1x17 The Game is Afoot (3/5)
Title: The Game is Afoot
Author: spikewriter
Rating: PG
Pairing: Rose/Ten II
Summary: In Victorian London, the Doctor and Rose find fact and fiction colliding in unexpected ways -- and with unexpected, dangerous consequences.
Author's notes: Special thanks to shinyopals who said "go for it" when I pitched the idea -- and put up with it not being finished as quickly as either of us would have hoped.
Episode 17 of a virtual series at the_altverse, following Coup by Memory.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Virtual Series Masterlist
The Doctor couldn't help staring as Holmes completed the introductions. He'd seen pictures of Doyle, of course, even run across the man briefly when the writer was late in life regarding an incident with some fairies and photographs. This man was still relatively young, full of vitality - and how had the universe managed to pair fictional detective with his creator? Maybe the Doctor wasn't fully Time Lord, but every instinct in him screamed something was wrong.
Rose looked confused as well, but she covered it with a smile as Doyle paid heed to the social niceties. "Holmes said he’d met some interesting people yesterday," he said as he shook the Doctor's hand, "but he was a bit mysterious about things and said you weren't related to a case."
"They aren't." Holmes finished with his writing and arose from the chair. "The Doctor and I have some shared concerns regarding the strangeness of the weather. Alas, neither of us is any closer to an answer."
That wasn't strictly true; too many scenarios were now running through the Doctor’s head, none of them good. Is this his home or is Doyle trapped here? Is he the only one or are there others? Whatever the answer, the Doctor didn't like to think what that might mean for the other world's time line. "A doctor?" Doyle asked. "Medical or scientific?"
"Scientific," the Doctor said, hoping to keep things as broad as possible. "I've had a basic medical grounding, but my main interests lie elsewhere."
He did not like that look in Doyle's eyes. It was a sure sign of the novelist at work, considering an idea and a character. Perhaps that was how the man was dealing with being in a world different than his own, but the Doctor didn’t relish being turned into a character or have his actions picked over for plot ideas.
Fortunately, Holmes wasn’t a man to linger with idle chit-chat too long, and he quickly took hold of the conversation once more. “You were exhibiting great excitement as you came up the stairs, my dear Doyle. Perhaps you would care to share your news?”
Doyle easily turned away from his inspection of the Doctor to answer. “Lestrade’s on his way here. Seems they have a mystery he took one look at and decided he had no choice but to enlist your aid. No murder that he mentioned, but the disappearance of something rather important.”
For the first time, a genuine smile seemed to cross Holmes’ face. “And after encountering him, you raced to tell me. Excellent. Quickly, before they arrive, give me what details you can.”
Doyle took an armchair and Holmes gestured that the Doctor and Rose should take a seat on the sofa while he paced the room. “It appears that there has been an attempt at robbery at Latham and Sons in Camden,” Doyle said. “Yet, as far as anyone can tell, no money was taken, though some machinery was damaged and Lestrade suspects they are not telling all they know.”
At the mention of the name, Holmes seemed most interested, though he said nothing and continued to pace. “Lestrade said he’d share the details when he arrived, but wanted to make certain you were in because the matter is one of much importance to his superiors.”
"Which I'm certain will put the good inspector in a foul mood as you know he loathes being told whom he must consult with. Was his color high?"
"Looked fair nigh upon apoplexy," Doyle said, a hint of a Scottish burr infusing the words with amusement. "He'd apparently just managed to begin his investigations when word came down he was to stop and send for you."
Holmes arched an eyebrow, then turned to the Doctor. "By strange coincidence, Latham and Sons is the very establishment to which I planned to direct you. If you are willing to wait, you may accompany myself and Dr. Doyle and perhaps we can arrange for the materials require. While we are gone, Mrs. Hudson can provide refreshment for Mrs. Tyler and she is welcome to browse among my books."
"I'm not staying behind," Rose said. "Miss a chance to watch Sherlock Holmes investigate? Not on your life."
Holmes considered Rose for a minute. "I will not brook hysteria or any other female foolishness. I know you assist your husband, but this is a serious - and always potentially dangerous - business. If you accompany us, I will expect no chattering and you must agree to obey my instructions to the letter."
