The Scottish Ploy (10 page)

“I want something
done,”
said Sir Cameron bluntly. “I want the blighters arrested.”

“What ... blighters?” Mycroft Holmes asked in an eminently reasonable tone of voice. “What has happened, Sir Cameron?”

Indignation and fear swelled in Sir Cameron’s bosom. “Well might you ask. Some blighter took a shot at me! At
me!”

Holmes’ manner went from indulgent to serious in an instant. “When?” he asked.

“Just now. We were turning off Mount Street when there were two shots fired at my town-coach. The door-frame on the right side was splintered and my coachman was wounded in the shoulder.” There was a suggestion of a stammer in his words, and he paced in a small ellipse, his hands caught together to keep them from shaking. I noticed a whiff of brandy about his person, and I assumed he had fortified himself from his flask.

“Are you certain?” Mycroft Holmes was intent now, entirely focused on what Sir Cameron was saying.

“As certain as a man may be,” said Sir Cameron. “I won’t stand for it! Shootings in London. In Mayfair!” He slammed his fist into his palm. “It’s not to be endured.”

Mycroft Holmes set about the task of soothing the mercurial Scottish peer. “Sir Cameron, if you will tell me all you can about the incident, Guthrie here will see a full report is tendered to the police within the hour.”

‘The police,” Sir Cameron scoffed. “Fat lot of good that will do.” He glowered at the butler who was standing a few steps away listening avidly. “See you don’t pass this on to any of your cronies. I don’t want to read about it in the
Mirror
tomorrow.”

“I do not gossip, sir,” said the butler stiffly, and pointedly left the room.

“Good riddance,” said Sir Cameron. “There was something odd about the shot—it was more like a hunting pistol—you know, the long-barreled Hungarian sort they use on boar and bear for the coup de grâce.”

“No doubt you’re right; we’ll make due note of it,” Mycroft Holmes told Sir Cameron as if this were nothing of significance, though both Holmes and I knew that Vickers favored a long-barreled Hungarian hunting pistol. “Still, if you want to stem the tide of gossip, perhaps we should tend to the matter for which we are here?” He made the suggestion tentatively, not wanting to provide Sir Cameron with another excuse to rant.

For once, Sir Cameron allowed himself to be persuaded. “Right you are. These Germans can’t be trusted to hold the line. Smarmy lot, they are.” He smoothed the front of his coat. “I’ll give Guthrie my report when we’re done here. The police can wait until we’re finished with this meeting; it’s not as if they can catch the assassin. If I know anything, I know he’s long gone. He’d be a fool to remain nearby.”

“A fool or brilliant,” said Holmes distantly. “What better place to hide than among those walking on the street in the rain?”

Sir Cameron paid no attention. “I sent my coachman off to find a constable and then to see a physician to have his shoulder stitched up. He will give a first report.” He made it seem as if these very sensible acts were the height of magnanimity on his part.

“It is probably best, as you say,” Mycroft Holmes declared, relieved that he had not had to dispute with Sir Cameron over such precautions.

“Where are the Germans?” Sir Cameron went on.

“In the drawing room. If you will permit me to announce you?” Holmes said as he ushered Sir Cameron down the corridor.

“If you want to do the butler’s job, what is it to me?” Sir Cameron said as if he had no part in the butler having left them to their own devices. “Let’s just get this over with as quickly as we can. I have an engagement tonight and I do not want to miss it.”

Mycroft Holmes concealed a sigh. “I should hope we may settle all our questions promptly, but that will be up to you, in large part.”

“Then it should be a simple task, for I am a reasonable man.” Sir Cameron declared with a fine disregard for the truth.

We were almost to the drawing room; Holmes made a last attempt to prepare Sir Cameron for what lay ahead. “They know about the house you let.”

Sir Cameron stopped abruptly. “What business is it of theirs?” he asked, choler returning to his eye.

“They do not want you to have your wife stay there,” Holmes said.

“And why should she? She has a suite reserved at Brown’s, or so I believe. Does she want to change her plans?” Sir Cameron inquired. “What is it to her if I let a house in London?”

Mycroft Holmes held back the outburst I knew was threatening to erupt. “If not for her, then why—?”

“I can’t spend all my time at an hotel or my club,” said Sir Cameron petulantly. “It’s much too public a place. A man needs a place of his own, don’t you know? A private one. A place where he can enjoy himself without prying eyes upon him.”

With a gesture of exasperation, Holmes whispered, “Do you mean to say you are going to install a mistress there?”

