The Wilhelm Conspiracy (A Sherlock Holmes and Lucy James Mystery) Page 8

  “On the contrary. The two men were bearing an important message. Your conduct made it impossible for them to deliver it.”

  “You surprise me, sir. What was the message?”

  “It was for Mr. Holmes.”

  “From?”

  “From the highest level of authority in Germany.”

  “I cannot believe you. Why would the Kaiser send a pair of thugs to deliver a message?”

  “They were available. The choice was perhaps unfortunate.”

  “So now you are the messenger from the Kaiser?”

  “I am.”

  “So what was the message?”

  “The Kaiser wishes to retain the services of Sherlock Holmes.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To locate a missing object.”

  “What is the object?”

  “I believe you already know, Dr. Watson. It is the same object that you recently discovered to be missing in Dover.”

  I sat mute, but I knew I had failed to conceal my surprise. I was sure the expression on my face had told him he was correct.

  He gave a satisfied smile. “Now you will kindly deliver that message to Mr. Holmes at your next opportunity. We shall be watching you in Bad Homburg.”

  With that ominous statement, he withdrew. The door closed behind him.

  19. A MESSAGE AND A MEETING

  Night had fallen by the time we reached the Bad Homburg railway station, a small structure barely large enough to shelter a dozen passengers. The stone platform was well lit by electric lamps. As we descended from our carriage with perhaps a dozen other passengers, I noticed that the breeze coming across the platform bore a particularly pleasant scent and a clear and crisp autumnal feel. Harriet said something about the natural conditions that created this effect of “champagne air,” as it was touted locally, but I paid little attention. Our journey had been long and fatiguing, and I was looking forward to settling into a room at the Parkhotel.

  We had entrusted our luggage to the porter and were about to pass through the station to find a cab when another porter stopped us. In a brusque but otherwise respectful tone he asked, “You ladies appear to be English. Is either of you Miss Radnar?”

  Harriet identified herself, and he continued, “Then this telegram is for you.”

  Harriet opened it immediately and showed it to us. The letters formed words that were entirely unintelligible.

  “Coded,” Harriet said. “I will decipher it when we are in the cab.”

  Not long afterwards, the three of us settled into a four-wheeler taxicab for the ride into Bad Homburg. In the yellow glow of the carriage reading lamp, Harriet hunched over the yellow telegraph paper, inscribing decoded letters into her sketchbook with an engraved silver pen. Soon she looked up with a satisfied expression. “Adrian has a paid spy in Baden-Baden. The spy says two weeks ago there were reports of strange flashes resembling lightning in the Black Forest outside the village, just after electrical scientists and boxes of electrical equipment had been assembled at the Kaiser’s castle there. Then the lightning flashes stopped. Police and the army came in. Civilians were arrested and hauled away for questioning.”

  We tried to fathom the meaning of von Bülow’s imperious visit in the context of Arkwright’s message. Taken together, the two seemed to confirm that the Germans had stolen the jewel box apparatus essential to the firing of the new weapon from Kerren’s laboratory, and that later a person or persons unknown had stolen the jewel box from the Germans. Assuming that we were correct, then von Bülow’s desire to hire Holmes to find the jewel box was likely to be a sincere one. But what if von Bülow had some other purpose in mind? If the two German thugs indeed wanted to deliver a request to retain Holmes’s services when they had met us in Dover, was that not in direct conflict with the warning they had delivered to Lestrade at Baker Street? Holmes obviously had to be told in any case, but of course Holmes was nowhere to be found, and we had no way to summon him.

  As we rode in the taxicab, Harriet, who had become familiar with the town during several summers here with her parents, pointed out some of the buildings that we passed along the way to our hotel. Lucy gazed out of the window attentively, but to me, the buildings were only shadowed profiles, to be glimpsed through even more shadows of tall trees and shrubbery in what appeared to be an enormous park.

