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- [00:02]
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Sherlock Holmes Narrator
Foreign and welcome to Sherlock Holmes Short Stories, the series where we delve into the files of fiction's most brilliant detective, following his keen mind and unerring instincts from the first subtle clue to the final dramatic revelation. This time we step into a web of international intrigue in the Naval Treaty. When a top secret treaty vanishes from a young diplomat's desk under impossible circumstances, it shatters both his career and his sanity. No thief could have entered or left his office undetected, yet the document has disappeared, leaving Scotland Yard baffled. In desperation, he turns to the one man in Britain who might unravel this locked room mystery, Sherlock Holmes. As Holmes pursues the missing document, he'll be confronted with a series of ever more confounding clues. A bell ringing in an empty room, a cup of coffee that never arrives, and a darkened figure in a window. All fragments of a conspiracy that could shake Europe to its core. From the Noiser Podcast Network this is the Naval Treaty, Part 1. The July which immediately succeeded my marriage was made memorable by three cases of interest in which I had the privilege of being associated with Sherlock Holmes and and of studying his methods. I find them recorded in my notes under the headings of the Adventure of the Second Stain, the Adventure of the Naval Treaty and the Adventure of the Tired Captain. The first of these, however, deals with interest of such importance and implicates so many of the first families in the kingdom that for many years it will be impossible to make it public. No case, however, in which Holmes was engaged has ever illustrated the value of his analytical method so clearly, or has impressed those who were associated with him so deeply. I still retain an almost verbatim report of the interview in which he demonstrated the true facts of the case to Monsieur Dubuque of the Paris police and Fritz von Waldbaum, the well known specialist of Dantzig, both of whom had wasted their energies upon what proved to be side issues. The new century will have come, however, before the story can be safely told. Meanwhile, I pass on to the second on my list, which promised also at one time to be of national importance and was marked by several incidents which give it a quite unique character. During my school days, I had been intimately associated with a lad named Percy Phelps, who was of much the same age as myself, though he was two classes ahead of me. He was a very brilliant boy and carried away every prize which the school had to offer, finished his exploits by winning a scholarship which sent him on to continue his triumphant career at Cambridge. He was, I remember, extremely well connected, and even when we were all little boys together, we knew that his mother's brother was Lord Holdhurst, the great conservative politician. This gy relationship did him little good at school. On the contrary, it seemed rather a piquant thing to us to chevy him about the playground and hit him over the shins with the wicket. But it was another thing. When he came out into the world, I heard vaguely that his abilities and the influences which he commanded had won him a good position at the Foreign Office. And then he passed completely out of my mind until the following letter recalled his existence. Brib Ray Woking. My dear Watson, I have no doubt that you can remember Tadpole Phelps, who was in the fifth form when you were in the third. It is possible even that you may have heard that through my uncle's influence I obtained a good appointment at the Foreign Office, and that I was in a situation of trust and honor, and until a horrible misfortune came suddenly to blast my career, There is no use writing of the details of that dreadful event. In the event of your acceding to my request, it is probable that I shall have to narrate them to you. I have only just recovered from nine weeks of brain fever and am still exceedingly weak. Do you think that you could bring your friend Mr. Holmes down to see me? I should like to have his opinion of the case, though the authorities assure me that nothing more can be done. Do try to bring him down, and as soon as possible. Every minute seems an hour. While I live in this state of horrible suspense. Assure him that if I have not asked his advice sooner, it was not because I did not appreciate his talents, but because I have been off my head ever since the blow fell. Now I am clear again, though I dare not think of it too much for fear of a relapse, I am still so weak that I have to write as you see by dictating. Do try to bring him, your old schoolfellow, Percy Phelps. There was something that touched me as I read this letter, something pitiable in the reiterated appeals to bring Holmes. So moved was I that even had it been a difficult matter, I Should have tried it. But of course I knew well that Holmes loved his art, so that he was ever as ready to bring his aid as his client could be to receive it. My wife agreed with me that not a moment should be lost in laying the matter before him. And so within an hour of breakfast time I found myself back once more and in the old rooms in Baker Street. Holmes was seated at his side table, clad in his dressing gown and working hard over a chemical investigation. A