CHAPTER THREE

"It just proves what I was saying to you this morning, Watson." Sherlock Holmes strode to the window and lowered the blinds against the bright afternoon sun which had taken the place of the morning's cold rain. Undoubtedly Holmes knew exactly what he was talking about, it being the logical end of whatever train of thought he had been following for the last half-hour we'd been sitting in silence. I was about to ask him what he meant when I paused. One of Holmes' more meretricious facilities was to suddenly reveal my exact thoughts, then to explain that he was able to discern them simply through observation. I decided to attempt the same with his thoughts now.

He had just closed the blinds against the sun. Had the sun any relation to something Holmes had said this morning? I thought hard but was unable to come up with any connection. Perhaps it was something else. What had he been doing before then? This morning, after the police and the coroner finally left with the coachman's body, Holmes had gone out for over an hour with no explanation. When he returned, he had retreated immediately to his chamber. I peeked in while passing by at one point, to see him engrossed in some large reference book. When he returned to our sitting room he was in an introspective mood. I found it somewhat singular that he did not give his usual speech about the incompetence of Scotland Yard, even though inspector Lestrade had been in rare form. Holmes had limited his testimony to the arrival of an unknown client who was shot through the window before he had a chance to impart any information. I found it curious that he did not mention the existence of a baby, surely an important fact, but when I brought it up later he seemed disinclined to reply.

His spirits seemed to lift somewhat with our midday meal, which I admit ashamedly that I purchased from a vendor out on Baker Street as I had no wish to attempt to prepare anything myself. When I heard the shrill whistle of the fried fish vendor it seemed the easiest way to get a meal on our table. Although Mrs. Hudson is an excellent cook, there is something particularly appealing about food purchased from a street seller, and both Holmes and I consumed the fish with appetite. Since we had finished, I had not really been watching him, it being an afternoon like so many with the two of us in our respective chairs reading. Admittedly I found it uncharacteristic that he had made no more other mention of the bizarre episode this morning, but save for the broken window, which I had contacted a carpenter to repair in the morning, it almost seemed nothing had happened. One thing was different about this afternoon, however. On other days during this time Holmes would often turn from his afternoon paper to read aloud some item of particular interest, a crime presenting some unusual aspect which piqued his intellect. Today he had been silent. In fact, I had been rather pleased to be able to get through the entire conquest of Siphnos by the Samians without interruption.

I glanced over at the chair where he had been seated. Since Mrs. Hudson was to be away for several days, I expected that our rooms would soon become somewhat disorderly, but it seemed Holmes was getting an early start. The heap of discarded newspapers was at least twice as high as usual. Surely Mrs. Hudson had removed the morning papers as usual before leaving - but then I remembered. Holmes had been in low spirits this morning, and he had not even bothered to pick up the morning paper. He must have read the morning and afternoon papers while I was lost in my Herodotus. Holmes was quite keen on reading the news. In fact, he had said so this morning - said so this morning! "Always read the papers, Watson, and you will always be prepared with the information crucial to a case." That was it. He must have found some of the answers he sought in connection with the child in the morning papers. I felt a rush of pride for having used my own deductive reasoning.

"That is correct, Watson," Holmes smiled at me. My pride deflated like a burst balloon.

"But I haven't told you what I am thinking."

"My friend, it could not be more obvious. I watched you go through your rather tortuous mental processes, and I saw that you reached the correct conclusion. You looked about the room. Your eyes stopped at the pile of newspaper. You seemed slightly surprised at its presence, then the light of understanding shone in your face. You nodded your head as you repeated to yourself the words I spoke this morning, and raised both eyebrows as you realized that I had found some new information pertaining to our case." Holmes sat down, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

"Well, it seems that we have both demonstrated our powers of observation and deduction," I said, a trifle annoyed.

"Quite right, my friend." Holmes' tone was soothing. "It was very boorish of me to attempt to steal your thunder."

"In any case, Holmes, what did you find of such interest in the morning paper?"

"Everything I needed to confirm my darkest suspicions. I am now almost certain that the most dangerous man in London is at the root of this case."

"You don't mean Professor Moriarty. Holmes, I do believe you see him around every corner."

"That is because he is around every corner. If not in the flesh himself, than in the person of one of his henchmen. This morning, I was given incontrovertible proof that he is in some way involved. That unfortunate young man who was fatally shot while bringing us - er -"

"Madeleine."

"Yes, quite. You must have been struck, Watson, by the unusual skill demonstrated by the marksman. He shot his target from across the street, down one story and through the window. In my experience, there are few men who can shoot like that. My own inclination being, as you say, to see Moriarty around every corner I thought immediately of one of his close associates. I speak of Colonel Moran, the second most dangerous man in London after the Professor himself. A trip to the coroner this morning confirmed my suspicions." He held up a small misshapen piece of metal. "A bullet, Watson, from the only gun of its kind in existence. This came from the body of the deceased coachman, and was fired from an air-gun constructed to Professor Moriarty's order. Moriarty does not know that I am aware of his association with the blind German mechanic von Herder. The gun, made by von Herder, takes soft revolver bullets which deform when they hit their target. But not enough to obliterate the fact that this bullet was never in a brass cartridge, as it would have been had it been fired by any ordinary pistol. Such a cartridge would leave a noticeable crimp around the bullet's base, a crimp which is absent from this specimen. Once I had this bullet in my hand, the connection between Professor Moriarty and the coachman was established." Holmes walked to the mantel and began filling his pipe from the persian slipper where he kept his special blend of tobacco. He had a satisfied look on his face, and I felt that perhaps this case was providing the distraction he needed to finally get out of the grips of whatever had been clouding his thoughts lately. He continued, "However, I still had not determined Moriarty's purpose in this case."

