The Last Notes From the Dispatch Box of John H Watson, MD
Page 6
She shuddered, and closed her eyes. “ How could I do such a thing, Mr. Holmes ? The very thought of such an action is repugnant to me.”
Very well,” said Sherlock Holmes. “ Your case is indeed of considerable interest to me, and I am happy to take it on — at no charge,” he added, seeing an expression of concern in her face. “ Your address is on your card. I take it I may telegraph to you there should I require further information on the matter or should I discover anything that may be of interest to you ? ”
Her face flickered with a look of anxiety, which passed so quickly that I was unsure as to whether I had imagined it. “ Please address any communications in the care of my poor friend, Lydia Scythorpe, at the Vicarage. Here is her address. I would not like my step-father to learn that I have been in communication with you.” She passed a scrap of paper over to Holmes, who in turn passed it to me.
“ Very well, Miss Devereux,” said Holmes. “ I will be happy to do as you say.”
I helped Miss Devereux to the street, and hailed a cab to take her to Euston Station. When I returned to our rooms, Sherlock Holmes appeared not to have moved from his chair, but was sitting with his eyes closed. Without opening them, he addressed me.
“ Look out the Who’s Who for two years ago on the third shelf of the right-hand book-case,” he commanded, “ and refresh my memory as to the details concerning the late John Devereux.”
I located the requested volume, and made the search. “ We were not told everything by our visitor,” I informed Holmes.
“ What piece of information have you just discovered ? ”
“ We were informed that there is an elder sister, were we not ? Eliza by name.”
“ Indeed so.”
“ I recall no other offspring of the late John Devereux being mentioned, and yet this volume refers to a son, Gerald, aged between the two sisters.”
“ Hmph. It is indeed strange that he was not mentioned in the narrative,” reflected my friend. “ If, of course, he is still alive,” he added.
“ I feel that she would have included the fact of his death in her recital, were that to be the case.”
“ It is certainly not a circumstance that would slip one’s mind, to be sure. Was there anything significant that you observed about her appearance ? ”
“ Her costume was costly, but not of today’s fashions.”
“ I will take your word for that,” he laughed. “ I lack your detailed knowledge regarding such matters. We might, however, put that down to her living in the provinces, rather than London. You failed to mark her newspaper, then ? ”
“ I noticed that she was carrying a newspaper in her bag, yes.”
“ But you noticed nothing else ? ”
“ I did not.”
Holmes sighed. “ How many times must I impress upon you, Watson, the importance of details ? It was open at the financial page, and was covered with pencil markings, almost certainly made by her today, since it was this morning’s edition, and she claimed to have come up to London today. The implication is that although she is claiming poverty, of a relative kind at least, it cannot be so severe that she is unable to invest on ’Change. There is also the question of her jewellery. No doubt you remarked the ring that she was wearing ? ”
“ I noticed it.”
“ Two carats at the least, my boy, and of the finest water. Such a stone is worth several hundred pounds at the least. If Mr. John Devereux’ estate has been plundered significantly, I feel it must have been substantial to start with. Unless, of course,” he added, “there is some other reason for her visit.”
“Can you consider any other reason ? ”
“Any number,” he replied airily. “For example, though there may be no significant loss of money, there may be a loss of affection from the mother to the daughter. There is also a definite revulsion against the new step-father and his doings. It seems to me that Miss Devereux would be happy to see the last of him as a member of the household. The whole business, on her part at least, may prove to be no more than a simple tug o’ war, if I may term it so, of domestic affections.”
“ But you will take the case ? ”
“ Oh, indeed. I have every intention of so doing. The acquisition of the corpses of two hanged murderers is, after all, a matter that one does not encounter every day, and adds a deliciously macabre and outré flavour to the business.”
“ For what purpose would one acquire such grisly relics ? I can conceive of none, outside the medical profession, that is.”
“ Again, there are several alternatives that present themselves to my mind, but it would be premature to give preference to any at this stage,” he retorted. “ Before we make our way to Warwickshire, there are a few points about which I wish to satisfy myself. I take it that you will be accompanying me tomorrow ? ”
“ Naturally,” I replied. “ The case certainly promises to be of some interest.”
“ More than you might imagine,” he added enigmatically, before taking himself off on his errands.
He returned some hours later with a smile on his face. “ I am a little closer, perhaps, to the solution of the mystery,” he told me. “ Much may depend on Mathews.”
“ The valet ? ” I asked.
“ The same.”
He would say no more about the case that day, and the following morning, we set off on our journey to Warwickshire. Alighting at the small country market town, little more than a village, that Miss Devereux had mentioned to us, we discovered that there was but the one inn, the King’s Arms. “ No doubt this is where Mr. Soames’ mysterious nocturnal visitors spend the night when they make their Friday visits,” remarked Holmes.
“ And today is Thursday,” I reminded him.
“ Indeed it is,” he said. “ Let us take our room, and then, I think, a call on the local vicar is in order.”