  Finally we arrived at the Parkhotel. Lucy and I said farewell to Harriet, who continued in the taxicab, on the way to the flat owned by her father. Not long afterwards I was in my room, a plush, luxurious affair crowded with overstuffed furniture, potted palms, and a double bed with an equally overstuffed mattress. On the dresser and bedside table were several brochures proclaiming the virtues of various potions and nostrums available at the local shops and spas. I barely glanced at them. I was ready for a sorely needed night’s rest.

  Then someone knocked softly at my door.

  Opening it a crack, I beheld a small man, somewhat portly and likely in his midthirties, holding a folded newspaper beneath the arm of his swallowtail coat and clutching his top hat before him. His round, clean-shaven face turned up to meet my gaze, and his small, dark eyes peered searchingly at me from behind gold-rimmed spectacles. The obviously simulated smile he had fixed on his mouth turned instantly to an equally artificial expression of contrition. “I do apologize for disturbing you at this hour after your long journey, Dr. Watson,” he said. Then the fixed smile returned for a moment. “May I come in?”

  “For what purpose?”

  “It concerns something Mr. Holmes wishes to locate.”

  I bade him enter and soon we were seated on velvet-upholstered chairs, across from one another before the curtains of my window. He held up the newspaper that he had been carrying. “I shall come to the point directly, Dr. Watson. I am here in response to this advertisement placed in this afternoon’s newspaper. It is written in German. I believe you do not speak the language? Correct? Then I shall read it to you. It is under the category of ‘Personal’ and says: ‘Those with information concerning a missing electrical jewel box will find it to their advantage to call upon Dr. John Watson at the Parkhotel, Bad Homburg.’”

  Again, the artificial smile appeared for a moment. “From your astonished look, Dr. Watson, I take it that you have not been made aware of this advertisement.”

  I felt a surge of annoyance, both with Holmes for not telling me what he had done, and with this overly unctuous man for raising the point. I said, “I take it you have some information. Would you kindly convey it. The hour is late.”

  “Of course. The person I represent is in possession of the jewel box.”

  “Where did he acquire it?”

  “In Baden-Baden.”

  “Where?”

  Again the false smile. “I am not able to provide that information. However, I am able to provide the jewel box. The price demanded by my client is one hundred thousand gold marks, or about twenty thousand pounds sterling. To the British government, this would be a trifling sum. Half will be due as an immediate payment, and the other half on delivery.”

  “I shall have to discuss this with Mr. Holmes.”

  “Naturally.”

  “How shall I find you? What is your name?”

  “Ah. You will understand that I need to be quite discreet in such a delicate matter, Dr. Watson. You may call me Herr Gruen. And I shall have to find you. I trust you will not make that too difficult a task.” Then, with a brief flash of that annoying smile, he stood, bowed politely, and picked up his hat. A few moments later he was gone.

  20. AN OUTDOOR DEMONSTRATION

  On Wednesday morning I was feeling somewhat rested, for, after a few minutes’ tossing about in my bed in futile attempts to determine how I ought best to reach out to Holmes, I dropped into a sound slumber, to awaken only when the bright morning sunlight came streaming through an opening in the heavy curtains of my window.

  Lucy and I joined D’Oyly Carte, the dapper impresario of the Savoy opera company, at his bre
akfast table. Carte had finished his single boiled egg and triangle of toast and had set down his napkin, after delicately touching it to his perfectly trimmed black beard. As usual, he was impeccably tailored, attired for this occasion in a suit and waistcoat of light-grey tweed, with a blue silk kerchief tucked into the breast pocket of his jacket. We chatted comfortably about the performance that the company was to put on that evening and the rehearsal that was to begin in a few minutes at the theatre a short walk away. Neither Lucy nor I mentioned our undertaking to recover the electrical weapon. I was wondering where Holmes would choose to make his appearance known. Lucy, seated to my right, was listening to Carte while surveying the fashionably dressed women and their men at the crowded tables around us.

  Then Lucy said, “Dr. Watson. Please keep your head down and do not look behind you.”

  I kept my eyes on my empty plate as Carte asked, “What are you talking about?”

  “Two men that do not know you, Mr. Carte, but they know Dr. Watson and me. Please slowly turn your attention towards the doorway. Do you see a very tall man and his hard-faced companion?”

