Sherlock Holmes in Something the Cat Dragged In (3 page)

That may have been someone else's opinion as well, since when we went to the other room to get him, we found Berrenson groaning his way back to consciousness and Siddons gone. (He subsequently turned up in a back street, stabbed in the heart from behind.) The constable had seen nothing, but he was certain that the door had not opened, as he'd been looking towards it when he was struck. At this Lestrade gave incisive orders and, with Harrison directing operations, the room's back wall was broken down by the two remaining constables to reveal…

I snorted as I saw the result. “
Don't
tell me: a secret passage.”

Holmes nodded. “Yes, it may, however, hold more than it appears.” He turned to Lestrade. “If I might suggest it, send the one of your men along that passage to see where it goes, where it comes out, and if there are other entrances. Look too for any suggestion of a cache, a worn place on the wall, or ceiling bosses for some decoration.”

A constable entered the opening bearing a candle, and after some time reported that there was another door that led out into the yard near the shed. He could find nothing else. Lestrade shrugged. “Mr. Holmes?”

“Thank you.” Holmes, having gone in search of a lantern and found one, lit it, and vanished into the passage. We heard tapping, movement, and soon thereafter we heard him call. “I have something.”

Lestrade bounded into the passage with me hot on his heels. Holmes was kneeling, looking at the wall. At our advent he raised the lantern higher and pointed, and we could see that there was a place on the wall that looked darker than the surrounding area, with greasy dirt ground into the wood. Holmes put down the lantern and placed his left hand on the worn spot. Before him the lantern light gleamed on a small section of the inside paneling. He planted his right hand on that spot and pressed downwards firmly.

Lestrade exclaimed as the entire length of the panel swung out, revealing a set of a dozen or so shelves, each the width of the panel—and about the depth of my hand. A miscellany of items were scattered on the shelves, but Lestrade had eyes only for a packet of papers, which he snatched up. He rifled through them, swore bitterly, and flipped through them again more slowly.

“Most are gone.”

Holmes stood. I had returned to the house and found a cloth bag in the kitchen, and now I reached over and swept all of the other items into the bag.

“I daresay you have no interest in these,” I said chidingly. “But there is cash and jewelry here, and you would not wish it to fall into the hands of villains again.”

“No, no, of course not,” Lestrade muttered, turning over the papers for the third time. He looked up. “Let us get out of here. I think we must talk, and I'd rather do it in comfort.” He ordered two constables to remain on guard at the house, one within the hall by the front door, the other in the back yard, while he and Harrison should come with us. Then he returned to his subject. “This Miss Jackson, what do you know of her? Is she trustworthy?” Both Holmes and I nodded. “Then let us go there. Tell me of her while we walk.”

That we did. Miss Emily Jackson had been an earlier client of Holmes's and we both had formed an excellent opinion of her, so we were able to allay Lestrade's fear that she was likely to chatter to friends of today's events.

We explained that while Miss Emily had no real need to work, having a small private income sufficient to maintain her and Mandalay in moderate comfort, she also did not believe in being idle. She had therefore taken employment at a typing bureau that catered in particular to writers of scientific works; she, having had an excellent education, was particularly esteemed and often requested.

“Her employer told us that Miss Emily donates her wages to charity,” I told Lestrade. “However, she greatly enjoys the work, says it's interesting and that she learns much.” And quoting her employer, “all those old scientific gents think the world of her.” I chuckled, and Holmes spoke.

“In fact you may recall the Vereker case, Lestrade?”

The Inspector's face lit. “Yes, of course. So
this
is the lady, I had forgotten her name. Yes, she is surely trustworthy, since she never spoke a word about Vereker to anyone. I think she can be taken into our confidence.” He meditated for half a dozen strides before continuing.

