The Secret Files of Sherlock Holmes (8 page)

‘Listen!’ he exclaimed.

I strained my ears but could hear nothing.

‘What is it, Holmes?’ I asked.

‘Footsteps,’ he replied. ‘Our caller is on his way downstairs. Come, Watson! It is time we found ourselves a hiding-place.’

This proved no difficulty. The hangings which covered the walls provided plenty of opportunity for concealment and we chose a corner near the door where the curtains, draped across the angle, afforded enough space for both of us, from which vantage point we could also keep the whole chamber under observation.

Here we waited in total darkness for several long minutes before a sudden draught of cold air as the baize-covered door was opened and the sound of voices alerted me to the arrival of not one but several unknown visitors.

A young man, his voice educated but slightly slurred as if its owner were the worse for drink, was exclaiming excitedly, ‘I say, stop pushing, you chaps! Give a fellow time to light the lamps!’

The next moment, a match flared in the darkness, the lamps were lit and, through a gap in the curtains, I was able to see the newcomers. They were six young men, all in evening clothes and all in a state of mild inebriation, among whom, to my dismay, I recognised Teddy Venables, a silk scarf loose about his neck and his fair hair dishevelled. They were accompanied by four young women who, by their tawdry finery and heavily rouged faces, I took to be street-walkers of the commoner type.

Between them, the group was making so much noise, talking and laughing loudly as they poured drinks from the bottles on
the sideboard or threw themselves down on the sofas to light cigars, that I thought it safe to whisper to Holmes that I had seen young Venables.

From the glance which Holmes gave me, I realised that this piece of information was not unexpected.

I was wondering how we should be able to make our eventual escape from the vault without being detected, when the nature of the activity in the room began to take on a considerably more immodest form. Not content with merely smoking and drinking, several of the young men had pulled their female companions down on to the sofas with them and had started to indulge in the type of behaviour which is normally conducted only in private behind closed doors. Heels were kicked up, revealing petticoats and ankles. Even a thigh was exposed.

I hardly dared look at Holmes but when I ventured a sideways glance, I saw his ascetic profile bore an expression of distaste. I was about to ask in a whisper what we should do in the circumstances – whether we should turn our backs on the scene or reveal our presence – when the decision was made for us in a quite unexpected and astonishing manner.

The green baize door was flung open and several police officers burst into the room, the lean, sallow-faced Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard at their head.

My own surprise was nothing compared with the shock and consternation shown by the young revellers. Faced by the presence of the law, they scrambled off the sofas, hastily adjusting their attire and, under Lestrade’s orders, were soon lined up in a bedraggled formation against the far wall, some shamefaced, others, mainly the young women, brazenly defiant.

I heard Holmes murmur, a note of amusement in his voice, ‘I never thought I should welcome Lestrade’s intervention in a case with so much relief.’

With that, he swept aside the curtain and coolly stepped forward, much as an actor might walk to the front of a stage to receive the applause of his audience.

Lestrade spun about, his face expressing the same astonishment which only a few moments before I had experienced at his own sudden appearance.

‘Mr Holmes!’ he exclaimed. ‘And Dr Watson, too! What in the name of deuce are you doing here?’

‘I might ask the same of you, Lestrade,’ Holmes observed drily. ‘What investigation brings you to these particular premises at this hour of the night?’

Lestrade came forward to speak to us in a low, confidential tone.

‘A forgery inquiry, Mr Holmes.’

Holmes raised a quizzical eyebrow.

‘Forgery, my good Inspector? What on earth gave you that idea?’

‘I have received reports of several young men seen entering this building late at night. As there have been a number of false banknotes circulating in the district, especially amongst the second-hand dealers in Cutlers’ Row, I thought the felons had set up their printing press here in the basement.’

Holmes took a long glance about him, letting his gaze pass over the wall hangings and the sofas before finally coming to rest on the line of dishevelled revellers, especially the young women with their gaudy dresses and tumbled hair.

‘I hardly think’, he observed, ‘that the young men intended to occupy themselves tonight with the printing of counterfeit banknotes. The making of money, however, is one of their concerns but in an entirely different manner to that which you suspected. If you care to examine the contents of that desk over there, Inspector, as well as the letters lying upstairs on the doormat, you will find enough evidence for charging them with obtaining money by deception.’

Under other circumstances, it might have been amusing to observe the alacrity with which Lestrade crossed the room to the desk and, throwing open its lid, started to ferret eagerly about among its contents, pausing only in his task to address my old friend when he saw we were about to leave.

‘With your permission, I shall call on you later tonight, Mr Holmes; just to hear your opinion on the case, you understand.’

Holmes bowed in acknowledgement, making no comment until we had left the building, on this occasion by the more
orthodox method of using the basement stairs, and had emerged into the street.

It was only then that he remarked, ‘I fear I have set Lestrade back on his heels. You, too, Watson. Although we have found young Venables, I imagine it was not in quite the manner you had expected. I did warn you though that the affair in which he was involved was most probably unlawful. However, neither you nor your friend the Major have any reason to thank me for this night’s work.’

‘How did you reach the conclusion that it was a case of deception, Holmes?’ I asked.

He held up a hand to detain me.

‘No further questions, my dear fellow. This is neither the time nor the place. Once we have returned to Baker Street and are seated in comfort by our own fireside, I shall present the facts to you.’

It was doubtless a wise decision on his part. Nevertheless, I spent a miserable time while we changed back into our own clothes at Ikey Morrison’s and took a cab to our lodgings, turning over in my mind how I was to face the Major, knowing that I was in part responsible for his son’s arrest.

