THE IRREGULAR CASEBOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES (4 page)

‘The Hieroglyphic Monad!’ he exclaimed. ‘It is Dee’s own symbol.’

Holmes nodded. ‘But our puzzle is not quite complete. Have you forgotten the reference to a circle whose centre is everywhere?’

‘Wait, you are right. The symbol usually has a dot at the centre of the circle.’

‘Then let us add one. And as it is described as “everywhere” we can take it that its position—before the steps leading up to the altar—is all important. It is surely to the flagstone at that spot that we must look.’

‘Do we dig it up?’ I asked.

‘There is no need, Watson. Our man will do that for us,
and
return the stolen pages, if we only wait for him.’

At that moment, the sound of movement sent us swiftly into a side chapel, from which James peeked out.

‘It is an undergraduate named Wimbush. An excellent young man, but somewhat talkative. If he sees us here, I fear it will be all over the University by nightfall.’

‘Then,’ whispered Holmes, ‘we may turn the situation to our advantage. Stay out of sight—and hold my coat.’

Rolling up his sleeves, Holmes ruffled his hair and tied his handkerchief about his neck. By the time Wimbush drew near, the consulting detective had disappeared and, in his place, stood a rather truculent workman.

‘Can I help you, sir?’ I heard Wimbush ask in a frankly suspicious tone.

‘’Elp us?’ rejoined Holmes. ‘If yer’ve got a cold chisel or a lump ’ammer about yer.’

‘I thought,’ persisted the youth, ‘that renovations were in abeyance at present.’

‘Did yer! So did we till the word came to get back ’ere. We’ll be workin’ on the
floor
right up ter Christmas Eve.’

‘Who gave you the order to resume work?’ Wimbush asked.

It was an awkward moment, but Dr James saved the day by shouting from the shadows in an accent every bit as convincing as that of Holmes. ‘Are you gunner stand there jawin’ all day?’

‘Keep yer ’air on,’ Holmes called back. ‘There’s a young genelman ’ere wants ter ’elp us wi’ the liftin’.’

‘I’m sorry, gentlemen,’ said Wimbush in quavering tones, ‘but I am really rather busy—good day to you.’

Holmes chuckled as he pulled on his jacket. ‘Well done, Dr James.’

‘Well done to both of you,’ I said, ‘but would it not have been better just to hide?’

‘No, Dr Watson,’ replied James. ‘I think Mr Holmes wants our talkative young friend to spread the word that workmen are examining the floor of the Chapel.’

‘You anticipate me in every particular, doctor. The thief will not risk any accidental discoveries by workmen. This should force his hand. If we are lucky, tonight might well see the moment of confrontation.’

Holmes’s plan was to mount a vigil in the Chapel. To this end we prepared, arming ourselves with dark lanterns, rugs, and walking sticks for weapons. Dr James was given a stout oak cudgel. Holmes had his cane weighted with lead, and I elected to settle any differences of opinion with the aid of a Penang Lawyer.

There followed, let me confess it, a tedious time for me. Holmes and Dr James became engrossed in a discussion of the ways in which the principles of detection might be applied to the dating of documents. So the time passed profitably enough for them, but little of what was said proved intelligible to me, or would be so, I suspect, to the general reader. I did take the opportunity to write up my notes in detail, then dozed by the fire. The next thing I remember was Holmes standing over me in the firelight saying, ‘Come, Watson—it is time.’

The walk to the Chapel cleared my head. It was bitterly cold, and the frost crunched beneath our boots like a light fall of snow. There was a curious stillness in the air that suggested the impending blizzard could not long be delayed. Dr James produced a key and unlocked the heavy door to the Chapel.

It was Holmes’s plan that we should conceal ourselves among the side chapels that lined the building. Holmes settled in the shadows on the north side; James and I in separate places to the south, so that we could converge from three sides upon our prey. With the dark lanterns shuttered, we sat in complete darkness, gazing out at the slightly lighter area of the Chapel.

I do not remember the hours that followed with any pleasure. The chill of the building soon penetrated to my old wound, causing a nagging ache that I did not dare to ease by movement. The nature of the forthcoming confrontation began to play on my mind. Holmes would see it merely as the culmination of an investigation, and James seemed too excited by the adventure to think ahead, but I recalled the menacing figure of young Crowley, and remembered the ice-axe on his wall. It seemed to me the likeliest implement to choose if one sought to combine the functions of leverage and defence. The final confrontation might prove distinctly unpleasant.

Just when I was beginning to think that our wait had been in vain, I became aware of a disturbance of the air, betokening movement somewhere. The sound of a door closing echoed faintly through the darkness, and the light of a partly unshaded lantern approached through the ante-chapel. As it came closer, I could discern a heavily muffled figure with sheets of paper clutched in a gloved hand. I could see no weapon of any kind. Crouching over to see the papers by the half-light of its lantern, the figure began to move back and forth across the floor of the Chapel.

There was a certain grim humour in witnessing that slow decipherment of the clues. More than once, features of the Chapel, quite unconnected with the solution, were examined, and steps retraced. But inexorably the lines were drawn, and at length the figure stood on the spot between the steps and the altar. Only then was a prise-bar produced from his coat, and the lifting of the slab begun. Then the stone was turned aside and something taken from the hole.

