Sherlock Holmes and The Adventure of the Ruby Elephants (14 page)

‘Yes?' he drawled.

‘We are from the Zoological Gardens,' explained Holmes. ‘A Ruby-Throated Hummingbird has escaped from the aviary and has been spotted on the roof on the Lodge. I appreciate it's an awful imposition, but would you mind if we go up and retrieve it?'

‘A ruby...what?' the butler began.

‘A Ruby-Throated Hummingbird,' my friend repeated taking a step forward into the hall.

A more magnificent porch could not be imagined outside royal circles. Large oil paintings adorned the walls; magnificent tiles were laid underfoot and gold dripped from every fitting.

‘Is it this way?' Holmes asked, taking the first of the wide luxuriantly carpeted stairs without waiting for an answer. ‘My name is Mr Stanley. I don't think we'll be more than ten minutes. Once these things come down to roost, they don't fly off again for hours. We're not expecting any fun and games are we Livingstone?'

‘None at all,' I confirmed and followed Holmes up to the first floor.

‘Do mind the vase at the top of the stairs!' the butler called, his mind, slowly engaging.

‘We shall!' my friend yelled back.

We climbed flight after flight. It seemed impossible that we had not yet reached the roof. As we passed a miniature version of Michelangelo's David, however, Holmes pointed out a small door which we found unlocked. It led outside to a narrow set of winding iron steps.

‘This way, Watson!' he called.

We clambered out onto the roof.

‘Have you fathomed,' I panted as I followed him up the staircase, ‘how the Maharajah managed to plant the item on the roof in the first place?'

‘Of course, Watson. He is a man who moves in the most fashionable circles. It would be easy enough for him to slip away during a little soiree for a little night air.'

‘Holmes,' I said, catching his arm. ‘Wait.' My friend paused mid step. ‘Is it not possible that this is a trap?' There was a moment's hesitation.

‘Anything is possible until it is proved otherwise, Watson. But I have taken what precautions I can.' This failed to reassure me.

The roof was divided into a number of rectangular spaces, each with raised ironwork at the centre and handsome white balustrades at the front and sides. A small ornamental tower rose from the rear of the lodge.

‘What are we looking for, exactly?' I asked, scanning the rooftop.

‘For anything and everything,' said Holmes.

We split up and methodically searched the roof for anything out of the ordinary. I found a pair of empty wine glasses left behind after some midnight tryst and a gentleman's comb. Neither of these things struck me as items of any importance. Holmes himself came back empty handed.

‘Think Watson,' urged Holmes. ‘What are we really looking for?'

‘Over here,' I cried. Tucked inside a small alcove was a small, black tin box.

‘Bravo, Watson!' cried Holmes.

Holmes knelt down and examined the tin, which I identified immediately as an ammunition case, routinely used by the British in Afghanistan.

‘Well, well,' my friend began, ‘what will we find inside Pandora's Box?' A pair of gulls swooped over our head in the direction of the Zoological Gardens.

‘You may never find out, Mr Stanley. Get to your feet.'

We rose slowly to find the butler standing at the top of the stairs, holding a pistol.

‘No luck!' called Holmes. ‘It must have flown off before we got here. There'll be hell to pay when we report this.'

‘Do you take me for an imbecile?'

‘Certainly not, sir,' said Holmes. ‘You are the Marquis of Bute.'

‘I have long since been in the habit of opening my own front door,' he said. ‘Too many fraudsters have slipped past my dim-witted butler and made off with the family silver. I wanted to catch you red handed. But what the devil do you hope to find on the roof?'

‘A magnificent, exotic bird, of course,' replied Holmes. ‘You can vouch for our credentials with Mr Kibble, the head keeper himself.'

‘A likely story. What have you got there?'

‘Nothing but an empty tin. A cigar box perhaps?'

‘It seems half of London has been up on this roof in the last week. Only yesterday a government inspector came around to check the leading. His paperwork appeared to be in order but I followed him up all the same. I frisked him as he left to check he wasn't hiding my heirlooms down a trouser leg.'

‘A sensible precaution,' said Holmes.

‘I'm afraid I'm going to take the same precaution with you and your colleague.'

‘Please go ahead,' my friend said cheerfully.

‘But first, the box,' said the marquis. ‘Hand it over.'

Holmes passed it to the man, keeping his eyes on the pistol. The hirsute aristocrat flipped open the lid.

‘Empty,' sighed the Marquis, failing to disguise his disappointed. ‘Now Mr Livingstone, if you wouldn't mind standing still'. He checked us in a fair and respectable manner then sighed.

‘It appears,' he said at length, ‘that I owe you gentlemen an apology.'

