This sergeant, though at the time a constable, recalled having seen a gentleman peering over the Embankment by the Needle in the early hours of the morning of the Tuesday, looking as if he had lost something in the river. His memories of the man matched the description of Lord Arthur Savile.
‘That is all very well,’ Savile pointed out amiably, ‘but there must be a good many men in London who match my description. And what reason would you suggest that I had to murder Podgers? I scarcely knew the man.’
‘We will come to the question of identification in a moment. In answer to your second question, I do not believe Podgers was your first choice of victim. That was a frail elderly woman who had the misfortune to be connected to you by ties of blood. You were away in Venice at the time of Lady Clementina Beauchamp’s death, and while you might have found an agent to murder her on your behalf, I did not think that you would entrust such a vital commission to an intermediary. The easiest way to kill a person in one’s absence, without the intervention of a third party, would be by poisoning an item that they would consume at a particular time. It would also be one of the least detectable, if the correct poison were selected.
‘It seems you made very little effort to cover your tracks. Mr Pestle, of the apothecaries Pestle and Humbey’s, clearly recalls selling you a capsule containing a lethal dose of aconitine in April of that year. He was rather alarmed until you assured him that you needed it to dispose of a sick, though very large, dog. Lady Clementina was known to be a martyr to heartburn, and my conjecture would be that you presented the capsule to her as indigestion medicine.’
‘But dear Lady Clem died of natural causes,’ Lord Arthur pointed out.
‘And so she did. The signs that would distinguish aconitine poisoning from a heart attack are subtle, but I have spoken to Lady Clementina’s personal physician, who insists that her body exhibited none of them. She thwarted your plan by dying before it could come into effect, as you must have discovered when you found the capsule untouched while disposing of her effects. Thus you were forced to look for another victim, because while Lady Clementina’s death was to your benefit, your motive had never been to profit from her inheritance.’
‘I should think not,’ agreed Savile with a shudder. Evidently he was of the variety of aristocracy who consider conversation on matters of money to be beneath their dignity.
‘And so,’ Holmes continued inexorably, ‘you turned to your uncle, the dean, and the elaborate assassination scheme you concocted with Herr Winckelkopf, to no ultimate avail after the dynamite in the clock was spoiled. Where, then, to turn? You were running out of relatives, and eager, I am sure, to be married quickly. And so, when a late-night stroll along the Embankment brought a chance encounter with Septimus Podgers, your reaction was immediate. Especially since in many ways Mr Podgers might have been considered the author of all your woes.’
Savile was smiling broadly now. ‘And why was that?’
‘I have to admit that I am hazy on that point myself, Holmes,’ I reminded my friend. Throughout this particular investigation I had been privy to his researches, and thus to more of his thinking than was his habitual practice, but the question of Lord Arthur Savile’s incentive for the murder, and his preceding attempts, remained opaque to me.
‘It is, I confess, a motive that is unique in my experience,’ Holmes admitted. ‘Lord Arthur murdered Mr Podgers because Mr Podgers predicted that Lord Arthur would commit murder.’
‘But you said yourself that palmistry’s a fraud,’ I protested.
‘It is. But Mr Podgers was not. In cases of widespread belief, some practitioners of a fraud may also be counted among its victims. I believe Podgers was honest, and sincere in his error. He described in some detail the dilemma he faced in seeing this young man’s fate in his palm. Should he tell him, and blight his future, or should he leave him in ignorance, thus failing to warn him of a misfortune he might seek to mitigate, if never to avoid? He tells us that he opted in the end for candour, but not what convinced him to do so.’
‘A hundred guineas convinced him, if you must know,’ Savile responded haughtily. ‘Apparently, I am lucky that he was a less meticulous accounts-keeper than Herr Winckelkopf.’
‘Of course, palmistry has no value in predicting the future,’ Holmes explained, ‘but like any other information, true or false, it can influence it. When a person has their fortune told through any method, however dubious, the knowledge of their supposed fate thenceforth becomes a factor in their decisions. In this case, we must consider the effect produced in the mind of a young man, well-educated but not of exceptional intelligence, in a state of heightened emotion due to his forthcoming marriage and perhaps somewhat impressionable as a result. If such a man came to believe that it was his inescapable destiny to become a murderer, then he might conceivably respond by trying to get this distasteful inevitability over and done with before the wedding.’
