The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part II (16 page)

“Indeed, but I'm going to need more details,” I told him. “Contact our colleagues in the European criminal underworld and ask them for a description of her jewellery. Somebody will know.”

“I'll get onto it the moment we reach the Smoke,” said Grimdale.

I tore a sheet of paper from my pocket notebook, wrote a few brief words on it and handed it to my companion. “But first, I want you to deliver this message.”

His eyes opened wide when he saw the address. “Are you sure, Professor?”

“Completely.”

The message was simple: “Meet me in the Calcutta Room of the Century Hotel, Mayfair, at seven tonight. Come alone. Moriarty.”

Sherlock Holmes and I have much in common. We are both chameleons: cold and calculating, whilst at the same time being masters of deception and disguise. He is a worthy but deadly opponent. But it was not Sherlock I'd asked to meet me that evening, it was his brother, Mycroft.

For this meeting, I adopted my persona as a cold fish. I stood at the far end of the room, placed my gloves and top-hat on the table beside me, and leaned on my silver-topped cane.

When he arrived, Mycroft remained near the door. It amused me to think that he didn't want to come any closer.

“I take great exception to being summoned like this,” he told me.

“Regrettable, but necessary,” I replied.

“I have important state business to attend to.”

“No doubt, but I need to consult you on a matter of national security.”

Mycroft raised one eyebrow in surprise. He can sometimes appear as unemotional as his brother.

“You may have heard about Sir Henry Pulmorton's obsession with flying-machines.”

“He has made no secret of it.”

“But what you might not know is that he has now succeeded in building one.”

“Have you seen it?”

“Indeed.”

“Have you seen it fly?”

“Not yet.”

“Then it's a purely academic matter.”

“But his assistant believes it can fly. So much so that he has stolen the blueprints. He may try to sell those documents to some foreign power.”

In the fading light, I saw Mycroft's eyes sparkle. Now he was interested.

“The man's name is Jeremiah Silt,” I told him.

“Someone of that name did make an initial approach to our government,” Mycroft admitted, “but we didn't think it was a matter worth pursuing.”

“So he may wish to try his luck elsewhere.”

“He might.”

“You know the diplomatic scene better than anyone,” I continued. “Who is there in London who might be willing to pay good money for those papers?”

“What's your interest in this?”

“You may be under the impression that I have criminal tendencies, Mr. Holmes,” I told him. “The truth is that I am an intensely patriotic man. I wish, as much as any other true-blooded Englishman, to see to all enemies of our Queen and country vanquished.” I was putting on a very convincing show. I could easily persuade myself that all this claptrap really was true.

Mycroft looked pensively out of the window at the darkening sky. “The German Ambassador is expecting a visitor from Berlin,” he said. “A man with direct access to the Kaiser himself. I believe he has a particular interest in flying machines.”

“That has to be more than a coincidence.”

“But whether the Kaiser is also interested is another matter entirely. However, if this fellow Silt is hoping to sell those plans to some foreign power, he might begin by taking them to the German Embassy.”

“When?”

“Their visitor arrives tomorrow morning.”

“Another foreign visitor!” I exclaimed. “It must be a sign of spring. But the cuckoos are a little early this year. In that case, I shall have my men keep a constant watch on the place until our man shows up.”

“He might not.”

“But there's a good chance that he will.”

From first light, my men kept a discreet vigil outside the Embassy of the Imperial German Government. I'm pretty sure that Mycroft had his own people watching the street as well. I'd have been disappointed if he hadn't.

Later that morning, a young lad, who works for us as a runner, reported to me that the German official had now arrived.

“A posh toff, with a beard as long as Methuselah's,” he said. “Came from the station in a carriage as if ‘e was the King of Prussia ‘isself.”

I took a hansom to Belgravia and stopped across the road from the Embassy. Grimdale gave me his succinct report. “He's definitely in there, Professor.”

“Then all we have to do is wait for Silt to arrive,” I told him. “Are your men in position?”

“We've got a newspaper-seller, a road sweeper and some men pretending to work on repairing the road,” he replied.

“He mustn't be allowed to reach the front door.”

“Don't worry, Professor. The moment Silt turns up, we'll have him.”

“Very well,” I told him. “I'll wait here.”

I made no secret of the fact that I was watching the place. Leaning on my swordstick cane, I stood with my eyes fixed on the front door of the Embassy. All afternoon, diplomats came and went, but I never for one moment took my eyes off that door.

The lamplighter was already doing his rounds by the time Silt arrived. The engineer's sideburns were almost undetectable in the fading light, but I can recognise a guilty man when I see one. There was no mistaking the furtive way he shuffled along the street towards the Embassy building.

The front door of the Embassy opened, and a tall man with an impressive white beard stood in the entrance. But it was too late. Before he could come within twenty feet of the place, my men took Silt in hand.

I crossed the road towards him. “Jeremiah Silt, I believe.”

“How dare you treat me like this!” he snapped.

“Because I know all about you.”

A look of concern crossed his face. “What do you mean?”

“We both know that you stole those blueprints to Sir Henry Pulmorton's flying machine.”

“Stole? I was the one who got them for him in the first place,” said Silt. “If I stole anything from anyone, then it was from the Frenchman. I adapted his designs. I added more power to the engine. I was the one who made the thing fly. I am a genius!”

“No doubt,” I replied coldly, “but we also know that you came here hoping to sell those blueprints to the German government. You're a traitor to your country, Silt.”

“I tried to interest our government in my machine,” Silt sneered, “but they didn't want to know. I wanted to develop the design further, but for that I needed money, more than Sir Henry could give me. This country ought to celebrate me as a hero, not condemn me as a traitor.”

“Sir Henry wants his documents back,” I told him. “Hand them over to me immediately.”

