The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

by Denis O. Smith

  ‘The matter is not yet entirely clear to me,’ answered Holmes, ‘but a pattern is certainly discernible. The case contains one or two suggestive features, the chief one being, perhaps, the business of the crooked pictures on the sitting-room wall after Mr Pleasant’s visit. There are several different lines of inquiry open to us, so it should not be too long before we hit upon the truth. But here, unless I am mistaken, is our station, so let us make haste. I confess I am keen to see Juniper Cottage for myself!’

  We had left the railway station and were walking through the bustling town, when Potter drew our attention to two military men some distance ahead of us, on the other side of the road.

  ‘That is Colonel Headley and his adjutant, Major Felgate,’ said our companion. ‘I wonder if they have any news.’

  We crossed the road and soon caught up to the two soldiers. Potter introduced us, and Major Felgate, in turn, explained matters to the senior officer.

  ‘This is the nephew of the late Major Ullathorne,’ said he.

  The Colonel shook Potter warmly by the hand. ‘Ullathorne was a good friend of mine,’ said he. ‘I was very shocked and saddened by his sudden death.’

  ‘Mr Potter consulted us a week or two ago,’ Felgate continued, ‘over some odd occurrences at his house, Ullathorne’s old quarters. It seems possible that one of our men has been making a nuisance of himself, and I said I would look into the matter.’

  ‘It was concerning that business that I wished to speak to you,’ said Potter.

  ‘I am afraid I cannot linger,’ interrupted Colonel Headley. ‘I have an appointment to see Colonel Shacklewell of the Artillery in ten minutes, so I shall have to leave you in the capable hands of Major Felgate.’

  ‘Should I order the carriage?’ enquired the major.

  ‘No, I only have the one appointment, so I’ll walk,’ returned the other. ‘It’s not far, and the exercise will do me good. I’ll be back later this afternoon. Major Felgate can give me the details of this business later,’ he continued, turning to Potter. Then, with a little bow, he hurried off, and turned up a side-street.

  ‘I have a little office at the Arsenal, gentlemen,’ said the major. ‘If you would come along there now, I can tell you what I have been able to discover so far.’

  Five minutes later, we were seated in Major Felgate’s private room. For several minutes, he leafed through papers on his desk.

  ‘To be frank, Mr Potter,’ said he at length, ‘I have not been very successful so far. I have been extremely busy lately, and have not been able to devote as much time to the matter as I would have wished. I delegated two of my men to look into the matter of your Mr Pleasant, but they have not so far managed to identify him, and I am beginning to doubt that he is a Royal Medway man. It may be that he is a civilian employee, here at the Arsenal, for I believe that Major Ullathorne was on friendly terms with some of them.

  ‘One possibility which has arisen in the course of our researches, however, is that your late uncle may have been indebted to someone, either in the regiment, or at the Arsenal.’

  ‘That would surprise me greatly if it were true,’ responded Potter. ‘I never heard that Major Ullathorne was ever in debt in his life. He conducted both his business and his personal affairs in a most careful and correct manner.’

  ‘Quite so. I do not doubt it for a moment. Nevertheless, the suggestion is that in return for some favour, at some time in the past, Ullathorne had promised some possession of his to his creditor. It was probably not anything of great value, but simply something which had caught the fancy of the man he was obligated to. In which case, it may be that his sudden and untimely death occurred before the debt had been discharged, and his creditor has therefore decided to lay his hands on what he feels he is owed.’

  ‘Do you have any evidence that my uncle was involved in such a transaction?’ asked Potter in a tone of disbelief.

  ‘There is a rumour to that effect.’

  ‘But if someone feels he is owed something, why has he not simply approached me on the matter?’

  ‘Perhaps because the nature of the agreement between the two men was a strictly informal one. If he has no evidence of the debt, he may think it unlikely that you would believe him.’

  ‘Well,’ said Potter, as we walked up the hill after leaving the Arsenal, ‘I was not particularly impressed with Major Felgate’s theory, I must say.’

