Текст книги "A Farewell to Baker Street"

Автор книги: Mark Mower

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The letter was handed across to Holmes, who immediately took up his magnifying glass and began to inspect both the envelope and its contents in his usual meticulous fashion. He examined every inch of the document, holding it up to the light at one point and smelling the paper for any trace of evidence that might be discernible. Inspector Walcott looked on incredulously.

When at last Holmes had completed his scrutiny, he passed across to me the typewritten note and its envelope. It read as follows:

My dearest Inspector Walcott,

No doubt you are well immersed in your investigations into the disappearance of the FA Challenge Cup. The case has attracted lots of press attention, so I am used to seeing your face in the newspapers. The fact that you haven’t found it is testimony indeed to the efficiency of the counterfeiting empire which a certain criminal family seem to operate with relative impunity in your expanding city. I know this because some of those close to me had a hand in taking the trophy and were duped by the Delaneys, an act that will have continuing repercussions.

Detective Sergeant Clive Delamare had for some time been a close ally of mine and I was happy to pay him handsomely for the titbits of information he was able to pass to me about particular felons or police officers that I might have an interest in, as my associates have begun to extend their operations outside of the capital . However, the one crucial fact he chose not to share with me was his familial connection to the Delaneys – something, I imagine, you were also unaware of.

In the summer of last year, I discussed with him our plan to steal the football trophy as a gesture to the Birmingham underworld. He realised of course that the robbery would jeopardise the Delaney position. So he took it upon himself to tell his oldest son what we had in mind, imagining that his offspring might then take steps to ensure that the family were seen to be above suspicion and completely blameless of any involvement in the theft. But his son is a chancer, without his father’s caution and guile. He saw an opportunity to outfox my colleagues. He underestimated me and the lengths I will now go to, to get even with his kind.

When my associates returned to London, I knew that Clive Delamare had betrayed me. I made contact with him and told him what was to be done . He was to broker a deal with the Delaneys whereby the trophy would be returned to me and the family would, from that point on, operate under my control. Any divergence from this would result in the wholesale assassination of their leaders. It was then that he confessed to being Clive Delaney, one of three men who effectively controlled the Delaney Gang. He explained that his son had acted without authorisation and would be punished for what he had done. He went on to say that he was in no position to broker the deal I had insisted upon as the family would never agree to it. I am not an unreasonable man, Inspector Walcott. I said that I understood his difficulties and proffered a final solution – to surrender the trophy, kill his son and return to Ireland. It seems that he has been unsuccessful in adhering to my request and his son has, yet again, taken matters into his own hands.

At this point, you may be wondering why I should insist on telling you any of this. Well, it is just that I believe we can help each other. You see, the son has not only refused to bend to my will, but has also now instigated his own coup d’état and seized control of all the family’s affairs. As such, he is my chief rival in the midlands and I want him removed from that position. Something you can do in securing his conviction for murder.

You still have some work to do, however, and I suggest you invite Mr Sherlock Holmes – another of my adversaries, but a much more likeable one – to assist you in carrying out your task. Call it honour among thieves, or some sort of felonious chivalric code, but I will not let it be said that it was me that told you specifically who killed Clive Delaney. That said, you can take the following facts as gospel:

1. Clive Delaney, better known as Sergeant Delamare, was the intended target – unbeknown to his two accomplices, the guilty man fully intended to kill him.

2. The dead man was shot by his own biological son – he had no other children older or younger than twenty-nine years of age.

3. Any eye witnesses you have to the killing can be relied upon – they will have witnessed the death of your sergeant at the hands of his son.

4. The gun used in the attack belonged to Frank Delaney.

5. But the killer was not Frank Delaney.

I trust that this information will speed your endeavours.

Yours very sincerely,

A concerned citizen

I looked up in astonishment when I had finished reading the note. “But this is nonsensical, Holmes. Everything points to Frank Delaney, and yet we are to believe that he is not the killer. If this is written by Edwin Halvergate, it is another of his riddles, further evidence of his flowery poetic notions. He is seeking to make fools of us all.”

“My thoughts exactly,” added Walcott.

“Nonsense! It all seems perfectly clear to me. The answer lies not just in what is written, but what is not written – like those earlier haiku poems, we have to be mindful of inference. And I have a firm plan to finally expose the killer, which will require us to catch a train this very evening.” Holmes glanced at his pocket watch and jumped up with enthusiasm. “We have sufficient time to pack a few essentials and to pick up anything you require from your home on the way, Watson, before catching the 6.30 from Euston to Birmingham New Street. We will rely on Inspector Walcott to recommend a suitable hotel close to the station for our short overnight stay.”

