Because of the recent attempts to obtain and destroy certain papers in my possession, in particular my notes and memoranda concerning one specific investigation, my old friend, the great consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes, has suggested that I write two accounts of the case, one which shall be deliberately kept among my files and which I shall threaten to publish should these outrages continue,* and this one, the true narrative of the events which took place and which I shall deposit with other confidential material at my bank, Cox and Co. of Charing Cross.
However, for reasons of the security of the realm, I shall refrain even in this secret account from referring to precise dates and facts in case it should, due to unforeseen circumstances, fall into the wrong hands.
Suffice it to say that the events occurred during the time when I had moved out of my former lodgings in Baker Street into my own rooms in Queen Anne Street and before Holmes’ retirement to Sussex.†
One afternoon in early July, I received a brief telephone message from Holmes, requesting my presence at Baker Street promptly at six o’clock. Having taken a cab to my old address, I found Holmes pacing up and down the sitting-room, impatiently awaiting my arrival.
No sooner had I entered the room than he thrust a sheet of paper at me, at the same time uttering the one word, ‘Mycroft!’
I hardly needed to read the note, which had been sent round by special messenger, to understand the urgent and unusual circumstances behind Holmes’ summons.
Mycroft Holmes, my old friend’s elder brother, acted as a highly-placed ministerial adviser and had the confidence of some of the most powerful men in the country. As Holmes had once observed, there were occasions when Mycroft was the Government.*
The message read: ‘I have a most urgent matter to discuss with you. Please present yourself at the Diogenes Club this evening at six-thirty sharp. Cancel all other appointments and do not accept any private clients for the foreseeable future. If you wish, Dr Watson may accompany you. Mycroft.’
‘Do you know what this urgent matter involves?’ I asked Holmes.
‘No; except it must be Government business. Mycroft concerns himself with nothing else. It must also entail an inquiry of some nature. Otherwise, why should he request that I take on no other clients? It is fortunate I am free, having just completed, as you are aware, Watson, the case of Lady Violet Fitzmorgan and the bareback rider. I have ordered a cab which I believe I can hear drawing up outside at this very moment. So let us proceed without any further delay, my dear fellow. We shall no doubt discover the exact nature of this urgent matter when we arrive for our appointment.’
The Diogenes Club was situated in Pall Mall, not far from the Carlton and opposite Mycroft’s own lodgings. As Holmes remarked as we alighted from the cab, his brother’s life was conducted within a small and tightly drawn circle, consisting of his club, his private lodgings and his office which was just round the corner in Whitehall. It was rarely that he stepped outside its perimeter even to visit Holmes in Baker Street.
I was already familiar with the club, having visited it before, notably on the occasion when Mycroft had introduced Holmes and me to Mr Melas, whose case I later published under the title of ‘The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter’,* and, as on that evening, Holmes led the way into the Strangers’ Room, the only part of the entire establishment where conversation was permitted.
We entered to find the portly figure of Mycroft Holmes already comfortably installed in an armchair by the bow window which looked out on to Pall Mall. Much larger and stouter than his brother, Mycroft Holmes nevertheless managed to convey, despite his corpulent frame and air of physical inertia, an impression of keen intelligence and sharpness of intellect, evident in the dominant brow and the alert expression in his light grey eyes.
Holmes had once informed me† that it was Mycroft’s omniscience of mind, his ability to store facts and collate them, which had made his services indispensable to Government ministers, and that it was on Mycroft’s advice that national policy had been decided on many occasions.
The greetings over, Mycroft Holmes subsided heavily again into his armchair, waving a languid hand in the direction of a side table on which were standing a whisky decanter, a soda syphon and a tray of glasses.
‘As you are already on your feet, Sherlock, you may pour all of us a drink, thereby saving me the exertion. For my part, merely crossing the road to reach this establishment consumes enough energy for one evening. Thank you, my dear boy. You show a proper sense of fraternal duty. And now that we are all seated, our glasses charged, I shall come straight to the point. The matter I shall lay before you concerns nothing less than the security of this nation.’
Pausing portentously to allow us to grasp the significance of this remark and also to refresh himself from his whisky glass, Mycroft continued, ‘You are no doubt aware of the present state of diplomatic relations between this country and Imperial Germany. Since his appointment of Admiral von Tirpitz as his Minister of Marine in 1897, the Kaiser has set about creating a powerful German navy which, it is feared, will be used to attack our Empire, our trade, even the British Isles themselves. Although the Admiralty has ordered the reorganization and rearmament of our own fleet, it is nevertheless thought that our best defence against any enemy naval attack lies in the development of the submarine.
‘It has therefore been decided to press ahead with research into a new prototype, based on the original Bruce-Partington design but much improved. There is no need, of course, to remind you of that particular invention and young Cadogan West’s tragic death when he tried to retrieve the plans from Oberstein, the foreign agent. Both you and Dr Watson were closely involved in that affair.*
‘Some time ago, the Admiralty set about enlarging and re-equipping the old secret research laboratory at Woolwich under the control of the eminent scientist, Roderick Jeffreys, who was instructed to recruit his staff from among the most promising young engineers and physicists he could find.
‘This brings me to my reason for asking you here this evening.
‘It concerns one of those young scientists, Maurice Callister, a brilliant man – a genius, one might say – who possesses a particularly inventive mind. You have probably never heard of him. He is something of a recluse and shuns publicity. However, his twin brother may be more familiar to you in the political field.’
‘You are speaking of Hugo Callister, are you not?’ Holmes inquired. ‘The Independent Member of Parliament for Dowerbridge and an excellent back-bench speaker on matters of defence?’
‘Exactly so, my dear boy. As a pacifist and an opponent of rearmament, he is something of a thorn in the Government’s flesh but I grant you his debating skills. In his own way, he is as gifted as his twin brother and shares with him certain eccentricities of behaviour although, unlike Maurice Callister, he goes out of his way to court attention.
‘Maurice and Hugo are the only children of the late Sir Douglas Callister, the former diplomat, and their peculiarities of character and outlook may derive from their upbringing. Their mother died at their birth and, as children, they travelled extensively abroad with their father to various foreign embassies, mostly in the Far East, although Sir Douglas served for several years in Berlin where he and his sons became friends with a certain Count Rudolph von Schlabitz-Hoecker and his family. In particular, Maurice Callister was very close to the Count’s son, Otto, with whom he shared an interest in scientific matters. Mark that fact, Sherlock! It has great significance.
‘As a consequence of their unorthodox education, both the Callister boys became excellent linguists with a wide knowledge of foreign cultures which bred in them what I can only describe as an international outlook. In Hugo Callister it takes the form of advocating political and economic co-operation, in addition to his well-known support of pacifism. He would, for example, dispense altogether with passports, abolish all frontiers and trade barriers and establish some kind of grand central committee which would govern the entire planet. Mere pipe dreams, of course,’ Mycroft added, with a sad shake of his head, ‘as we who live in the real world can testify.
‘As for his brother, Maurice, while he appears to have no particular party political beliefs, he nevertheless while at Oxford expressed the opinion that all knowledge and information, especially in the areas of scientific research, should be freely communicated between scholars regardless of their nationalities. That fact, too, is highly relevant.’
Holmes, who had been listening to Mycroft’s account with great attention, interposed a question of his own.
‘Was not Sir Douglas Callister something of a scholar himself?’
‘I believe he published several monographs which tended to be on artistic subjects, such as Chinese porcelain or the use of masks in Noh drama. No doubt his sons inherited their intellectual curiosity from him. However, to continue my account, Sir Douglas returned to England and the two boys were sent to Oxford where Maurice gained a double first in mathematics and physics. Later, he was awarded a Fellowship at St Olaf’s, the youngest man ever to have been given such a distinction. It was at this time that he came to the attention of Roderick Jeffreys and it was on Jeffreys’ recommendation that Callister was offered a post at the Woolwich laboratory to assist with the development of the new submarine, where he has access to all the plans and is involved in every stage of the research.
‘I come now to the nub of the affair. We have reason to believe that Callister is passing that information to his boyhood friend, Otto von Schlabitz-Hoecker, who is engaged in similar research on behalf of the German Admiralty.’