large curved retort was boiling furiously in the bluish flame of a Bunsen burner and the distilled drops were condensing into a 2 liter measure. My friend hardly glanced up as I entered and I, seeing that his investigation must be of importance, seated myself in an armchair and waited. He dipped into this bottle or that, drawing out a few drops of each with his glass pipette, and finally brought a test tube containing a solution over to the table. In his right hand he held a slip of litmus paper. You come at a crisis, Watson, said he. If this paper remains blue, all is well. If it turns red, it means a man's life. He dipped it into the test tube and it flushed at once into a dull, dirty crimson. Hmm, I thought as much. He cried. I will be at your service in an instant, Watson. You will find tobacco in the Persian slipper. He turned to his desk and scribbled off several telegrams which were handed over to the page boy. Then he threw himself down into the chair opposite and drew up his knees until his fingers clasped round his long thin shins. A very commonplace little murder, said he. You've got something better, I fancy. You are the stormy petrel of crime, Watson. What is it? I handed him the letter, which he read with the most concentrated attention. It does not tell us very much, does it? He remarked as he handed it back to me. Hardly anything. And yet the writing is of interest. But the writing is not his own. Precisely. It is a woman's. A man's, surely? I cried. No, a woman's and a woman of rare character. You see, at the commencement of an investigation it is something to know that your client is in close contact with someone who, for good or evil, has an exceptional nature. My interest is already awakened in the case. If you are ready, we will start at once for Woking and see this diplomatist who is in such evil case and the lady to whom he dictates his letters.
- [09:26]
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- [10:27]
Sherlock Holmes Narrator
We were fortunate enough to catch an early train at Waterloo, and in a little under an hour we found ourselves among the fir woods and the heather of Woking. Briar Brae proved to be a large detached house, standing in extensive grounds within a few minutes walk of the station. On sending in our cards, we were shown into an elegantly appointed drawing room, where we were joined in a few minutes by a rather stout man who received us with much hospitality. His age may have been nearer 40 than 30, but his cheeks were so ruddy and his eyes so merry that he still conveyed the impression of a plump and mischievous boy. I am so glad that you have come, said he, shaking our hands with effusion. Percy has been inquiring for you all morning. Oh, poor old chap. He clings to any straw. His father and his mother asked me to see you, for the mere mention of the subject is very painful to them. We have had no details yet, observed Holmes, I perceive that you are not yourself a member of the family. Our acquaintance looked surprised, and then, glancing down, he began to laugh. Of course you saw the JH monogram on my locket, said he. For a moment I thought you had done something clever. Joseph Harrison is my name, and as Percy is to marry my sister Annie, I shall at least be a relation by marriage you will find my sister in his room, for she has nursed him hand and foot this two months back. Perhaps we better go in at once, for I know how impatient he is. The chamber in which we were shown was on the same floor as the drawing room. It was furnished partly as a sitting and partly as a bedroom, with flowers arranged daintily in every nook and corner. A young man, very pale and worn, was lying upon a sofa near the open window through which came the rich scent of the garden and the balmy summer air. A woman was sitting beside him who rose as we entered. Shall I leave, Percy? She asked. He clutched her hand to detain her. How are you, Watson? Said he cordially. I should never have known you under that mustache and I dare say you would not be prepared to swear to me. This, I presume, is your celebrated friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I introduced him in a few words and we both sat down. The stout young man had left us, but his sister still remained with her hand in that of the invalid. She was a striking looking woman, a little short and thick for symmetry, but with a beautiful olive complexion, large, dark Italian eyes and a wealth of deep black hair. Her rich tints made the white face of her companion the more worn and haggard by the contrast. I won't waste your time, said he, raising himself upon the sofa. I'll plunge into the matter without further preamble. I was a happy and successful man, Mr. Holmes, and on the eve of being married when a sudden and dreadful misfortune broke wrecked all my prospects in life, I was, as Watson may have told you, in the Foreign Office and through the influences of my uncle, Lord Holdhurst, I rose rapidly to a responsible position. When my uncle became Foreign minister in this administration he gave me several missions of trust and as I always brought them to a successful conclusion, he came at last to have the utmost confidence in my ability and tact. Nearly 10 weeks ago, to be more accurate, on the 23rd of May he called me into his private room and after complimenting me on the good work which I had done, he informed me that he had a new commission