The Doctor couldn't help snorting. "Good luck with that," he muttered, which drew an amused chuckle from Doyle. Holmes, on his part, did not spare a glance, his eyes fixed firmly on Rose.
Clearly, she wanted to tell Holmes exactly what she thought of his dictums, just as she often told the Doctor what she thought of his, but Rose set her jaw and returned Holmes' gaze calmly. "I think I can handle that."
Holmes considered her for a moment longer, then nodded his assent. "I believe you are married to a most remarkable woman, Doctor."
"I know I am," the Doctor replied, reaching out to briefly squeeze Rose's hand.
The gesture coaxed a ghost a smile from Holmes, while Doyle seemed rather amazed. "You must be," he said. "Holmes is usually rather strict about not bringing folks he considers superfluous along - especially women."
"Come, Doyle. I have known a few women in my time who have risen above the failings of their sex."
"Oh, yes. The Woman. How could we ever forget her?"
Holmes looked slightly annoyed, but said nothing as the sound of knocking was heard below. Instead, he arranged himself in another of the room’s chair in a studied casual air, picking up a book and flipping it open at random. Doyle headed toward the desk and settled himself there, sorting through papers as if he’d been there for some time and not arrived only a few minutes before. Clearly this was a regular routine and the Doctor couldn’t help wondering how he and Rose were supposed to fit in. Then steps were heard on the stairs and Holmes began to speak, loud enough that his voice was certain to carry to those coming up. “Being able to distinguish between the one hundred and forty forms of ash from cigars, cigarettes, and pipe-tobacco is sometimes of supreme importance as a clue, Doctor. If you can say definitely, for example, that some murder has been done by a man who was smoking an Indian lunkah, it obviously narrows your field of research. To the trained eye there is as much difference between the black ash of a Trichinopoly and the white fluff of bird’s-eye as there is between a cabbage and a potato.”
Mrs. Hudson entered the room as he finished speaking, followed by a stocky, slightly florid-faced man who looked as if he’d rather be anywhere but where he was. “Inspector Lestrade,” Mrs. Hudson announced and withdrew, as if there was no doubt the gentleman would be seen.
Holmes snapped the book shut and put it down. “Ah, Inspector. How may I be of assistance today?”
Lestrade glanced at the Doctor and Rose, but quickly turned his attention back to Holmes. “I need your help. There’s a problem at Latham and Sons, a break-in that has everyone in an uproar. My men are making certain nothing’s been touched, but I’d just started to investigate when I received word that I was to ask your help. Seems there are some...delicate matters involved and they want your discretion.”
“Is there a clear sign of how the thieves entered?” Holmes asked.
“A lock on the door was broken, but I barely had a chance -”
“Anything disturbed?”
“A good deal of papers were thrown about the main office, but I’ve got a man standing guard at the door so no one can go in until you arrive. I’ve got a cab downstair.”
“Order a second as we shall be five and I do not think one will accommodate us comfortably, especially with a lady accompanying us.” Holmes sprang to his feet. “Doctor and Mrs. Tyler. Associates of mine, just arrived in London. The Doctor will be assisting me. Along with Dr. Doyle, of course,” he added at the surprised looks on both Doyle and Lestrade’s faces. “Dr. Tyler has some expertise that might be of use in the matter.”
“I thought you knew everything,” Lestrade said, just a hint of acid in his voice.
“It is a wise man who always keeps learning and knows when he needs to consult with someone who’s knowledge might enhance his own. Words to remember, inspector. We shall be down directly.”
Lestrade opened his mouth as if to say something, then stomped from the room. “I hope you do not mind the inclusion of our guests,” Holmes said to Doyle. "I do, however, believe that the Doctor might add some insight into the situation, and as he has business at the establishment, why not invite him along." He paused. "Besides, it annoys Lestrade."
"And that is an excellent reason to invite them." Doyle shook his head. "Welcome to the madness, Tyler, madam. Prepare to be amazed."
The Doctor didn't correct Doyle's form of address as Holmes produced a skirt from a drawer and offered it to Rose. “I fear even Lestrade might notice your trousers if you’re too long in his presence. This has served me well when I needed to disguise my appearance.”