‘How do you know this?’ Holmes asked.
Mycroft lifted a broad hand, like a flipper.
‘Is it not obvious, my dear Sherlock? We have our own agents in Germany who keep us informed of all aspects of the Kaiser’s rearmament plans. As soon as His Majesty’s* Government was alerted, I was asked to establish a team of experienced men who have been investigating Callister’s activities, at the head of which I have placed a Scotland Yard officer, Inspector Drury, whom I believe you have already met.’
‘Indeed I have. He is an excellent man,’ Holmes agreed warmly. ‘Watson and I worked with him only a year ago on the unfortunate affair involving the bishop and the actress.’
‘Exactly so. For the past three months, Drury and his men have been keeping a strict watch on Maurice Callister in order to discover the method by which he passes on details of the submarine to Otto von Schlabitz-Hoecker, so far without success. Callister is a strange, solitary individual who appears to have no acquaintances outside his place of work, owing possibly to the fact that he was born with a deformed shoulder. As far as the Woolwich side of the investigation is concerned, all reports are negative. He has modest lodgings close to the laboratory but receives no visitors. He walks to and from the research station but meets no one on the way. Since starting work on the Admiralty project, he has not even been in contact with his brother. I gather from sources inside the House of Commons that Hugo Callister disapproves strongly of any research into armaments, which is only to be expected, given his pacifist beliefs.’
‘Is there a possibility that Maurice Callister passes on the secrets from inside the laboratory itself?’
‘No, my dear Sherlock, there is not. We learned that lesson from the Cadogan West affair. All the plans of the submarine are kept in a safe to which only Jeffreys has the key; not that this need discourage Callister. He has a phenomenal gift of almost total recall and could easily memorise details of any of the designs he was working on. Two of Inspector Drury’s own men have been placed inside the laboratory and monitor all Callister’s movements. No one is allowed inside the building without a pass and, as the only telephone is in the main office where one of Drury’s men acts as chief clerk, Callister cannot use that to communicate with anyone outside.’
Holmes observed drily, ‘You would appear to have stopped up all the earths. How is it possible that your fox still manages to elude you?’
‘Through the only bolt-hole which is left open to him, I assume. Every Friday evening for the past few months, Callister has been in the habit of travelling down by train to Cornwall, returning to town on Sunday. And no,’ Mycroft added, anticipating his brother’s query, ‘he communicates with no one on the way, either at Paddington station or on the train itself. Drury’s men who travel with him make sure of that. While in Cornwall, he stays at a small villa, “The Firs”, which his father, Sir Douglas, had built on his own retirement and where he lived until his death.
‘“The Firs” is remote, isolated on top of a rocky headland, called Penhiddy Point, on the north coast of Cornwall and some distance from the nearest habitation. The whole area was notorious in the past for shipwrecks and the property includes an abandoned lighthouse, known as Penhiddy Beacon, which fell into disuse some time ago when a new lighthouse was built on another, more convenient headland. A set of steps has been cut into the cliff, giving access to a small landing stage from which the lighthouse can be reached by rowing-boat in calm weather.
‘I give you these details because, since Callister has been spending each weekend in the villa, he appears to have set up his own laboratory in the lighthouse, part of which was converted by his father into a studio. Drury’s men have observed him taking equipment and supplies there by boat and, when he is in residence at “The Firs”, he spends most of the day at Penhiddy Beacon.
‘There are two mysteries surrounding Callister’s trips to Cornwall which make me believe he uses them to communicate with his German friends. The first concerns an elderly housekeeper, a Eurasian woman, Miss Mai, who lives permanently at ‘The Firs”. She is an old family servant of the Callisters, having acted as ayah to the two boys when they were young and later as nurse to Sir Douglas during his last illness. The enigma involves her weekly grocery orders which are delivered to the house from the nearest town, Portswithin, a small fishing port, by the suppliers and shopkeepers. The point is, Sherlock, the quantities of food are too great for one elderly lady to consume, even allowing for the fact that Callister spends every weekend there. We suspect another person must be living permanently at the villa in addition to Miss Mai but no one has seen who it is, not even Drury’s men who have acted on occasion as delivery men. Nor are any messages passed to and from the villa in the baskets. They are vigorously searched and there is no reason to suspect the local butcher, baker or candlestick-maker, all loyal Cornishmen, of being German spies.
‘The second mystery concerns a fishing-boat, the Margretha, which since the time Callister has been kept under observation has been seen close to the headland at irregular intervals; not every weekend. I stress that point. Having spent several days out at sea at the fishing-grounds off the Irish coast, it anchors near a small, uninhabited island near Penhiddy Point, less than an eighth of a mile from the lighthouse. Drury’s men have kept it under close observation both day and night but the activities on board appear to be perfectly innocent. The crew spend the time sorting fish, cleaning decks, mending nets. As far as can be ascertained, no communication of any nature passes between Callister and the men on board the boat; no signals; no flashing lights; no secret rendezvous at night.’
‘And yet you believe that this boat is the means by which Callister passes details of the submarine plans to von Schlabitz-Hoecker?’
‘I am convinced of it. Its mere presence there is suspicious.’
‘Could you not find an excuse to board and search her?’
‘The boat is Dutch-registered and we do not wish to take such action until we have positive evidence of Callister’s guilt. But you take my point, Sherlock? It would be easy enough to pass on any papers to Germany once the boat returns to Holland.’
‘What activity does Callister engage in while the boat is anchored off the island?’
‘Exactly the same as every other weekend when it is not there. He rows out to the lighthouse quite early in the morning, taking a picnic basket with him, enters the beacon and presumably spends the day working in his laboratory. In the evening, he re-emerges, feeds the seagulls, and attends to his fishing-lines before rowing back to the steps and returning to “The Firs”. His routine never varies.’
Holmes’ lean features took on an expression of even keener attention.
‘Fishing-lines!’ he exclaimed.
‘He has set up two fixed rods on the lighthouse rocks which he baits in the mornings when he first arrives. Later, before leaving, he examines them, removes any fish from the hooks and places them in the basket. That is all. I assume the catch is cooked and eaten that evening for supper. You consider the fishing-lines might be significant?’
‘It is possible. In so unusual a case, any fact could be relevant. What other information can you give me about Callister?’
‘Very little. As I have said, the man is a recluse. However, last summer he broke his usual pattern of behaviour and requested a month’s leave from the laboratory, during which he visited France. Jeffreys acquainted me with this fact when we were building up a dossier on Callister. It seems he sent picture postcards to Jeffreys’ young daughter for her album from each town where he stayed. If you wish, I could send Callister’s file to Baker Street this evening by Government messenger.’
‘Pray do. When a man of strict habits breaks the pattern …’
‘… one has cause for suspicion,’ Mycroft Holmes agreed. ‘Quite so. Am I to assume from your reply that you are willing to take up the investigation in Cornwall? Yesterday, I received a report that the Margretha has been observed fishing off the Irish coast which leads one to believe that on Friday she will anchor once again in Penhiddy Bay. I am much too fixed in my own habits to go scrambling about on cliff-tops. Besides, there is an urgent meeting with the Japanese Overseas Trade Minister I must attend to.’
‘I shall certainly accept. The case has some remarkable and challenging features. I take it the invitation includes my old friend, Dr Watson?’
‘Of course, my dear boy! Who would dare separate you? You are the Castor and Pollux of the investigative world. And now that I have your acceptance, which, knowing your disposition, I must confess I had expected, let us attend to the practicalities. Here are two first-class return tickets for the morning express from Paddington on Friday. By catching this train, you will avoid Callister who always travels down in the late afternoon. Inspector Drury will meet you at Penzance with an official car and will escort you to his headquarters which he has set up in an old coastguard cottage. Take only a minimum of luggage with you but be certain to pack your field-glasses. They will be most necessary. Should there be any difficulties you may contact me by telephone from the police house at St Auban, a small village only a short distance away. Rest assured that you have full Government support for any action you may undertake. However, I should warn you that I want Callister taken cleanly, with proof positive of his guilt which will satisfy a court of law. Any mistake will be seized on by the Opposition, especially the disarmament lobby led by Hugo Callister, to discredit the Government, which could bring about its downfall. The Prime Minister has personally requested me to stress that point.’
