I don't own Sherlock Holmes; I might have read all of the short stories, I might own a couple of boxsets of Elementary and the Jeremy Brett series, but I don't own it; just so we're clear.
Please let me know what your thoughts are on this alternate take on Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock at War.
The Bruce Partington Plans.
Detective Sergeant John Watson found it surreal to be back on the beat like nothing had happened. After he'd been invalided back after his Spit had been badly damaged crossing the channel after a hectic mission for the RAF, and he had managed to get out with nothing more than a wounded leg which had left him with a limp and he needed a cane for support, Watson had screamed inside for hours that he would never be able to serve his country again.
But that was in the past.
John Watson still had his career in the police. He had been a Detective Sergeant prior to signing up, and he was back as a Detective Sergeant after serving as a pilot. Watson had joined the RAF because they were the only ones having a pop at the Germans while the army and navy remained almost idle; he had no desire to join the Home Guard and not have a chance of doing anything constructive for months at a time barring useless exercises while in the navy there was a chance of getting drowned. Watson was a young man who had wanted to serve his country, and he had wanted to see action. The RAF had been the perfect choice, so he'd applied, gotten through pilots training, learnt the ropes, and he had gone over the channel in his very own plane. While he was disappointed by how things had gone, Watson was just glad to be back but after his wound, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to see a plane again.
The thought had made him depressed. Watson had joined the RAF in order to serve his country, while his religion as a Jew had made the war personal for him.
Watson hated the Nazis with the same kind of passion as he despised the likes of Oswald Mosley and the rest of his ilk. He hated how the Germans had steamrolled all over Europe and destroyed lives simply because they felt it was their right. He had joined the RAF to make them pay for what they had done and he had enjoyed each and every moment of it. He didn't care if the Germans who shot him down didn't believe in Hitler's poison or not; as far as he was concerned they deserved what came to them because they had joined the regime, they were guilty of the Nazi's crimes and he had wanted them to pay, and when that was taken away from him it had taken the Group Captain of his squadron and the duty doctor to make him see he could return to his old life as a policeman and do some good. The Group Captain had made it clear there were still people who supported the poison that moustachioed bastard was spewing in Berlin every day, but while he thought the need to police smugglers and black marketeers was a bit mundane after his service, in truth he thought it was a dream.
"Watson, keep up," the voice of his new guv'nor, Detective Chief Inspector Sherlock Holmes broke through his thoughts and cracked like a whip through his thoughts.
"Coming, sir," Watson cursed his leg even more as he walked down the slope carefully after the tall figure of Holmes. As a DS he had heard and known as Holmes' reputation in the force. Holmes was a first-class detective, a little eccentric from what he had heard and more than a few people had even called him a few derogatory names behind his back for his ability to take one look at a person and tell them most of their life story with a few mistakes which proved he was neither a god nor a mind reader.
But what he cursed the most was how the dead body they had been called in to investigate had been found on the platform of Notting Hill Gate station. The quacks might have cleared him for active duty that was good enough for the Met, but not good enough for the RAF. Watson was depressed by that, but they had tried to point out that he could still be of some service to his home country.
"So what do we know of this body, sir?" Watson asked.
"I don't know. The Superintendent himself told me to come and take a look at it. Apparently, there will be a government official on the platform waiting for us."
Watson was unsure of how to accept that when they, at last, neared the bridge separating the two platforms; he was just thankful he was on one of the sub-surface Underground lines and not a Tube line; he didn't think he could travel through one of those and get to the platforms just yet. "Why would a government official be down here?"
"Oh, I have a good idea, Watson. A very good idea," Holmes had a dry note in his voice. But Watson couldn't tell if it was good or bad.
"What do we know about the body, I mean do we have a name?" Watson tried again to get some facts.
"I don't know either the man's name, what happened to him, but the only thing I know is we have been summoned."
"How can you tell that?"
Holmes paused on the steps, nearly sending the surprised Watson toppling down the stairs and injuring his leg even more; he was just wondering if it was worth being hauled up on report when Holmes pointed his arm like a spear down the platform. At one end of the platform was a portly looking man with whitish hair but Watson could hardly tell what he looked like from the distance they were currently at, but he looked to be in his sixties. There was another man with him, a younger man dressed in an immaculate suit underneath a battered old coat. He looked nervous and worried while the first, much older man looked more composed.
"Do you see that older man, the fatter one with the white hair?" Holmes asked.
Watson nodded. "Yes?"
"That's my brother, Mycroft. He is the one who summoned us, and Mycroft wouldn't do that unless the situation called for it," Holmes set off down the stairs again. "This case must be important, or Mycroft would not be here."
"What? Your brother is that important?"
"I am sure you have heard enough of my reputation in the Met to know I possess skills that allow me to make deductions. There's nothing absolutely supernatural about it. I have merely trained myself to be a good observer, although much of it is down to inherent intelligence. My brother possesses similar skills. Only where I have turned to solve crimes, my brother is content in the Intelligence services. He was originally a physics and mathematics tutor at university, but he also ran a criminal organisation. He did it primarily to gain the attention of the intelligence services, and he actively recruited students in order to steal and spy from abroad and gather secrets, creating an intricate network. In the 1920s, he opened up an underground railroad smuggling goods and then later people. Finally, the intelligence services sent an agent, but Mycroft took one look at the agent, realised who and what he was, and he immediately put the agent to work before confronting them and telling them he and his organisation could aid the intelligence services because that was what Mycroft really wanted. He'd longed to be a spy, and for a long time as well, so he had decided to attract their attention in the first place," Holmes walked on, ignoring the effect that his brief summary of his brother's life had on Watson.
"Mycroft," he called.
