Sherlock Holmes - Found Dead

by Lyn McConchie

  “So they are still in communication?”

  “No. She said her friend was so changed because of her experience that they no longer had anything in common, and gradually the period between letters increased, until after some years, they ceased entirely.”

  I thought that sad and allowed the discussion to lapse.

  Holmes retired shortly thereafter, as did I. I heard no more for a day, knowing only that he was gone before I rose and would be on the island, and hoping he would not approach his subject too abruptly. Holmes can be just a little uncaring of a person’s feelings, at times—he expects others to have his own clear-minded, emotionless approach to problems, and not all do so. I expected him back that night but there was no sign of him, nor was there the next day, nor the next. And when at last he did return I saw at once that he was suppressing some strong emotion.

  I offered him tea, which was rejected, then a whisky and received a shake of the head. So I sat back in my chair remaining silent until he relaxed and glanced at me.

  “I apologize, Watson. I am wrong to take out my anger upon you.”

  “You could not persuade Miss Grace to speak to you?”

  “On the contrary. She admitted me, and upon my introducing the subject of her sister-in-law’s supposed suicide, agreed that she would not have thought it of her. I suggested it could not have been an accident, for the circumstances told otherwise. When asked, I explained those in greater detail and she agreed. I then said that if it were neither accident nor suicide, then it could be only one other thing, and that was murder. At which she showed clear interest and asked why and what circumstances made me think so. I expanded on what I learned, and she became extremely thoughtful, saying she wished to consider my information and suggested that I return the next day.” He paused.

  “Do go on, Holmes,” I exhorted him.

  “I visited her again, and she demanded further details on certain aspects of Lily Klimpton’s death and requested my own opinions. In return, she answered some of my questions. I was right, Watson. She knew far more than anyone might suspect of people’s private lives. She told me of events of which I am sure those involved had no idea she knew even the most intimate details of their personal affairs. I then requested information on the Johnsons, and she provided that, again to an extent I believe would have surprised both gentlemen. In turn she demanded that I lay out again all the events of Lily’s expectations, how she knew, what she thought or believed and had told her daughter and family. I obeyed, and she fell into a reverie.

  “After five or six minutes she told me that she must think more on this, and that I should call again. I believed some thought occurred to her in connection with our conversation and I pressed her to be frank, but she refused to discuss what she might suspect, and would not be moved. I went away. It was now dusk, but I was uneasy. I returned two hours later, and although I knocked I could get no answer, and on walking around the house I saw that a lamp burned on the kitchen table and the back door was on the latch. I admit it, Watson, I entered and looked about, but she had gone out, and I departed again, determined to call early the next morning and demand what it was that had come to her. I returned early the next morning, and all was as I found it the previous evening. The lamp had burned out, the back door remained on the latch, and the lady was nowhere to be seen.”

  “You mean she bolted?” I exclaimed.

  “On the contrary. Her body was found that morning on the beach by three young men. The police might have accepted it as a drowning, but for my suggesting—I have benefitted in knowing you, Watson—that they wait an hour or two for their doctor to examine her. This they did, allowing bruises across the top of her shoulders to develop. This evidence was sufficiently clear that the police had perforce to agree her death was no accident.”

  “Careless of her killer,” I commented.

  “Not so much as you might think. She was fully clothed still, in what she had worn when last I saw her, having added only the jacket to her suit. The killer may have assumed that the clothing would prevent any signs. It did not.”

  “You think he took her down to the beach to be private in their discussion, and when he realized she knew too much he dragged her into the water and held her under?”

  “I do. It suggests to me that the killer lives on the island, is a person of position or influence and some wealth, has much to lose, and that Grace Klimpton did not suspect her or him of murder. She probably thought only that there was some odd or unusual event involving this person, which she wanted explained. I think it likely something which she heard a long time ago, perhaps in confidence from another. Or it may be that she heard two pieces of information, and on putting them together, found them suggestive.” He looked at me. “If she had spoken when I asked her that evening, she might not have died.”

  “That is not your fault, Holmes. You did your best, and you said she refused to confide in you, no matter how she was pressed. All you can do now is find her killer, if the police will allow.”

  “They will,” my friend said firmly. “Mr. Kyle Johnson spoke to me. He desires me to find the killer, no matter what it costs. He told Florence and Robin Simes that he will take over payment to me and they have agreed, as have I. He has sufficient influence with the police that they, too, have agreed that, while they will not share any information they already have, or subsequently receive, they will not attempt to hinder my own investigations. I said that I shall share any pertinent information I receive with them. However, when I am sure of the killer’s identity, that knowledge, too, shall be theirs, along with the right of arrest. My job is to uncover the murderer—I am not a policeman.”

  I drew in a breath. That was useful. Here in London, Holmes has something of a name and reputation, and the police might wink at his actions so long as they receive the credit. I had not been certain he could pursue his own way on the island, but now he had that permission.

  “When do you return?”

  “Not for a day. I intend to see Mrs. Rogers again. Her friend is dead. She knew Miss Grace best, and it may be that she has further information which she may recall under my questioning. I need to talk to her, and I shall spend tomorrow doing so.”