“Well, and what if I am?” Sir Cameron answered sullenly. “You can’t blame a man for—”

The door opened and Baron von Schattenberg exclaimed, “Are you not going to present Sir Cameron, Mister Holmes? now that he has finally come?”

Mycroft Holmes recovered his aplomb with astonishing speed. “Of course,” he said to the Baron. “It is my honor to present to you Sir Cameron MacMillian. Sir Cameron, the Baron von Schattenberg.” He gave me a quick glance as if to be certain I was in place to deal with any faux pas Sir Cameron might make.

The Baron bowed and clicked his heels. “A pleasure, Sir Cameron.”

“And for me,” said Sir Cameron automatically. “I am sorry I was late, but on my way here my coach was shot at.” He said it calmly, with an air of heroic resignation. “I knew I had enemies, but I did not think they would be so bold as to strike in the heart of the metropolis.”

“Shot at!” the Baron marveled. “Did you suffer any—?”

“I am unhurt,” said Sir Cameron. “Which is more than I can say for my unfortunate coachman, who was wounded in the shoulder.” He was dangerously near smirking now. “It is an outrage, of course.”

“Most certainly it is,” agreed Baron von Schattenberg with an alacrity that I found suspicious. “Come in, come in. There is tea and I can send for schnapps or brandy, whichever you would prefer.”

Sir Cameron smiled. “That would be very good of you.”

I shuddered at the thought of what brandy would do to Sir Cameron in his present frame of mind, and so I struggled to try to think of something to say that might warn him of the risk he was running. The best I could come up with was, “With so much to accomplish, do you think you want to—”

He did not allow me to finish. “I would welcome a glass of brandy to steady my nerves,” he announced. “After the misfortunes of this afternoon, I do not want to make a decision based on my unwitting belief that I am under attack from old enemies instead of assessing my position from a less apprehensive posture.” His smile was smug enough to annoy me but insufficient to give me cause to call his request into question. I looked at Mycroft Holmes and shrugged; he nodded to me.

“Then let brandy be brought,” said Baron von Schattenberg. “It is only fitting that we offer our guest libation to his liking.” He gave a quick look at Holmes as if to make certain that it was recognized that he, not Holmes, had the command of our current situation.

“For which I thank you,” said Sir Cameron. “You must excuse Holmes,” he went on glibly. “He is a Puritan at heart, and thinks himself above all indulgences. More’s the pity.”

“As you say,” the Baron conceded. “I will see that you have the hospitality you prefer.” He looked at Mycroft Holmes as if to accuse him. “Bring brandy,” he ordered the butler, who was standing a short distance away. “And a carafe of hot water as well.” He folded his arms. “When Sir Cameron is quite comfortable we will resume our discussion.”

I was tempted to dispute the remarks Sir Cameron had made as well, but I saw Mycroft Holmes signal me to silence, and so I kept my peace. I busied myself with making notes that meant very little while the tea cooled in anticipation of the arrival of brandy, which would be most welcome when it was finally produced. When the butler came in with a tray containing an old bottle of French origin, I saw the three aides nod to one another, and knew then that they had anticipated some disruption in our meeting. That distressed me, but I contained myself, hoping that there would be some means to reveal this device for what it was.

“May I have some tea?” Mycroft Holmes asked as the Baron poured out a measure of brandy into a snifter of cut Czech glass.

“Oh, I think that is possible,” said Baron von Schattenberg. “Herr Kriede, if you will do the honors? Pour yourself a cup first, and drink it down before you offer any to our guests. He has had such an ordeal that he deserves this courtesy.”

“At once, Herr Baron,” said Helmut Kriede, rising and coming to perform the duty requested by the Baron. He filled his cup with a flourish, stirred it thoroughly, added milk and sugar, stirred again and drank the whole. “There. You see?”

“You did not need to make such a display for my benefit, or for Sir Cameron’s; we do not think we are in the company of our foes,” said Mycroft Holmes. “But I thank you for your willingness to demonstrate your good-will.”

“Thank you, Mister Holmes,” said the Baron. “I wish you to comprehend the extent of our inclination to accommodate your expectations so that you will not balk at our requests regarding Sir Cameron and Lady MacMillian.” He began to pour a second cup, paying only slight attention to what he was doing. “It is most unseemly that Sir Cameron has suffered any mishap that is the least associated with us, for that would tend to cast doubts on all that we do.”

“Not at all,” muttered Sir Cameron, whose visage belied his words.

“You see?” the Baron exclaimed. “Sir Cameron understands me. I do not mean to distress you, but you must realize that I am obligated to stand by my countrywoman in matters that may not be all you wish for.”

