The Secret Files of Sherlock Holmes (23 page)

We were both silent for a few moments while we contemplated this image before Holmes continued more briskly, ‘But let us return to the present reality and the facts of the case under investigation. What else do we know about Vanderbilt which we can add to our knowledge of him?’

‘Well, he must be widely travelled,’ I ventured, ‘if he has sent letters from places as far apart as Los Angeles and Dresden requesting permission to look over the houses.’

I was pleased with this piece of deduction, only to be dashed when Holmes replied, ‘Not necessarily. He could have acquaintances in all these different cities. Vanderbilt merely wrote to them, enclosing the letters, which were already addressed, and asked his colleagues to post them on his behalf. His associates may not even be aware that there was any criminal intention behind the request.’

‘You did ask, Holmes,’ I pointed out, a little piqued at his reply.

‘The question was merely rhetorical, my dear fellow, and did not require an answer. Pray allow me to continue with my main theme. I have marked the dates of each burglary on an almanac and another interesting fact has come to light. All of them took place on a night when there was no moon. Bear that in mind, Watson, when we turn to the answers that I received from those owners of country houses which seemed likely targets for Vanderbilt’s next foray.

‘Not all replied but among those who took the trouble to write was Colonel Heath-Bennington of Huntswood Hall, Upper Tilney, in the county of Kent. If you would pass me once again my volume on country houses, I shall read out to you the relevant parts of the entry. Thank you. “Huntswood Hall, a Georgian mansion, possessing very fine eighteenth-century panelling in the main rooms. Among its superb collection of antiques and heirlooms” – and mark this, Watson! – “are the family christening basin, a rare example of the seventeenth-century silversmith’s art, an exquisitely illuminated Book of Hours which belonged to one of the Heath-Benningtons’ remoter ancestors, and a gold and emerald locket containing a piece of the Duke of Wellington’s hair, the present head of the family having descended from the Duke on the maternal side.”’

Putting down the book, Holmes picked up a letter.

‘Colonel Heath-Bennington writes that last October he received a letter from a certain Professor Angelo Galiano of Turin University requesting permission to examine the panelling in the house. Professor Galiano was, it seems, an expert on the use of carved wood in eighteenth-century domestic interiors and was planning a series of lectures on the subject. Like Professor Vanderbilt, Professor Galiano had arranged to stay at a London hotel to which Colonel Heath-Bennington wrote granting permission, and the Professor duly arrived at Huntswood Hall in November of last year. He was, Colonel Heath-Bennington writes, a most charming and knowledgeable man; in his fifties, with a full brown beard and spectacles.’

‘Good Lord, Holmes! That surely means –?’

‘Indeed it does, Watson. The question is, exactly when will Vanderbilt and his attendant yeggman return to Huntswood Hall?’

‘Next month when there is no moon?’ I suggested.

‘That is precisely my opinion, my old friend. If we consult the almanac, a most useful volume of reference and indispensable on this occasion, we find that the likely date is July 14th.’

There was a ring at the front door at this point and Holmes broke off to announce, ‘Ah, the telegraph boy has arrived!’

‘How do you know that?’ I inquired.

‘Two reasons, Watson. Firstly, the peremptory nature of the summons. Only telegraph boys and bailiffs press a doorbell quite so imperiously. Secondly, I am expecting a reply to the telegram I sent off yesterday afternoon to Colonel Heath-Bennington after receiving his letter by the midday post.’

A few moments later, Mrs Hudson brought in the message and, having cast a reproachful glance at the row of saucers on the scientific bench, left the room.

Holmes eagerly tore open the envelope and, scanning its contents, exclaimed with evident pleasure, ‘Excellent! The Colonel has agreed to my suggestions. He will send his carriage to meet the 11.25 at Chatham station. He also adds, “As CC no problem with local inspector. Gow good man.”’

‘What on earth does he mean by that, Holmes?’ I asked, puzzled by the cryptic nature of the last part of the message.