‘Now!’ roared Holmes, and shone his lantern upon the scene. Struggling from my place of concealment, I glimpsed our quarry already in flight, with Holmes in pursuit. My lantern cover had jammed, but that of Dr James shone out to reveal a second man standing on the edge of the surrounding shadows. He was tall, white-bearded, and grim, but too old and frail to pose much of a problem for a healthy young man. I therefore decided that Holmes had greater need of my help. Calling out, ‘Detain him, doctor’ I set off in pursuit.

That long, cold vigil had so aggravated my wound that I had little expectation of overtaking Holmes, but my efforts to keep pace found unexpected assistance outside the Chapel.

The night was a swirling mass of white flakes, and the ground under foot had become very slippery. Such conditions are a great leveller. The two men in front of me were hardly capable of a better pace than I. None the less, it proved an epic chase. Our quarry led us out onto the stretch of land called The Backs—a very pleasant walk, no doubt, on summer evenings, but on such a bitter night of snow, with the ground rutted and slippery under ice, a treacherous place.

Just as my strength was giving out, and I felt that I should have to leave Holmes to continue the chase alone, I came upon him crouched over a fallen figure.

‘Holmes,’ I gasped. ‘You caught him.’

‘No, Watson,’ he replied grimly, ‘he fell before I reached him.’

With that he turned over the muffled form, to reveal the distorted face of Biggs. Forcing open the clenched hand, Holmes retrieved some small object. I laid my hand upon the fallen man’s neck.

‘He’s dead, Holmes. What was it—a seizure brought on by the chase?’

‘Probably—and yet, Watson, I would swear that some dark shape rose up and dropped upon his back just before he fell.’

‘A trick of the shadows,’ I observed. Holmes did not reply. ‘In any case, I hope Dr James has been able to detain the other man. . . .’

Holmes rose up with a cry. ‘The other man? I saw no other man! Come, Watson!’

‘But what of Biggs?’

‘We can do nothing for him now—come!’

Returning to the Chapel with all possible haste, we found Dr James standing alone, his left hand raised to his brow, as though dazed. The thought that the old man had produced some weapon and attacked him suggested itself to me. However, he was not injured, but the figure I had glimpsed had gone. Clearly, I had expected too much of this amiable scholar. Holmes was keen to salvage what we could from the debacle.

‘Did you by any chance recognise him, doctor?’

‘Yes—yes, I’m afraid I did.’

‘Then tell us his name. Come on man, out with it.’

‘I cannot—I will say only that he was a distinguished fellow of the university—I can tell you no more.’

‘Dr James,’ I cried, ‘I am surprised and disappointed! I had thought you a man of honour, yet you cover up for this man. It is misplaced loyalty!’

‘Watson is right,’ added Holmes. ‘You cannot be partial in this matter.’

‘You mistake me, gentlemen. I am not defending him. He is far beyond your reach. It was Dr John Dee.’

Seeing our disbelieving expressions, James added quietly, ‘I have seen his likeness often enough in the Ashmolean at Oxford. It would seem, gentlemen, that the originator of this mystery returned to witness its solution!’

‘We cannot stand here all night,’ said Holmes abruptly. ‘Pick up your missing pages; we will replace the slab.’

As if by agreement, not another word was spoken about James’s remarkable claim until half an hour later, when we were warming our chilled limbs by the fire.

‘I cannot help feeling guilty about leaving Biggs out on The Backs,’ James said suddenly.

‘If you wish this whole matter to remain secret, there is nothing else to be done,’ replied Holmes.

I was so sure it was Crowley!’ I said.

Holmes shook his head. ‘I have warned you before not to be too precipitate in your conclusions, Watson. Young Mr Crowley is strong and fit enough to be a mountaineer, and, if I do not misjudge his character, possessed of a violent temper when crossed. If he had been cornered by Muir, I think the resulting injury might have given us a murder case! No, the culprit was barely strong enough to knock down a frail old man. From the first I was looking for a comparatively weak individual—although,’ he added ruefully, ‘his stamina over the flat mile surprised me.’

‘I wonder,’ interjected James, ‘if that was because he was fleeing from more than you and Dr Watson! I have been reading the first of the hidden pages:

‘“In nomine Jesu Christi. Amen. Unus est Deus, et unum est opus nostrum.
There
is one God, and there is one work of ours.
Tabula locorum rerum et thesaurorum absconditorum.
A table of the locations, the objects and the hidden treasure. Then a section that is indecipherable. Then
Quam hic, familiarissimorum consensu, aliquando ad nostratium commoditatem et auxilium abscondere et sepelire decrevi: qua quidem intelleeta facile possunt ad lucem abscondita effere.
Which I ordered here to be hidden and buried, with the consent of those closest to me, for the benefit and advantage of our associates: which having been interpreted, they may easily bring what was hidden to light.”

‘It was, I believe, customary to leave some demonic guard over treasure. That is why I wonder if it
was
just a shadow that fell on Biggs. The text ends with the words
“Depositum Custodi”
—Keep that which is committed to thee.”’

To my surprise, Holmes said nothing, but stared into the fire.

‘But I almost forgot in the excitement, Mr Holmes,’ added James. ‘What
was
this treasure?’

Holmes drew from his pocket a curiously shaped phial of turbid liquid. ‘The fruit of a lifetime’s studies, vain or otherwise. The Elixir of Life.’

‘Then surely,’ I cried, ‘this has all been an enormous folly!’

‘An hour ago I would have agreed with you,’ said James. ‘But after looking into the face of a man dead for almost three hundred years, I am no longer sure.’