‘Not at all,' said Holmes. ‘But if you would excuse us, we have a bird to catch.' We left the Marquis alone in his mansion once more, yet another unwitting player in our drama.

‘A close call,' I muttered as we walked back into the park, ‘but still nothing to show for our efforts.' Holmes looked at me bemused.

‘Nothing to show?' he repeated, ‘don't talk nonsense, Watson.' He reached into his pocket and produced a small, gleaming artefact. I stopped dead in my tracks.

‘A ruby elephant!' I shouted. ‘How is this possible?'

‘A little diversion and the simplest sleight of hand,' Holmes explained. ‘You remember I gestured towards the birds? We all raised our eyes, including the Marquis. This provided ample opportunity to extract the treasure.'

‘But what about the search?'

‘The easiest switch,' laughed Holmes. ‘A child could have done it given five minutes' practice.'

He tossed the elephant into the air in triumph and caught it in the same hand. His eyes gleamed.

‘We have another bargaining chip, Watson.' The day was balmy and the sunlight flooded the grass except where large cumulous clouds drifted drowsily over, casting their wide shadows over the strolling couples and solitary gentlemen lost in their private thoughts.

‘Now what say you to that long glass of lemonade?' suggested Holmes. ‘Surely a little celebration is in order?'

All at once I heard a shriek coming from across the park.

‘A leopard!' shouted one gentlemen, dragging his wife after him towards the Hanover Gate.

‘Impossible,' I spluttered, staring in disbelief. ‘Is there not a moment's peace, Holmes?' Holmes and I peered into the middle distance and it was not difficult to identify the escaped animal. The crowds fled like wildebeest, leaving a trail of parasols, top hats and walking canes in their wake. A couple of policemen made a stand for a few moments in a perfunctory display of bravery before joining the fleeing masses.

‘Snitterton's behind this,' warned Holmes, ‘you mark my words, Watson.' He turned towards the drinks seller.

‘A pair of lemonades if you don't mind,' he said calmly.

The vendor was a thin, nervous character whose eyes were fixed on the hysterical crowd.

‘We've just closed,' he mumbled, dropping the wooden lids on his cart, the blood draining from his cheeks. He untied his apron, flung it to the ground then sprinted for the exit. I cleared my throat.

‘Do you think perhaps we should make our own excuses?' I ventured.

‘For a leopard?' asked Holmes incredulously. ‘It's hardly a lion or a tiger. Surely there are enough mongrels in London to satisfy it before it turns on the likes of doctors and detectives. My view is this: that we walk very calmly towards the Zoological Gardens. After all, what fugitive runs towards the prison after a gaol break? If it follows us, then we will be the heroes who returned it to captivity. If it doesn't, then we are perfectly safe.' I nodded, submitting to Holmes' absurd logic.

Against my better judgement, we started in the direction of the Zoological Gardens.

‘No need to hurry,' said Holmes, stopping to sniff a flower.

‘No hurry?' I spluttered, watching the masses sprinting in the opposite direction. ‘I have no intention of ending up as something's lunch.'

‘The faster you run, the more of a target you will present,' he explained.

‘I'm not sure I agree with that,' I said.

‘Well put it like this,' my friend reasoned. ‘Your top speed is something like twenty miles per hour. A leopard's is closer to forty. Running, or even hurrying would be an act of sheer futility.'

‘It would make me feel better!' I reasoned.

Within five minutes, the park had almost cleared. We heard the clank of chains securing the gates and we were left exposed in an unnervingly large and empty space. I could see the leopard prowling, apparently unable to make up its own mind where to go next.

‘Keep your eyes on the gates,' said Holmes peering ahead to the walled gardens, ‘and walk without fear.' Despite the advice, I continued to glance back every ten paces or so.

‘I hate to tell you, Holmes, but he's now following us.'

‘Excellent,' said Holmes. ‘We will be the toast of London when we bring it home.'

‘What happens if we arrive on the inside of the leopard rather than outside?'

Twenty yards further and the leopard had broken into a canter. Gradually, he appeared to be picking up speed and I could see its muscular frame rippling beneath its fur. He wore the deadly, impassive face of the hunter.

‘I'm awfully sorry about this, Holmes,' I said. ‘But I think I'm going to run for my life!'

‘Only another 200 yards, Watson, hold your nerve.'

Suddenly, from the branches of a tree four black shapes dropped to the ground.

‘The Archangels!' I shouted. Each was armed with a sharpened cane. The man I recognised as Raphael also wielded a long pistol, which he aimed in our direction.

