Sherlock Holmes: The American Years (19 page)

“Lordamighty,” Barnum said, clearly impressed by Holmes’s deductions.

“May we see the elephant, then?” Holmes asked.

“Very well.” He led the three of us out of his library and through the main entryway, where we dodged workmen carrying materials,
to a set of large double doors, on which he gave a coded knock and shouted, “It’s me, Davy.” Once the doors were unlocked from the other side, we were ushered in.

The drawing room of Waldemere would not have been out of place in the doge’s palace in Venice. One wall contained an enormous hearth and fireplace; the long wall perpendicular to it contained four large windows, all of which were heavily draped. An ornate crystal chandelier that hung from the center of a decorated ceiling, and the rest of the furnishings, which included a long table, at least a dozen chairs, and two large carpets that were now rolled up, had been shoved up against the far wall. All of this was to make room for a gigantic wooden crate with several round holes in its side that sat atop a large, thick canvas tarpaulin. A bale of hay rested near the crate, which, along with the noise that was emanating from inside it (not to mention the smell), clearly identified its inhabitant.

“These men would like to see her,” Barnum told the man named Davy, who was small and possessed the largest ears I have ever seen on a human, which gave him a decidedly simian appearance. He walked back to the crate with a pronounced limp and thrust a large key into the lock that secured the front. Swinging open the door, Davy disappeared inside the crate momentarily and then emerged leading the most exquisite creature I have ever seen.

As elephants go, Xanthippe was not large, but she was of a star-tlingly white hue, with pink shading around her eyes and mouth. Her tusks, which actually appeared darker and more yellow by contrast, were quite small, indicating she must be young.

“The sovereign who is to receive her shall be delighted,” Holmes said.

Barnum patted the elephant’s trunk affectionately. “No doubt, though Xanthippe is going to him for reasons far beyond delight,” he said. “All right, Davy, you can put her back in now. We are trying to get her used to staying inside the crate, which will be necessary for her long ocean voyage. Now you have seen her, gentlemen. I must take my leave.”

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Barnum,” Holmes said, “I should like to hear the details of this problem you are experiencing.”

“This is no business of yours,” Weymouth snapped.

“I don’t know, Charles,” Barnum said. “Maybe having another brain working on this will help us, and this young fellow has certainly proven he has a brain. All right, let us go back to the library and I will tell you more.”

“Phineas, I have some things to attend to,” Weymouth said.

“Be about your business,” Barnum said with a nod. On the way back to the library, Holmes asked him: “What exactly does Mr. Weymouth do for you?”

“It is Charles’s responsibility to look after all of my holdings and properties here in town.” He ushered us back into the book-filled room and closed the door. After motioning for us to sit down, he installed himself behind his massive desk. “Now then,” he began, clasping his hands together, “what do you two know of the present political situation in Burma?”

For my part, I had never stopped to consider that Burma had a political situation, though Holmes, of course, responded immediately. “The British Empire controls the lower part of the nation,” he said, “but that is not the part in question, is it?”

“No,” Barnum said. “The part I’m concerned with is the upper part, which remains independent. King Mindon Min, who has
ruled independent Burma for years, is gravely ill and there is no successor to the throne. No sooner does the king put forth a name than that man is assured of being assassinated by rivals. The situation has the potential to throw the nation into chaos.”

“That is quite illuminating,” Holmes said, “but how does it concern you directly?”

“Last year I received a letter from a representative of the Royal House of Independent Burma who was loyal to the king, virtually pleading for my help in finding a white elephant. My reputation for finding unusual animals has spread even to Asia, and they were willing to pay handsomely for my assistance.”

“Why did they require a white elephant?” I asked.

“I believe I can answer that,” Holmes said. “Burma is one of the places where creatures such as Xanthippe are genuinely considered sacred. The sudden appearance of one in the presence of a particular heir would be taken by the Burmese people as a sign that a successor had been chosen by a higher source. It would be an endorsement that even that candidate’s rivals could not dismiss. Is that it?”

