Sherlock Holmes & The Master Engraver (Sherlock Holmes Revival) (34 page)

“Very well then; you have the money?” For answer Count von Huntziger reached beneath the desk, placed the bulky Gladstone bag on the desk in front of Bormanstein and opened it wide, displaying the three-inch high bundles of crisp new ten-pound notes stacked within. Bormanstein’s basalt eyes gleamed; he selected a bundle, professionally riffled through it like a card-player checking his stake, and replaced it.

Von Huntziger smiled; “You wish to count it?”

“Do I need to? You would be a fool to try and deceive me – and were you to attempt such foolishness your health would certainly – and very swiftly – take a turn for the worse; neither of us has attained the positions we enjoy by behaving like fools. No, Count, I am quite confident I will leave tonight with the precise, agreed sum.”

Von Huntziger smiled and closed the locks; Bormanstein reached across to take possession of the heavy bag; with a frown the Count swiftly withdrew it from the desk-top and placed it back on the carpet beneath the desk. “Are you not perhaps being a little precipitate Mr Bormanstein? If I remember aright, there are two elements to a contract – you have now seen and verified the payment. Perhaps I might be permitted to view the item for which I am paying so large a sum?”

Bormanstein shrugged indifferently, opened his attaché case and laid a chamois leather packet on the desk. He leaned back and watched as von Huntziger reverently unfolded the soft skin to reveal gleaming mirror-polished steel, shining dully in the subdued light that glowed upon the desk-top from the nearby table-lamp. Von Huntziger looked up; “They are indeed beautiful – a work of art, would you not agree?” Bormanstein made a bored, dismissive gesture. “I myself do not see beauty, von Huntziger; what I see is power; it is mere base metal – its beauty lies in what it can do for a resourceful man.”

“Perhaps you are right. Would you object if I examine them under better light?” Coldly, Bormanstein replied “So long as they remain in this room – you know full well they are perfectly genuine.”

“I am sure you are correct, but nonetheless...” von Huntziger gestured down at the Gladstone bag, “...that is a not inconsiderable sum.” From the entrance hall came the sound of several soft thuds, the sound of something heavy falling and a muffled oath; Bormanstein tensed and looked up, alert.

Von Huntziger chuckled; “Please do not concern yourself Mr Bormanstein; that is merely my famously clumsy man-servant Guenther, bringing in logs for the drawing-room fire. He foolishly attempts to carry many more than he can manage but he is elderly, and invariably drops them at the doorstep.” Bormanstein relaxed.

I confess I was struggling to understand why Holmes was permitting this deception to play so long; surely it would have been more prudent to have seized the criminals the moment they entered the mansion?

I concluded it could only be because he was assessing his foe, measuring his strengths and weaknesses, and was gleefully anticipating the gratifying moment when he sprang his cunning trap...

Von Huntziger picked up the parcel, stepped to the small window table, drew the curtain wider and having moved the humidor and turned up the lamp to full brightness, examined the gleaming steel plates anew under the brilliant glow of the incandescent globe; after considerable and close scrutiny he murmured over his shoulder “They look good, very good Mr Bormanstein.”

“Why should they not? They are the genuine plates for The Bank of England. Let us not quibble Count; we are both busy men. You have seen the plates – give me the money and our business here is done.”

Outside in the square I caught the sound of hoarse shouting, grunts and blows, a brief scuffle, then silence – no doubt late-night revellers who had indulged rather too freely after a night at the music-hall?

Von Huntziger grinned cheerfully; “As you say Mr Bormanstein, we are both busy men and neither of us is a fool; and we are both men of our word. The goods are, indeed, exactly as offered – I am quite satisfied.” He selected a cigar and spent some time cutting it and lighting it to his satisfaction. Bormanstein watched von Huntziger, then turned back to the desk and resumed drumming his fingers impatiently. Von Huntziger closed the humidor, re-wrapped the plates, returned to his chair and positioned the leather parcel on the desk between the two of them.

He reached down for the heavy Gladstone bag with its steel chain and bracelet from beneath the desk and placed it in front of Bormanstein, together with a small steel key; Bormanstein unlatched the bag and glanced at the contents a second time. Satisfied, he locked it.