‘I understand,’ said Holmes quietly. ‘There is one question I should like to ask before Watson and I take our leave. Is Maurice Callister aware he is under observation?’
‘Probably so; he is, after all, highly intelligent. But he shows no sign. It is possible that he considers his method of passing the secret plans to Germany so clever as to be undetectable.’
‘He seems a worthy opponent. There is nothing else you can tell me about him?’
‘Only that he once had an interest in the circus, a hobby he appears to have abandoned since he began work at the Woolwich laboratory. You will see it is remarked on in his dossier which I shall send round to your rooms tonight.’
I was not present when Callister’s file was delivered at Baker Street, Holmes and I having parted outside the Diogenes Club to return separately to our different lodgings, and I did not, in fact, see my old friend again until we met at Paddington station on Friday morning to catch the express train to Penzance.
However, the contents of the dossier were clearly in the forefront of Holmes’ mind, for no sooner had we settled ourselves in our first-class compartment than he remarked, ‘The circus, Watson. What does that word convey to you?’
‘Clowns. Acrobats. Trapeze-artistes.’
‘Ah!’ said he thoughtfully. ‘And Chateaurenard, Claircourt and Montcerre?’
‘Nothing at all, Holmes; except they sound French.’
‘Quite so, my dear fellow. They are all small provincial towns in the Midi which Callister visited last summer. A strange choice, would you not agree?’ Then with an apparent change of subject, he continued, ‘I have spent two days researching into Sir Douglas Callister’s monographs at the Reading Room of the British Museum. What a remarkable family they are! Their interests cover so many widely differing subjects. Noh drama! Pacifism! Submarines! Such intellectual curiosity and such curious intellects!’
With that, he opened the small portmanteau he had brought with him and took out a book, the title of which he showed me. It was British Birds of Coasts, Estuaries and Lakes.
‘And now, Watson,’ he announced, ‘I shall satisfy my own intellectual curiosity.’
‘You are interested in birds, Holmes?’
‘As we are to stay on the north Cornish coast, it seemed an apt subject.’
His book, the morning newspapers and exchanges of conversation on general matters kept us both occupied until the train arrived at Penzance, where we alighted and where we were met by Drury, the tall, ruddy-faced Scotland Yard Inspector, dressed in shabby, unofficial tweeds, who conducted us to the waiting car.
The journey by road across the peninsula to the north coast took us through some of the most beautiful of English scenery until we reached our destination, a narrow, high-banked road about a quarter of a mile past the small village of St Auban.
‘We shall have to approach the coastguard’s cottage on foot, gentlemen,’ Drury informed us, leading the way towards a high-stepped stile. ‘The road, which continues on round the headland, passes Callister’s house and leads eventually to the small fishing town of Portswithin, about three miles away. If you would care to follow me.’
Having climbed the stile, we found ourselves on a stony track which led across a field of rough grass and which gradually grew more steep and enclosed. Low trees and bushes, stunted by the wind, grew on either side between rocky outcrops, obscuring the view although from time to time we caught glimpses of the ocean glittering ahead of us.
The cottage, a small, single-storey building of stone, stood in a natural clearing between these rocks and at first sight appeared derelict, its slate roof partly collapsed and all its windows closely boarded in.
To avoid being observed, we entered through a rear door into a small room, once a kitchen, judging by the rusted cooking range standing in the fireplace opening, and from there Drury showed us into the main living-room at the front of the building where he introduced us to Sergeant Cotty, a heavily built and moustached man, who was in charge of the night watch.
The introductions over, we were free to examine the room which would be our living quarters for the next two days. Because of the screens covered with black felt which had been nailed over the window to prevent even the smallest crack of light from being seen, the interior was lit by two hurricane lamps which hung from the ceiling. Folding canvas beds, of the type I had been used to sleeping on when serving in India, were placed in a row against the further wall, while a wooden table and four upright chairs occupied the centre of the room.
The Inspector seemed as proud of these living arrangements as a new bride, showing us the simple kitchen, comprising a paraffin stove and some boxes for storing food and cooking utensils which had been set up in one corner, and the washing facilities, a tin basin placed on top of a crate in the small rear room. Fresh drinking water, he informed us, was still available from an outside pump.
I had the impression that Drury who, as far as I knew, had been born and brought up in London, was enjoying the primitive and challenging nature of his new surroundings.
It was with equal pride that later, when we had stowed our belongings, he demonstrated to us the observation post which had been set up at the edge of the cliff and where he introduced us to the third member of his team, Sergeant McGregor, a keen and alert-looking young officer.
The post itself was a dense clump of furze bushes, the interior of which on the landward side had been carefully cut away to form a horseshoe-shaped hide or cover, such as are used on grouse moors to conceal the guns. Crates served as seats for whoever was keeping watch.
‘Comfortable, isn’t it?’ Drury asked, his eyes positively sparkling with delight at the simple ingenuity of these arrangements. ‘Quite a little home from home!’
Seated on these boxes, we had a clear view on the seaward side through small gaps in the bushes of the vista which lay before us. Immediately in front, a mere few feet away, the cliff plunged precipitously down to a narrow shore, composed of tumbled rocks over which the waves broke in scatters of white foam. Beyond lay a small, semicircular bay, less than half a mile in width and surrounded by more cliffs which swept round to form on the far side another headland – Penhiddy Point, as Drury informed us – which extended out to sea like an arm at the end of which stretched a long, bony forefinger of rock. This finger seemed to be pointing to an isolated outcrop which thrust itself up from the waves, its irregular and broken outline crowned by the tall, white, slender tower of a lighthouse which stood sentinel over the entrance to the bay.
I could understand the necessity for its presence for the surface of the cove was scattered with granite needles and small, submerged islets, their presence only apparent from the surge of water and spray as the sea broke over them. Any ship attempting to seek shelter in the bay, especially after dark, would run the risk of foundering on any one of these hazards.
A larger island lay between us and Penhiddy Point although its total area could not have been more than a few dozen square yards. It rose to a high peak and appeared to be inhabited solely by seabirds which swooped and circled above it or gathered in squabbling groups on every ledge and crevice, the rocks whitened by their droppings.
Anchored on the leeward side of this island was a fishing-boat. With the aid of our field glasses, we were able to read the name, Margretha, painted on its hull and to distinguish two members of its crew, one inside the wheelhouse, the other lounging on the after-deck, his arms folded along the rail as he smoked a short pipe, apparently enjoying the last of the evening sunlight.
As we watched, a third man appeared on deck to empty a bucket over the side which he then filled by lowering it into the sea and hauling it back on board by means of a rope. Having done this, he disappeared below deck.
On Drury’s instructions, we next turned our glasses towards Penhiddy Point and to a small coppice of densely planted trees on its summit which marked the position of ‘The Firs’ although the house itself was hidden by the branches.
However, the rock-hewn steps leading down from the cliff were clearly visible. So, too, was a rough wooden landing stage at their foot where a rowing-boat was made fast.
Also just visible in the low dazzle of the setting run was a further headland, Portswithin Point, stretching further out to sea where the new lighthouse had been built to replace the old Penhiddy Beacon.
As the light faded, we returned to the cottage, leaving McGregor to complete his watch. Here a meal had been prepared for us by Cotty who left shortly afterwards to relieve McGregor at his post.
Callister, Drury told us, would arrive later that night from London and we could expect no further action until the following morning when our suspect would begin his two-day visit and our own surveillance of him would start in earnest.
We were wakened at half past six the next morning by Drury who was evidently still enjoying his rustic surroundings and who, by the light of the lamps, was preparing a huge fried breakfast of sausages, eggs and bacon for us on top of the paraffin stove.
Once that was eaten, the four of us, Holmes, Drury, McGregor and I, emerged from the lamplit cottage into the full brilliance of an early July morning, a little dazed by the sunlight which glittered on every surface of rock, leaf and grass-stem and especially on the wide, restless expanse of the sea which, like a vast prism with a million facets, flashed the light back at us, forcing us to shade our eyes as we made our way to the observation post. Here we relieved Cotty who, having assured us that there was nothing to report, returned to the cottage, leaving the four of us to take his place inside the hide.
