Sherlock Holmes Plays the Game

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The Abbey Mystery

Part One: The Disturbed Tomb

In which Sherlock Holmes determines who raided a tomb in Westminster Abbey, the temporary hiding place for a William Shakespeare manuscript. The controversial 16th century play, lying among letters & tributes from friends of the deceased, contained veiled allusions to the behaviour of some who surrounded Queen Elizabeth.

Another winter morning and London’s own particular fog deadened the sounds of people and vehicles in Baker Street. The fog was so thick that, as the saying goes, you could cut it with a knife. It lay thick, yellow and sulphurous, forming a thick suffocating blanket over the city. Those who ventured out had to breathe the outpourings of thousands of chimneys and the foul vapours emerging from beneath the streets. Omnibus drivers carried torches and led their horses. Hansom and growler cabmen became completely lost as once familiar streets and turnings disappeared. Distraught elderly persons clung to lampposts not daring to venture further into the unknown. The Thames was no longer a busy highway for passenger vessels and for barges and lighters. As for those with diseases of the lungs, there was no relief. They suffered dreadfully and for many the fog was the last they would ever see.

Despite all the doors being kept closed and a big bright fire in the grate the fog still managed to penetrate into our sitting room. It was with the greatest restraint on my part that I refrained from commenting on Holmes’ tobacco smoke which added to the foul air. To my annoyance he seemed oblivious to my coughing and continued to puff away absorbed with some chemical problem that, to him, was far more important than fog. He had been busy with his chemical apparatus when I came down to breakfast and he gave no indication of having been to bed.

I attempted conversation by mentioning the evening violin concert for which he had tickets. He had invited me to accompany him. Not wanting to offend him I had agreed to sit for two hours listening to music the greater part of which would not be very pleasing to my ear. I have to admit to having very little understanding or knowledge concerning music as a whole and particularly pieces for the solo violin.

‘Holmes, do you think this fog will prevent tonight’s concert taking place? I cannot imagine how the performers will be able to find their way there.’

He did not reply immediately. He continued to peer through his microscope. Without looking up he grunted and it was a few seconds before he muttered in a voice that betrayed his annoyance at being disturbed. ‘What did you say? Oh, yes, tonight’s concert.’ There was a long pause as he made a note of something in one of his chemical experiments notebooks. ‘Have no fear on that score, Watson, artists are a very dedicated breed. It is a point of honour to never let the elements prevent them meeting an engagement. I expect we will have to walk from here.’

A walk of some distance in the foul fog was going to add to my reluctance to go out that evening.

Suddenly Holmes exclaimed, ‘Watson, if I am not mistaken a cab has stopped outside our door.’ A moment or two later Superintendent Shershay of Scotland Yard entered. ‘Good morning Gentlemen. Once again I come to disturb you,’ was his greeting.

‘Good morning,’ said Holmes. ‘I presume that when you come at this hour and in such dense fog the Yard needs my help and needs it without delay?’

‘Just so, Mr Holmes. We have responded to a message received at dawn from the Dean of Westminster Abbey to say that one of the tombs has been disturbed and an important and ancient manuscript has been stolen. Now, please forgive my presumption, but I have a cab waiting below to convey us to the Abbey. Can you help?’

‘When the Dean of the Abbey and a superintendent of the Yard together become concerned about something then it must be of some importance. Give us a moment or two and I will be ready. Oh, will you come as well, Watson?’ The thought of another investigation, particularly concerning one of the noblest places in the kingdom, set aside my distaste for the fog. I agreed to accompany them.

We were soon on our way. I should mention that Shershay was a markedly different character from Inspector Lestrade. He was tall and thin. Although his manner was somewhat abrupt there could be no doubt that beneath his austere appearance he was a member of the Criminal Investigation Department who did not rush to conclusions; particularly when a suspect’s future depended on justice. He was meticulous in the manner in which he gathered evidence and exhibited the utmost restraint when questioning a suspect. He never raised his fist as, I regret to have to say, other detectives were tempted to do when confronted by a stubborn villain or one who heaped abuse upon the head of the Metropolitan Police. Our lives had one thing in common because we had both served in the late Afghan War. That experience provided a basis of understanding between us.

During the general discussion of the new case taken on by my friend he said, ‘Superintendent, can you tell me more about the manuscript which has been stolen?’

‘All I know is what was in the Dean’s brief telegram, Mr Holmes. He mentioned that the manuscript was not only of great value in monetary terms, but was of outstanding historical importance. Furthermore, its existence needs to be kept most secret. But he did not say why.’

At the lower end of Baker Street our progress became slower and slower. The fog was becoming even more dense and soon we could not see from one side of the road to the other. It took our cabman over five minutes to force his vehicle through the dense pack of carriages, omnibuses and wagons which were entangled at the crossroads in Oxford Street. We stopped and started and progressed at a walking pace through Mayfair. Crossing Trafalgar Square I observed that Nelson’s statue was out of sight somewhere above the thick layer of choking fog. Despite keeping my muffler across my face, the horrible taste and smell of the fog could not be avoided. My mouth could detect the minute particles of solid matter held in suspension in the foul vapour. My nostrils were assailed by the compound of the noxious odours of the streets and the smoke from the thousands of fires that were kept stoked up to keep out the fog. I had read somewhere that if the burning of coal in household grates was prohibited then London might be spared what was in effect a self inflicted problem. My thoughts turned to the railways which formed a tangled web over the city and the hundreds of locomotives belching out smoke to add to the solid matter of the fog.