  Before we retired for the night, however, I advanced a thought concerning the difficulty over Alistair Johnson’s will.

  “Holmes,” I asked, “do you think it possible Johnson deliberately deceived Lily?”

  “In what way?”

  “Perhaps he was angry over her abrupt abandonment of him when they were young. You heard what his brother said, that they had long been friends and Alistair had come to think they would marry. Then a young man comes to the Isle, and the next thing Johnson knows is that she is married to another. Might he not have held a grudge? And then, when the man she married dies, Johnson returns. Lily is finally his, yet she still refuses to marry him, saying that marriage is unnecessary. Might not that, too, have rankled? He may have felt that ‘I have been counted as unworthy to marry her twice now, why should she benefit? But let her think she will and when she finds otherwise, she can be as hurt as she has hurt me.’” I looked at my friend questioningly.

  “It is not impossible, Watson, but remember his brother believed he left everything to the woman and was astonished to find it was not so. If Alistair was likely to behave in that way, Kyle Johnson would know, but his bewilderment was genuine. Bennett Haswill, too, thought the actions contrary to his friend’s character. And while the lawyer advanced a similar proposition, he obviously did not believe it himself. I will take it under advisement, Watson, and it is a believable theory, yet I think it did not happen.”

  And with that we retired. He was gone all day, returning that evening weary, travel-worn, and—as I at once saw—having learned nothing of any use or importance. But then, such is the life of a consulting detective.

  7

  The next day he took the ferry back to the Isle of Sheppey and it was three days more before I saw him again. I managed to cram all my du
ties into one day, and the day after I followed Holmes onto the ferry.

  I joined him in his rented cottage and he was pleased to see me.

  “So you could afford a day here, Watson? That is well. I admit I have made no advance in the investigation, however, nor have the police. They are unhappy on that score. They say that murder here is rare and are determined it shall be solved, and the killer brought to book.”

  “In what way can I assist you, Holmes?”

  My friend thought for a moment. “Go and see Kyle Johnson,” he said at last. “Firstly, he is distressed by events and would welcome someone with whom he can talk, someone he can be certain will not gossip about what they hear. He may know odd pieces of information of which he is not consciously aware. Let him talk, encourage him to speak of his brother, and allow him to reminisce. Ask what the Isle was like when they were younger, and who he and he brother knew then. Listen and remember all he says.”

  Listening to Johnson talk for hours about his youth and then remembering every word would not be an easy task, but I was willing to try. I said so and Holmes adjured me to waste no time.

  I was fortunate enough to find my quarry at home. He was at tea, invited me to join him, and appeared eager to talk. I accepted the offered refreshment, sat in a large and comfortable armchair, and opened by asking him how he and his brother got on with those who lived hereabouts.

  “You know we were born here?”

  “Yes, but you lived in more affluent circumstances than many others. Did that ever cause trouble?”

  He laughed. “On one occasion, at least. Our coroner still dislikes me.”

  I leaned forward attentively.

  “When I was sixteen and he a year younger, we competed for a minor scholarship and he lost. His father complained, saying that I had no need of the money, but his son could not continue school without it. The scholarship board said that was irrelevant, the conditions did not include need as a stipulation, and I received the money. And while he sat again the following year and won, he has never quite forgiven me.”

  I said nothing. Johnson had won fairly, but the other boy’s protest was understandable. I, too, felt that someone who could easily afford the cost of their schooling should not deprive those who otherwise could not attend.

  Kyle Johnson studied me and nodded. “Yes, now I see that his father was right. All I knew at the time was my pleasure in winning was taken away by a suggestion that I should not have won, and perhaps I had even cheated. We argued about it for some days, then he lost his temper and insulted my father. We fought, and I won again. He has never forgotten that either, nor has he quite forgiven me. The truth is, and I am ashamed to admit it, I was larger, older, and fitter. Starting the fight with a younger lad was unfair.”

  “Have you ever gone to him and said just that?”

  “No, I—well—you know, I don’t think it ever occurred to me. I knew why he disliked me, and you are right. I should long since have apologized.”

  “In a small community,” I pointed out, “it is not a good thing to have enemies. On which subject, can you answer a question?” He nodded. “Why did you give Lily Klimpton only two days to leave your brother’s house?”

  He stared. “I did not. Is that why people have been so angered against me?”

  “That is what your lawyer told her.”

  “I gave her no time limit. I admit I expected her to leave once she was paid, for why would she wish to stay? But I set no time for her departure.”

  I believed him, yet his lawyer had been clear, and Lily repeated that to her family.

  “Tell me, Mr. Johnson, how did that discussion with your lawyer as to when she would vacate the house come about?”

  It took some minutes, but when I understood the chain of events, it seemed to be no one’s fault, merely a misunderstanding. During a discussion between Johnson and his lawyer, Wright informed Johnson that Lily received nothing under his client’s will. She would be paid her wages after the funeral, and should Mr. Johnson wish to rent out the house, he would be better off if it was empty.

  “I said I had no intention of renting the house, or not yet. My house was the better one, and I would remove my brother’s library here. In a day or so I would sort through his possessions. I did say it might be more comfortable for both of us if she were gone by then, that is all.”