Surely now Holmes would sound the alarm? Bormanstein sat with a fortune before him; the priceless package of plates lay on the desk only inches from von Huntziger’s grasp – now was the time to strike! I glanced at my friend – he appeared to be transfixed by the unfolding events; his knuckles gleamed white in the gloom against the blue-black steel of his revolver.

In his left hand he held the police whistle which would signal the joining of battle; yet still he did not move, utterly concentrated as he was upon the drama playing out before our eyes.

“I believe, Count von Huntziger, our transaction here is concluded; the paper stands outside; you have the plates; I have the payment” Bormanstein said tonelessly, and snapped the heavy steel bracelet shut upon his left wrist. Only the key, a blacksmith or a butcher’s cleaver could now separate Bormanstein from the Gladstone bag. He stood, nodded curtly to von Huntziger, and turned to leave...

The shockingly shrill blast of Holmes’ whistle momentarily deafened me and almost stopped my heart. We burst into the library at the same instant as the far doors crashed open – Lestrade, his officer and Solomon Warburg cannoned into the room almost simultaneously; Holmes levelled his gun at Bormanstein, who stood motionless beside the desk, holding the Gladstone bag; for several seconds the library was a tableau, a frozen photographic moment. Bormanstein glared malevolently from von Huntziger to Holmes and back. His dark eyes darted frantically around the room – there was no escape.” Angrily he shouted for his thugs; “Belton! Clarke! In here immediately!”

Icily Holmes said “Do not look for help from that quarter, Bormanstein; all your gang are taken!”

Lestrade now addressed him in a formal manner: “Asa Bormanstein, I arrest you on suspicion of conspiracy, breaking and entering, robbery, forgery and uttering counterfeit currency, and also on suspicion of assault with a deadly weapon and the murder of...” he got no further. Like a striking cobra, in a single lightning motion Bormanstein snatched the leather parcel from the desk and thrust it into a capacious coat-pocket; he spun around and something appeared to shoot from his sleeve – for the briefest second I saw him levelling a small nickel-plated derringer directly at Holmes’ head. Instinctively I hurled myself sideways and barged him to the floor; Bormanstein’s pistol emitted a sharp, flat crack and a spit of brilliant yellow flame at the same instant as Lestrade’s heavy police revolver boomed deafeningly in the confines of the library.

He appeared to miss for the delicate bevelled glass of a showcase shattered some inches to Bormanstein’s left, along with a quantity of priceless Japanese porcelain. Then in one great bound, with a furious snarl of mingled rage and triumph, and a malevolent backward glare of purest hatred, Bormanstein crashed through the French windows and with quite astonishing speed for a man of middle years, raced across the lawn and vanished in the blackness beyond. A moment later we heard a shouted order, the sound of a horse being savagely whipped up, then a carriage raced away into the night at a furious pace.

The room fell silent as the tomb; all eyes turned toward Sherlock Holmes who was in the act of picking himself up from the rich silk carpet. Abruptly the single remaining, intact pane of glass balancing precariously in the skeleton of the ruined door-frame fell to the stone pathway below and shattered into a hundred pieces – as if in mocking judgement upon the failure of Holmes’ elaborate rat-trap.

At the end of the chase, though we were unhurt, he had lost. The bait was taken, the trap had been sprung – and it was empty. Holmes slumped into a chair and sank his head in his hands; I glared at von Huntziger who appeared to be enjoying a degree of schadenfreude, seemingly deriving some pleasurable amusement from Holmes’ discomfiture. “If you care to look behind you Mr Holmes, you will observe that the good Doctor has just done you a very great service.” Holmes turned – directly behind where he had been standing, precisely at head-height, was a marble bust of Socrates in an ornate alcove. It appeared to have acquired a third eye exactly between the two original orbs. Holmes gripped my shoulder tightly, stared hard at me and nodded slowly.

Lestrade spoke, surprisingly kindly. “I’m truly sorry things turned out this way for you Mr Holmes. But perhaps you overplayed your hand this time? Maybe you should have let us take him as soon as he entered the house? True, I arrested the wrong men by mistake, but I have sent instructions for their immediate release; however it would appear you have let the plates, the money and the real villain slip clean through our fingers, just when we had him in our grasp. Perhaps it would be as well if we manage this case from here-on in?”

Holmes was silent for a space. “Well gentlemen, I do confess I had not anticipated our visitor leaving so abruptly through the French windows, particularly without troubling to open them first; however, beyond that small matter, I think affairs proceeded tolerably! We have at least taken the gang, the paper and any notes they have printed.”

