by Seamas Duffy
‘Novel! Why that idea is as old as the Book of Psalms,’ he said. ‘In point of fact though, Watson, I think you have just provided me with the final piece of the jigsaw. I believe that the case is almost complete now.’
I said no more, for my friend was staring absorbedly out of the window. I sat for the rest of the journey, mystified by the implications of his words.
As it transpired, we were summoned back to Edmonton sooner than we had planned. The arrival of Inspector Stanley Hopkins at Baker Street the following afternoon gave me an awful presentiment, and I began to have a vision of some dreadful repetition of the events at Church Avenue. Hopkins was one of the youngest of the Inspectors at Scotland Yard, and due to his qualities of acuity and tenacity, was something of a favourite with Holmes. He had already shared in a number of our adventures, and on this occasion, he briskly explained to us the reason for his visit. At 10.30 the previous evening, two young women returning home late from a meeting of the Guild of St John, had taken a short cut by the churchyard path. Their attention had been alerted by a rustling in the shrubbery, and as they looked in the direction of the noise they saw the shadow of a hooded, cloaked figure creeping between the gravestones in the dark, near to the disturbed, unnamed crypt. They immediately took to their heels and their violent screaming aroused some of the neighbours, who, their nerves already strained by the events, turned out with hatchets and pokers to discover the cause of the disturbance. Wills had been summoned immediately, and although a search of the graveyard had been undertaken, nothing had been found. Neither of the women had any known connection to the Divine Order of the Purple Rose or with any of the other people of the saga so far.
‘I received the wire just before midnight last night, but by then the excitement was over,’ said Hopkins. ‘I understand that you had already been informed of the case.’
‘Yes, I have examined all the evidence and become acquainted with the principal dramatis personae.’
‘And you have formed some opinion?’
‘Which I have communicated to the local constabulary. And you?’
‘I have read the official documents including the surgeon’s report, and I am on my way out to Lower Edmonton now. I stopped by to ask if you would care to join me.’
‘Yes, I should be happy to do so, for I now feel slightly guilty about having left Wills to his own devices. Heaven knows, I threw out enough hints to him and to that bright young sergeant of his, that they really ought to have cleared the matter up themselves by now. Perhaps I am becoming lazy, though, for I suppose I might have expected this.’
‘Expected it?’ Hopkins looked surprised.
‘Of course.’
‘Then, this latest incident doesn’t change your view of the case?’
‘On the contrary, it reinforces it. You do not, by any chance, incline to the supernatural explanation yourself?’
Hopkins looked more confused than ever I had seen him. ‘I should be relieved to hear a more convincing explanation, but you won’t get anyone in Edmonton to believe any other at present. The rumour of what happened last night spread like wildfire throughout the neighbourhood; the entire district, which had already been in a fair panic, is now in complete hysteria. We have had to send reinforcements up there to help the local constabulary keep the peace, though ostensibly they are there to assist in the search.’
‘You will find nothing,’ said Holmes.
‘We have already found something! Wills discovered fresh footprints in the vicinity of the crypt.’
‘And what conclusions do you draw from that?’
‘Inspector Wills, who is one of the most experienced men in the provincial constabulary, believes that this fiend, or whatever it is, had been making it way back to its lair when it was disturbed.’
‘But the coffin remains empty,’ said Holmes wearily.
‘Indeed. Goodness knows where it is lurking now!’
‘Come, Hopkins, you are a trained police officer.’
‘Mr Holmes, you cannot deny that there is something or someone which is terrorizing the community and has already claimed one woman’s life. Whether it is human or otherwise remains to be discovered, but who knows what the fate of those two young women might have been last night, had they not run away?’
‘Then, you believe this corpse has come back to life?’
‘I didn’t exactly say I did … I haven’t yet examined the scene of the crime,’ the young Inspector continued defensively, ‘and you yourself have often told me that it is a mistake to theorize in advance.’