My attempt to voice some opposition to the plan was soon drowned out by the noise of Holmes shouting down the stairs with various requests of Mrs Hudson. Ten minutes later, the three of us were seated in a cab heading towards my home, for a short stop on the way to Euston. I took the opportunity to quiz Holmes once more about the letter.

“How can you be certain the note was written by Edwin Halvergate?”

“Why, who else would be in a position to do so and who else would mention me specifically as an adversary?” he retorted. “You know my methods, Watson. I have made it my business to know the minutiae of Edwin Halvergate’s life. The tell-tale signs were there. The Seven Dials postmark on the envelope, the stationery purchased from Henry Stone & Son Ltd, the distinctive printing of the Merritt typewriter and the faint whiff of camphor from the hair oil he uses with some vanity to counter his accelerated hair loss.”

“Remarkable, Mr Holmes!” spluttered Inspector Walcott, in awe of my friend’s revelations. I had to admit that his case was pretty persuasive. While it may not have stood up in a court of law, it was enough to convince me that Halvergate was indeed the architect of this curious chain of events.

We arrived at Euston with about eight minutes to spare, sufficient time for us to secure a first-class compartment on the train and to avail ourselves of copies of the half-penny Evening News. When seated in the carriage, Holmes let out a big sigh and pointed to a headline at the bottom of the front page, which read: ‘Two bodies recovered from Thames – murder feared’.

“It seems that Edwin Halvergate has finally taken steps to assert his authority over his criminal associates. He has no doubt completed his reading of Niccolò Machiavelli’s The Prince and now believes that the way to maintain the discipline of his henchmen is to operate with ruthless expediency, the ends justifying whatever means he chooses. The bodies recovered from the river are of two well-dressed men in their early-thirties, whose wallets had not been taken. Each had been garrotted and both had distinctive wasp tattoos on their forearms – the symbol under which the gang operates. I think we can safely say that they were the hapless London thieves of the FA Cup and this is firm evidence that Halvergate is serious about his threat to assassinate key members of the Delaney family. I fear you may have some serious gang violence to contend with in the coming months, Inspector Walcott.”

The inspector nodded, but remained silent, taking time to read the full details of the story in his copy of the newspaper. Some minutes later, Holmes sought to raise Walcott’s spirits with a plan to reveal who had killed Sergeant Clive Delamare. On reaching Birmingham, the police officer was to make his way to the Steelhouse Lane police station and have Frank Delaney moved with some uproar from his holding cell to an area of solitary confinement, where he would be detained overnight in strict secrecy. At eleven o’clock, Walcott was to inform Thomas Logan that his colleague had managed to escape from Steelhouse Lane and was now on the run. Furthermore, Logan was to be told that he was free to leave the police station, as the detectives had concluded that there was little evidence for his culpability in the murder.

Trusting in Holmes, the inspector readily agreed to the plan. He was then asked to meet us at eleven-thirty in the foyer of the Grand Hotel, which he had earlier recommended for our stay in the city.

When we reached Birmingham New Street it was a little after ten-fifteen. We departed from the train and said our farewells to Walcott, making our way to the hotel with the directions he had given us. The Grand Hotel on Colmore Row was a spectacular seven-storey building constructed in a French Renaissance style. Our individual bedrooms were palatial by London standards and the hotel was furnished with a dining room, crush room and drawing room of the most flamboyant designs. Holmes insisted on booking the two rooms for our stay while I remained seated in the extensive lobby. When he returned from the reception desk, he handed me a key for ‘Room 238’ and announced that he had some business to attend to before our planned meeting with Inspector Walcott and needed some time alone. I watched him head off towards the main stairwell and decided to undertake a short tour of the hotel as I awaited his return.

Shortly before eleven-thirty, I made my way back down to the foyer. Inspector Walcott had just arrived, and sat on the plush seating looking distinctly drained and breathless. He explained that it had been a long day, but seemed pleased that Holmes’ strategy had been carried out as planned. Frank Delaney had been placed in a solitary cell, with only Walcott and a duty sergeant knowing of his whereabouts. And Thomas Logan had been released, scurrying away from the police station, barely able to believe his luck.

