by Seamas Duffy
Holmes glanced across at me as Cartwright’s steps faded on the staircase: ‘Yes, a rather paltry stratagem, I know,’ he added.
‘I did not precisely say so, Holmes—’
‘Your eyes said it, Watson. Let me anticipate your objections. This may cause the perpetrator to be more careful – well, one might easily argue that he could scarcely be less careful; indeed, thus far, audacity and recklessness have been his particular hallmarks. It may draw the attention of the murderer to the fact that Mr Sherlock Holmes is on his trail – perhaps, though, it may just be enough to flush out someone whose involvement has been an innocent one, for I have considered the matter and judge that on the balance of probabilities this jarvey is completely ignorant of the purpose for which his cab has been used. Of course, we may be deluged by a score of such fellows, but I feel that I am equal to the effort of separating the wheat from the chaff.’
‘I did wonder why you did not send Cartwright straight to the Public Carriage Office to enquire.’
‘Ah, that was a mere point of discretion: the hiring out of cabs to another licensed driver to use for hire is permitted, but I suspect this is a different transaction entirely. Hence my instruction to Cartwright to ask discreetly.’
Feeble as I must confess it seemed to me at the time, Holmes’s ploy did bring forth fruit. Just after six o’clock there was knock at the door, and into the room walked a tall, lean, middle-aged man carrying a whip. He wore a waistcoat, muffler, and greatcoat with a faded, grimy velvet collar, and the hair brushed back from the forehead framed an honest-looking face. He removed his cap and stood uneasily on the carpet.
‘I was told to ask for a Mr Sherlock Holmes,’ said the cabman.
‘And you are?’ replied my friend.
‘John Jacobs, cab number 6614 out of Cocker’s depot off the Brompton Road. Badge number, 13740.’
‘You own a four-wheeler?
‘Yes. And a young gentleman from the messenger’s office called at the Pont Street shelter, seems you was wantin’ it for the loan of.’
‘I did not exactly say so; rather, I wanted some information and I am grateful to you for taking the trouble to come here,’ said Holmes pressing something into the man’s hand.
‘Oh, ask away,’ said Jacobs brightly, looking at the shiny coin.
‘Have you hired out your cab privately within the last few weeks?’
‘Yes, I have that, Sir, on a number of occasions, although it is not strictly, er… .’
‘Yes, I know. Can you say to whom you hired it?’
‘To a man by the name of Smith.’
‘Do you know the man?’
‘No, I don’t. I had a feelin’ I had seen his face somewhere before, though I couldn’t say exactly where. He was coachman for some gentleman, that’s all I know.’
‘Then Smith may be a false name?’
‘I suppose it might, though I can’t see why. He seemed open an’ honest enough about it all, an’ he paid up in advance. A sovereign on each occasion and the same to the long-night man who I normally turn the cab over to, as he lost a night’s wages.’
‘Did he say what he wanted the cab for?’
‘No, but,’ the man reddened, ‘well, when a gentlemen doesn’t want to be seen ridin’ in his own coach. …’
‘Did it occur to you at all that the dates coincided with the dates of these recent murders in the City?’
The man thought for a moment than said, ‘Ah, but they didn’t, Sir.’
‘You are certain?’
‘Yes. He has hired out the cab quite a number of times. Let me see now … yes, six times in the last few weeks, in fact.’
‘Aha, a clever touch, Watson!’ Holmes said, glancing across at me.
‘You mean he knew that if he hired the cab only on the dates of the murders, it might look suspicious, so he has thrown in a few other dates to put us off the scent?’ I asked.
‘Precisely. This fellow is no fool. He had it again last night I presume, Jacobs?’
‘Yes, he did, Sir. Do you gentlemen mean to tell me that this man might have used my cab for—’
‘It is more than possible,’ interjected Holmes, ‘I am almost certain that he did.’
The man suddenly turned very pale and pressed his hand to his forehead, dropping his whip upon the floor as he did so. I sprang up and grasped him by the arm as he appeared about to collapse.