‘Touché!’ Holmes smiled as he stood up to collect his overcoat and hat, though I detected a touch of mockery in it. Within the hour we met with Inspector Wills at the old churchyard gate. He was pale and haggard with fatigue and his expression was more eloquent than his words.
‘Well, Mr Holmes,’ he said, ‘so much for your scepticism and elegant theories. It seems that this demon has returned and two people are prepared to swear that they saw it last night.’
‘I know exactly what they saw,’ said Holmes. ‘Incidentally, did you wire to Australia yet? No? Well, Inspector Hopkins knows me rather better than you do, and he will tell you all about the importance which I attach to apparently unimportant details.’
‘What has it to do with the case?’
‘It may have everything or nothing to do with it. It is the first task of the professional to gather every piece of data he can, and then sift the crucial from the irrelevant by trial and error. Indeed, did not someone say that all the business of life was an endeavour to find out what one doesn’t know by what one does? I have no doubt that there are a good many people basking in the district’s notoriety, but had I been a bit quicker off the mark, I might have saved the neighbourhood from descending into a pandemonium.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Wills. ‘If you know something, Mr Holmes, please enlighten us.’
‘I will not only enlighten you, I will make you a present of the person you are looking for.’
‘How?’
‘By playing along with this ridiculous charade for a little longer. Inspector Wills, I should like you to send a few of your constables round the immediate neighbourhood and warn the residents against the perils of going into the churchyard until a capture is made. Say that it is out of bounds for the present.’
‘There is no need for that, Sir, for there is not a grown man in the district who will go near the place now!’
‘Nevertheless, make it quite clear that it is considered the most dangerous folly to go anywhere near the crypt, and tell them that you are going to close the footpath through—’
‘Impossible,’ Hopkins shook his head, ‘we have no power to do that.’
‘My colleague is correct,’ added Wills, ‘a right of way has existed there through the parish since the time of the Conqueror. As guardians of the law we should be laughed at for our ignorance.’
‘I did not exactly say that you should do it, merely imply very forcefully that you intend to. Make sure that the public know also that the constables are being called off at dusk, as you consider it futile to continue any search after dark.’
‘What!’ said Wills. ‘Why, the district is almost in a state of siege; the constables are the only protection that they have.’
‘Do you not recall the case of the Hampstead dog walker last year, Mr Holmes?’ asked Hopkins. ‘There was a very ugly scene when we withdrew the auxiliaries after forty-eight hours. There was almost a riot, in fact. It ended with four of the residents being charged with affray after taking the law into their own hands.’
‘You can say that you intend to resume the search at first light tomorrow. It is but a ruse to draw our fox from the covert.’
Hopkins considered for a moment. ‘What do you think, Wills, can we chance it?’
‘If you think it will have the desired effect, we shall do as you say,’ said Wills resignedly.
‘Excellent. The next part is the easier one: meet me here outside
these gates tonight, but it is vital that no one knows about this – say nothing, even to your own men. We four shall suffice.’
‘I am far from convinced,’ said Wills, ‘I think it is perfectly ridiculous, but…’ his voice tailed off and he shrugged.
‘Prepare for a long vigil, though I think a nine o’clock start will be sufficient for our purposes.’
‘What are our purposes?’ asked Wills.
‘Unless I am much mistaken the culprit will walk straight into your arms, and you will obtain precisely the evidence you require to get your conviction. Doctor Watson and I shall repair to the Stag and Hounds for the rest of the day. Before I return tonight, I must pay one final visit to the house in Church Avenue, if you would be so good as to give me the key. There is something I wish to examine.’
‘In the chamber of death?’ asked Wills.
‘No, in the pantry as it happens,’ Holmes replied to our utter astonishment.
‘The pantry?!’
‘Yes, I have been rather obtuse, for it occurs to me that it possibly holds the other key to the solution of this remarkable, but by no means unique, case.’
‘Come, Mr Holmes, you have been playing games with us, dishing out a veiled allusion here and throwing in a suggestion there,’ said Wills.