‘Conceivably he might,’ Lord Arthur agreed with a smile. ‘But do you suppose that a jury will follow you down such a path, Mr Holmes? Particularly when the accused is a notably handsome man of a wealthy and influential family?’
Despite his lazy defiance, I could hear underlying his words a real concern, if not the fear that I would have felt in his place. For all his bravado, Savile was seeking Holmes’s professional opinion on this point.
‘They will believe some of it, I am certain,’ Holmes said. ‘Ironically, perhaps, they might find the case against you in the matter of Lady Clementina the most damning. You stood to inherit, you bought enough poison to kill a person, and you lied about the reason for it. I fear it would not matter greatly to them that she died before being murdered – you determined that she would die, and her death duly occurred. Attempting to murder someone by poison carries a sentence of lifelong penal servitude. But we have not yet come to the most damning piece of evidence.’
From the portfolio he produced a bound edition of Septimus Podgers’ Treatise on the Human Hand – Holmes’s own copy, singed at the top of the spine from a volatile chemistry experiment conducted somewhat too close to his bookshelves, but perfectly serviceable still.
‘The book is illustrated,’ he observed, ‘with many diagrams of individual palms, showing the points Podgers considered of most interest. For some subjects he illustrates merely the right palm, for some both. These are the lines he found on those of the young man fated to commit murder,’ he said, laying open the book on the chair next to the photographs of Lord Arthur’s palms. ‘You will observe a commendable degree of accuracy in the reproduction,’ he said, ‘but I imagine these lines were seared into Podgers’ memory. We know that Podgers told the owner of these hands that he would kill, and we know that a month later he was dead. It will not be a difficult matter to convince a jury that these were the hands that killed him.’
Lord Arthur sighed. ‘It is a shame that the late Lady Windermere never met you, Mr Holmes. She would have so enjoyed lionising you at her parties. Yes, it is all true, exactly as you tell it. I was careless, I suppose, but I never imagined that it could all be connected as you have done. I congratulate you on being that rare yet not always enviable thing: a man whose reputation is perfectly accurate.’
Holmes nodded gravely, accepting the compliment. ‘I do not believe that you are an evil man, Lord Arthur. Foolish certainly, impressionable to a grave fault, and lacking the sympathetic connection with others that for most men would have made such crimes unthinkable, but not, I think, with any tendency to spite or malice. But you must see that I cannot fail to pass on what I know to the police.’
Lord Arthur said, ‘I am a family man, Mr Holmes. I love my wife extremely, and my son and daughter mean everything to me.’ He hesitated, and now I could see real anguish in his eyes. ‘I am also, I may say reluctantly but without any undue modesty, extravagantly rich. If there is anything you need, I am in a position to make your life very comfortable indeed.’
‘I am not Septimus Podgers, my lord.’ Holmes’s voice
was cold. ‘You will not find my professional judgement amenable to the promise of a hundred guineas. Nor do I care to be cast in the role of blackmailer, which is what I should become if I accepted money in return for my silence. Besides, I rather think that you are less solvent than you pretend. Watson, please show Lord Arthur your revolver.’
As instructed, I produced my army service weapon from the pocket of my jacket.
Holmes said, ‘I had intended, out of consideration for the feelings of your family, to offer you an opportunity to surrender yourself to the police, but after what you have said I believe that you would take undue advantage of such a courtesy. Instead, I must insist that you accompany us to Scotland Yard, where we shall introduce you to Inspector Lestrade.’
CHAPTER TWO
THE HEIR IN THE HANDBAG
We led His Lordship to our waiting cab, the threat of my firearm overcoming the objections of the grim footman Francis. As we left the house, under the gaze of passing pedestrians and nursemaids with perambulators, another cab drew up carrying Lord Arthur’s wife and their two children. I feared recriminations, but Lady Arthur was far too well-bred to cause a scene in sight of all their neighbours on the square. She listened tight-lipped as her husband told her of our suspicions, in precise, cheerful tones that spoke eloquently of his guilt. She did not, I thought, look especially surprised. Then, glaring at us with eyes that held tears but dropped none, she led her children inside and we took her husband away to his appointment with Lestrade.
