How Holmes Dispelled “The Disquiet at the Imperial Hotel”
Dear Detectives,
Thank you for bringing yet another case to a swift end. Although Watson’s holiday wasn’t quite as relaxing as he anticipated, the Imperial Hotel’s guests can now rest at ease. For those looking to triple-check their theories, Holmes has sent along a handy explanation for all The Disquiet at the Imperial Hotel — read on for a clear appraisal of everything, from the strange tapping and whispers, to the ominous lights and visitors!
Sincerely yours,
The Dear Holmes Team
——
6 May 1899
Dear Mr Molinari,
You have no doubt already been in contact with the Essex Constabulary, but as this matter draws to a close I would be pleased to guide you and your employer through the peculiar collection of tinkerers, travellers, poachers and spies that briefly inhabited your establishment.
When I received Watson’s first letter, bearing Dr Armstrong’s account of his stay, I will admit that even I was briefly at a loss. Still I never once doubted that the oddities the doctor described constituted a matter of grave importance. This was, of course, reinforced by your establishment’s close proximity to the Thames and some of our country’s finest and most powerful vessels, teeming as they are with sensitive naval technology. From the outset, I knew that the neighbouring naval base would play a central role in these peculiarities, but it was not until reading your last letter, dated the 4th of May, that I was able to fully explain how. Allow me to rationalise, room by room, what has transpired.
Room 202 – Mr Moretti and Mr Fanconi, “the tapping noise”
Of all the mysteries you encountered, that of your Italian friends was the simplest to untangle. It was also the most innocent. Considering the array of paraphernalia seen when you entered their room with Watson, it was easy to ascertain that they were electrical engineers, but determining the exact nature of their work would require more thorough examination.
Your mention of the large brass telescope intrigued me as it is not an instrument that electrical engineers would typically require. That they were carrying it as amateur sightseers defies credulity. They could have been spies, surveilling the artillery range at Shoeburyness, but the indiscreet manner in which they transported their equipment and engaged in their work foreclosed this possibility. Their unusual pattern of entry and egress – as accounted for in your staff’s log – challenged me for a moment as well, until I realised that they were simply timing their baths according to the tide. Therefore I began to theorise how the telescope might facilitate their engineering work. Once you snuck a glance through it, I understood precisely how.
What did you observe? A yacht at anchor, flying the Italian flag and a sizeable message flag, which we soon learned signalled “I wish to communicate with you”. I believe that your two Italian guests are employees of Signor Marconi charged with refining a new apparatus in preparation for commercial use. The equipment of which you provided a rudimentary description suggested that the two were working on some new form of telegraphy. Your subsequent mention of hearing the name “Marconi” confirmed this to me, as Signor Marconi is well known, in scientific circles, for his experimental attempts to pass coded messages from shore to ship using “wireless telegraphy”. The telescope easily allows them to confirm that recipients on the yacht are prepared to receive messages from their apparatus, and their reticence to speak of their employment in detail was on purely commercial grounds.
Room 204 – Mr Kern, “the strange lights” and “foreign whispers”
Mr Frederic Kern is certainly a curious young gentleman. He appears to be well-educated after his studies at Oxford and his commitment to continue at the Académie Militaire Royale in Brussels. Money does not seem to be a concern, after all he tipped your porter two shillings for carrying two trunks. You rightly questioned Mr Kern’s accent, and I deduce that, whilst he was educated in England, his accent still carries a trace of Dutch, the language of his fatherland.
Looking at the labels on his worn luggage, he is clearly well travelled, however, there is more to his “travels” than might be obvious. The label that Watson sketched is undoubtedly from a train journey in the Orange Free State, a region in South Africa that is an independent Boer Republic with its capital at Bloemfontein. The ebony-framed photograph amid his belongings reinforces this connection to Africa, as ebony is native to the country and, from your description, the photograph of the hunter was taken in the veldt. I am assured of his lineage by his choice of De Olifant cigars. They are manufactured in Kampen, Holland, and knowing he owns an expensive silver case, I would say the slim luxuries were more than a passing indulgence.
Your inspection of his room with Watson was also illuminating. The presence of the small, easily concealed field binoculars may be quite innocent, but knowing of Mr Kern’s frequent visits to the shore, I would assert he was using them to observe the weaponry and the penetration of armour plate at the firing range. His casual use of a lamp in his window to act, I deduce, as a signal to his contact, points to the young agent’s inexperience, as did his contrived explanation for the action. If I am correct, then Mr Kern was using the coloured light to merely signal that a new communiqué had been left elsewhere for his contact. Once that person caught sight of the light in Kern’s window, they would know to discreetly check their cache. This fact was crucial to our plan of action, but I will explain below. First, turn your attention to your clerk’s log.
You will note a pattern relating to both the guest residing above Dr Armstrong, and Mr Kern. “Might the sly fox have a partner?” you must be wondering. And to that, I say: With certainty.