‘Yes,’ said Hopkins, ‘it seems to me if we are to share this danger with you tonight, then you ought, at least, to answer one question.’
‘I suppose that is not an unreasonable request,’ my friend replied.
‘Then whom do you suspect as the murderer,’ asked Wills with a glance at Hopkins, ‘Staunton or Crane?’
‘Neither,’ my friend replied with an enigmatic smile, and off he marched. We stopped at the house in Church Avenue and Holmes went inside. He returned in a very short time with just the faintest smile of satisfaction upon his face, but he would say nothing more of the case. On the contrary, he deployed his customary power of detachment from the affair in hand and we enjoyed a most hearty repast in the dining room of the Stag and Hounds that evening. The tavern was an admirable exemplar of our rural hostelries: oak-beamed, cosy, with a roaring fire and a welcoming host. Mounted on the walls were some very fine specimens of stuffed coarse fish with their titles displayed above in Latin.
‘How much more homely the Anglo-Saxon names are,’ he said, musing on the inscriptions above the glass cases, ‘I should prefer a pike to esox lucius any day.’
‘That reminds me,’ I replied, ‘I was appalled by the state to which the River Lea has degenerated.’
‘Yes, it would be impossible to imagine Walton’s Piscator hauling carp and tench for his table out of that sewer we saw today.’
‘Yes, I suppose our dash for progress is never without a cost.’
‘Now, Watson, before we go out, let me lay a few details of the case before you. The events of last night showed me that the perpetrator – or more likely, the perpetrator’s accomplice – felt we were getting too close. They acted hastily to try to put an end to the affair, and unfortunately for them, the plan misfired.’
‘I think I can follow your deduction, Holmes. The killer either went about dressed in a hooded cloak to try to create the impression that the creature was still at large, or he sent someone to do that.’
‘No, I’m afraid that is not correct. There was a far more material purpose than that, and it is inconceivable that another attempt would not be made again this evening. The difference is that this time, we will be there to capture that person. I am willing to bet that you will all be astonished when the identity of the murderer is revealed.’
We met Wills and Hopkins at the gate just as the distant church bell of All Saints rang out.
‘’Tis nine a clocke, and time to ring curfew,’ said Holmes good-humouredly, ‘and yet the streets seem so empty of people that any curfew would be quite unnecessary.’
‘After last night, there is hardly a soul to be found who will venture abroad after dark,’ said Wills.
‘You have warned the residents?’
‘Yes, we have. Where to now?’
‘To the crypt where the empty coffin lies.’
Wills led us through the lichen-covered gates, and we immediately branched off the main path to where the most ancient-looking of the headstones stood. There was little light; indeed, the nearest gas lamp was fifty yards away, and it was not difficult to understand how the sight of a figure creeping amongst the gravestones in the dark might have induced hysterics. The stones glistened in the dank air, and an ethereal vapour rose off the brook behind the cemetery wall. It was a dismal, eerie atmosphere punctuated only by the crunch of our footsteps on the gravel.
We eventually found the square-looking mass of stone with an ancient wooden relic of a door. It creaked noisily as we swung it open, and rasped loudly again as we shut it behind us. Wills lit his pocket lantern on the stygian scene. A single unadorned coffin lay against one of the walls, its lid askew. The sepulchral odour from the crypt clung to one’s throat, and I was glad that I had remembered to bring my hip flask. Holmes turned to whisper to Hopkins, but hardly had he got the first words out when the door began to creak again. Wills snapped out the lantern and we had to shrink back to the wall as quickly as possible, for there was no time to stumble through the dark to our hiding places in the corner. Slowly the door edged open, and it was just possible to see the outline of a short, stocky man, with a hat pulled down over his face. He closed the door briskly and then a match flared in his hand; I felt a thrill of shock and horror as I distinguished the swarthy features of Sergeant Channon!
