More Rivals of Sherlock Holmes

by Nick Rennison

  ‘Well, suppose I have got it, and suppose I refuse to give it you. What then?’

  ‘What then? But why should we talk of unpleasant things? You won’t refuse, you know.’

  ‘Do you mean you’d get it out of me by help of that pistol?’

  ‘Well,’ said Dorrington, deliberately, ‘the pistol is noisy, and it makes a mess, and all that, but it’s a useful thing, and I might do it with that, you know, in certain circumstances. But I wasn’t thinking of it – there’s a much less troublesome way.’

  ‘Which?’

  ‘You’re a slower man than I took you for, Mr Hamer – or perhaps you haven’t quite appreciated me yet. If I were to go to that window and call the police, what with the little bits of evidence in my pocket, and the other little bits that the druggists who sold the chloroform would give, and the other bits in reserve, that I prefer not to talk about just now – there would be rather an awkwardly complete case of robbery with violence, wouldn’t there? And you’d have to lose the diamond after all, to say nothing of a little rest in gaol and general ruination.’

  ‘That sounds very well, but what about your client? Come now, you call me a man of the world, and I am one. How will your client account for the possession of a diamond worth eighty thousand pounds or so? He doesn’t seem a millionaire. The police would want to know about him as well as about me, if you were such a fool as to bring them in. Where did he steal it, eh?’

  Dorrington smiled and bowed at the question. ‘That’s a very good card to play, Mr Hamer,’ he said, ‘a capital card, really. To a superficial observer it might look like winning the trick. But I think I can trump it.’ He bent farther forward and tapped the table with the pistol-barrel. ‘Suppose I don’t care one solitary dump what becomes of my client? Suppose I don’t care whether he goes to gaol or stays out of it – in short, suppose I prefer my own interests to his?’

  ‘Ho! ho!’ Hamer cried. ‘I begin to understand. You want to grab the diamond for yourself then?’

  ‘I haven’t said anything of the kind, Mr Hamer,’ Dorrington replied, suavely. ‘I have simply demanded the diamond which you stole last night, and I have mentioned an alternative.’

  ‘Oh, yes, yes, but we understand one another. Come, we’ll arrange this. How much do you want?’

  Dorrington stared at him stonily. ‘I – I beg your pardon,’ he said, ‘but I don’t understand. I want the diamond you stole.’

  ‘But come now, we’ll divide. Bouvier had no right to it, and he’s out. You and I, perhaps, haven’t much right to it, legally, but it’s between us, and we’re both in the same position.’

  ‘Pardon me,’ Dorrington replied, silkily, ‘but there you mistake. We are not in the same position, by a long way. You are liable to an instant criminal prosecution. I have simply come, authorised by my client, who bears all the responsibility, to demand a piece of property which you have stolen. That is the difference between our positions, Mr Hamer. Come now, a policeman is just standing opposite. Shall I open the window and call him, or do you give in?’

  ‘Oh, I give in, I suppose,’ Hamer groaned. ‘But you’re a deal too hard. A man of your abilities shouldn’t be so mean.’

  ‘That’s right and reasonable,’ Dorrington answered briskly. ‘The wise man is the man who knows when he is beaten, and saves further trouble. You may not find me so mean after all, but I must have the stone first. I hold the trumps, and I’m not going to let the other player make conditions. Where’s the diamond?’

  ‘It isn’t here – it’s at home. You’ll have to get it out of Mrs Hamer. Shall I go and wire to her?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Dorrington, ‘that’s not the way. We’ll just go together, and take Mrs Hamer by surprise, I think. I mustn’t let you out of sight, you know. Come, we’ll get a hansom. Is it far?’

  ‘Bessborough Street, Pimlico. You’ll find Mrs Hamer has a temper of her own.’

  ‘Well, well, we all have our failings. But before we start, now, observe.’ For a moment Dorrington was stern and menacing. ‘You wriggled a little at first, but that was quite natural. Now you’ve given in; and at the first sign of another wriggle I stop it once and for all. Understand? No tricks, now.’

