For Pompey

Driven to Distraction

Despite the best efforts of my friend and chronicler, it is a fact not generally known that I am as appreciative of the charms of the fairer sex as any man. Where the difference lies, however, is that I am little swayed by such considerations.

Watson will testify that I am more impressed by intellectual accomplishments than a comely face and a bright eye, but even from these I am not entirely immune. One may admire a beautiful woman, as one might admire a tiger, but at a distance, never forgetting the deadly nature that lies beneath the lovely exterior.

I make the point because it will no doubt come to some as a surprise when I state with all sincerity that the Countess Isabeau De Bohun had an exquisite beauty, the inheritance of her French forebears. Her coiled hair shone blue-black, as dark as any raven's wing, and the alert eyes with their muted fire were fine enough to set the coldest heart aflame. The sensitive mouth formed a perfect bow above the fuller lower lip and the delicate sweep of her neck begged for a lover's caress.

She was, to coin Watson's phrase, intensely womanly, the meaning of which I must confess had entirely eluded me until I had encountered this magnificent specimen of womanhood. That she was also a thief and agent for any foreign power who could meet her price did not detract from her physical perfection, but rather added to the allure that had so far garnered her three husbands, each of whom had bestowed upon her ever greater titles before conveniently dying to clear the way for the next suitor.

She had dragged herself from the dance halls of Paris to unimaginable heights by sheer ambition and calculated ruthlessness. Yet those same traits were to be her undoing. Her greed, her greatest failing, this night had got the better of her, as I knew it surely must when I had dangled temptation before her.

Thus it was that, on a fine evening in the closing days of September 1902, we awaited the lady's pleasure outside her hotel. The Duchess of Downcready's famed necklace, set with diamonds and sapphires of almost tasteless size, had proved to be irresistible. The butler informed us of its loss the moment the Countess left, exactly as he had been instructed, and along with Lestrade and a gathering of constables, we had gathered to apprehend the lady on her arrival with the jewels in her possession.

She must have known what awaited her when her motor car pulled up the drive. To her credit, she remained defiant in the face of defeat. Her confidence never wavered nor did the proud tilt of her head falter as she was helped down by her chauffeur to stand before us, resplendent in feathers, glittering in diamonds and softly shining in satin.

"Well, Watson," I said under my breath to my companion. "Quite remarkable, is she not?"

"I'll say," he said, with an approving nod. "Nice bodywork. I prefer the more curved backs myself. Expensive, I dare say. Well out of my league."

There are times when my old friend is still capable of surprising me, although in this instance, horrified might have been a better description of my reaction. I am fully aware that this new century has ushered in a fashion for speaking one's mind in the frankest of terms, but to hear such words from one whom I have ever regarded as the epitome of chivalry was quite shocking.

"Watson, really," I chided him. "This lady may be a thief, but she still deserves respect."

He gave me a blank look. "Whatever are you talking about, Holmes?"

"Your improper remarks not a minute ago."

"I was referring to the car. Why, what did you think I meant?"

He had that air of polite innocence which he usually adopts to annoy me when he knows full well I have come to an erroneous conclusion. I should have apologised for the slur I had cast upon his noble character and the ill I had thought of him, except that would have meant trying to explain the interpretation I had put on his words, which did me very little credit indeed.

I should also have known better. I had noted that his conversation of late had been peppered with references to these infernal mechanised monsters, the appeal of which entirely eludes me. The admiring glances he once spared for our female clients now seemed entirely focused on these lumbering vehicles, objects which are, one might say, less deserving of his approbation.

However, in that opinion, I was evidently in the minority. Every man present, from passing gentleman to admiring constables, were in awe of this brute, with its red leather seats, red spoked wheels, gold trim and white painted body.

"That's one of the new Mercedes, I'll wager," I heard Lestrade confiding to Watson. "Six-litre engine, 35-horse-power. Operated by an outer camshaft, would you believe. Whatever will they think of next?"

"Yes, I was reading about it," said he. "This is the one with the honeycomb radiator and light alloy engine block, isn't it?"

"Ah, something of a motoring enthusiast, are you, Doctor? Yes, that's the one. The frame is made of pressed steel and it's got a four cylinder engine, smooth as silk so they say."

"Do they really?"

I had heard enough. "Gentleman, have you quite forgotten why we are here?"

Somewhat grudgingly I thought, they turned their attention back to the matter at hand.

"So, Mr Sherlock Holmes," said the proud lady. "You are here to arrest me? On what charge?"

"A charge of theft, madam. You have the Duchess of Downcready's necklace in your possession which you stole not half an hour ago from her home."

She laughed. "Is that all? My, I must be a very great criminal to attract the attention of so busy a man as yourself."

"Great or small, theft is still theft. You would to do well to relinquish your ill gotten gains, least they are taken from you by force."

Her dark eyes blazed. "You will not lay hands upon me, Mr Holmes. You forget to whom you speak."

"You are nothing more than a common criminal, madam."

"You slander me, sir, but soon you shall apologise for your insults. Very well." With that, she opened her purse and emptied its contents onto the gravel drive. "You see, I am guiltless of your charge. I have no stolen jewels."