Mycroft Holmes and the man with him turned, and Holmes walked over to him. "Sherlock," Mycroft greeted. "It's good to see you."
"And you," Holmes replied.
"The body is over there, but before you see him or someone will take the corpse away - I don't know what will come first, so don't worry - you need to hear what we have to say. Aside from the bumps you'd get from being knocked off of a roof, there's not a sign of how he died. There's no trauma to the head or the body, so we can rule out bludgeoning. The same with a knife wound or a bullet hole," Mycroft Holmes, "and you must be my brother's newest Sergeant?" He said to Watson suddenly.
Watson was unsure how to answer the question of a known criminal, but he nodded. "Yes, I am," he replied, taking the hand somewhat reluctantly, "Detective Sergeant John Watson."
But his reticent attitude made Mycroft grin in understanding. "Ah, I see that my brother has been telling you about my past. Yes, I am a criminal mastermind. I have been behind several extremely brilliant crimes in the past 50 years. But I also opened up a smuggling ring which allowed me to save the life of many Jews from Germany when the Nazis began their rise to power, and thanks to my spy network I have given the British government a lot of intelligence into the German movements."
"He's right, Watson. Some may even claim that my brother is the sole reason Britain has not yet fallen," Holmes remarked.
"I wouldn't go that far; the only reason my intelligence network has survived is that I looked for the right people to funnel information from, that's all. And besides, if you had had any sense at all, Sherlock, then you would never have joined the police at all and you would have done some good if you'd done what I had. But no, you joined the police and you are as bound to the rules as the others," Mycroft replied but despite the way he said it, Watson got the impression that the two brothers had mutual respect for one another. "Now, this is an important case, Sherlock. A very important one. Mr Partington, would you please enlighten my brother as to the problems you have?" Mycroft Holmes turned to the other man. Watson noticed that he didn't seem surprised or even concerned he was in the company of a criminal.
But there was one question on the Detective Sergeant's mind, and he wanted answers. "Hold on a moment, if you are a criminal how come you haven't been sent to prison?"
Holmes didn't seem concerned about the question. Partington appeared impatient, but Mycroft Holmes chuckled. Hardly the reaction you'd expect from a criminal mastermind.
"Oh, that's easy enough. I was smart enough to never get caught out by anybody. I organised the crimes, while I sent messages and a small payment to the agents with the promise of higher returns for later if they did as they were told. I then opened up a smuggling operation, smuggling goods and then later information and people, especially now. In 1912, war with Germany was inevitable, so I began using my contacts to gather information and I circulated it to the different intelligence organisations before one of them realised where it was coming from, and they infiltrated my network. Afterwards, I made a simple arrangement with the British government," Mycroft turned abruptly to Partington, indicating the brief talk was over. "Bruce, if you would?"
Partington stepped forward, making Holmes glance in his direction. Within moments, Holmes knew this man was very rich even in a time of war, but his well worn dark coat which was nearly threadbare told him he was a man who was comfortable with appearing shabby and informal. However, he appeared frightened by what had happened. Holmes saw two possibilities; the first was Partington was a government official who hadn't seen death before, but he knew about the dead man, but that made little sense to Holmes so he dismissed it entirely. The second possibility was Partington was worried about what the dead man knew. With the war on, the chances of a dead civil servant or clerk turning up and not knowing anything about the secrets of the country were remote.
"Mr Holmes? My name is Bruce Partington," he introduced himself somewhat redundantly but Holmes had the feeling he was only saying that to give himself the chance to get his thoughts together, "and I am aware of your skill as a detective. Mycroft here has told me of how good you are, and I hope you can help. If you don't then this entire country could be blown open."
It might have been a melodramatic ending to the speech, but Watson could see Partington was very frightened and nervous.
Holmes did not react to the speech either. "Pray continue, sir. Please don't leave out any of the details."
A train loudly pulled into the platform opposite, forcing Partington to sit down on a nearby bench. "I am a scientist and an engineer by trade, but I turned my attention to setting up and running a business. I mostly produce aircraft but I turned my attention to building boats and then ships and cars. One of my focuses has been to design and build new engines in order to increase the efficiency of the vehicles. I have expanded and sold my vehicles to companies all over the world. But I think you ought to know I was an engineer during the Great War. While I was there, I gained an appreciation - and fear - of what war can do. When the war ended, I returned home and I started work on improving my business, anything to get the memories of the war out of my head."
Partington's expression turned grim. "And then I visited Germany shortly after the Nazi's took power."
"You visited Germany, why?" Watson asked, but he paused when he thought he was sounding suspicious.
Partington raised a brow at him. "It was a business trip, that's all. While I was there, Hitler gave one of his speeches about the Third Reich. I understand enough German to have caught the gist of what Hitler planned to do in the long term. He wanted to expand, essentially fulfilling the Kaiser's dream of an empire. I cancelled my trip to Germany, returned home, and I began to look at the history of the Great War to prepare," Partington had to pause as the station staff, giving in to pressure, allowed passengers onto the platform and nobody spoke until the next train in their platform had departed. "Do either of you know why the Germans nearly brought Britain to its knees the first time around?"
"The U-Boats," Holmes tapped his chin thoughtfully.
Partington nodded. "Correct. The U-Boats; small, deadly submersible vessels armed with torpedoes and a deck, launched with the aim of sinking as many ships that passed from America to Britain. This country is an island nation, dependent on trade. In the past it wasn't so bad, we had the land to grow large quantities of food and rear our meat animals. But the population grew and the land gave away to housing and industry. At the time it didn't matter because the British Empire was bringing in trade from other colonies and countries. That changed with the advent of the Great War. The war began years after John Holland devised the practical submarine engines by equipping ships with an electrical motor and batteries to power it underwater, and a petrol engine for surface running.