“In a nutshell, yes,” Barnum confirmed. “The plan is to have the king’s designee ride through the streets on its back as a kind of coronation ceremony, one aimed at ending the bloodshed and insurgency.”

“As a plan, it is brilliant.”

“Indeed. It is also risky, since there was no guarantee that I would actually be able to find such a creature. One may debate their sacredness, but there is no denying that white elephants are rare. However, my sources did locate one in India. When I was making preparations to retrieve her I received a letter from the
French Office of Oriental Affairs signed by a Pierre Carraveaux, informing me that the government of France would take a very dim view of my providing the elephant to the representatives of King Mindon. Why the government of France even cares about any of this is beyond me.”

“I can hazard a guess,” Holmes said. “If I am not mistaken, France is in control of the neighboring nation of Laos, and likely sees itself in competition with the empire for control of the remaining independent lands of Burma. It is possible that the government has negotiated directly with a rival heir for future allegiance in return for official backing.”

For the second time today, P. T. Barnum stared at Holmes in amazement.

“You must forgive my friend, Mr. Barnum,” I said. “He knows everything. It is quite annoying.”

“Perhaps I should be exhibiting you as ‘The Human Encyclopaedia,’ ” the showman said.

“You flatter me, Mr. Barnum,” Holmes said, “but we are straying from the subject. This letter, did you reply to it?”

“Only to say that with me a business arrangement was inviolable, and I had every intention of honoring it. For a while I thought that had settled the matter, but after I had accepted delivery of Xanthippe another missive came, also from Carraveaux, and this one greatly disturbed me. He threatened to abduct the elephant and cause her great harm in order to prevent her from being transported to Burma. That was heinous enough, but the man managed to tighten the screws even further. He claimed he would publicize the torture and killing to damage my reputation.”

“But surely you could not be found at fault,” I said.

“Oh, my culpability or innocence has rarely mattered,” Barnum said. “There are animal protectionists out there who delight in hounding me over the methods in which my menagerie is kept and presented. I assure you, I do nothing to harm my animals. Why would I? They are my livelihood! But were a rare elephant to die violently while in my custody, whether it was my fault or not, these groups would have me run out of town on a rail. That, though, would be nothing compared to the outrage that would come from the Orient upon learning a white elephant had been desecrated.”

“So you believed that staging an exhibition would lure Monsieur Carraveaux all the way from France?” Holmes asked.

“That letter containing the threats was mailed from New York. Carraveaux is already here, somewhere. That is why Charles concocted this scheme to lure him out. Instead he netted you two.”

“Why not simply turn this matter over to the police?” I asked.

Barnum smiled ruefully. “I recently served as mayor of Bridgeport. One of my civic crusades was to rid the police department of the corruption that ran rampant within it. The public applauded such a move, but many on the police force did not, and they still don’t, so I cannot expect the police to help me. I am afraid I am quite alone in this matter.”

“Not quite,” Holmes said. “We shall be happy to help you.”

“We shall?” I asked skeptically.

“We are not known here,” Holmes explained. “We could watch for this man Carraveaux without being detected ourselves.”

“Your argument has merit,” Barnum said. “Very well, as of now you two are in my employ. Where are you staying?”

“Well, we have a boarding room back in New York,” I said.

P. T. Barnum waved his hand impatiently. “Not good enough.
You shall stay here at Waldemere for as long as you need. The Lord knows we have enough available rooms. If there is anything you require, see Charles about it.” The showman then bounded toward a circus poster on the wall behind him, which he swung away from the paneling to reveal a small wall safe. Deftly turning the knob, he opened the door and pulled out a thick stack of American currency. “Since you are working for me, you shall be paid,” he said, counting off several notes and handing them to Holmes. “Will that be sufficient?”

“Eminently.”

“Excellent. Now then, where will you begin?”

“First, I should like to send a telegram,” Holmes said. “Could you direct me to the telegraph office?”

That office was, not surprisingly, located in the center of the bustling town, not far from the river’s edge, which was a short cab ride away. Dashing inside, Holmes began to jot down the message he wanted sent and handed it to the telegrapher.

