Disclaimer: Holmes and Watson belong to ACD; ACD is a real person in a fictional setting. Other characters are of my invention. The geography of the story is accurate. The history isn't, although 'White Powder' is a real development, by the French, within the timeline the story is set.
Chapter 6
We all threw ourselves to the floor. Mary Wilcox screamed as a second bullet smashed the other pane of glass in the large window, showering us with fragments.
"Quickly, quickly!" Holmes exclaimed, and on hands and knees we made our way out of the front room and into the hallway. Holmes extinguished the gaslight burning there, plunging the house into darkness. Miss Wilcox was in tears, desperately wanting to stay behind to help Franks, but I rather forcibly encouraged her to come with us – "He is gone. There is nothing that can be done for him."
"Where does the back door lead to?" asked Holmes urgently.
"Same as all these houses," Miss Wilcox replied shakily, looking back towards the room where Franks lay dead, "into a rear servicing alleyway…"
"Then quickly!" exclaimed Holmes, and we stood and ran through the dark house. We reached the rear door in the kitchen, and Doyle peered out through the smoked glass.
"All seems clear," he whispered. Miss Wilcox unlocked the door, and we quickly made our exit to the garden, just as we heard the lock on the front door starting to be forced. Blessing the cover of darkness, Holmes opened the garden gate carefully and checked the way was clear. Doyle in front, we entered the service alley and stole southwards until it reached the junction with Landport Street. He led us as we broke into a run, and we indeed ran until our lungs were fit to burst, as though all the forces of evil were on our trail.
We used the narrower and quieter side streets rather than the main routes. Heading first eastwards through the well tended grounds of St Paul's Square and on King Street, we then turned southwards and made our along Norfolk Street and Castle Road. In this way we continued for a good mile, stopping every so often to ensure we were not being followed. On a couple of occasions we stole into gardens as we saw suspicious people ahead or behind. Although of course, there were probably few things which could have looked more suspicious than our own process, three gentlemen and a lady, running and hiding in equal amounts.
After perhaps ten minutes the surroundings started to become more familiar, until there before us was presented our Hotel. Doyle was about to run on headlong, but Holmes slowed us and checked the way was clear again before we duly sprinted across the Osborne Road and, much to the surprise of the Doorman, into the lobby.
A few minutes later and we were in Holmes' room, gasping for breath and only just realising the shock we had experienced. The brandy which was provided for each room in the Hotel was consumed, including by the lady, rather too quickly for my liking. Holmes left us whilst we continued to recover, and when he rejoined us he brought fresh drinks and the evening newspaper. We sat quietly for a few minutes, Holmes looking out of the window across the Common towards the ships moored in rows in the open waters of Spit Head, obviously deep in thought; and Mary Wilcox sobbing quietly. At last he seemed to reach some sort of mental conclusion, and called us together so that we were sitting facing each other, Miss Wilcox and Holmes on individual chairs and Doyle and I sharing a settee.
"Madam," Holmes said. "At the last we are now ready to review the evening's events. You need to tell us what you know of this conspiracy. How far the plans have progressed and whether you have any idea of the intended outcome. If you are to succeed in what you have been tasked to do, you must trust us and allow us to play a part in assisting you."
She thought for a moment, as if weighing up the degree of trust she had in us. "Mr Holmes, I volunteered for this assignment," she started hesitantly. "He didn't know it, he just thought I wanted to serve with him, but I …. I loved Reginald. He always knew what to do, he was always seemed so in control of everything. With him around, everything seemed to go well. I don't know what we can do now. It was not hard to play the part of his doting wife. I loved him …." We looked away and waited in silence whilst she quietly wept, and then gathered herself.
"I'm sorry, you must forgive me. This has all been a most unexpected change in our circumstances. The key to the whole affair is the White Powder. The French have been working on it for a few years, and refer to it as 'Poudre Blanche'. I don't know the technical details, but I think it is made from two forms of nitrocellulose..."
"Collodion and guncotton," Holmes interrupted.
"… And then softened with ethanol and ether, and kneaded together into a sort of dough. However the method of production has until recently meant that the finished product is very unstable, and the manufacturing process itself has caused a number of accidents, although these have been quite well covered up and alternative explanations issued. So, until now, it has been quite unusable in practice and as a result our Government has not given much consideration to it. All that has now changed, according to our reports," she continued.
