Black Cat Weekly #76

Chapter 5-3

“Rubbish. You mean to say copies do not already exist? I refuse to believe it. All you need do is make sure it’s they that are on display.”

“This is not a subject Intelligence commonly discusses.”

“But it’s the logical thing to have done. I would do it. You would have, too.”

IYou“Mmm. The logic of it does not enter the conversation. However, I will inform my superiors of your idea. I would not be at all sanguine about their response if I were you.”

Sherlock shrugged. “If they want to capture this singular young woman, this is the best way to go about it,” he said, waving his hand.

The British Crown Jewels, symbolic of over seven centuries of monarchy, were regarded by all as the most valuable objects in the realm as well as the most historically complete of any royal regalia in the world. They included the Crown of St. Edward, embellished with over four hundred stones; the Sovereign’s Scepter, dating from 1661, decorated with 333 diamonds, 31 rubies, 15 emeralds, 7 sapphires, 6 spinels, and 1 composite amethyst; the Sovereign’s Orb, made for Charles II, also in 1661; as well as various other rings, scepters, armills, and so on.

Sherlock’s plan involved placing a false report in the newspapers saying the Crown Jewels would be transported from the Tower of London, where they were normally kept, to an unspecified location for cleaning and repair.

After Mycroft submitted the plan to his superiors, he returned home to inform Sherlock of their response.

“To my utter surprise,” he said, “they think your plan has merit. I have also reported the young woman’s possible connection to young Cavor, with surprising—surprising to me, anyway—results.”

“Eh? Such as?”

“Well, now. It turns out Cavor is clandestinely working for the government on several metallurgical projects. I had no idea of this, but there seems to be a connection to that curious cube of Nemo’s, in fact—the titanium. I could not learn more, as it is classified information to which even I am not privy. Apparently Cavor’s on to something the government think might be highly useful.”

“Most interesting! But if this is the case, why is our accelerationist seeking out someone known to have government connections?”

Mycroft shrugged. “It isn’t clear she knows about that. And really, we have no clue as to the nature of her dealings with Cavor.”

“Let us hope it will soon become clearer, then.”

With Fleet Street’s cooperation, the plan’s false item was inserted into the papers. The true jewels were hidden, and clever duplicates substituted. Sherlock noted the copies were quite good and could not have been fabricated in such a short time—thus proving, to his satisfaction, they had already been created at some time in the past. But he said nothing of his deduction to Mycroft.

On the day of the transfer, extra guards were stationed in and around the Tower to ensure the accelerationist would have no exit options apart from the main one. Sherlock was at the entrance, in disguise as a guard. In accordance with his plan, a stout net had been set up inside, capable of being dropped at a second’s notice.

Shortly before the appointed time, Sherlock and Mycroft inspected the installation. “I’m gambling it will take her two or three seconds to steal the jewels,” Sherlock said, “by which time the net will have dropped, cutting off her escape. All the guards have whistles to sound an alert if they see anything.”

Mycroft nodded. “It’s a decent idea,” he said. “My concern is, she is so b****y fast the net won’t be deployed quickly enough.”

so“We’ve timed it. Less than a second is all we need.”

“Yes, it would seem to be enough…but we shall see what we shall see.”

seemSherlock half-expected the girl to not show up. Surely, she would be wary enough to sense a trap. Then again, he knew how powerful the motivating factors of greed and pride could be. And while it was true enough that many criminals were not particularly intelligent people, he was sure this was not true in her case.

Time passed and nothing happened. After speaking with Mycroft, Sherlock assumed his post.

Time passed. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, going over his plan again and again in his mind, growing more and more dissatisfied with it as the minutes went by. It wasn’t going to work. She was too fast. The net would drop too slowly. And what if—?

He almost didn’t notice something unseen brush past him. He gasped. “It’s her!” He blew a blast on his whistle. “Release the net!”

Agents stationed inside the tower instantly cut the lines holding the net up. The sound of breaking glass simultaneously with a shout from the Tower’s upper level—“She’s here!”—came at the same moment a blurred something raced down the stairs and slammed into the net. Brought to a halt, the girl became visible. As in Sherlock’s earlier encounter with her, she wore a black leather costume, gloves, and goggles.

somethingMomentarily nonplussed, she stared at him through the net, teeth bared.

“So,” he said, “it seems you are not—” He stopped, as she burst into a flurry of motion with her hands, her fingers moving faster than a bee’s wings. Within seconds, as Sherlock and the other guards stared, she had cut through the binding web of netting, and raced off too quickly to be seen, leaving her would-be captors open-mouthed in astonishment.

Mycroft hurried up to Sherlock, moving surprisingly quickly himself for once. “What happened? What went wrong?”

Sherlock was already examining the net. Mycroft bent to inspect it as well. “Cut,” he observed, eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” Sherlock said in a grim tone. “Now I see why she carries a knife in her belt. She’s got foresight. This net would have held her, but she was ready for it.”