  They entered a hansom at the door. Hamer was moody and silent at first, but under the influence of Dorrington’s gay talk he opened out after a while. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you’re far the cleverest of the three, no doubt, and perhaps in that way you deserve to win. It’s mighty smart for you to come in like this, and push Bouvier on one side and me on the other, and both of us helpless. But it’s rough on me after having all the trouble.’

  ‘Don’t be a bad loser, man!’ Dorrington answered. ‘You might have had a deal more trouble and a deal more roughness too, I assure you.’

  ‘Oh yes, so I might. I’m not grumbling. But there’s one thing has puzzled me all along. Where did Bouvier get that stone from?’

  ‘He inherited it. It’s the most important of the family jewels, I assure you.’

  ‘Oh, skittles! I might have known you wouldn’t tell me, even if you knew yourself. But I should like to know. What sort of a duffer must it have been that let Bouvier do him for that big stone – Bouvier of all men in the world? Why, he was a record flat himself – couldn’t tell a diamond from a glass marble, I should think. Why, he used to buy peddling little trays of rotters in the Garden at twice their value! And then he’d sell them for what he could get. I knew very well he wasn’t going on systematically dropping money like that for no reason at all. He had some axe to grind, that was plain. And after a while he got asking timid questions as to the sale of big diamonds, and how it was done, and who bought them, and all that. That put me on it at once. All this buying and selling at a loss was a blind. He wanted to get into the trade to sell stolen diamonds, that was clear; and there was some value in them too, else he couldn’t afford to waste months of time and lose money every day over it. So I kept my eye on him. I noticed, when he put his overcoat on, and thought I wasn’t looking, he would settle a string of some sort round his neck, under his shirt-collar, and feel to pack up something close under his armpit. Then I just watched him home, and saw the sort of shanty he lived in. I mentioned these things to Mrs H, and she was naturally indignant at the idea of a chap like Bouvier having something valuable in a dishonest way, and agreed with me that if possible it ought to be got from him, if only in the interests of virtue.’ Hamer laughed jerkily. ‘So at any rate we determined to get a look at whatever it was hanging round his neck, and we made the arrangements you know about. It seemed to me that Bouvier was pretty sure to lose it before long, one way or another, if it had any value at all, to judge by the way he was done in other matters. But I assure you I nearly fell down like Bouvier himself when I saw what it was. No wonder we left the bottle behind where I’d dropped it, after soaking the shawl – I wonder I didn’t leave the shawl itself, and my hat, and everything. I assure you we sat up half last night looking at that wonderful stone!’

  ‘No doubt. I shall have a good look at it myself, I assure you. Here is Bessborough Street. Which is the number?’

  They alighted, and entered a house rather smaller than those about it. ‘Ask Mrs Hamer to come here,’ said Hamer, gloomily, to the servant.

  The men sat in the drawing-room. Presently Mrs Hamer entered – a shortish, sharp, keen-eyed woman of forty-five. ‘This is Mr Dorrington,’ said Hamer, ‘of Dorrington & Hicks, private detectives. He wants us to give him that diamond.’

  The little woman gave a sort of involuntary bounce, and exclaimed. ‘What? Diamond? What d’ye mean?’

  ‘Oh, it’s no good, Maria,’ Hamer answered dolefully. ‘I’ve tried it every way myself. One comfort is we’re safe, as long as we give it up. Here,’ he added, turning to Dorrington, ‘show her some of your evidence – that’ll convince her.’

  Very politely Dorrington brought forth, with full explanations, the co
rk and the broken glass; while Mrs Hamer, biting hard at her thin lips, grew shinier and redder in the face every moment, and her hard grey eyes flashed fury.

  ‘And you let this man,’ she burst out to her husband, when Dorrington had finished, ‘you let this man leave your office with these things in his possession after he had shown them to you, and you as big as he is, and bigger! Coward!’

  ‘My dear, you don’t appreciate Mr Dorrington’s forethought, hang it! I made preparations for the very line of action you recommend, but he was ready. He brought out a very well kept revolver, and he has it in his pocket now!’

  Mrs Hamer only glared, speechless with anger.

  ‘You might just get Mr Dorrington a whisky and soda, Maria,’ Hamer pursued, with a slight lift of the eyebrows which he did not intend Dorrington to see. The woman was on her feet in a moment.

