The Great Detective: His Further Adventures. Marvin Kaye

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      “It seems my trusted colleague Morrell has wired me from Switzerland with some interesting news.”

      “Morrell? You mean that scruffy little bootblack who used to shine shoes outside the Theatre Royal in Haymarket until he earned the price of a standing-room ticket? That Morrell?”

      “Exactly, dear friend. That Morrell who became the most talented and trusted of my Baker Street Irregulars and who carried out some of the most daring feats in that capacity. The lad I sent up to Sydney Sussex, where he did a double first in Classical Languages and in Modern History.”

      “I can’t believe it.”

      “Who, upon leaving Oxford, was no longer the humble drudge of his childhood and became employed by The Crown in matters as sensitive as those that I had tasked him with.”

      I sat back in my chair.

      “And who along with my brother Mycroft is also a stalwart member of the Diogenes club. Upon my instructions yesterday, our coachman took the train to London and went to the club and left a note for Morrell. A note in which I asked the man to make a very urgent and specific inquiry for me. Mycroft, for whom Morrell also undertakes sensitive matters, made sure that the message was wired immediately to Geneva. I have the reply right here.” He smiled thinly once more and withdrew the folded piece of paper that had been jammed in the cabin door.

      “What does it say?” My curiosity was now at a fevered pitch.

      The smile disappeared from his face. “Perhaps Mrs. Wolkner can tell you?”

      “I’m sure I have no idea,” she said, her voice tense.

      “Very well then; I shall enlighten you.” He turned back to me. “As you know, the Lombard Street Associates is a Swiss-based firm. I asked Morrell to make inquiries through his contacts in the Swiss government and find out who the owner was.”

      “You mean the owner was not that man Murdoch?”

      “Murdoch was only a pawn in this evil scheme. To be used and disposed of when no longer needed.”

      “But used by whom?”

      “The mastermind who controls Lombard Street Associates.”

      “Who?” I cried. “Who?”

      He put the folded piece of paper back in his pocket. “I shall come to that in a while, but for now I would like to turn your attention to the mystery of the Oghams. Remember the gibberish on the wooden pillar? Well, it took me almost an hour before I realized that it wasn’t just gibberish, after all. Not if you looked at the message as numbers instead of an alphabet. After another hour, I had deciphered enough to discern that I now possessed the combination to a safe and the pass code to a bank account. A pass code not unlike the one to my safe box in Zurich. I walked back to the manor while it was still dark, slipped inside and found the safe behind this bookcase.”

      I watched as Holmes walked over to very same bookcase that had intrigued him only the day before. He reached up to a corner and pressed the wood. The panel next to the case slid up to reveal a wall safe. Spinning the combination dial quickly, he yanked the steel door open and withdrew a thick packet of papers that was bound with a red ribbon. Turning toward Mrs. Wolkner, he said, “Shall I read the contents?”

      “That will not be necessary.” Using her walking stick as a crutch, she forced herself to her feet and hobbled over to where Holmes was standing.

      “You are very clever, Mr. Holmes.”

      “What on earth is she talking about? What are those papers that you have?”

      “Evidence, Watson. Evidence that Lombard Street Associates is owned and controlled by the Baroness Portia. Who is none other than this evil creature you see standing before me.” He gave a slight bow to Mrs. Wolkner.

      She nodded back.

      “Baroness?” I cried, looking at the woman. “Good heavens, Holmes, do you mean...?”

      “Yes, Watson. She is none other than the Black Widow of Virginia.”

      Mrs. Wolkner nodded again. “Please continue.”

      “When I said her husband had made a lot of money for the firm, it was the truth. But at the expense of his clients.” He undid the ribbon on the packet of papers and waved the top sheet at me. “It is all here, Watson. How the firm was looted, their clients’ money siphoned off and deposited into a secret bank account in Geneva. An account controlled by this poisonous creature.”

      “Do you mean Wolkner stole from his family and friends? But he was from one of the finest of families. A British aristocrat would never commit such foul deeds!”

      “No, Watson, Mr. Wolkner did not participate. These crimes were solely the work of his employer. Somehow, he stumbled onto the embezzlements and also learned that he was merely a dupe for the woman he was married to.”

      “But why did he keep the papers in his safe?”

      “Guilt, Watson. Guilt and love. The two emotions most common to our male species.”

      “So he did kill himself?”

      “No, dear fellow. The poor man may very well have contemplated it, for he was faced with either handing over the woman he loved to the law or betraying the trust of clients. Either way, he would have been ruined.”

      “I don’t understand why he carved the numbers on the wooden Ogham pillar? Who was it to be a code for?”

      “No one, Watson. He was not intentionally leaving a clue, only trying to work it out in his mind by writing things down. He was tormented by his moral dilemma and did not know what to do, so he set about writing it out but in a way that he thought no else would stumble upon it.” Holmes stared at Mrs. Wolkner.

      “I suspect that the original plan had been for our Black Widow here to disappear, leaving her husband, as the Americans like to say, holding the bag.”

      Mrs. Wolkner laughed. “The stuttering fool actually confronted me about the thefts. If he had only left well enough alone, he would be alive today.”

      “Yes, his honor and decency of character required that he inform you of what he had learned. Did he plead with you to return the funds to the firm’s accounts? Of course he did. Did you play along with him? Of course you did. But you had no intention of doing any such thing. So the plan had to be changed. Now, the poor man would have to be disposed of. That is where your accomplices came in.”

      “You have proof of all this?” I was incredulous, for we had been at Ogham Manor for less than twenty-four hours and Holmes seemed to not only have found a murder where there was none, but to also have solved it.

      “Inspector Gregson has Dr. Sedgecombe in custody. His full confession is not necessary, for we have enough evidence to hang him.”

      “Gregson? Sedgecombe? How on earth did Gregson become involved? And what evidence?”

      “Our valiant coachman also delivered a message to him at Scotland Yard. Gregson then made inquiries about Sedgecombe with his colleagues in Leeds. It seems our country doctor had been forced СКАЧАТЬ