The Redacted Sherlock Holmes, Volume 2 Read online

  “So there is nothing of a substantial nature in the conclusion?”

  Mycroft stared at me in palpable disbelief.

  “Are you proposing, Dr Watson, that the conclusion of a government report should have anything of a substantial nature in it?”

  “The conclusion, as you describe it, seems to me to say very little, given the gravity of the matters that the report is supposed to address.”

  “But that is what all government reports say when there is a possibility that criminal charges may be brought against the Executive,” said Mycroft with a very injured expression. “Otherwise, any member of the government would need to fear criminal sanctions for any of its actions rather than mere defeat at the ballot box. That is clearly unacceptable.”

  “But what if criminal sanctions are merited?”

  Mycroft raised a bushy eyebrow and gave me a fierce stare. “Putting former political leaders in the dock of a criminal court is a practice of unstable regimes across Europe and elsewhere. It is not the practice in this country. We have in any case agreed with all the people who have contributed to the report, that in extremis we will turn a blind eye if they feel the need to leave the country to go to some more sympathetic jurisdiction should they feel compromised by the report when it is issued in its final version. All the major actors in this drama are from a sufficiently elevated background to merit such a concession.”

  Sherlock Holmes had listened to this philosophical exchange between his brother and me with an expression of increasing asperity.

  “Mycroft,” he asked testily, “I understand your concerns about getting a final version of the report published, but I do not understand what it is you want me to do. You must wait until the former Prime Minister and everyone else named in the report have provided their submissions to Lord Alcock and then publish, however long that takes and however many people express their dissatisfaction with the delay. Your only alternative is to issue the report in its current format and expect a cacophony of disagreement from among those criticised. The criticisms will undermine the credibility of the report and will probably unleash a wave of demands for a second report to be produced. That will in turn make acting on the report even harder as there will be no agreement on the events.”

  “What you say, Sherlock, is of course correct,” said Mycroft. “Accordingly we are looking to break the current impasse. Next week, there will be a meeting between the main actors in this drama. Lord Alcock himself will of course be there, as will the head of the Intelligence services, Sir Jack Redder. Also present will be the former Prime Minister and I shall represent the British Government. As you will understand, the current Prime Minister is not permitted to attend as he must not be seen to be gaining political advantage from the report. At this meeting I would like you, Sherlock, to act as a facilitator and you, Dr Watson, to make a record of the event. We would like the content of the report to be agreed so that we can proceed to publication.”

  “Would it not be better,” I asked, “if the facilitator of this meeting were somebody demonstrably independent of you?”

  Unusually for one of my questions, this thought appeared not to have occurred to Mycroft, who considered for a minute before making a reply. Finally he turned to face Holmes to answer. “Well, it is not as though we socialise together, Sherlock. Or send each other ... Christmas cards.” Mycroft took no pains to conceal his contempt at the mere notion of doing such a thing. “You are known as one of the great minds of the land. I am sure all parties will agree you have the ability to see the facts objectively and to ensure that a final version of the report is produced that is satisfactory to all parties, whatever your relationship to me.”

  Mycroft Holmes left us shortly afterwards, but not before giving us two copies of a weighty tome which constituted the current draft of the Alcock report minus any conclusion. Holmes and I spent the next week studying it, apart from one brief interlude on the Monday when Robert Munroe paid us a visit. He seemed unconcerned by the lack of attention Holmes had paid to his case so far, but told us that Miss Adler had added vegetarianism to her curious habit of disappearing into a cupboard.

  “My argument that beef and lamb are vegetarian because cows and sheep are herbivores,” he said with an expression on his face which mingled puzzlement and anger, “has not prevailed on her to modify her newly found dietary regimen.”

  The next Thursday dawned to a thick fog and I doubt it was possible to see across Baker Street at any point during the day. At two o’clock, we gathered in one of the committee rooms of a gloomy Palace of Westminster. I had not seen a picture of Charles Sedgefield since he stepped down from office and although he had aged, it was clear that he moved in circles where he saw plenty of the sun. Sir Jack Redder, appropriately for someone who commanded the secret services, was someone I had never seen a picture of before. He reminded me of the way Julius Caesar describes Cassius in Shakespeare’s play - lean with a positively vulpine look of hunger on his face and a wonderfully shrewd-looking pair of greyish-blue eyes. Lord Alcock was by now well into his seventies and bore the wounded expression of one who believes he has completed his own part of a difficult task on which further progress is being held up for reasons beyond his control.

  Sherlock Holmes started to set out the terms of reference for the meeting.

  “My review of Lord Alcock’s report and the various amendments which have been tabled suggests that the gap in the perception of the people in this room on the reasons for the outbreak of war is a significant one. Nevertheless, the fact that everyone here is continuing to propose amendments and making counter-amendments also means that it is a bridge-”

  He was about to go on when Charles Sedgefield broke in.

