The Confidential Casebook of Sherlock Holmes (22 page)

I looked up from my perusal of that day's
Times
, a bit startled by this intrusion. Before me stood a tall woman of mature years, dressed in the current layered style so favoured by women of breeding. She was a striking woman in more ways than one, her face arrestingly angular. The bits of colour she had applied to her cheeks and lips accented the paleness of her complexion and made her seem a bit severe. She was still a handsome woman in her way. But what was she doing in our drawing room in Baker Street? Why hadn't Mrs. Hudson announced her?

“I am the Baroness Von Stuppell,” she ventured when I did not reply. From the directness of her gaze and the strictness of her bearing, she was a woman used to getting her way.

“Pardon me for my rudeness,” I said, quickly rising from my chair. “Does Mr. Holmes know of this appointment?”

She nodded curtly. “Oh, I am quite sure Mr. Holmes is currently aware of my every move.”

So the baroness and the detective were previously acquainted. Still, I wondered why Holmes had not apprised me of this appointment. I felt the slightest concern; what if something had happened to my friend?

“Well, perhaps there is something I can do for you until Mr. Holmes returns.” I waved at a chair placed across from mine. “If you would care to take a seat?”

She sat with the practiced grace of a gentlewoman, and pulled a fan designed in the Oriental style from the large and ornately appliqued bag she had brought with her. She took a moment to fan herself, no doubt fatigued by the lingering summer heat. She paused and observed me from behind her fan. “Doctor, I trust that I might confide in you, for you are certainly a man of the world.” She turned her eyes down to the floor. “That is, if I do not presume too much.”

“Forgive me, Baroness,” I sputtered. There was something about her total propriety that took me aback. I wished for an instant that Holmes were here. Still, my powers of observation would have to serve. I struggled to find the proper words. “Baroness, there seems something about your manner. You seem to wish to keep a distance, as if you might have something to hide.”

“Something to hide? Why, Doctor, whatever could you mean by that?” Despite the surprised tone of her voice, she did not remove her fan from before her face.

“Perhaps it is your nerves,” I added quickly, “or perhaps—” I realized then that there was something else that I recognized about my visitor, something I had yet to put my finger upon. “—something we might yet determine. If we are to help you, you must confide in us completely. If you indeed know Mr. Holmes, you know there is no other way.”

The baroness's laugh was most unladylike. “Watson, you are wise to my game!”

Holmes's voice shifted to his regular register. I should not have been surprised by the detective's deception. After all, he had played
these tricks before. Still, I had to admit to a certain annoyance. “Holmes,” I began. “Why must you always—”

The detective answered before I could even complete my thought. “As a doctor, you are trained to be observant. If my disguise might fool you, even for these few brief moments, I might then be able to pass out into the world.”

“Pass out into the world? Then you mean—”

Holmes pulled off the bonnet and the wig beneath. “Yes, we must once again visit a certain embassy.”

“Wearing a disguise?” I shot back, my annoyance still all too plain. “Pardon me, Holmes, but do you believe this is the best—”

“After what occurred yesterday morning?” He cut me off with a single motion of his lace-covered hand. “Watson, it is the only way.”

At that, I thought back on recent incidents. My annoyance evaporated at once, for I had to agree.

I
t was only the day before that we were introduced to the troubles of a small Balkan country. Holmes asked me to accompany him to an appointment involving a case “of some interest,” as he phrased it. Though I pressed him on the topic, he would say no more.

Holmes and I were less than a block away from the tiny foreign embassy in a very fashionable section of London when we heard the explosion.

“A bomb, no doubt,” my friend remarked to me, not even breaking his stride. “In a carriage in front of the embassy. I had been expecting as much.”

It was all very well for Sherlock Holmes to expound upon his theories, but I was a doctor and felt it was my duty to rush ahead to aid the wounded. I ran about the corner to see a great blackened spot before the iron gate that guarded the embassy. I called out my profession, in case there were any in need of me.