However, when we knocked on the door of the Vicarage, we were informed by the maid that the Reverend Scythorpe was not at home.
“ Would it be possible for us to talk to Miss Lydia Scythorpe, in that case ? ” enquired Holmes, passing over his card.
“ I’ll see if she wants to talk to you,” was the abrupt answer, at which Holmes and I exchanged smiles, once the door had closed and the maid departed on her errand. It was a matter of less than a minute before she returned with the news that “ Miss Lydia would be delighted to see Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson”.
We were shown into a comfortable sitting-room, in the centre of which stood a tall, somewhat ungainly young woman of unprepossessing appearance, indeed, she might be described as being ill-favoured in her looks, and perhaps a little older than her friend. However, her smile of welcome seemed genuine enough, and the voice in which she greeted us was soft and melodious.
“ I am so glad that dear Mary has retained your services,” were her first words after the introductions had been performed. “ It was I who recommended you to her, having read so much about you and your wonderful successes.”
Praise of this type was always welcome to Sherlock Holmes, and he smiled at our hostess. “ Miss Devereux has informed you of her troubles ? ” he asked.
“ To which do you refer ? ” came the reply.
“ Why, the troubles with her step-father, Mr. Soames,” answered Holmes, blandly.
“ Oh,” she answered with a little laugh, which sounded incongruously, given the subject under discussion. “ I had thought she had taken some advice from you about her brother.”
Holmes and I exchanged a glance, and it was Holmes who replied. “ Miss Devereux never mentioned a brother,” he told her.
“ How very strange. Mary was devoted to Gerald right up to the time of his de — disappearance.” S
he stopped suddenly, and put a hand to her mouth. “ I am sorry. I should not have said anything about the subject. If you will do me the kindness of forgetting what I have just said, or at any rate, not mentioning it to Mary, I would be very grateful.”
“ Very well,” said Holmes. “ I give you my word that she will never know from me that you have told us of this.” I likewise promised my silence, and Holmes invited Miss Scythorpe to continue with her account of the step-father.
“ Mr. Soames is an exceedingly handsome man,” she began, and blushed a little. “ I know that may appear a strange sort of introduction to the description of a man, but it is his most notable characteristic. As a person, he is pleasant enough, I suppose, but I would have to admit that there is little in his character beyond this initial pleasing nature.”
“ You consider that Miss Devereux’ mother married him on account of his looks ? ”
“ Chiefly on account of them, I would say.”
Holmes raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly. “ I am somewhat surprised that a mature woman such as Mrs. Devereux would solely be influenced by a man’s looks.”
“ Not solely,” she answered him. “ As I said, he possesses some charm of his character. I know that Mrs. Devereux was desolated when her husband died, and was almost inconsolable in her loss.”
“ How did she come by his acquaintance, do you know ? ”
“ I believe they met at a dance at Lord Southport’s. It was the first such entertainment that she had attended since her husband’s death, and I fear that the excitement of meeting him went to her head.”
“ Speaking of heads, yours would appear to be a particularly sound one,” Holmes remarked. “ You seem to be well acquainted with the vagaries of human nature,” he smiled.
“ I have some confidence in my judgements, Mr. Holmes,” she said to him firmly. “ Since my mother died some years ago, I have been assisting my father in parish work, as well as working among the poor in the nearby city, and I have come to an understanding of many of the facets of human nature that one encounters in life. Maybe my experience is not as broad or as deep as yours, but I assure you that I am seldom mistaken in my judgements.”
“ Quite so. What can you tell me of Mr. Soames’ valet, Mathews ? ”
“ A most unpleasant looking man,” she replied. “ Indeed, though a villainous face may often hide a virtuous heart, in the case of George Mathews, I find it hard to feel any charity or goodwill towards him. His scarred face, and general disfigurement would make him an object of pity, were he to conduct himself in a fashion one might term civilised.” Seeing Holmes’ expression of enquiry, she went on, “ He does not return greetings addressed to him, and there are several other social niceties that are sadly lacking from his composition. If you wish to make his acquaintance, you may discover him in the public bar of the King’s Head on most evenings, I believe.”
“ Why, that is where we are lodging,” I exclaimed.
“ Does Mr. Mathews favour the hostelry with his custom on Friday evenings, do you know ? ” asked Holmes.
She frowned, and then smiled. “ I do not frequent the King’s Arms myself, you understand, but I can make enquiries of one who does. Our gardener, Tompkins, would be able to answer that question better than I can myself.”
“ There is no need to put yourself to any trouble,” said Holmes. “ Mine host will be able to oblige with that information, I am sure. Thank you for your time, Miss Scythorpe. You have been most helpful,” he continued, picking up his hat. “ May I trouble you in the future, should I require more information ? ”
“ You are always welcome to visit, Mr. Holmes. I lead a quiet life, and your visits will provide me with some relief from the monotony in the life of a poor vicar’s daughter.”