‘Right,' said Holmes. ‘Now is the time to run!' We tore off towards the cricket pitch. A shot rang out and Holmes and I tumbled to the ground, picking ourselves up as they gave chase.

‘The leopard is still with us too!' I shouted. ‘How grossly unfair.' I thumbed in the direction of the Archangels. ‘What's wrong with them?'

‘Once a wild animal is set on a course, it is liable to be rather single minded,' Holmes admitted.

‘So I see!'

A small pavilion gave us a little temporary shelter. I produced my service revolver and crouched low.

‘We are in something of a jam,' I muttered. On one side, the Archangels advanced by degrees in a horrible, stealthy way, seeming to appear and disappear like vampires. The leopard meanwhile stalked us from the other side.

‘Stay exactly where you are Watson,' Holmes whispered. ‘No matter what happens, don't move so much as an inch.'

I heard two gunshots from another direction entirely. Raphael dropped to the ground, his pistol flying out of his hand. In what seemed like the same moment the leopard buckled, rolled, then lay still on the grass, his tongue lying limp across his fangs. Suddenly the odds on our survival seemed greatly enhanced. I levelled my pistol at the remaining Archangels, but found myself reluctant to shoot. One of them had slung the injured man on his back and the group was retreating into the trees.

‘It appears,' remarked Holmes, ‘that we have our own guardian angel.'

‘My stars, Holmes!' I shouted.

In the far distance, we saw the figure of a man, dark skinned, with a shot gun resting on his shoulder. He hailed us with his other hand. I blinked and then he was gone.

TWELVE - The Roofers

I was dreaming again. This time I was being pursued by a herd of red elephants across Green Park. On the back of each one was a member of the strange order we had infiltrated all those nights ago. I ran to a tree and started to climb until I was level with the riders. They came closer until I realised each man had the same face - Snitterton's. I climbed higher until I was far above the park. The elephants were like pebbles below me. Then I fell. I dropped down from the tree, rushing through the branches but instead of hitting the ground I kept falling and falling.

‘Doctor!' I recognised the voice. Mrs Hudson was on the other side of the door.

‘What is it?' I shouted sitting bolt upright. I pulled on my dressing gown. ‘What time is it?' I asked.

‘Past nine,' she said. ‘You have a visitor.'

‘Two minutes,' I called, mopping my brow. Is Holmes awake?'

‘You know better than that, doctor, it's far too early!'

I peered at myself in the looking glass and saw a pale, aging face staring back. Flecks of grey had begun to break through my moustache.

I dressed and walked through. A wily looking character was lounging in the sitting room.

‘Well, well,' he said, rising slowly to his feet, ‘You must be Dr Watson.'

‘And you are?'

‘Jeremiah Stubb,' he said, extending a greasy hand. He was tall man with shock of black hair, a door knocker beard, dark shadows around the eyes and a worn suit. On his feet were heavy hobnail boots.

‘You are a roofer,' I ventured.

‘Why do you say that,' he asked suspiciously.

‘There is a deep horizontal groove at the end of each of your boots, as if they have repeatedly knocked against slate. The knees in your trousers are more worn than the rest of your suit, and the gauge sticking out of your pocket, I believe, is used almost exclusively by tradesmen in your line of work.'

‘'Pon my word,' he said admiringly. ‘By the sounds of it you're the brains of the outfit, not Sherlock Holmes.'

‘I would not go that far,' I said, a little flattered. ‘I have merely observed his methods and occasionally like to try my hand at applying them.'

‘Where is he, anyways?'

‘You must forgive my friend, Mr Holmes. He is a late riser but I'm sure will be with us presently. In the meantime, perhaps I could take the particulars of your case?'

‘Is that normal practice,' he asked, somewhat defensively. ‘I had hoped to speak with Holmes himself.'

‘He won't mind if we make a start,' I said.

‘Well you know him, not me, and I don't want to start no collie-shangles between you.'

‘Not at all. Please proceed.'

‘Well it's like this,' he began, fishing out his tobacco pouch and rolling papers. ‘Work has been in short supply of late and what with my fall last year, I'm not at the top of the list when labour is called for. So what do I do for tin? I started fishing about the house for trinkets and what-have-you, that might fetch a price, when I found these.'

He reached into his pocket and produced a pair of small ruby elephants. I stared at them in disbelief.

‘You look like you've seen your grandfather's ghost, doctor. What's the matter?'

‘Nothing,' I said. ‘Nothing at all.'

‘So I'm thinking I've finally found something I can flog that will mean I can carry on feeding my sauce box.'

‘Quite possibly,' I said. ‘Have you had it valued?'

