‘I have given this great thought while awaiting your arrival,’ Holmes continued. ‘I believe - as would the sender of this newspaper cutting - we are now far too late if we hope to prevent the catastrophe that lies not far beyond the horizon. The Kipling League achieved a triumphant finis to their record in England. Van Beers and Sir Julius are safely abroad. Weit, as you must know, is dead. I can only make sense of this by assuming Count von Hofmeyer came to a conclusion Africa was a blind canyon. His great hope and natural ally, the Boers, suffered a rout and mostly inhabit the bush beyond the Orange River. The boundaries of the Continent, so carelessly drawn, are a shaming legacy of the Scramble for Africa, the mere by-product of some European explorer’s wanderings or statesman’s puffed-up pride. Take a particular absurdity, the Caprivi panhandle named after the German foreign minister from his mad idea of building a railway from South-West Africa to Portuguese Mozambique - without ever having learned the terrain is most unsuitable. No, Watson. Opportunity for a man as ambitious as the Count no longer lay in Africa.’
‘What of this man Dernburg?’ I asked. ‘What of his concern with Africa?’
‘A deliberate diversion, contrived by von Hofmeyer to put England off the track. Dernburg was groomed to replace him, a device to convince us Africa rested at the epicentre of the German Chancellery’s ambitions. In that way it would take our eye off the widening of the Kiel Canal while encouraging our War Department to prepare as they always do for the wrong kind of war, a third engagement against the unrequited Boer in Southern Africa.’
‘If this contrivance freed von Hofmeyer from Africa, to what aim....?’
‘Weltpolitik, my friend! Do you not see, he returns to Berlin, the Capital of the most powerful kingdom of Middle Europe, in time for the widening of the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal at Kiel? I would not have asked you to bone up on the Canal if it was not of the utmost importance to our present discussion. In the past year they have widened it at the cost of 242 million marks, wide enough to take the greatest German battleships. The Canal crosses the Cimbrian Peninsular and connects the Baltic with the North Sea. Prussians would not spend that sum for pleasure yachts on their way to Cowes or Cannes. It saves a ship - a Dreadnought perhaps - 250 miles through the dangerous waters of the Skagerrak.’
Incredulous that this should be a principal topic of conversation, I demanded, ‘Holmes, is it simply to inform me of these statistics you send me a telegram which nearly gives Mrs. Hudson a heart-attack with worry, in which you order me to leap aboard a train with more than all due speed - and by a circuitous route - just short of telling me to bring my service revolver and a dozen soft-nosed bullets?’
‘Soon the tumblers will fall in place, I assure you, Watson. Von Hofmeyer could see the strategic possibilities for a mighty German Navy. The immense ship canal is the rival of the Suez. The Germans are now free to move from safe and secret Baltic bases to the whole of the world’s seas - except for what, Watson...?’
My mind returned to a conversation with Edward Marsh at The Athenaeum where I had repaired one evening for a good cigar and intriguing gossip.
‘...that the Royal Navy lies in the way?’ I hazarded.
‘Indeed.’
In his detached and entertaining way Marsh had related how Britain’s First Sea Lord and First Lord of the Admiralty grew panic-stricken as Germany’s naval challenge proceeded. Major British forces were withdrawn from far-distant routes to India. Fleets were reorganised based on Malta, Gibraltar and the home ports. Planning began for a new all-big-gun battleship together with the Invincible class of battle-cruiser. The new fleet was to give Great Britain such an intimidating lead Germany would give up all competitive activity from cost alone, let alone a failure of ambition. Instead, Holmes was informing me, far from containment or intimidation, the race for sovereignty of the seas had become sterner.
Holmes continued, ‘Count von Hofmeyer knew of Van Beers and Siviter from his years in Africa. He knew they would have the Prime Minister’s ear. They in turn would be well aware of his blood-thirsty history.’
‘So he was sent to Crick’s End to oblige a humiliating submission? You suggest by murdering this Hun, leaving him stripped of clothing in the wagon pond, the Kipling League sent a signal of the utmost defiance to Berlin?’ I paused. ‘If that is so, shall we agree what they did in killing this fellow would not be so damnable - there might be honour in the matter?’
‘That is the message Siviter would have conveyed to Fusey - and Pevensey - and to the staff at Crick’s End and Scotney Castle, several of whom were needed in the running of events, especially the woodman and Dudeney and his motor.’
I stared at my companion.
‘You say ‘the message Siviter would have conveyed,’ Holmes. How otherwise could it be?’
He sat in silence, brow furrowed, without responding to my question.
I went on, ‘The Holmes, I beg you at least to put an end to my curiosity on one singular point which has engaged my mind throughout my journey here today and well before...’
‘Ask on, Watson,’ my companion assented in a most amiable way. ‘Up to today I have been entirely unwilling to engage with you on any aspect of this matter but I am the more ready to do so now. Which singular point do you...?’
‘I have often stood at your side at the start of the chase but never where you came so swiftly to your conclusion or stayed with it to such a bitter end. When Dudeney returned us to Etchingham Railway Station, you heard the newspaper vendor calling out. I recall to this day the speed with which you concluded something grave was afoot. Your exact words were...’
‘‘...the very second I adopted the hypothesis everything seems to fit - or at least nothing seems to contradict it’?’ he interrupted.
‘Indeed,’ I replied. ‘I have read and reread that report in the newspaper a dozen times. I have it framed on a wall. What was it which brought you so swiftly to such a conclusion?’
‘The first ‘scumbling’ to catch my eye was the local constable’s determination to report the corpse as the former temple of a passing tramp. What could possibly have brought the village bobby to that conclusion?’
‘May I let you answer that?’ I returned.
‘Because Lord Fusey indicated it was so, how else? The evidence itself, right in front of the constable’s own eyes, pointed in quite another direction.’
‘So why did Fusey offer this opinion?’
‘Because it removed all concern for murder - tramps are valued even less than hobos in the countryside.’
‘You said it could not be the body of a tramp because the evidence pointed in quite another direction - what in particular, Holmes?’
‘Were you not struck forcibly by the appearance of the corpse? Remember, it had been stripped of clothing.’
‘Which opened to view the scorching of the skin by a Tropical sun... what else was there of interest?’
‘The fearful bruising of the body.’
I looked at Holmes sharply.
‘The bruising?’ I exclaimed. ‘Who said there was bruising? Holmes, there were no bruises reported in the Standard. It simply said the victim’s skin was seared in a particular pattern.’
‘Then what of the broken bones?’
I stared at him aghast.
‘Holmes, you know full well there was no mention of broken bones.’
‘But what of the terrible cut across the nape as from a cutlass, a violent slash which so nearly beheaded him?’ Holmes asked, smiling.
‘Holmes, you know perfectly well such a wound would have been...’
I stopped abruptly, casting him a rueful smile. This was not an example of Holmes’ Socratic method. He was up to his old and familiar trick, scrambling my brain like Mrs. Hudson’s Sunday eggs.