"When the war started, the Germans took one look at our weakness and they exploited it. By the end of the war, the U-Boats had come close to weakening this country. They sent out submarines from their ports, they torpedoed dozens of merchantmen. They sank, taking to the bottom tonnes of valuable foodstuffs and other cargoes, such as ammunition and supplies and materials we couldn't produce ourselves. Rationing was introduced due to food shortages. Hitler is unimaginative. He has merely taken the lessons of the first war and he's merely applied it to this one. The only difference now is he has conquered most of Europe, and with those conquered areas of Europe, he has access to dockyards and industrial fabrication facilities and he can multiply the U-Boat fleet to a number unseen in the Great War. He has them under command of a veteran of the last war, someone who knows how best to use U-Boats and because there are more of them, the chances of any supply ship approaching harbours like Portsmouth or Chatham are low."
A train appeared at the other platform, but the party wasn't bothered by it.
"When I got back to Britain, I saw that history would very well repeat itself, and so I took steps to make sure it didn't happen. I started doing my research in between working on my business, and right at this moment the Bruce Partington plan is in place," Partington finished, taking a deep breath and mopping his brow. Clearly, the stress was getting to him, but Watson had a feeling he was nervous about what West knew.
"What do you mean?" Holmes asked curiously.
"The Bruce Partington plan is simple. There is a small fleet of merchant submarines travelling between America and Britain, carrying in freight. There's a secondary fleet of aircraft doing the same thing. Avoid the U-Boats, avoid getting sunk. Right now, the submarine fleet is ferrying the supplies to specially prepared docks while they're under protection by the Royal Navy. The RAF is doing the same for the air fleet."
"But it's not stopping the rationing. There are still food shortages," Watson pointed out.
"Yes," Partington looked down with a sigh. "I managed to make a deal with both the Merchant and Royal Navies to construct the submarines, but only a small number were constructed, about 6 of them. It also doesn't help their engines and the equipment onboard them took so long to assemble. As for the rationing… well, we are releasing the food, bit by bit; you need to bear in mind, Detective Sergeant Watson, there are still Nazi agents in Britain. If they catch wind of what we're doing, and I believe some of them have suspected something because we're doing better than before, they will try to find ways of stopping it.
"So the rationing has to stay," Watson whispered when he realised what that meant.
"Yes," Partington whispered. "I don't like it, and neither does Churchill. But its for the greater good."
Watson didn't like the sound of a greater good where people were forced to starve just to fool Germany. But Holmes had another point that he wanted to raise.
"I see, I take it the submarines that are part of this fleet don't use the conventional diesel-electric engines?" Holmes commented.
"How did you guess, Mr Holmes? And you're right, they don't. My submarines use hydroelectric engines; essentially they're powered by the water itself. The differences of temperature, to be precise. It's more efficient and it means the submarines don't need to surface as often as their counterparts."
"What about the need for fresh air?"
Partington looked very pleased with himself there. "That's the second piece of technology on the ships. You can remove the oxygen from water using an electrical current and use that to ventilate the boat. They still need to surface to make course corrections, but that's as far as they can go. Each submarine can ferry up to one thousand tonnes worth of supplies and materials for the people and for the war effort. The aircraft on the other hand are powered by gas derived from, believe it or not, rum production. It saves fuel and allows us to look into different possibilities. Britain has been reliant on the plan a year before the war even started, to make everything less dependent on merchant ships. In fact, if it wasn't for the Bruce Partington plan, we would have been invaded before now when the Luftwaffe launched that offensive last year."
Watson stiffened. He had been involved in the battle, he'd had a reasonably small part. But there hadn't been any sign of a submarine opening fire on the enemy planes. "What do you mean?"
Partington didn't notice Watson's reaction, because he looked down at his hands. "With America's help, we temporarily stopped or limited the amount of food and basic supplies on the submarines. The Americans manufactured enough parts for the Spitfires and Hurricanes, and they were shipped onto the submarines while talks with Russia allowed us to bring in pilots to help bolster our forces. Some American pilots came over to do the same."
Watson gasped as the full effect of the plan came into effect. "Wait, you mean with the American's help and Russian pilots bolstering our forces…"
"We won the battle, yes, Detective Sergeant Watson," Partington paused as yet another train passed through. The group was silent as another set of passengers boarded and alighted from the train, and they didn't talk again until the platform was more or less clear. "The government will reveal the true history soon. But if they hadn't done that, and given the Russians proof their aid can help, we would never have survived."
"What did you promise the Russians?"
"Aid," Partington revealed, but he didn't say more and Watson had no desire to ask him to clarify.
"Mr Partington, while this is fascinating why exactly are we here?"
Partington sighed. "I'm coming to that. Please, let me finish. My assistant, Arthur West was murdered last night. And his body was taken out of this very station in the early hours of this morning's shift. Someone dropped his body from somewhere down there," he jabbed a hand in the direction leading down the platform, "someone dropped him through a ventilation hole, and somehow the body was stable enough on the roof of the train before it dislodged and fell on this platform. Someone took a dossier containing the plans from my office, and now Arthur is dead."
"You have a paper copy of these plans?"
"Yes, one of two. The Prime Minister is the only other person who has a copy. Arthur was my assistant for the last 12 years, if he didn't know about the plans and what they contained, I would be surprised."
"Did he know what the plans contained?"
"Some of it," Partington admitted. "You see, I needed West's help with certain matters. But I was careful and I made sure he didn't know that the plans were a copy of the defence plans of this country. I switched some of the folders for plans of a new car and he believed it; he might have suspected there was something going on, but he certainly knew the submarines existed, but not necessarily what they were used for; they could have been part of Britain's defence strategy and that's all for all he knew. "
Holmes nodded as he began to understand the issue. "I see."