  “I think we are talking about more than semantics here. I am a straight-talking man and I feel that the report downplays the way the original intelligence was spiced up for the dossier that was presented to the Cabinet. It was at my instigation that “aiding opposition groups in hostile regimes” of the original intelligence became “supporting terrorist organisations in hostile regimes” and that “monitoring foreign embassies in Qarim” became “spying on foreign embassies in Qarim”. I wanted intelligence containing a number of documents of dubious provenance and questionable reliability turned into a convincing narrative of threat. And that is what I got.” Sedgefield’s eyes shone with the earnestness and zeal of a prophet.

  Both Mycroft and Sir Jack Redder looked appalled at this statement from the former Prime Minister and it was a while before either spoke.

  Mycroft eventually said “So Mr Sedgefield, are you saying that you deliberately exaggerated the threat that Qarim posed?”

  “I wanted to make sure that the fear that I felt was properly articulated. This required that it be writ large on every mind, as I felt that there was a real danger to this country’s interests. And there was nothing to stop me from doing as I wished: the security services made no objections as they knew that they would get the credit if the construction I put on the intelligence was right; the Civil Service let me have a free hand because they saw their role as being to do whatever the Executive said; and my backbenchers knew that they would get no preferment if they failed to support me. Having squared the entire apparatus of the British Administration, I knew I had nothing to fear from the scrutiny of the press, as any criticisms they made would have no resonance with the public if the matter had been voted on in Parliament.”

  The jaws of both Redder and Mycroft dropped at these remarks. No one filled the void, so Sedgefield went on.

  “‘It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who d
oes actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.’”

  Sedgefield paused. I thought these were his own words, but he explained: “This is not something I was the first to say, gentlemen, but I would have been proud had I been the first to do so. I believed we were under threat, I wanted to strike at the threat before it could strike at us, and I did so even though the intelligence in our possession needed to be exaggerated to make that threat plausible in the minds of the country.”

  Holmes waited for any of Alcock, Mycroft or Redder to respond, but none of them did. Indeed, I think my friend was surprised to realise that they were all looking at him to make the next statement.

  “So Mr Sedgefield,” Holmes finally said, “you are admitting that you deliberately exaggerated the threat disclosed by the intelligence so that you could get a vote for war through the Houses of Parliament. And you are saying that there was no one in a position to oppose you?”

  “Certainly I wanted the most serious construction placed on the evidence,” said Sedgefield carelessly. “And no one made any attempt to stop me doing so. While I was in power, I made sure that those people who were opposed to military action were in no position to stop it or to gain influence in any other areas.”

  Holmes turned to Alcock, Mycroft and Redder. “Gentlemen, do you want the report and its conclusion to reflect what Mr Sedgefield has just said?”

  The three men looked at each other before Mycroft said: “We will have to reserve our position. I had no idea of the forcefulness with which the former Prime Minister held the opinions he has just expressed. We will have to look at the drafting of the report to see how we can reflect his statements.”

  I noticed Lord Alcock looked particularly downcast as he realised that the publication of his report would be further delayed. With that, the meeting was adjourned for all sides to consider their next steps.

  I walked into a darkening Whitehall to get a cab back to Baker Street. As I got in, I looked round, expecting to see Holmes behind me. Instead, to my astonishment, I saw him spring onto the back of the four-wheeler that had come to collect Mr Sedgefield and which was already driving swiftly off. I initially asked my cab driver to follow the four-wheeler, but it was an unequal pursuit and it was not long before the hopelessness of the chase became apparent to me. I directed my driver to take me back to the flat.

  When I entered our sitting room, I was again astonished. Sitting in Holmes’s normal armchair was Mycroft, still looking discommoded by the discussions we had just held.

  “I was hoping to consult with my brother,” he explained, making no attempt to conceal his disappointment when he saw me come through the door unaccompanied.

  I said I had returned on my own and explained where I had last seen my friend. Mycroft did not seem to think his brother’s behaviour strange and we sat in silence for a while.

  Finally Mycroft stood up and started pacing the room in impatience.

  “From an official point of view it is simply awful!” he finally exploded. “The former Prime Minister lays bare for all to see that there was no restriction on his powers. We are a mature democracy yet the ineffectiveness of those who were supposed to hold him to account meant that he was, in effect, acting as a despot.” Mycroft paused to mop his brow even though it was a distinctly chilly evening and the fire which burnt in the grate mitigated the cold only a little. “Sedgefield could see through the paucity of the intelligence that had been collected - something evidently well beyond Sir Jack Redder’s abilities - and simply twisted what intelligence we had to his own purpose. Meanwhile Lord Alcock’s earlier drafts betray an inability to ask searching questions and make the Civil Service look like a political tool.”

  “So what will happen now?” I asked.

