He bounded up the stairs, seized the tea-tray from Mrs. Hudson and made tea, before hurling himself into his chair with his drink and eyeing me broodingly.
“Kyle Johnson refused to admit me to his home, nor would he come out to speak to me, even on his doorstep. He had his brother’s lawyer with him when he talked to the police. They say he is not suspected, nor are they interested in his refusal to speak to me. I tried to see him on three occasions and on the last one, he sent word that if I did not cease my importunities, he would lay a complaint with the authorities.”
“Unfortunate,” I said cautiously.
“Unfortunate? It is iniquitous. Has he no regard for—”
“For what?” I asked. “You, yourself, have stated that his brother died of natural causes and the circumstances of Lily’s demise have caused a great deal of scandal. I, too, have visited the island and heard the gossip, the suggestions that, if nothing else, he is morally responsible for the poor woman’s death. If he naturally resents the imputation, it is understandable. Why would he wish to add further humiliation and engender more rumor by aiding you to show she may have been murdered? And by whom? If you suspect him, you cannot expect him to help you. If you suspect someone else, it can only be someone whom he knows. I don’t see why you expected him to behave differently.”
Holmes looked at me, sighed, then drained his cup, set it down, and leaned back. “You are right, Watson.”
“However,” I said significantly, “I may have information on the man’s character. For more than thirty years a patient of mine’s husband collected books using Kyle Johnson as his agent. She told me stories and gave me insight to his character, since he was their companion bibliophile as well as agent. Both liked and trusted him, and he became a regular visitor to their home.”
My friend’s eyes lit with interest. “Then begin at once, my dear fellow. Tell me everything.”
And with that, he passed me another cup of tea, poured himself one, and waited expectantly while I gathered my thoughts.
5
I recounted all that Mrs. Tremain told me, and once I was done, I forestalled his questions before he could begin. Mrs. Hudson brought up our dinner, as I had earlier requested.
I, for one, was ravenous, and judging by Holmes’s appetite, he, too, had not eaten since that morning. Once my inner man was satisfied, I stoked the fire and indicated I was ready for his interrogation.
Holmes nodded. “I would like further details regarding Johnson obtaining the book Tremain wanted. Did he buy more than that single book? What price did he pay? How fair was the price? What was his commission? And what more do you know of the heirs?”
I did my best to satisfy him, but I could not answer every query. All I knew I shared willingly, and Holmes fastened on what little I knew of the old man’s heirs.
“The old Scot had a title? He was a baronet? But the title did not descend to them. How then was it that he had an estate?”
I brightened. “I can tell you that. He was the younger son of a younger son, but his uncle was killed as a young man, and his father inherited the estate. And the man’s elder brother died shortly before the father’s demise, so the younger brother inherited directly. Unfortunately, the men of the uncle’s line were profligate. They had gambled, sold portions of their lands, and dissipated most of the inheritance. The old man had little money to upkeep the property by the time it came to him.
“He did not marry and became a recluse, caring only for his dogs. His heirs were cousins who knew nothing of the land. By the time he died the land was in poor heart and would have required considerable money, work, and time to bring it back again. The book he sold to the Tremains might have provided that money, but he sold it for less than its value, in order to realize the cash and yet retain the book while he yet lived.”
“But you know nothing more of the heirs?”
“No. Holmes, do you think them responsible in some way? What could be their motive for murdering a woman who was in no way involved in their affairs?”
“Consider this. Tremain bought the book that could have ensured their prosperity. However, the agent was not Tremain but Johnson, who convinced an old man—perhaps one beginning to fail in his wits—to sell the book for less than its true worth. This agent is now going to inherit a valuable estate from his brother.” He saw my growing incredulousness and gave me a quick smile. “No? The truth of it is, Watson, I was merely interested in them. I found it odd that they did not make a greater attempt to sell the house and what land went with it.”