The two of us chatted for the next twenty minutes while we waited for Holmes to join us. The hotel seemed quiet that evening, with just a few guests returning from their evening excursions to the theatres, restaurants and music halls of the city. At one point I saw a particularly well turned out couple in full evening dress arrive by carriage. As the hotel doorman greeted them, I watched as a dark faced, shabbily-attired workman in a cloth cap attempted to sneak in before the couple, cheekily tipping his cap as he did so. He had clearly underestimated the adroitness of the doorman, however, who seized the back of his collar and pulled him to one side, while allowing the well-dressed night-goers to enter the hotel.

Inspector Walcott had also witnessed the fracas and as I jumped up, he struggled to raise himself from his comfortable seat in order to assist the doorman who was still arguing with the ragamuffin. As we approached, the captive let out an unrestrained guffaw, and then said, in a very familiar voice: “Inspector Walcott, Dr Watson, I would be grateful if you could please ask our friend here to release his iron-like grip from my delicate collar. The man is half throttling me!”

“Holmes!?” My exclamation was sufficient for the doorman to release his prisoner.

“I am so sorry, sir! I had no idea you knew these gentlemen,” stuttered the red-faced doorman looking across at Walcott, who already had his police badge out on display. The doorman then glanced back at Holmes, expecting some sort of explanation.

Holmes reached for a pocket and placed a half-crown in the man’s hand, while offering a short apology. “My good man, it is reassuring to know that the Grand Hotel employs such dedicated and resourceful men. In a short while we are likely to have need of your considerable talents. Within ten minutes, two well-dressed men in their late-twenties will attempt to enter this foyer. Please do not bar their entrance. Say only that ‘Frank’ has tipped you off about their arrival and they are to make their way to Room 238. Is that understood?”

The bewildered doorman looked once more to Walcott, who merely added, “Rest assured, this is police business. I will provide you with a full explanation in due course. For the moment, I would be grateful if you would go along with Mr Holmes’ request.” The doorman nodded his consent and the three of us headed off in the direction of the main stairwell.

A few minutes later, we were seated comfortably in the confines of my bedroom. Holmes had returned briefly to his own room to pick up a change of clothing and was now in the process of shedding his working man’s attire and removing some of the theatrical grease paint he had applied earlier to complete his disguise. In the warm glow of the gas lamps, he was explaining with some haste what he had been up to.

“Watson, it would be as well if you were to have your old service revolver to hand in readiness for our visitors. I am glad now that I reminded you to pack it earlier this evening. We can take no chances with the Delaneys – they are formidable folk. My disguise was necessary to allow me to follow Thomas Logan when he was released from the police station at eleven o’clock. I pursued him for a short distance until he hailed a cab. I heard him ask for the Anchor Inn on Tenant Street. When he was safely on his way, I took another cab and followed him to the public house, which I entered shortly afterwards. The crowd assembled there took little interest in me such was the furore that had greeted the arrival of Logan. It was not difficult for me to spot the Delaney leader, who was now patting Logan on the back and calling for drinks all round.

“Seizing the initiative, I approached the man and announced discreetly that I was the cabbie who had assisted Frank Delaney in his escape from Steelhouse Lane. He stepped away from the others and pulled me towards him. I explained that time was of the essence, as Frank had asked for immediate assistance – he was hiding out in Room 238 of the Grand Hotel and required some help in escaping from the city. Continuing with the charade, I then added that Frank was keen to avoid any unwanted attention and had suggested that if two well-dressed members of the gang could meet him in his hotel room at midnight armed with a gun it would allow him to make good his escape. The circumstances, the opportunism and the directness of the approach seemed to work in my favour. Not for a moment did he seem to doubt my story and I was able to slip away from the inn minutes later, a few counterfeit coins the richer. And now, I fear, we have but a short while before we receive a telling knock on the door.”

My colleague was not wrong. He had barely enough time to pull on a short black jacket and grab the small cudgel he had brought with him, when there was a loud rap on the bedroom door. Holmes raised an upright forefinger to his lips in order that we remain silent and stepped deftly towards the door. He opened it swiftly and stood behind the door as two burly characters entered the room at speed, the man at the front wielding a revolver. As both men turned to their left and saw Inspector Walcott and I the weapon was raised in our direction. I was too slow in bringing my own revolver to a firing position and feared we were done for. At the same time, Holmes stepped out from behind the door and brought his weighty cudgel down on the wrist of the intruder. The man’s arm fell away towards the floor and the revolver slipped from his hand. He cried out in pain and his colleague scrambled forward, trying to make a grab for the gun. But Inspector Walcott was already well ahead of him and kicked the weapon away from his grasp before flooring the man with a strong punch to the head. I had my own revolver pointing at both men before Holmes then spoke.