“I do grasp that,” said Mycroft Holmes, and gave an uneasy look at Sir Cameron, who was swirling his brandy in his snifter. “I do not wish to make Lady MacMillian’s stay here unpleasant in any way, but I am concerned about her escort. The men she proposes to accompany her are not those who have wholly unblemished pasts, and this is perturbing to the Admiralty, and to Her Majesty’s government. This leaves me in a difficult position, for I wish to find a way to welcome Lady MacMillian to London without the reservations we must have in the current circumstances. You have said, Baron, that she will not reconsider. I hope that this is not true, for I need her to—” He stopped abruptly as Helmut Kriede made a small, gasping noise then fell to the floor, the teacup he had been holding breaking as it hit the edge of the table.

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

Sutton is off to the Diogenes Club in his guise as Mycroft Holmes. He told me just before he left that he would remain in the Reading Room of the DC for the purpose of removing himself from observation, for he is very much of the opinion that he is still being followed. If this is true, it is most disturbing, and I am at a loss to say what is best to be done ...

There is a note from Sir Marmion, who has indicated that he is going to review the wounded courier’s case, to determine if he has been receiving the best of care. While I do not doubt that the Admiralty provides its people with the finest treatment, I am also certain that Sir Marmion may be able to suggest other means to improve the courier’s lot, and hasten his recovery.

MH and G are still with the Germans, which is not unexpected. I will not look for them for at least an hour or so. In the meantime, I have in hand an autopsy report for Yujel Kerem, which I shall present to MH upon his return. It appears MH was right in two of his conclusions regarding the young man ...

I must step out for an hour or so to visit the butcher and the baker, for, tomorrow being Sunday, such shops will be closed, and I will be unable to find any of the meats and breads I can obtain during the week. At least the butcher has said he has put aside a standing crown roast of pork that I may bring here for tomorrow’s dinner. Come Monday there should be fresh veal chops, and halibut from the fishmonger ...

THERE WAS
silence in the drawing room of Herr Amsel’s house in Berkeley Mews. No one breathed for the greater part of a minute, and then Baron von Schattenberg called aloud for the butler as Sir Cameron downed the entire contents of his snifter; for once I could not blame him. Mycroft Holmes dropped to his knee and took the man’s wrist, then leaned forward and put his ear to his chest; it was apparent to all that life had departed, for Helmut Kriede’s face was set in a rictus that cannot be long supported in life. The body carried odors indicating death had struck.

The butler appeared in the door, his annoyance at the summons giving way at once to horror. “My God!” he ejaculated as he saw the corpse. He rushed forward only to be stopped by Mycroft Holmes.

“Send someone to the police. Say it is urgent: there has been a death by poison.” Holmes got up. “Then seal this room. Let no one enter or leave it.” He regarded Baron von Schattenberg. “I hope this will meet with your approval?”

“Oh, yes,” said the Baron, much shaken, his face gone pasty. “I will defer to you in this. It is your country.” He turned away from Kriede’s body. “But I do not like having to remain here. Is it necessary that we stay here? Can we not adjourn to the library and close this room for the police?”

Mycroft Holmes shook his head. “That would not be wise,” he said as soothingly as he could. “We must provide no opportunity for any mischief to be done to the body, or to the scene itself.”

“Come now, Holmes,” said Sir Cameron in his bluff, bullying way, “No one’s going to touch it. I think it’s a damned good notion, going to the library. Nothing to be gained staying here.”

“I regret to contradict you, Sir Cameron,” said Holmes with a polite nod. “But we must be able to report to the police that the body is precisely as it fell, that no one has touched the cup-and-saucer, that, in fact, all is as it was when the poor man died. If we leave a guard here, no matter who that guard may be, there must be some opportunity for alteration of the scene, and that would muddle the investigation from the start. No, do not even pick up his cup, Herr Eisenfeld. Everything must remain exactly as it is.” He motioned to me. “Guthrie, do you hand out sheets of paper to everyone, and we shall occupy ourselves writing down everything we can remember in the minutes that led up to Herr Kriede’s death.”

Sir Cameron welcomed this opportunity for complaint. “I saw hardly anything. I had just arrived and was still somewhat overcome by my experience in Mount Street.”

Mycroft Holmes dared to interject his instructions. “It would be better if we do not discuss what happened until we have each one written his own impression of events. That way we may discover a detail only one of us observed.” He pointed at me. “Guthrie, if you would?”

I had taken some sheets from my portfolio; I rose and handed them out to the Germans, to Sir Cameron, and to Mycroft Holmes. “Do you want me to do the same, sir?”