‘Do not be alarmed,’ Holmes went on soothingly, ‘for I am equally certain that your involvement would have been an innocent one, and the proof of that is that you have come here in the best of faith and told me willingly all that you have done. You may rest assured that no harm will come to you. Now, my good man, sit down for a moment and drink this. Is there anything else you can remember at all about this man Smith?’
‘Just below middle height, stocky build, fair hair, beard, age … thirty-five I’d say, hard to tell with the beard.’
‘Did he come to see you in his master’s coach?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you notice anything about it – the colour for example?’
‘No, he only came in it the first time at night, so it was too dark to see. The coach was a dark colour, that’s all I can say. I remember he passed by the shelter, drove on a bit, then stopped by the junction near Sloane Street and then walked back to me.’
‘Anything about the livery on the coach?’
‘The usual stuff, lions and castles I think. Wait, though; I seem to remember black and white stripes across the door. Yes.’
‘You are certain about the colours – black and white stripes?’
‘Yes, because the chap had the same device on his uniform coat.’
‘Excellent! You have been of immense help, John Jacobs. You are obliged, as you must now understand, to report this to the official police – ask for Inspector Lestrade at Scotland Yard. Tell him the story in your own words, and you may as well say that I sent you. If this man Smith should call again, though I think it is unlikely, please let me know immediately,’ said Holmes, handing the man another coin prior to his departure.
‘Well, Watson, things are beginning to move in our direction at last!’ my friend remarked, rubbing his hands. ‘As you know, heraldry is a subject closely related to that of English charters, of which the Magna Carta is itself the seminal charter, and which was the subject of my researches earlier this year. At least, it was until we were interrupted by Soames of St Luke’s.’
I recalled very well sitting in our lodgings by the university’s library at the time, amazed and fascinated in equal parts, as Holmes rambled on about courts of chivalry, distraints, and rules of tincture.
‘You will recall my discovery that of the twenty-five barons who signed the charter, it was possible to trace all but a small number to present-day families in England. In the course of my studies, I became familiar with the various coats of arms of those families as well as their various ancestries. As it happens, the heraldic device which Jacobs described is officially known as “a baton in bend sinister compony of six, Argent and Sable” and shows that—’
‘That the original grantee was related to the sovereign, but born out of wedlock,’ I interrupted.
‘Excellent! I did not know you were so well up in heraldic lore.’
‘I am not, but I am well up in Sir Walter Scott.’
‘You are on top form this morning, my dear Watson! Though personally I am inclined agree with the Lake Poet who said he found the madness of Blake more interesting than the sanity of Scott.’
‘This one will have descended from Charles the Second’s illegitimates, no doubt.’
‘Quite probably. More importantly, though, I know of only three titled families in London whose coats of arms bore this device. They are Baron Ampthill, the Duke of Marylebone, and the Earl of Titchfield. The first named left these shores for the dust of Africa in ’84 and died there childless some years ago. The barony became extinct upon his death and the estate escheated to the crown. The seco
nd is a bedridden octogenarian known widely for his Christian philanthropy; the third, I must confess, is a gentleman with whom I am not so well acquainted. What does the good book say, Watson?’
I looked up the entry, which read:
‘Clermont, Edmund Algernon, 8th Earl of Titchfield, G.C.M.G, C.B., D.L. Married Lady Georgina Carson-Hayle, daughter of Sir Richard Carson-Hayle, 3rd Earl of Hayle. Five children. Deputy Lieutenant of Hamble and Solent. Grandfather was an aide-de-camp to Wellington during Peninsular campaign. Royal Horse Guards, Master of the Bishop’s Waltham and the Fareham Hunts. Chief Advisor at the Office of Home Affairs. Address: Deanery Street W1; Clubs: Carlton, White’s, Tankerville.’
