by John Hall
‘There were loose ends, sir, curious features of the case which were never resolved.’
‘Ah.’ Holmes sat up very straight and looked at Lestrade. ‘It would be most interesting to hear of those.’
‘The most telling one to me was the oddness of the two of them, Jacobson and Clayton, and I’ve just told you all about that. Then we found witnesses, of a sort, not any witnesses that we could take before a jury, but we found two men who’d seen something, or somebody. One had seen two men hanging about near where one of the boys was last seen and he gave us a description. Now, one of them might have been Clayton, but then by the same token he might have been anybody. But, and this is the interesting point, the other definitely wasn’t Jacobson. Our “witness” was clear on that, for Jacobson was distinctive in appearance, his oddity extended even to that, and our man swore it couldn’t possibly have been him. Well, these two men might have been two other men, like in the old music-hall joke. And they might have been there all proper and innocent.’
‘And the second witness of sorts?’
‘Three men — not two, mark you, but three — were seen loitering outside a little sweet shop, again near where one of the boys was last seen. No descriptions, that time, not that were any use.’
‘You looked for these men?’ asked Holmes.
‘Insofar as was possible, but who, or what, were we looking for? With no proper description? Oh, we advertised, “Would three men, seen in So-and-so Street on such-and-such a date, please contact Scotland Yard”, that sort of thing, but nothing came of it.’
‘And Jacobson never referred to another, third, man?’
‘Never. We asked him, but he just shrugged and mumbled the same old nonsense, that he deserved to hang.’
‘If there were three men, and not two?’ mused Holmes. ‘But then — ’ and he shook his head.
‘Perhaps it was a home-grown version of the omerta, the oath of silence sworn by the carbonari and other secret societies?’ I ventured. The two of them did not look as sceptical as I had feared they might, so I elaborated, ‘Perhaps this Jacobson did only implicate Clayton by accident, as it were, when subjected to — well, to violence. And neither of them implicated the third man, even when pressed.’
Lestrade shrugged, while Holmes merely looked at the ceiling. ‘If these various other men were innocent, why did they not come forward?’ he mused.
‘Perhaps they did not read the newspapers,’ said Lestrade. ‘Or perhaps they simply did not recognize themselves in the advertisement? Or perhaps they were innocent of any involvement in the boys’ disappearance, yet not entirely free from guilt in some other regard. They may perhaps have been “loitering with intent”, as we say, in connection with some other crime?’
‘H’mm.’ I could see that Holmes was far from satisfied. ‘As Watson so acutely observes, this is all very vague and insubstantial evidence. Jacobson is still in prison, I take it? The appeal court did not consider his case too?’
‘Jacobson’s dead,’ said Lestrade. ‘A couple of years ago, now. I didn’t know myself, for you don’t keep track of everyone you’ve put away, as you know, Mr Holmes, but the super mentioned it this morning.’
‘H’mm. What became of the boys’ families?’
Lestrade shrugged. ‘A couple of them moved away, didn’t want to stay and be reminded of what had happened. A couple did stay, just got on with things as best they could. Oh, and one caused a bit of a fuss, or tried to. A man called Tatton. Old soldier, he is, and he keeps going into his local, gets a skinful, and pulls out his old army bayonet — “If ever they get out, I’ll — ” do this, that and the other to them, I suppose. You know the kind of man I mean. A blowhard. A windbag. The local bobbies have taken him in once or twice for making a nuisance of himself, but the beaks treat him leniently, on account of what he went through.’
‘Indeed.’ Holmes leaned back in his chair, and regarded the ceiling again. ‘I can only repeat my earlier remarks, Lestrade, and suggest that you prepare for the worst that may happen.’ He sat up and gazed at the detective. ‘Does the thought of that little pub really have not the slightest attraction?’
Lestrade managed a shaky laugh. ‘I see I am in a minority when it comes to my retirement,’ said he. He rose from his chair. ‘I’ve taken up far too much of your time already, gents, so I’ll be off. If ever I do get round to buying that pub, mind you, I’ll expect to see you in there every evening.’