"We are charged with disrupting a group of anarchist conspirators. They are active in Paris and Normandy, and we understand their aim is to rekindle the conflict between our country and France. Success in achieving this would lead to an increase in the amount of arms required by both sides, into which the anarchists would be able to sell their ability to produce White Powder – the use of which would of course sway the course of any land based conflict. As Reginald said before he … before he was killed, the ability to fire a weapon without your location being given away would lead to a clear advantage on the battlefield. The side holding White Powder would be able to fire upon the opponent at will without fear of the opponent being able to accurately return that fire."
"Yes," I interjected, "I can see that would give a clear advantage. Would that we had had such material in Afghanistan – we were for ever being picked off even as we fired the guns."
They all looked at me with a look of horror and surprise. "Perhaps that could be so," Holmes replied. "But its use is, as I have said before, most ungentlemanly. You surprise me, Watson, at even thinking such a thing. Miss Wilcox, forgive my colleague. Please continue." He did however flash a brief smile at me. Doyle did not – I think he was genuinely shocked that I should have made the suggestion.
"Well," she said, "they managed to get the Chief of Police here in Portsmouth into their power, and as dear Reginald said a considerable quantity of the Powder was transported here a few nights ago." She quietly composed herself again – even the mention of his name seemed to upset her.
"Yes, on the fishing vessel from Cherbourg," Holmes replied patiently. Given the seriousness of the situation I was most impressed how he was holding himself back from hurrying her along.
"Mr Holmes, as you know, relations between Great Britain and France are only now recovering from the conflicts of the earlier years of this century. There is still much distrust, especially amongst older politicians and those in positions of power and authority. France itself is still not an altogether stable country in many ways, whilst even here Her Majesty is not held in the respect she once was. Her prolonged mourning for Prince Albert has made her seem remote from her people. The affair, if I can call it that, regarding John Brown, continues to damage her standing, even though it was all those years ago. If ever there was a time when such a dastardly plot was likely to succeed, now would be that time."
"Succeed in doing what?" I asked.
"Precipitating war between France and her allies and ourselves, of course," she replied. "And such a war would rapidly dissolve into a worldwide conflict – two empire nations, just think – the whole civilised world at war."
"Hardly civilised," objected Doyle.
"I understand now. In such a theatre," continued Holmes, "the holder of the ability to produce White Powder would in turn hold the balance of power. At any time in the conflict, as soon as one side started to get the better of the other, the Powder could be offered to the opponent. The conflict could be prolonged for years, all the time lining the pockets of those holding the ability to produce the Powder. Very clever. A lot of thought has gone into this scheme, immoral as it is."
"Indeed," Miss Wilcox continued with an air of resignation. Her hands were in her lap and she did not look up. "I don't know what to do. All it would take is one act of aggression and with either side being so distrustful of the other it would mean that all the old conflicts would be rekindled almost immediately."
"Thousands of lives would be lost in such a conflict," I exclaimed. "This is inhuman!"
"More correctly, millions of lives," she corrected. "The world has moved on since the days of Napoleon, Wellington and Nelson, as has the Empire. We have made many friends as the Empire has grown, but unfortunately in so doing we have made many enemies as well. We consider that a significant number – certainly the majority – of other countries would quickly throw their lot in with either of the main protagonists. So, you can see that the stakes cannot be higher. We – Reginald and I - have been charged with finding the plotters and stopping whatever it is they are planning as their precipitous action, so that such a terrible conflict never starts. We are part of a new organisation, linked to Scotland Yard but not fully part of it – a secret part of the Police Service if you wish to look on it as such. There are but few of us, and such as we are, we are unknown to other members. We act on behalf of Her Majesty's Government but are not fully part of it. Nor do we come under the formal law enforcement agency. We are authorised to take – how can I say this? – 'extreme measures' in order to ensure our mission is accomplished."
"Do the plotters call themselves 'the Order' of anything?" asked Doyle. "I recall that many rebellious movements give themselves grand, chivalrous titles to give glamour to their cause."
"No," she replied, curious. "We know of no name by which they describe themselves."
"Oh," he said, "it's just that Holloway's wife mentioned an 'order' on the night she was killed."
Mary Wilcox was silent for a moment, pondering these words. "No, that doesn't give me any idea as to what she could have meant."
Holmes leaned forward. "Think, Miss Wilcox," he said, now with a note of urgency finally rising in his voice, "Did you have any inkling of the likely ambition of these people?"