Chapter 5
I saw little of Holmes for a while following our interview with Jacobs, for I had been once again occupied in looking after Jackson’s practice next door to my own former quarters, a short distance from Baker Street. Save for a scribbled note which told me that he had gone to seek the assistance of Wiggins, I had not the vaguest notion as to where my friend’s investigations had taken him, although Mrs Hudson muttered vaguely to me about his ‘comings and goings at all sorts of odd hours of the day and night,’ and remarked knowingly upon the succession of ‘very strange characters’ who had been frequenting the house. All of which had the effect, needless to say, of causing me to ponder deeply upon the intricacies of the present affair. Truth to tell, I could scarcely recall a case in which there was, to use one of my friend’s favourite axioms, such a tangled skein. This coachman must surely be implicated in the crimes, but was it his hand that struck the fatal blow in each case, and was he carrying out these appalling crimes at the behest of an esteemed aristocrat, one of the most respected peers of the realm? Was he also the writer of the letters? And what could explain the involvement of the Freemasons, whom I had always regarded as a semi-charitable institution committed to the brotherhood of man? After what Holmes had said, their Enlightenment appeal to reason seemed to me to be wildly at odds with their mysterious fascination for secrecy, ritual, and pursuit of ancient truths. Was it merely a front for a secret cabal of murderers, with Titchfield at its head? I recalled an investigation some years ago, the effect of which was like ascending a range of hills with a series of false summits. Each time we had gained what we thought to be the peak, there always seemed to be yet a further ridge soaring above us.
Normally I revelled in my short spells of work when I returned temporarily to medical practice as a locum, but on this occasion the hours dragged in the surgery; for once I was greatly relieved when my former neighbour returned from his medical conference in Austria, and I at last found the opportunity to interrogate Holmes on the progress he had made in the case.
‘Not a word from Lestrade,’ he replied in answer to my query. ‘The official forces are out of their depth, as usual.’
‘And the unofficial ones?’ I asked.
‘Hardly much better, I am bound to confess, yet I believe we have made some slight progress. I posted Wiggins and some of his crew in Mayfair to keep an eye on our man Titchfield. He has been followed everywhere and I receive reports at regular intervals. I have discovered that his coachman is one John Henry Thisley. He comes from a family of cabmen, lives in Paddington, and was formerly employed by the Great Western Railway Company as a goods van driver. His description tallied fairly closely with the ones given by Constable Hewlett and Jacobs. Wiggins reported to me that Titchfield is in the habit of leaving his Whitehall office each evening and going straight to his club, and so I sent a note to Jacobs, asking him to be outside the Carlton last night. We loitered on the corner of King Street on the pretext of agreeing on a fare, and when Titchfield arrived, Jacobs managed to get a good look at Thisley as he alighted from the driving seat. He is fairly sure that it is the man who hired the cab from him. Thisley was clean-shaven last night, but had worn a beard when he went to hire the cab, though it was probably a false one, and I feel sure this is our man. Jacobs recognized the markings on the coach too, and the plucky fellow is now prepared to swear to this in a court of law. However, that alone does not take us very far, for I am certain that this Thisley is merely an accomplice.
‘To whom, though? Titchfield?’
‘Not directly. When Edmund Algernon Clermont descended from his coach, I observed that he did not in any way resemble the occupant of the cab as described by Hewlett. In order to find this other fellow, I have engaged the services of a number of occasional associates, some of whom inhabit the darker recesses of the criminal fraternity. There is one gentleman from Notting Hill who has lately come to my notice. Like Ricoletti and Aldridge, this person has resolved to give up a life of crime and seek redemption on the right side of the law. He is perfectly placed, for there is little wrongdoing that goes on in the criminal sub-strata of the West End that does not come, at some time or in some way or another, within the purview of this lately much reformed, if still somewhat venal, fellow. He has in one or two recent minor cases been useful to me in preventing a crime, and though he has abandoned his former ways since his release from the Isle of Wight, his reputation amongst the criminal fraternity, founded upon his frequent incarcerations there, remains a sound one. Thus he is able to sink down amongst the lowest strata of the underworld, move amongst its denizens, and root around for information without giving the least suspicion, for he has no connection with the official police and will not be called upon to appear in any court.’
