But I tell you again, I did naught wrong. I didn’t tell ’em anythin’, I didn’t help ’em, I didn’t gain one farthing from anything they may ’ave done. I am guilty of naught. You’re concerned with Mercure, anyway. What does this ’ave to do with ’im?”
It is an excellent question.
“May I go?” pleads The Swallow, “I ’ave all this work to do,” he points up at the apparatus.
“Yes, you may,” answers Sherlock, “but I forbid you to take down the equipment. Don’t remove or lower anything until I tell you that you may. Bear in mind that I still have the means to connect you to this crime. And tell your two accomplices the same. I am sure they did not enjoy their overnight stay at Scotland Yard. I have the power to return them there. You may convey as much to them.”
The Swallow has grown to respect the young detective’s abilities. He isn’t sure what this clever boy knows or doesn’t know, but he understands that he shouldn’t underestimate him. He nods and heads off toward his fellow acrobats.
Sherlock turns toward Lestrade and the Bobbies and marches directly at them. He isn’t going to move on the exterior of this investigation anymore. He is going to enter the lions’ den. In the last few minutes, the Mercure problem has begun to unravel. He has a question for the Force, and he is going to ask it straight to their stupid faces. The time has come. He can almost feel the money being placed in his hand. He will present them with his proposition, and then solve this crime … right before their eyes.
THE ART OF AERIAL OBSERVATION
Inspector Lestrade is taken aback by the sight of young Sherlock Holmes wearing a confident smile. That isn’t a good sign. The detective has been examining the area in and around the vault room and is standing outside its door, set in its unusual walls, which don’t quite reach the glass ceiling.
“Mr. Lestrade,” intones the upstart, as if he were the plainclothes policeman’s equal. The Inspector has learned to be suspicious of this lad. This is a boy who knows far too much about everything. But he decides to play along, at least until he discovers whether or not he has anything to gain.
“Master Sherlock Holmes, can I be of any service?”
“As a matter of fact you can. And I can be of greater assistance to you.”
A couple of the Bobbies snort and turn their faces away. Young Lestrade steps closer to his father, his face betraying his interest in this conversation. They form a little circle of three.
But Sherlock intends to speak up in a confident voice so that all within earshot can hear. He glances at the room behind the Lestrades, obviously the one that houses the vault. That’s curious, he thinks, the walls don’t quite reach the ceiling. For some reason that seems significant to him, but he can’t think why, so it passes through his mind and exits.
“I am in a position to make an exchange with you, sir,” declares the boy.
“Are you now?” replies Lestrade, tipping his brown billycock hat back and putting his other hand up to his bushy mustache, just in case he is inclined to laugh.
“You tell me one simple fact,” announces Sherlock, “which I am guessing you are in possession of, and I shall solve at least one of the two crimes you are investigating.”
“The robbery. I know who did it … and I shall prove it. All you will have to do is hunt them down. I don’t expect a large reward for the information, perhaps fifty pounds?”
This time the Bobbies don’t hide their laughter.
But Lestrade would like to hear the boy’s theory. He has little intention of giving him what he wants.
“The police are not in the habit of awarding funds to citizens with theories about crimes, real or imagined. If you were indeed to have the information you assert, Scotland Yard might, at the most, find ten pounds for someone such as you.”
Sherlock doesn’t blink.
“Thirty,” he says.
“Twenty would be exorbitant.”
“Twenty it is, then.” Sherlock hides the excitement bursting inside him. Twenty pounds would both pay for his education this coming term,
Lestrade wants to get on with this. “What ‘simple fact’ do you require first?”
“I assume that the guard who was on duty the day of the robbery is in there now?” Sherlock points at the vault room.
“He is.”
“Those who handle the Palace funds must check the vault regularly and, therefore, must know almost exactly when they were robbed.”
Lestrade clears his throat. “You keep leaping over one point, lad. Who says they were robbed?”
“Come, come now, Lestrade,” remarks Holmes airily.
His tone and attitude are almost enough to bring things to a halt. The detective feels like thrashing the boy and sending him on his way. But he knows what remarkable things Sherlock Holmes accomplished concerning the Whitechapel murder and cannot bring himself to miss seeing this little episode to its conclusion.
“Yes, they know when the money disappeared and have told us,” admits Lestrade, lowering his voice.
“And when was that, exactly?”
The distinguished policeman now has a decision to make. Should he tell this ragged half-Jew an intimate detail of police business? He is inclined not to.
“Father, I think you sh –” begins his son, sensing his reluctance.
“Silence,” says the father.
He again reflects on the Whitechapel murder, how the boy had investigated a vicious killing that didn’t have a single witness and pieced together the entire event, uncovering precise details, based on the fact that it was observed in the night by two crows. It really was remarkable. The Inspector also considers the acclaim he had gained from the boy’s heroics and how he hadn’t had to give him one scrap of credit. Could the boy be as ingenious this time? Unlikely. But what if this brilliant robbery was committed by major stars of the criminal world, and young Sherlock Holmes actually holds the key? The applause, which he could direct entirely to himself, would be deafening. Who would believe that such an invisible minor and a half-breed to boot, was responsible? Lestrade tells himself he is a good man, but one must sometimes resort to darker methods in the cause of what is right.
“Step this way,” he says quietly. He leads Sherlock to an area close to the wall, allowing only his son to follow.
“The incident occurred between one o’clock and two on the afternoon of the first day of July,” he murmurs.
A thrill goes through Sherlock. The Mercures’ show had begun at one. He can’t resist a smart response.
“That means the operation began at approximately 1:05.”
“How do you –” begins young Lestrade.
“He doesn’t!” snaps his father. “Now, what are you going to give me in exchange?” He looks around, “Tell me quietly.” He feels a bit ridiculous even asking the boy, but can’t resist.
“Bring the guard out and let me ask him a few questions. All shall be revealed.”
This is the only way Sherlock can crack the case – he has no other means to make the guard answer his questions. He needs police authority.
Lestrade regards him for a moment. He wonders what the boy is up to.
“We shall not ‘bring him out,’ as you put it…. We shall go in and see him.”
It is an irregular thing to do – bring the boy right into the vault room inside a sealed-off police investigation zone – but Lestrade cannot bring himself to have anyone else about when this boy questions the guard. Chances
