Too late, Arthur Zimmermann telegraphed urgently and in plain text to Eckhardt in Mexico City, “Please burn all compromising instructions.”
Woodrow Wilson became as implacable for war as he had been adamant for peace. Yet for weeks afterwards, the Zimmermann Telegram was still described in the United States Senate as being “probably a forgery of the British Secret Service.” Sherlock Holmes was not much given to outbursts of passion. On this occasion, having read of the allegation, he went so far as to crumple the Morning Post and hurl it from the breakfast-table into the grate.
He need not have worried. The American Secret Service had already established that the telegram was indeed sent by Western Union from Bernstorff in Washington to Eckhardt in Mexico City. Worse still, it revealed that Zimmermann had so far violated the decencies of diplomacy as to propose an attack on the very nation which offered peace and the means of friendly negotiation.
Woodrow Wilson’s resolve broke the nerve of those who had been conspiring against him. Zimmermann admitted to the world the bad faith of which he had been guilty in sending the famous-or infamous-message to Count Bernstorff. Three American ships were sunk without warning on 18 March and President Wilson declared war on 6 April. President Carranza quickly denied any intention of offering Germany submarine bases or a military alliance to attack Texas and New Mexico. Japan, it seemed, had no such intention and Zimmermann was denounced for maligning the Imperial Court by imputing these designs to it.
So badly had events turned out for Zimmermann that he was soon to be dismissed from office. Germany ’s U-boats found that their base and fuel supply at Tampico had proved a will o’ the wisp. The Royal Navy’s oil reserves were secure. In alliance with the United States naval squadrons, it soon had the U-boat wolf-packs by the throat. The outcome of the war was no longer in doubt, only the date of victory.
9
Sherlock Holmes remained in government harness until the end of hostilities. Yet he was increasingly able to return to his private practice as a consulting detective. The first case of this kind is one that I remember with particular pleasure.
We received a visit from Sir Henry Jones, Laird of Tighnabruaich, whose son was Captain Obidiah Jones, a young Scots officer reported missing, feared dead, in a battle against the Turks. Sir Henry heard no more until he received a postcard from Turkey, written in a hand he did not recognise. It was entirely blank except for the address: “Sir Henry Jones, 184 Kings Road, Tighnabruaich, Scotland.”
As if to celebrate the gentler ways of peace, Holmes had instructed Mrs Hudson that a glass of mid-morning Madeira and slices of seed cake must be provided for our first civilian client. It woke memories of the pre-war world, a far cry from the intellectual austerity of Room 40.
Sir Henry had brought his curious post-card to us in some distress, not knowing what had become of his son. Since there was no message on it, he feared the worst. The curiosity of the address was that his village ofTighnabruaich is a remote collection of a few houses. It is so small that those houses need no numbers and there is certainly no “ Kings Road ” to be found there.
Holmes studied the postcard for a long moment and then looked up.
“I believe you may have every confidence, Sir Henry, that your son is alive and well. He may soon return to his regiment, for he and his company have escaped the enemy pursuit, though they were cut off from their comrades. He is leading his company back, under cover, to their headquarters. Their provisions are spartan but he and his men are so far safe. Indeed, he has been able to smuggle out this message to you.”
There was no mistaking the old man’s delight but he looked at us in the most startled manner, as if afraid to believe what he had been told.
“How on earth, Mr Holmes, can you tell such a thing from that card-which seems to me to bear no message whatever, merely an incorrect address?”
Holmes drew himself upright.
“There you are in error, Sir Henry. You will appreciate that the equipment of the criminal investigator must contain a working knowledge of the world’s great texts, not least those of Classical Languages and Holy Writ. They are frequently employed in forming military codes. It was General Sir Harry Smith-was it not?-who having seized the province of Sind during the Indian wars, communicated this by a message in one word. ‘Peccavi.’ To those with no knowledge of the Latin tongue it must be meaningless. Yet every English schoolboy would know that it is translated as ‘I have sinned.’ You see? The Horse Guards understood at once that Sind was in our power.”
“I daresay,” said Sir Henry impatiently, “but what has that to with my son?”
Holmes picked up the postcard again.
“This address. There is no Kings Road in your village and no house numbered 184. I suggest to you that ‘Kings 184’ can only be a reference to the Old Testament-the First Book of Kings. If that is correct, the number 184 can only stand for Chapter 18, verse 4.”
“How extraordinary!”
Holmes bowed his head a little in acknowledgement and then continued.
“You will, I am sure, recall how that verse runs. ‘Obidiah took a hundred prophets and hid them in a cave, and fed them with bread and water.’ A hundred is a regimental company, a little under strength as his might well be. Obidiah can only be your Obidiah. And now let us drink a health to this brave young man-and wish him well.”
In this matter, I must record, Sherlock Holmes was later proved correct. We heard from his proud father that Captain Obidiah Jones had been awarded the Military Cross for gallantry and was now a youthful Major Obidiah Jones.
On that morning, however, after Sir Henry had thanked us several times and left us to seek further particulars of the story at the War Office, Holmes stretched out in his chair and stared at the gentle dancing of flames in the grate.
“I believe, Watson, that Sir Henry is the first client whom we have seen in these chambers for a very long time.”
“I believe he is.”
“Then I think we may say that the war is over at last. From now on, this office is open as usual for business. I take a good deal more pleasure in seeing my clients face to face, in this homely manner, than in being the servant of the government. Be so good as to pass me this morning’s copy of the Morning Post.”
He took another sip of his morning Madeira, a crumb of seed cake, and opening the pages of the newspaper began to read the reports of yesterday’s proceedings in the Central Criminal Court. In this manner, peace returned to Baker Street.
DONALD THOMAS
DONALD THOMAS is the author of fifteen novels, including four collections of new Sherlock Holmes stories, and seven biographies, notably Cardigan: The Hero of Balaclava and Cochrane: Britannia’s Sea-Wolf. He received the Eric Gregory Award from T. S. Eliot for his poems Points of Contact. His writing on crime includes The Victorian Underworld; followed by an account of World War II’s criminals and black marketeers in An Underworld at War, and Villains’ Paradise: Britain ’s Post-War Underworld. He has also contributed to the BBC several series of broadcast documentaries on historical crimes and trials.