  Carte sipped coffee while allowing his gaze to drift around the room. “Yes.”

  “Please say what they are doing.”

  “They are surveying the tables. They do make a most unpleasant-looking pair.”

  “Two days ago we sent them to a London jail. They are from the German embassy, so they were probably released, and then deported.”

  “How would they know to look for you here?”

  “I don’t know that they are. What are they doing now?”

  “The tall one has just noticed me and whispered something to the other. Now they both have turned away. They are leaving the room.” I took a brief glimpse and saw the two retreating forms. They were unmistakably Dietrich and Richter.

  “We must follow them,” said Lucy.

  By the time we made our way through the crowded tables and reached the hotel lobby, the two men were nowhere to be seen. Lucy pressed on to the front entrance, and we followed. On the steps in front of the hotel, we looked across the boulevard to a vast green expanse of trees, shrubs, and lawns. There was still no sign of the two men. We looked up and down the wide pavement, again without seeing either Dietrich or Richter.

  “I won’t ask what you’re doing, Lucy,” Carte said amiably. “Though I take it that it will not interfere with your performance tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I suppose we may as well stroll over to the theatre for rehearsals.”

  We began our walk along the broad boulevard. “We are at the southern border of the Kurpark,” said Carte. “The main spa, the building where much of the healing business is conducted, is called the Kurhaus. I’ve been here several times, but never taken advantage of all the treatments that so many rave about. You can’t see the building, for it’s nearly half a mile off and all those monumental trees get in the way. That tower over there is part of the Schloss, the restored castle where both the Kaiser and the Prince of Wales stay when they are here.”

  Carte continued to talk as we strolled along. “The Germans like their parks to be oversized, I suppose. This one is twice as big as St. James’s. But still it is arranged in the modern English style, with the trees laid out in a natural pattern.”

  He stopped. “Hello, what’s this?”

  Across the boulevard and amongst the line of trees nearest us, a group of soldiers in tight grey uniforms walked behind a single ramrod-straight figure, clad in white with gold braid on his shoulders and sash. Absurdly, I thought, the white-uniformed leader carried a sword in its scabbard at his hip.

  Carte said, “Look at the man in white. I believe we are witnessing the Kaiser himself.”

  “What is he doing?” I asked.

  “Inspecting the trees. I’ve heard about this.”

  The Kaiser stopped before a tall elm tree. He looked the tree up and down, as though it were one of his soldiers. Then he nodded, turned, and continued on his path, his uniformed retinue trailing him in a cluster.

  We watched fascinated as the process was repeated. Stride, stop. Look up and down, nod, and stride again. Then, a moment later, the Kaiser was standing at attention, looking up at a tall elm. He raised his white-gloved right hand and twirled his fingers, or perhaps snapped them—it was impossible for me to tell at the distance. Then he dropped his hand to his side, came to attention once more, pivoted, and moved on.

  Behind him, two members of his retinue stopped before the tree. They pulled out a spool of red ribbon. One of them walked around the tree, spooling out the ribbon, while the other held the end. Then the ribbon was cut and tied.

  “Marked for doom,” said Carte. “That tree will be cut down today.”

  “Why?” Lucy asked. “It appears to be a perfectly good tree.”

  “Nonetheless it is doomed, because Wilhelm commands it. Look, he’s turning.”

  Wilhelm and the others were heading north on the street that marked the western border of this part of the Kurpark.

  “If we followed him, I’m told we’d see him stop again and stamp his foot. That means he wants a new tree planted on that spot.” Carte shrugged. “But we turn left here. The theatre’s just down this road.”

  We had rounded the corner following Carte when suddenly from behind us we heard a sudden crack, like the sound of a thunderclap, although oddly muffled. We stopped immediately and turned back to the park.

  The tree that the Kaiser’s men had marked with a red ribbon had been split apart from above. The tall elm was slowly tearing itself in two, as though an invisible giant had just struck down upon it from above with an invisible axe. Its two halves were each twisting and swaying as they grew farther and farther from one another. The branches crackled and rustled as the weight of the two portions of the trunk bore them downwards towards the ground. Steam or smoke came from the exposed white wood of the trunk. The red ribbon was torn asunder.