"No, you don't," Partington insisted, glancing between Mycroft for a moment before he fixed his gaze on Holmes. "Inspector, do you remember the doodlebugs that rained down on London not all that long ago?"
Holmes didn't care who was PM of the United Kingdom of Britain. He didn't care about who was doing well in sports, things like that, but he was not completely unaware of current events. "I do, sir," Suddenly the implications of what the businessman was saying penetrated his mind. "Are you telling us the Bruce Partington papers contains information of rockets? No, nothing that mundane or special, since the Germans likely have the plans of their own. You have been copying the technology, have you not?"
"You're planning on launching rockets against Germany?" Watson wasn't sure how he felt about the matter; on the one hand, he was delighted with the idea of another weapon in their arsenal to say nothing of the fact rationing was not as bad as it seemed since they had a small fleet of submarines which were more advanced than anything they'd used for the last decade. The irony of Germany supplying them weapons was something he really liked, but on the other hand, he was worried since the doodlebugs had carried explosives, and Partington did not strike him as the type of man to stick with that.
"Imagine it, Detective Sergeant; rockets carrying large amounts of explosives, bombing Germany's infrastructure in Europe. U-Boat pens hit, damaged and put out of action, saving the lives of hundreds of sailors and tonnes of supplies. Trains laden down with troops destroyed, making it easier to fight the war. There are many in this country who'd see that as the perfect act of delicious poetic irony," Partington's face wore a shadow, and suddenly Watson and Holmes realised Partington had likely seen somebody whom he had loved and cared for die in the Blitz. "It took British intelligence months to get the plans and technical details of the doodlebugs, and when they brought them back I saw them as the means to really take the war to them. We're locked in a siege, Inspector. Sooner or later, we need to break out of it and take the fight to the Germans. We've been working out the project for some time. We're almost ready."
"Did West know about the rockets?"
"No."
"Who did?"
"Mr Churchill, myself, a few higher-ranking members of the RAF who'll be given command over the entire project and the launching of the rockets, and now yourselves," Partington replied. "As for whom else knew of the full set of plans, only myself, the Head of the RAF and his counterparts in the Army, the Royal and Merchant's Navies knew. But outside of that circle, everyone else just worked on their parts; the submariners brought in the food with the pilots of the aircraft. The Royal Navy worked with them. The RAF protect the aircraft. Men unload the cargo onto trains while they're under guard by soldiers. But beyond that nobody knows they're part of a bigger scheme altogether."
"Were there any problems with West recently? You know, his mood, his attitude?" Watson asked.
"No. West was a diligent assistant. We always got on well. We weren't a superior and assistant/dogsbody type of mentality. We were friends. He seemed normal," Partington shook his head, clearly stunned by what had happened his to assistant.
Holmes could tell he was telling the truth. He could see Partington was genuinely puzzled, and he wasn't exhibiting the kind of body language which made it clear louder than words there was something going on. There was no doubt in his mind after hearing about the British built doodlebug rockets there were plans afoot to defend the country from Nazi occupation. He could see and understand the logic of the use of the German weapon only too well.
When the interview with Partington was over, Holmes and Watson walked back to the steps with Mycroft. While he wasn't looking directly at his new sergeant, Holmes could tell Watson was still nervous around Mycroft and unsure how to handle being so close to a criminal. "Where exactly has West's body been taken, Mycroft?" Holmes asked, realising that West's body had been taken sometime during their questioning of Bruce Partington.
"He's already been taken for a post mortem. The PM has subtly made it clear his body is to be examined to give an idea of his time of death to help you determine how far away he was killed."
"How can that help us? We still don't know how he got on the system, and where," Watson protested.
The Holmes brothers surprised him when they laughed, stunning commuters and attracting stares. "He has a lot to learn Sherlock," Mycroft cackled.
"Yes, he does," Holmes agreed, the Detective Chief Inspector looked around his more rotund brother at the Detective Sergeant. "The Metropolitan and District lines of the London Underground are sub-surface lines, built using the cut and cover method which is essentially a trench covered over to allow commuter traffic. The lines were originally steam-powered and steam locomotives of any kind need to vent the smoke from their fireboxes. It's hard to do Underground, so the Underground used special locomotives to keep down the engine emissions but it didn't always work so they put in ventilation holes along the line. Now, how do you think the body got down here, Detective Sergeant Watson?"
"Someone pushed him down?"
"That is exactly what happened. Now the real mystery is who did it, and why, and how those papers were taken in the first place," Holmes said.
"West took them."
"Possibly, and likely; possibly because we have a picture of the man as a good assistant but that is only one point of view. When we get to the station we will need to assemble a profile on Arthur West. Who was he? Did he tell others about his work? If so who were they? Did they work for criminal organisations, fascists in this country who were a part of Mosley's mob, or just people out to make a quick quid?" Holmes asked before he turned to Mycroft. "I don't suppose you've heard anything?"
"No, not yet," Mycroft sighed. "I've got my feelers out, but until something bites, I won't know for sure. Oh, by the way, this is West's profile." The older Holmes passed over a thin paper folder to his brother, who took it.
"Thanks," he said without opening it up.
"You're welcome, Sherlock. DS Watson. I suspect we'll see each other again. Now, I must take my leave," Mycroft waddled away to the stairs leading to the opposite platform, just as Bruce Partington was coming into view as he walked up the stairs to where the two policemen were waiting.
But Watson was focused on Mycroft.
"Where do you think he's going?"
"Oh, he is likely going to be checking his contacts, but we need to visit the Partington offices. I want an idea of what West was like from the co-workers."