  ‘It does seem a trifle unlikely,’ Holmes agreed, ‘and somewhat inadequate as an explanation of recent events. I sense that there may be a little more involved in the matter than the major’s theory allows.’

  A walk of about twenty minutes brought us to the lane which led up to Juniper Cottage, and a further five minutes up the steep, rutted track brought us to the garden gate. Two large, dark juniper bushes flanked the gateway, meeting above it to form an arch. Beyond the gate, a short paved path led up to the front door of the pretty little cottage. On either side of the porch stood currant bushes, covered with vivid red blooms, and in beds to the side of them, bright yellow daffodils nodded their heads in the breeze.

  Mrs Potter had evidently heard our approach, for she opened the door as we reached it. Her husband introduced us, then gave us a little tour of the curious old building. In the room which had been Major Ullathorne’s study, a pair of French windows stood open, and we passed through them to a large and level rear garden. Beyond the neatly trimmed lawn was an area of fruit-trees and bushes, and, beyond that, a small wood separated the garden from open country. Away to the right, over a tall hedge, the chimneys of another cottage were visible, which Potter informed us belonged to Major Ullathorne’s old friend, Major Loxley.

  After a glance round the garden, Sherlock Holmes returned to the study, and began a systematic examination of the room. Carefully, he lifted up every picture on the wall and peered behind it.

  ‘Are you looking for something in particular?’ queried Potter, a note of puzzlement in his voice.

  ‘A concealed safe or cupboard,’ returned Holmes as he continued his examination. ‘The pictures were askew after Mr Pleasant’s stay here, and it is possible that he had been looking for something behind them. It is a not uncommon ruse to conceal a small safe behind a picture. Another favourite hiding-place,’ he continued, moving to the bookshelves to the left of the French windows, ‘is behind a row of books. Your visitor may have thought that a possibility, too, for your wife remarked on the fact that he had taken a number of books from the shelves and had stacked them in a pile on the floor.’

  Methodically, Holmes removed groups of four or five books, and felt carefully in the recess behind them, until he had examined the whole bookcase in this way. ‘There is no sign of anything there,’ said he, as he put the last of them back. ‘Of course, if there is such a hiding-place, it could be anywhere in the house, but the study seems the likeliest spot. Let us now try the floor!’

  A couple of small Indian rugs were laid across the dark, varnished wooden floor, and these Holmes rolled up and placed to one side. Then, down on his hands and knees, he felt carefully with his finger-tips all over the floor. ‘This may be something,’ said he at length, pausing near the corner of the hearth. ‘Ah! There we are!’ he cried in triumph, lifting a small, square section of wooden flooring, which was hinged at one end.

  Potter and I bent forward to see. In the recess below the floor, a few inches down, was a small metal door, about a foot square. From the centre of this door protruded a large horizontal handle, and around the handle were three concentric enamelled rings, each of which was marked with the letters of the alphabet.

  ‘I had no notion that such a safe existed,’ said Potter in surprise. ‘I was not aware that my uncle possessed anything of sufficient value to warrant such a thing.’

  ‘Mr Pleasant, I suspect, was aware of it,’ said Holmes, ‘and perhaps other people, too. I very much fancy, Mr Potter, that this little safe is the source of your recent troubles! Now, let me see! The handle will not move, so the safe is l
ocked, as one would expect. Now, the lock, as you will observe, is an unusual one. There is no keyhole, so it is apparent that the locking and unlocking of the safe door is achieved by positioning these rings in a certain way. It is not a new idea – such locks were in use in the sixteenth century, and possibly earlier – but there have been great improvements in the design in recent years. One advantage of this type of lock is that there is no key to be lost or stolen, but a disadvantage is that one must ensure that the combination of letters required to operate it is not forgotten. The chief flaw of the design, however, is that if there is any play, any freedom of movement between the rings, then it is sometimes possible, by the application of gentle pressure, to feel when each of them is in the correct position, and thus to open the safe without ever having been made privy to its secret combination.