"About your person then."

"You would not dare!"

"I dare, madam, for it would give me the greatest pleasure to see you brought to justice," I retorted. "If not for your theft of state secrets, then for the thievery of those baubles which you value so highly. By your very actions have you forfeited your liberty."

Still, she would not be moved. I stood aside and let Lestrade carry out his duty.

"Well, now, Countess," said he, "if you would step inside with the constable here, we have a couple of female searchers to do the necessary. Unless you'd like to hand over the jewels and make it easy on yourself?"

She snorted and turned sharply on her heel to stride purposefully ahead of the waiting policemen into the hotel lobby. I watched her go, feeling a sense of unease about the proceedings. She was too confident and had acquiesced to the indignity of a search without too much protestation. I started to doubt whether she had the jewels on her at all.

"We should search the car in case she has secreted the necklace within," I suggested.

This met with whole-hearted agreement, although I sensed this enthusiasm had less to do with finding the evidence against the lady than other interests. I busied myself with the rear seats while Lestrade and Watson insisted on looking under the bonnet. Satisfying myself that the interior of the car had given up what few secrets it possessed, I went to see if the others had had better luck.

Instead, I found them deep in conversation with the Countess's chauffeur, who was a veritable font of knowledge about all things mechanical.

"So you see," he was explaining at length, "what we have here is a vehicle that boasts high performance, thanks to reduced weight. It's the way forward, gentleman, mark my words."

"It's to do with that honeycomb radiator I was talking about," said Lestrade authoritatively. "What's the power-to-weight ratio?"

"15.2 pounds per horse-power. Notice how low the chassis is too. Fair hugs the ground."

Watson and Lestrade both made admiring noises.

"Impressive," said Watson. "You hear that, Holmes? 15.2 pounds per—"

"The diamonds?" I interupted him.

"Oh, no, there's nothing here."

"And what of this fellow, the chauffeur?"

The man's smug expression faded. "Nothing to do with me, sir, what her ladyship gets up to. I just drive her where she wants to go."

"Turn out your pockets."

He complied, producing a dirty handkerchief, a few coins and a sweaty boiled sweet.

"Did you stop anywhere along your route home?"

The chauffeur shook his head. "No, sir. Her ladyship was anxious to get back, on account of her feeling the cold."

"On a mild night like this?"

He shrugged. "It can get a bit nippy back there when I open up the engine. Oh, er," he quickly corrected himself, casting an anxious glance at Lestrade. "Not that I ever go over the speed limit, you understand."

Lestrade nodded and sighed. "Bane of my life are these speeding fines. I was saying to Gregson the other day that they should never have repealed the Red Flag Act. I said at the time when that driver was arrested six years back in Paddock Wood for doing 8 miles per hour in a 2 mph area that it was the thin edge of the wedge. What happens next? Not three years later, there's two people dead as the result of a car accident in Harrow."

I recalled the incident, since at the time I had remarked to Watson that we had finally lost our minds in creating the perfect killing machine. "Grove Hill, wasn't it?"

"That's right, Mr Holmes. The two gents went out of control coming down the hill, hit the kerb and pitched themselves right out onto the road. Nasty business, by all accounts. I tell you, it's the speed that does it. Did you know there was an electric car a couple of years back that actually exceeded 60 mph?"

"Wasn't that the Belgian fellow, Camille Jenatzy?" said the chauffeur. "The Red Devil they call him, on account of his bushy red beard. I'm told he touched 65.7 mph in an electric car of his own design."

"What's the top speed of the 35?" Watson wanted to know.

"If I push it, 45 mph. Not that I ever do, mind."

Lestrade tutted. "Far too fast in my opinion. If you give people speed like that, they're going to want to use it. If you ask me—"

"We aren't," I said testily. "Did you at any time leave the Countess alone with the car?"

The chauffeur shook his head. "Not for one minute. Well, maybe half a minute, when I went back into the house to collect her ladyship's shawl. She'd left it behind, you see, and was feeling the cold."

"Half a minute," I mused. "Time enough to secrete the jewels somewhere about the car. But where?"

I wandered around the vehicle, peering into every nook and crevice as I went. I was crouching beside the rear axle when the engine spluttered into life with an ill-mannered roar and a waft of smoke and fumes swept into my nostrils.

"Sweet as a nut," the chauffeur was telling my two companions when I got to my feet. "Owes a lot to the innovative vertical valves operated by an outer timing shaft. Knocks the spots off the last car her ladyship had. An 1898 Décauville it was, a little two-seater car that made one hell of a racket. A real bone-shaker. I wasn't sorry to see the back of that, I can tell you."

"Funny you mention that," Watson said. "I was looking at the new Napiers. They're said to be pretty comfortable."

"Depends what you want to be using it for."

"My rounds mostly. The odd trip to the country, that sort of thing."

"Ideal, sir. Good solid car is the Napier. I've heard a rumour that next year, they'll be bringing out a six cylinder engine model."

"Wait a minute," I cut in. "You're thinking of buying one of these contraptions, Watson? You never mentioned it to me."

