‘In case it makes a difference to the way you kill the person,’ Holmes returned, ‘the one who removed that sword from its place of rest is not a man.’
A bewildered expression crept across our host’s face.
‘Not a man? A boy? Not one of my sons, why I shall chop...’
‘Not a son, no. Nor any other boy.’
‘One of my eunuchs?’
‘Not a eunuch, Your Highness.’
The Sultan half-rose to his feet.
‘Alors?’
‘It was a woman.’
‘A woman?’ the Sultan exclaimed incredulously, his eyes belying the disbelieving smile. ‘What woman?’
Holmes pointed out of the window.
‘Saliha Naciye.’
Abd-ul-Hamid’s eyes widened. For a moment our host’s gaze shifted from Holmes to me. He leant forward to gain a better view of his wife standing in the exquisite garden. Suddenly he clasped his hands to his ribs. He broke into unrestrained laughter. Tears of mirth fell from his eyes.
Holmes joined in the laughter. I had absolutely no idea what Holmes was up to but if the others were guffawing then I would too.
‘Excellente! Excellente, Monsieur!’ the Sultan spluttered. ‘You had me convinced the case was solved but I see you’re merely joking!’
‘I do not joke, Your Highness, not for a moment,’ Holmes replied. ‘You ask who spirited away the sword you hold in your hand and I tell you it was your thirteenth wife.’
‘Explain,’ the Sultan ordered.
‘Your wife knew of the arrival of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson when it was revealed to the world by a newspaper. When we left Your Sublimity’s presence she was waiting for us in the garden. She thrust a posy in our hands as though in welcome.’
‘And?’
‘The posy contained a coded message. I was able to decipher the code. Dr. Watson and I were to go to the Head Nurse’s quarters at an arranged time. We did so. Saliha Naciye was there. A magnificent sword was tucked inside the golden cradle where Your Highness spent the first weeks of life. Logically I jumped to the conclusion your wife must have organised a conspiracy to depose you. I presumed Your Imperial Highness would be replaced on the throne with her son Mehmed Abid. She would make herself Queen Regent, the Sultan Valide, a second Kösem Sultan, the most powerful woman in the Empire.’
‘Careful, Holmes,’ I muttered.
‘But Saliha Naciye is not guilty of treason,’ my comrade continued. ‘Far from it. Her actions have saved your throne. Dr. Watson and I questioned her. We realised from her testimony she’d taken the latest rumours of a plot against Your Highness very seriously, and that it involved the theft of the Sword of Osman. She had no idea who the conspirators were but they could strike at any moment. She would pre-empt them by taking charge of the sword herself. Her plan was to hide it until the plotters fell back in disarray, unable to get hold of the one symbol of Ottoman authority which could guarantee them success. She took the sword and hid it in the cradle in the Royal Nursery where no man dare go.’
‘She told me nothing about this,’ the Sultan shouted. ‘Why didn’t she bring her suspicions to me right at the start?’
‘You would accuse her of crying wolf. She feared you’d pay no heed.’
Holmes paused with theatrical effect.
‘But when she looked at the sword before placing it in the cradle everything changed. She noticed something strange.’
‘Something strange?’ the Sultan asked eagerly.
‘Something odd about the weapon.’
‘Tell me!’ our host ordered.
‘The gold cartouche.’
‘What about it?’
‘It contained no inscriptions.’
‘Which means what?’ the Sultan pursued, frowning. ‘I myself have never inspect...’
‘It’s a forgery.’
‘A forgery!’
‘The sword you hold, Your Highness, is a forgery,’ my comrade repeated. ‘Of the most exquisite workmanship, the equal of the original in temper and flexibility. The point of the blade on your finger when you balance it would be within half an inch of the Sword of Osman itself. The real sword had already been stolen. Saliha Naciye realised there was one man in the Palace who must be at the centre of such a web of intrigue. Someone who held a position of great esteem in Your Majesty’s eyes.’
For a moment the eyes of the ruler flickered towards his impassive Chief Black Eunuch.
‘Someone,’ Holmes went on, looking hard at the Sultan, ‘who could spirit away the real sword and replace it with a fake. Someone you would not for a moment believe would engage in a plot against your life.’
‘Again I ask - demand to know - who is this person?’
‘And in turn I ask you!’ Holmes parried. ‘Any of the ninety jewellery artisans in your service might have crafted the hilt from gold and precious stones but only one swordsmith on God’s good earth could wield hammer and tongs to fashion so beautiful a blade. Who could smith such a blade? So malevolent a blade. A skill every swordsmith in Bursa, Damascus and Derbent would give their eye-teeth to possess.’
My comrade repeated, ‘Ask yourself, Your Highness, who might that be?’
The Sultan cried out despairingly, ‘Only my Chief Armourer. Only Mehmed!’
‘Only Mehmed,’ my comrade affirmed.
The Sultan remained still for a long time. At last he ordered Holmes to elaborate. I listened in amazement to Holmes’s almost entirely fictional account of our discoveries, that Saliha Naciye’s suspicions were sparked when the Chief Armourer’s wife Zehra came to see her. Zehra told her how strangers had conferred with Mehmed three nights in a row. Zehra feared they were leading her husband astray. The men talked until dawn when they melted away. She was able to catch only one phrase when she brought them refreshments - ‘The Sword of Osman’. After that she was forbidden further entry.
‘Deeply worried for Your Highness’s safety, Saliha Naciye worked out a way she could remove the sword until it was safe to return it to its niche.’
‘Impossible!’ Abd-ul-Hamid exclaimed. ‘There she lies to you. The guards would never let a woman get anywhere near it, not even a wife of a Sultan.’
‘Impossible for a woman,’ Holmes replied, ‘but not impossible for a spectral being. If you look for the ghillie suit you will find it missing. If you search your wife’s quarters you may find a tin of phosphorous paint. Saliha Naciye hid the sword in the safest place she knew. When it was safe to do so she took out the sword to admire its beauty, the golden dragon-head forming the grip, the hilt, and so on.’
Holmes paused.
‘So far so good,’ he continued, ‘until she noticed the cartouche was blank. It lacked the inscriptions. It was like a beautiful body waiting for its eyes, for a Prometheus to give it the touch of life. Saliha Naciye had seen photographs of the sword from the time of your coronation. This could not be the true Sword of Osman. When the conspirators read of my arrival they must have rushed to remove the true sword earlier than planned. They replaced it with the incomplete blade you hold in your hand. Saliha Naciye asked herself, who could forge a blade of such accuracy and beauty? Only one man. The Chief Armourer himself. Mehmed was in on the plot against you. He had worked cloak-and-dagger on an exact replica to delay a chance discovery of the theft.’
‘A forgery?’ the Sultan kept repeating, staring at the weapon in his hand.
Amazement and disbelief vied for control of his facial muscles. He turned to look out of the window.
‘And she detected it?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ Holmes confirmed. ‘A forgery so exact in every detail that without the closest scrutiny anyone could believe it was the Sword of Osman. The final detail could be added within a day, even hours. The plot could be sprung at any moment. Saliha Naciye decided on a desperate course of action. The Armourer should die. That very night.’