“She is an orphan, is she not? Her parents died in an influenza epidemic when she was twenty-one. She inherited family money, has no close relatives, is of a serious turn of mind, and loves cats. One who had worked with her said that Miss Jackson thinks that if the opportunity to do right appears, then this should be acted upon, and she seems to have lived a blameless life. The lease of her apartment is paid yearly. Her cat is a Brown Burmese, rare in this country and valuable; it was given her by a friend of her father's, a sea captain who traded in Burma a number of times and did the royal family a service. She should be safe enough, and we may find a use for her.”

We found Miss Emily waiting with a purring Mandalay, who deigned to approach both Holmes and me. We provided the expected attentions while Holmes gave Miss Emily a brief summary of our investigations, and seeing that we were preoccupied, the cat retired to his basket where he curled up, watching us with interest.

Lestrade praised the animal for his acumen, although as he laughingly added, “He is the best-looking cat burglar I have ever seen, but beware Miss Emily, lest he bring you more valuable gifts and I am ordered to take him up as a villain.”

Miss Emily shook her head. “I do not think he stole those articles. I think that your man gave them to him hoping Mandalay would take them to an owner who would guess something of the situation. When the watch and glove brought no one to the rescue, he gave him the handkerchief, thinking that the blood upon it should produce the desired result—as it did. I am only sorry, from what Mr. Holmes tells me, that we may have been too late.”

Lestrade looked grave. “That may be, yet the police are indebted to you for your prompt and intelligent actions. Since you know so much of events, I have decided to speak to Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson here in your suite, allowing you the information as well and trusting that you will not speak of it to anyone. They assure me of your discretion, but I must ask for your most solemn oath.”

Her face became grave and her back straightened. “You have my word, Detective Inspector Lestrade. Nothing of what you reveal to me shall pass my lips, and if I can aid in any way whatsoever, you have only to tell me.”

Lestrade nodded. “Very well. This is what happened. You may all have heard of Lord Northgate. He is a long-time enthusiast of military campaigns and the paper artifacts they have generated, and he collected an immense number of maps, papers, letters, official orders, telegrams, and other such impedimenta in furtherance of his hobby. He began at age twelve, and in the course of the next forty years his collection had become vast and he, himself, hugely knowledgeable. He is a man also of an inventive and original turn of mind, and for his own amusement he drew up an imaginary campaign, complete with fortifications to be built on some of our overseas possessions, in the event we should ever come under attack from certain military powers.”

I opened then shut my mouth firmly on the question that sprang to mind. I could guess the rival power Northgate had in mind but what…which of our possessions did he deem to be in peril?

Lestrade nodded. “The ‘possessions' are far-flung, and should the supply lines between them and their mother-country be severed they could easily fall to another power. Northgate amused himself merely, although the basis on which he worked was genuine. He had war-office maps of the area—not exactly illegal, but they should not have been in his possession. And although he drew up an entire campaign, that was not what created the mischief. Northgate has many prominent friends, and to amuse himself he placed a number of them as the supposed leaders of a pre-emptive strike against the invading country, in charge of guerilla and other unofficial forces. He moved fleets into position…”

“In what way?” Holmes questioned.

“He drew up telegrams to be sent, even adding times and dates when they were to be transmitted. His entire plan, in fact, had not only the names of real men, a number in appropriate positions already, and others not impossibly so, but he added dates to everything, and as I have said, his instructions to various Fleet Commanders were written as telegrams, apparently ready to be sent.”

“What dates?” I asked quietly, beginning to see some of the possible impending dangers.

Lestrade groaned. “In five months, in the spring of 1904. The worst of this is that, as I say, Northgate has many friends both in the government and in the various services, and he has discussed all the possibilities of his campaign with them and received their suggestions. When word of his ‘hobby' came to my ears. I went to his house and talked to him about it. I thought it dangerous. He thought it amusing. Yes, he had drawn up such a campaign. He planned to fight a battle with lead soldiers and dice against two friends, beginning on the date he had chosen as the start of this ‘war.' I borrowed the papers and had them studied by a military expert who said that not only did they appear to be a possibly successful campaign, but also they gave a strong appearance of verisimilitude. Had I not told him of their provenance, he said, he might have believed them genuine.”