The Margretha was still anchored off the small island but there was no one on board and it was not until shortly before eight o’clock that we observed any movement.
It was then that we caught sight of a figure which emerged from the coppice on top of the headland and began the descent of the cliff steps; our first glimpse of our quarry, Maurice Callister.
Through our field glasses, it was possible to pick out certain details of his appearance. He was slight in build and dark-haired, not more than in his early thirties, and was wearing a loose cape, a curious choice of garment considering the warmth of the morning. Because of the deformed left shoulder, which was thrust higher than the right, he moved with a strange crab-like motion, awkward but surprisingly agile. With one hand, he steadied himself on the wooden rail which ran alongside the steps; in the other, he carried a picnic basket.
Having reached the bottom of the steps, he crossed to the landing stage, climbed into the rowing-boat and, casting off, started to pull with strong, even strokes towards the lighthouse.
Turning my glasses momentarily towards the Margretha, I observed that no one was on deck and the craft appeared deserted. I also noticed that Callister appeared uninterested in its presence, not so much as turning his head in its direction and, once he had landed on the lighthouse rock, seemed totally absorbed with mooring his own boat and scrambling up the granite boulders, basket in hand, to a flat expanse of rock which immediately faced the lighthouse entrance. Here he paused, setting the basket on the ground, and squatted down over two fishing rods which had been wedged into crevices between the rocks.
As we watched, he reeled in the lines, baited them and cast them back into the sea before, picking up the basket, he climbed rapidly up the flight of stone steps that led up to the lighthouse door, which he unlocked. Seconds later, he had disappeared inside the tower.
Drury consulted his pocket-watch.
The whole action, from the time Callister had appeared on top of the cliff to the moment he had entered Penhiddy Beacon, had taken exactly twenty-three minutes and five seconds.
‘And, gentlemen,’ Drury added, ‘we shan’t see him again today for another twelve hours when the sun sets.’
Drury was correct. We were awarded no further sightings of Callister although signs of activity occurred from time to time on board the Margretha. Members of its crew could be seen on deck cleaning and sorting fish, discarded scraps of which were thrown overboard to the gulls; gear was attended to, decks scrubbed. As Mycroft had observed, it all seemed perfectly innocent.
As for ourselves, we passed the hours as best we could in reading or talking in low voices, these periods of inactivity interrupted by short walks to relieve our cramped limbs. Holmes spent most of the time either studying his book of birds or observing the living examples as they wheeled and gathered about the cliffs, marking off on the page each individual species of gull, tern or shearwater as he recognised them.
It was past eight o’clock and the sun was just beginning to dip towards the horizon before Callister reappeared.
In the meantime, the man whom we had observed lounging on the deck of the Margretha the previous evening had again taken up his position on the after-deck where he stood, as before, pipe in mouth and leaning his forearms on the rail, it being his habit, it appeared, to enjoy this brief respite before dusk descended.
He seemed to take no notice, not even glancing up, as Callister emerged from the lighthouse and, locking the door, walked across to the water’s edge a little distance from the place where the rods were positioned, where he again squatted down on his heels and, opening the basket which he had set down beside him, took something from inside it which appeared to be bread.
I use the word ‘appeared’ because his back was towards us and the folds of the loose cape he was wearing hid his hands and arms. But there was no mistaking the handfuls of white morsels which he flung into the air towards the flock of sea-birds which, as if well used to this evening ritual, had begun to gather about him screaming excitedly, some circling above his head, some diving to scoop up the fragments before they fell, while others of a more sedate and temperate nature, if such human characteristics can be attributed to birds, bobbed about in the sea close to the rocks, waiting for those pieces of bread which would inevitably fall into the water.
The feeding over, Callister brushed the last crumbs from his hands and, still with his back to us, crossed the few feet to his fishing lines and, again squatting on his heels, reeled them in and removed two fish from the hooks which he placed inside the basket before once more casting the lines out to sea.
Callister then picked up the basket and, clambering down the rocks to his boat, began to row back to the landing stage, thus completing the pattern of actions which Mycroft had described to us.
The activity on board the Margretha also followed the same routine which we had observed the previous evening.
The lounging figure remained on deck, to be joined after a short interval by another crew member who, as before, emptied a bucket overboard before lowering it on its rope and filling it with clean water, inadvertently banging it against the hull as he did so. The bucket was then hauled back on board and the man disappeared with it below deck.
In the meantime, Callister had regained the landing stage and, having moored his boat, had begun the ascent of the cliff steps, basket in hand, to disappear shortly afterwards into the coppice of trees which surrounded ‘The Firs’.
Shortly afterwards, Cotty arrived to take over night-watch, relieving us of our duties.
As Holmes, Drury, McGregor and I made our way back to the cottage, I remarked, ‘Everything appeared perfectly normal. As far as I could see, nothing unusual occurred.’
Drury agreed with me.
‘It is the same every weekend, doctor. Callister repeats the same actions, in the morning baiting his hooks, in the evening feeding the seabirds and removing his catch from the lines. The same can be said of the men aboard the Margretha. I cannot for the life of me see how any communication is made between Callister and its crew.’
Holmes, who had been strangely silent during this exchange, broke in at this point to ask abruptly, ‘Can you not, Inspector?’
Drury looked utterly astonished.
‘You believe some message was passed? How was that achieved?’
‘You observed the man on deck, the one smoking the pipe?’
‘Of course I did, Mr Holmes. He is there every evening when the Margretha is anchored off the island. But he does nothing except stand with his arms on the rail.’
‘Arm, Drury,’ Holmes corrected him. ‘This evening you may have observed that he had only one arm on the rail. The other, the one furthest from us and therefore hidden, was by his side. Then there is the man with the bucket to consider.’
‘But surely he is only emptying slops over the side!’ I protested.
‘And filling the bucket with clean water,’ Drury added.
‘He is certainly filling the bucket with something,’ Holmes conceded. ‘By the same token, Callister’s picnic basket is used to convey some object to and from the lighthouse. However, should we examine it, which I propose to do tomorrow morning, I dare say we shall find it contains more than a packet of ham sandwiches and some stale bread for the gulls. And speaking of which, my dear Watson and Drury, may I recommend Saint Matthew, chapter six, verse twenty-six, which advises us to observe the fowls of the air? While you are so doing, spare a thought also for the birds of the sea.’
As he finished speaking, we reached the door of the cottage and, thrusting it open, Holmes strode ahead, leaving the rest of us, after a bewildered exchange of glances, to follow.
Once inside, Holmes, whose mental energies seemed to be running at a high pitch of excitement, threw himself down on one of the chairs and, taking out his notebook, began writing in it at great speed. Drury and I waited in silence as his pencil raced across the paper. Then, tearing the page from the book, he tossed it across the table towards us before, folding his arms, he flung himself back in his chair.
‘There!’ he declared. ‘That is my chain of reasoning, the final link of which is now in position. Follow that for it is the line which leads directly to the centre of Callister’s treachery.’
With Drury leaning over my shoulder, I eagerly scanned the sheet of paper.
It read:
‘Holmes,’ said I, laying down the sheet, ‘I have to confess it means nothing to me. It is a mere enigma.’
‘No enigma is ever mere to those who cannot solve it. Nor is any mystery quite as complex as one imagines. You do not follow my reasoning? It is perfectly straightforward. I set it out under those nine simple headings so that the links between them could be more easily grasped. Well! Well! You disappoint me, my dear fellow. You, too, Inspector Drury, for I can see by your expression that you also have failed to follow the logic. Nevertheless, are you prepared to act upon it, even if you do not understand it?’
‘Act upon it, Mr Holmes?’
‘Yes, act upon it! Put a series of actions into motion! You could acquire the use of a rowing-boat, could you not?’
Drury, who seemed mesmerised by the speed of Holmes’ mercurial mind, could only nod dumbly.
‘And warrants for the arrest of Callister and any of his accomplices?’
‘They could be drawn up but would need the signature of a magistrate.’