  ‘Let us have a look at it,’ he continued, lying full-length upon the floor, with his face close to the recess which held the safe. Slowly and gently, he began to turn the lettered dials. He was still so engaged, his face a mask of concentration, when Mrs Potter brought in a tray piled high with tea things.

  ‘Goodness!’ cried she, as she saw the hole in the floor, and Holmes lying full-length next to it. ‘Whatever is this!’

  ‘Mr Holmes has found a safe which belonged to Uncle Henry,’ replied Potter, a note of excitement in his voice.

  ‘Indeed I have,’ said Holmes, looking up with a wry expression upon his face. ‘I have found a safe, but I am unable to open it. It is evidently a very superior model, with closely machined locking parts, for there is no play whatever between the rings. Your arrival with tea is most opportune, madam, for a cup and a pipe, and five minutes’ quiet reflection is what is now required!’

  For some time we sat sipping tea and smoking our pipes in silence, then Holmes rose from his chair with a sigh.

  ‘Well, well,’ said he. ‘We may as well try some of the more obvious combinations. I can see no other strategy at present. Your uncle’s full name, Mr Potter?’

  ‘Henry Alfred Ullathorne.’

  ‘Initials H.A.U., then. Let us try those letters and see if they produce any result!’

  For a moment he twisted the dials on the safe door, then attempted to turn the handle, but it remained as immovable as before.

  ‘Now the same letters in the reverse order,’ said he, twisting the dials once more. ‘No! That is no better!’ he announced as he tried the handle again. ‘Your mother’s maiden name, Mr Potter?’

  ‘Frances Mabel Ullathorne.’

  ‘F.M.U., then. No! That is not it, either! Married initials F.M.P.: No! No good!’

  Thus we worked our way through two dozen or more combinations without success. The initials of almost everyone Potter or his wife could think of were tried, together with such miscellaneous items as R.M.R., for the Royal Medway Regiment, and P.I.P., which was the name of a cat once owned by Major Ullathorne, but all suggestions were equally in vain.

  ‘It is possible that there is a note of the combination somewhere among your late uncle’s papers,’ remarked Holmes at length, ‘although I rather doubt it. As it is only a matter of three letters, he would be unlikely to forget it, and thus would probably have felt no need to write it down anywhere.’

  ‘I wonder if Major Loxley would know?’ said Mrs Potter. ‘He and your uncle were old friends, Sidney. He may have some idea of the letters your uncle would choose.’

  ‘What an excellent suggestion!’ returned Potter. ‘I shall fetch him at once. I shall not be a minute,’ he added as he stepped out of the French window and crossed the lawn to the hedge near the back of the garden.

  In a moment he had returned, accompanied by a bluff-looking, elderly gentleman, with snow-white hair and moustache. We shook hands, then he bent his mind to the task.

  ‘I do recall Ullathorne mentioning something about a safe, a year or so ago,’ said he, ‘but I did not know where it was. I’m afraid I have no idea what the combination might be.’

  ‘We are open to any suggestions,’ said Holmes in a dry tone.

  ‘Let me see now,’ said the major. ‘My own initials are P.Q.L. I don’t imagine he’d have used those, but it is possible, I suppose.’

  Holmes turned the dials and tried the major’s initials both backwards and forwards, but with no result. A few further suggestions were tried, but the handle of the safe remained resolutely immovable.

  ‘Could the lock not be drilled out in some way?’ queried Potter, scratching his head.

  ‘It may well come to that,’ returned Holmes, ‘but it will not be easy. These modern safes are specifically designed to resist drilling. You had best apply to the manufacturers for advice. They may have some suggestion to make.’

  ‘That sounds the best idea,’ Major Loxley concurred. ‘Might they not have a record of this safe’s combination?’

  Holmes shook his head. ‘That is unlikely,’ said he. ‘Most safes of this type have adjustable cogs on the inside of the door, so that the owner can set the combination to whatever he pleases, before closing the door. I have little doubt that, whatever the combination is, it was known only to Major Ullathorne.’