of trust for me to execute. This, said he, taking a grey roll of paper from his bureau, is the original of that secret treaty between England and Italy, of which I regret to say some rumours have already got into the public press. It is of enormous importance that nothing further should leak out. The French or the Russian Embassy would pay an immense sum to learn the contents of these papers. They should not leave my bureau, were it not that it is absolutely Necessary to have them copied. You have a desk in your office? Yes, sir. Then take the treaty and lock it up there. I shall give directions that you may remain behind when the others go so that you may copy it at your leisure without fear of being overlooked. When you have finished, relock both the original and the draft in the desk and hand them over to me personally tomorrow morning. I took the papers and. Excuse me an instant, said Holmes. Were you alone during this conversation? Absolutely. In a large room, 30ft each way in the centre. Yes, about it and speaking low. My uncle's voice is always remarkably low. I hardly spoke at all, thank you, said Holmes, shutting his eyes. Pray go on. I did exactly what he indicated and waited until the other clerks had departed. One of them in my room, Charles Goro, had some arrears of work to make up, so I left him there and went out to dine. When I returned he was gone. I was anxious to hurry my work, for I knew that Joseph, the Mr. Harrison, whom you saw just now was in town and that he would travel down to Woking by the 11 o' clock train and I wanted, if possible, to catch it when I came to examine the treaty. I saw at once that it was of such importance that my uncle had been guilty of no exaggeration in what he had said. Without going into details, I may say that it defined the position of Great Britain towards the Triple alliance and foreshadowed the policy which this country would pursue in the event of the French fleet gaining a complete ascendancy over that of Italy in the Mediterranean. I glanced my eyes over it and then settled down to my task of copying. It was a long document written in the French language. The and containing 26 separate articles, I copied as quickly as I could, but at nine o' clock I had only done nine articles and it seemed hopeless for me to attempt to catch my train. I was feeling drowsy and stupid. Partly from my dinner and also from the effects of a long day's work. A cup of coffee would clear my brain. A commissionaire remains all night in a little lodge at the foot of the stairs and is in the habit of making coffee at his spirit lamp for any of the officials who may be working overtime. I rang the bell therefore, to summon him. To my surprise it was a woman who answered the summons, a large, coarse faced elderly woman in an apron. She explained that she was the commissionaire's wife who did the charring, and I gave her the order for the coffee. I wrote two more articles and then, feeling more drowsy than ever, I rose and walked up and down the room to stretch my legs. My coffee had not yet come and I wondered what the cause of the delay could be. Opening the door, I started down the corridor to find out. There was a straight passage, dimly lighted, which led from the room in which I had been working and was the only exit from ended in a curving staircase with the commissionaire's lodge in the passage at the bottom. Halfway down this staircase is a small landing with another passage running into it at right angles. This second one leads by means of a second small stair to a side door used by servants and also as a shortcut by clerks when coming from Charles Street. Here is a rough chart of the place. Thank you. I think that I quite follow you, said Sherlock Holmes. It is of the utmost importance that you should notice this point. I went down the stairs and into the hall where I found the commissionaire fast asleep in his box with the kettle boiling furiously upon the spirit lamp. I took off the kettle and blew out the lamp, for the water was spurting over the floor. Then I put out my hand and was about to shake the man who was still sleeping soundly, when a bell over his head rang loudly and he woke with a start. Mr. Phelps, sir, said he, looking at me in bewilderment. I came down to see if my coffee was ready. I was boiling the kettle when I fell asleep, sir. He looked at me and then up at the still quivering bell with an ever growing astonishment upon his face. If you was here, sir, then who rang the bell? He asked. The bell? I cried. What bell is it? It's the bell of the room you were working in. A cold hand seemed to close round my heart. Someone then was in that room where my precious treaty lay upon the table. I ran frantically up the stairs and along the passage. There was no one in the corridors, Mr. Holmes. There was no one in the room. All was exactly as I left it, save only that the papers which had been committed to my care had been taken from the desk on which they lay. The copy was there and the original was gone. Holmes sat up in his chair and rubbed his hands. I could see that the problem was entirely to his heart. Pray, what did you do then? He murmured. I recognized in an instant that the thief must have come up the stairs from the side door. Of course I must have met him if he had come the other way. You were satisfied that he could not have been concealed in the room all the time or in the corridor