‘Which no doubt could be easily arranged if the right influence is brought to bear. As could a coastguard cutter to board and search the Margretha. I suggest I telephone my brother Mycroft immediately so that he can begin to pull the necessary strings and set his puppets dancing.’
Without any further delay, we started off on foot for the nearby village of St Auban where we parted, Holmes and Drury to the police house to use the telephone, I to the Fishermen’s Arms inn where Holmes later joined me in the privacy of the snug where our conversation could not be overheard.
I could tell by the light in my old friend’s eyes that he had been successful.
‘I have spoken to Mycroft,’ he told me in a low rapid voice, ‘and everything is in hand. A coastguard cutter will be standing by tomorrow morning to board and search the Margretha on suspicion of smuggling, once we have made our own move. Drury is at this moment arranging for a rowing-boat to be placed at our disposal in a small cove near the coastguard’s cottage, out of sight of the lighthouse. This will convey us to the beacon where we shall land once Callister is safely inside his laboratory. Drury will have in his pocket warrants for Callister’s arrest and any accomplice on a charge of treason as well as an authorization to search “The Firs”. Mycroft will see to it that a magistrate in Penzance is immediately alerted by telephone and will be ready to sign the warrants later this evening.
‘Meanwhile, Drury will contact the police station in Portswithin to arrange for an official motor car to take him to Penzance to obtain the necessary signatures. Drury will also ask for the same car and driver to be standing by tomorrow morning at half past nine on the road outside “The Firs” to convey Callister and his accomplice to London for questioning. What a remarkable instrument the telephone is, Watson! Remember the old days and how we were forced to communicate by telegram? How cumbrous a method it now seems!’
‘Indeed it does, Holmes. And speaking of communicating, will you now have the goodness to explain your “chain of reasoning”?’ said I, taking from my pocket the sheet of paper on which he had written down his nine headings and laying it flat on the table in front of him.
But Holmes was in a mood to tease.
‘There is barely time,’ he replied with a twinkle. ‘Inspector Drury will be joining us shortly to wait for the car to take him to Penzance. Besides, my dear fellow, think of the intellectual pleasure it will give you to cudgel your brains a little longer over its solution!’
I was no nearer solving Holmes’ ‘chain’ when the following morning the four of us, Holmes, Drury, McGregor and I, set out once more for the hide. Nor could I understand my old friend’s evident satisfaction at what we witnessed there.
As before, Callister descended the cliff-steps and began to row out to the lighthouse. Shortly after he landed, the man with the bucket again appeared on the deck of the Margretha and lowered it overboard to fill it with sea-water. There were only two divergences from this normal routine, as far as I could ascertain. One was the presence on deck of the pipe-smoking member of the crew who, on this occasion, was seated on an upturned fish-crate and appeared to be mending a net. The other was the time it took Callister to bait his hooks. One of the lines seemed to have become entangled for he crouched over it for five minutes or more, alternately tugging it in and paying it out, until at last it was freed. Then, reeling both of them in, he took bait from the basket, fastened it to the hooks and, casting out the lines, retreated once more inside the beacon, taking the basket with him.
Holmes, who had been watching these activities with great absorption, let his field-glasses fall on their strap around his neck with a chuckle of pure pleasure.
‘We have him!’ cried he. ‘The rowing-boat is waiting for us, is it not, Drury? Then let us go! It is time we drew in our own line and landed this prize catch of ours.’
With Drury leading the way, we set off towards the far side of the headland where a steep path descended the cliff to a small cove. Here a rowing-boat, ordered by the Inspector the previous evening, was waiting for us.
Dismissing the constable who had brought it round from St Auban, the four of us climbed into it and, with McGregor and Holmes at the oars, we rounded the point into Penhiddy Bay.
It was a bright clear morning with only a light breeze barely ruffling the surface of the sea, which aided our progress. Within a short time, we had passed the small island where the Margretha lay at anchor, taking care to keep well clear of the vessel although by that time the two men had gone below and the deck was deserted.
There was no sign, either, of the coastguard cutter which had orders to keep out of sight beyond Penhiddy Point until nine o’clock, by which time, Holmes had estimated, we should have landed at the beacon and it would be too late for the crew of the Margretha either to warn Callister of our presence or to make their own escape out to sea.
Holmes’ estimation of the time of our arrival was accurate to within a few minutes for it was five to the hour when we landed, secured our own boat close to Callister’s and, scrambling over the boulders, gained the rocky plateau on which the beacon stood. A quick dash of about twenty yards took us to the foot of the steps leading up to the door which yielded silently on well-oiled hinges and gave us access to a small vestibule.
To our left lay a room, its door swinging loose and allowing us a glimpse of an ill-lit chamber full of discarded lumber. Ahead of us, a spiral staircase ascended, its flight of stone steps hugging close about a central pillar and disappearing into the upper reaches of the tower. We ascended these as rapidly and as quietly as we could, confident that our footsteps could not be heard above the surge of the sea beyond the walls.
On the ascent we passed several more disused rooms until we reached a landing about halfway up the beacon where freshly whitewashed walls and a new, secure door warned us that we had arrived outside Callister’s laboratory.
Here we halted, crowded together into the small space, while we regained our breath and then, as Holmes raised his hand, a pre-arranged signal, we flung our combined weight against the door.
Our entry took Callister totally by surprise.
He was bending over a workbench on the far side of the room and, as we burst in, he spun about, his face expressing shock and consternation.
I still have in my mind an impression of that curious chamber, fitted into the rounded tower of the lighthouse and therefore possessing semicircular walls against which a number of curved lockers and cupboards had been built with great ingenuity.
Facing us was a window looking seawards, its upper light open allowing plenty of air and sunlight to flood in and giving an incomparable view of a vast expanse of sky and ocean until they fused together into the haze of the distant horizon. Through it, I also caught a glimpse of the coastguard cutter, which had rounded Penhiddy Point and was bearing down on the Margretha.
Apart from these fleeting impressions, I have no clear recollection of what else the room contained or what objects lay scattered about on the bench where Callister was standing, except that they included lengths of wire, parts of an engine or dynamo and several open books.
It was Callister I recall in greatest detail, especially the awkward lurch of his misshapen shoulder as he swung round to face us. But more memorable even than that was his head which, because of his small, twisted frame, seemed larger than normal. It was noble in its features, particularly the huge, brilliant eyes and the high arch of his forehead, distinguished by a deep widow’s peak of dark hair which gave the impression of a curious cap, such as medieval scholars wore, fitting close about the head.
Beside him on the bench stood the picnic basket, a large wicker receptacle fastened with two leather straps, near which lay several small squares of fine, oiled silk.
Callister, who had recovered some of his composure after the first shock of our precipitate entry, appeared quite calm as Holmes and Drury stepped forward, Drury to make the arrest, Holmes to search the bench and to remove one of the oiled silk squares and a little tube of paper, in shape not unlike a small, squat cigar, which he unrolled and, having read its contents quickly, passed to Drury.
‘I think you will find in there all the evidence you need for the charge of treason, Inspector. The rest,’ said he, laying his hand on the picnic basket, ‘is contained in here.’
It was Callister who spoke first. Before Drury could reply, he said, addressing Holmes, his voice light and courteous, ‘Mr Holmes, is it not? I have long admired the quality of your intellect which, if I may say so, is wasted on the criminal world. Allow me to show the Inspector the evidence to which you refer.’
Turning aside, he began to unbuckle the straps which fastened down the lid of the basket, at the same time glancing back over his shoulder with an amused smile as we crowded forward to see what it contained.
It was at this moment, when our guard was down, that Callister acted.
Before Holmes could shout a warning, he had flung back the lid with one hand, with the other sweeping the books and pieces of machinery off the bench and sending them crashing to the floor. As they fell, a large bird, terrified by the noise, burst from the basket with the velocity of a bullet in an explosion of wings and feet and feathers, beating at our hands and faces and causing all of us, even Holmes, to start back in alarm at its sudden eruption.
Our confusion was only momentary but it was long enough for Callister. Thrusting us aside, he darted for the door which opened on to the landing and disappeared up the spiral staircase.