‘It is reassuring to know that occasionally one turns over a new leaf.’
‘Yes, it casts an interesting sidelight on some of the earnest and arrant nonsense which is written, and spoken, on the subject of recidivism. I have another associate in Stepney, one Harry Mercer, a former safecracker and no mean pugilist, who will also make some very discreet inquiries on my behalf in that district. Whilst I think our search lies west rather than east, one can hardly overlook the violent history of that part of the metropolis. Similarly, I have been in touch with Barker, an erstwhile university acquaintance, whose collaboration with me predates even the Reginald Musgrave case about which you produced a most entertaining account some time ago. Transpontine London is Barker’s speciality, and he will take a hand on the Surrey side. These three all have a description of the man whom Hewlett saw inside the cab on the night of the fourth murder and will do what they can. In short, Watson, to use a phrase with which you will be familiar, I have committed every battalion to the field.’
‘Indeed, you have left no stone unturned,’ I replied with enthusiasm; yet my friend’s disappointment was plain to see, and he had begun to chafe a little against the inaction. He decided to put the case entirely out of his mind and took himself off to the Reading Room of the British Museum to bury himself in Thucydides’s chronicles of the Greco-Persian war, whilst I went along to my club for a game of billiards, and then on to the Turkish baths in Northumberland Avenue.
His mood was no brighter on my return some hours later.
‘Still no news?’ I asked.
‘Nothing at all,’ he shrugged. ‘Still, there is a concert at St James’s tonight – what do you say to a short course of therapy, Chopin and strings? All four pieces on the programme contain parts for the cello. It is a most magnificent instrument: the ear appreciates the violin as it soars to the lyrical heights, but the rich, sonorous notes of the cello have a tremendous power to assuage the deepest, most melancholy tempers of the human soul. It is a strange thing, you know, but I have always found its particular resonance to have a remarkably soothing effect.’
‘It may be something to do with the closeness of its timbre to the human voice,’ I replied.
‘I have no doubt that that is the reason, for it accords well with my conviction that the power to make music predates the facility for human language. We have just enough time if we leave now.’
We found Inspector Gregory Lestrade occupying one of the armchairs in our sitting room when we returned just before midnight.
‘We got a visit from the cabman Jaco
bs whom you managed to find,’ our visitor said, ‘and he gave us a full description of the man who hired the cab from him. Now if we could only find the owner of this coach with the black and white stripes, but there must be hundreds with that design.’
‘Oh, I would not be so sure of that,’ replied Holmes evasively.
‘We also found the sender of those letters, the ones in red ink. It was exactly as you said, Mr Holmes. I sent one of my plain-clothes sergeants out to Kensington. He spoke to the managers at all the shops you mentioned. Meredith & Dodds said they hadn’t sold a single new model of the types you mentioned nor had Wright’s, but the Atlantic Typewriter Company had sold two: one was a Remington bought by a firm of copywriters in Soho; the second, an Underwood, was delivered to a private address in the Fulham Road, a Mr Obadiah Weaver, a gentleman whom we’ve had an eye on for a long time. President of the Association for the Suppression of Vice – one of these hellfire-and-damnation types, produces pamphlets in a similar style to those letters, and hands them out by the score in Hyde Park; you know the sort of thing, foredoomed to perdition and predestined to salvation. Well, he is foredoomed to prison now! He turned pale when Sergeant Mellows knocked on the door, but he wouldn’t let him enter the house. Mellows threatened to leave a constable and come back with a warrant, at which point Weaver gave in. Strange fellow – he made Mellows take his boots off before he let him across the threshold.’
‘I told you the writer had an obsession with cleanliness,’ Holmes said.
‘There, in his study, was the very machine, an Underwood, and on it was a red ink-ribbon. Mellows ran him in straight away. Mr Gregson gave him a thorough going-over and he admitted sending the letters, but denied he had anything to do with the murders.’