I was trying to fathom in what possible way the outcome of the affair could be termed ‘tolerable’. Lestrade cleared his throat; “In your position, Mr Holmes, I much doubt I would be looking forward to explaining events to The Bank of England. And what you’ll tell Mr Henry Petch I have no idea. To think that you had all within your grasp and let it vanish. We truly should have acted earlier.”

A moment later I heard the rumble of the heavy wagon being driven around into the coach-yard, after which the massive iron gates clanged shut. Several more officers arrived outside with a Black Maria and the five toughs were bundled aboard under Lestrade’s watchful eye while Huntziger puffed contentedly at his cigar, still with that odd smile on his face. Holmes spoke quietly with Lestrade, while the butler silently entered, carrying a large coverlet of some sort which he proceeded to secure over the shattered window-frame against the cold night air, precisely as Petch had done, to protect his precious orchids at the commencement of this strange adventure.

Holmes looked across at Solomon Warburg who stood silently by the library doors, nursing bruised knuckles. “Lestrade tells me that you right-royally evened the score with the wall-eyed Belton who attacked you, as did your boys with the wagon crew outside.”

The doughty Warburg smiled with deep satisfaction; “Indeed I did Mr Holmes; he tried to stick me with another of those infernal steel spikes of his; but I doubt he’ll talk boastfully of our encounter after tonight!” Holmes murmured “Ah, the second missing burin...”

He added wryly “I understand from Inspector Lestrade that there may be considerable doubt he’ll ever talk again – it seems that knuckle-duster of yours fractured and dislocated his jaw and removed several of his teeth!” Warburg’s eyes widened in surprise; he examined his massive right fist in wonderment.

“Well I never, Mr Holmes; my right cross must be better than ever, for you see, I did not even use the steel knuckles...” Homes and I travelled back to Baker Street in silence. I concluded he was likely weighing the miserable consolation of capturing five of the gang, against the disastrous loss of The Bank’s money and plates from under his nose, and his failure to take Asa Bormanstein. And now the deadline had expired.

*        *       *

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Justice Is Served On A Plate

Next morning, with some trepidation I opened my bedroom door and peered cautiously into the parlour; Holmes was working at his desk.

“He is an arrogant, impertinent and over-reaching dog, Watson! He exhibits an irrational and unhealthy veneration for his own intellect, which borders on megalomania; he is almost certainly more than a touch mad, and like every mad dog, should be handled with great caution...” declared Sherlock Holmes coldly “...and put down as soon as is practicable.”

Cautiously I enquired “To whom do you refer?”

“I refer to the loathsome and dangerous creature who calls himself Bormanstein. Last night he overplayed his hand – he thought to outsmart me, to make a fool of me Watson, but I was prepared and I will have my revenge!” and he continued ordering slugs of lead type in his compositor’s rack.

I remained diplomatically silent while my companion worked industriously with his metal letters, roller and ink and several pieces of paper, though as to his purpose, and even whether it bore upon the case currently at hand, I could not guess.

I could think of nothing uplifting to say – the atmosphere in the room seemed to be weighed down with the heavy burden of failure, and of Holmes’ close brush with death at the hand of the evil Bormanstein.

My thoughts lightened when I recollected that this was the evening of Mary’s home-coming from Cambridge, and I turned my thoughts to some manner of celebration for her arrival. I was deciding between The Café Royal and Simpson’s in The Strand when Holmes turned towards me. Sombrely he said “I will, of course, have to account for the outcome of last night’s fracas Watson, to which end I have convoked Mr May, Mr Petch and Lestrade here in...” he looked over at the clock “...about thirty minutes – I have a lot to explain as you know. You may imagine it is likely to be a somewhat complicated meeting; accordingly I will perfectly well understand should you prefer not to be present.”

I had observed Holmes, day and night, applying himself tirelessly to this intractable case – I was not going to abandon him in his hour of need. “I would prefer to remain if I may Holmes, if only to see fair play.” He smiled warmly but said nothing.

“Anyway,” I continued “Bormanstein cannot elude you indefinitely – we know his identity, we have seen his face, his gang is taken – he is now a hunted man, alone and on the run, armed with nothing but a bag of money and a parcel of useless steel plates. He will surely make a slip, and we will be waiting to pounce!”