Holmes indicated Rose should step into the small room just off the main sitting room and closed the sliding doors that divided the two behind her. That probably didn’t thrill her either, but the Doctor doubted she wanted to encourage unwanted scrutiny any more than he did. By the time Holmes had shrugged into his coat, wrapped a muffler about his neck and fetched his hat, she emerged with a very respectable expanse of dark cloth visible beneath the edge of her coat.
Holmes nodded his approval, though whether at her appearance her the speed with which she changed was unknown, and the four of them headed downstairs. Holmes chose to ride with Lestrade, which left the Doctor and and Rose to ride with Doyle. As the cab lurched through the streets to their destination and Doyle chatted with Rose - who seemed to be getting more out of him than she was giving - the Doctor studied the man, looking for clues.
There wasn’t much to study at the moment; Doyle seemed very comfortable in his surroundings, no sign that he might be originally from a different London. There was the tiniest possibility that Doyle was from this universe, but there was still the pricklings at the back of his neck - and did he just mention Dr. Joseph Bell? If Doyle was of this universe, why would he mention his old professor from the University of Edinburgh who’d been the inspiration for the fictional Holmes. No, something was definitely wrong here.
Latham and Sons was fronted with a solid red brick building tinged with soot, numerous smokestacks visible over the top of the roof. Still looking quite grumpy, Lestrade led the way through the small crowd that had gathered outside, their curiosity obviously aroused by the police presence at the door. In contrast, Holmes looked as if he were going for a stroll, black silk top hat at ever so slight an angle and his walking stick up and resting against his shoulder, there for show, not use.
Inside, the place was in a muted uproar. Men dressed in working clothes huddled in small groups, whispering to one another and eying the new arrivals. Lestrade paid them no heed, heading directly for what looked to be the scene of the crime, judging by the uniformed figure standing guard by the door.
The office was a scene of complete chaos, enough so that Holmes turned to look accusingly at Lestrade. “This is just as we found it,” the inspector said. “Whoever was here was in search of something.”
“Yes, that should be obvious to anyone who has eyes,” Holmes said. “The question is, what was the thief looking for.”
“This is where it gets good,” Doyle said in a low voice to the Doctor and Rose. “Lestrade will probably say money and Holmes will delight in providing him wrong.”
“Money most likely,” Lestrade said, as if on cue. “Could have been looking for a lockbox with whatever notes might be on hand.”
“Hardly.” There was an audible sniff in Holmes’ voice. “Many places around here would offer easier results with far less effort. No, our thief was looking for something else. Doctor,” he turned back to where the Doctor stood with Rose and Doyle, “I would welcome your opinion.”
The words evoked surprise on the part of both Doyle and Lestrade, but the Doctor knew this was very much a test. Holmes wanted to see how much the Doctor knew and how good his skills were. And if his skills were up to snuff by the lights of the great detective, the Doctor had a feeling he might well have help getting the parts he needed. For effect, he stepped forward, hands carefully clasped behind his back, taking stock of the scene before speaking. “As Inspector Lestrade has noted, the thief was searching for something. Given the thoroughness with which the office has been searched, it was something specific that the thief expected to find here. Most definitely not money; for one thing, there’s a tin box spilled under the desk by the window that contains not just coins, but bank notes.”
Lestrade frowned and Doyle smiled, but Holmes showed no emotion, his gaze steady as the Doctor expanded his circle. “It’s something one would expect to find in an office, because these papers haven’t just been tossed; they’ve been gone through. Not all of them - the thief had some idea what he was looking for, so he could discard bills and the like without wasting his time. When he didn’t find it quickly, he began searching for things that might be hidden. The desk by the window also has a secret compartment which has been pried open.” He caught Rose’s eye and couldn’t resist. “Elementary, my dear Holmes. Whatever he’s looking for is something considered valuable by more than just him - and something someone within this office might want hidden.”
He paused and turned toward Holmes to ask, “How am I doing?”
Holmes bowed his head slightly. “Your thoughts on what he might have been searching for?”
That was a more difficult question to answer, relying more on supposition than mere cataloging of facts. “Latham and Sons are iron mongers. More specifically, they are quality iron mongers, able to turn out products that will please exacting standards. Most likely, the thief was looking for plans or specifications. Not just any, though, because while plans for common items might be stored in a cupboard or drawer as part of normal office routine, prying open the hiding places - no, the simple act of seeking out the hiding places - indicate this is not something the owners would care to have easily found.”
