A needle in a haystack - Part 2

Harriet:

We arrived back at Baker Street by midday on Tuesday and were already expected by an agitated looking inspector I had not yet met.

"Thank goodness you are here at last. I have been waiting for hours it seems."

"You have only been here for twenty minutes, sir." Tom piped up from behind us, making me chuckle.

The man frowned at the boy then looked at me.

"I see you have a client..." he trailed off, looking none too pleased.

'There we go again', I thought, rolling my eyes inwardly. It kind of became a bit tedious that we had to explain over and over again, that we were husband and wife. Though admittedly perhaps we had married a bit hasty, or rather very much so, though it felt as if I had known my husband a lifetime already by then. But in general people would consider a wedding after an engagement of one month quite speedy, so what would they say to a half hour one? And after an acquaintance of little more than a day? Well, technically we had met before, but that was at a time when I had still been lying in my cradle and my husband was about our page boy's age, I somehow doubted that this counted as being long-time acquaintances.

"Yes, I see that, too, Inspector Gregson. So how can I help you?" Sherlock smiled, reaching out his hand.

The man looked puzzled before it dawned on him that Sherlock had meant him being his client, not me. Bewildered he was about to reply but was cut short by me and my offer to go and get some tea.

xxx

Sherlock:

"She is not your new maid, is she?" Gregson asked, still looking bewildered "If so I can tell you now she'll have a bunch of admirers invading this place."

"No, of course, she is not my maid," I replied, rather indignantly, while at the same time I was quite amused. "Harriet is my wife. So what is it that brings you here, Inspector? I see you have changed to the City Police and are no longer with the Metropolitan Force. I also see that you have spent a sleepless night or two."

"No, I have hardly slept these last couple of nights and yes, I have transferred. How…? Oh, never mind." Gregson replied, running his hand through his already dishevelled hair. "I have spent the whole of yesterday and last night searching for a missing carriage. But I think I should start at the beginning. Three nights ago a substantial amount of gold was transferred from the Bank of England to one of the smaller bank houses in the city. Namely to Barnicott and Harris down Cannon Street, who, as you might know, deal mainly in South African stock. Now there is not half a mile in between these two bank houses and the night from Saturday to Sunday was chosen purposely as then the roads can be easily guarded as hardly anyone is around. We also took great care to use the smaller passages that are basically vacant at that time of night, other than the thoroughfares – it was well past eleven. However, as it was, there was a brawl amongst some hooligans in St. Swithin's Lane, one of the narrowest streets we passed, and the transport had to stop but could not turn at this point. It was as if the men had come from nowhere. Some of our men tried to break the fight apart, but as they did so, the driver of the carriage was forced from the box and suddenly the ruffians parted and ran away and the carriage dashed off, while the driver was lying unconsciously on the ground having cracked his head in the process of the fall. He is now in the hospital and it is not quite certain if he will survive. The carriage was seen as it ran down Cannon Street in an eastward direction and then turned into Gracechurch Street where it got lost after passing Leadenhall Market. There are a couple of narrow lanes there as well as various passages, and we have made enquiries if someone has seen the carriage, of course, but nothing came of it. So it can be literally everywhere in London by now."

"I assume that no ordinary carriage was used to transport such a valuable load," I remarked, memorising as much of the information given to me as was possible.

"No, we used one of the Police's own Black Maria's. We had several men on guard, securing it and still. Mr Holmes, this is a catastrophe. Have you any idea what kind of scandal this might cause?"

"I have an inkling," I answered wryly, reaching for my cigarette case. "How much value in gold are we talking? And who had it transferred to be invested?"

"The amount is close to eighty thousand Pounds Sterling and as for whose gold it was, I cannot say. The directors informed us about the transport and requested our assistance, but we had little more to do with the whole matter than bringing a secure carriage and about a dozen people to guard it. All that was implied was, that the client they were acting for is a most illustrious one."

"Who planned the route? You said you took great care to stick to the narrower side lanes. Why?" I could not help thinking that if I had planned such a transfer, that I would have stuck to the widest roads possible instead of using the back alleys.

"As far as I know both directors – Sir Frederic Belmont, who currently heads the Bank of England and Mr Barnicott as senior partner from Barnicott and Harris. I can only presume that they chose this route to be as inconspicuous as possible and not draw attention."

At this my brows knitted and I stared thoughtfully into the fire as I digested all this information. If they did not want to draw attention, then the obvious course to take would have been to transfer the money in broad daylight with the streets busy and making use of the main roads.

"Well, one thing is clear," I, at last, said, when Harriet returned with a tray, pouring each of us a cup of tea. "This was a trap and a well thought out one. The question now is, who has set it up."

"The same thought occurred to me," the inspector admitted, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, yawning. "Dear me, I could actually do with a cup of strong coffee. But tea is also most welcome. Thank you, Mrs Holmes."

At the word coffee, my wife visibly paled and quickly left the room. I glanced at the closed door and shook my head in bemusement. That even the thought of coffee could turn her stomach was unexpected. But as it was, five minutes later Tom appeared with a cup of strong coffee and sat it down in front of the crestfallen and weary police official, while I was once more deep in thought. There were numerous places where the carriage could be hidden and looking for it would be like searching for a needle in a haystack for sure. However, it was not hopeless.