“London, England, huh?” the man said, appearing to have trouble reading it. “What’s that word there?”

“Diogenes,” Holmes replied. “Please make certain the recipient knows that we need a reply as soon as is possible.”

As we left, I asked: “Holmes, what was so important about that telegram?”

“I am contacting my brother, Mycroft, in London, seeking information that may be of great import in this matter,” he said. “Now then, since Mr. Barnum is generously paying for our stay here in Bridgeport, what do you say to a bite of lunch?”

That was the best idea I had heard that morning, though we passed by several suitable-looking establishments before Holmes
arrived at the one that met his approval—the same Parisian café where I had purchased the baguette only hours before! “Why here?” I asked.

“The man we are tracking is a transplanted Frenchman,” Holmes replied, as we entered. “This is precisely the sort of place that would attract such a man.”

Over slices of quite excellent Quiche Alsacienne, Holmes peppered the waiter, an elderly man who spoke with a slight Continental accent, with questions as to whether a French national had frequented the place in recent weeks.

“No, monsieur,” the man replied, “nor have many others.”

I found that surprising, since the food was quite excellent, and said so, but the waiter merely shrugged and muttered something derogatory about the American palette.

The reply to Holmes’s cable was awaiting us upon our return to the telegraph office. “I suspected as much,” he said, reading the telegram with a knowing smile. After asking the telegrapher if he had received or sent any recent messages from or to Paris, and receiving a negative reply, we left.

“Don’t leave me in suspense, Holmes,” I said. “What did the message say?”

“Mycroft confirmed that our Monsieur Carraveaux is not who he purports to be. My brother is employed by Whitehall and as such has access to diplomatic information. Not only has he never heard of a French government official named Pierre Carraveaux, but he says there is no such agency as the Office of Oriental Affairs.”

“Who is Mr. Barnum dealing with, then?”

“There is only one man who can shed light on that question. We must return to Waldemere.”

Taking a cab wherever I wished to go was a luxury I could not afford back in London, but here I was becoming quite accustomed to it. As we sped up the carriage drive toward Waldemere, we had to maneuver past a supply wagon bringing still more construction materials. Seeing its masked driver, I vowed that whatever it was I decided to do with my life, it would not involve paint fumes, plaster, or sawdust.

Mr. Barnum was still in his library—though how he managed to get any work done, or even any reading, given the din of the construction work, was a mystery.

As we entered, Barnum looked up anxiously. “Have you learned anything?”

“Only that your Monsieur Carraveaux is a humbug,” Holmes said, explaining that the French government was not involved.

“I suppose that’s a relief, since I have no desire to be the cause of an international incident,” Barnum said. “But then what is this man’s game?”

“That is what we must discover,” Holmes said. “Let us assume for the moment that the man’s nationality is not part of a ruse, but that he is indeed French. Have you come into the acquaintance of another Frenchman in recent years who might bear you ill will?”

He furrowed his brows in thought, and then said: “Well, one perhaps, but it cannot be he. His name was Étienne Artaud. A number of years ago he showed up at my American Museum in Manhattan, presenting himself as a member of the French aristocracy. In truth he was nothing more than a confidence man. He claimed to have the remains of a genuine water horse, which he wanted to sell to me for the museum.”

“A sea serpent?” I asked.

Barnum nodded. “I have issued a bounty for such a creature, but have yet to pay out, and frankly do not expect to. This one was a fake, of course, but more pertinently, it was so slipshod that the even dullest schoolboy would not have paid a penny to see it. But it turned out that Artaud cared little whether or not I bought the thing. He was only using the fabricated wonder as a means of gaining entrance to my museum to that he could burgle it, which he attempted to do, before he was caught. He was sent back to his homeland for trial and the last I heard he was in prison. Are you suggesting that he is free, and has come here to exact revenge?”

“The thought is worth considering,” Holmes said.

“Lordamighty. I will not truly feel secure until I know that Xanthippe has safely set foot in Mandalay. I am hoping that within the week the special rail car that will take her to San Francisco will be fully prepared.”