‘It is hard on them, of course,’ Holmes observed that evening, over an excellent plate of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding at Simpsons-in-the-Strand. ‘But a man with such a deed in his past cannot be allowed to walk free.’
‘I suppose not,’ I said. ‘And yet he seems to have led a harmless enough life since his crime. Was he really a danger to the public?’
Holmes said, ‘A man who has murdered once may do so again, if a reason presents itself. The cause of Savile’s downfall was his gullibility, and I saw no sign that he has become wiser during the past ten years. He could be easily led into criminal acts on behalf of others, if those others were persuasive enough. Besides, he is in financial difficulty, and the effect of that on a man of Lord Arthur’s background must not be underestimated. If I had accepted his generous offer of a bribe, he would have been obliged to pay me with money somehow ill-gotten, or, more likely, to arrange to meet me for payment on the Embankment, late at night and at high tide.’
I said, ‘I had been under the impression that his wealth was beyond question. You said he came into the late Lord Rugby’s fortune when he turned twenty-one.’ Holmes had ruled out from his considerations the death of that nobleman, another of Lord Arthur’s uncles, in a hunting accident witnessed by many when Savile was a mere boy.
‘Come, Watson, you know there are many ways in which a gentleman may lose a fortune, or even several of them. A gullible gentleman especially so. Besides, you have the evidence of your eyes. Did Lord Arthur’s house look like that of a wealthy man to you?’
‘It’s in Belgrave Square,’ I protested mildly.
Holmes tutted. ‘That he was moneyed in the past is not in dispute. Certainly the property has considerable capital value, but it is also one of the last possessions that a man, especially a man with a family to house, would divest himself of. I suspect that if we made enquiries, we might yet find it heavily mortgaged. Did you not note the absences on the walls where pictures would have hung?’
‘The room did seem rather sparse,’ I admitted. ‘And there was very little furniture.’
‘And even fewer ornaments,’ Holmes pointed out.
‘Perhaps he simply dislikes antiques,’ I said. ‘He’s obviously a man who knows his own taste.’
‘He dresses well,’ Holmes allowed, ‘though in last season’s clothes, which I imagine must pain him. He cannot afford new clothes for his servants either, even when the servants themselves are new. Francis seemed faithful enough, but he was not of the more refined species of footman, which is to say the more expensive. And dressed, if I am not mistaken, in a recent predecessor’s livery.’
Holmes’s points seemed indisputable, as they were wont to be. It would not do to let him become complacent, however, and I was casting around for some counterargument when a voice hailed us from close by. ‘Have I the honour of addressing Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson?’
I looked up into the studiedly nonchalant face of another gentleman of about Savile’s age. Not as tall as Lord Arthur and somewhat less good-looking, he was nonetheless a more striking figure, impeccably turned out in white tie, white gloves and a dove-grey tailcoat, with a pale peach carnation in his buttonhole. My knowledge of the most expensive fashions is sadly limited by my means, but it was clear to any observer that this man’s appearance was of the utmost concern to him.
He said, ‘Forgive me, gentlemen, but your landlady told me that I might find you here. I’ve been searching for you rather urgently.’ His expression radiated well-bred impassivity, but the strain in his voice betrayed his agitation.
Holmes had risen, and so did I. ‘Pray join us,’ my friend said. ‘Do please partake of the Beaune. How may we be of service, Mr…?’
‘Goring,’ replied the newcomer, sitting with us. ‘Viscount Goring, if we must be precise about it. And I suppose we must.’
‘Ah yes, Lord Goring,’ said Holmes, shaking his hand. ‘Your father is the Earl of Caversham, I believe. I had the honour of being of some small service to him during his time in the Cabinet.’
