Sherlock Holmes (13 page)

The King looked closely at the cartoon and
said, “Why, yes! So I am!” and laughed heartily, slapping the
artist on the back.

Holmes again touched my sleeve and we
returned to our seats. A few minutes later, Comrade Good and his
companion made to leave. I started to rise but was stopped by a
quiet word from Holmes. “Not yet, Watson. Let us wait a
moment.”

As we sat and watched, a figure stood and put
on his coat. He was a young man in his early twenties, of slight
build and with an oval face with a somewhat drooping moustache. His
hair had been parted in the centre and, upon his nose, he wore a
gold pince-nez which made him look like an academic. As he passed
our table I could clearly detect the distinctive smell of a French
cigarette.

Once the man trailing the King had left, we
swiftly followed. At the end of the alley, Holmes nodded and
pointed towards the retreating figure. From the shadows emerged
Wiggins who gave Holmes a mock salute and set off in pursuit.

Our journey back towards Baker Street was
uneventful. As we travelled, Holmes turned to me, saying, “I see
that you recognised the King from his photograph, Watson. What did
you think of his name when he's amongst the comrades?”

I thought for a moment, before replying, “I
imagined it was just an invention.”

Holmes laughed. “Well, yes and no. One of his
Christian names is Giovanni which, as you no doubt know, is John in
English. The surname is, I have to say, quite inventive. The King's
nickname is 'Il Buono' which means 'the good', So, John Good is, I
feel, very apt.”

I was still greatly concerned and frowned. “I
fear he is playing a very dangerous game Holmes, I was very afraid
he was going to be recognised this evening.”

Holmes held his forefinger to his lip. “Yes,
it was a close call. However, the King had the charisma and
intelligence to pull it off. It is the fellow following him that
concerns me, Watson. He may already know the King's true identity
and intends him harm but Wiggins will track him to his lair.” The
alarm on my face prompted Holmes to pat my knee, saying, “Fear not,
Watson. The King will come to no harm this evening. This man seeks
an audience and a very public place for his actions.”

The following morning we breakfasted quite
early. I determined to return briefly to my medical practice.
Holmes, however, packed some items into a Gladstone and rushed out
after receiving a message from Wiggins. We did not meet again until
the early evening when I found Holmes sitting in his usual
armchair, smoking his pipe. He appeared to be lost in his own
thoughts, eyes half closed and humming some piece of music to
himself.

At my entrance, he opened his eyes. “Ah,
Watson. We have an invitation!” He reached down and tossed me an
envelope which had been beside his chair. I at once recognised the
envelope and, with a smile, I extracted the invitation. “Ha! A
Masked Ball! I have not attended one of those since my college
days. Splendid!”

 The delight of receiving the invitation
only seemed to last but a few moments. I had found that the events
of the previous evening's events had been preying on my mind.
“Where is the King today, Holmes?” I asked.

Holmes passed me the itinerary that the
ambassador had given to him. “Ah, yes. Thursday, an unannounced
visit to the Observatory at Greenwich.”

Hardly had I said these words when Mrs Hudson
rushed into our rooms with the early edition of the evening
newspaper.

“Oh Mr Holmes! There has been an explosion at
Greenwich Park! An unknown man is dead, sir!”

Holmes leapt from his chair, snatched the
newspaper from her hand and quickly scanned it. He frowned as he
did so. “It is as I suspected. Thankfully, no-one else was
injured.”

I looked at Holmes in some amazement. “What?
You knew that this might happen?”

Holmes sat down, his face filled with
concern. “I suspected something of the sort, Watson. Let me recount
this morning's sequence of events. A message came to me from
Wiggins that he had followed the man we saw last night to a lodging
house in Fitzroy Street. I collected some things that I thought I
might find useful and made my way there. Wiggins had watched the
man enter the lodging house and then seen him light the gas and
close the curtains in the top front bedroom.”