He stopped, another piece clicking into place. “The safe hasn’t been touched. After all the trouble they went to, why would they not at least attempt to see if they could force the safe in some manner? Have you spoken to the owners yet?”
Lestrade looked none too happy. “Mr. Latham is away on a wedding trip. He just remarried. His eldest son hasn’t shown up, though I have sent a man to fetch him, while his youngest is apparently recovering from a bit of a falling out over the wedding and is away on a trip himself.”
The Doctor considered. It really was too easy, if one only knew how to assemble all the clues into a larger pictures - which truly was the advantage Holmes had over the others. “I believe whoever was here had an interest in plans or schematics of some item that might well be of some importance to the government. Hence the thoroughness in the search.”
Holmes leaned forward slightly, his eyes glittering. “Then why was the safe not touched? Would that not be where it was most likely they would find such plans?”
“Most likely disturbed in the process,” Doyle said. “Heard something outside or had some reason to believe someone was coming.”
The Doctor shook his head. “No. There’s no sign of a hurried exit. Whoever did this knew exactly what he was doing, what he was looking for - and knew it wasn’t in the safe.”
“So he had an accomplice?” Rose said. “Someone who’d know what was in here. It’d have to be a clerk or one of the managers - someone who had access to the safe during the day, when things would be moved in and out.”
Lestrade snorted. “If there’s inside help, most likely one of the foundry workers. Some of them are foreign Johnnies and you can’t trust them. One of the Italians, maybe; part of this ‘mafia’ I’ve heard talk about.”
“Mrs. Tyler is quite correct,” Holmes said. “Whoever did this had some working knowledge of the office and its papers. But if they did have a confederate, why would they feel the need to do such a thorough search of all the desks?”
“If it was a clerk or a junior manager,” Rose said, “they’d know it wasn’t in the safe, but they might not know exactly where it was. Except...” She frowned. “If it was that important, it’s more likely it’d be locked up in the boss’ office, not out here. A place like this, they’ve got to have more than one safe.”
Holmes, Doyle and Lestrade looked at Rose in amazement for a moment, then Holmes threw back his head and laughed. “A most remarkable woman, indeed. I’m so glad you insisted she come along, Doctor. Inspector, who is the manager here? I believe we need to speak with them.”
The manager was duly fetched, a stocky man approaching middle age, and he answered Holmes’ question without hesitation. “Well, any truly important plans would be kept in Mr. Latham’s office, and that’s kept locked when he’s not here. We haven’t looked to see if they got in there this morning; we saw the state of this room and sent for the police, then sent a boy round to Mr. Jonathan - that’s Mr. Latham’s oldest - to tell him that he needed to come in as quick as he could.”
“And you touched nothing?” Holmes asked.
“No, sir. I knew the police would be in and I wanted Mr. Latham’s direction.” He hesitated.
“Which is to get the men back to work,” a somewhat annoyed voice said from the doorway. “Why are they standing around, Simmons? Whatever happened was in here, not on the floor.”
The man strode forward, a tube carefully tucked under his arm. “I’m Jonathan Latham. I presume you are the police?” He considered Rose with a lifted eyebrow. “Though perhaps not all of you.”
Introductions were made and the name Holmes seemed to settle all suspicions. “When I sent word to your brother, Mr. Holmes,” Latham said. “I presumed he would have you summoned. He has no fear of the Partington plans, though. They are safely in my keeping.”
He tapped the tube under his arm. “Now, perhaps we should retire to my office, while Simmons sets the men to work. I’d like to speed the investigation along so we can begin cleaning the office as quickly as possible.”
Without waiting for an answer, Latham lead the way out of the large room and down a short hallway where another door stood. “I prefer the quiet here,” he explained. “Allows me a chance to think. My father still maintains the chief office, even if he’s not there most of the time.”
The Doctor didn’t miss the hint of an annoyed expression on Latham’s face, speaking of some unhappiness with his father, though it was quickly covered as he unlocked the door. “We can speak in here without being disturbed.”
No sooner had the door swung open, though, than it was obvious they were going to be disturbed quite a bit. The dead body lying on the floor would see to that.