He shook hands with us. ‘Shall I not go part of the way with you?’ I asked him, fearing lest that he might come to some harm in his distressed condition, not to speak of the effects of the brandy so early in the day on one unused to it.
‘No, thank you, Doctor,’ he answered. ‘I’ll spring for a cab. I’d best be off home, tell the old lady the bad news. I can guess what she’ll ’ave to say! Well, there’s no help for it, she must be told.’
‘You might just look up the address of this Inspector White, if he is still alive,’ said Holmes casually.
Lestrade looked hard at him. ‘You don’t think there’s anything to be made of that, sir?’
‘I merely think that it might be as well to ask him if he has any recollection of the matter, that is all,’ said Holmes. ‘Talking to him may jog your own memory.’
‘And feel free to call in here, talk to us at any time,’ I told Lestrade. ‘The very worst thing you could do is brood upon the matter in solitude.’
‘I will, thank you, Doctor.’
‘But I repeat my injunction not to raise your hopes, for I can see no satisfactory end to this business,’ Holmes warned him.
‘You are right, sir, unfortunately.’ And on that dismal note, and without more ado, Lestrade left us.
For a long time, we sat in silence, then Holmes sighed. ‘ A bad business indeed, Watson.’
‘You really see no hope for the poor devil?’
He shook his head. ‘It is the old difficulty,’ said he. ‘Bricks without clay.’ A bitter note crept into his voice. ‘The investigation certainly seems to have been bungled in a spectacularly inept fashion, even by the undemanding standards of the official forces! Of course, in those early days things were handled a good deal more casually than would be acceptable now.’
‘Yes, indeed. Lestrade himself seems to recognize that fact. Why, it almost seemed as if he were trying to prove this Clayton’s innocence.’
‘Perhaps he is trying to prove it to himself?’
‘Guilty conscience, you mean?’
Holmes nodded.
‘But why on earth did he not bring these points, all perfectly valid points, out when he was investigating the case?’
‘Ah,’ said Holmes, ‘why indeed? He was the youngest member of the team, of course.’
‘He did not want to flatly contradict the opinion of his superiors, you mean?’
‘Well, it would do an ambitious man’s career no good to do that, would it?’ Holmes shook his head. ‘For all that, I am less than happy with Lestrade’s tale. Although I have had occasion to point out certain irregularities in his handling of the various cases in which we have both been involved, when it comes to ordinary routine police work he is nobody’s fool. Why, then, as you say, did he miss these very obvious points? And so many of them. He saw them clearly enough later. There is something he is not telling us, I am sure of that. But what?’
‘And why? He desperately needs your help, Holmes, that much is clear.’
Holmes leapt angrily to his feet, and strode to the window. ‘What the devil am I expected to do, Watson? Look for three men, descriptions unknown, who were perhaps seen somewhere near a sweet shop twenty years ago? Who might very well have had nothing whatsoever to do with the case?’
‘Well, if nothing else, at any rate you did what you said. You helped Lestrade collect his thoughts, ahead of his ordeal in the disciplinary hearing.’
He shook his head with some irritation. ‘Watson, Watson! I had, of course, hoped for more than that. I had hoped that he might rem
ember something, anything, which he might use on his own behalf.’
‘Little point to that, surely? As we have said, the man cannot be tried a second time.’
‘Perhaps not. But if Lestrade could bring forward some new evidence, if he could say in effect, “The appeal courts have reached their verdict, but these are the true facts”, then it might save him some considerable trouble at his hearing. And it might save him from financial ruin in the civil courts, if this fellow Clayton does take civil proceedings against him, as he threatens.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘I have some errands to run, Doctor. I beg that you will excuse me.’ And he was at the door and looking for coat and hat before he had finished speaking.
I sat alone when he had gone, brooding upon Lestrade’s ugly little tale. I have seen great evil before, but — thank Heaven — nothing such as Lestrade had described. And then, too, I brooded upon the fate that might lie ahead of a man whom I had come to respect, and indeed to like. But to no good effect; if Holmes could see no hope for the unfortunate Inspector Lestrade, then for the life of me I could not.