Room 303 – Lady Elizabeth Graham, “the pacing”
Your most recent letter describing a visit to “Lady” Elizabeth’s room revealed far more than was expected. Her pretence to be a titled lady was exposed and her true identity as Miss de Vries of South Africa was made clear. The endorsed “First Class” luggage label, indicative of a lengthy sea voyage, was evidence of her deceit. It was also quite strange that, of all the books of poetry she might have brought along on this holiday, she had chosen to be accompanied by two volumes concerning naval warfare.
Your observation too, Mr Molinari, of the lady’s “youthful” hand, which was clearly at odds with her supposed old age, made me question her history. For one to have ostensibly lived the majority of her long life in London, it is unthinkable that she would not have seen the statue of Lord Byron’s great nephew, one of our nation’s greatest bards. For someone who professes to have a great interest in poetry, it is impossible that she have no knowledge of it, given the furore when it was erected... but that was, I now suspect, when Lady Elizabeth was but an infant!
With this in mind, we must consider the voice of Lady Elizabeth, as it was used by Miss de Vries. It was almost certainly an affectation meant to conceal her age and accent, which I speculate is Dutch. And by ensuring that people were aware of her “tragic accident”, she would dispel attention from her appearance. To further avoid detection, Miss de Vries would keep to her room as much as possible. From there, she could comfortably observe Shoeburyness whilst providing Mr Kern with a watchful pair of eyes on his excursions from the hotel... but such confinement comes at a price.
You and Dr Watson suggested it was fear or anxiety from her supposed accident that drove her to pace. It is worth noting that her pacing rapidly diminished and then stopped with the arrival of the occupant of Room 204. I posit, instead, that her pacing was due to frustration and anticipation. Frustration at her confinement, and anticipation of the arrival of her companion.
Although the pair clearly made an effort to avoid being seen together, a brief look at the clerk’s log, and the two underlined dates from Kern’s room, indicate times close to 10 a.m. when Miss de Vries and Kern both left and returned to the hotel within minutes of each other. On these occasions, I surmise that Miss de Vries would tear the latest sheets of observations from her notebook and entrust them to Mr Kern. Having read Watson’s description of her luggage being left near the door “with handles erect”, I worried that your unsettling afternoon tea with the “Lady” might have precipitated the pair’s departure. I sent word, and copies of your letters, to my brother Mycroft immediately, and thus was born the plan you recently saw unfold.
As you well know, your staff followed our instructions to place a light in Kern’s window as he smoked in the lounge yesterday evening. As a result, the men from Essex Constabulary were able to detain a suspected foreign agent some small distance from the hotel at 5:30 a.m. today. In his lodgings near Westcliff-on-Sea was found information on “the range of the gun batteries” and the “effectiveness of ammunition”. This information was written upon sheets of paper that appeared to have been torn from a small notebook.
I understand that Mycroft’s ally at the Constabulary, Chief Constable Showers, has agreed to post several men disguised as guests at The Imperial. They will discreetly apprehend Kern and Miss de Vries today at first sight. Once that is done, these special “guests” are also prepared to assist you with the following ordeal, which I must regretfully inform you, involves The Imperial Hotel’s staff.
The Imperial Hotel’s staff toilet – Mr Matchet, “the flooding”
This final mystery, I suspect, will take you, and perhaps Watson as well, by surprise. Your night porter, Mr Thomas Matchet, has been carrying out his own clandestine operation throughout the recent disturbances. His behaviour struck me as odd, but not particularly alarming, until the threatening encounter with the strange man described in your fourth letter. Upon learning of this, and of the missing “exotic friend” mentioned by the travelling show’s “Maestro”, I realised what was afoot.
Mr Matchet claimed that your staff toilet “erupted,” but there is little doubt in my mind that this was a ruse intended to misdirect attention from the room. Your porter has been secretly housing a lion cub, that is, the travelling act’s so-called newest “friend”, in your hotel for at least one week now. Matchet’s affinity for and knowledge of local fauna, as demonstrated to “Lady” Elizabeth, made temporarily caring for the creature a manageable task. Yet, in providing the young beast with scraps of meat and animal remains, which he messily dragged into the hotel in rubbish sacks, he inadvertently drew the attention of your guests.
Perhaps Matchet intended to rehabilitate and release the creature, if not somehow raise it himself, but he clearly failed to anticipate the ominous visits, and later threats, you would receive from the unbelievably tall “clown”. The chief constable’s men will have stationed an adequately-sized waggon near your hotel by now – they have been directed to question this “travelling act” and ascertain that the animal is being returned to suitable conditions. If not, I will make arrangements with an old associate at the Zoological Society of London. As I understand it, their Gardens in Regent’s Park have ample space dedicated to “Large Carnivora” and a new addition would be celebrated.
Otherwise, Mr Molinari, it has been my pleasure to assist you and to renew our acquaintance. The source of your guest’s disquiet has not only been a mystery sufficient to fill my evenings, but has also helped reveal an intrigue of national importance that may well have gone undetected. I trust that you will have everything in order by Mr Langridge’s arrival, but if you find yourself in need of additional support, I am keen to believe Watson would make an adept temporary porter!
Yours faithfully,