"How do we do that?"
"We'll ask the boss. Mr Partington!" Holmes called.
X
Watson shook his head two hours later. He was tired and not particularly very happy, but he could see that his new governor wasn't bothered not one little bit. "That was a waste of time," he declared. They had been questioning the staff for the last couple of hours, but only after Holmes had asked the railwaymen to let him see the track. By the ventilation vents of the London Underground. Going on the track where they could have been killed, guided by two Underground staff members was an experience Watson would have dearly liked never to repeat, but they found nothing by any of them. There was no blood on them whatsoever. Nothing to tell them where the body had been dumped. It could have been dumped on the roof of a train in Harrow if they hadn't known any better. "Oh, was it?" Holmes had his head in the folder his brother had given him.
Watson glared at him. It was like Holmes hadn't even heard him. Perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps his new boss was absent-minded. "Nobody had a bad word to say about him," he grumbled, "According to them, West was a quiet loner who preferred his own company. He only went out with the others to the pub, but that was it. He was the bookish type."
"There's nothing wrong with reading books," Holmes scolded while he still had his nose in the file. "All we learnt while we were in that office was a few people are passing on secrets most likely, so I'll have to tell Mycroft."
"What?"
"Yes. Nothing to do with the war effort with a few of them, although one or two were, so Mycroft needs to get his people involved to stop them from passing on anything too sensitive. There were two redheaded people in that office, likely a part of the red-headed league were put there to help Mycroft protect the organisation," Holmes said.
"Who are the red-headed league?" Watson couldn't remember hearing about them and he thought for a moment that Holmes was pulling his leg. But the Detective Chief Inspector's attitude made it clear he was serious. Icily serious.
"They're a criminal organisation. Mycroft likely has connections to them. They deal with fraud and cons, but they're loyal to this country," Holmes said shortly. "They're composed of redheads, mostly, but I do know they have a few members, insider agents who have different coloured hair."
"What kind of cons? Wouldn't we have better luck dealing with them ourselves?"
"Classic, ones, mostly. They'll sell areas of London to idiot businesspeople with more money than sense. They use the money for their own purposes. It's said they're a family, a trio of siblings. That means they're truly close. And answering your second question, no; British intelligence are relying on Mycroft to use the underworld to help us catch spies. If we get in the way, we could do more damage."
Watson didn't like that explanation, but he decided to shelve it for now. "How did you know they were spies?"
"That's because I recognised two of them. And they told me what was going on. But they also told me the Red-headed league has told them to look into the clients of the people Partington knows and works for. They know that he's doing something for the war effort, so Mycroft set up a deal with them. But they didn't tell me what it was."
"But you can guess?"
"I rarely guess, Watson. The league might be criminals, but they're patriotic. In fact, the league blackmailed several of Mosley's people and took them for every penny they could get, and I mean every penny before they set up a bounty for their body parts. They have insider agents discovering everything new happening in the business world so they can better determine who to hit, and they likely learnt from there Partington is defending and helping this country, so they'd want to defend him."
"Criminals defending the country? What will they think up next? And the others?"
"Petty criminals who'd sell secrets just for cash, but they're not involved. I could tell, their surprise over West's death was too genuine to be faked."
"You know them too well, Mr Holmes," an unfamiliar voice said.
The two detectives turned and found themselves looking at a tall, stunningly beautiful redheaded woman. "You're looking into the murder of Arthur West."
"Yes. I take it you are a member of the Red-Headed League?" Holmes asked.
The woman chuckled. "I am. I can tell you the murder had nothing to do with us."
"I believe you. But do you have any theories about who else could have done it?"
The woman's expression turned more serious. "Inspector, just two nights ago, one of our agents reported seeing somebody in Partington's office sneaking away, but they couldn't follow them. And answering your questions, DS Watson, we want the Nazi's to be punished as well. Believe it or not, we're Jewish ourselves and we don't want the bastards to win. Goodbye for now."
With that, the woman turned and walked away. Holmes leaned closer to Watson's face. "See, even the criminals want Hitler gone. Now come on, we need to talk to West's fiancé."
X
"What?" Lucy Harrogate gasped as she sat down heavily on the large, old, but clearly well sat on the armchair, gazing at the two detectives in shock and horror. "Artie…Artie is dead? Why? How? When did this happen?"
"It happened only this morning. His body was dumped on the roof of an Underground train and it fell onto a station," Holmes realised he sounded cold and uninterested in the emotional state of the young woman. That wasn't good. It was a good idea to be sympathetic in order to gather answers for the puzzles. "I am very sorry, Miss West, but in my line of business, you quickly become cold to the pain caused by others. We have some questions for you. I am aware that you would prefer it if we didn't do this, but we need to do this or we can never discover who was behind this."
Lucy West nodded her head. "No, it's alright. I understand," the young woman took a deep breath and placed her hands on her lap and looked between Holmes and Watson, ready for what was to come. "What do you want to know?"
Holmes decided to get straight to the matter. "How much do you know about his work?"
"Er, Arthur talked about how he was working for Bruce Partington, the businessman. Occasionally he talked about business deals and sometimes he was openly angry with how badly some of it went. He even sometimes brought the basic papers here to work out on and they were complicated and needed his full attention," Lucy replied.
"Did you know if he was in trouble? Everyone at work did not have a bad word to say about him, but that could have been for work," Watson suggested.
But Lucy shook her head. "He was a well-liked man. He didn't gamble and if he ever drank, it was always in small amounts," she replied.
"What time did he normally get home from work?" Holmes asked as he was struck by something.
Lucy sighed fondly but with that air of exasperation. "Oh, sometimes he would work really late. He doesn't have to travel far, and he loved the Underground. I wasn't here last night. But I wish I were."