Author: spikewriter
Rating: PG
Pairing: Rose/Ten II
Summary: In Victorian London, the Doctor and Rose find fact and fiction colliding in unexpected ways -- and with unexpected, dangerous consequences.
Author's notes: Special thanks to shinyopals who said "go for it" when I pitched the idea -- and put up with it not being finished as quickly as either of us would have hoped.
Episode 17 of a virtual series at the_altverse, following Coup by Memory.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Virtual Series Masterlist
The Doctor couldn't help staring as Holmes completed the introductions. He'd seen pictures of Doyle, of course, even run across the man briefly when the writer was late in life regarding an incident with some fairies and photographs. This man was still relatively young, full of vitality - and how had the universe managed to pair fictional detective with his creator? Maybe the Doctor wasn't fully Time Lord, but every instinct in him screamed something was wrong.
Rose looked confused as well, but she covered it with a smile as Doyle paid heed to the social niceties. "Holmes said he’d met some interesting people yesterday," he said as he shook the Doctor's hand, "but he was a bit mysterious about things and said you weren't related to a case."
"They aren't." Holmes finished with his writing and arose from the chair. "The Doctor and I have some shared concerns regarding the strangeness of the weather. Alas, neither of us is any closer to an answer."
That wasn't strictly true; too many scenarios were now running through the Doctor’s head, none of them good. Is this his home or is Doyle trapped here? Is he the only one or are there others? Whatever the answer, the Doctor didn't like to think what that might mean for the other world's time line. "A doctor?" Doyle asked. "Medical or scientific?"
"Scientific," the Doctor said, hoping to keep things as broad as possible. "I've had a basic medical grounding, but my main interests lie elsewhere."
He did not like that look in Doyle's eyes. It was a sure sign of the novelist at work, considering an idea and a character. Perhaps that was how the man was dealing with being in a world different than his own, but the Doctor didn’t relish being turned into a character or have his actions picked over for plot ideas.
Fortunately, Holmes wasn’t a man to linger with idle chit-chat too long, and he quickly took hold of the conversation once more. “You were exhibiting great excitement as you came up the stairs, my dear Doyle. Perhaps you would care to share your news?”
Doyle easily turned away from his inspection of the Doctor to answer. “Lestrade’s on his way here. Seems they have a mystery he took one look at and decided he had no choice but to enlist your aid. No murder that he mentioned, but the disappearance of something rather important.”
For the first time, a genuine smile seemed to cross Holmes’ face. “And after encountering him, you raced to tell me. Excellent. Quickly, before they arrive, give me what details you can.”
Doyle took an armchair and Holmes gestured that the Doctor and Rose should take a seat on the sofa while he paced the room. “It appears that there has been an attempt at robbery at Latham and Sons in Camden,” Doyle said. “Yet, as far as anyone can tell, no money was taken, though some machinery was damaged and Lestrade suspects they are not telling all they know.”
At the mention of the name, Holmes seemed most interested, though he said nothing and continued to pace. “Lestrade said he’d share the details when he arrived, but wanted to make certain you were in because the matter is one of much importance to his superiors.”
"Which I'm certain will put the good inspector in a foul mood as you know he loathes being told whom he must consult with. Was his color high?"
"Looked fair nigh upon apoplexy," Doyle said, a hint of a Scottish burr infusing the words with amusement. "He'd apparently just managed to begin his investigations when word came down he was to stop and send for you."
Holmes arched an eyebrow, then turned to the Doctor. "By strange coincidence, Latham and Sons is the very establishment to which I planned to direct you. If you are willing to wait, you may accompany myself and Dr. Doyle and perhaps we can arrange for the materials require. While we are gone, Mrs. Hudson can provide refreshment for Mrs. Tyler and she is welcome to browse among my books."
"I'm not staying behind," Rose said. "Miss a chance to watch Sherlock Holmes investigate? Not on your life."
Holmes considered Rose for a minute. "I will not brook hysteria or any other female foolishness. I know you assist your husband, but this is a serious - and always potentially dangerous - business. If you accompany us, I will expect no chattering and you must agree to obey my instructions to the letter."