‘Well that's the funny thing,' he said. ‘I was about to do just that when I sees this ad in the paper. He produced a rolled up copy of yesterday's Times from his pocket. He carefully unravelled it to show the advertisement in question.'

‘Now, tell me that isn't a coincidence?' he said.

‘An astonishing coincidence,' I agreed.

‘It was too strange for me. It was like someone knew I had it. So I came straight here. There's no one in this city who deals with stranger cases than Sherlock Holmes.'

‘You're not wrong!' I said, rising to my feet. ‘Now let me see if I can rouse him. I have a feeling this will be of immense interest to him.'

‘It most certainly is!' I turned and stared at the man. He held a wig in one hand, a beard in the other and an enormous grin across his face.

‘Bravo, Watson,' congratulated Sherlock Holmes. ‘A bravado performance! Your observation about the boots was first class.'

‘Holmes,' I growled. ‘You are insufferable!'

‘It seemed a sensible idea to test the disguise before putting it to use,' reasoned Holmes, ‘particularly when the stakes are so high.'

‘But the second ruby elephant!' I cried. ‘Where did you get it?'

‘From Wimpole of course,' he said. ‘I found what the police and Peaceheart failed to when they scoured the teacher's rooms.'

‘But where?'

‘The janitor,' said Holmes. ‘It was perfectly obvious that the janitor would take the only thing of value. He must have known exactly where to find it. I accused him straight out and he handed it over in exchange for my silence.'

‘But why Wimpole?'

‘Another member of The House of the Ruby Elephant, Watson. Remember I could see more from my closet that you could from the inside of your wooden chest.' Holmes handed over the elephant and I stared at it. It was perfect in every respect.

‘This little fellow and his friends have a lot to answer for,' I mused.

‘Now Watson, the bad news for you is that today, you will playing the role of roofer's mate.'

‘What?'

Holmes returned to his chair and continued to roll his cigarette.

‘You remember the advertisement? Today we will pay a visit to 14 Caledonian Road and discover what fate awaits us. But we will take precautions. I have looked up the property and discovered that it is rented accommodation. What's more, the new tenant only arrived a week ago. We will turn up posing as building contractors, which will be entirely plausible. While there we will attempt to gather as much intelligence as we can. If we do not encounter Snitterton in person, then we will at least be able to interview his agent.'

An hour later I did not recognise myself in the mirror. At half past ten, I walked out of Baker Street with a new name and occupation.

‘Mr Huffam,' Holmes said. ‘Would you be so good as to summon a growler and instruct the driver to take us to Islington?'

‘Delighted,' I replied.

We pulled up some distance from the address. Holmes and I then tramped up to the front door of a respectable looking terrace lugging a bag of tools between us. As was usual when Holmes was incognito he stayed entirely in character throughout the expedition, speaking in a sing-song cockney voice and throwing in snatches of drinking songs. He climbed the stone steps, cleared his throat and rapped twice on the door.

‘Readiness is all, Watson,' whispered Holmes.

The door opened an inch.

‘Don't you worry,' began Holmes in his broadest Cockney accent. ‘We're not on the knock. We're not sellin' nuffin!' It opened a little wider to reveal a respective looking woman with a white apron and a close resemblance to our own Mrs Hudson.

‘I should hope not,' she said. ‘Please state your business.'

Holmes threw his eyes to heaven. ‘Me and my chuckaboo 'ere, are 'ere to see to your roof. Landlord's orders. You've got loose tiles. You're risking life and limb every time you step out the front door. Myself and my associate Mr Huffam are in ‘arm's way as we speak.'

He produced a scribbled note from his pocket. ‘There's the instruction from the landlord, Mr Sackville, right there.' He allowed the lady to glance at it for a moment before returning it to his pocket.

‘Would you mind waiting a moment?' she asked politely then closed the door.

‘No good,' I whispered. Holmes remained impassive. Then came something that astonished us like nothing else that day. ‘Mr Holmes!' we heard her holler, on the other side of the door. ‘Dr Watson! Visitors.'

I stared at Holmes in confusion. He raised a hand. ‘Hold your nerve,' he hissed.

Once again the door crept open.

‘You may come in,' she smiled.

‘Very much obliged,' said Holmes, doffing his hat. ‘Come along John, shake a leg.' I lugged the bag of tools inside and we were shown up a staircase of seventeen steps. At the top was a broad sitting room that resembled our own in every respect from the two chairs by the fire, the bear's skin rug on the floor, the ceremonial swords to the violin leaning against the wall. I felt faint. Two gentlemen turned to greet us. One was my friend Sherlock Holmes. The other was Dr John Watson. He fixed me with a curious look then turned back to his newspaper.