Lord Goring nodded. ‘Yes, he has mentioned you approvingly. Apparently you are a fine example of what a man may achieve if he applies himself, something I persistently refuse to do. The general theme is a perennial one with him, although you are one of its less commonly heard variations. His high opinion explains why I thought of coming to you tonight under what are, I’m afraid, somewhat trying circumstances.’
‘It appears to be our day for interfering in the affairs of the aristocracy,’ Holmes observed. ‘Pray tell us about these trying circumstances, Lord Goring.’
Waving away a renewed offer of wine, Lord Goring said, ‘I come to you by a rather circuitous route. Before speaking to your landlady at Baker Street, I was briefly at my brother-in-law’s house at Grosvenor Square. But for most of the evening, I was in Belgrave Square.’
From this I assumed that he must be a friend of Lord or Lady Arthur Savile, come to berate or plead with us on their behalf. Holmes must have been thinking something similar, as before the viscount could say more, he asked, ‘What number Belgrave Square, please?’
Lord Goring blinked in surprise. ‘Number 149, the home of the Moncrieff family.’ This was, I remembered, the opposite side from the Savile house.
‘Thank you,’ said Holmes. ‘It is as well to have all the facts at hand. Pray continue.’
‘There was a ball there this evening. The Honourable Gwendolen Moncrieff is an old schoolfriend of my wife’s sister-in-law, and we were all invited. Up to a point it was a pleasant enough occasion, with many of the best type of people there, and many of the worst as well, which I always find the best combination for enjoyable company. The latter are amusing, the former instructive, and those who are neither may occupy themselves in attempting to distinguish the best and the worst apart.’
Rather irritably, Holmes said, ‘I assume you to be of the second type, Lord Goring, for your conversation has not been greatly instructive so far. If you have brought me nothing more than epigrams, I will ask your leave to enjoy our meal in peace.’
His Lordship accepted the rebuke calmly. ‘Forgive me,’ he said again. ‘I often speak frivolously in times of difficulty. I’ve said that the evening was pleasant up to a point, and that point was the discovery of a body.’
‘A body!’ I exclaimed. ‘Discovered where?’
‘In the back garden of the house, beneath a balcony. It appears the fellow fell. A tragedy, no doubt, for those who knew him, but appearances conspire to
make the matter more immediately troublesome to one much closer to me.’
‘And who is that?’ Holmes asked, an eyebrow arched.
Lord Goring looked grave. ‘I am speaking of my wife. I left her at her brother’s house on my way to Baker Street, but I fear that will avert the unpleasantness only temporarily. The police were being summoned to Belgrave Square as we left.’
I said, ‘You fear they will suspect that she was involved in the death?’
‘I can hardly suppose that they will not. She assures me the deceased was unknown to her. Certainly he is a stranger to me, which many might say is to his credit. But it doesn’t explain how he came to be clutching my wife’s brooch as he fell. And neither, I am afraid, can I.’
‘Ah,’ said Holmes. ‘That, certainly, is a complication which our friends at Scotland Yard are unlikely to ignore. Watson and I will accompany you at once to Belgrave Square.’
‘I am exceedingly grateful.’ He clicked his fingers for a waiter. ‘Allow me to answer for your interrupted meal.’
‘I regret I must refuse, Lord Goring,’ Holmes said. ‘My business is to uncover the truth, and that you may rely on me to do without fear or favour. Whether or not my findings absolve Lady Goring of blame, it will compromise them if I am seen to have begun the case in your debt, even to the tune of dinner and a bottle of a middling wine.’
Lord Goring accepted the truth of this, and we collected our coats, our hats and his elegant antique walking-cane, and stepped out into the chilly spring evening, where His Lordship’s landau awaited us. It took us along the Strand, where hotel guests and theatregoers strolled in the warm amber glow of the gas-lamps, past Nelson’s Column and the Admiralty and between the majestic rows of plane trees on the Mall, in the direction of Belgravia.
On the way, Holmes asked Lord Goring about his hosts for the evening. ‘I believe I have heard of the family,’ he said. ‘Who is the Honourable Mrs Moncrieff’s husband?’
Sherlock Holmes--The Spider's Web Page 2