"Why, what were you doing?" Holmes asked in a way that made it clear he demanded an answer and would not allow any excuse.
Lucy quickly realised it and she looked down, but not before Holmes detected a flash of anger in her eyes. "I was with my mother."
"Can she confirm that?"
"Yes."
"I see, well please give me her address."
"Was he ever called up?"
"Yeah, he joined the army and he came back from Dunkirk. Before that, he was hoping the war wouldn't last, but when he returned home he came back horrified by what he had seen, and it made him more determined. Arthur hates the Nazis. He hates what they stand for, and he accompanied Mr Partington on a business trip to Europe where he came back, talking about what the Nazis were doing in Germany. He also told me about a time before the war where he went to Germany itself and Mr Partington didn't hide his disgust when he described the things Hitler was doing," Lucy shuddered, clearly, she had heard a first-hand account of the atrocities being committed in Germany.
The longer this questioning was going on, the more convinced Holmes was Lucy Harrogate knew nothing about the work West had been engaged in. At the same time, it seemed apparent West was a patriot, but still, he wanted to get the file on West from the army records, but he wanted to try to build a picture of the man and work out why he was killed in the first place, and where the plans were.
'Can we see his post, please? It might help us," Holmes asked.
"Of course," Lucy nodded and she stood up, wiping her face of tears and she showed them the post. Holmes examined each and every letter, paper and envelope alike. Watson and Lucy looked on as he carefully examined each one, his eyes flickering while he barely breathed as he worked. There was little that was strange about the post; there were a number of ordinary bills, a few letters from friends, typed up letters detailing army information like where West was needed to go and things like that. But there was nothing there to indicate he was being blackmailed, not by anyone.
X
Watson looked around the small office laden with papers, folders and books, and his nose wrinkled. Holmes' office was a tip, but it was apparent that the Detective Chief Inspector didn't care. Watson had pictured the man as a tidy sort, not the chaotic type. There were two desks in the room, the second desk was cluttered with so many files and sheets of paper that Watson almost missed it. Around the room were souvenirs of past cases, such as a gun that looked like it had come from the Great War, a skull, and what looked like a diary. The senior police officer sat down indifferently and he sat down behind his desk and propped his feet up on the overflowing desk.
"An assistant is thrown onto the roof of a train from a ventilation hole, supposedly carrying plans for Britains' defence strategy which also detailed a plan to supply the country with food. Why?" Holmes murmured in thought.
Watson sat down in relief. His leg was playing up. "A deal to sell it gone wrong? But why? From what we heard West was well thought of, and he was a soldier; why would he betray the country like that?"
"Mm, let's go with that, but why? Who would he be trying to sell the papers onto? Don't dismiss the possibility of fascists; just because he may have hated them does not mean he could tell who was a fascist and who wasn't," Holmes warned.
Watson realised Holmes was right, how could any of them know? Most fascists trying to live in Britain did so knowing if they uttered their sick propaganda would see them was thrown into prison and they didn't look like Hitler or Mosley. No, many of them looked like ordinary people from the outside. "Yes, but why? From what we know West wasn't having any kind of problems financially."
"No," Holmes admitted, "but at the same time, I can't get over the impression this was not that kind of murder. The red-headed league is involved, don't forget and that woman told us there was somebody sneaking around the offices."
"Do you think it's relevant?"
"Everything is," Holmes replied simply. "You can't be a detective and miss the obvious, like how our killer was able to get a body to a ventilation hole for the London Underground, and that they knew enough about the Bruce Partington plans."
"How many people do you think actually know of them?"
"I would say, besides us, a small number. Some people at the docks who bring in the cargos of the submarines, the men who maintain them while the higher-ups of the Merchant and Royal navies know of their role, and the RAF who'll be responsible for the aircraft and maintenance there. The Prime Minister, Bruce Partington, they know, and I think a few others are aware of the existence of the supply part, but not the full extent of the plans besides us now," Holmes replied.
"That's still quite a few," Watson argued.
"Yes, but don't forget many of those same people only know the small extent of the plans. They don't necessarily know about the rocket part."
Watson stiffened when he thought about the rockets. "What do you think of that?"
"What?"
"The rockets?" Watson clarified.
Holmes sighed. "I can see the logic that came from the decision. The doodlebugs caused severe damage to the city-."
Watson simmered with anger at the cold way the DCI just described the pointless carnage caused by the bombs.
But Holmes was not finished, "But I can see why the Prime Minister and Partington see them as a way of defeating the Germans. They don't involve sending troops across the Channel, and the Germans can be overwhelmed by them."
"Can you see them being used?"
"Yes," Holmes said bluntly. "The country is desperate for victory, and using a German designed weapon would be a perfect irony. And you know, the more I think about it, the less likely it seems."
"What?"
"That a Nazi spy was responsible. Why would one kill West and dump him on the roof of a train? Why not simply find a way to coerce him, threaten him to hand over the plans? In fact, why not simply find a way to spy on the offices of Bruce Partington, discover where the plans are likely to be and simply ransack the office? Planting somebody like a secretary or a clerk has to be a hundred times more simpler than such crude tactics."
"You're right," Watson admitted. "Actually, maybe that's what happened. Could it be possible that West was working late at the office, but not too late, and he startled such a spy?"
"Hmm, I had considered that Watson. In fact, I'd considered it the moment the Red-headed league woman told me about the person seen frequently at night. But for now, that seems to be the only logical lead until we can find something else. Personally, I don't think anyone coerced West," Holmes took out his fob watch. "Mm, good. If we make it to the Bruce Partington offices, we might get in. I will need to contact Mycroft, use his contact with the league to get us in."