THREE
Over the next two or three days Lestrade took advantage of the invitation which we had so casually extended, and called in at 221B on several occasions. By now, Holmes had evidently found a case which did not need my attention, for he was absent much of the time on various mysterious errands. But I myself was still at something of a loose end, and Lestrade was in the same boat, and consequently the two of us spent some considerable time in talking, smoking and drinking rather more than was good for us.
Holmes, as I say, seemed entirely occupied with his own affairs, and I was thus considerably surprised when, at breakfast some four days after Lestrade had first broken his disturbing news, Holmes looked across at me and said, ‘If you have nothing better to do today, Doctor, you might care to accompany me and have a word with this fellow Clayton.’
‘I have certainly nothing that would keep from so interesting a meeting,’ said I, ‘but how on earth have you managed to arrange it?’
‘Oh, it was simple enough. I merely left my card, with a message to say that I should be grateful for a few moments of his time.’
‘Well,’ said I, laughing, ‘that is indeed simple enough!’
‘And this morning he has sent me a note to say that he will see me today, at half past ten. I should be happy if you could come with me.’
‘He is doubtless intrigued to know what Mr Sherlock Holmes might want with him?’
‘Doubtless.’
‘Although he must realize that you are, so to speak, on the same side as Lestrade, and therefore unlikely to be sympathetic to his — to Clayton’s, that is — cause?’
‘That is true to some extent,’ said Holmes thoughtfully. ‘And yet the superficial reader of your accounts might perhaps form the impression that Lestrade and his colleagues are sometimes at loggerheads with me. Indeed, some of your tales actually go so far as to suggest that I am occasionally on the side of the criminal.’
‘Never!’
‘Well, what about that business of the blue carbuncle? My dear fellow, the Countess of Morcar was positively angry with me for letting the thief go free.’
‘But she got her jewel back, Holmes,’ said I, puzzled.
‘Ah, yes, but then she wanted her revenge on the man who had stolen it. The rich can be so damnably vindictive. And I will not burden you with what Lestrade had to say on the matter! I come increasingly to the opinion that I must forbid you to publish any more of my cases, until I shall have retired from active practice. Indeed, I fancy I have had occasion to mention this once or twice before.’
‘We can discuss that later, Holmes!’ said I hastily.
‘Indeed.’ He stood up. ‘And now, if you are quite ready, Doctor?’
I followed him outside. Holmes hailed a cab, and gave the driver an address in the vicinity of Grosvenor Square.
‘I had not realized this fellow Clayton had such fashionable lodgings,’ said I in some surprise.
‘The house is not his, though. He is staying with friends at the moment.’
‘I thought he had none? Did Lestrade not describe him as a solitary individual?’
‘Ah, but that was before his trial, conviction, virtual retrial and subsequent release,’ said Holmes. ‘He is now an object of interest, the pathetic victim of a corrupt and wicked legal system.’ There was a curious note, which I could not quite place, in his voice.
‘You sound almost as if you believe that,’ I told him.
Holmes shrugged, and there was a reluctance about his answer. ‘Well, there is at least a possibility that he is innocent, is there not? The fact that he is, or perhaps I should say that his new friends are, making much of recent events does not necessarily mean that he is not an innocent victim, et cetera. No, Watson, I am going to this interview with an open mind, not so much to try to find something which will help Lestrade as to find out, if it be possible, the truth of the matter.’
‘And if it transpires that Lestrade was wholly culpable?’
Holmes looked out of the window in silence, as if he had not heard me, for some considerable time, before saying, ‘Damnation, Watson!’
‘Really, Holmes!’
He laughed. ‘I am sorry, Doctor, but it is deuced awkward, you must agree. Despite our little differences, I actually like Lestrade. Why the devil did he not insist on making his doubts known in the first place? And then, having kept silent at the time, for whatever reason, why did he not discuss the matter with his superiors later, or come along and talk it over with you and me? If nothing else, Lestrade is guilty of a gross error of judgement. If there is more, if the worst comes to the worst — ’ and he stopped again.