“b****y rotten hell,” Mycroft said. “She won’t fall for that ruse again. At least the Crown Jewels weren’t the true ones.”

that“No, and she won’t be happy when she finds out. We will have to come up with another scheme.”

They spent the rest of the day formulating and discarding several alternate plans. Might they use a metal net instead of a woven one? No, it would take too long to deploy, and she’d certainly be alert for another such gambit. Suppose they tried chasing her on horseback? No, she was much too fast.

After a fruitless brainstorming session, Mycroft retired to his club and Sherlock went to the de Sarasate concert.

This was one of the reasons he had come to London in the first place, to hear the Spanish composer and virtuoso violinist Pablo de Sarasate in the new Royal Albert Hall. He had seen engravings of the building, but they didn’t really prepare him for the reality. The Albert Hall was round, and larger than he had expected. He had arrived early, so he took advantage of the time to stroll around the entire perimeter.

As he approached the main entrance and prepared to enter, he heard a bit of a commotion at the doors. A well-dressed man accompanied by several other obviously wealthy men was remonstrating with a doorman about his tickets. A lovely young woman was on his arm. With a start, Holmes realized the man was the famous entrepreneur Phileas Fogg. Struck by curiosity, Holmes contrived to get a little closer. When he did, he got a better view of Fogg’s companion.

He blinked in surprise. She bore a close resemblance to the speedy girl. This woman, however, was taller and had broader features—it couldn’t be her. The ticket dispute being resolved, Holmes overheard Fogg introduce his charming friend to one of his associates as Irene Adler. “She’s an aspiring actress and singer,” Fogg said proudly. “You’ll be hearing more of her one of these days, I promise you!” With that, he conducted her inside, with his friends in tow.

Holmes made a mental note of the name and resolved to do a bit of research on the lovely Miss Adler. He presented his own ticket and was allowed entry to the venue.

The inside of the Royal Albert Hall was sumptuous, with rank after rank of red plush upholstered seats. The Hall’s round construction produced a distinct echo, and this had been ameliorated to some extent by an enormous canvas awning suspended below the domed ceiling. Sherlock thought it rather ruined the overall effect, but it was supposed to cut down the echo. The Hall was lit by thousands of gas jets, and Sherlock recalled reading that the Hall contained a special system by which all the jets could be lit within ten seconds. The entire interior was quite well lit by the greenish glow. Despite himself, Sherlock was impressed, and settled into his seat with expectations of an excellent program.

Once it began, however, the Hall’s acoustic problems immediately became apparent. Holmes wrinkled his nose. The musical performance was excellent, but although the canvas awning reduced the echo, it was still obvious. He refused to let this spoil his enjoyment of de Sarasate’s work, however. A couple of hours later he left feeling reasonably satisfied that he’d gotten his money’s worth—especially when he considered that he might have gotten a clue to the identity of the mysterious female accelerationist.

He returned to Mycroft’s rooms only to find that his brother was not yet back from the Diogenes Club, so he went to bed and slept well.

The next day Sherlock hurried off to the London Library, rather than the library of the British Museum, because he needed access to newspapers and popular periodicals, with which the British Museum did not concern itself.

He had been in the London Library only once before, on an earlier trip to the city with his parents, who indulged him when he begged them to let him visit the place. He loved libraries, and this one was no exception. It was, in fact, the grandest book repository he had even seen up to that time. Not even the Trinity College library in Dublin, which he had had occasion to visit the year before, was as fascinating.

He knew a fair bit of the establishment’s history. The library was founded in 1841 by Thomas Carlyle. The famed poet Alfred Lord Tennyson had been appointed President of the Library in 1855 and still served in that position. Holmes knew nothing of Tennyson’s work, disdaining as he did all fiction and poetry, but he knew of the man’s reputation.

But none of that was in his thoughts now, as he entered the periodical section. Half an hour or so of digging into the society pages of Lloyd’s Weekly News, The Daily Telegraph, and the Times soon brought him success. It was easy enough to find references to Irene Adler, who, being a rising actress, was something of a publicity hound, and from these he was able to track down other mentions of her family, as well as an engraving of her older sister, Maureen.

Lloyd’s Weekly News, The Daily Telegraph,TimesLooking around to make sure no one was watching him, Sherlock quickly drew goggles and a leather cap onto Maureen’s portrait—and had the very image of the mysterious fast-moving female.

“Got you,” he muttered to himself. Carefully, though not without a qualm of conscience, he removed the page from the paper, replaced it in its rack, and quickly left the library. Mycroft, he knew, was going to be very interested in his find. But first, there were a few other loose ends that needed tying-up. Most importantly, he wanted to learn what associates Maureen Adler was meeting with at the Cavor home.