In the morning we had arisen by half past seven. We each had dressed in clothes which were appropriate for the city. Whilst smart, it was clear that they were well worn, attire suitable for clerks of the Civil Service. Holmes, being the senior partner in this, also carried a silver topped cane. After a brief breakfast, we descended to the street below and quickly hailed a Hansom to take us to Chiswick.
The offices of Messrs. Arthur Birchwood & Sons were located in a red brick building which appeared to have factory premises to the rear. On arrival, we were ushered into a small waiting room by the receptionist. We were there but a few moments when a side door opened and from the noise and the smell that entered the room, it led directly into the factory.
Before us stood a middle aged man who introduced himself as Stephen Birchwood, the factory manager. “Good morning, gentlemen. It is always a pleasure to greet the representatives of Her Majesty's Stationery Office.” said he, proffering his hand to us both.
“Good morning.” said Holmes. “I am Henry Billings and this is my secretary, Mr John Potts.”
Stephen Birchwood nodded to each of us in turn, saying, “Please, come this way gentlemen."
We followed him along a wood paneled passageway to an office door. The gleaming brass name plate upon it was engraved with the name, 'Mr George Birchwood'. The office itself was quite soberly decorated with dark wood furniture and having just one large window to the rear that looked out upon the factory buildings below. Framed examples of the company’s products were displayed upon the walls and a single mahogany desk dominated the area in front of the window.
Stephen Birchwood smiled, saying, “Please, be seated. My brother George is expecting you and will be here presently."
Waiting for George Birchwood gave us time to examine the man before us. Stephen Birchwood was, I would say, in his early forties, of medium build with greying hair slicked back with pomade. He was dressed impeccably and wore a small carnation in his button hole. This I thought to be somewhat incongruous for a working environment.
As we sat, a lean, black cat suddenly appeared on the office desk. It yawned widely, jumped down from the desk and rubbed itself against Holmes’ leg, purring loudly. Stephen Birchwood reached down and gathered up the cat. “Ah, enjoying the sun, Lucien? He is our factory mouser but prefers to sit and warm himself on George's chair.” said Birchwood. He cradled the cat with one arm whilst the cat looked up at him, round eyed. He bent down again, gently putting the cat through the office door. Then, as we watched, Stephen Birchwood stood and painstakingly removed every visible cat hair from his jacket, quite oblivious to our presence.
“Tell me, Mr Birchwood, do you have an interest in horticulture?” asked Holmes. “I could not fail but to admire your buttonhole.”
Birchwood positively beamed, saying, “Why yes, Mr Billings. I have a small garden with a glasshouse at the rear of my property in Hammersmith. My gardener tends it for me but I have a passion for growing different varieties of carnation.”
Holmes nodded. “Do you find that you have problems with the 'rust fungus'? I have a friend who grows carnations and he had some difficulty a few years back.” asked Holmes with a slight smile on his lips.
Stephen Birchwood nodded. “Ah, I too have had similar problems but I found spraying with Bordeaux mixture has a beneficial effect, although it is only the older varieties that seem most affected. Ensuring a drier atmosphere and good ventilation in the glasshouse is the best way to prevent rust.”
Holmes nodded. “May I also ask if you find Aphis a problem?” Holmes asked, innocently.
Birchwood frowned. “Allowing your carnations to become infested with Aphis is, in my opinion, inexcusable. Their attacks result in the greatest harm to the plants. I have found tobacco smoke to be very beneficial in reducing their numbers.” He paused for a moment and then continued. “Yes, burning tobacco dust and diluted nicotine sprayed on the plants are all effective in keeping down the Aphis.”
Holmes again nodded, saying, “Thank you. I shall pass on your wisdom to my friend."
A moment later, the office door opened and in came a florid man, blotting his forehead with a handkerchief. He was quite the antipathies of Stephen Birchwood. This man, whilst again smartly dressed, had his necktie askew and a stained cuff protruded from the sleeve of his jacket. “Forgive me, gentlemen. I have been busy in our printing works. Some problem with an engraving. I am George Birchwood." Holmes introduced us and we shook hands. In fulfilment of my role, I took out my notebook in readiness.
George Birchwood sat down behind his desk and hunted for a paper amongst the drawers. “Your letter of introduction says that you are looking to commission a commemorative telegram envelope” said he, at last finding the letter from Mycroft.
Holmes sat forward in his chair. “Quite so, Mr Birchwood. We seek to commission an envelope to celebrate the forthcoming connection of the London to Paris telephone line on the 1st of April, next year. We have come now, ahead of time, so that you might develop some samples of the artwork to be put before the selection committee.”
“Splendid! Let me show you some of the proofs we have created for similar international commissions." George Birchwood stood and pulled a large volume from a bookcase beside his desk. In doing so, he inadvertently pulled out several smaller folders whose loose pages spilled out as they fell to the floor. “Apologies, gentlemen. Stephen, if you would be so kind as to replace those?”
George Birchwood proceeded to display to us the company’s wares. Holmes and I were attentive to the samples he provided but, throughout this, I could see Holmes’ eyes flick to observe Stephen Birchwood.
After twenty minutes or so had passed, we had finished our business with George Birchwood with him agreeing to forward his artwork proofs to us in the coming weeks.
We were escorted to the steps of the building by Stephen Birchwood and, as we were just about to descend into the street, Holmes turned, asking, “I wonder if I could ask a favour of you, Mr Birchwood? I do so admire your carnation. Would you be so kind as to write down the name of that particular variety so that I might inform my friend?”
Holmes turned to me and asked, “Your pad and pencil, please, Potts.”
“Certainly, Mr Billings.” I replied and proffered the said items.
Stephen Birchwood took the notebook and pencil, saying, “It is one that I grew myself in my glasshouse from a plant I had imported from Louis van Houtte, a contact of mine in Ghent. It has the name Dianthus sinensis heddewigii.”
Stephen Birchwood wrote the name of the variety into my notebook but, as he returned it to me, it was as though a dark cloud passed briefly across his face. He recovered quickly and smiled once again.
Holmes smiled in return. "Thank you, I am much obliged. Good-day."
With that, we descended the few steps to the street and flagged down a passing Hansom. Once inside the cab, Holmes was immediately animated. “What a fool I have been! Watson. I fear that he has seen through our deception!” exclaimed Holmes.
I was, indeed, perplexed. “But why? We were most careful in all our dealings with the Birchwood’s.”
“Up until the very end, Watson. Then I made a fatal error! I should have offered Stephen Birchwood my own notebook but, in keeping with our roles, I asked you, as my secretary, to provide yours.” Holmes now struck the frame of the cab with his cane in frustration.
Somewhat puzzled, I said, “I did notice his expression change when he returned the notebook… but the reason escapes me.”
“The notebook, Watson. It is your own personal one, is it not?”
“Why, yes. It was a gift from my dear sister for my last birthday” said I.
“Yes, and being the doting creature that she is, she had your initials impressed into the leather cover, JHW.”
“Good Lord, Holmes! My name was supposed to be Potts! It's my fault!” I cried.
Holmes calmed himself. “All will not be lost if we strike quickly. We must firstly contact Mycroft to stop the payment of the ransom and then contact Inspector Lestrade. He needs to stop all deliveries from Birchwood's and seize their despatch records. For our part, we will need the assistance of two constables. I fear if we leave it any later than this afternoon, the bird will have flown and more poison will have been despatched. After our visit, I am indeed fearful that Stephen Birchwood will wish to take his revenge for our impertinence."