Holmes was the first to recover. With a shout to us to follow, he sprinted off in pursuit, leading the way as we raced up the steps after him.
We emerged at the very top of the lighthouse, into a small circular chamber, completely enclosed with glass, which housed the lantern and its reflectors and where another door gave access to an open gallery which ran round the exterior of the beacon, guarded on the seaward side by a waist-high iron railing.
Callister sat crouched on its topmost bar, balancing himself with hands and feet. He remained perched there for no more than two or three seconds although to us, standing immobilised with horror in the doorway, it seemed an eternity of time.
The next instant, he had vaulted into the abyss.
Galvanised into motion by the energy of that leap, we rushed to the rails to watch as he plunged downwards, powerless to save him.
The breeze had caught his cape, billowing it out round him so that he had the appearance of a bird swooping on huge, black wings as he rode the air until it seemed to dissolve under him and he crashed on to the rocks below.
At that very moment of impact, the seabird which Callister had released from its captivity and which must have escaped from the open window in the laboratory, suddenly flew free and circled three times over the shattered body before soaring away in the direction of Penhiddy Point.
I am sure Holmes would consider it fanciful on my part but I confess when I saw that bird, it came to me that it was Callister’s soul breaking free from its own mortal captivity.
There was no time, however, for any such metaphysical speculation. Turning swiftly on his heel, Holmes had already begun the descent of the lighthouse stairs, the rest of us behind him, our feet pounding on the stone steps.
Having witnessed Callister’s fall, none of us expected to find him alive and one glance at the shattered remnants of his head was enough to persuade me that he was beyond all medical help. Nevertheless, as a doctor, I felt obliged to lift one lifeless hand and feel for a pulse.
Holmes stood silently beside me, arms folded, chin sunk on his breast, a look of such fierce concentration on his face that, even as I knelt by Callister’s body, I could feel the mental energy pouring from him in almost palpable vibrations.
Then he said curtly, ‘Callister’s death was an accident of which you, Watson, are the only witness. It is essential that neither Drury, McGregor nor I should be involved. We shall carry the body to the boat and take it back to the landing stage, where it will be left. At the top of the cliff steps, we shall separate. McGregor, you will make your way to the road and warn the driver of the official motor car to keep out of sight until we are ready for him. In the meantime, Drury and I will conceal ourselves in the garden of “The Firs” while you, Watson, go up to the house alone to report what has happened. And remember, my dear fellow, it was an accident.
‘You are on holiday and you were rowing in the bay when you saw someone fall from the top of the lighthouse. On disembarking, you found the man was dead. You have brought the body back to the landing stage but you were not able to carry it up the steps alone.
‘Miss Mai will answer the door to you. You must use some pretext to get her away from the house for as long as possible.’ He turned to Drury. ‘Where is the nearest residence which has a private telephone?’
‘The vicarage, which is in the small hamlet of Trebower. There is a short cut across the fields.’
Holmes turned back to me.
‘Then persuade Miss Mai to accompany you. You are a stranger and might lose your way. Once at the vicarage, telephone the police station at Portswithin and report the accident, making sure you keep Miss Mai with you. Then accompany her back to the house, again taking your time, to await the arrival of the constabulary.
‘In your absence, Drury, McGregor and I will enter “The Firs” with our search warrant, arrest whoever is living there as Callister’s accomplice and remove what evidence we can find. By the time you and Miss Mai return, we shall have left in the official car.’
‘Is all this subterfuge really necessary, Holmes?’ I protested.
‘You remember my brother’s warning that Callister should be taken cleanly? To my infinite regret, I have failed to do so. Our chief concern now must be to limit the damage by avoiding any scandal which could discredit the Government.’
‘But will not Miss Mai be suspicious if, when we return, Callister’s accomplice, who you say is hiding in the house, has disappeared?’
‘Leave that to me,’ Holmes said tersely. ‘I shall contrive some excuse when the occasion arises. And now we must hurry. Time is limited.’
We carried out his orders, placing Callister’s body in our own boat and rowing it back to the landing stage where we left it as together we climbed the cliff steps. At the summit, where McGregor departed to warn the driver of the official car, Holmes paused to give me his last instructions.
‘When it is all over, Watson, meet me at the coastguard’s cottage. I shall then lay all the facts before you and give you a full account of the affair. Now go up to the house and take care to keep Miss Mai away from the place for as long as you can. I am relying on you.’
With that parting remark, he and Drury withdrew into the coppice, leaving me to set off alone along the narrow path which twisted its way between the trees.
As I walked, I turned over in my mind what ruse I could employ to delay Callister’s housekeeper, as my old friend had requested. A sprained ankle seemed a likely ploy and thus it was that, limping heavily, I reached the house.
It was a gloomy building, no doubt named after the fir trees which had been planted close about it, perhaps to serve as a wind-break but which over the years had grown so tall and dense that they shut out both light and air, giving the house a closed-in, melancholy air.
A wide wooden veranda faced me and, still limping, I mounted the steps to knock at a green-painted door. After a short interval, it was opened by a tiny, white-haired woman whose broad, wrinkled features and yellowish-brown skin spoke of her Eurasian origins. It was a face which also demonstrated that impassive, Oriental lack of expression, for when I had blurted out my story of the accident, she betrayed no emotion apart from a widening of the eyes and a small tremble of the lips.
‘Is there a telephone?’ I concluded. ‘I shall have to inform the police.’
‘Not in the house,’ she replied in good English, her voice betraying only a slight accent. ‘Wait here.’
She made no attempt to ask me inside, leaving me on the doorstep where I had a view of a dark, panelled hall, its walls hung with Chinese water-colours and porcelain plates. I thought, but could not be sure, that I heard the sound of voices, hers and a man’s, from somewhere deep inside the house.
As the event proved, there was no need for me to persuade her to accompany me for, when she returned within a few minutes, a shawl about her shoulders, she announced, ‘I shall come with you to show you the way.’
It is not necessary for me to describe in detail what happened afterwards – the walk to the vicarage at Trebower over the fields, my telephone call to Portswithin to report the accident, and the return to ‘The Firs’ – except to record that, because of my supposedly sprained ankle, I contrived to remain away for three quarters of an hour, enough time, I fervently trusted, for Holmes and Drury to carry out their own part in the plan.
There was no sign of them when we eventually arrived back and the house appeared deserted.
On this occasion, I was invited into a small drawing-room, furnished with Far Eastern objects and with a view of the fir trees which crowded close up to the windows. Here Miss Mai left me to wait alone and I did not see her again although once more I heard noises; not voices this time but the sound of doors opening and closing and feet moving rapidly about, as if someone were searching every room in the house, an explanation for which I was to learn later from Holmes.
After about half an hour, two policemen arrived by motor car from Portswithin and I told my story, giving my name and my Queen Anne Street address with the excuse that, as I was on a walking holiday in the area and would be returning that evening to London, I had no settled residence in the area.
My ‘sprained’ ankle also served as an excuse not to help the officers to carry Callister’s body up from the boat and, after my statement was taken down, I was allowed to leave.
Once I was out of sight of the house and my subterfuge was no longer needed, I set off at a brisk pace to walk back to the coastguard’s cottage, there to await my old friend’s return with considerable impatience, eager to learn what had happened at ‘The Firs’ during my absence and to hear the full account of Callister’s treason.
I did not have long to wait.
Within the hour, Holmes arrived and, at his suggestion, we carried two of the chairs into the overgrown garden where we sat in the sunshine and where, on his insistence, I told my part of the account first.
‘And now, Holmes,’ said I, when I had finished, ‘I have been patient for long enough. It is time you explained your “chain of reasoning” and the meaning of your nine enigmatic headings.’
‘Indeed I shall, Watson,’ he replied, lighting a cigarette, ‘although I feel I owe you far more than that. However, if an explanation will suffice, let me begin.
‘First there was Japan, where Sir Douglas Callister served for a time as a diplomat. Mycroft gave me this first link in my chain when he referred to the monograph which Sir Douglas had written on the use of masks in Noh drama, an entirely Japanese art form. As you will recall, Watson, I spent a morning in the Reading Room of the British Museum where I discovered that Sir Douglas had published other monographs, including one on the fishing communities on some of the Japanese islands, the relevance of which I shall shortly make clear to you.