Two hours after leaving Baker Street we reached the North Transept door of the Abbey. Above us, soaring up until they were invisible in the fog, were the soot blackened ancient stones which at one time had been white. The Dean, Dr Wrestable was there to greet us and led us into the nave. The fog was thick even inside the Abbey and we could not see much further upward than the tops of the pillars which lined the nave. I thought, ‘how strange that the first time I find myself in the Abbey it should be not as a member of the congregation at a service, but as part of an investigation into criminal activity.’ I was certain that had the world at large known what had occurred, there would have been an outcry of rage over such desecration.

The Dean led us the down into one of the crypts. It was stygian dark and even with the lanterns carried by two constables it was difficult to discern with clarity any of the detailed features of the different tombs. We were led past a place where workmen were repairing the foundations. Their implements, wooden beams and buckets of cement took up much of the available space. The atmosphere was full of dust and everything was covered with a thick layer. In front of us was a metal grill.

‘This,’ said the Dean, ‘was installed some time back to deter thieves from getting at the ostentatious gold ornamentation on the tomb of Roger of Aspinal. Thankfully none of the gold ornamentation or furniture has been touched. We cannot get in because who ever robbed the other tomb managed to manipulate the lock so that it cannot be opened with its key. I’ve sent for a locksmith. He should have arrived by now. I presume the fog is making it difficult for people to move around.’

Holmes studied the lock for a minute or two and then took from his pocket a roll of cloth and selected one of the implements which it contained. I was familiar with the set of tools which Holmes usually had with him. They enabled him to open safes, doors, padlocks and the concealed devices which locked secret drawers in desks and cabinets.

As he worked on the lock Shershay said, ‘Mr Holmes I trust you do not go about after dusk carrying those tools. If a constable, who happens not to know who you are, stops you and finds them you might have some explaining to do.’

‘Most unlikely that a constable would stop a gentleman,’ I suggested.

‘I agree, Doctor, but Mr Holmes, as we both know, sometimes disguises himself as characters likely to arouse the suspicion of a constable,’ responded Shershay.

We waited and watched as different implements were applied to the lock on the gate of the grill. I began to fear that my friend had met his match. So far, none of the tools he selected could overcome the lock.

‘This is certainly a cunning lock which you have had fitted, Dr Wrestable,’ said Holmes. ‘I should be interested to know the name of the locksmith.’ He selected yet another implement. ‘Well this is the last of my lock persuaders. Let us hope it is going to work.’

As he spoke, the gate swung open and he said, ‘please, let me go in alone. The fewer footprints and disturbance to the scene the easier it will be for me to find clues.’

We waited while Holmes carefully examined around the tomb, on the top of which the lid had been pushed to one side. He also went into the far reaches of the crypt. When he returned he asked. ‘Watson, did you bring one of the large envelopes? If so please pass it to me. I need to take away some items which could be of interest. One is this half-eaten slice of bread. It is extremely sticky. Jam of some sort.’ Holmes placed what he had discovered in the envelope.

‘Can we say with any certainty when the thief was down here, Superintendent?’ asked Holmes.

‘The crime was not discovered until eight o’clock this morning when the workmen came down to continue with restoring the foundations. They should have started work at seven but as with all of us the fog has disposed our intentions.’

‘From what I have been able to observe I deduce the thief spent the whole night down here,’ said Holmes, as he began to push on the lid of the tomb. ‘This lid appears to be extremely heavy. Great strength would have been needed to slide it open.’

‘Another thing we have to consider,’ said Shershay, ‘is when and how he managed to leave without anyone seeing him. Or for that matter, how did he pass through the nave, come down into the crypt and not been seen?’

‘Perhaps the answer lies with the fact that he was seen,’ answered Holmes. ‘Observe, workmen are coming and going as we speak. Some bringing in stonework, others carrying away debris. As the Dean mentioned, some are stonemasons and others are labourers. Our thief would have been taken by the former to be a labourer and by the latter he was assumed to be a stonemason. A bag of tools is a most excellent passport. No one would have questioned his presence in the Abbey as he left by the North Transept door. And the same would apply to his arrival sometime yesterday.’

‘I agree, that must have been so, Mr Holmes.’

‘If you and Mr Holmes have finished,’ said the Dean, ‘may I get some of these men to put the lid of the tomb back?’ .

They both agreed and we made our way back to the North door. As we did so Holmes asked, ‘Dean, what is so important about the stolen manuscript?’