  We stood transfixed by the sight. “What the devil was that?” Carte asked.

  As we watched, three soldiers ran swiftly to the edge of the park and stood at the corner, blocking the path to prevent any bystanders from getting closer. Behind them, we saw two more soldiers closing the rear doors of a large black van. The van was already moving, pulled by four black horses. It reached the edge of the park and turned away from us, heading north in the direction of a large building with a tall white tower.

  Lucy and I stared at one another. “Are they demonstrating the electrical weapon?” She spoke quietly, out of Carte’s hearing.

  “Why would they be so obvious about it?” I whispered. Then an idea came to me. “Perhaps they are only pretending that they have it? Although I cannot understand why they would want to do that.”

  Lucy gave a brief smile. “I suppose we ought not to theorize in advance of the facts.”

  21. AN INDOOR DEMONSTRATION

  We made our way to the Kurtheater without further incident. As we entered the foyer, however, a momentary flash of light surprised us. The light came from an open doorway off to the left side of the box office and was accompanied by excited voices, primarily those of women. Entering through the doorway, we found the source of the commotion. Nearly all the members of the Savoy chorus, in their street clothes, were gathered around Mr. Tesla, who stood beside one of the chorus ladies. Tesla held a glass wand of about one inch in diameter and about five inches long, against the lady’s forearm. The wand, connected by a wire to a complicated apparatus behind Tesla, emitted a violet glow.

  “What’s all this?” asked Carte. “Why are you all not on stage?”

  Harriet Radnar stepped forwards from behind Tesla. “Mr. Carte, this is Nikola Tesla, the electrical inventor. He has rented this part of the theatre in order to demonstrate his inventions. Something of a sideshow, one might say. Mr. Tesla, this is Sir Richard D’Oyly Carte.”

  Tesla beamed happily at Carte. “Sir, your reputation precedes you. I am delighted to make the acquaintanc
e of the first impresario to light his theatre with electric light. I was just demonstrating my electric transformer coils, which I have here connected with my violet ray wand.”

  He addressed the woman from the chorus who had been standing beside him. “Madam, does your wrist feel better?”

  The woman beamed. “Much warmer, and the sharp pain has gone away altogether.”

  I wondered whether the same effect would have been achieved with a hot compress, but kept my doubts to myself.

  Tesla was speaking. “The electrical currents agitate the cells, promoting circulation, which we know to be a benefit to health. However, the currents produced by my machine are set to vibrate at different frequencies, just as a violinist alters the frequencies of a vibrating violin string by placement of his fingers, in order to produce different notes. Some of the frequencies also produce ozone that oxidizes the toxic wastes associated with illness, turning them into harmless gaseous compounds that the body can readily expel. The violet ray is useful for hair loss, poor circulation in the extremities, varicose veins, warts—”

  Carte interrupted. “Yes, yes, this is all very well. I certainly admire your inventive genius, Mr. Tesla. However, ladies and gentlemen, we do need to begin the rehearsal. Our stage tonight is barely two-thirds the size of what we have at the Savoy. We have less than two hours to accustom ourselves to its strictures. The Prince of Wales expects a dazzling performance, as does the Kaiser, and as, I am sure, do all of us. You will kindly prepare for the opening of act one.”

  People scurried to obey Carte’s directive. I expected Carte to follow, but his attention now appeared to be focused on a silver globe set atop a five-foot-tall column of polished metal. The globe was about the size of a grown man’s head, and the diameter of the column only slightly smaller. About two feet away stood another globe and column of identical shape and size.

  “I think I have seen pictures of those,” Carte said.

  Tesla beamed with pleasure. “Allow me to demonstrate,” he said, and pressed a button. At that moment, a large bright spark about the size of a yardstick flashed between the two polished globes. The cold white illumination cast Tesla’s sharp features in harsh relief. I realized we had found the source of the flash of light that we had seen moments earlier.