our client set down his glass upon the table and said “Mr Holmes, I will be direct. I presume I may speak candidly and in absolute confidence?”

“If you do not speak candidly, I will be unable to assist you. And unless you have come to confess your own criminality, my confidence is assured.” Petch took a long breath, like a man steeling himself for a terrible ordeal. Wary of the city-types all around he lowered his voice to an almost inaudible whisper.

“Mr Holmes, the new printing plates for The Bank of England have been stolen!

“To compound the disaster, a considerable supply of the unique security paper upon which they were to be impressed is also taken! A robbery has occurred yet there is no sign of forced entry! At this very moment, as we speak, some villain has all material and requirements to print as much money as the paper will allow, which could easily amount to more than a tenth part of all the sterling now in lawful circulation! “If it becomes public knowledge, as surely it must, that an immense quantity of unauthorised but apparently authentic money has been insinuated into general circulation, you may imagine the profound effect upon the world’s trust in the British pound! Its value will plunge in days; it will become suspect in any form of business or commerce, anywhere in England or the Empire! There may well be a run on The Bank of England!”

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and proceeded to wring his bony hands in the most extraordinary agitation. “What am I to tell the Chief Cashier and the Governor Mr Holmes?

“The implications are dreadful; nay, I do not overstate the case – ruinous!” He sat with his head in his hands, rocking to and fro, all self-possession now lost. Holmes gestured for the waiter to replenish our visitor’s glass.

“Please do not exercise yourself so, Mr Petch – all may yet not be lost. From your brief account of the circumstances I am happy to declare instantly that I shall be pleased to act on your behalf in this matter, although to be perfectly candid, I doubt if there exists another agency in all of Europe that might be able to assist you in such dire circumstances.

“You have done wisely to consult me. Have you also consulted the police?”

“I have not, Mr Holmes; I judged the matter to be far too sensitive to become a matter for uninformed public discussion. I thought it preferable first to present you with the problem.”

“Then you have been doubly wise.” He glanced circumspectly at the diners on the adjacent table, who were beginning to show an understandable but unwelcome curiosity in our highly-agitated visitor. Holmes glanced meaningfully around and very quietly said “I suggest that we retire to a more private place where we can talk freely; please finish your whisky and soda Mr Petch, perhaps lodge your game with the kitchen porter for safe-keeping, and follow on to Baker Street directly, when I assure you I shall devote my entire attention to the matter.

“I cannot at this early stage warrant a successful outcome, but I will assure you of my most strenuous efforts to retrieve your plates and paper, and apprehend the criminals behind the theft.”

I have observed many of Holmes’ prospective clients, both haughty and downcast. I have seen them fearful, importunate, and distraught, even begging, but seldom have I seen a man as completely and abjectly grateful at Holmes’ words as was Mr Petch at that instant.

His relief was quite palpable. He grasped Holmes’ hand and pumped it vigorously. “Thank you, thank you, a thousand times, thank you Mr Holmes. I have no doubt that you are very likely the only man in England who may succour us!

“I pray that you are right – perhaps all may yet not be lost.” Upon this hopeful note Holmes and I returned to Baker Street to await Mr Petch. Upon our arrival, the ever-maternal Mrs Hudson served us an afternoon tea of toasted cheese and chutney.

*        *       *

CHAPTER TWO

‘Angraecum Sesquipedale’

Once more before the fire at 221B, Holmes dabbed the last crumbs from his lips, drained his teacup, then stretched cat-like, eyes half closed, and gazed contentedly up at the ceiling. The coals in the grate settled, occasioning a shower of crackling sparks and a welcome, jolly blaze. We lit cigars, eagerly awaited Mr Henry Petch, and companionably pursued our own private trains of thought in silence, wherever they might lead us.

The Hampson ticked quietly and soothingly; in the distance I heard the faint strains of a familiar Christmas carol being sung most sweetly and harmoniously by children at some front door further along Baker Street.

My gaze wandered idly around the strange and – some would say – eccentric environment in which we two singletons had co-existed for some years since first we met. My eye chanced upon Holmes work-bench, where he had constructed his incomprehensible and madly jumbled array of tubes, condensers and glass retorts, many containing their evil-looking, vile-smelling, perhaps even deadly poisonous, liquids; I then took in the bullet-pocked outline of the letters ‘VR’ patriotically emblazoned by him with his revolver in the plaster chimney-breast; surely target practice with a firearm is not to be encouraged in the confines of a London parlour!