  ‘Thank you, no,’ interposed Dorrington, rising also, ‘I won’t trouble you. I’d rather not drink anything just now, and, although I fear I may appear rude, I can’t allow either of you to leave the room. In short,’ he added, ‘I must stay with you both till I get the diamond.’

  ‘And this man Bouvier,’ asked Mrs Hamer, ‘what is his right to the stone?’

  ‘Really, I don’t feel competent to offer an opinion, do you know,’ Dorrington answered sweetly. ‘To tell the truth, M Bouvier doesn’t interest me very much.’

  ‘No go, Maria!’ growled Hamer. ‘I’ve tried it all. The fact is we’ve got to give Dorrington the diamond. If we don’t he’ll just call in the police – then we shall lose the diamond and everything else too. He doesn’t care what becomes of Bouvier. He’s got us, that’s what it is. He won’t even bargain to give us a share.’

  Mrs Hamer looked quickly up. ‘Oh, but that’s nonsense!’ she said. ‘We’ve got the thing. We ought at least to say halves.’

  Her sharp eyes searched Dorrington’s face, but there was no encouragement in it. ‘I am sorry to disappoint a lady,’ he said, ‘but this time it is my business to impose terms, not to submit to them. Come, the diamond!’

  ‘Well, you’ll give us something, surely?’ the woman cried.

  ‘Nothing is sure, madam, except that you will give me that diamond, or face a policeman in five minutes!’

  The woman realised her helplessness. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘much good may it do you. You’ll have to come and get it – I’m keeping it somewhere else. I’ll go and get my hat.’

  Again Dorrington interposed. ‘I think we’ll send your servant for the hat,’ he said, reaching for the bell-rope. ‘I’ll come wherever you like, but I shall not leave you till this affair is settled, I promise you. And, as I reminded your husband a little time ago, you’ll find tricks come expensive.’

  The servant brought Mrs Hamer’s hat and cloak, and that lady put them on, her eyes ablaze with anger. Dorrington made the pair walk before him to the front door, and followed them into the street. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘where is this place? Remember, no tricks!’

  Mrs Hamer turned towards Vauxhall Bridge. ‘It’s just over by Upper Kennington Lane,’ she said. ‘Not far.’

  She paced out before them, Dorrington and Hamer following, the former affable and business-like, the latter apparently a little puzzled. When they came about the middle of the bridge, the woman turned suddenly. ‘Come, Mr Dorrington,’ she said, in a more subdued voice than she had yet used, ‘I give in. It’s no use trying to shake you off, I can see. I have the diamond with me. Here.’

  She put a little old black wooden box in his hand. He made to open the lid, which fitted tightly, and at that moment the woman, pulling her other hand free from under her cloak, flung away over the parapet something that shone like fifty points of electric light.

  ‘There it goes!’ she screamed aloud, pointing with her finger. ‘There’s your diamond, you dirty thief! You bully! Go after it now, you spy!’

  The great diamond made a curve of glitter and disappeared into the river.

  For the moment Dorrington lost his cool temper. He seized the woman by the arm. ‘Do you know what you’ve done, you wild cat?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, I do!’ the woman screamed, almost foaming with passion, while boys began to collect, though there had been but few people on the bridge. ‘Yes, I do! And now you can do what you please, you thief! You bully!’

  Dorrington was calm again in a moment. He shrugged his shoulders and turned away. Hamer was frightened. He came at Dorrington’s side and faltered, ‘I – I told you she had a temper. What will you do?’

  Dorrington forced a laugh. ‘Oh, nothing,’ he said. ‘What can I do? Locking you up now wouldn’t fetch the diamond back. And besides I’m not sure that Mrs Hamer won’t attend to your punishment faithfully enough.’ And he walked briskly away.

  ‘What did she do, Bill?’ asked one boy of another.

  ‘Why, didn’t ye see? She chucked that man’s watch in the river.’

  ‘Garn! That wasn’t his watch!’ interrupted a third, ‘it was a little glass tumbler. I see it!’

  * * * * *

  ‘Have you got my diamond?’ asked the agonised Léon Bouvier of Dorrington a day later.