The Doctor couldn't help snorting. "Good luck with that," he muttered, which drew an amused chuckle from Doyle. Holmes, on his part, did not spare a glance, his eyes fixed firmly on Rose.
Clearly, she wanted to tell Holmes exactly what she thought of his dictums, just as she often told the Doctor what she thought of his, but Rose set her jaw and returned Holmes' gaze calmly. "I think I can handle that."
Holmes considered her for a moment longer, then nodded his assent. "I believe you are married to a most remarkable woman, Doctor."
"I know I am," the Doctor replied, reaching out to briefly squeeze Rose's hand.
The gesture coaxed a ghost a smile from Holmes, while Doyle seemed rather amazed. "You must be," he said. "Holmes is usually rather strict about not bringing folks he considers superfluous along - especially women."
"Come, Doyle. I have known a few women in my time who have risen above the failings of their sex."
"Oh, yes. The Woman. How could we ever forget her?"
Holmes looked slightly annoyed, but said nothing as the sound of knocking was heard below. Instead, he arranged himself in another of the room’s chair in a studied casual air, picking up a book and flipping it open at random. Doyle headed toward the desk and settled himself there, sorting through papers as if he’d been there for some time and not arrived only a few minutes before. Clearly this was a regular routine and the Doctor couldn’t help wondering how he and Rose were supposed to fit in. Then steps were heard on the stairs and Holmes began to speak, loud enough that his voice was certain to carry to those coming up. “Being able to distinguish between the one hundred and forty forms of ash from cigars, cigarettes, and pipe-tobacco is sometimes of supreme importance as a clue, Doctor. If you can say definitely, for example, that some murder has been done by a man who was smoking an Indian lunkah, it obviously narrows your field of research. To the trained eye there is as much difference between the black ash of a Trichinopoly and the white fluff of bird’s-eye as there is between a cabbage and a potato.”
Mrs. Hudson entered the room as he finished speaking, followed by a stocky, slightly florid-faced man who looked as if he’d rather be anywhere but where he was. “Inspector Lestrade,” Mrs. Hudson announced and withdrew, as if there was no doubt the gentleman would be seen.
Holmes snapped the book shut and put it down. “Ah, Inspector. How may I be of assistance today?”
Lestrade glanced at the Doctor and Rose, but quickly turned his attention back to Holmes. “I need your help. There’s a problem at Latham and Sons, a break-in that has everyone in an uproar. My men are making certain nothing’s been touched, but I’d just started to investigate when I received word that I was to ask your help. Seems there are some...delicate matters involved and they want your discretion.”
“Is there a clear sign of how the thieves entered?” Holmes asked.
“A lock on the door was broken, but I barely had a chance -”
“Anything disturbed?”
“A good deal of papers were thrown about the main office, but I’ve got a man standing guard at the door so no one can go in until you arrive. I’ve got a cab downstair.”
“Order a second as we shall be five and I do not think one will accommodate us comfortably, especially with a lady accompanying us.” Holmes sprang to his feet. “Doctor and Mrs. Tyler. Associates of mine, just arrived in London. The Doctor will be assisting me. Along with Dr. Doyle, of course,” he added at the surprised looks on both Doyle and Lestrade’s faces. “Dr. Tyler has some expertise that might be of use in the matter.”
“I thought you knew everything,” Lestrade said, just a hint of acid in his voice.
“It is a wise man who always keeps learning and knows when he needs to consult with someone who’s knowledge might enhance his own. Words to remember, inspector. We shall be down directly.”
Lestrade opened his mouth as if to say something, then stomped from the room. “I hope you do not mind the inclusion of our guests,” Holmes said to Doyle. "I do, however, believe that the Doctor might add some insight into the situation, and as he has business at the establishment, why not invite him along." He paused. "Besides, it annoys Lestrade."
"And that is an excellent reason to invite them." Doyle shook his head. "Welcome to the madness, Tyler, madam. Prepare to be amazed."
The Doctor didn't correct Doyle's form of address as Holmes produced a skirt from a drawer and offered it to Rose. “I fear even Lestrade might notice your trousers if you’re too long in his presence. This has served me well when I needed to disguise my appearance.”