Again, she thought for a moment. "Not specifically, if you mean what the likely date or location was. But we did consider that, if a shipment of White Powder has been received in Portsmouth, then it is not the sort of thing one would want to move around a lot. Although the process for manufacturing it has been improved, it is by no means perfected. If the material is shaken about too much it will become unstable again, and remember it has already crossed the English Channel in autumn seas. So we thought it would probably only be used somewhere local to here, and within a short time of its arrival to avoid an accidental explosion. There is a Review of the Fleet tomorrow, hence all the ships moored out there, but Her Majesty is not to be present, so we couldn't see how that could fit with their plans."
These dealings of deep intrigue, of warfare and government, had left me needing another drink. I rose from my seat and obtained another brandy from the bottle. As I was about to return to my seat, my eyes caught an article in the day's local evening paper which was lying on the table.
"Holmes, Miss Wilcox," I said, quietly, taking it over to them and pointing out the article…
ROYAL VISIT TO PORTSMOUTH
We rejoice with Her Majesty in the forty-fifth year of her reign, that we are authorised at last to reveal a hitherto closely guarded secret - that the guest of honour at the Review of the Fleet tomorrow, 16th October, will be the French Ambassador, M. Guillaume Cazeneuve. He will attend a private state luncheon to be held aboard the pride of the British fleet, the new ironclad HMS Dreadnought, currently moored in Portsmouth Dockyard.
This news will be welcomed by all as a sign of the improving relations between our respective countries. The Ambassador will have pride of place at the luncheon, which will also be attended by the Prime Minister, Home Secretary, Foreign Secretary and local Members of Parliament.
The luncheon will be held starting at 12 noon. The ceremonial extent of the engagement will commence at nine o'clock when HMS Dreadnought will slip her berth and sail from Her Majesty's Dockyard into Spit Head where a review of the assembled Fleet will take place – a total of ninety-five ships of the line are expected to attend. Joining them will be a squadron of French naval vessels, to further reinforce the new entente cordiale between us, which are even today sailing to Portsmouth in time to join the celebrations tomorrow.
An extraordinary fireworks exhibition is to commence on the Harbour at a quarter past nine to accompany the new behemoth as she passes the walls of Old Portsmouth, the largest ironclad warship to ever grace these fair waters…
Our eyes met. "Surely not …." breathed Miss Wilcox.
"What else could it be?" I opined. "You're looking for a precipitous act – well what about assassinating the French Ambassador whilst he is in the company of the British Government as their esteemed guest? That would certainly cause a major diplomatic incident, surely? And with French ships offshore amongst our own fleet, they could be bombarding the Town and engaging with our vessels within minutes!"
"Indeed, your florid language is most helpful!" exclaimed Holmes. "But it fits, you know, so doubtless you are correct as to the intention. Yes, it fits all the requirements. Give me a moment." He took the paper and re-read the article a number of times, during which his face grew grave. At last he looked up at us, and his face suddenly seemed careworn. He chose his words carefully.
"So we now face a predicament. We four alone know of the existence of a plot to precipitate conflict between the two powers. Let us conjecture the most probable means of its execution - to harm the French Ambassador, whilst he is the guest of the British Government, thereby creating a diplomatic incident and duly precipitating a state of war. Now clearly we cannot call for assistance from the local Police Force since they are implicated in the organisation of the plot. Likewise, if we publish our concerns to others it is probable that Miss Wilcox's organisation will be fatally compromised, and all its members will be placed in danger." He stopped to ponder what he had just said, and then addressed himself to Doyle and I. "Gentlemen, I believe that it is for such an hour as this that our country needs us together. If this evil plot is to be stopped, international relations maintained and millions of lives saved, the three of us must carry out what Reginald Franks would otherwise have done – and by our actions save our nation, and perhaps the world, from war. The stakes could not possibly be higher."
"And lady," said Mary Wilcox quietly. "As in 'lady and gentlemen'. And 'we four together'. Mr Holmes, I owe this to Reginald. I owe it to my country. I am with you in foiling this plot."
Holmes was about to argue, but seeing the look of resolution in her eye allowed himself instead the flash of a brief smile. "Very well, Miss Wilcox. You know more about this than any of us, but you need to understand the danger you will be placing yourself into."
"I do, Mr Holmes," she replied with quiet resolution in her voice. "I have known from the first moment of joining the organisation." I noted that Doyle smiled at her willingness to join us in what seemed to me to be a hopeless venture. I know those signs, I thought to myself.
"We will sleep here tonight, unknown to our pursuers, as best we can," continued Holmes. "If we are to have any chance of success we must strike out early tomorrow – but make no mistake, for most certainly our every move will be watched, and we will be in fear of our lives throughout our expedition."