"I think it might be best if I had a look at the crime scene. I know the area well, and perhaps we might stumble over the one or other clue that has as yet escaped you."

Gregson huffed, though did not say anything.

xxx

Taking a carriage we arrived at St. Swithin's Lane about forty minutes later. But any trace that might have been left behind, seemed to have been obliterated either by the criminals themselves, by the police or the many people passing by. At this time of day, the city was buzzing and this applied not only to the main roads but also to the many side lanes which often were used as convenient shortcuts to get from one place to another.

"Here it was that the carriage stopped," Gregson told me and pointed at a spot about a hundred yards from where St. Swithin's turned into Cannon Street.

"You said the brawlers appeared suddenly. Could you discern from what direction they came?"

"No. It was as if the appeared out of nothing. They were certainly not there when we turned into the lane."

St. Swithin's Lane was a long narrow alley with only one equally narrow street leading off it at the far end from where we stood. Again it struck me as odd that someone would have chosen such a route. It did not make sense. There was no way to quickly turn the carriage or even turn into another lane should something happen. The buildings on both sides were mainly offices with only a few flats that went out to the back anyway. There were a few yards one could access from there, but aside from that, this was probably the worst possible path they could have chosen to transport gold – and the recent events had proven that that was not only hypothetically so, but decidedly.

I worked my way down St. Swithin's Lane, starting at the Cannon Street end. Had I first thought all traces had been obliterated I still found one particular spot, close to where, according to Inspector Gregson, the brawl had taken place, where, behind some empty crates and refuse barrels I found a substantial amount of cigarette butts, counting twenty seven altogether, lying there in the snow which had been reduced to a brown icy crust as many feet had trampled it down. Changing my position I could not help thinking that this was the perfect hiding spot to lay an ambush, especially in the dark. At least now we knew where the ruffians had come from. And that the attack had been planned and not happened out of chance.

The question now was, who had planned it? There were several options, the most obvious being that it had been either of the bank directors to get at the insurance money, while still actually being in possession of the gold, the owner of the gold, for the very same reason, or a group of random criminals who had gotten wind of the transfer and of the route somehow and who then had decided to steal the gold.

To be honest, the last option, while obviously foremost in the mind of the police, to me seemed the least likely one. There were too many random factors that they obviously had been privy to and unless there was a traitor amongst the police or bank clerks, there was no way a group of thieves could get at that kind of information – not since Moriarty anyway. Inspector Gregson himself had only been informed about the transport a day before it had taken place, yet the whole scenario smacked of a well-organised crime and not something that had been planned speedily and on short notice. It certainly was supposed to look like a plain robbery, but even the little evidence I had, spoke of something different altogether.

I walked further down the alley counting the street lamps, which were but few and far between – another very good reason to have chosen another route, this path was fairly dim even now in the late midwinter afternoon. Returning to where I had started off I went towards Cannon Street, glancing down the busy road.

"The carriage went off in this direction," Gregson informed me, rather unnecessarily as he had told me so already.

Together we carried on eastward till we reached Gracechurch Street.

"You said the carriage was last seen around here. Who saw it and where exactly?" I enquired as we had reached the equally busy road.

"It was seen by a policeman on his beat. Where exactly I cannot say." Gregson admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

"Could you give me the man's address?"

"You think it is important?"

Somewhat incredulously I stared at the official detective. If he had set out to search the area without narrowing it down he truly deserved to be this tired.

"It is of the utmost importance as consequently, it would mean we can leave out all of Gracechurch Street from the Cannon Street to that exact spot."

"Yes, of course." Tobias Gregson admitted.

With a look in his notebook, he gave me the name of the constable and me, in turn, took a hansom to go and see the man.

xxx

Constable Smith was a young man who had obviously just gotten up as he was busy shaving when I was led into his room by his landlady. If he was surprised to see me, he did not show it, but at any rate, the man seemed of a particularly stoic kind, though not unintelligent. The kind of man one usually just meets in the country.

"It was at the turn into Leadenhall Market, as that was where I was just about to go down," he answered, offering me a cigarette.

"And you are sure it was that particular police cart?" I dug deeper, wanting to establish how much he had really seen.

"Yes, Sir. At first, it did not even catch my attention, but as it drove closer I saw that it was a Black Maria and that it was not driven by a policeman. I mean, even though there are drivers that are not actual constables, they still wear a uniform. This driver did not. He wore plain clothes and a cloth cap as did the fellow next to him."

"There were two of them?"

"Yes."

"And the carriage drove further down Gracechurch Street? Or did it turn at some point?" I dug deeper, quite impressed by his observations.

"It went towards Bishopsgate, but as there is a slight bend in the road so I could not see whether it turned at some point," he answered apologetically.

"Thank you, you have been of great help."

Here his broad face lit up and he grinned sheepishly.

"Well, I have done nothing more than my job, Mr Holmes," he answered bashfully, escorting me to the door himself.