On our return to Baker Street, Holmes treated me with great solicitude. Although he could at times be selfish and inconsiderate, at others he was a most kind and generous friend, a quality of character I have remarked on elsewhere in the published chronicles.

It was so on this occasion. He seated me by the fire which he himself coaxed into a blaze before, pouring me a whisky and soda, he sat opposite me, his expression troubled.

‘I think you should see these, Watson. I found them in the desk in Buckmaster’s vault,’ he said, handing me three visiting cards.

I looked at them disbelievingly. They were all similar in size to the one Venables had given me which he had found in his son’s bureau drawer and all bore the same address of the A. M. S. Head Office in Titchbourne Street. Only the names were different. They were respectively those of a Canon James Micklewhite, Secretary of the Anglican Missionary Society; a
Captain Horace Landseer, a retired naval officer, Director of the Association of Merchant Seamen; and a Miss Florence Lovestanleigh, Lady Treasurer of the Actors’ and Music-Hall Artistes’ Sanatorium.

‘What does it all mean, Holmes?’ I asked.

‘I think this will explain it,’ he replied, handing me a sheet of paper. ‘It is a specimen letter, almost ready for posting, one of many I found in a compartment in the desk.’

The letter, which had been neatly produced on a typewriting machine, bore the same address as the cards – A. M. S. Head Office, Buckmaster Buildings, Titchbourne Street, London E. 1., and lacked only a recipient’s name and a signature at the bottom to complete it.

It read:

‘You understand now?’ Holmes inquired when I had finished reading the letter.

I burst out, ‘Yes, Holmes; I do indeed! And a very despicable affair it is, too. God knows how Venables will take it when he discovers his son is involved in this kind of fraudulent activity!’

Aware of my distress, Holmes said quietly, ‘I think, my dear Watson, that we should wait to hear what Lestrade has to say and we are in possession of all the facts before we speculate any further on young Venables’ part in the affair.’

However, Lestrade, who arrived about an hour later and who joined us by the fire, could offer little comfort. Indeed, the information he had to tell us made matters worse, not better.

From the letters and papers found in the desk, together with the statements taken from the young men involved in the deception, the activities of the A. M. S. were more widespread than either Holmes or I had imagined. In addition to the bogus charities of which we were already aware, Lestrade added several more to the list, including the Agency for the Maintenance of the Sabbath, the Academy for Metaphysical Studies and the Alliance of Moon-worshippers and Satanists.

Lestrade had brought with him the A. M. S. ledgers, which showed that over a period of eighteen months, the length of time the fraudulent charities had been operating, the group had, discounting costs of postage and printing, amassed the considerable sum of £1,463. 15s. 8d.

The books also included long lists of the names and addresses of subscribers, indicating the amount each individual had donated, the sums ranging from a modest half-crown to five guinea contributions. Further moneys in the form of postal orders had been discovered inside the letters lying on the doormat in Buckmaster’s vestibule.

‘A very clever scheme,’ Holmes remarked as Lestrade finished his account. ‘Quite unlawful and reprehensible, of course, but one has to grant the young men a certain ingenuity of mind. They have even had the foresight to use the initials A. M. S. for each of the charitable organizations they claimed to represent, thereby saving themselves the cost of having separate letter-headings printed. One serves for all. I wonder what title we ourselves should give them? The Amateur Mendicant Society perhaps? It seems apt. They have turned the craft of the
begging-letter, usually little more than a cottage industry, into a highly successful business venture.’

‘That is only to be expected,’ Lestrade replied heavily, in tones of deep disapproval. ‘All the young gentlemen involved are well-educated and come from good family backgrounds. Indeed, some of the fathers are from the very professions which their sons claimed to represent in their charitable appeals. We’ve found the younger son of an archdeacon among them, as well as a naval officer and a retired major from the Indian Army.’

I groaned inwardly at this last remark of Lestrade’s but kept silent as he continued, ‘As I understand it, they are all black sheep of the family, short of money but disinclined to earn it honestly.’

‘They will be charged?’ Holmes inquired.

‘Indeed so, Mr Holmes. We cannot allow even an archdeacon’s son to deceive the public in this manner. It gives charity a bad name. My men are at this very moment informing the parents that the young men are being held in custody and of the charges which will be brought against them. What sentences are passed is for the courts to decide. One of them, the son of the Indian Army major I was telling you about, is likely to get off more lightly than the others. He only joined the conspiracy a few months ago and so wasn’t one of its instigators.’

This was a small crumb of comfort and one which I fervently hoped would console Venables when he learnt of his son’s arrest.

Lestrade, who had risen to his feet in preparation for leaving, added, as he buttoned up his overcoat, ‘I forgot to mention that one of Buckmaster’s employees was involved in the affair. The manager was paid a weekly fee for turning a blind eye to what was going on in the vault and to the fact that the young men had helped themselves to goods from Buckmaster’s warehouse in order to furnish their secret club-room, although he swears he knew nothing about any conspiracy to defraud. I have no doubt, however, that he will be dismissed from his post.’ Lestrade shook his head, his lean features sombre with disapprobation as he paused in the doorway to pass a final judgement. ‘Greed, Mr Holmes. A terrible thing is greed.’

As the door closed behind him, Holmes turned to me.

‘You will speak to Venables, Watson?’

‘Yes; I shall call on him tomorrow.’

There is no need for me to describe my interview with the Major except to say it was a most painful occasion, made no easier by my old companion’s pitiable attempt to see his son’s disgrace in the best possible light.

‘The law must take its own course, Watson,’ he said as we shook hands before I left. ‘At least I shall have the comfort of knowing where my son is, even though it may be behind bars. I can only trust that this will teach Teddy the lesson he so badly needs.’