THE IRREGULAR CASEBOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES (3 page)

I was now convinced that we were in the presence of a raving lunatic, but Dr James remained quite calm.

‘That is most interesting, but hardly relevant to the matter in hand. One other thing—there was a gentleman at Trinity library today, a man with long side whiskers . . .’

‘Mr Eldred? How strange that you should mention him!’

James shrugged. ‘He gave the impression that he knew you well.’

‘That was a little premature, as we did not meet until an hour ago! In fact, he left not long before you came. We played a game of chess. I am the best chess player in Britain, but he gave me quite an interesting contest. It took some little effort on my part to defeat him. In fact he spoke of the Dee manuscripts while we played!’

Crowley’s eyes narrowed, and his lips hardened into a cruel line. ‘You know, I begin to find this a little strange. One could be forgiven for thinking there is more to your visit than meets the eye.’

Clearly, Crowley was beginning to see through our little pretence. I rose and fastened my coat.

‘Well, we have wasted enough of your time, young man. I am satisfied that David Nutt will not be in competition with any rival publisher on this occasion. My mind has been set at rest. Shall we go, Dr James?’

Crowley gave me a penetrating look, then said, ‘I am glad I could help. Tell me, Mr—Crossley, did you say?—would you be interested in a volume of poetry? I am, as I told you, the best poet since Shelley.’

‘Unfortunately Mr Crossley does not deal with poetry,’ said James smoothly. ‘Another department.’

‘That,’ said Edward Crowley in a distinctly menacing tone, ‘is most unfortunate for him.’

Outside I breathed the clear air with some relief ‘Well!’ exclaimed James. ‘What did you make of that?’

‘I didn’t believe a word of it,’ I replied. ‘Psychic powers indeed! He’s hiding something, I’m sure.’

‘I thought so, too. He owns a copy of Trithemius, as well as Bacon’s
De Augmentis Scientiarum
and Selenius’s
Cryptographia.
Young Mr Crowley is obviously interested in the decipherment of secret documents!’

We walked back to King’s in a state of high excitement, weighing the possibility of actually solving the case without Holmes. However, a shock awaited us at Dr James’s rooms. For as we approached, it became evident that the door, which had been locked when we left, was now standing open. Creeping forward quietly, we peered in.

There, bending over the desk, was a hunched figure with long side-whiskers. Adjusting the grip on my stick, I stepped into the room and said, ‘Would you mind telling us what you are doing here?’

The old man turned slowly and leered at us with a rheumy insolence. The effect was unnerving.

‘I might ask you the same question,’ he piped, ‘Dr John H. Watson.’

I hefted my stick. ‘How do you know my name? Out with it, man! You will not leave this room until you have told us everything!’

‘Then,’ said the old man, straightening up and pulling off his whiskers, ‘I had better reveal myself, before you break my head!’

‘Holmes!’ I cried.

‘I’m afraid so, Watson. You can strike one suspect from your list. I apologise for the deception, gentlemen. It was not intentional, but my business in London was concluded sooner than I expected, and it occurred to me that I might undertake at least some of my investigation incognito. I must confess I have enjoyed being Mr Eldred!’

He began to remove his wig and make-up.

‘You have been with us every step of the way,’ said the crestfallen James. ‘Ahead of us, in fact.’

‘I got Crowley’s name from Biggs. A singular fellow, our Mr Crowley, who will one day make his mark upon the world. Whether it will be for good or ill, I cannot say. To play chess with someone is always revealing. I held a rearguard action against him for almost thirty minutes, but it was like crossing swords with a fencing master. A powerful mind!’

‘An unhinged mind,’ I corrected. ‘Do you know, Holmes, he thinks he has met Queen Elizabeth?’

Dr James quickly recounted the gist of our conversation. Holmes seemed uninterested. ‘These are matters quite outside my brief. There are enough mysteries to exercise my mind in the natural world, without confusing the issue with spooks.’

‘Talking of mysteries,’ said James. ‘Are you any nearer to a conclusion?’

Holmes seemed surprised by the question. ‘I had arrived at a conclusion before I left Baker Street, doctor. However, I have found the confirmation I needed. The manuscript is quite safe, and should be in your hands by Christmas Eve.’

‘You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that, Mr Holmes. But how could you have solved this so soon?’

‘You handed me a pretty problem, I’ll admit, but it offered obvious possibilities. The first clue was the blank paper.’

‘So you said, but what could that tell you?’

‘That this was not merely the theft of a manuscript. Do you have the remaining pages? Good, let us examine them.’

Taking up a pencil, Holmes gently shaded over the topmost sheet. The imprint of words began to show through. Holmes read them aloud.

‘“Building a house—Vitruvian—five-panel square mnemonic?—Fiery Messengers——” As I thought. Whoever stole the manuscript took the time to copy your notes.’

‘But why not just take the notes themselves?’