‘My second heading concerned France and referred to Maurice Callister’s curious visit to that country last summer in which he moved from one provincial town to another. What, I asked myself, could Callister find to interest himself in such places and was there any link between them? A telegram to an old acquaintance of mine in Paris soon provided the answer. A search by him in the provincial newspaper records established the fact that a small touring circus had visited each of those towns during the relevant period. Among the performers was a certain Pierre Leblanc with whom Callister struck up a friendship and for whom the second arrest warrant was drawn up.
‘Leblanc was the link with my third heading, Callister’s interest in the circus, and led to the fourth, Miss Mai’s weekly grocery orders – too large for one elderly lady to consume on her own. I assume you do not need me to explain that connection?’
‘Oh, that part is simple! The extra food was bought for Pierre Leblanc who was living in hiding at “The Firs” and whom Callister had met in France and had brought back to this country. But I still fail to see the connection between Leblanc and Japan.’
‘Do you, Watson? Then let us pass on to links five, six and seven – the lighthouse, the fishing-boat, and the contents of the picnic basket and the bucket.’
‘The picnic basket contained a seabird, as we found to our cost.’
‘Exactly, my dear fellow. But it was a very particular type of seabird; a member of the Phalacrocorax carbo species; a cormorant, in short. And there lies the connection between France, Japan, the circus and the last two links in my chain. On certain of the Japanese islands, cormorants are trained by the local fishermen to assist with the catch. They are naturally endowed with a small gular sac or pouch in the throat in which they can retain a fish. Before the bird is put over the side of the boat, a ring is placed round the neck to prevent it from swallowing the fish once it has caught it. Then as soon as the cormorant has done so, it is taken back on board and disgorges its catch.
‘Now we have already established the fact that Leblanc was a performer in the circus which Callister followed so assiduously from one small French town to the next. His act? Surely you can deduce that for yourself, my dear fellow? No? Then allow me to explain. He worked with birds – doves, in that particular instance, which were trained to remain hidden inside different receptacles and to perform tricks at given signals.
‘Watching Leblanc’s act must have given Callister the idea of how he might smuggle information concerning the secret Admiralty research he was engaged on to his old boyhood friend and fellow scientist Otto von Schlabitz-Hoecker in Germany, believing, as Callister did, that all scientific knowledge should be freely available, regardless of national boundaries. If Leblanc could train a dove, why not a cormorant, a seabird* with a natural capacity for holding a fish in its throat sac and later disgorging it?
‘He had all the necessary props for such an act, the isolated house, the abandoned lighthouse and an abundance of wild cormorants which nest about the headlands. For a financial consideration, Leblanc proved willing to co-operate and the plan was put into operation.
‘While in France, Callister contacted von Schlabitz-Hoecker, explaining the scheme and suggesting that a Dutch-registered boat should be made available at a later date. Leblanc was then brought secretly to England last summer and kept hidden at “The Firs” where he was set to training a young cormorant which was no doubt trapped in some way and hand-reared.
‘The rest of my chain surely needs little explanation. You yourself witnessed the method by which Callister carried out his plan. He took the cormorant, by now trained to obey certain signals, to the lighthouse concealed inside the picnic basket and carried it up to his laboratory where, later that day, he fed it with a small packet containing a piece of paper on which were written details of the latest development of the submarine and which was wrapped in several layers of oiled silk. A ring placed round the cormorant’s neck prevented the bird from swallowing the package. The basket was then carried down to the water’s edge where Callister opened the receptacle ostensibly to take out some bread which he fed to the gulls.
‘You will recollect that the cape he was wearing conveniently hid his hands and arms, thus concealing his exact movements, which, at the same time as he removed the bread, were to release the cormorant into the water where its presence would pass unnoticed among the other birds waiting to be fed.
‘His next action, you will recall, was to cast the lines of his fixed fishing rods into the water, a signal to the cormorant to begin to swim out to sea, lured towards the Margretha by the man who stood on deck smoking the pipe.
‘You recollect my remark that, on this occasion, the man had only one arm on the rail? The other was at his side, out of sight as he reeled in the line to which the lure, in the form of a brightly-coloured, artificial fish, was attached and to which the cormorant was trained to respond. As the bird neared the boat, the second man appeared on deck with his bucket, apparently to empty it overboard and fill it with sea-water. You may also recall that as he lowered the bucket into the water, he banged it against the side of the boat, another signal to the cormorant to dive under the water, swim into the bucket and be hauled on deck. Once it was on board, the bird was carried down to the cabin where it disgorged the small packet containing details of the plans.
‘The following morning, the procedure was put into reverse operation. The bucket containing the cormorant was lowered over the side, only this time it was carrying in its pouch a message from one of von Schlabitz-Hoecker’s colleagues who was on board the Margretha, requesting further clarification of one of the submarine engine parts.
‘Meanwhile, on the lighthouse rock, Callister, who was apparently baiting his fixed fishing rods, reeled in the line to which another similar lure was attached. If you recollect, he appeared to have difficulties disentangling one of the lines, a pretext to give him time to attract the cormorant towards him. Once he had done so, he took the bird from the water and placed it inside the basket, his actions again hidden by his cloak. He then carried the cormorant back to his laboratory where it disgorged the message. That was the piece of paper I found rolled up on Callister’s work-bench. The system of the lures had, of course, been set up much earlier, before Callister was suspected of treason and was placed under observation.
‘Had we not surprised him this morning, I have no doubt that the cormorant would have later been taken back to “The Firs” inside the basket to be kept there until the next occasion when the Margretha anchored in the bay. Callister would then have answered the message, sending the further clarification of the engine part which von Schlabitz-Hoecker had requested, together with fresh information on any other research which had taken place in the meantime.
‘Ingenious, was it not? I have Leblanc to thank for confirming the details of exactly how the operation was carried out when we interviewed him this morning at the police station in Portswithin.’
‘How did you manage to contrive his disappearance from “The Firs”?’
‘Oh, quite easily, my dear fellow. Once he learned of Callister’s death and knew we had evidence of the treason, it did not take much to persuade him to write a letter to Miss Mai, explaining that he was frightened about the police inquiry which would follow and that he was leaving immediately to walk into Portswithin where he would try to take passage on a boat back to France.’
‘Ah, yes; I see, Holmes,’ I said. ‘This accounts for Miss Mai’s search of the house when I returned with her to “The Firs” this morning. And what will happen to Leblanc?’
Holmes took out his pocket watch.
‘At the moment, he is being driven back to London in an official car, accompanied by Inspector Drury and Sergeant McGregor. On arrival, he will be taken to Mycroft’s office in Whitehall where he will be questioned further and a statement drawn up. After that, the matter is in Mycroft’s hands. No doubt Leblanc will be held for a time in prison until some agreement can be arranged between the English and French governments, after which he will be deported to France as an undesirable alien who was in this country unlawfully.’
‘Supposing he talks? Could he not sell his story to the newspapers?’
Holmes smiled sardonically.
‘It is quite obvious, my dear Watson, that you have no understanding of the way in which governments work. They can be quite Machiavellian in the conduct of their affairs. Leblanc will not talk. He will return to France with some threat hanging over his head which will ensure his silence. You may trust Mycroft on that.
‘As for the Margretha, after she was boarded and searched this morning and the crew questioned, including von Schlabitz-Hoecker’s agent, a man called Zeiss, she was allowed to return to Holland, after certain papers were removed which are also on their way to London in the good Inspector Drury’s pocket. No charge of smuggling will be preferred. His Majesty’s Government, anxious to avoid an international incident with its Dutch counterpart, will let the whole matter quietly drop.
‘We come now to your part in the affair. You are prepared, are you not, Watson, to stand as witness at the coroner’s inquest which will have to be held on Callister’s unfortunate death?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose I shall have to, Holmes.’
‘There is no need for you to feel any anxiety, my dear fellow. Mycroft will see that everything is so arranged that no awkward questions are asked.’
Holmes was correct in this prediction. In Mycroft’s hands, action was swiftly taken to cover up the truth.