From here my eye wandered to my unusual friend’s ‘in-tray’, the stack of correspondence yet to be attended to, skewered to the mantelshelf with a vicious seaman’s clasp-knife.

To its right hung the shabby old Persian slipper, in whose toe he stored his tobacco, alongside which rested several malodorous old dottles from the day’s pipes, which he habitually dried overnight and used for his first smoke of the following morning; on a faded tapestry-covered footstool to the right of the fireplace lay his beloved Stradivarius violin, partially covered with a chaotic and precariously piled stack of sheet music, though in truth, he rarely needed to consult it for his playing, preferring instead to improvise according to his mood.

I next took in his desk, the faded scarred green leather top of which was all but obscured by an anarchic jumble of books, a stack of blank telegraph forms, cigar and cigarette ash, several live loose revolver rounds, numerous news-sheets and scientific documents, unexplained oddities like a razor-sharp Balinese Ratmaja kris, and a fine Limoges porcelain salver covered with small lumps of assorted soils and clays.

In pride of place rested one of his most treasured possessions; the walnut-cased, matched pair of deadly accurate, exquisitely engraved Manton duelling pistols which, along with a single Louis d’Or gold coin, he had desired as his sole remuneration for his services to Admiral Lord Robert Cameron. One of these fine weapons had long ago been used by a previous Lord of the Realm in the drunken and reckless taking of his own life; and the other, or perhaps the same, had been used by Holmes to shoot down his descendant in cold blood decades after.

Finally, my gaze alighted on the letter from Lady Mary Cameron of Ballantyne Castle, the missive that had drawn us into that chilling adventure. I almost fancied that the mere memory of those few days in the Highlands had started the wound I sustained in the course of our investigation, to throb a little.

But these vicissitudes seemed of small consequence when compared with the infinite privilege of witnessing at first hand the great consulting detective’s prodigious intellect at work. I smiled to myself and settled back in my chair.

All in all, I reflected, it was well worth a little clutter, an occasional foul atmosphere, and the odd peppering with a fine sporting gun. And despite these many tribulations, I was looking forward with the keenest anticipation to Mr Petch’s imminent arrival and the start of yet another puzzling, perhaps even perilous, case. I checked my watch, then glanced across at the sheaf of blank telegraph forms Holmes habitually kept on his desk. I debated wiring Mary to propose she stay in Cambridge long enough to allow me to assist Holmes and record the case to its conclusion when my deliberations were interrupted; “A capital notion, Watson! There is still time for Billy to run to the telegraph office.”

“What the Devil Holmes! I did not speak!”

“Perhaps not aloud, I grant you, but your chain of thought and your resulting conclusion was as clear to me as had you spoken it.”

With mock severity I replied “May a man have no private thoughts in your company Holmes?” though in truth, I knew it occasionally amused him to exercise his extraordinary deductive talents for sheer devilment. My companion chuckled.

“Forgive me Watson. It is merely that when I observe a sequence of events, you know it is for me no more than second nature to arrange my observations into a coherent sequence or whole, and then deduce its most likely meaning. But perhaps I irritate you?”

I smiled. “Not in the least part; but I do confess to being deeply mystified as to the reasoning behind your suddenly agreeing heartily with a man’s unspoken sentiments. Pray continue.”

“The matter is surely simplicity itself, a fact you will no doubt churlishly disparage when I list my separate observations. My comment appears startling merely because I omit to tell you of the first six, and state only the seventh.”

“Come Holmes, you know full well in what high regard I hold your powers of observation and deduction; I would not be such a scrub as to decry your reasoning.”

“Very well then; you sat back perfectly contentedly with your cigar when suddenly your eye fixed disapprovingly upon my bench over yonder. To the uninitiated, it looks indeed chaotic and untidy, but in fact it is a most precisely ordered experiment, and is greatly assisting me in refining my own unique test for identifying the minutest of haemoglobin traces; from there your gaze wandered to my ballistic embellishment on the chimney breast, when you frowned severely, pursed your lips, shook your head and even let out a tiny ‘Tut!’ of reproof.