Denis Smith - The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

After a glance round the garden, Sherlock Holmes returned to the study, and began a systematic examination of the room. Carefully, he lifted up every picture on the wall and peered behind it.

‘Are you looking for something in particular?’ queried Potter, a note of puzzlement in his voice.

‘A concealed safe or cupboard,’ returned Holmes as he continued his examination. ‘The pictures were askew after Mr Pleasant’s stay here, and it is possible that he had been looking for something behind them. It is a not uncommon ruse to conceal a small safe behind a picture. Another favourite hiding-place,’ he continued, moving to the bookshelves to the left of the French windows, ‘is behind a row of books. Your visitor may have thought that a possibility, too, for your wife remarked on the fact that he had taken a number of books from the shelves and had stacked them in a pile on the floor.’

Methodically, Holmes removed groups of four or five books, and felt carefully in the recess behind them, until he had examined the whole bookcase in this way. ‘There is no sign of anything there,’ said he, as he put the last of them back. ‘Of course, if there is such a hiding-place, it could be anywhere in the house, but the study seems the likeliest spot. Let us now try the floor!’

A couple of small Indian rugs were laid across the dark, varnished wooden floor, and these Holmes rolled up and placed to one side. Then, down on his hands and knees, he felt carefully with his finger-tips all over the floor. ‘This may be something,’ said he at length, pausing near the corner of the hearth. ‘Ah! There we are!’ he cried in triumph, lifting a small, square section of wooden flooring, which was hinged at one end.

Potter and I bent forward to see. In the recess below the floor, a few inches down, was a small metal door, about a foot square. From the centre of this door protruded a large horizontal handle, and around the handle were three concentric enamelled rings, each of which was marked with the letters of the alphabet.

‘I had no notion that such a safe existed,’ said Potter in surprise. ‘I was not aware that my uncle possessed anything of sufficient value to warrant such a thing.’

‘Mr Pleasant, I suspect, was aware of it,’ said Holmes, ‘and perhaps other people, too. I very much fancy, Mr Potter, that this little safe is the source of your recent troubles! Now, let me see! The handle will not move, so the safe is locked, as one would expect. Now, the lock, as you will observe, is an unusual one. There is no keyhole, so it is apparent that the locking and unlocking of the safe door is achieved by positioning these rings in a certain way. It is not a new idea – such locks were in use in the sixteenth century, and possibly earlier – but there have been great improvements in the design in recent years. One advantage of this type of lock is that there is no key to be lost or stolen, but a disadvantage is that one must ensure that the combination of letters required to operate it is not forgotten. The chief flaw of the design, however, is that if there is any play, any freedom of movement between the rings, then it is sometimes possible, by the application of gentle pressure, to feel when each of them is in the correct position, and thus to open the safe without ever having been made privy to its secret combination.

‘Let us have a look at it,’ he continued, lying full-length upon the floor, with his face close to the recess which held the safe. Slowly and gently, he began to turn the lettered dials. He was still so engaged, his face a mask of concentration, when Mrs Potter brought in a tray piled high with tea things.

‘Goodness!’ cried she, as she saw the hole in the floor, and Holmes lying full-length next to it. ‘Whatever is this!’

‘Mr Holmes has found a safe which belonged to Uncle Henry,’ replied Potter, a note of excitement in his voice.

‘Indeed I have,’ said Holmes, looking up with a wry expression upon his face. ‘I have found a safe, but I am unable to open it. It is evidently a very superior model, with closely machined locking parts, for there is no play whatever between the rings. Your arrival with tea is most opportune, madam, for a cup and a pipe, and five minutes’ quiet reflection is what is now required!’

For some time we sat sipping tea and smoking our pipes in silence, then Holmes rose from his chair with a sigh.

‘Well, well,’ said he. ‘We may as well try some of the more obvious combinations. I can see no other strategy at present. Your uncle’s full name, Mr Potter?’

‘Henry Alfred Ullathorne.’

‘Initials H.A.U., then. Let us try those letters and see if they produce any result!’

For a moment he twisted the dials on the safe door, then attempted to turn the handle, but it remained as immovable as before.

‘Now the same letters in the reverse order,’ said he, twisting the dials once more. ‘No! That is no better!’ he announced as he tried the handle again. ‘Your mother’s maiden name, Mr Potter?’

‘Frances Mabel Ullathorne.’

‘F.M.U., then. No! That is not it, either! Married initials F.M.P.: No! No good!’

Thus we worked our way through two dozen or more combinations without success. The initials of almost everyone Potter or his wife could think of were tried, together with such miscellaneous items as R.M.R., for the Royal Medway Regiment, and P.I.P., which was the name of a cat once owned by Major Ullathorne, but all suggestions were equally in vain.

‘It is possible that there is a note of the combination somewhere among your late uncle’s papers,’ remarked Holmes at length, ‘although I rather doubt it. As it is only a matter of three letters, he would be unlikely to forget it, and thus would probably have felt no need to write it down anywhere.’

‘I wonder if Major Loxley would know?’ said Mrs Potter. ‘He and your uncle were old friends, Sidney. He may have some idea of the letters your uncle would choose.’

‘What an excellent suggestion!’ returned Potter. ‘I shall fetch him at once. I shall not be a minute,’ he added as he stepped out of the French window and crossed the lawn to the hedge near the back of the garden.

In a moment he had returned, accompanied by a bluff-looking, elderly gentleman, with snow-white hair and moustache. We shook hands, then he bent his mind to the task.

‘I do recall Ullathorne mentioning something about a safe, a year or so ago,’ said he, ‘but I did not know where it was. I’m afraid I have no idea what the combination might be.’

‘We are open to any suggestions,’ said Holmes in a dry tone.

‘Let me see now,’ said the major. ‘My own initials are P.Q.L. I don’t imagine he’d have used those, but it is possible, I suppose.’

Holmes turned the dials and tried the major’s initials both backwards and forwards, but with no result. A few further suggestions were tried, but the handle of the safe remained resolutely immovable.

‘Could the lock not be drilled out in some way?’ queried Potter, scratching his head.

‘It may well come to that,’ returned Holmes, ‘but it will not be easy. These modern safes are specifically designed to resist drilling. You had best apply to the manufacturers for advice. They may have some suggestion to make.’

‘That sounds the best idea,’ Major Loxley concurred. ‘Might they not have a record of this safe’s combination?’

Holmes shook his head. ‘That is unlikely,’ said he. ‘Most safes of this type have adjustable cogs on the inside of the door, so that the owner can set the combination to whatever he pleases, before closing the door. I have little doubt that, whatever the combination is, it was known only to Major Ullathorne.’

‘It is quite a problem, then,’ said Loxley with a sigh, rising to his feet. ‘I shall leave you to it, gentlemen. I am sorry I was unable to be more help, Potter. Do let me know if you have any success with it, won’t you!’