His eyes rose from the book, sparkling with interest "It's becoming crystal clear, Watson. Spaulding took the first half of his hyphenated name, reversed it, and used it on coming to Surrey."
"I say, Holmes, is this not wild conjecture?"
"Conjecture, yes, but not so wild. Spaulding was brought to my attention . . . let's see, I have a note on that." He regarded the file again and then snapped it shut. "It was June of '94. Sir Randolph Rapp expressed some puzzlement regarding the gentleman, and I did a little investigation for him. Spaulding's expedition to Abydos in Upper Egypt and his first expedition into the Sudan were considered the coups of his time. He was involved in a second trip to the Sudan that he abandoned halfway, and he returned to England and took up the raising of dogs in Stoke Newington. There was, in '90, an attempted robbery of his estate. Matter was hushed up, but I'll wager that is when our client's cigarette case saved his life. Following the robbery, Spaulding sold out and dropped from sight. Five years back that was, and you will note that the Deets's arrived in Surrey at that time."
"It fits. I'll give you that," I admitted. Another thought crossed my mind. "If Rapp brought up the matter of the explorer and author in '94, that must have been right after your visit to the Khalifa at Khartoum."
I had always been tantalized by the real reason for Holmes's journey to Mecca and then to the Sudan, but he brushed aside my bait quickly.
"Sir Randolph Rapp was very interested in Captain Spaulding, as I am right now. It's the matter of the Sacred Sword, you see."
I sighed. "Please, Holmes, can we run that last bit over again."
My friend smiled, replaced the "S" file in the bookshelf, and took his pipe from the mantel. "In the folklore of Arabia, it is said that the sword of the prophet Mohammed still exists, secreted away in some subterranean crypt in an unknown oasis. The unsheathing of the Sacred Sword is to signal the rising of the followers of the Crescent, who are then to drive the infidels into the sea."
"A holy war," I exclaimed, "in keeping with what Mycroft fears. But what has the late Captain Spaulding to do with that?"
"You know that Rapp, in his line of work, picks up a lot of rumors and is a great believer that myths and folktales have a basis in fact. Somehow he caught wind of the whisper that an Arabian chieftain feared that the Sacred Sword would be used as a device to lead his people to annihilation, a bloodbath. He supposedly gave the sword to Captain Spaulding, considered a true friend of the Islamics, despite the fact that he was Christian. Spaulding was to remove the weapon to England until such time as it could be returned without being an instrument to incite and inflame."
I was shaking my head and should have known better.
"That sounds a bit far-fetched, Holmes."
"A moment. The attempted robbery at the Spauldings' dwelling in Stoke Newington may have been an attempt to secure the sword entrusted to the Captain. Whatever, it got their wind up and they changed their residence posthaste and their name as well."
Holmes puffed on his pipe furiously for a moment.
"We can dissect the matter piecemeal, ol' chap, but we're rather flogging a dead horse. The recent intruder at the Spauldings' home in Surrey was not a thief to my mind at all. To use the language of the ha'penny dreadfuls, he was 'casing the joint.'"
"Attempting to find out where the sword was hidden," I said suddenly.
"Now you're on the track." Holmes's voice held a tone of approval. "Consider Deets's, nee Spaulding's, reaction. He knew what the intruder was doing there. Though nothing was taken, he still enlisted our aid in hopes of finding out how to forestall a future attempt. He might well have called in the police, but I think the prospect of Scotland Yard on the scene rattled him. Suppose they located the hiding place of the sword?"
I was being drawn to Holmes's idea in spite of myself and tried to use the logic that he had made famous.
"All right, let us say that your brother's fear of an uprising is well-founded. We have proof, by virtue of the dead Cruthers, that a tomb could well play a part. The dagger he brought is tangible—I can see it, and his dying words certainly tie in Chu San Fu to the matter."
"Who else has the resources and the overbearing ego to involve himself in such a wild scheme?"
"But where does that leave this Sacred Sword idea?"
"We have been introduced to two situations, but do not place them in opposition to each other, ol' boy. They both face towards the Mid East, specifically Egypt. Let us consider them with an intellectual togetherness."
"You feel the Sword is part of Chu's plot?"
Holmes was knocking out his pipe on the stones of the fireplace.
"The wily old dog is a bit of a showman, you know. With the Sacred Sword, he might well set himself up as a latter-day prophet, a leader of Islamics throughout the world."
"But Holmes, it is just an inanimate object."
"What makes sense or follows the laws of logic is not always important, Watson. It is what people believe. I can see the idea of a horde of nomadic horsemen surging forth from the desert and elsewhere finds no fertile soil in your mind. But they came before, you know. Not just under the Mahdi. At one time they flooded into France."
"The Battle of Tours?"
"More recently, the history of Europe for a half century was dictated by the alarming thought that the Grand Army of the Republic might rise again. The shadow of 'Le Petit Corporal' had our statesmen quivering even after Waterloo and his subsequent death on St. Helena. Presumably we live in an age of enlightenment, but should you turn up with a sword named 'Excalibur' and prove that it was the weapon of the great Arthur of legend, I imagine you could stir up quite an uprising. Certainly among the superstitious and clannish Cornish and others as well."
The thought of my waving a great two-handed blade and leading a horde to conquest and pillage had to introduce the dwarf of derision to my manner with the midget of mischievous merriment trodding on his heels. The latter increased in stature as the chuckle on my lips grew into a chortle and then blossomed to a full guffaw. It was so ridiculous, but then the truth of Holmes's words regarding the Corsican shouldered my laughter aside. As my face sobered and grim lines appeared, Holmes surveyed me with his wise eyes.
"Now I believe I shall ring for Mrs. Hudson and request two dinners. Tomorrow may be an important day in our lives."
I could but agree. Men can be stirred to the marrow when deep-seated loyalties or hostilities are aroused. Holmes had once discoursed at length on the matter of racial memory. I had not followed him at the time, but it was making more sense now.
It was during our evening repast that the first messages arrived. Holmes quite rightly assumed that they were in response to his cables of the night before and relegated them to the desk until we had enjoyed an after-dinner cigar together.
Then, with a sigh, he seated himself to go over the communications. The acquiring of information through the knowledge or efforts of others was onerous to Holmes. In the early days it was standard procedure for us to be on the scene of the crime in jig time and make our own conclusions. Or rather, have Holmes make his. But now the scope of the sleuth's activities had widened and it would have been impractical indeed not to take advantage of the far-flung web of contacts and sources that he had taken such pains to weave.
I was in the dark as to what progress, if any, was being made. Possibly the messages were confirmations of a time and meeting place with some associate, or perhaps an answer to a direct question posed by Holmes to a highly qualified source. I was mentally framing a query that might prompt a revealing remark from him when there was a gentle tap on the door.