"I don't like this, using criminals."
"It's a necessary evil," Holmes didn't seem all too bothered as he picked up the telephone and started manipulating the dial over the loud sound of the ring. "I don't particularly like it, but thanks to the League and several other criminal gangs under my brother's contacts, several spies and saboteurs have to count for something. Now, please be quiet while I make the call."
X
As he sat in Bruce Partington's office, Watson wondered how much of a waste of time this was liable to be. It was late, he was tired, hungry and he was running on reserves and he didn't have an awful lot of those, to begin with. But there were other things on his mind, things that he wanted over and done with. Not only had they not really done much police work, but he was also working with a Detective Chief Inspector who didn't seem to care about the procedure, and who worked with criminals, and it made him wonder if Holmes was corrupt.
"If you think I am corrupt, then say so. Don't think it," Holmes' voice cracked like a whip, making Watson's head shoot up. The two men were sitting in the dark, but there was enough moonlight streaming in through the windows that Watson was only just able to make out Holmes' face and shape.
If there was an air raid tonight then the German pilots would have an easy time bombing the city. It was practically lit up like a Christmas tree.
"I-I didn't say anything," the sergeant stuttered, wondering how on Earth Holmes had known what he was thinking when he was on the other side of the room, poking his head out of the door waiting for the arrival of whoever it was that was trying to get the Partington secrets.
"You didn't need to, and if you didn't hear about my deductive skills and how I actually observe while many detectives," Watson took a deep breath when he heard the sneer, the contempt in the DCI's voice, "don't, then you are a bigger fool than you are appearing to be right now. Try not to look surprised. I can read your body language, the nervous looks, the suspicious glances you've been sending for the last few minutes. If you want to be discreet, then don't look at me. It wasn't hard to work out what the issue was. You're still thinking about my connections to Mycroft and the Red-Headed League. Sometimes to solve crimes, you need somebody who is part of the criminal underworld. We have informants, do we not?"
"Well, yes, we do-."
Holmes' voice softened. "There's nothing to worry about. In any case, the Commissioner knows about Mycroft, and its thanks to that connection that, before the war, we had a very high success rate. Mycroft doesn't just inform me, and you forget," Holmes paused from his vigil for a moment to glance over his shoulder, "he has been a major help to the British government. In fact, I believe he has plans to help Partington."
"What?" This was news to Watson, and he gazed at the DCI in surprise. "What makes you say that?"
"It's what my brother would do. Mycroft is a smart man who is highly intelligent. He has connections that will help people like Partington, although what those connections are… I can only guess. The plans have not left the country, Mycroft's people would have picked up on that and I gave him a call earlier to make sure; it might not have been a long time since West's body had been found But we can't wait for that, right now I want to be ready for the person we're waiting for." Holmes checked the corridor. There was still nobody there, but the conversation with Watson was making it hard for his ears to pick up the smallest sounds to determine if there was anybody nearby.
"But what makes you so sure there will be somebody coming?" Watson asked, flinching at the pain in his leg. He needed to remember to stretch more frequently.
"I'm not, Watson. But this seems to be a line of inquiry and I want to settle it, at least I can think of anything else," Holmes was about to say more when he stiffened.
"What is it?" Watson picked up on the change of mood instantly. But Holmes held up his hand.
"Somebody is coming. Hide while I stay close to the door."
"Right," Watson moved as quietly as he could close to the desk, using his hands to feel around so he didn't stumble around. He had just gotten close to the desk when the door creaked open and somebody stepped inside. There was enough light from the corridor and from the moon to help Watson see that the person who'd walked in was short and thin. The figure was also holding something, some kind of dossier in their hand, and they crept into the room very carefully and laid the dossier on the desk… and then the light turned on.
The figure let out a feminine cry.
It was Lucy Harrogate, and she looked between Holmes and Watson in shock, but resignation.
"Miss Harrogate, would you mind clearing up some details, such as why you murdered your own fiancé?" Holmes asked bluntly as ever.
"She murdered him? Why?" Watson gasped.
"Yes, and she stole the Bruce Partington plans as well. Well, Miss Harrogate," Holmes walked to the window and drew the curtains to block out any excess light, "please enlighten us?"
Lucy sighed and sat down. "I'm 25 years old, Mr Holmes. My mother worked as a secretary to Bruce Partington's father, and he was a bastard while my father toiled for him in the factory," she lifted her head and glared at them with tears in her eyes, "he was cruel, he was arrogant. His son's inherited the talent his grandfather had; if you know anything of the Partington's history, then you'd know they are entrepreneurs and good ones at that, but some things skip a generation or two, right? Bruce's father is one of those exceptions. He had nothing. He just rode on the coattails of his father and he let the business plummet. It wasn't until Bruce came along and injected new life with his inventions and his ideas that things changed and for the better. One day, my father was killed in an accident. All the time that bastard never did anything, he didn't even pay compensation. I was six years old at the time of my dad's death. I still remember asking mum why daddy wasn't coming home," her tone reached a high-pitched spike of hysteria, "Life was a living hell for me and mum, Inspector; the bastard never did anything for us. No compensation, nothing. The only work my mum could get was cleaning work."
"But neither of you forgot about what happened."
"No. My mum gave everything for me to be happy to have a good life, but we both hated the Partington's. I decided to make them pay for what happened to my family."
"Why didn't you simply apply for a position?" Watson asked.
