“How should I know? Their faces are always black with soot. But there was no reason—until now, at any rate—to suspect he was anything other than what he claimed to be. I don’t deal with such matters, but I saw him walking to the service door as I left one morning.”
“Ah. Was the manuscript accessible? Could he have read it?”
“I suppose he could. But if he had no idea I was writing such a story—and no one did—how could he have known to look for it?”
“Perhaps any story would have done. You are a famous author, after all. It isn’t out of the realm of possibility that you’d be currently at work on a Holmes case.”
Conan Doyle hesitated. “I did inquire of a friend in Edinburgh to discover what had become of the principals in the real case. I was told the clever widow and her new husband left for Canada shortly after William’s suicide. But Fergus MacTaggart is utterly trustworthy. He and William and I were close at one time. MacTaggart remained William’s friend when everyone else turned his back.”
“Everyone appears to be trustworthy, until we’ve been shown otherwise.”
“Yes, well, it’s easier to write about devious people than it is to search for them in one’s own life.”
With that he left. Whitman looked down at his notes. Would Conan Doyle’s editor wish to publish a short story that was the center of controversy? If it increased circulation, probably. But if it led to questions about the story itself, would Herbert Smith shy away from it? And was that the reason behind this suit? Holmes had a brilliant track record as a consulting detective. Had he stumbled on a truth that someone wished to keep out of the public eye?
That seemed to be the crux of the case. A settlement that included an agreement to withdraw the story from publication would prove the point.
But the question was, who would benefit from withdrawing the story? That remained to be seen.
The next morning Whitman went to call on Ronald Baines.
His chambers were in the first floor of Number 12 Ironmonger Lane. The door was paneled mahogany, with a brass plate affixed to it. Whitman opened it to find a well-furnished waiting room. A clerk came in as soon as Whitman was about to take a seat.
“Do you have an appointment, sir?” the man asked, peering at Whitman over the top of his glasses.
Whitman identified himself and the reason for his visit.
The clerk said, “I’ll see if Mr. Baines is free.” He went away and Whitman took a chair by the window, watching clouds scuttle across the city, promising a change in the fine weather London had been enjoying.
The clerk finally reappeared and informed Whitman that Mr. Baines would see him, but only for ten minutes, as he was expecting another client at eleven o’clock. He led Whitman down a passage where gilt-framed hunting prints were hung. The room at the end of the passage was spacious and occupied a corner of the building. A French Empire desk took pride of place, and behind it a large, florid man rose to hold out his hand.
“Good morning,” he said affably. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before this.”
“Thank you for seeing me,” Whitman replied. “I’ve come about the suit pending against Sherlock Holmes.”
Baines indicated a chair. “Ah, yes. Indeed.”
“I’m astonished, to put it mildly, that you would take on such a frivolous matter.”
“Hardly frivolous. My client had considered suing Sir Arthur, but the problem isn’t the author, the problem is his character. Mr. Holmes has taken on an unusual case and solved it with his usual skill. It is that skill which is the problem. My client feels that in solving the mystery at hand, he has put my client in jeopardy of his livelihood.”
“I must say, I don’t see how that’s possible. Mr. Holmes is a fictional character. Do you tell me that your client is also fictional?”
There was a flash of anger in Ronald Baines’s eyes. “I can assure you that he is quite real. As it happens, his wife died recently, and he has been occupying himself in writing a book concerning a certain murder case in Scotland many years ago. It is currently under consideration by a publishing house. If Mr. Holmes solves it before the manuscript has been sold, who will be interested in it? When Mr. Holmes has taken the wind out of its sails, so to speak.”
“I don’t see that there’s a problem. One is nonfiction, and the other fiction. How do they overlap?”
Baines said, “Mr. Holmes is a name most everyone in Britain recognizes. Indeed, he’s considered the premier consulting detective in the world; his popularity is undeniable. And he is about to steal my client’s livelihood.”
“I should like to know how your client discovered that such a story was being written by Sir Arthur. As far as I’m aware, only two people knew the contents of that particular case.”
“Let us say that a friend felt he should be made aware of Conan Doyle’s intentions.”
“And all your client wishes is to see the story withdrawn from publication? No monetary damages? No other requirements to be satisfied before the suit is withdrawn?”