A tall, well-appointed man in a well-pressed uniform stepped
from the middle of the devastation. A large hole stood in a brick wall by his side, the iron-work to either side twisted hideously by the force of the explosion.

The man smiled pleasantly at my approach despite the fact that he obviously had been shaken by the explosion.

“Most generous of you, Doctor. However—” He paused, and bowed to another who came up by my side. I glanced that way and discovered that Holmes had only been seconds behind me. The fellow in the uniform was a gentleman of such breeding that he immediately put us both at our ease. He nodded to me, to acknowledge that his answer now included both Holmes and myself. “The damage has been done to property, rather than to people, in large part due to your letter.”

“You are Colonel Gelthelm?” Holmes enquired.

“The same,” the colonel agreed. He smiled at the detective. “Most fortunately, no one was hurt. We are most grateful for your warning.”

So Holmes had already alerted the embassy. Apparently the explosion had only been a surprise to me. I looked at my old friend. He spoke before I could even frame a rebuke.

“Watson, the evidence was everywhere. Most obvious, of course, were certain developments in the foreign columns in the news.”

I nodded. Even I knew of the great upheavals all these small Balkan republics had been experiencing of late.

“And of course,” Holmes continued, “a quick glance at the shipping news told me of the arrival of a boat from this embassy's home country. And it would be remiss of me not to have noticed that announced lecture series to be delivered by Professor Van Zummann.”

“Van Zummann?” Here was a name that even I was familiar with. “You mean the anarchist?”

That he was lecturing should have come as no surprise. Living in such a metropolitan district as London, one might be exposed
to every view imaginable. All very well when people were willing to conduct themselves in a civilized fashion. However, things seemed to happen about Van Zummann that were anything but civilized.

Holmes nodded. “Despite his radical views, Van Zummann has committed no crime.”

I could not believe that Holmes was discussing this fellow so calmly. “No crime for which he has been convicted!”

Holmes nodded. “Most astute, Watson, for I know from my dealings with Scotland Yard that Van Zummann's name has arisen on more than one occasion concerning unsolved crimes—and murders.” He nodded to the blackened gate before us. “There is an assassin at large, Watson—a man, I believe, who considers himself a master of disguise, for the description of the guilty party varies slightly in every case, even though there are certain common qualities of stature and bearing.” The detective's tone was dismissive, for both he and I knew the true master of disguise here. “And Van Zummann has often been found, a day or two before the event, in the vicinity of these heinous crimes.”

“Pardon,” Colonel Gelthelm interrupted. “But a gentleman of your acquaintance has been here before you, and might hold something useful.” He pointed to the embassy steps, still unharmed beyond the blasted gate. “I took the liberty of calling the police.”

“A wise precaution,” Holmes agreed. Both he and I turned towards the steps to see a familiar figure scowling in our direction as he approached.

“Inspector Lestrade!” I called. He winced at the mention of his name, as though, at the moment, he found no joy in being a policeman. Still, he nodded at both of us in turn.

“Mr. Holmes. Dr. Watson. I have passed a most unrewarding few moments within these walls.”

“Then you were here before the explosion, Lestrade?” I asked.

My question only caused his grimace to deepen. “A lot of good it did.” I had rarely seen the inspector so out of sorts.

“There was little you could do,” Holmes replied. “The carriage would have appeared quite suddenly.”

“It was an apple cart, actually, with no horses attached,” the uniformed gentleman amended most politely. “One moment, there appeared to be a great crowd about the thing, half a dozen people or more. The next, the crowd was gone, and the cart was pushed against the gate.”

Holmes nodded as if this was precisely what he had expected to hear. “It is the manner of such things. If I recall, there was a similar occurrence in Belgrade only three months ago.”

“So you know of Belgrade?” the colonel asked with obvious admiration. “Because they were unprepared, the devastation to that embassy was far worse.”

Holmes glanced back at the street, his face disturbed by the slightest of frowns. “I do not expect this to be their only attempt. And the next will be far more subtle.” He turned back to the uniformed man. “I will need to speak with everyone within the embassy.”