‘Well?’
‘Well, I shall stand by him, as I am sure will you. So far as is possible, that is to say, by giving him what comfort and reassurance may be possible.’
‘It seems little enough,’ said I.
‘If the worst does come to the worst, doubtless his friends will stand by him in a more tangible fashion,’ said Holmes shortly, relapsing into a brooding silence.
I said nothing: I had myself had some small proofs of Holmes’s generosity, although he would be very angry if I were to mention them. I knew well enough that he would not let Lestrade down if it came to it. And moreover I flattered myself that I too would not be found altogether wanting in that respect, despite the perpetually unpredictable nature of a writer’s bank balance. Somehow, Holmes and I would see Lestrade through.
The cab came to a halt before a large and impressive house. ‘There’s money here,’ said I.
‘Indeed,’ said Holmes, a gloomy note in his voice.
‘And?’ I asked.
‘It will not make our task any easier, Watson. It is always more difficult to deal with the rich.’ He shook his head, as if to dispel grim thoughts. I rang the bell, and the door was opened by a solemn butler, who gravely took our cards and invited us to wait in a side room. After a short wait, we were shown into a large drawing room, furnished in a modern, but I must say a most elegant, style.
There was a considerable crowd in the room, both men and women; but I have to record that the occupants were by no means as elegant as the room itself. I trust I am not more censorious of my fellow human beings than the next man. Indeed, the rough and tumble of my life has tended to make me somewhat uncritical in that regard. But for all that, I cannot say with any truth that any of that throng impressed me at all favourably. Mostly they were young, between twenty and thirty years of age, and all pretty obviously well to do. For the most part, the men were languid creatures, with the dull complexions that speak of too much time spent indoors, and they were dressed so very fashionably that it was almost affectation. I can only say that had they been put up for membership of my club — which is very far from the most exclusive in London — the number of white marbles would have been low. If anything, the women were worse; every bit as unhealthy looking as their menfolk, with hair cropped short
er than appeals to my own taste, they seemed to me to have chosen their costumes at some rummage sale. Indeed, by comparison, the men looked positively gorgeous — until you looked at their faces, which managed to look both smug and dissatisfied. In the course of a long and often trying life I have never encountered a more uninviting assembly.
I became aware that I was being introduced to the man we had come to see, Algernon Clayton. He was perhaps the most unprepossessing of the whole assembly, well under the middle height, with the same pasty face as the rest of them. I reluctantly shook his hand, and noted that he avoided meeting my gaze, and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. I remembered that he just been released from prison, and tried to make all the allowances I could, but I must say that I was not very favourably impressed by him.
‘You are here, I take it, as representatives of Lestrade?’ said he, a sneer in his voice which he did not take the trouble to conceal. ‘Can he not afford a proper lawyer, then?’
There was a sort of appreciative snigger from the rest of them at this. Holmes, in the calmest possible manner, replied, ‘We are here on our own behalf only, I assure you. Although I will not deny that Inspector — ’ and he stressed the word — ’Inspector Lestrade is a personal friend of Watson and myself. We would naturally wish to do what we might for him in his hour of need, if we can.’
The last phrase was evidently not lost upon Clayton. ‘You may well find that there is nothing you can do for him,’ said he.
‘We shall see,’ said Holmes.
Holmes’s calm demeanour clearly impressed Clayton, though he strove to conceal this fact. ‘Do you want to ask me something?’ said he, a touch hesitantly.
‘I scarcely think there is very much use our rehashing old questions,’ said Holmes. ‘What is more to the point is what action do you now propose to take?’
‘Oh oh!’ cried Clayton to the assembled multitude, ‘he wants to know what we’re going to do to his little friend.’ Quickly recovering his composure, he thrust his face a few inches from Holmes’s in a most offensive fashion, and said, ‘Twenty years! That’s what I spent inside, twenty stinking years. I want some recompense for that. Money, first — do you know what those beggars have offered me as what they call an ex gratia payment in compensation?’