‘Excellent, Watson! Fifteen at least. Now tell me, who knew we would choose to go ashore when the entire crew from Commodore downwards was on deck awaiting the arrival of the Royal barge? Which of them knew we would be stepping off the ship at that moment? Someone was ready and waiting with a camera. Only one person other than Mycroft and the Commodore knew in advance both our assumed naval ranks and that you and I would quit the ship at that exact time. That person was...?’
‘Shelmerdine!’ I exclaimed, my certainty badly shaken. ‘We’d arranged to meet him at 8 o’ clock.’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t note the state of his boots that first time we met him. If he’d taken the carriage straight from his dwelling why would they have been so covered with dust and horse-droppings? I’ll wager he was shot taking a photograph of Dreadnought’s departure exactly where he took the newspaper photo of us jumping into the Haroony. The Sultan’s spies would have been well-acquainted with Shelmerdine’s custom of setting up his tripod at that very spot.’
I stood in silence while my companion tapped tobacco into his briar.
‘Poetic justice, Watson,’ Holmes resumed. ‘He told us he’d converted to Mohammedism. If he’d benefit by it he would switch to any belief - Gnosticism, Yarsanism, Samaritanism, Shabakism, Ishikism, Ali-Illahism, Zoroastrianism. Even Buddhism. A man of such expediency can have many masters and will take many sides, sometimes simultaneously. Nevertheless he is due our thanks. By revealing our presence he enabled us to catch Saliha Naciye. The news that Sherlock Holmes had arrived in Stamboul panicked Saliha Naciye into snatching the sword before the engraver could complete his work.’
‘The treachery of it all!’ I exclaimed indignantly. ‘Shelmerdine must have known that revealing our arrival might have laid us open to assassination.’
‘As you say,’ Holmes returned.
‘There’s something else which mystifies me, Holmes. Why did Saliha Naciye engineer Mehmed’s murder before we snared her? I can see why she might...’
‘It was essential to cover her tracks. Not even a Sultan’s wife could gain access to the sword. She needed Mehmed’s help. Until she saw the ghillie suit and hit upon the idea of becoming a spectre she had no way to carry out her plan other than through an alliance with him. He hedged his bets and pretended to be her accomplice. After that, Saliha Naciye needed only one other - the Daughter of Jerusalem. The Jewess’s life too might have been in danger except for her enduring value as the principal negotiator with whichever band of conspirators would agree to terms in exchange for the sword. Once Saliha Naciye had hold of the sword Mehmed was not only unnecessary for her plans, he was a definite threat. He could blackmail her - even be a witness against her if the need arose to save himself. It’s not impossible it was Chiarezza who pointed this out.’
‘Did Mehmed know the Sultan’s wife was the spectre?’
‘I doubt it. She had no need to tell him. His fear was genuine.’
‘What aroused your suspicions about Shelmerdine?’
‘The photographs. First, the German submarine. A camera could have been placed almost anywhere along the length of the bridge. However, soon enough I realised it was taken from the exact vantage point as the picture in the newspaper of us getting into the pinnace. Then, if you recall, after we caught Saliha Naciye in flagrante, we took another look at the photograph Shelmerdine handed to us on our arrival, the close-up of the sword.’
‘What about it?’
‘The real sword had already been spirited away.’
He waved Mycroft’s letter at me.
‘“Shanghaied” as my brother said. Our dragoman must have considered providing us with a snapshot of the unfinished fake but he couldn’t risk it. He may have heard we inspected the sword in the oil painting. The snapshot he supplied had to be identical. He could only have taken that photograph if he had access to where they’d sequestered the real thing.’
After a pause he added, ‘And then there was the incident at the necropolis.’
‘Which incident is that?’
‘When Mehmed’s widow incriminated our dragoman.’
Marsh as deep as Grimpen Mire on the Devon moors was threatening to engulf me.
‘I don’t recall her doing anything of the sort,’ I replied.
‘But you do recall her telling us about the conspiratorial gaggle which met at her house for several nights?’
‘Yes.’
‘She said they were led by a man anxious to hide his identity behind a hood?’
‘I remember that, but...’
‘And that the man with us in the cemetery was that same person?’
‘I’m certain she said nothing of the...’ I spluttered.
‘...when she switched to French to cut out any chance her words would be deliberately misreported. She looked at Shelmerdine and said ‘Comme lui’.’
‘‘Comme lui’?’ I parroted. ‘What of it? Shelmerdine was standing right by her. If she pointed up at him it was because he too wore a hood to hide his face.’
‘You wrote down her exact words, Watson. She said, “Those men, those men who were carrying him. I have seen some of them before. They were at my house. Always at night. I saw all their faces, except the man in charge. He wore a hood over his face. ‘Comme lui’.” But we were all wearing identical hoods. If it were simply the fact the leader of the plotters wore a hood like ours she would have used the plural and said “Comme vous”, referring to the three of us. She didn’t. She was warning us. She recognised him as the man in authority she’d observed in her own home. She deliberately used the singular - comme lui - to warn us. Our dragoman realised this immediately. You recall him jumping in with “Perhaps Allah will grant you a son from your last night with your husband - that is, if you escape with your head intact”. He was letting her know he could have her killed if she didn’t fall silent.’
‘If you’re right, why did Shelmerdine risk accompanying us to the cemetery?’
‘The Chief Armourer had been poisoned. The conspirators had no idea who’d been instrumental in Mehmed’s death. They had to find out if they were about to be identified.’
‘If Shelmerdine did publish the photo in the Journal de Constantinople,’ I began, ‘why on earth...?’
‘We were a present danger. His conspiracy was well advanced. By betraying our arrival he hoped we’d decide the game wasn’t worth the candle. Either we’d flee or Sir Edward would pull us out.’
Holmes looked at me.
‘Watson, your weakness is you make a habit of liking people. You cultivate friendship far too fast. What made me suspect Shelmerdine wasn’t all he purported to be? I merely kept in mind he was exactly what Mycroft purported him to be.’
He paused, pondering.
‘Nevertheless our dragoman was never the capo dei capi of the plot. You can tell old Masters by the sweep of their brush. Behind Shelmerdine spun a being on a quite different intellectual plane, my equal, even my superior. We may never discover who lurked behind him but I tell you, Watson, if I didn’t know for a definite fact that Professor Moriarty lies in a watery grave...
‘Any plot hatched by Saliha Naciye had to be simplicity itself, Lucrezia Borgian in its ruthlessness and crudity. But the other was a plan of exceptional cleverness. Photographing us from the moment of arrival, knowing we lacked any deep knowledge of naval etiquette, reaped its reward. The forgery, costly as it was, would delay discovery of the theft until the time was ripe.’