"Because if I did that they would have to come in here every day for work. I didn't want to do that. I didn't want to spend my days working here. I never wanted to set foot into these offices day in and day out like nothing happened. I wanted to destroy the entire thing, brick by brick if need be. I broke into Partington's home, took his keys and made a cast of them. I told my mother what I planned to do, and it took her time but she accepted my plan and decision. She gave me a map based on what she recalled of the offices to make things easier, so I guess she too wanted revenge for what happened to dad," Lucy looked down at her hands and sighed. "I have spent the past 7 months breaking in and sneaking around, Mr Holmes. Looking for one secret after another. I wanted to ruin Partington, destroy his reputation. I didn't mean for this to happen."
"You refer to the murder of West?"
Lucy nodded again and closed her eyes in pain. "I met him by chance in a pub. Oh, he went every now and then. It was like God had decided to show mercy to my family for the first time in years, it was as if I'd won a bingo game. Here was the assistant of Bruce Partington. The pair of us got on very well, something that surprises me now. In the end, we began dating, and we did it in my flat," she smirked wickedly for a moment although the smirk was tinged by fond remembrance. "I went with him to a pub once, well it was by my own suggestion while I'd been secretly going into Partington's office. He was extremely careful, Mr Holmes, but I was waiting for a night while he was truly stressed and susceptible to suggestion. He agreed and we went to the pub. Arthur was almost a teetotaller but there were moments where he would dismiss his rule, and when he is stressed out he's easy enough to control, so it only took a few moments to get him to drink. Once he was hammered, it wasn't long before he told me what I wanted to know."
"You found out about the plans?'
Lucy nodded but she looked stricken. "It was hard to get him to drink, but when he spoke he was unable to stop. Usually, he was so careful. He told me virtually everything about the plans. Well, what he knew. Partington was able to conceal much of the truth from him, but he assumed that they were plans for a new car. He told me where they were in Partington's office; he assumed his boss didn't know he knew, but he did. I waited for my opportunity and when the time came, I took it. I had plans to sell them to the highest bidder. I stole the file. Artie found out."
While Lucy Harrogate was crying suddenly for a moment, Watson felt an irrational anger swoop through him at the nickname. It was irrational, but he felt she had no right to use that nickname.
Unaware of his thoughts, Lucy went on, speaking in a shaky but clinical voice to detach herself from the whole mess. It didn't work. "I didn't give him the chance, and I reacted quickly before he raised the alarm. I took a poison hypodermic and I shoved it into his mouth. I injected the poison into his mouth. I didn't want to do it, but he left no choice. It was all instinctive, Inspector. I didn't even realise it was him until I'd calmed down."
"Just like that, you killed him?" Watson asked aghast.
Lucy shrugged, terrifying Watson even more with her callousness. "Yes. I knew there was a chance I would kill someone, so I took that risk, but I lashed out before I even realised who it was who'd come into the office; when I realised my mistake, I knew I'd had to get him out of the office quickly without anyone knowing what happened."
Holmes ran the explanation through his mind. It all fit in for him, but then he had been sure the spy who'd been seen by the Red-Headed League in these offices for some time had something to do with it. Granted, he had not realised the spy was a woman who'd been wronged. But there were other pieces of the jigsaw that needed to be filled, but he was pleased that the case was over quickly and that Mycroft and the Prime Minister's worst fears about the case were groundless.
He had at first assumed the plans had been stolen by something much bigger, but Lucy's explanations to this point had given him a good idea of what happened then.
"Hm, so you killed him in this very office, then. What then?" Holmes was determined to get straight to the heart of the matter.
"I took him in my car. I have keys for the back exit, so getting him out was easy. I put him in the boot of my car and I took him to a ventilation hole on the Underground. I hoped that if I threw him onto the roof of a train in the early hours of the morning then his body would be lost and nobody would suspect a thing. I had hoped his body would remain on the roof of the train for hours before coming off, with no clue as to where it came from," Lucy looked down at her hands for a moment before she jabbed a finger at the plans. "I didn't even know what those plans were any more than he did; he might have known some of the gist, such as basic defence and ways of getting food, but I didn't know until I read it what I had. I hate Partington, Inspector, not this country!" She lifted her eyes, pleading for him to see that, to show mercy.
Holmes had none.
"You must believe that!" She sobbed.
"I do, but I'm afraid the courts will not. When you realised what you had, why did you decide to plant the dossier back tonight?"
Lucy sighed, her body shaking with nerves knowing she was condemned regardless. "When I got my hands on it, I read it. I was horrified when I realised it contained plans for submarines delivering food to Britain and plans to build rockets to strike at Germany. I had in my hands the means to stop us from defeating the Nazis. Partington was helping the country survive against Hitler and that insane bunch of bastards across the channel. I honestly thought it was some kind of secret car design Partington was working on. Arthur didn't know what it really was, and I killed him for that assumption. I had let my hatred for Partington get the better of me, and Arthur paid the price. As for why I came back so quickly… they've been sitting in my garden shed all day. When you visited me, I had managed to calm myself down enough so I didn't tip you off. When I cried because of Arthur, I was able to hide the worst of what I'd done. After you were gone, I made my mind up. I was going to come in, drop off the plans, and then get out."
"Were you planning on carrying on with what you'd been doing?" Holmes shot Watson a strange look, but then he smiled and nodded. It was a good question.
Lucy shook her head. "I'd only taken a number of plans and schematics for cars and aircraft and boats. Things that were likely worth a fortune, but I'd assumed the plans Arthur told me about were going to be the big one, the thing that would make Bruce Partington ashamed and humiliated the most. That was my revenge for what his father had done to my father. But when Arthur died because of me, in a moment of blind instinct before I knew what was going on, I decided after tonight I wasn't going to come back. I'd thought on leaving some kind of light on so when the next air-raid came, I could see the place go up, but I decided it wasn't worth it, and I'd gotten what I'd come for. At the same time, the price was too high for me."