‘It means, Watson, that at the meeting tomorrow with Colonel Heath-Bennington there will also be present, as I requested, an Inspector from the local constabulary – which, in his capacity as Chief Constable, the Colonel has been able to arrange with no difficulty. I take it that this Inspector, Gow by name, is in the Colonel’s estimation a competent police officer. But we shall judge that for ourselves when we meet him tomorrow.’

‘“We”, Holmes? You intend that I shall accompany you?’

‘Of course, my dear fellow. I assumed you would wish to be included in the invitation. Surely you can arrange for a colleague to take over your practice for the day?’

‘Unfortunately not, Holmes. I have a most important appointment which I cannot possibly postpone and which I myself must attend.’

‘That is a great pity. I was looking forward to having your company. But no matter. I shall attend the meeting alone and report back to you tomorrow evening if you care to call round at eight o’clock. But please make sure you are free on July 14th, Watson. You must not be absent on that occasion for it is on that date, I believe, that we shall lay Vanderbilt and his yeggman by the heels.’

As Holmes had requested, I called back on the following evening and listened eagerly to his report. All had gone well, Holmes informed me. Colonel Heath-Bennington had been most co-operative, Inspector Gow both intelligent and efficient, and between the three of them the arrangements for July 14th had been completed to everyone’s satisfaction.

‘By the way, Watson,’ Holmes concluded, ‘when we return to Huntswood Hall on July 14th, please bring with you an overnight bag and a stout walking-stick. Vanderbilt and his accomplice may be armed.’

‘Shall I pack my revolver?’ I inquired.

‘I think not on this occasion,’ Holmes replied, a note of regret in his voice. ‘We shall be acting in liaison with the official police and they may object to firearms. A stick will have to suffice. I shall bring my own favourite weapon, my lead-weighted riding crop.
*
As we shall catch the 5.24 from Charing Cross, please make sure you call here in good time.’

I saw nothing of Holmes in the intervening weeks, returning to Baker Street only on the afternoon of July 14th when, as Holmes had specified, we caught the 5.24 train to Chatham. There we were met by Colonel Heath-Bennington’s brougham and were driven to Huntswood Hall, a charming Georgian mansion set in extensive grounds.

Holmes introduced me to the Colonel, a tall, vigorous gentleman, with a smart, clipped moustache, a former officer in the Rutland Light Cavalry, now retired and managing the family estates at Huntswood.

From his conversation over dinner, I gathered that the arrangements for that night had been made with military precision. Inspector Gow would arrive in time to join us for coffee, accompanied by six police constables and a sergeant who would be conveyed to the house in a closed bread van, requisitioned for the occasion from a local baker, the ruse having been devised by the Colonel in order not to arouse the suspicions of Vanderbilt and his yeggman in case they should be watching the premises. The sergeant and the constables would be entertained in the servants’ hall until the time when the household would normally retire for the night.

The servants having gone to bed and the lights in the house having been extinguished, the police officers would then take up their positions. Three, including the sergeant, would be posted in the grounds in case Vanderbilt and his accomplice attempted to escape, and two in the hall; while two more, together with Inspector Gow, would be stationed along with Holmes, the Colonel and myself in the drawing-room where it was assumed the attempted burglary would take place.

When dinner was over, we retired to the drawing-room, where coffee was served and where Inspector Gow shortly joined us.

I was a little disappointed on first being introduced to the Inspector. He was a large, slow-moving man with a shock of very fair hair and almost white eyelashes, but this appearance of a country yokel was belied by the intelligent expression in his pale blue eyes and the air of quiet efficiency with which he assigned to us the positions we were to take up in the room.

One constable, together with Holmes, was to be posted near the windows to cut off the burglars’ retreat. The Colonel’s place was by the door leading into the hall; I myself would be concealed behind a large sofa; while Inspector Gow would take up a position close to a flat-topped display cabinet in which were displayed those family heirlooms, such as the christening basin, the locket and the illuminated Book of Hours which, it was assumed, had already been selected by Vanderbilt as items to steal.

Inspector Gow went on to explain that no one was to move
until he gave the order. When he did so, the two constables in the hall, equipped with lanterns, would then rush into the room.

In the meantime, we were to wait in total silence and darkness.