"And you have found the information you need in the morning papers."

"In the Globe. Have you not read it yourself?"

"No, I was lost in my Herodotus. I planned to read it later."

"Later may be too late in this case, my dear Watson. The King of Bohemia is dying, without an heir." He released a cloud of aromatic smoke to punctuate his statement.

I raised my eyebrows. The events surrounding the case of the Bohemian king were still much on Holmes' mind these days, I knew, though the case itself had ended nearly a year ago. He had been outwitted, no doubt about it, and by a woman. The woman, as Holmes continued to refer to her, was Irene Adler, a beauty of American origin who had been "entangled," as he delicately put it, with the King until he decided it was time for him to marry. Not considering Irene suitable for the position of Queen of Bohemia, he abruptly ended his affair with her and engaged Holmes to retrieve from her a photograph of himself with Miss Adler which he felt could be used to compromise him. Although at the conclusion of the case the King left satisfied, Holmes knew he had been beaten. For Irene left for the continent, having hastily married Mr. Godfrey Norton, in full possession of the photograph. When the King offered him a valuable ring as payment, Holmes refused it, preferring to keep a portrait of Irene as a souvenir of the case. He had grudgingly permitted me to chronicle the events under the title A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA, though later I believe he regretted it when the case was ungenerously called to his attention by numerous members of London's Police Force.

Now, however, I began to wonder if Holmes wasn't taking things a bit too far. What the devil did the King of Bohemia have to do with anything happening now?

"Holmes, you must explain what you are talking about," I cried in exasperation.

"Certainly you recall our interaction this past year with the King of Bohemia and his - er - delicate situation?"

"How could I forget? It was the most notable case I have yet chronicled for you."

"Ha! Noted by every petty policeman in London." Holmes began to pace the room. "Perhaps you have not continued to follow the fortunes of the monarch himself, as I have. He married as planned, and all Bohemia began awaiting an heir. Though not a large country, Bohemia wields a great deal of influence in Europe. The King is revered for his pacifistic tendencies, which have served to maintain good relations across the continent."

I thought that it was rare indeed for Holmes to so interest himself in politics, and realized just how keenly the case had affected him. I nodded my head to keep him talking, though it would not have been necessary.

He bent and picked up the papers he had just been reading. "This morning's paper holds dire news for all Europe. It seems the King, on holiday in France, has been gravely wounded in a hunting accident. He hovers on the edge of death, while Bohemia hovers on the brink of catastrophe."

"Why catastrophe? Surely there is another relative to assume the throne."

"That is just the problem, my dear Watson. The next in line for the kingdom of Bohemia is the Graf, or Count, Thorwald Ludwig Friederich von Donnerstag, the King's cousin."

Even one so politically unaware as I had heard of the evil Graf. "He has been trying to stir up trouble in the east for years, has he not?"

"Precisely, and it seems according to the paper that he is even worse than I had thought. He is very indiscreet about his plans for Europe, which differ drastically from the ailing King's."

"But Holmes, surely that has little bearing on either England or our present case," I protested, attempting to bring Holmes back to the subject at hand.

"Wrong on both counts, my friend," Holmes countered with a flourish. "If von Donnerstag has the throne of Bohemia, we can be sure that he will in some way cause diplomatic disruption between Germany and Russia." He shook the newspaper in my face. "You must know that there is no way that England would not become involved. That will benefit Moriarty both politically and financially. Surely you remember the singular events surrounding the Battle of the Turkish Carpet?"

"How could I forget? Moriarty enriched himself immensely without his own name ever coming to light. His connections with the cleverest criminals in London allowed him to act as broker and sell arms to both sides of the struggle."

"Precisely," nodded Holmes, as he sat down and began to relight his pipe. "No doubt he has plans in progress to do just the same thing now. He and von Donnerstag must have planned the whole thing quite carefully. It should not surprise you to learn that von Donnerstag was the one who organized the fatal hunting expedition."

It all began to make sense to me. Von Donnerstag was a cruel and ambitious man who wanted the throne of Bohemia for himself. Moriarty might or might not be involved in the supply of armaments to Bohemia and other European countries. All very interesting, but these issues of politics were not in our control. More important, what had all this to do with a dead coachman and a baby? I said as much to Holmes and he nodded.

"One thing at a time, Watson. Now that we know Moriarty is at work again, we know there must be something happening here which relates to his ambitions. The coachman may have known and tried to inform me, but Moriarty was a step ahead, as usual. As for the child's part in all this -" he drew on his pipe and let out a cloud of smoke. "We shall see. I have some ideas on the subject." And that was all he would say.