“Of course I do, dear boy. It is most essential that we triangulate our impressions, which this exercise will allow us to do,” said Mycroft Holmes as he pulled out his pencil and set to work, providing an example to the rest, for gradually they all began to write. I, too, returned to my seat and put my mind to recalling all I had noticed from Sir Cameron’s arrival to the moment Helmut Kriede fell dead. I tried to remember everything I had seen, and all the remarks I had heard. It was more difficult than I had thought it would be, for the presence of the corpse loomed in my attention, and my recollection shifted and slid like reflections on running water.

“This is preposterous,” said Sir Cameron a short while later. “I have little to report. I arrived, I was received by you and Baron von Schattenberg, there was tea, you sent for some brandy, Baron, and then insisted on some nonsense with the tea. I didn’t think it was at all necessary, but you Germans insisted, so it was done. The next thing I knew, the fellow was ... was on the floor.” He put down his paper. “I can tell you no more.”

Mycroft Holmes schooled his demeanor to one of sympathy. “It is like you, Sir Cameron, to minimize the danger here. But it is important that you put such considerations aside, much as they do you credit. For it may be that the poison was intended for you.”

Sir Cameron went very still; I watched the color fade from his cheeks. “What are you saying, Holmes?”

“I should think it is the obvious conclusion,” Holmes said gravely.

“That
I
was the one intended to die?” Sir Cameron demanded. “How could that be possible?”

“Well, you sustained a most fortunate escape less than twenty minutes ago. Now it appears that a second assassin was in position to strike in case the first should fail.” He looked at the paper with the few scrawled lines on it. “How could the killers have known you would have brandy instead of tea?”

I bit back a remark that anyone who had ever met Sir Cameron might suppose such a preference, but I said nothing on that head while Mycroft Holmes continued to deal with the Scottish knight.

“There is something in what you say,” Sir Cameron allowed. “I may have been too hasty.” He picked up his paper again. “I may be able to recall something more.”

“Your report will certainly be worthwhile for the police.” Mycroft Holmes went back to writing his impressions, and a few minutes later set down his pencil. “A pity we cannot have any tea while we wait,” he remarked.

The others in the room stared at him with faces showing a range of emotions from irony to disgust. Baron von Schattenberg cleared his throat. “The police will want all the tea things, I suppose. Everything on the tray?”

“They will,” Mycroft Holmes confirmed. “We do not know where the poison was, or whatelse is poisoned.” He pointed to the pastries. “For all we know, they, too, are deadly.”

Egmont Eisenfeld held out his paper to Holmes. “Do you think his face might be covered? It is most ...” He made a gesture of repugnance to finish his thought. “The smell is bad enough.”

Holmes considered this request. “I don’t think dropping a handkerchief over his face would ruin anything.” He pulled his own from his pocket, spread it, and put it in place.

“Thank you,” said Eisenfeld. “It is less terrible, and it preserves his dignity.”

I recalled the morgue attendants’ remarks earlier this afternoon on death and dignity, and I saw at once that it was really the living who benefitted from these concessions to the dead, not the dead themselves, who were beyond all caring. I was startled at these responses, but I did not deny them, either. It perplexed me that I had taken so long to realize these things, after all the escapades I had passed in Mycroft Holmes’ service.

“Guthrie,” said Holmes, cutting into my reverie.

“Sir?” I gave him my attention at once.

“If you will collect all the papers so we may have them ready for the police?” Mycroft Holmes looked at the others in the room. “It will not be long. The police will be here presently.”

“I hope so,”
said Sir Cameron. “The fire is burning lower and there is no more fuel to put on it. Do you think we could summon the butler for that service, at least?” He was becoming truculent again, fretting at any check on him.

“I think it would be best if we waited until the police come,” said Holmes.

Sir Cameron gave a sigh of ill-usage. He stared at the Baron. “Where is my wife, sir? We might as well settle things, so long as we are stuck here.” I knew his tone of old: he was attempting to pick a fight.

“It is what we are met to do,” said Mycroft Holmes, surprising me and spiking Sir Cameron’s conversational guns. “Let us try to make the best of our predicament.”

This was all Sir Cameron needed. “Well, sir? Where is she?”

“She is in Holland,” said Baron von Schattenberg with a kind of gratitude that struck me as questionable. “Her uncles are with her. If you can convince the Admiralty to permit them into your country, she can arrive day after tomorrow.”

“Holland,” said Sir Cameron, musing. “How long has she been there?”