  ‘It is quite a problem, then,’ said Loxley with a sigh, rising to his feet. ‘I shall leave you to it, gentlemen. I am sorry I was unable to be more help, Potter. Do let me know if you have any success with it, won’t you!’

  ‘We appear to have reached a dead end,’ said Potter, in a tone of disappointment, when the major had left us.

  ‘We have met with a temporary check,’ corrected Holmes. He leaned back in his chair and lit his pipe. ‘It is clear,’ he continued after a moment, ‘that someone wants something that is within this house. There was a burglary shortly before you moved here. Whether anything was taken on that occasion we cannot say, but we must suppose that the enterprise was not entirely successful, for the attention devoted to the cottage has not ceased. It seems certain that the visit you had a couple of weeks ago from the man calling himself Jonathan Pleasant was devised solely to give him an opportunity to search the house for something. That something, to judge by his mode of search – moving pictures on the wall, peering under the furniture, and so on – was this safe. Clearly, he knew of the safe’s existence, but not its whereabouts. Now, it would appear, from your account of the matter, that the safe remained on that occasion undiscovered. We cannot, therefore, expect all this mysterious activity to come to a halt, and must prepare ourselves for further attempts upon the premises. Our chief problem is that our opponent – or opponents, perhaps, for we do not know how many of them may be involved – may decide to lie low for a while, and wait for a suitable opportunity. This might suit them, but it does not suit us. I think we must try to force the pace a little, to flush our quarry out into the open, and the only way we can do this is to oblige our opponents to burgle the house at a time not of their choosing, but of ours.’

  ‘How on earth can we do that?’ asked Potter in a tone of puzzlement.

  ‘What I propose,’ responded Holmes, ‘is that you send a note to Lloyd’s, informing them that you will be unable to be present tomorrow to attend to your duties. You must then spend tomorrow disseminating as widely as possible the following information:

  ‘One, that you and your family will be away tomorrow night, staying at your old house in Lewisham. Two, that upon the following day, workmen will be arriving to render Juniper Cottage more proof against burglary. Three, that an expert locksmith from the safe company will also be coming that day to open your uncle’s safe. You must then take your family to Lewisham at five o’clock tomorrow afternoon, and meet us upon the down platform of Lewisham station at seven o’clock prompt. Is that all clear?’

  Potter nodded his head, but there was an expression of bewilderment upon his face.

  ‘It must be made perfectly clear to any aspiring burglar,’ explained Holmes, ‘that tomorrow night represents the best, perhaps the only opportunity to break into Juniper Cottage. We must force him to come – and we must then be
here to meet him!’

  ‘I understand,’ said Potter; ‘but how do you propose that I should disseminate the information you mention?’

  ‘Oh, there are many ways. You must sow the information broad-cast across the district – at the village shop, at the post office, at the railway station, and so on. You might also call in at the Rose and Crown for a glass of beer and inform the landlord of your plans. That alone should guarantee that everyone in the parish is privy to your arrangements before the day is out.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Potter. ‘I will do my best.’

  ‘What of the business of the books?’ I queried. ‘Why did Pleasant follow Mr Potter to the bookshop? I presume that it was he that instructed the bookseller to attempt to appropriate one of the volumes, although I cannot think why. What bearing, if any, do these incidents have upon the case?’

  ‘We cannot yet say for certain,’ returned Holmes. ‘Their significance may be central to the matter, or only peripheral. I have examined the book which appears to be the particular focus of interest – Hardiman Smallbone’s copy of the Old Testament – without discovering anything especially remarkable about it. I could essay at least seven possible explanations for Pleasant’s interest in it, but until we have more data, such speculation is both futile and dangerous. It is a capital error to theorise in advance of the data, for it biases the judgement, and one finds oneself unconsciously attempting to twist the facts to fit one’s theory. However, I have hopes that tomorrow night will furnish us with the data we require!’

  We waited for some time at Woolwich Arsenal station for a train to take us back to town, and for much of this time Holmes sat in silence, as if lost in thought. A fast train from London had just pulled in, and I was idly watching the crowd of passengers who had alighted on the opposite platform, when my companion abruptly spoke.