“Gentlemen, how good of you to put in an appearance! I am reassured that my cameo as a Birmingham cab driver was sufficiently convincing to lure you here. And it seems as if my little ruse has drawn the principal players to perform for us. Inspector Walcott, you are already acquainted with Thomas Logan, but you can now meet the murderer of Sergeant Delamare.”

With a look of some concern, Walcott stared at the tall man with the distinctive crop of jet-black hair who towered above the broad-shouldered Logan. “But how is this possible, Mr Holmes? I left Frank Delaney under lock and key only a short time ago. He could not have escaped in that time, met with you earlier and then made his way here.”

“Indeed, he could not. You see, this is not Frank, but his identical twin-brother, Sean Delaney. The same man who has now assumed control over the Delaney Gang and made such an enemy of Edwin Halvergate.”

The mention of Halvergate’s name brought a sharp response from the injured Sean Delaney. “He’s the man you really ought to be locking up, Walcott. I don’t know who these gentlemen are, but they seem to have outfoxed us this evening.” He then looked directly at Holmes with an expression of pure hatred. “My friends will ensure that I escape the noose. Be certain of that. But as a gang we are finished. Halvergate has already begun to target my men and disrupt all of our operations. He even had my own father in his pocket.”

Inspector Walcott was quick to defend his former colleague. “Your father had more sense than to challenge Halvergate and you placed him in an impossible position. He acted only to stop you being killed and you reacted by taking his life. Something you will have to live with, and explain to your younger twin-brother.”

Delaney looked down and grimaced as he pulled his wrist to his chest. He had nothing further to say.

We accompanied the men down to the foyer and thanked the doorman for his earlier assistance. While Holmes and I kept guard over the pair, Inspector Walcott went off to despatch a telegram to the police station. Fifteen minutes later a squad of four uniformed constables arrived with handcuffs and led the gang members away.

Before his departure, Walcott could not resist asking Holmes a final question. “Mr Holmes, Dr Watson. I am forever indebted to both of you for your assistance today. That you have achieved so much in such a short space of time is truly beyond me. But I am intrigued to know how you could be so certain that Sean Delaney and, indeed, Thomas Logan, would come to the hotel room, rather than any other members of the gang.”

Holmes eyes were wide with delight. “My dear Inspector. Sean Delaney has staged a recent takeover within the gang. He may have assumed control, but would not have trusted anyone other than those close to him. As the man in jeopardy was his own brother, it seemed fair to assume that he would wish to be involved, accompanied by the ever-present Logan. Delaney is a man who leads from the front, something that has now signalled a death knell for the family in this city.”

“So it would seem,” I added, shaking Walcott warmly by the hand. We said our goodbyes and watched as the dogged, but weary, inspector left the hotel.

The next morning, Holmes and I were up bright and early to catch one of the first trains back to London. It was almost midday when we arrived back at Baker Street. Mrs Hudson greeted us at the door, looking relieved that we had returned in good health following our impromptu departure the evening before. A short while later we were sat comfortably in front of a crackling fire enjoying some tea and buttered crumpets.

When Mrs Hudson came to retrieve our plates and cups, she carried with her a small parcel. “I forgot to mention it earlier, Mr Holmes, but this arrived for you about ten o’clock this morning.” She handed him the parcel and proceeded to clear away the crockery.

Instinctively, Holmes began to examine the packaging and even before he had unwrapped it announced, “Curious, Watson. This is from Edwin Halvergate. Let’s see what it contains.” He removed the brown paper covering to reveal a small book and flicked through the first few pages. “Mr Halvergate certainly loves his poetry. This is a second volume of haiku verse, this one written exclusively by our man. And how touching, he has dedicated it to me.”

I could tell that Holmes’ sarcasm masked a genuine concern. “What does it say?” I asked.

“A single line – ‘Thank you for your recent help at the Grand Hotel – EH’. He is well informed, Watson. And no doubt it will not be the last time we hear from Edwin Halvergate.” With that he placed the book upon the mantelpiece and refused to discuss the matter further.

I left Holmes a short while later, picking up my overnight case from the hallway and saying goodbye to Mrs Hudson. The weather had taken a distinct turn and a dark, mackerel-coloured sky announced that heavy storm clouds were on their way. As I stood awaiting the arrival of a carriage, I glanced back at the upstairs window. And in that moment I realised, that however many criminals, swindlers, thieves and fraudsters we managed to outwit, there would always be another lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike. I shivered at the thought.