He remained unaware of our presence for a moment, and in that infinitesimal split second of time I could think only of the scandal which would ensue following the exposure of the Inspector’s protégé as the murderer, and my overwhelming sentiment was one of heartfelt sympathy for Wills. The match had briefly thrown enough illumination for the young man to realize suddenly that he was not alone in the crypt. He started violently and then, to my continuing astonishment and confusion, an expression of embarrassed amusement crossed his features, and he began to laugh noiselessly.
‘False alarm,’ said Holmes, and I am sure each one of us breathed a deep sigh of relief.
‘Yes, Mr Holmes,’ the young man said sheepishly, as he took in the situation, ‘I picked up your hint and thought I was the only person who had read the clues right, but I see now that I wasn’t the only clever one.’
‘We were almost arresting you as the murderer,’ said my friend.
‘You ought to have reported your suspicions to your superior officer,’ said Wills sternly to the young man.
‘Yes, I know, Sir, and apologize frankly. However, I thought you would have dismissed my suspicions as ridiculous.’
‘You cannot possibly think that we would have come out here at this time of night on some ridiculous suspicion,’ replied Wills imperiously.
Holmes smiled, a touch sarcastically. ‘You can see now why I described Sergeant Channon to you as one of the cleverest young men I had met in uniform,’ he said diplomatically to Hopkins.
‘I suppose you may as well remain with us now that you are here, and we will discuss the matter of your indiscipline in the morning,’ said Wills.
‘We had better take up our stations now,’ said Hopkins. Wills relit his lantern and we managed to get ourselves into positions of concealment at the rear of the crypt. Then the lantern snapped out, and we waited and listened for a lengthy time. More than once I nodded off and had to jerk myself awake. A few minutes after the church bell rang out midnight, we heard a crunch of gravel on the path outside. I stiffened with anticipation and fingered my revolver as I recalled Holmes’s words: if it were not Staunton or Crane, who could it be?
The door creaked once or twice and it was just possible to make out the silhouette of a thin, cloaked figure creeping inside. A candle was lit and we saw the figure bend down in order to slide the lid of the coffin. From the folds of the cloak I saw a human skull appear, hideous in aspec
t; it seemed to hover in the air for a second then disappear again into the darkness; then the skeletal remains of a human torso materialized. I felt my pulse quicken and then, in an instant, I had grasped that the visitor had taken these relics from a hessian bag under the cloak and was placing them carefully into the coffin; at the very same instant, Holmes made his move. He motioned me forward with a touch on the elbow, and as we broke our cover, a terrified, high-pitched squeal emitted from under the figure’s cowl. My friend pulled back the hood to reveal long blonde locks of hair and the terrified face of a young woman: Drusilla Jane Ellis.
‘Quick, Watson, before she falls!’ cried Holmes as the girl collapsed, senseless with shock and fear.
‘Well, your fox turned out to be a vixen!’ said Hopkins.
‘Yes, but we caught it nevertheless,’ replied Holmes.
‘What are these?’ asked Wills, shining the yellow light of his lantern into the coffin.
‘Those are the bones which were in the coffin before it was disturbed,’ said Holmes. ‘They were taken out when the whole charade was set up. It was pretty obvious to me that they would have to be returned at some point. You have your murderer, and now you have your principal exhibit. I shall explain all to you in a moment. First, though, I think that we ought to agree upon a fair division of the spoils.’
‘The credit is really all yours,’ said Wills. Hopkins nodded in agreement.
‘Not at all,’ Holmes waved away the suggestion. ‘To you, Inspector Wills, can go the praise for capturing the murderer of Ruth Farnham. As you might suspect, this young woman did not act alone – she was aided and abetted by the man who calls himself Staunton. So, to Scotland Yard, and Stanley Hopkins, goes the credit for finally catching up with the man they have been after for two years – the attempted murderer of Lady Frances Carfax – better known to you as Holy Peters.’
‘No, I think you are mistaken there, Mr Holmes,’ said Hopkins, ‘I have seen his picture at the Yard; Peters, or Shlessinger as he was last known, is a bald man with a torn left ear.’