Sam Siciliano - The Web Weaver

Holmes regarded him warily, as if he suspected a snake-oil salesman. “Who are these investors?”

“Lord Russell, the former Lord Harrington, and Mr. Lawrence Hawke. Any one of them would be only too happy to confirm their profit in this enterprise.”

Henry nodded. “So that is where Harrington got the money. He was reported near bankruptcy.”

“He borrowed all he could and put every last penny into the well.” Steerford sighed gravely. “How tragic that he left us before he could enjoy his profits.”

Holmes shook his head. “Foolish, foolish! Never put all your eggs in one basket. That’s sound advice.”

“My brother is certain that the entire region near our first well abounds in oil. We hope to construct some fifty wells in the next ten years as well as extensive facilities for refining and processing the crude oil. We shall have the largest production facilities in Europe. To make our dream possible, we are selling shares in our venture for the price of one thousand pounds per share. We hope to raise a million pounds.”

My jaw dropped, and Henry gave his head a slight shake.

“We are very near our goal, but should you wish to invest, there are still shares available for purchase.”

Holmes stared suspiciously at him. “Where is this well?”

Steerford gave a mournful sigh. “You certainly must understand that I cannot possibly reveal the location. Negotiations are underway to purchase the surrounding land over the petroleum reserves. If the news were to get out... No, no—once our goal is met and the deeds are in hand, I shall gladly tell you—but I must remain mute until then.”

“And how do I know you are not making this all up? Tell me that, sir?”

“Father!” Henry exclaimed. “Surely you can see that Mr. Steerford is a gentleman.”

Steerford gave an appreciative nod. “Thank you, Mr. Carlyle. Your confidence is appreciated, but your father’s skepticism is understandable. In some cases, we have actually arranged visits to the well in a completely shut-up carriage, in order that the route remains secret. But hopefully, these documents will suffice. I have here photographs of the well, the signed testimonials of several worthy gentlemen who have seen it, and the bills of sale from a refinery which received our raw petroleum and produced petrol and kerosene. May I?”

He sat down on the sofa between Henry and Sherlock, and then opened his book. “Here is the well itself.”

I rose and walked over behind the sofa. I saw a picture of an oil derrick, its metal frame silhouetted against the sky. As he turned the pages, Steerford provided a running commentary—which soon grew tiresome. There were several photographs of the well, including one showing a wagon loaded with the metal barrels, and the testimonials he had mentioned. Both the nobility and the wealthy merchant class were represented. When he had finished, I returned to my chair while he stepped before the fireplace. Again it was as if he were on stage, we the audience. To emphasize a point, his already high-pitched voice would soar higher still.

“Well, gentlemen, I hope you realize the incredibly lucrative opportunity being offered to you.”

Holmes licked his lips, almost drooling with greed. “And may we interview some of these gentlemen, should we wish to?”

“Oh, yes. Any of those whose testimonials were included.”

“And how many shares might we purchase?”

“As many as you wish—within reason.”

Holmes cackled. “Reason has little to do with it! I’ll be talking to some of your people there. We’ll see, we’ll see.”

Henry nodded. “Indeed we shall. It seems a splendid enterprise.”

“I have put every pound of my own modest income into this venture.” Steerford slipped his watch from his waistcoat pocket; the gold had a reddish glow in the firelight. “I shall be happy to answer any further questions, but I do have another engagement soon.”

Henry discreetly stared at Holmes, who gave his head a quick shake. “We need not keep you any longer,” Henry said as he stood. “You have given us nearly an hour of your valuable time.” He shook hands with Steerford.

Holmes leered at them, his frame stooped. “And will you need your answer soon?”

“I do not wish to rush you, but the shares are going quickly.”

“I heard you needed the money by the fifteenth of November. Heard that was the absolute deadline.”

Steerford smiled politely. “There are those of an indecisive nature whom I might have wished to hasten. That might explain your misapprehension, but I wish you to be comfortable with whatever sum you choose to invest.”

Henry nodded. “That’s decent of you. I feel confident we shall purchase some shares.”

Holmes made his annoying cackle for what I hoped was the last time. “If this is on the level, we surely will.”

Henry stared severely at him. “There can be little question of that.”

I smiled and nodded. “Certainly not, and when the profits begin to come in, you will no longer be able to deny me the new brougham I want.”

Henry smiled. “You know I can refuse you nothing.”

Steerford rang for the butler, who, after another round of farewells, showed us to the front door. A rented four-wheeler waited for us across the street. The fog drifted lazily before the streetlamp; in the muted, dying light the carriage itself seemed almost a mirage.

Henry and I sat together on one side, Sherlock opposite us. “What a dreadful old man you make!” I exclaimed.

Holmes’ cheeks rose, the corners of his mouth hidden under the mustache. “I thought I was rather charming in a miserly sort of way. And what did you both think of Mr. Steerford’s proposal? Would you invest your every pound?”

“I must confess,” Henry said, “that I found his presentation quite persuasive. I would, of course, wish to confer with some of the people who have actually seen the well, but I was favorably impressed.” He laughed. “As I have no thousand pounds to invest, it hardly matters.”

Holmes’ thin face went in and out of light and shadow as the carriage made its way along the street. He had taken off his spectacles. “And you, Michelle?”

“It was, as Henry says, impressive, but all the same, something about Mr. Steerford did not please me. I did not exactly mistrust him, but... His voice was odd.”

“In what way?”

“It was curiously high-pitched and yet so mellifluous, so... polished. I suppose he has given the same speech dozens of times—that would explain why he almost seemed to be saying lines in a play.”

Holmes gave a sharp laugh. “Very good, Michelle! I suppose it is to be expected. Neither of you has had my experience with frauds, cheats, and charlatans. All in all, the higher classes of society are more gullible than the lower ones. If some polished rogue appears to be a fellow gentleman, he can spout almost any nonsense and be believed.”

“But the photographs,” Henry said, “and all the testimonials. He said we might even visit the well.”

“It would not be so terribly difficult or expensive to construct a false well and stock it with real petroleum.”

“But what about the men who have already made their fortune off the well? Surely if it were fraudulent...?”

“Bait, Henry—bait. Once such a scheme is going well, one can pay off the earlier investors to make the business more convincing. As I said, a certain class of people rashly assumes that a fine-speaking man with a good tailor cannot lie; and when they hear that simple Mr. Bull has already made his fortune and that Lord Twitterly has invested, all remaining doubts vanish.”

“Do you think..?” Henry drew in his breath loudly through his teeth. “Is there no possibility that he was telling the truth?”