“Mrs. Tremain,” I said austerely, “told me that it would have taken a great deal of money to put even that portion of the property back into shape again. I have been referring to it as a house, but it is, in fact, a small castle.”
“How much land is there with it?”
“No more than fifteen or twenty acres. It is all on rock, little grows, and the access is by a road that is impassable in winter. The out-buildings are falling down, the castle itself would require almost complete rebuilding, and for what? Who would wish to live so isolated, on such a small amount of land, and how would they make from that any income?”
Holmes shook his head. “Really, Watson, you must keep up with the times. Americans would have bought such a place, even though the events of which you speak were thirty years ago. They would likely not want more land and would have money to rebuild the castle. Do you not recall Dead Fell and the wealthy Canadians who inherited just such a property in Scotland?”
Now reminded, I did indeed. Our young friend Miss Emily and her sagacious Burmese cat, Mandalay, were even now ensconced in the Semple home. While she worked on a family history, Mandalay would be hunting mice—and trouble—since he was rarely far from finding that.
“I see,” I said thoughtfully. “Yes, I daresay it could be sold to Americans or perhaps Canadians. Why did they not do so?”
“Exactly so, Watson. Instead, they left the place to fall down, when it seems to me that any sum at all would have been welcome. It seems, shall we say, unusual, if they were as eager for money as your patient suggests.”
It seemed so to me as well, but no one would pay Holmes to find an answer to his question, whereas the Simeses wanted answers to the death of their mother. I said so.
“You are right, my dear fellow. Well then, would it trouble you to go back to Mrs. Tremain?”
I said that it wouldn’t and on finding why, and what Holmes wished of me, I felt that he might be hoping for more than he would receive. But I agreed to try. The lady could only refuse my request—which I did not believe she would do—yet it was another’s continued refusal I saw as more likely. Still, I need have no part in that.
* * * *
I approached my patient the morning after, received the requested item and, having arranged my appointments to allow me a day off, went with Holmes to the Isle of Sheppey. We left at eight the next morning, and on our arrival were driven at once to the home of Kyle Johnson. Holmes sent in the letter of introduction Mrs. Tremain provided, along with a written assurance signed by Holmes, that all discussion, should Johnson agree to talk with us, would be kept private.
I had not thought that even such an item would turn the tide, but I was wrong. Johnson’s housekeeper, who answered the door, came back almost at once to usher us into the house, seat us in the drawing room, and offer us refreshments. She said the master would be with us shortly, and Kyle Johnson came into the room and stood frowning in our direction only three or four minutes later.
He was a man of medium height and, from his movements, fit and of a wiry strength. By my calculations he would be about seventy-one or -two but looked a good ten years younger. His hair was a mix of dark brown and gray, while his eyes were hazel and penetrating. His clothing was casual, but of an excellent quality. That surprised me, for I had not thought him to have that sort of money.
His tone was ungracious, but his expression resigned. “I have no idea what use I can be to you, nor you to me. Howev
er, since Mrs. Tremain and her husband were good to me and I regard the lady as a friend, and since she asks in her letter that I see you, I am doing so. Say what you want and then leave.”
Holmes nodded. “Let me say firstly then, that I have never believed you in any way culpable for the death of Lily Klimpton. I see no reason why you should murder her.”
Johnson stared. “Murder? The woman killed herself.” And in a musing voice he added, “Because of my brother’s actions, and I cannot for the life of me imagine why he behaved in such a way.”
“Can you not?”
Johnson sat abruptly and met our gaze. “No.”
I poured a cup of tea from the tray left by the housekeeper and passed it to him. He drained it and placed the empty cup back on the table before speaking.
“My brother was a good man. We were friends and confidants all our lives. As you may be aware, he was ten years the elder, and he always looked upon me as his little brother. His health was never as good as mine, and when it began to fail he came home with sufficient money to live as he wished. Had Lily lived, I would have offered her a portion of my brother’s estate, but she died. Alistair’s money was owed to no one else, so I accepted his estate. He would have left all to me in his first will, had I wished or asked for that, however, I neither wanted nor needed his money. He was free to leave it to Lily and, so far as I knew until the will’s reading, he did so.”