  “I fear that we may have to withhold the report on the grounds that releasing it will endanger national security - that’s the reason we give when we feel wide circulation of a report is not in the public interest. The irony is that if an enemy could see how this report highlights the myopia of the Intelligence Services, the incompetence of the Civil Service and the pusillanimity of Lord Alcock, then that really would constitute a threat to national security. This may be the only report withheld on the grounds of national security where the reason given for withholding it is accurately described.”

  “Do you think you can withhold a report, the imminent publication of which is so keenly anticipated?”

  “One can use national security to justify almost anything,” said Mycroft, with some of his normal mastery returning. He took a pinch of snuff before continuing. “For small matters, one can, of course, undermine the credibility of the person who raised the issue to which one does not want the public’s attention drawn. But for weighty matters, national security is always the best way to justify withholding information, as it forestalls any further questions.”

  “What about the conclusion of the report?” I asked.

  “I suppose we could publish the conclusion of the report without the report itself,” said Mycroft grudgingly, “but I suspect that even Lord Alcock might object to that. Even with the strained relationship that government reports so often have with their conclusion, this disjunction would be hard to justify.”

  “Would that matter, given the report would not be published at all?”

  “It is hard to see what could be offered to Lord Alcock to buy his silence - or rather facilitate his perception of the nature of the security requirements which render non-publication of his report imperative. He has already been given a peerage and he continues to be paid at a princely rate until publication of the report. Thus the vulgar offer of a sinecure as a head of some agreeable non-governmental organisation or of a few non-executive directorships is unlikely to tempt him.”

  Mycroft said he would stay until Holmes returned even though I warned him that there was no way of knowing whether Holmes would return soon, late or at all. Holmes is frequently not an easy person to engage in conversation, but Mycroft’s responses to conversational topics, once we had discussed all he wanted to say about the report, were so curt that I soon gave up any effort.

  The clock had turned eleven and I was contemplating retiring to bed to leave Mycroft to wait for his brother on his own when my friend walked in. I could tell from his expression that his evening had not been wasted.

  “Well!” he said and laughed. As Mycroft was still occupying the chair Holmes normally sat in, my friend sat down in the chair that was generally given to clients. “I take it that Dr Watson has explained to you, Mycroft, my method of following Mr Sedgefield?” On a nod from Mycroft, Holmes continued. “I was not clear where the carriage was going to take me and was uncertain of the wisdom of my chosen method of keeping a track on it, but in the circumstances I could see no other way of doing so. I was grateful for the absence of daylight, the generally unlit streets and the fog, which meant that I was as inconspicuous as a six-foot man can be, perched on the back of a coach. We trundled north through Bloomsbury and across a dark Regent’s Park. It was only when we emerged from the north side of Regent’s Park that I realised we were heading for Serpentine Avenue and its well-known inhabitants at Bryony Lodge in St John’s Wood.”

  I glanced across at Mycroft and saw that he was as engrossed in what Holmes had to say as I was.

  “Sedgefield’s coach slowed to a walking speed just before it entered Serpentine Avenue and I was able to get down from my precarious hiding place. As I landed, and had not yet got onto the pavement, I saw the reason why it had slowed. It was giving way to a coach bearing Robert Munroe which was dashing off in the opposite direction. The coach drove slowly up Serpent
ine Avenue and passed through the gates of the house. Miss Adler herself, her slim and beautiful form almost unchanged from eleven years ago and enhanced by the clinging evening wear in which she was dressed, came to the door. She called to Sedgefield: ‘He has left for America and will be gone for three weeks. You can come in and play the big man here.’”

  Holmes paused again as though expecting some interruption, but his salacious narrative had woven a spell on both Mycroft and me.

  “The former Prime Minister vacillated. ‘I am not sure’ he said, ‘whether that is the right description of me nor whether I should come in at all if Mr Munroe is not here.’ He paused on the doorstep for several minutes with one foot either side of the threshold, but in the end he went in anyway. Shortly afterwards, he leant out of a ground-floor window to give his coachman the instruction to take the coach home. I would have waited all night to see whether there might be any developments, but soon after half past ten, Mr Sedgefield came out on his own and hailed a cab that was passing. There was no way to follow it so I came back here.”

  There was a pause before Mycroft ejaculated: “We must find up what he up is to! Sherlock, put to one side the normal, petty matters of the Police Court. The integrity of the British state is at stake here.”

  Holmes raised an eyebrow. “Are you not supposed to remain impartial about the conduct of the Executive?”

  “To protect the reputation of the British state, Sherlock,” retorted his brother, “there is no requirement for impartiality.”

  Holmes and Mycroft debated for some time on the propriety of spying on the former Prime Minister, but in the end Holmes was persuaded. So Mycroft eventually left us to return to his lodgings in Pall Mall.

  Holmes was gone when I got up the next morning and I did not see him for several days. I was aware he had a number of hideouts around London where he could retreat to change his appearance and I assumed that he was availing himself of one of these.