  “I see,” I said. “Wright translated that to mean that in one or two days you would enter the house to take possession, and that she must be gone.”

  “That was not how I meant it. Yet I do not understand why she could not easily pack up and leave.”

  I explained about the difficulty of moving Lily’s furniture.

  Kyle Johnson bit his lower lip. “I was told nothing of that.”

  “Did Wright not tell you that he allowed her daughter and son-in-law to enter after her death to remove her possessions?”

  “Yes, but he said nothing of furniture. I imagined she left clothing and some jewelry. I had no idea she owned furniture, let alone two rooms of it.”

  I explained, “Her grandmother came of a good family, and on her death, she left Lily’s mother her mahogany bedroom and parlor furniture. Lily inherited it from her mother.

  “When your brother asked Lily to join him, he set aside two empty rooms as her own domain. She brought her own furniture, and it took half a dozen strong men to move them into her rooms.”

  Kyle Johnson groaned. “It was all a misunderstanding. I knew nothing of any furniture. Had I known, I would never have expected her to leave without ample time to gather assistance and move such items.” He looked a little shamefaced.

  “The truth is, Dr. Watson, I knew how fond my brother was of Lily. On finding out he left her nothing, I assumed, unjustly perhaps, that they had fallen out. Alistair was an easy-going man. He rarely quarreled. One thing would rouse him to fury, however, and that was dishonesty. I thought he must have caught her out in some small wrongdoing, a minor theft, perhaps, or a lie.”

  “That was not suggested to you by anyone?”

  “No.”

  I turned to Lily’s family. “You can see why they feel that you, in some way, are responsible for Lily’s death.”

  There he was as decisive. “No, I cannot. Look here, Doctor. They are certain she did not kill herself. Therefore, she was not driven to that by myself or any other person. How then can I be blamed for her death? Yet gossip has it that it was my fault! In what way? My brother chose to leave all he possessed to me, an action about which I knew nothing until his will was read. He told Lily she would inherit and changed his mind. How can that be my fault? Yet rumor swirls about me. I am traduced and slandered, spoken of as a monster who drove an innocent woman to her death!”

  His fist slammed down on the chair-side table.

  “I want to know how the woman died, why she died, and who, if anyone, was responsible. It is said that I fatten on the monies that should have been hers, that I drove her from her home. I want it stopped!”

  A thought occurred. “Have you seen your brother’s will? That is, have you read it yourself?”

  “No.”

  “Would you permit Holmes to go with you to your lawyer’s and see the will himself?”

  Johnson regarded me thoughtfully. “What? You think it may be a forgery? I suppose that is not impossible. However, I know the witnesses.”

  “Who are they?”

  Johnson smiled grimly. “Mr. Giles Hampton and Dr. James Farrell. Hampton has independent means, but he likes the Isle, and spends every summer here as his family has done for three generations. Farrell is a good doctor and a good man, too. Hampton witnessed the will both times and Farrell the second. My brother had the will revised, you know.”

  “I heard so. Do you know why?”

  “He told me that as the gardener looked likely to stay, he planned to add the usual clause, to the effect that the man would receive such-and-such an amount if he was still in Alistair’s employ and not under notice at the time of h
is death. He also wanted to give Arly something. He was a friend to us when we were children, being a year the elder of my brother. As a fisherman’s son, he took us fishing, and taught us to row and to sail. Recently he grew unfit for exhausting work and has come on harder times. Alistair wanted to show the old man that his friendship had not been forgotten.”

  He looked at me earnestly. “That was my brother. He didn’t forget his friends. I tell you, Doctor, if he cut Lily out of his will so completely, it would not have been for nothing. If Mr. Holmes investigates anything, let him investigate that. Let him find why she was disinherited.”

  We talked a while longer, and as I was walked to the door and stood briefly looking over the property, I said, “Heavens! How a dog would love this place.” I glanced at my host. “Have you considered buying one?”

  He shrugged. “I am often away.”

  “And yet you have a housekeeper who would care for one when you were gone,” I said. “Do you not like dogs?”

  His tone was cool. “I do not dislike them, but I am comfortable without one. Goodbye, Doctor. I will see you and your friend after lunch.”

  That afternoon, Holmes, Johnson, and I went to see the lawyer. His rooms were modest but relatively spacious. The furnishings were of good quality, and I noticed that the roll-top desk, behind which he sat, was of mahogany, as was his chair. I assumed they were left to him, as lawyers often followed that profession after their father or uncle.

  If I have not introduced Paul Wright more fully hitherto, it is because he was something of a nonentity. A spare man of perhaps five feet and eight or nine inches in height, who looked as if he could be any age from forty to sixty. His suit was moderately worn yet in good condition, and his shoes, while shined, were of medium quality. His shirt was spotless but not dazzling, his tie a medium shade of blue, and his gentleman’s jewelry, though present, was all but unnoticeable. There was nothing about him to catch the eye. Indeed, he was the epitome of a discreet family lawyer. Even his name was nondescript.

  Wright produced the will on Johnson’s request and laid it before us. “There you are, gentlemen. Observe it all you like and for so long as you desire.”