He thrust his hand beneath his coat, drew out a bundle of papers and handed them to me, muttering darkly to himself.

Mycroft Holmes now arrived in his own cab. He was looking very pleased with himself.

“At least now those plans won't be used against this country,” he said.

“You regard the Germans as potential enemies?” I asked him.

“They are a growing threat in Europe,” he replied. “One day, Professor, they will become a direct threat to us.”

That was very interesting.

“Give me those plans,” said Mycroft. “I'll make sure they get safely back to Sir Henry Pulmorton.”

“Do you still not trust me?” I asked, trying to sound offended.

“Not in the slightest,” he replied.

I handed over the plans.

“I'll keep Silt,” I told him.

“This isn't a police matter,” Mycroft told me, “so I'm sure I can safely leave him in your hands.”

Oakenby Hall was in turmoil when we arrived there on the following afternoon.

“The Countess has arrived from Russia,” said the butler. He sounded exasperated. “Together with her entire household.”

“I was hoping to speak with Sir Henry,” I told him.

“He's extremely busy, sir,” the butler replied. “But he is expecting you. He hopes you will both join him at dinner this evening.”

“As members of the security staff,” I replied, “we shall certainly both be there.”

“There are two bedrooms prepared for you and your companion in the south wing of the house,” the butler added. “I hope you will find the arrangements to your satisfaction.”

“I'm sure we will,” I replied. “But where will the countess be staying?”

“In the Blue Room, sir. On the first floor at the front of the house.”

After we'd settled into our rooms, Grimdale joined me to discuss our next step.

“What have you learnt about the Countess?” I asked him.

“Following the death of her husband last year, she now owns a great deal of land in her native country,” said Grimdale. “Her income is more than enough to keep herself and her entire household very comfortable indeed.”

“And her jewellery?”

“She never goes anywhere without it.”

“That's what I like to hear,” I replied. “It gives us a realistic chance of taking it from her. Do you have any details?”

“There are several pieces large enough to attract attention if sold on the open market.”

“Then we must concentrate on the smaller ones.”

Grimdale laid the complete list of jewellery on the table in front of me. “There's one piece that looks particularly interesting,” he told me. “It's described as a necklace made up of three strands of diamonds.”

“I have no doubt she'll be wearing it tonight,” I said. “So we must find out what happens to it after the meal.”

“Sir Henry might lock it away in his safe.”

“Perhaps.”

Our luggage was light, suitable only for a flying visit, but we both managed to turn up to dinner that evening looking suitably turned out.

“Ah, Professor,” said Sir Henry, when we met just before the meal, “it's good to see you again.”

“And you, Sir Henry,” I replied. “I trust you received your papers.”

“Indeed. They came by special delivery from Whitehall this morning.”

“That's just as it should be,” I told him. I added modestly, “I have my contacts there.”

Grimdale raised an eyebrow in surprise at such a pretentious statement.

I ignored him.

“I hope those blueprints are back where they belong.”

“They are now once again locked away in the safe in my study.”

“That's good to hear.” It was indeed very good to hear. If some grubby little engineer could open that safe, then a criminal mastermind like myself should have no difficulty with it.

At dinner, I was seated opposite the Guest of Honour, the Countess herself. At first, we talked of unimportant things, but my attention was fastened on her necklace. It was just as my informants had described it. There were three strands of diamonds, no single stone remarkable on its own, but together undoubtedly worth a fortune.

“That's a magnificent necklace, madam,” I told her.

“My late husband gave it to me,” she explained. “The stones came from the private treasury of the Tsar himself.”

“Indeed? They must be worth a great deal.”

“Several millions of roubles, I believe.”

“Then, as the man in charge of security here, I must caution you to be on your guard, Countess.” I shook my head sadly. “There are thieves active in this country. Are you sure the necklace will be safe during your stay here?”

“I am quite sure it will be,” she replied.

“Of course,” I continued. “Sir Henry has a heavy-duty safe in his study.”

She laughed, then fixed me with her steel-grey eyes. “It will not be in his safe, Professor,” she said. “I insist on keeping this particular necklace close to me at all times.”

“That is a very wise decision, madam,” I assured her, “very wise indeed.”

I had to get my hands on those jewels. But how? As I watched the wine waiter serving out the hock, the germ of a plan began to form in my mind.

I noticed that the lower button on the man's jacket was hanging loose. As he leaned over me, with the bottle in his hand, I grasped hold of the button and gave it a sharp jerk. It came away so easily that the man failed to notice that anything was wrong.

By the time the meal was over, my plan was complete in every detail. The below-stairs staff would be key to its success.

When nobody was watching, I left the dining room and descended to the servants' hall. There my eyes fell on a charming young chamber maid.

“Excuse me, my dear,” I began.

“Yes, sir?”

“Would you like to earn a sovereign?”

She gave me a suspicious look. “What do I have to do?”

“Oh, nothing much.” I took out a glass vial and held it in front of her. It's amazing the things a master criminal keeps concealed in his pockets. “All you have to do is to pour the contents of this vial into the Countess's last drink of the day.”

“But why?”

“The Countess has had a long journey,” I explained. “She needs a good night's sleep.”

“Don't we all?”

“You must also make sure that her bedroom door is left unlocked tonight.”

“It's the job of her lady's maid to secure the door.”

“But not this time,” I told the girl. “Tonight, her maid will have her mind on other things.”

“What if someone sees me? Are you sure I won't get into trouble over this?”

“Quite sure,” I replied. “If anyone does question you, just tell them that you saw the wine waiter loitering in the corridor outside her room. That should leave you completely in the clear.”

I gave Grimdale the job of keeping the Countess's lady's maid occupied that night. He seemed pleased with the assignment.

“But first,” I told him, “I want you to have a word with our coachman.”