“She arrived at her current location yesterday. I received a wireless last night, informing me that she was at her hotel.” The Baron cocked his head. “She is anxious to see you.”

“And she wants her uncles to come with her.” He considered this. “What is the trouble with that, Holmes? The Admiralty do not object to her traveling with her relatives, do they?”

“It is not that they are relatives, although there is some question as to the degree of relationship of one of them,” said Mycroft Holmes awkwardly. “We have been given reliable information that the uncles in question have affiliations that the government—” He stopped. “These uncles may have more planned than simply delivering your wife to London.”

Baron von Schattenberg shook his head. “That is a ludicrous idea. There is nothing unacceptable about Lady MacMillian’s uncles, even the man who has been awarded that name honorarily.”

“You are sure of that, are you?” Holmes asked, his manner highly skeptical.

“As sure as I am that my aide is dead on the floor,” said the Baron.

“What is the trouble, then, Holmes?” Sir Cameron demanded. “What can the uncles have done that you will not let them accompany their niece—my wife—to this country?” He put one hand on his hip in a belligerent manner, glad to be in a wrangle at last.

Mycroft Holmes hated to have his hand forced, and by someone of Sir Cameron’s stamp made it more intolerable; still, he knew he had to answer. “It is not your wife that troubles the Admiralty, I repeat: it is her traveling companions, and those they intend to add to their party here in London. There is a report—a very, very reliable report—that indicates the uncles are members of the Brotherhood.”

I was astonished to hear him speak so bluntly, and in our present company. I hoped it was a ploy and not some desperate attempt to flush the culprit by a surprise attack. I wondered if he would reveal anything of Vickers or Braaten, or if he would keep that information to himself; I could not help but think he might have said too much already.

Sir Cameron stared in complete disbelief. “The Brotherhood? Absurd! They are men of high rank and great wealth. There is no reason for them to associate with such iniquitous men. What can they seek from the Brotherhood that they do not already possess?” He looked to the Baron von Schattenberg for support.

“They may seek power,” said Holmes quietly, and added, addressing the Baron, “Please forgive my abrupt disclosure. I did not intend to put this before you in such a manner.”

“I am at a loss,” said the Baron. “I cannot put credence in this. If you are referring to the subversive organization known as the
Bruderschaft,
then I must tell you that your information cannot be correct. The organization is dedicated to the overthrow of those legitimately in power, or so we have been told. The men of the Brotherhood are scoundrels, all of them, unprincipled and treacherous. How could Lady MacMillian’s uncles be party to such barbarity? It is the height of absurdity to think they might ally themselves with such an organization. Her uncles have done much for Germany, for all Germans, not just their own class. They, themselves, are well-born and wealthy; men of highest repute and in excellent standing in the world. They have no reason to join so infamous a group.” He shook his head slowly. “What could anyone have told you to make you believe so pernicious a lie?”

“The man who revealed this vouched for the authenticity of his information with his life. His body was found shortly after he provided us with his report. He was grotesquely murdered.” Mycroft Holmes took a deep breath. “You must forgive me if I set store by such a sacrifice as our agent made. He had pursued these men for more than a year before they found him out, and they made him suffer for what he had done. If you wish a copy of the report, I will see you are provided with one.” This last offer was startling; I wondered what Holmes sought to accomplish by it.

“Yes,” said Baron von Schattenberg. “I would like to see your report.”

“I will have it sent round tomorrow. And I promise it will be tomorrow, though it will be Sunday. I know this material is genuine and I believe what we have discovered deserves your immediate and concerted attention. When you have had time to review it, you may comprehend my many reservations about the escort Lady MacMillian has provided herself. In fact, you may want to undertake measures of your own where these men are concerned.” He looked toward the window—shuttered in anticipation of the coming night. “You may not share my worries in this regard, but I would like you to have an opportunity to see the reasons I have them.”

“I know a thing or two about the Brotherhood,” Sir Cameron remarked. “Nasty brutes, the lot of them. Won’t do to have them hanging about. I don’t think my wife would permit such—”

The butler knocked on the door. “Chief Inspector Pryce has arrived,” he announced.

“Let him come in,” said Mycroft Holmes before Baron von Schattenberg could speak. He signaled me to come to his side, which I promptly did. I was still perplexed by all the revelations Mycroft Holmes had provided the Baron; such a forthcoming warning was not in his usual style; it struck me that perhaps this murder might lend weight to the things he had learned about Lady MacMillian’s proposed companions. At least he had not said anything about Braaten and Vickers sailing for Ireland: that was best kept as reserved information.