As we made our way from the Vicarage to the inn, my eye was caught by a man of somewhat villainous aspect. It was clear that Nature had not favoured him with a handsome face at birth, but the additions of the distorted cauliflower ears of a pugilist and a deep scar creasing his cheek from brow to chin, combined with a ferocious scowl, gave him one of the more hideous countenances I had met in my life. Though we had been warned that Mathews, if it were he, did not respond to greetings, I nonetheless hailed him with as cheery a “ good morning” as I could achieve, but it was ignored as if I had not opened my mouth.
“ The unsociable George Mathews, we may assume,” remarked Holmes, when we could assume ourselves to be out of earshot. “ He has certainly lived up to his reputation.”
Over lunch at the inn, Holmes made discreet enquiries concerning Mathews, and received the information that he was a regular customer there. On being asked as to whether Mathews appeared in the public bar on Friday evenings, the landlord scratched his head.
“ That’s funny, now you come to mention it, sir,” he replied. “ I don’t remember seeing him of a Friday, though many of the other servants from the Big House come here those nights. Mark you, it’s a busy night for us, is Friday, but it’s not a face you’d miss in a crowd, if you’ll pardon my saying so, sir.”
Naturally I was intrigued as to why Holmes had asked that question, but held my peace as we made our way through an excellent steak pie.
“ And now,” said Holmes, “ let us pay a visit to the icehouse where our late friends are supposedly at rest.”
I was horrified by this proposal. “ Do you believe that Mr. Soames or his family will give you permission to enter ? ” I asked.
“ I anticipate no such welcome,” Holmes answered with a smile. “ I do not propose to trouble the household over such a trivial matter.”
“ But you do not even know where to start looking,” I objected.
“ That, my dear Watson, is not the case. As we passed the park on our way from the station, I noted a mound with a door leading into it which can only be the icehouse. And as luck would have it, there is a stand of trees between the entrance and the house. There is a way for us to enter the park, and from there, into the icehouse, without being seen from the house.”
I had serious misgivings as to the wisdom of this course of action, but knew from experience that it was useless to deflect Sherlock Holmes from a course of action once his mind had been made up on the subject, as was obviously the case here.
Accordingly, not twenty minutes after the above conversation had taken place, we found ourselves standing in front of the great wooden door of the icehouse – a typical example of its type, being a thick stone-walled construction covered with sod, into which ice was placed in the winter, and packed with straw, where it would keep cool and unmelted throughout the warmer months of the year.
Though the door was locked, this did not serve as a deterrent to Sherlock Holmes, whose skill at picking locks would have been the envy of many a criminal. With a satisfying sound, the lock opened, and we stepped through the portal into the cool darkness of the icehouse.
“ Close the door, Watson,” Holmes commanded me. He struck a match, and by its light I saw the switch of an electrical lighting apparatus, which he engaged, flooding the place with a glare that hurt my eyes. As I became accustomed to the bright light, I saw two plain deal coffins, resting in the middle of the pile of ice blocks.
Holmes moved towards these, and motioned to me to join him. The lids of the coffins had been removed, revealing their occupants, whose heads lolled at an unnatural angle on their shoulders, the necks having been broken by the hangman’s rope.
My friend bent forward and examined the corpses. “ Grafton and Kimble,” he murmured to himself. He might almost have been reciting a prayer. “ Two of the very best at their work in their time, and two of the very worst of characters.” Suddenly he stood up with an exclamation. “ Halloa ! Watson, take a look at their left hands.”
“ I would have to say they were removed using an axe, but not a particularly heavy or sharp one,” I concluded. “ At least two blows have been struck in each case, where a heavy sharp axe could have accomplished the deed in one stroke.”
“ An axe such as this ? ” suggested Holmes, a small hatchet in his hand. “ I would imagine that this is provided for the purpose of splitting the blocks of ice, but judging by the stains on the head, I deduce that it has been used for these foul deeds.” He pulled out his ever-present lens and examined the axe closely. “ Yes, as I thought,” he said.
“ But for what purpose would anyone do such a thing ? ”
“ There is something that I have read someplace about an ancient custom or superstition, but discarded as being of no relevance in today’s modern and scientific age. But the whole business is so fantastical and incredible, in the truest sense of the word, as to make my knowledge irrelevant to the business at hand, if you will pardon the somewhat macabre play on words. And yet at present I can conceive of no other solution.”
He examined the bodies again, and called my attention to the fact that a lock of hair had apparently been removed from the scalp of each man. It was I, however, who noted the earthenware pot, filled with a coarse grey powder, with what appeared to be blue fingernails protruding from it.
“ I believe the powder to be salt,” said Holmes, when I had called his attention to this curious collection, “ and I am confident that if we were to dig in it, we would discover both left hands.”
“ Does all this add to your surmise ? ” I asked him.
“ I believe that it does,” he said, sadly. “ Come, let us away. I have seen what I did not expect to find, but it is enough, anyway.”
We turned out the electrical lighting, and opened the door a crack to ensure that we would remain unseen, before slipping outside, where Holmes used his picklocks to reseal the entrance.