He looked sour at that. “It bothered me. I could not exactly explain why, but I felt that the papers were dangerous, so I quietly put a man into Northgate's house here in the city. Detective Len Rogers is an up-and-coming man and a protégé of Harrison's. Len is young yet, but his dad was a constable for many years and rose to become a sergeant. That watch the cat found? Harrison tells me that Rogers's father bought it to mark his tenth year as a policeman. Just before he retired, he risked his life to protect a young lady, and her family presented him with a silver one. So he passed on that brass watch to Len when the lad joined the force, giving him a better chain as a twenty-first birthday present.”

Even as Holmes had deduced, I reflected.

“He acted as a footman?” Holmes offered. “And he purchased a pair or two of Alfred Jessup gloves for the role. What was he able to tell you?”

“Nothing, Mr. Holmes. He made reports every third day, and he had seen and heard nothing that caused him any alarm.”

Miss Emily raised her head and looked him in the eye. “And those were the papers that were stolen? Do you think whoever took them thinks that they are real, or would they sell them knowing them to be false but hoping to make money?”

Lestrade smiled wryly at her. “Excellent questions. Well, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes steepled his fingers and contemplated us over them. “I think that it matters little. The question is, if those papers reach… the power in question, will
they
believe them genuine? I fear they will.”

Harrison spoke quietly. “Sir, could our government not approach that power? Tell them what happened and assure them that the papers were merely the pastime of a dilettante, a man whose hobby is playing with toy soldiers and enacting mock battles against elderly friends?”

“Would that we could, lad. You do not know the power in question. They are always ready to see a slight, and even readier to believe someone is poised to attack. The expert said honestly that had he not known from where the papers came, he would have thought them genuine. Do you not think that if the power buys them at some cost, they too will be predisposed to accept them? Yes, we could go to them now and say that the papers were false, yet they would still purchase them if they could to see why we were agitated, and finding them all too convincing, they would disbelieve us the more readily.”

We stared at each other glumly. I had fought in one war and wished for no other. Holmes stirred. “What of Northgate? Did you know that he was missing?”

“I still do not know,” Lestrade averred.

In reply Holmes spread out the bloodied handkerchief, showing the entwined initials. “H. J. C. N,” he read. “Horace Justyn Calthrope Northgate.”

“He may have lent the handkerchief to my man.”

“I think you would do well to assume the worst,” was all Holmes said.

Lestrade stood. “Northgate has many friends and a lot of influence. You are likely right and I should not waste time. Harrison, go to the hospital and see how Len is doing. Much may depend on what he can tell us. If they say it will be hours or longer before he can account to us, then rejoin me. If, however, they think that he may be able to speak soon, stay with him. In either case, go by the local station and have them put a constable on his door. Two if need be. Tell them Detective Rogers is not to be left alone for a minute, nor is anyone to enter his room save those identified by other medical staff.”

Holmes eyed him approvingly. “That is sensible. He may be the only person who knows who abducted his temporary employer and where the man may be now. Meanwhile, Watson and I shall make our own inquiries.”

Lestrade and Harrison took their leave and Miss Emily turned to us. “Do you think I should keep Mandalay in for a few days?”

“I do. He is a sensible cat, but he will not be popular with Brand's friends if they discover how he betrayed them. Still, he has done well, and if Lord Northgate survives, he will no doubt give Mandalay more salmon.”

I may add that as we departed the suite Miss Emily, feeling her cat had indeed done well, gave him the remainder of the salmon, to his extreme and vocal pleasure.

* * * *

We began our own inquiries the next day. It was my task to drop into a number of the more respectable hotels in the area, and in their public bars to drink a glass of something mild while casting an eye over the patrons. I was not looking for Persimmon Brand, but a man of somewhat higher caliber named Western.

“He is in a similar line of work to Brand's occupation of fencing,” Holmes informed me. “He was born a gentleman, but came down in the world. He has a minor grudge against Brand, but he won't speak for that.”