Holmes paused and I urged him to continue.
“It was fortunate that the house had a 'Vacancies' sign in the
front window. I approached the landlady, renting a room at the
front of the house for ten shillings. Making sure that I knew where
the man's room was, I silently ventured out onto the landing. From
there, he could be heard moving around. Retiring to my own room
and, by leaving my door open a crack, I was able to observe the
stairs.” I nodded, eager to hear more.

“After some ten minutes his door opened and
he left. I waited five minutes more and then, by using a lock pick
which I had brought in the Gladstone, I entered his room. The room
was similar to my own with little space to hide anything of
substance. However, I noticed the rather threadbare rug next to the
bed had been scuffed and, on searching beneath it, saw that one of
the floor boards had been recently loosened. Lifting it carefully,
I found, in the void below, a brown paper package. After removing
the wrappings to allow a closer inspection, I discovered it to be a
quite sophisticated bomb.” I gasped and begged Holmes to
continue.

“It was quite a small but deadly device. The
explosive charge was intended only to kill any persons within a few
feet of it. I was fascinated by the intricacy of the timing and
detonation mechanism. The timing, I could see, was controlled by a
watch movement of French origin. This had already been set for a
five minute delay, allowing the bomber sufficient time to escape,
after planting the device. Further inspection showed there was also
a second setting of a few seconds delay so that the bomb could also
be hurled at its victim.”

“Like a grenade!” I shouted.

Holmes nodded. “Quite so, Watson. I took the
liberty of carefully altering the connections so that if either
setting was selected, the device would explode instantly. It was
far from being the perfect solution… but I had little choice. Had I
made the device inoperable, the bomber would have thought the
device had failed and he would have lived to make another attempt.
I wrapped the device as it was before, replaced it, and left the
room, locking the door after me.”

It took a few moments for me to consider what
Holmes had just said. “So… the person who was killed this afternoon
was the anarchist bomber!”

Holmes looked grim. “Exactly, Watson. Be a
good fellow and read the newspaper report aloud.” 

I took the newspaper from Holmes and began to
read. “This afternoon, in Greenwich Park, an explosion occurred on
the path leading to the observatory which mortally wounded a young
man. Two of the observatory staff, Mr Thackeray and Mr Hollis were
entertaining an official visitor in the lower computing room when
they were startled by what they described as “a sharp and clear
detonation”. On hearing this, they looked out to see the
observatory doorkeeper running across the courtyard. They rapidly
followed him down the hillside, north of the observatory, where a
park warden was running towards a crouched figure on the path.” I
paused for breath before continuing,

“According to reports, the observatory staff
at first thought the man had shot himself but, as they drew closer,
they could see that he had sustained horrific injuries. His left
hand was completely missing and they observed a gaping hole in the
region of his stomach. It was a miracle that he was still alive.
Soon, a doctor was called from the nearby Seaman's Hospital and the
young man was taken away by stretcher. It appears that he could
still speak but, apparently, would not give his name nor say what
had happened. Unfortunately, the extent of his injuries was such
that he died within thirty minutes.”

Holmes frowned. “From his position on the
path to the observatory, it seems that our friend was on his way to
deposit the package. I imagine that he was attempting to set the
device for a five minute delay when it exploded.”

I nodded, adding, “Yes, thanks to you Holmes!
Otherwise we might be reading of the death of the King of Italy and
two staff from the observatory!”

Holmes was still greatly troubled. “My action
posed a grave risk to the Public, Watson. It was a decision that I
did not take lightly.” Looking to my friend, I could see that this
was going to haunt Holmes for some considerable time to come.

Rising from his chair, he turned to me,
saying, “We need to try and learn more of this fellow, Watson. I
must despatch a telegram to Mycroft so that we are present at the
post mortem.” With that, he dashed off a note and rang for Mrs
Hudson.

We received the reply within the hour and
were soon in a cab on our way to the mortuary at the Seaman's
Hospital, Greenwich.