which you have just described as dimly lighted. It is absolutely impossible. A rat could not conceal himself either in the room or the corridor. There is no cover at all. Thank you. Pray proceed. The commissioner, seeing by my pale face that something was to be feared, had followed me upstairs. Now we both rushed along the corridor and down the steep steps which led to Charles Street. The door at the bottom was closed, but unlocked. We flung it open and rushed out. I can distinctly remember that as we did so, there came three chimes from a neighbouring clock. It was quarter to 10. That is of enormous importance, said Holmes, making a note upon his shirt cuff. The night was very dark and a thin, warm rain was falling. There was no one in Charles street, but a great traffic was going on as usual in Whitehall. At the extremity, we rushed along the pavement, bareheaded as we were, and at the far corner we found a policeman standing. A robbery has been committed. I gasped. A document of immense value has been stolen from the Foreign Office. Has anyone passed this way? I have been standing here for a quarter of an hour, sir, said he. Only one person has passed during that time. A woman, tall and elderly, with a paisley shawl. Ah, that is only my wife, cried the commissionaire. Has no one else passed? No one. Then it must be the other way that the thief took, cried the fellow tugging at my sleeve. But I was not satisfied, and the attempts which he made to draw me away increased my suspicions. Which way did the woman go? I cried. I don't know, sir. I noticed her pass, but I had no special reason for watching her. She seemed to be in a hurry. How long ago was it? Oh, not very many minutes. Within the last five. Well, it could not be more than five. You're only wasting your time, sir. And every minute now is of importance. Cried the commissionaire. Take my word for it that my old woman has nothing to do with it, and come down to the other end of the street. Well, if you won't, I will. And with that he rushed off in the other direction, But I was after him in an instant and caught him by the sleeve. Where do you live? Said I. 16 Ivy Lane, Brixton, he answered, but don't let yourself be drawn away upon a false scent, Mr. Phelps, come to the other end of the street and let us see if we can hear of anything. Nothing was to be lost by following his advice. With the policeman, we both hurried down, but only to find the street full of traffic, many people coming and going, but all only too eager to get to a place of safety upon so wet a night. There was no luck. Lounger who could tell us who had passed? Then we returned to the office and searched the stairs and the passage without result.
- [24:46]
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Sherlock Holmes Narrator
The corridor which led to the room was laid down with a kind of creamy linoleum which shows an impression very easily. We examined it very carefully but found no outline of any footmark. Had it been raining all evening? Since about 7. How is it then that the woman who came into the room about nine left no traces with her muddy boots? I am glad you raised the point. It occurred to me at the time the charwomen are in the habit of taking off their boots at the commissionaire's office and put putting on list slippers. That is very clear. There were no marks then, though the night was a wet one. The chain of events is certainly one of extraordinary interest. What did you do next? We examined the room also. There is no possibility of a secret door. And the windows are quite 30ft from the ground. Both of them were fastened on the inside. The carpet prevents any possibility of a trap door and the ceiling is of the ordinary whitewashed kind. I will pledge my life that whoever stole my papers could only have come through the door. How about the fireplace? They use none. There is a stove. The bell rope hangs from the wire just to the right of my desk. Whoever rang it must have come right up to the desk to do it. But why should any criminal wish to ring the bell? It is a most insoluble mystery. Certainly the incident was unusual. What were your next steps? You examined the room, I presume, to see if the intruder had left any traces, any cigar end or dropped glove or hairpin or other trifle. There was nothing of the sort. No smell? Well, we never thought of that. Ah, a scent of tobacco would have been worth a great deal to us in such an investigation. Well, I never smoked myself, so I think I should have observed it. If there had been any smell of tobacco. There was absolutely no clue of any kind. The only tangible fact was that the commissionaire's wife, Mrs. Tangy was the name, had hurried out of the place. He could give no explanation, save that it was about the time when the woman always went home. The policeman and I agreed that our best plan would be to seize the woman before she could get rid of the papers, presuming that she had them. The alarm had reached Scotland Yard by this time, and Mr. Forbes, the detective, came round at once and took up the case with a great deal of energy. We hired a hansom, and in half an hour we were at the address which had been given to us. A young woman opened the door who proved to be Mrs. Tangy's eldest daughter. Her mother had not come back yet, and we were shown into the front room to wait. About 10 minutes later a knock came at the door, and here we made the