"I believe I did," said he. "Several times in fact, Holmes."

"But, my dear fellow, you can't drive."

"I'll learn."

"Easy as pie," said the chauffeur. "Even her ladyship knows how to drive."

I waved him aside. "Have you quite lost your reason?"

Watson seemed rather put out by the question. "Strange as this may seem to you, Holmes, it's my ambition to own at least one motor car before I die."

"Which may be sooner than you think if you get behind the wheel of one of these things. Exactly how are you going to afford it?"

"I have money."

"Clearly too much if you intend wasting it on nonsense like this. I knew I should have never agreed with you taking up your pen again. Had I known this would be the result, I would have rather destroyed every note and journal in my possession."

"Ah, you don't approve, Mr Holmes?" said Lestrade, peering imperiously down his nose.

"No, I don't, since you ask. This unreasonable fascination with the automobile will come to nothing."

"There's many will disagree with you there, sir," said the chauffeur. "It's very big over on the Continent. The French even have their own Automobile Club."

"We're not so far behind," said Watson. "Riley and Wolseley are good British makes, and the Sunbeam factory is making headway with the new rhomboid wheel arrangement."

For once in my life, I had the unpleasant sensation of not knowing what anyone was talking about. More pressingly, while we had been engaged in this idle chat, the constable had returned with the Countess. She stood, glaring at us down her graceful nose, the fires of loathing burning in those fierce eyes.

"Nothing, sir," said the constable in answer to Lestrade's inquiry.

"I will have my apology now, Mr Holmes," said she haughtily.

"I think perhaps you should," Lestrade muttered. "Better luck next time."

"Those jewels are here somewhere!" I insisted. "Hidden in this car, out of sight. But where? Lestrade, have your men take it car apart."

"I don't know about that, Mr Holmes," said he. "I'm not sure if they'd know how to put it back together again. Then there's the question of legality."

Much to my frustration, the discussion ranged back and forth about the rights and wrongs of dismantling a private motor car without a warrant. Then it was that my eye lit upon the metal protuberance that fed down into the petrol tank. Suddenly I knew where the jewels were hidden.

Before I had a chance to capitalise on my revelation, however, the Countess had taken matters into her own hands. While we dithered, she had jumped into the car with its still running engine, engaged the gears and near ran us down in her hurry to escape. We watched her disappear down the drive at full speed with her shawl streaming out behind her.

"Well, Constable," said Lestrade. "What are you waiting for? After her!"

"But I've only got my bicycle," the unhappy fellow protested.

"Then you'd better start pedalling, hadn't you? Off you go."

As it transpired, the constable never had to break into a sweat. We watched as through the gates came a brougham on a collision course with the fleeing motor car. The Countess sounded her horn, making the already alarmed horses start and rear. She swerved and the still evening was rent with the sounds of metal smashing into stonework. When the dust settled, we saw the mangled remains of the front of the car wrapped around a stone pier of the gates.

Somehow, the Countess had survived the crash. We pulled her from the wreckage as she fairly swooned into our arms. Several superficial cuts marred her ivory skin and a red swelling on her cheek told of the bruise to come.

Leaving Watson to tend to his patient, I supervised the recovery of the jewels. A piece of stiff wire was found and poked into the fuel tank. Something rattled as the wire was retrieved. As it was pulled clear, I saw the sparkle of diamonds breaking through the grimy coating of petrol.

"Well, I never," said Lestrade. "However did you know they were in there, Mr Holmes?"

"Because they were nowhere else. The lady left with them and had no chance to dispose of them along the way. I dare say it is a hiding place she has used many times before."

"A curse on you, Mr Sherlock Holmes!" the Countess spat.

"Take her away, constable," said Lestrade. "See to it that she doesn't get away from you again."

I sighed with satisfaction at a job well done. "Well, Watson," said I. "What do you make of it?"

"It's a tragedy," said he.

"A crying shame," agreed Lestrade.

I nodded sagely, watching the Countess being led to a waiting police wagon. "Ah, well, they do say that everything beautiful has its moment and then passes away."

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Watson. "I dare say they can do something with it."

"Merely a question of a new radiator, front wheels and beating out the bonnet," said Lestrade. "Should be as good as new. Don't you agree, Mr Holmes?"

It was at that moment that I realised if I was ever to have an intelligent conversation with either of them again, I was going to have to learn the significance of jet carburettors and the technical merits of T-head engines. My interest was slight, but knowledge is never wasted. Who knows, it might even come in useful one day.

The End

In case you were wondering...

First speeding offence, Paddock Wood, Kent, 28 January, 1896, costing the motorist a fine of a shilling (5p).

First recorded fatal motor car accident in Britain, Grove Hill, Middlesex, 25th February 1899.

The 1901 35 was the first car to use the Mercedes name and is considered to be the first modern motor car.

Sherlock Holmes gets over his dislike of the motor car and ends up posing as an expert to fool Von Bork in LAST, who himself has a full garage and a 100-horse-power Benz. Dr Watson does learn to drive, but whether he got himself a Napier is unknown. Last seen driving a small Ford and masquerading as a chauffeur.