As we travelled, I enquired of Holmes what
might be the motive for such an attack. Holmes looked grim,
replying with a question, “Apart from their seemingly inherent
hatred of the nobility and authority, Watson? You may recall a
report last week in ‘The Times’ of the execution, in France, of the
notorious anarchist, Auguste Vaillant? He was convicted of the
bombing of the Chamber of Deputies in Paris last December. There
was, it appears, a futile reprisal for the execution only two days
ago when a bomb was detonated in a Paris cafe.”

It was something that I had not considered
and was enraged by it. “You think that these occurrences are
linked, Holmes?”

Holmes shrugged, saying, “It is a distinct
possibility, Watson.”

I sat back, open mouthed, as I considered his
reply. “This is monstrous, Holmes! Innocent people killed by
these...these animals!”

Holmes raised a finger of caution. “Not
animals, Watson! Animals usually find some way to co-exist, they
fight when attacked but they are not vengeful.” After this exchange
we drove on in silence, each deep in our own thoughts.

Mycroft, we saw, had already arrived at the
Seaman's Hospital and, after a brief handshake, we followed him to
the mortuary. A pathologist of some note had already begun the post
mortem, no doubt retained by Mycroft and working under the
provisions of the Official Secrets Act. Holmes was eager to examine
the clothes and the contents of the man's pockets. These had been
placed on one side and were blood soaked, bearing witness to the
terrible wounds the victim had sustained.

Holmes spent some time closely examining
these items before turning to Mycroft. “From his clothes, he was
clearly a French national. The large amount of French currency he
was carrying suggests he was about to return there. I observed that
he had a copy of a tram timetable with the times of the trams from
Westminster to Greenwich underlined.”

Mycroft nodded. “Yes, I am most grateful to
you for supplying us with his address. A thorough search of his
room revealed his papers which were hidden within his mattress. His
name was Martial Bourdin, a 26 year old Frenchman.”

Mycroft then had a sly look on his face as he
said, “You may find this of interest.” Reaching into his coat, he
pulled out an oil skin pouch. From this he carefully extracted a
blood stained piece of paper. Looking over Holmes’ shoulder, I saw
that there had been drawn upon it a crude map showing Greenwich
Park and the outline of the observatory.

Holmes took the paper, moved nearer to one of
the gas lights and, with his magnifying glass, he examined it
closely. Holmes frowned. “It confirms our suspicions of an
anarchist sympathiser at the embassy. The paper is clearly from
there. Did you notice the discreet letter 'S' at the corner of the
paper?”

Mycroft nodded, adding, “Of the inner circle
of diplomats, there are but two with a name beginning with 'S',
both of whom are trusted completely.”

Holmes considered this for a moment. “I think
there is another explanation, Mycroft. These two diplomats are
individuals known intimately by His Excellency, drawn from noble
Italian families.  Neither of them is likely to be the
sympathiser and even more unlikely to leave a clue to their
identity through a monogram. A much more feasible explanation is an
embassy employee who is member of the anarchist group,
'Solidarieta', known to be active here in London.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and Holmes
continued. “I have good intelligence that the ringleaders of the
London anarchists have a great interest in the Sicilian group, the
'Fasci Siciliani'. Indeed, three of them have left London to
organise a Sicilian uprising. What an achievement it would be if
the King of Italy were to be assassinated by one of their group in
London!”

Mycroft looked grim. “Sherlock, your analysis
has great virtue, as always. My information is that this Bourdin
fellow had been a frequent visitor to the Club Autonomie. I will
despatch a telegram to Lestrade at Scotland Yard and arrange for
the club to be raided this very evening.”

Further conversation was cut short by the
appearance of the pathologist who approached us, drying his hands.
He nodded in our direction and I had recognised his face
immediately but I stayed silent.

Casting aside the towel, he addressed
Mycroft. “It is as you would imagine, Mycroft. The blast was
responsible for the gross injuries but he was fatally injured by
the components of the device piercing the vital organs in the chest
cavity, causing massive bleeding. I have removed most of the
fragments, as you can see.” Saying this, he pointed to a kidney
bowl of twisted, blood soaked, metal. Reaching for his coat, he
continued, “I will send a messenger to your office in the morning
with my written report, Mycroft.”