one serious mistake for which I blame myself. Instead of opening the door ourselves, we allowed the girl to do so. We heard her say, mother, there are two men in the house waiting to see you. And an instant afterwards, we heard the patter of feet rushing down the passage. Forbes flung open the door, and we both ran into the back room or kitchen, but the woman had got there before us. She stared at us with defiant eyes, and then, suddenly recognizing me, an expression of absolute astonishment came over her. Why, if it isn't Mr. Phelps of the office. She cried. Come, come. Who did you think we were when you ran away from us? Asked my companion. I thought you were the brokers, said she. We've had some trouble with the tradesmen. That's not quite good enough, answered Forbes. We have reason to believe that you have taken a paper of importance from the Foreign Office and that you ran in here to dispose of it. You must come back with us to Scotland Yard to be searched. It was in vain that she protested and resisted. A four wheeler was brought, and we all three drove back in it. We had first made an examination of the kitchen, and especially of the kitchen fire, to see whether she might have made away with the papers during the instant that she was alone. There were no signs, however, of any ashes or scraps. When we reached Scotland Yard, she was handed over at once to the female searcher. I waited in an agony of suspense until she came back with her report. There were no signs of the papers. Then, for the first time, the horror of my situation came in its full force. Hitherto I had been acting, and action had numbed thought. I had been so confident of regaining the treaty at once that I had not dared to think of what would be the consequence if I failed to do so. But now there was nothing more to be done, and I had leisure to realize my position. It was horrible. Watson there would tell you that I was a nervous, sensitive boy at school. It is my nature. I thought of my uncle and of his colleagues in the Cabinet, of the shame which I had brought upon him, upon myself, upon everyone connected with me. What though I was the victim of an extraordinary accident. No allowance is made for accidents where diplomatic interests are at stake. I was ruined. Shamefully, hopelessly ruined. I don't know what I did. I fancy I must have made a scene. I have a dim recollection of a group of officials who crowded round me, endeavouring to soothe me. One of them drove down with me to Waterloo and saw me into the Woking train. I believe that he would have come all the way, had it not been that Dr. Ferrier, who lives near me, was going down by that very train. The doctor most kindly took charge of me and it was well he did so, for I had a fit in the station and before we reached home I was practically a raving maniac. You can imagine the state of things here when they were roused from their beds by the doctor's ringing and found me in this condition. Poor Annie here and my mother were broken hearted. Dr. Ferrier had just heard enough from the detective at the station to be able to give an idea of what had happened, and his story did not mend matters. It was evident to all that I was in for a long illness. So Joseph was bundled out of this cheery bedroom and it was turned into a sick room for me. Here I have lain, Mr. Holmes, for over nine weeks, unconscious and raving with brain fever. If it had not been for Miss Harrison here and for the doctor's care, I should not be speaking to you now. She has nursed me by day and a hired nurse has looked after me by night, for in my mad fits I was capable of anything. Slowly my reason has cleared, but it is only during the last three days that my memory has quite returned. Sometimes I wish that it never had. The first thing that I did was to wire to Mr. Forbes, who had the case in hand. He came out and assures me that though everything has been done, no trace of a clue has been discovered. The commissionaire and his wife have been examined in every way without any light being thrown upon the matter. The suspicions of the police then rested upon young Goro, who, as you may remember, stayed overtime in the office that night. His remaining behind and his French name were really the only two points which could suggest suspicion. But as a matter of fact, I did not begin work until he had gone. And his people are of Huguenot extraction. But as English in sympathy and tradition as you and I are, nothing was found to implicate him in any way. And there the matter dropped. I turn to you, Mr. Holmes, as absolutely my last hope. If you fail me, then my honour as well as my position are forever forfeited. Next time on Sherlock Holmes Short Stories. Holmes begins to unravel the mystery of the missing naval treaty, but each new revelation stirs up ever more perplexing questions. The investigation leads from Scotland Yard to the Halls of Parliament, where even the most respected names must be treated as suspects. And under the COVID of darkness, Percy Phelps receives an unexpected visitor with murderous intent. That's next time. Can't wait a week until the next episode? Well, listen to it right away by subscribing to Noiser Plus. Head to www.noiza.comscriptions for more information or click the link in the episode description.
- [35:36]
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- [36:01]
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