Steerford shook his head. “No, sir. Petroleum—oil.”
Holmes scowled. Henry said, “Do you think so?”
Steerford’s right arm swung out expansively. “Have you heard of Herr Benz’s horseless carriage, constructed in 1885? A humble start, but already Mr. Renault has begun constructing more advanced machines. He has refined the internal combustion engine, adding a second cylinder. These engines all use petrol, a distillate of petroleum, and one considerably lighter than kerosene. Kerosene has already captured a major portion of the lamp business. It burns better than coal or whale oil and can be produced more cheaply. Given the existing market for kerosene and the potential market for petrol as the internal combustion engine and the motorcar grow in use, we are confident the market for oil will dramatically increase in the twentieth century, eventually far surpassing that for coal.”
Holmes cackled again, an annoying sound. “What about the electric light, sir? What happens to your market for kerosene then?”
Steerford smiled and nodded patronizingly. “A very apt question, Mr. Carlyle. It is true that the electric light will someday replace light produced by gas or oil, but the process will be a lengthy and costly one. Electricity requires expensive generating and distribution facilities. Wires must be strung up everywhere and run into houses, which must then be retrofitted with further wiring. The growing petrol market for engines should more than compensate for the gradually declining market in kerosene. Does either of you gentlemen know the current source of most oil?”
“Another easy one,” Holmes said. “The United States of America.”
“Very good, sir!” He turned to Henry. “You are well served by having so knowledgeable an advisor. And has either of you heard of Mr. John Rockefeller?”
Holmes nodded. “Certainly.”
“Perhaps you could tell your son and his wife about Mr. Rockefeller.”
“He’s an American millionaire and the owner of Standard Oil.” Holmes had an avaricious glint in his eye. “He started with practically nothing in the seventies, and now he is one of the richest men in the world. He has a virtual monopoly on oil production in the States.”
“Quite so. Mr. Rockefeller is proof of the extraordinary opportunity which the oil business provides.” He let his right hand drop. His left hand still held the leather book. The fireplace seemed to be his stage, we the audience. “What I am about to reveal now must remain confidential. I must have your word on it.”
Henry had been stroking thoughtfully at his mustache, his gray leather gloves in his other hand. “You have my promise.”
“And mine,” I said.
Holmes cackled again. “I’ll not make any promises beforehand! What’s so blasted secret?”
Mr. Steerford squinted gravely at him through the thick lenses. “If not, I shall have to ask you to leave.”
Holmes’ smile turned to a scowl. “An outrage! I’ve never had to make such a promise in my life.”
Henry gave him a severe look. “Father, I think we should hear him out.”
I restrained a smile. “Yes, Father Carlyle.”
Holmes scratched fiercely at his nose. “Oh, I suppose so.”
“I have your word you will not say a word to another living soul?”
“You do, sir.” Holmes emphasized the “s” with a sibilant hiss.
Steerford nodded. “Excellent. You will not regret your promises. I have a brother slightly older than myself, a learned man, who studied chemistry and geology at Oxford. He spent some time in the United States working in the oil business. His education and his work there convinced him of the possibility that petroleum reserves might exist in Britain itself. If so, our country would no longer be dependent on American oil, and of course, such a discovery could lead to very great wealth indeed. Some five years ago my brother returned to England and commenced his quest. Two years ago we began some test drilling. The results have exceeded our wildest dreams. The first well began limited production a few months ago. We had a few investors provide capital for our initial foray. They have already quadrupled their money—
Holmes regarded him warily, as if he suspected a snake-oil salesman. “Who are these investors?”
“Lord Russell, the former Lord Harrington, and Mr. Lawrence Hawke. Any one of them would be only too happy to confirm their profit in this enterprise.”
Henry nodded. “So that is where Harrington got the money. He was reported near bankruptcy.”
“He borrowed all he could and put every last penny into the well.” Steerford sighed gravely. “How tragic that he left us before he could enjoy his profits.”
Holmes shook his head. “Foolish, foolish! Never put all your eggs in one basket. That’s sound advice.”
“My brother is certain that the entire region near our first well abounds in oil. We hope to construct some fifty wells in the next ten years as well as extensive facilities for refining and processing the crude oil. We shall have the largest production facilities in Europe. To make our dream possible, we are selling shares in our venture for the price of one thousand pounds per share. We hope to raise a million pounds.”
My jaw dropped, and Henry gave his head a slight shake.
“We are very near our goal, but should you wish to invest, there are still shares available for purchase.”
Holmes stared suspiciously at him. “Where is this well?”
Steerford gave a mournful sigh. “You certainly must understand that I cannot possibly reveal the location. Negotiations are underway to purchase the surrounding land over the petroleum reserves. If the news were to get out... No, no—once our goal is met and the deeds are in hand, I shall gladly tell you—but I must remain mute until then.”
“And how do I know you are not making this all up? Tell me that, sir?”
“Father!” Henry exclaimed. “Surely you can see that Mr. Steerford is a gentleman.”
Steerford gave an appreciative nod. “Thank you, Mr. Carlyle. Your confidence is appreciated, but your father’s skepticism is understandable. In some cases, we have actually arranged visits to the well in a completely shut-up carriage, in order that the route remains secret. But hopefully, these documents will suffice. I have here photographs of the well, the signed testimonials of several worthy gentlemen who have seen it, and the bills of sale from a refinery which received our raw petroleum and produced petrol and kerosene. May I?”
He sat down on the sofa between Henry and Sherlock, and then opened his book. “Here is the well itself.”
I rose and walked over behind the sofa. I saw a picture of an oil derrick, its metal frame silhouetted against the sky. As he turned the pages, Steerford provided a running commentary—which soon grew tiresome. There were several photographs of the well, including one showing a wagon loaded with the metal barrels, and the testimonials he had mentioned. Both the nobility and the wealthy merchant class were represented. When he had finished, I returned to my chair while he stepped before the fireplace. Again it was as if he were on stage, we the audience. To emphasize a point, his already high-pitched voice would soar higher still.
“Well, gentlemen, I hope you realize the incredibly lucrative opportunity being offered to you.”
Holmes licked his lips, almost drooling with greed. “And may we interview some of these gentlemen, should we wish to?”
“Oh, yes. Any of those whose testimonials were included.”
“And how many shares might we purchase?”
“As many as you wish—within reason.”
Holmes cackled. “Reason has little to do with it! I’ll be talking to some of your people there. We’ll see, we’ll see.”
Henry nodded. “Indeed we shall. It seems a splendid enterprise.”
“I have put every pound of my own modest income into this venture.” Steerford slipped his watch from his waistcoat pocket; the gold had a reddish glow in the firelight. “I shall be happy to answer any further questions, but I do have another engagement soon.”
Henry discreetly stared at Holmes, who gave his head a quick shake. “We need not keep you any longer,” Henry said as he stood. “You have given us nearly an hour of your valuable time.” He shook hands with Steerford.
Holmes leered at them, his frame stooped. “And will you need your answer soon?”
“I do not wish to rush you, but the shares are going quickly.”
“I heard you needed the money by the fifteenth of November. Heard that was the absolute deadline.”
Steerford smiled politely. “There are those of an indecisive nature whom I might have wished to hasten. That