‘It is a long story but I shall try and give you the essential details,’ was the reply. ‘Apparently, a professor at Oxford, who studies ancient documents, came upon a letter written in the hand of William Shakespeare. Without telling anyone of what he had found, he spent many hours in order to verify its authenticity. The letter was to one of Shakespeare’s friends. Its importance was that it referred to a play which he had written. A play which until now was not known to exist; although many have always believed there could be plays by the Bard waiting to be discovered.’

‘And, therefore, the manuscript of the play is what was taken from the tomb,’ said Holmes.

‘Yes,’ responded the Dean. ‘Some time after the death of one of Shakespeare’s fellow dramatists an ornate tomb was built. Before the lid was put in place his friends put on top of his sealed lead-coffin various items, such as letters and poems in his honour. Shakespeare took the opportunity to put the manuscript of his play in the tomb. The reason for his doing so, according to the letter discovered by the professor at Oxford, was that the play contained allusions to duplicity on the part of some of those who surrounded the queen. Shakespeare feared for his life. His intention was to recover the manuscript when he was no longer in danger. However, he never did recover it and it remained forgotten until now. Although the professor and I are the only two who knew about the manuscript, I can only assume that somehow a villain found out about the letter and decided to steal the manuscript from the tomb. It is of great importance because it could settle arguments among scholars over any plays which can or cannot be attributed with certainty to Shakespeare. It is also extremely valuable.’

‘What did he intend to call the play?’ asked Holmes.

‘Apparently it would have been Two Queens and One Crown referring, of course, to Elizabeth of England and Mary of Scotland,’ replied the Dean. ‘Shakespeare may have written something that flattered the Scottish queen or criticised Elizabeth. Or even both. They were dangerous times; even for writers.’

‘I am at a loss to know how we can proceed further,’ said the superintendent. ‘I’ll search through our records to see if anyone we have listed fits this sort of crime.’

‘This is the type of crime which, in the past, I would have attributed to Professor Moriarty,’ remarked, Holmes. ‘Now he is no longer with us others have attempted to emulate his activities. A number of recent crimes have the hallmark of someone who is extremely cunning and who only targets the most desirable objects. Do you not agree, Shershay?’

‘Certainly, Mr Holmes. Have you reached any conclusions about who the thief might be? I mean his appearance or build for example? I know you are able to describe someone from finding just one hair of their head.’

‘I have. We are most likely looking for, obviously, a strong man. The lid of the tomb required the utmost effort on my part to move it. He is also not above medium height and places more weight on his left foot than on the right. He also has a front tooth missing and the middle finger of his right hand has the end missing. I venture further that he lives in Southwark or comes from somewhere near there on the south bank.’

‘You seem most certain of your facts, Mr Holmes, how could you know about his missing tooth?’

‘For the time being let us just say I know. I will reveal my reasons later. Now I suggest we start searching for him. London Bridge station could be a good starting point’

‘I’m glad you suggest the station, Holmes,’ I said. ‘That part of London, apart from perhaps Waterloo station and Lambeth Palace, is not to my liking. As we all know, cabmen are none too pleased if you ask them to take you south of the river.’

When we arrived at the station Holmes said, ‘Superintendent, I suggest we start at the premises of Mrs Doubleday. She makes a splendid quince and ginger conserve as well as other combinations of fruit.’

‘Mr Holmes, I’m not going to question your proposal. I’ve worked with you for some years and gained great confidence in even the most peculiar of your proposed methods of investigation. Yes, let us proceed.’

Our cabman was finding it difficult to find his way to the address Holmes gave him. He called down from his box, ‘don’t come this side of the river much. I can finds me way anywhere on t’other side. This blinking fog ain’t helping.’

After a tortuous journey in the thick fog among one of the less savoury parts of London we arrived at Mrs Doubleday’s premises. Inside we found ourselves wreathed in clouds of hot steam from the many vats of bubbling fruit which surrounded us. Mrs Doubleday, who presided over the steam equivalent of an inferno, was figuratively and physically a tower of strength. Her stentorian voice gave orders to her minions as they laboured to produce some of the finest marmalades, jams and other preserves to be found in the kingdom. I was appalled at the conditions in which the many young girls were having to work and in particular their rather indelicate lack of clothing. Some of them were employed in crushing fruit with their bare feet as they stood in large wooden troughs. The stone floor was slippery with crushed fruit of various kinds. I presumed the only advantage to the girls of such employment was the readily available wholesome diet of fruit.

Shouting to make himself heard, Holmes said, ‘Mrs Doubleday, you make a wonderful quince and ginger preserve. May I ask, do you sell much of it to the people of Southwark?’

‘I’m afraid it’s too expensive for the likes of them what lives round ‘ere. Mind you there’s one cove what always ‘as much of the ready, who sometimes buys a jar.’

‘His name, if you please?’

‘No idea. Queer sort a chap. Don’t think ‘e comes from rand ‘ere. Even ‘as a sovereign with ‘im to pay. Don’t see many of them on a bloke like im.’

‘Was he a strong looking man with one front tooth missing?’

‘Well, yus. He’s a ‘orrible grin and big stickin’ art teeth an’ wun’s missing.’

‘Madam, you have been most helpful. Thank you,’ said Holmes as