“Yes,” Holmes said quietly. “You had no need of your brother’s money since you own this house, you have a goodly sum in Government Funds, and your own book collection is valued at a minimum of…” Here he named an amount that made my eyes widen.
Johnson looked startled. “How is it that you know such things?”
“Once I suspected your real position, it was simple to talk to those who understood the true state of affairs.” Amusement glimmered in his eyes. “Your trips abroad to buy books, talking to fellow bibliophiles, attending continental auctions on behalf of other collectors, were a cover for your work with a certain department. I am told that while Her Majesty’s Government paid you poorly, they agreed to your condition to attend auctions, assist other clients, and buy books on your own behalf. Seeing that it would cost them nothing, and it made your cover both more believable and successful, they agreed. Over the years you acquired a number of very valuable items as a part of that agreement, and not always by purchase.”
Kyle Johnson threw back his head and roared with laughter. “You put it delicately, Mr. Holmes. It is true. Now and again, there were—er—eliminations, or events that fell out that way. If I was nearby or involved, I did not see why such items should be left behind. My superiors tolerated it, and I was careful; ‘measure in all things made,’ as that poet fellow said. However, I am neither a drinker, nor a smoker. I do not waste my substance in riotous living, and over the years I accumulated a substantial portion of this world’s goods, which are, as you say, carefully invested.”
“You have an excellent library, too, I understand.”
Johnson fired up at that. “Every book purchased honestly.”
“I accept that. The funds that bought them, however…”
“Oh, well, that may be. But was it to talk of such things that you stormed my gate?”
“No. Tell me about your brother.”
Kyle Johnson did so, not at length, but sufficiently to show that he knew his brother, the man’s ways, beliefs, and what he would or would not do. Ending with, “I cannot understand why he should behave towards Lily as he did. He loved her. That was the long and the short of it.”
“For how long?” Holmes asked.
“Ah, a good question, and I suspect you already know something of the answer.” Holmes nodded. “Very well. Her brother and mine were friends when they were children. As he regularly returned to the Isle, Lily, too, became his friend. I think my brother believed they would marry and waited only to have his own business, but when she was sixteen a family moved to the island from Folkestone. Their son was Daniel Klimpton, who swept her off her feet, and they were wed before she could have second thoughts. She was a good wife to him until he died. He left her sufficient that she would not starve, but the truth is that in their marriage, it was always he who loved, and Lily who was loved.
“I think she came to regret the marriage within the year, but she was an honest woman; she had sworn to him and she would keep that vow. Daniel died five years before my brother returned, and as soon as he completed rebuilding the cottage he went to Lily and asked her to be his housekeeper.”
“Was it understood she would be more at that time?”
“No. It was something that grew again over the months, arising from their childhood friendship and affection. He would have married her at any time, but it was she who said it was unnecessary: they were too old to have children, and Daniel’s sister disliked her sufficiently as it was.”
“Tell me about that?”
Kyle Johnson sighed. “His sister is Miss Grace Klimpton. She is a dried-up, acidulated spinster, of vicious tongue and a gossiping disposition. She made it clear from the beginning that she did not think Lily good enough for her brother.” He smiled grimly. “As soon as Lily came to work for my brother, Grace began to drop hints locally that their relationship may have existed during Lily’s marriage and was only now coming into the open. My brother mentioned it to me, and I took it upon myself to silence the pestilential woman.”
“How?” I asked.
“I spoke to those to whom she listened. I made it plain she should be warned, and if she continued to make trouble, equal trouble would befall them. It silenced her until Lily’s death, after which, I am told, she is now suggesting that Lily was smitten by God’s wrath. Which is not at all what you believe, if I understand your comment to me upon your arrival?”