For once, the other lost his smile. “I am afraid that is quite impossible.”

“I assure you,” Holmes replied calmly, “I am the soul of discretion.”

“Your reputation precedes you in this matter,” the other agreed. “Unfortunately, even that will mean nothing to the Grand Duke.”

“I can certainly vouch for that,” Lestrade interrupted. “The difficulty, that is. He simply refused to see me!”

Colonel Gelthelm nodded his head brusquely at Lestrade's statement. “The duke has taken over our little embassy in order to put some distance between himself and the troubles we are having at home. Perhaps in reaction to that, he guards his time jealously.”

“Even if the Duke's life is in danger?” I asked incredulously.

“Alas, the duke is a difficult man. He deals very brusquely with affairs of state. Nothing is allowed to interfere with his social calendar.”

“Perhaps,” my friend replied, “we might find a way around that difficulty.”

H
olmes's voice pulled me from my reverie. “You recall how we left the embassy, Watson. I have been in touch with the uniformed man with whom we spoke, Colonel Gelthelm. He will provide us certain assistance.”

Once again, Holmes's plans were far beyond me. “Assistance? Assistance with what?”

“The embassy is hosting a tea this very afternoon, and the baroness will put in an appearance.”

“You mean you intend to go into this strange place, alone and in disguise?” Even though I knew Holmes made a habit of this sort of thing, I thought it particularly unwise in this instance, for more than one reason. “There is no telling where Von Zummann may strike!”

“Exactly, Watson. I will not make a move without you.”

“You wish
me
to come along?” Apparently, I was to be continually astonished.

Holmes rose then, smiling as he straightened his skirt. “It is not at all out of the question for the baroness to bring her personal physician!”

So it was that, later that afternoon, I found myself once again at the embassy gate, this time in the company of the Baroness Von Stuppell.

I had decided, for the ruse to succeed, I would indeed have to think of Holmes as the baroness. As Holmes reminded me, our primary purpose was to prevent Von Zummann from causing any more mischief. Anything else would be unthinkable.

The baroness stumbled a bit as she descended from the carriage. She gave me the slightest of coquettish smiles. “I could have had a bit more practice with the shoes.” I felt my cheeks redden slightly at Holmes's—rather, the Baroness's—difficulty. Perhaps it would be better if I looked straight ahead.

Colonel Gelthelm was waiting for us at the gate. “Ah. The tea has just begun. Punctuality is much prized in my country.” The colonel, ever the gentleman, did not comment on Holmes's appearance.

He waved us forward with a white-gloved hand. “Come. There is a side entrance reserved for special guests.”

The baroness curtsied ever-so-slightly and followed the colonel along the walk to a second iron gate. I took up the rear, following her small, quick, yet measured steps, her bustle swaying ever-so-slightly before me. Even I, who knew him so well, found all traces of Holmes absent from the actions of this noblewoman.

Taking a ring of keys from his belt, the colonel unlocked the second gate. He led us through a doorway beyond, into the interior of the embassy, filled with rich drapes and even finer carpets. From the quiet opulence of the halls, there was certainly no hint of the unrest in their home country.

But even the rich carpets could not hush the commotion rapidly approaching behind us.

“Out of my way!” a voice shouted hoarsely. “State business!”

The colonel turned to look at the disturbance. “Please, Count Orlock. These are our guests.”

“Guests?” the voice called back derisively. “All step aside for the decision makers of the realm!”

At that, the baroness and I turned about as well. We were being approached by three men in dark suits, two of whom were quite tall and muscular. The third individual was much shorter and smaller boned than the others. He was also the one doing the shouting.

“I warn you! Out of the way or heads will roll!” With that, the diminutive count walked straight into the baroness, no doubt proposing to brush the intruder aside. The count bounced off the baroness's ample chest. The baroness did not move. Count Orlock picked himself off the floor as if he had meant to fall there all along. He quickly walked around the lady, shouting for the others to follow.
The two larger men glared at the baroness as they passed as well.