Holmes indicated Rose should step into the small room just off the main sitting room and closed the sliding doors that divided the two behind her. That probably didn’t thrill her either, but the Doctor doubted she wanted to encourage unwanted scrutiny any more than he did. By the time Holmes had shrugged into his coat, wrapped a muffler about his neck and fetched his hat, she emerged with a very respectable expanse of dark cloth visible beneath the edge of her coat.
Holmes nodded his approval, though whether at her appearance her the speed with which she changed was unknown, and the four of them headed downstairs. Holmes chose to ride with Lestrade, which left the Doctor and and Rose to ride with Doyle. As the cab lurched through the streets to their destination and Doyle chatted with Rose - who seemed to be getting more out of him than she was giving - the Doctor studied the man, looking for clues.
There wasn’t much to study at the moment; Doyle seemed very comfortable in his surroundings, no sign that he might be originally from a different London. There was the tiniest possibility that Doyle was from this universe, but there was still the pricklings at the back of his neck - and did he just mention Dr. Joseph Bell? If Doyle was of this universe, why would he mention his old professor from the University of Edinburgh who’d been the inspiration for the fictional Holmes. No, something was definitely wrong here.
Latham and Sons was fronted with a solid red brick building tinged with soot, numerous smokestacks visible over the top of the roof. Still looking quite grumpy, Lestrade led the way through the small crowd that had gathered outside, their curiosity obviously aroused by the police presence at the door. In contrast, Holmes looked as if he were going for a stroll, black silk top hat at ever so slight an angle and his walking stick up and resting against his shoulder, there for show, not use.
Inside, the place was in a muted uproar. Men dressed in working clothes huddled in small groups, whispering to one another and eying the new arrivals. Lestrade paid them no heed, heading directly for what looked to be the scene of the crime, judging by the uniformed figure standing guard by the door.
The office was a scene of complete chaos, enough so that Holmes turned to look accusingly at Lestrade. “This is just as we found it,” the inspector said. “Whoever was here was in search of something.”
“Yes, that should be obvious to anyone who has eyes,” Holmes said. “The question is, what was the thief looking for.”
“This is where it gets good,” Doyle said in a low voice to the Doctor and Rose. “Lestrade will probably say money and Holmes will delight in providing him wrong.”
“Money most likely,” Lestrade said, as if on cue. “Could have been looking for a lockbox with whatever notes might be on hand.”
“Hardly.” There was an audible sniff in Holmes’ voice. “Many places around here would offer easier results with far less effort. No, our thief was looking for something else. Doctor,” he turned back to where the Doctor stood with Rose and Doyle, “I would welcome your opinion.”
The words evoked surprise on the part of both Doyle and Lestrade, but the Doctor knew this was very much a test. Holmes wanted to see how much the Doctor knew and how good his skills were. And if his skills were up to snuff by the lights of the great detective, the Doctor had a feeling he might well have help getting the parts he needed. For effect, he stepped forward, hands carefully clasped behind his back, taking stock of the scene before speaking. “As Inspector Lestrade has noted, the thief was searching for something. Given the thoroughness with which the office has been searched, it was something specific that the thief expected to find here. Most definitely not money; for one thing, there’s a tin box spilled under the desk by the window that contains not just coins, but bank notes.”
Lestrade frowned and Doyle smiled, but Holmes showed no emotion, his gaze steady as the Doctor expanded his circle. “It’s something one would expect to find in an office, because these papers haven’t just been tossed; they’ve been gone through. Not all of them - the thief had some idea what he was looking for, so he could discard bills and the like without wasting his time. When he didn’t find it quickly, he began searching for things that might be hidden. The desk by the window also has a secret compartment which has been pried open.” He caught Rose’s eye and couldn’t resist. “Elementary, my dear Holmes. Whatever he’s looking for is something considered valuable by more than just him - and something someone within this office might want hidden.”
He paused and turned toward Holmes to ask, “How am I doing?”
Holmes bowed his head slightly. “Your thoughts on what he might have been searching for?”
That was a more difficult question to answer, relying more on supposition than mere cataloging of facts. “Latham and Sons are iron mongers. More specifically, they are quality iron mongers, able to turn out products that will please exacting standards. Most likely, the thief was looking for plans or specifications. Not just any, though, because while plans for common items might be stored in a cupboard or drawer as part of normal office routine, prying open the hiding places - no, the simple act of seeking out the hiding places - indicate this is not something the owners would care to have easily found.”