At midnight, signalled by the bell in the stable clock-tower striking twelve, Colonel Heath-Bennington, accompanied by the Inspector, made a final tour of the house, the Inspector to make sure that his men were in position, the Colonel to check that the servants were safely upstairs and the house was in darkness.

On their return to the drawing-room, the Colonel extinguished the lamps and we took up our own positions, I crouching behind the sofa, my heavy walking stick in my hand.

There is a tension about waiting to which I have never become adapted although Holmes has mastered the art to perfection. I have seen him stand for hours in a doorway or a darkened room, all his senses alert and yet with no apparent strain or weariness. Perhaps his remarkable ability of seeing in the dark, which he has carefully cultivated and which I have commented on elsewhere,
*
helped to sustain him during such stressful periods.

For my part, I was incapable of relaxation and was soon aware of a numbed sensation in my limbs, particularly in the hand which gripped the cudgel, while the heavy beating of my heart seemed to my ears to echo like a drum through the muffled darkness.

Apart from this, the only other sound to break the silence and the monotony was the stable clock striking the hours.

One o’clock passed and then two.

I was beginning to doubt if Holmes had chosen the right date and to think that the burglary would take place on August 11th, the next night when there would be no moon, when I heard a sound outside in the garden, so faint that it was almost inaudible.

A footstep perhaps? Or was it merely the night breeze stirring in the shrubbery?

It was followed by a silence so complete that I persuaded myself I had heard nothing.

Several minutes passed and then there came another noise, still soft but this time clearly recognizable. It was the unmistakable squeak of metal on glass.

The long curtains over the central window stirred gently in a sudden draught which I could feel against the side of my face. The next moment, there was a tiny click as the window catch was released, then the sound of the bottom sash being pushed softly upwards and two figures, one tall, one short, were silhouetted momentarily against the night sky as the curtains were parted and they climbed in over the sill.

As the draperies fell back into place, total darkness again descended and I would not have been aware of the burglars’ presence nor of their silent advance into the room had they not opened the shutters on their dark lanterns and, by the forward motion of the glimmering spots of light, I was able to plot their progress.

The little cones of brightness proceeded step by step, past my own hiding-place, illuminating briefly the gilded legs of chairs and the pattern on the carpet until they reached the far side of the room where they paused to hover like two luminous moths above the cabinet.

As they did so, Inspector Gow rose from his place of concealment.

‘Now, my lads! At them!’

There was a startled oath from one of the two figures, soon lost in the general outcry as we rushed forward, I among the
mêlée,
clutching my stick but hesitating to use it on the writhing mass of bodies on the floor in case I struck at friend instead of foe.

To my great relief, at this moment the two constables burst in from the hall with their lanterns, the lamps were lit and it was possible at last to discern what was happening.

Holmes, his face blazing with a look of triumphant exultation, was kneeling over the recumbent body of a man spreadeagled
on the floor, his loaded riding crop raised, while the Colonel and the Inspector held another struggling figure by the arms.

As the Inspector snapped on the handcuffs, I stood back to observe the captives.

The shorter of the two, who I deduced was the yeggman, was a small, rat-faced individual with black hair and so white-complexioned and undersized that it seemed he might have been raised in some dark cellar, well away from sunlight and air.

On the other hand, his companion, Vanderbilt, whom Holmes had been guarding on the floor, was a tall, well set-up man, broad in the shoulders and good-looking, with clever, mobile features which would have easily adapted themselves to the many identities he had assumed during his infamous career.

Unlike his yeggman, who cowered back, snarling like a cornered dog, Vanderbilt stood erect, a smile playing about his lips, as the Inspector placed the handcuffs on his wrists. He then bowed to the Inspector before turning to Holmes to make an even deeper obeisance.

‘Mr Sherlock Holmes, I assume?’ he inquired in a courteous, educated voice which bore a trace of a foreign accent. ‘I have long wondered when I would find you on my trail.
Mes
félicitations,
mon
cher
monsieur.
Or, as Professor Galiano might have expressed the same sentiments,
Congratulazioni
!
You have proved to be a worthy opponent.’