‘A good question. Because he did not wish you to
know
that they were of interest to him. Clearly you had stumbled upon some clue of which you yourself were unaware.’

‘Clue? Clue to what?’

‘That brings us to another point which interested me: the nature of your original discovery. You commented that the gummed pages yielded with surprising ease. I wondered why that should be, when they had held for centuries. There seemed to me one likely answer—that yours was not the initial discovery. My brief examination of the material this morning confirmed the hypothesis. There were two other pages with faint signs of having been gummed back to back. So someone had already found one hidden sheet, and stolen it. On the same, or a subsequent occasion, he began to open the other pair of gummed pages, but was interrupted, and pushed the joint back together. Then you came along, discovered the second sheet, informed the staff, and arranged to borrow it. Using that very apposite Kelly hoax, the thief retrieved the other half of his puzzle, coolly picking your brains as he did so!’

‘But why go to so much trouble over a few lines of ritualistic nonsense? The value of those pages is surely academic rather than financial. And even academic rivalry rarely descends to the level of physical assault and robbery!’

‘You are forgetting young Crowley,’ I said. ‘Surely he has taken them in order to perform this ritual of the Fiery Messengers. He admitted that his initial interest in the Dee material was occult.’

‘That is true, Watson, but consider another possibility. You, Dr James, told us with admirable succinctness of your Art of Memory hypothesis; it certainly fitted the facts, but it is possible to be too erudite: to see complexity where it does not exist. Think of that Biblical quotation about building a house, coupled with Vitruvian architectural designs. Dee was a Cambridge man through and through. Can you think of a building not far from here which represents the epitome of Vitruvian architectural principles?’

Dr James threw up his hands. ‘Good heavens! King’s College Chape!’

‘Quite so,’ said Holmes drily. ‘And in the light of that, does not this cryptic “ritual” with its circles, arcs, and crosses, rather suggest a way of locating something hidden in the Chapel? It would not be the first time such a document has lent itself to such a solution, eh, Watson?’

‘The Musgrave Ritual!’ I exclaimed. ‘I had quite forgotten!’

‘If this case has taught me anything,’ rejoined Holmes, ‘it is that a consulting detective ought to know everything, and remember everything! Well, Dr James, are we to solve this puzzle?’

‘There is nothing I would like more, Mr Holmes, but the thief is now in possession of all the clues. He has the advantage of that other page.’

‘Yet, we are three, doctor, and we have your great ecclesiological knowledge at our disposal. Now, I suppose you can lay your hands upon a ground plan of the Chapel? Good—and as the creator of this mystery was an authority on Euclid, it is perhaps fitting that we will also require rule, compasses, and ink for a little geometry. The time has come for a guided tour of King’s College Chapel.’

Luckily for us, the Chapel proved to be deserted, though we knew well enough that there might be an interruption at any moment. Despite myself, I was so moved by the great and solemn interior, with its intricate vaultings and blazing expanses of coloured glass, that I could not help but look around me in wonder.

‘It is beautiful, doctor,’ I whispered. ‘Such workmanship—and the stained glass! Is it original?’

Dr James did not answer. He was gazing upwards as if he, too, was seeing the windows for the first time.

‘What a fool!’ he cried. I felt a little hurt, for I had not thought my question so deserving of ridicule; but it seemed I had misinterpreted his words.

‘What an absolute foot I am!’ he went on. ‘Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, I have been blind! You were right, I was too clever for my own good. When the context is understood, it is all absurdly simple! Where are those notes?—here—d’you see?—the oblong with the central panel surrounded by four smaller! It is the layout of each of these windows! And in the centre panel of each is a figure sometimes called a Messenger!’

‘A
messenger
in fiery colours,’ observed Holmes. ‘Well done, doctor. I was sure your knowledge would prove invaluable. The windows mark the positions on our ground plan, then—but which?’

Dr James looked about him. ‘Let me see—I think the east end. Yes—now—“first cast yr circle linking th High Priest to the release of Spirittes . . .” Yes, the second to last window on the north side depicts Christ before the High Priest. And that of the south shows Christ releasing the spirits!’

Holmes rubbed his hands and chuckled. ‘A circle on the ground plan that touches those two windows. Go on, doctor, go on.’

‘Where are we? Yes—“Then fashion an arc by which ye shall be encrowned and bewailed.” The last window on the north side has Christ crowned, and on the last south window, Christ mourned by the women. Absurdly simple, why didn’t I think of it? Have you got that, Mr Holmes?’

‘Yes—the arc thus formed cuts through the circle, forming an ellipse around the altar.’

“‘Therebye enfolding ye most high”—altus, meaning high, an altar!—“within th vesica piscis.” Now, “Blindfold and mocked, on ye arms of ye crosse.” The third to last windows on each side show Christ blindfolded and Christ mocked. A cross, then, with the arms touching those two points. May I see?’

He peered over Holmes’s shoulder.