He stopped, another piece clicking into place. “The safe hasn’t been touched. After all the trouble they went to, why would they not at least attempt to see if they could force the safe in some manner? Have you spoken to the owners yet?”
Lestrade looked none too happy. “Mr. Latham is away on a wedding trip. He just remarried. His eldest son hasn’t shown up, though I have sent a man to fetch him, while his youngest is apparently recovering from a bit of a falling out over the wedding and is away on a trip himself.”
The Doctor considered. It really was too easy, if one only knew how to assemble all the clues into a larger pictures - which truly was the advantage Holmes had over the others. “I believe whoever was here had an interest in plans or schematics of some item that might well be of some importance to the government. Hence the thoroughness in the search.”
Holmes leaned forward slightly, his eyes glittering. “Then why was the safe not touched? Would that not be where it was most likely they would find such plans?”
“Most likely disturbed in the process,” Doyle said. “Heard something outside or had some reason to believe someone was coming.”
The Doctor shook his head. “No. There’s no sign of a hurried exit. Whoever did this knew exactly what he was doing, what he was looking for - and knew it wasn’t in the safe.”
“So he had an accomplice?” Rose said. “Someone who’d know what was in here. It’d have to be a clerk or one of the managers - someone who had access to the safe during the day, when things would be moved in and out.”
Lestrade snorted. “If there’s inside help, most likely one of the foundry workers. Some of them are foreign Johnnies and you can’t trust them. One of the Italians, maybe; part of this ‘mafia’ I’ve heard talk about.”
“Mrs. Tyler is quite correct,” Holmes said. “Whoever did this had some working knowledge of the office and its papers. But if they did have a confederate, why would they feel the need to do such a thorough search of all the desks?”
“If it was a clerk or a junior manager,” Rose said, “they’d know it wasn’t in the safe, but they might not know exactly where it was. Except...” She frowned. “If it was that important, it’s more likely it’d be locked up in the boss’ office, not out here. A place like this, they’ve got to have more than one safe.”
Holmes, Doyle and Lestrade looked at Rose in amazement for a moment, then Holmes threw back his head and laughed. “A most remarkable woman, indeed. I’m so glad you insisted she come along, Doctor. Inspector, who is the manager here? I believe we need to speak with them.”
The manager was duly fetched, a stocky man approaching middle age, and he answered Holmes’ question without hesitation. “Well, any truly important plans would be kept in Mr. Latham’s office, and that’s kept locked when he’s not here. We haven’t looked to see if they got in there this morning; we saw the state of this room and sent for the police, then sent a boy round to Mr. Jonathan - that’s Mr. Latham’s oldest - to tell him that he needed to come in as quick as he could.”
“And you touched nothing?” Holmes asked.
“No, sir. I knew the police would be in and I wanted Mr. Latham’s direction.” He hesitated.
“Which is to get the men back to work,” a somewhat annoyed voice said from the doorway. “Why are they standing around, Simmons? Whatever happened was in here, not on the floor.”
The man strode forward, a tube carefully tucked under his arm. “I’m Jonathan Latham. I presume you are the police?” He considered Rose with a lifted eyebrow. “Though perhaps not all of you.”
Introductions were made and the name Holmes seemed to settle all suspicions. “When I sent word to your brother, Mr. Holmes,” Latham said. “I presumed he would have you summoned. He has no fear of the Partington plans, though. They are safely in my keeping.”
He tapped the tube under his arm. “Now, perhaps we should retire to my office, while Simmons sets the men to work. I’d like to speed the investigation along so we can begin cleaning the office as quickly as possible.”
Without waiting for an answer, Latham lead the way out of the large room and down a short hallway where another door stood. “I prefer the quiet here,” he explained. “Allows me a chance to think. My father still maintains the chief office, even if he’s not there most of the time.”
The Doctor didn’t miss the hint of an annoyed expression on Latham’s face, speaking of some unhappiness with his father, though it was quickly covered as he unlocked the door. “We can speak in here without being disturbed.”
No sooner had the door swung open, though, than it was obvious they were going to be disturbed quite a bit. The dead body lying on the floor would see to that.