“It is not,” Holmes said. “I believe she was murdered. I am merely, as yet, at a loss to know by whom or why. Tell me, why should Lily have cared what this Grace Klimpton says?”
This time I enlightened him. “Holmes, she was a respectable woman on an island whose people are insular and close-knit. Miss Klimpton was suggesting that Lily had carried on a clandestine affair during her marriage, and perhaps before—in other words, that she did not come pure to her marriage bed. If that tale became a general belief, it would have destroyed her reputation, embroiled her family in unpleasantness, and caused great distress to her grandchildren.”
“Surely had she married her employer that would have silenced the gossip?”
“On the contrary. Such a tactic might work in some other rural areas, but not here, not with the other suspicions being constantly voiced.”
“I see. What did Miss Klimpton gain from all this trouble she stirred up?”
“Amusement,” Kyle Johnson snapped. “Satisfaction, too. She is the sort who would resent anyone who came between her and her adored elder brother. I heard that they were estranged for three or four years after the wedding. She spread gossip, and her brother was angry when what she said was passed on to him.”
“The wrath of God,” Holmes said pensively. “God rarely strikes these days.”
“No,” Kyle Johnson agreed softly. “But a vindictive and jealous woman might perhaps direct a thunderbolt. One who saw a woman she detested about to inherit a generous estate. A woman who had two men mad for her, where this virtuous lady never had even one.”
“Why?” I demanded.
Johnson considered. “She has an annuity from her father: I daresay he thought she would not marry, and he was right. But it is sufficient for her to disregard the need to hold her tongue because she must earn a living. I think her gossip has become, over the years, like a snowball rolling downhill. She speaks her mind, as she would claim, and that sets some against her, then in anger she says more. The pain she causes adds to the dislike in which she is held, which provokes her to disseminate more rumors. And so it continues, until few speak to her of their own free will, save her minister, those who sell to her, and a f
ew remaining of her family—save the Simeses.”
“They do not speak to her?” I commented. “Does she speak to them?”
“Never willingly that I know. Most people cross the road when they see her coming.” He sat brooding. “I suppose she could have killed Lily, but how? Lily knew how much Grace disliked her and would have been unlikely to admit her.”
But I could see it. “No,” I said, a feeling of excitement rising. I could have the solution. “Listen, Grace approaches the house, she knocks on the door. When Lily opens it, Grace says that she is sorry for all their past disagreements. She is distressed, perhaps she sheds a few tears. Lily invites her in, for not to do so would be un-Christian. Lily takes her to the parlor. Grace produces a bottle of spirits, saying Daniel gave it to her shortly before his death. She has brought it now so that they might drink to Daniel, and to that other good man Lily has lost.
“Again, Grace says that she apologizes for everything she has said. She was grief-stricken over the loss of her brother, and perhaps for a time she was mad from sorrow.
“Please, allow her to make amends. Drink my Daniel’s gift, and let them be, if not friends, then at least not enemies. Lily brings glasses. After the first drink, Grace suggests some reason for Lily to leave the room. Grace adds the distilled laudanum to her glass and when Lily returns she drinks it unwittingly.
“All Grace must do then is to talk and wait. In my estimation, the drug would put a woman to sleep within minutes of ingestion. Even if Lily realized she is affected, she would be unable to act. Lily crumples in her chair. Grace drags her to the bedroom and lays her out, counterfeits a letter, and leaves Lily to die—or she may have remained, watching, enjoying the sight of the woman she hated fading into death, unable to prevent it or to denounce her murderer.”
Both men stared at me. Johnson spoke first. “Grace is certainly bitter enough.”
“Has she ever shown herself knowledgeable as to drugs?” Holmes inquired.
“No, but her grandfather was a chemist, and she tended him in his later years. She looks slight, but I have seen her pick up a fallen branch I thought too heavy for her.”
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