‘There is a strong belief in the Evil Eye. The blue eye of the Frank (their term for all Europeans) is considered especially malign and sinister. What they will make of the colour of your eyes, Sherlock, I dare not think. As to the customs of the Turk, do not cross your feet at mealtimes, it is disrespectful to the table. Do not praise any item for as often as not it will be pressed into your hand - but not from generosity. Your praise has brought the Evil Eye upon it. It would bring bad luck to the owner if it were kept. Therefore you might make an exception to the rule and fulsomely admire a few Chinese vases and some Longquan celadon bowls, the spoils of centuries-long exchanges of gifts between Chinese emperors and Ottoman sultans. A few top class Chinese artefacts would sit well in the interior of the Diogenes Club. Ditto the Galata Bridge. An extra bridge across the Thames at The Temple would make access to the premises much easier for our legal fraternity (especially in their cups).’
The mention of the Diogenes made me smile. I recalled Holmes’s description of his brother’s favourite haven: ‘There are many men in London who, some from shyness, some from misanthropy, have no wish for the company of their fellows. Yet they are not averse to comfortable chairs and the latest periodicals. No member is permitted to take the least notice of any other one. Save in the Stranger’s Room, no talking is, under any circumstances, allowed, and three offences, if brought to the notice of the committee, render the talker liable to expulsion.’
There was no danger I would be invited to apply for membership - or accept if the offer were made.
I returned to the Mycroft letter.
‘Cuisine: for centuries the Spice Routes from Asia have been under the complete control of the Sultanate. Carts rumble daily into the Palace, loaded with conserves of almonds, pistachios, ginger, hazelnuts, orange-peel, aloes, coffee, and of course Rahat Lokum forged from the pulp of white grapes or mulberries. The demands of Yildiz are voracious - butter from Moldavia via the Black Sea, great quantities of plums, dates and prunes shipped in from Egypt. Honeys are brought from Rumania and Hungary. The purest comes from the Isle of Crete and is reserved for the Sultan himself. Turkish delicacies make even Dr. Watson’s favourite Sussex Puddle puddings or the roast meats at Simpson’s Grand Divan Tavern seem as bland and commonplace as brown Windsor soup and boiled plaice. For the best Rahat Lokum you should certainly visit Hadji Bekir’s Lumps of Delight factory, a small room near the Galata Bridge head. And of course you must sample the Turkish milk desserts - the muhallebi.
‘May I ask you to do me a favour and go to the Spice Market. Please bring back a few packages of saffron and my favourite Kofte Bahari - a mix of coriander, black pepper, cloves, bay leaves and wild thyme.’
That evening I took a late walk to the day-and-night Post Office on the ground floor of Morley’s Hotel at Charing Cross to post my letter to Pretorius.
We Prepare For Constantinople
Letters were being composed and circulated thick and fast. One in Edward Grey’s spidery writing was sent on to me from Holmes’s bee-farm.
FOREIGN OFFICE
June 6, 1906
‘My dear Mr. Holmes, - at my suggestion Haldane, the Secretary of State for War, has offered to put HMS Dreadnought at your disposal. It suits his convenience. She needs to complete her sea-trials and gunnery. The manufacturers claim her new steam turbines and four propeller shafts give her a speed of 21 knots, 3 knots faster than battleships with traditional piston engines. The turbines as well as her gunnery need testing almost to destruction. Haldane was going to send her to the West Indies but he too has concerns about the Kaiser’s bellicose eye on our shipping lanes to Asia. If you board Dreadnought at Gibraltar she will carry you to the Eastern Mediterranean.
‘I suggest you disguise your identity almost from the minute you leave England. I have therefore arranged for the cost of authentic naval uniforms - working dress and full dress - and other accoutrements (including dress swords) to be covered by His Majesty’s Government. If your tailors pass your measurements to Gieves, Matthews & Seagroves, or if you drop by in person, they will provide everything. They fitted out the last person we sent undercover to Constantinople in a khaki garb, something between that of a Colonel and Brigadier. He posed as an Army doctor intent on studying the use of vegetables in Ottoman medicine but never made it back.
‘No doubt the Gieves people will remind you they dressed Stanley head to toe for his trek to the shores of Lake Tanganyika in search of Livingstone, just as when you collect your train tickets to Gibraltar from Thomas Cook & Son they will inform you they conveyed the relief force sent to Khartoum to rescue General ‘Chinese’ Gordon in 1884. Gieves is a centre of military gossip the equal of the In & Out Club so we have hinted your destination might be the Gold Coast.’
I settled down in my armchair to read the final page.
‘I must repeat that if the plotters manage to steal the Sword of Osman they will make tremendous use of it in the Sultan’s overthrow. Dr. Watson might ask why England should not stand aside and allow the ad hoc empire to be overthrown as a consequence of its own weight of corruption and misgovernment. After all, we have never guaranteed Turkey’s regions and we do not intend to. I reply, if England intervenes we shall be seen to do so from a position of insatiable greed for possessions. On the other hand, if we stand aside and watch the Sultan overthrown and the High Divan collapse England will be isolated and discredited, hated by those we refused to help, despised by others. The fall of the Sultan and his detestable camarilla may liberate forces which none of us can foresee. None of the Great Powers is désintéressé. A European war could break out for which the one certain outcome would be six skeletons sitting around the peace table surrounded by a vast wasteland. For these reasons HMG (except for an energetic minority of the Cabinet) believes it is vital for the time being to preserve the integrity of the Ottoman Empire.
‘Abd-ul-Hamid’s vast empire continues to crumble around him. Centuries of malign neglect of the Ottoman provinces have brought such chaos that if the Empire falls it would take a Cromwell, a Napoleon, or above all an Ivan the Terrible to bring order and discipline. Three million Greeks, the million Armenians and the three-quarters of a million Bulgarians, not forgetting the quarter-million Jews, all want release from Ottoman dominion. However, history dictates that, bad as despotism is, the first-fruits of the overthrow of tyranny are not love and liberty. Perverse consequences and unintended outcomes are the rule.
‘As to the custom of presenting gifts to His Imperial Majesty, a parcel will be delivered to Dr. Watson’s premises before you set off. Some rolls of Offenbach. The Sultan plays such tunes endlessly on his pianola. And separately, at the Sultan’s request, the most modern rifle of British manufacture.’
The letter came to a personal and lyrical end:
‘I hope Dr. Watson as a keen fisherman will one day accept an invitation to my estate at Fallodon. We shall take our wet fly to the rivers of the North, the Lochy, the Cassley, the Helmsdale and the Findhorn. I would look forward to it very much. When I walk in a fine March wind and watch the ripples on a river and wonder if I could put a salmon fly as far as the opposite bank, I look God in the face and am refreshed._Yours sincerely, E. Grey’