  ‘No, I have not,’ Dorrington replied drily. ‘Nor has your cousin Jacques. But I know where it is, and you can get it as easily as I.’

  ‘Mon Dieu! Where?’

  ‘At the bottom of the River Thames, exactly in the centre, rather to the right of Vauxhall Bridge, looking from this side. I expect it will be rediscovered in some future age, when the bed of the Thames is a diamond field.’

  The rest of Bouvier’s savings went in the purchase of a boat, and in this, with a pail on a long rope, he was very busy for some time afterward. But he only got a great deal of mud into his boat.

  MARTIN HEWITT

  Created by Arthur Morrison (1863-1945)

  Of all the rivals of Sherlock Holmes who sprang up in the years immediately following Conan Doyle’s startling success with his detective, the most consistently admired was Arthur Morrison’s Martin Hewitt. Hewitt shares many characteristics with Holmes. Like Holmes, he is profoundly knowledgeable in all sorts of arcane subjects and possesses a ruthlessly logical mind. Like the stories of the sage of Baker Street, Hewitt’s adventures mostly appeared in the pages of The Strand Magazine and were illustrated by Sydney Paget. He has his own Watson in the journalist Brett who narrates the stories. He even has his own version of Moriarty in the master criminal Mayes whom he faces in a series of interlinked stories in The Red Triangle. In other ways, though, Hewitt is Holmes’s antithesis. A lawyer’s clerk turned private detective, with offices on the Strand, he is not a flamboyant eccentric but a ‘stoutish, clean-shaven man, of middle height, and of a cheerful, round countenance’. Unlike Holmes, who does little to dispel the belief that he is some kind of genius, Hewitt maintains that he ‘has no system beyond a judicious use of ordinary faculties’. Indeed, as Morrison is at pains to point out, presumably with a nod in the direction of Conan Doyle’s creation, ‘the man had always as little of the aspect of the conventional detective as may be imagined’. In total, Martin Hewitt appeared in twenty-five short stories which were later collected in four volumes – Martin Hewitt, Investigator (1894), The Chronicles of Martin Hewitt (1895), The Adventures of Martin Hewitt (1896) and The Red Triangle (1903).

  THE IVY COTTAGE MYSTERY

  I had been working double tides for a month: at night on my morning paper, as usual; and in the morning on an evening paper as locum tenens for another man who was taking a holiday. This was an exhausting plan of work, although it only actually involved some six hours’ attendance a day, or less, at the two offices. I turned up at the headquarters of my own paper at ten in the evening, and by the time I had seen the editor, selected a subject, written my leader, corrected the slips, chatted, smoked, and so on, and cleared off, it was very usually one o’clock. This meant bed at two, or even three, after suppe
r at the club.

  This was all very well at ordinary periods, when any time in the morning would do for rising, but when I had to be up again soon after seven, and round at the evening paper office by eight, I naturally felt a little worn and disgusted with things by midday, after a sharp couple of hours’ leaderette scribbling and paragraphing, with attendant sundries.

  But the strain was over, and on the first day of comparative comfort I indulged in a midday breakfast and the first undisgusted glance at a morning paper for a month. I felt rather interested in an inquest, begun the day before, on the body of a man whom I had known very slightly before I took to living in chambers.

  His name was Gavin Kingscote, and he was an artist of a casual and desultory sort, having, I believe, some small private means of his own. As a matter of fact, he had boarded in the same house in which I had lodged myself for a while, but as I was at the time a late homer and a fairly early riser, taking no regular board in the house, we never became much acquainted. He had since, I understood, made some judicious Stock Exchange speculations, and had set up house in Finchley.

  Now the news was that he had been found one morning murdered in his smoking-room, while the room itself, with others, was in a state of confusion. His pockets had been rifled, and his watch and chain were gone, with one or two other small articles of value. On the night of the tragedy a friend had sat smoking with him in the room where the murder took place, and he had been the last person to see Mr Kingscote alive. A jobbing gardener, who kept the garden in order by casual work from time to time, had been arrested in consequence of footprints exactly corresponding with his boots, having been found on the garden beds near the French window of the smoking-room.