I have heard it said that it is fatal to meet your doppelganger. It was this thought and this alone that consumed me as we stared at ourselves reclining in our easy chairs.

‘What have we here?' asked the other Holmes, rising. He was a tall, gaunt man with dark, receding hair and a superior manner.

My friend appeared entirely unfazed.

‘It's your roof,' he said. ‘It's in a terrible old state. An hour or two is all we need. I've explained everything to the good lady. Sorry to tramp in the dirt, but are you alright if we ‘back slang it'? The only way to get the job done is round the back.'

‘And how do we know,' questioned the other Holmes, ‘that you aren't a pair of old lurkers planning to rob us at knife point? Those tools look authentic but what if this is an elaborate ruse?'

‘Ask me a question about my trade,' my friend challenged him. ‘Anything you like.'

‘Very well,' he said, selecting a claw hammer from my bag. ‘What would you call this?'

‘That's a slater's pick, that is,' said Holmes.

‘And this?' he asked, picking up some cutters.

‘Come along,' taunted Holmes, ‘that's hardly going to stretch me, is it? That's a simple old pair of tin snips.'

‘It appears,' laughed the other Holmes, ‘that we have been far too suspicious. Gentlemen, perhaps we can provide you with some sustenance before you begin your travails?'

‘As it happens,' said Holmes, patting his stomach contentedly. ‘My friend and I dined like kings not an hour ago. For lunch we had a couple of those bags ‘o mystery they sell for tuppence down at Smithfields.'

‘Very well,' continued the other Holmes. ‘Mrs Hudson will show you to the back garden, where you will find a ladder and good access to the roof. Now if you will excuse us, my friend Watson and I were about to indulge in a hand of Sixty Six. Would you pass me the cards, Watson?'

I was shaking as we passed through the kitchen and into the back yard. Once alone I turned to Holmes who was still entirely unruffled.

‘That's higher than I thought,' he said, still in character, rubbing his chin and peering up at the roof. ‘We're going to have to watch our step, my friend.' I stared at him.

‘Have you lost your mind?' I demanded.

‘Stop your carping, Huffam,' he snapped, ‘or you won't see no tin from this job. Not a farthing.'

The yard was enclosed on all sides with grimy stone walls, each fifteen feet tall. Moss and lichen cluing to the damp brickwork and at far end was a pile of old chairs, broken tables and assorted cast offs. The only exit was a single padlocked gate.

‘I don't like this,' I said to Holmes. ‘There's something amiss.'

‘Courage Watson,' said Holmes. ‘We will footle about here for an hour or so then make our excuses and leave.'

Together we raised an ancient looking ladder up against the wall of the house and made half hearted efforts to get our tools in order.

‘Personally,' I said, inspecting the rotting wood, ‘I'm not keen to test the soundness of this ladder.'

‘Watson,' said Holmes at length. ‘I am minded to admit that I may have made a mistake. In the future, whenever my plans grow too outlandish, you may remind me of this. Now what do you say to turning the ladder around, leaning it against the back wall and making our escape?'

‘A much better plan,' I agreed.

‘And the soundness of the ladder?'

‘I am prepared to risk it!'

‘Excellent.'

We lifted the ladder from the house and carried it over to the far end of the yard. I agreed to go first.

‘Quickly,' urged Holmes. ‘I believe we have aroused some suspicion.' I stood on the highest rung and saw that there was an identical yard and house on the other side of the wall. I glanced back at Holmes then shouted in alarm.

‘My dear Holmes! Behind you!'

In the far corner, from behind a lean-to shed attached to the house I was aware of something in the shadows. It was a dark, slow moving object that emerged from the darkness.

‘Dear God,' I shouted. ‘It's a bear!'

Holmes seized a heavy iron from the tool bag and set himself in a defensive position. Sure enough the animal lumbered forward, its head down, advancing on all fours. I could see its enormous head and loathsome claws.

‘Up the ladder, Holmes,' I shouted. ‘There's no time to be lost.'

My friend made a leap for the ladder and staggered up a rung or two. However the shock was too great for the antique; there was a crack and I lurched to one side clawing at the top of the wall. The ladder gave way beneath me, despatching Holmes into the yard. I was left hanging from the wall. The bear continued its slow advance; Holmes ran to the gate and shook the lock, hammering it with his iron.

‘I can't hang on!' I shouted then dropped, landing heavily next to my friend. We stared in horror as the beast rose up on its hind legs.

‘Well, Watson,' said Holmes gravely. ‘This may very well be goodbye.'

Holmes seized a broken chair and held it, legs outwards as our last defence against the great beast.

‘Not a pistol between us,' I sighed.