Holmes, who was too well-known to have his name connected with the case, quietly disappeared from the scene, together with Drury and the other police officers, while I, plain Dr Watson, who had happened to be in Cornwall for a short holiday, was the only witness to Callister’s death.
My story, in which Mycroft himself coached me in his office at Whitehall, was quite straightforward. As he explained, the simpler the deception, the more likely it was to be believed, especially as I was clearly a poor liar.
I had been rowing in Penhiddy Bay, intending to indulge myself in a little solitary bird-watching, when I had seen a figure plunge to its death from the top of the lighthouse. Mooring my boat, I had landed and tried to give medical aid. Unfortunately, the man, who was a stranger to me, was dead.
The last three facts had, at least, the merit of being true.
My account must have been convincing because it was accepted without question by the coroner’s court at Portswithin and a verdict of accidental death was recorded.
As soon as my evidence was heard, I left discreetly by a side door and was taken straight back to London by official car.
This subterfuge proved necessary for present in court were not only Hugo Callister, Member of Parliament for Dowerbridge, but several Fleet Street journalists, including Archie Beal, chief reporter of one of the so-called popular newspapers, the Daily Planet, which specialised in the more sensational and scandalous stories.
Someone, no doubt Hugo Callister, had informed Beal that Maurice Callister was a scientist who had worked on clandestine Admiralty research for the following morning the Daily Planet carried the story on its front page under the headline: ‘Secret Scientist In Mysterious Death Plunge’, while the report itself hinted that the fall was not accidental and that the Government had conspired to cover up the truth.
Nor did the affair stop there.
As Mycroft had feared, Hugo Callister raised the matter of his brother’s death in the House of Commons, demanding a full official inquiry and, although the Prime Minister, with characteristic aplomb, managed to brush the whole affair aside with a slighting reference to the unfortunate influence of the ‘yellow’ press on back-bench members, Callister’s action added fuel to the fire.
It was for me a most uncomfortable time. My rooms in Queen Anne Street were besieged by journalists and, on Mycroft’s advice, I moved out temporarily into a quiet Bayswater hotel under a pseudonym.
It was while I was staying at the hotel that my rooms were broken into and my papers searched.
As no attempt was made to take anything of monetary value, I can only assume that the outrage was the work of no ordinary burglar even though the felony was carried out with professional skill. A window at the back of the house was forced open, the lock on my desk was picked and certain pages from one of my note-books were torn out. As these covered my activities during the Cornish trip, the connection with the Callister affair should need no further clarification. Fortunately, the memoranda contained nothing more significant than train times, details of the weather and short descriptions of the countryside, notes I had intended using should I ever write up a full account of the case.
I have discussed the whole matter with both Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes and we have come to the conclusion that someone must have paid an experienced criminal to perpetrate the deed.
It was Mycroft Holmes who suggested that Hugo Callister might be behind the burglary. I consider this a little far-fetched on Mycroft Holmes’ part and that he has become obsessed with Hugo Callister’s attempts to discredit the Government. It may be naïve of me but I find it difficult to believe that a Member of Parliament, who is distinguished by the title of ‘Honourable’, should behave in so discreditable a manner and I am more inclined to see in the attempt to tamper with my papers the grubby hand of the gutter press.
However, as I am in no position to judge these matters, I have been forced to accept Mycroft’s explanation and to acquiesce in his handling of the situation.
From his Whitehall office, Mycroft has put a rumour into circulation among the West End clubs, the Royal Enclosure at Ascot, the more exclusive Turkish baths and the dinner-tables of the most distinguished society hostesses – anywhere, in short, where people of influence and power are likely to gather – which purports to be the true account of Maurice Callister’s death. By making sure that this story is supposed to be strictly confidential and must under no circumstances be repeated, he has guaranteed its widest dissemination.
Mycroft’s version of the events is as follows: Maurice Callister had unlawfully smuggled into this country a French circus performer, a young man with a most disreputable past, whom he had kept concealed in ‘The Firs’ and with whom he was conducting an unnatural relationship. Blackmailed by his lover and fearful of his own good name and his family honour, Maurice Callister had committed suicide by jumping from the top of the lighthouse.
As a final touch, Mycroft Holmes, who shares with his brother Sherlock a rather strange sense of humour which I have remarked on elsewhere,* added a detail about the cormorant, embellishing his tale with a description of how Callister made his death-leap carrying in his arms his French lover’s favourite pet, a tamed seabird, which symbolised for him his own entrapment in the tragic relationship.
Mycroft Holmes also prevailed on me to include a cryptic reference to this account in ‘The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger’, coupled with the threat of its exposure. This was directed specifically at Hugo Callister with the intention of dissuading him from pressing for an official Parliamentary inquiry, Mycroft being of the opinion that, as the popular press would soon lose interest in the story of Callister’s death and would pass on to other scandals, his chief adversary in the affair was the Honourable Member for Dowerbridge.
Mycroft Holmes’ assessment of the situation was perfectly sound.
Shortly afterwards, the attention of the editor of the Daily Planet was directed towards a most regrettable rumour concerning His Majesty, King Edward VII, and a certain countess who shall be nameless, and the reports on Maurice Callister passed from its pages.
As for Hugo Callister, the threat of the publication of the so-called ‘true’ account of his brother’s death and the subsequent scandal it would cause was sufficient to make him withdraw his charges of a Government conspiracy and the whole matter was discreetly forgotten.
However, Holmes and I have been seriously troubled by the deception, necessary though it may have been for the security of the realm; I on the grounds that any untruth, even from the very best of motives, is not the manner in which His Majesty’s Government should conduct its affairs.
Holmes’ concern is of a less narrowly political nature. Despite his deep patriotism, his sympathies have become more and more engaged by Maurice Callister’s belief that all knowledge, particularly that concerning research into weapons of war, should be openly discussed at international level. His argument runs that if all nations shared the same information, it would be futile for any individual country to develop its own weapons, the armaments race would therefore become unnecessary, war unlikely, and the huge sums of money thus saved could be spent on more peaceful research for the good of mankind.
It is in this belief, he avers, that true patriotism lies.
He expounded his theory for several hours only yesterday evening as we sat together by the hearth in the sitting-room at Baker Street, Holmes’ austere features lit up not only by the firelight but by the warmth of his convictions.
‘But what can be done?’ I asked.
It was then that Holmes made the suggestion which I referred to at the beginning of this narrative.
‘Write up the true account of the politician, the lighthouse and the trained cormorant,’ said he, ‘and deposit it in some safe place where no one can gain access to it. Although its publication is out of the question for the foreseeable future, let us hope, my dear Watson, that attitudes will change and that a saner generation in years to come will have cured itself of this madness and that the true story can at last be placed before the public.’
* Dr John H. Watson makes this threat in the opening paragraph of ‘The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger’. (Dr John F. Watson)
† As Dr John H. Watson was living in Queen Anne Street in September 1902, the time of ‘The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger’, and as Mr Sherlock Holmes had already retired to Sussex by July 1907 when he undertook the investigation known as ‘The Adventure of the Lion’s Mane’, the events referred to must have taken place between these dates. (Dr John F. Watson)
* Mr Sherlock Holmes makes this observation in ‘The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans’. (Dr John F. Watson)
* This case occurred before Dr John H. Watson’s marriage although the precise date is unknown. (Dr John F. Watson)
† Mr Sherlock Holmes’ information is recorded in ‘The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans’. (Dr John F. Watson)
* This case, which occurred in November 1895, was recorded by Dr John H. Watson under the title of ‘The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans’. (Dr John F. Watson)
* King Edward VII succeeded to the throne on 22 January 1901 and was crowned on 9 August 1902. (Dr John F. Watson)
* This is not the only instance of a seabird being used for a special mission. During the First World War, it was suggested that seagulls should be trained to defecate on the raised periscopes of German submarines, thus rendering them inoperative. (Dr John F. Watson)
* In ‘The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax’, Dr John H. Watson refers to Mr Sherlock Holmes’ ideas of humour as being ‘strange and occasionally offensive’. (Dr John F. Watson)