The Secret Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

by June Thomson

  ‘Not at all,’ Dr Moore Agar replied. ‘And I apologize if my disapproval of your lighting up your pipe made itself apparent. What a man does in his own home is his business entirely. However, as a doctor, I do indeed condemn the habit of smoking as being injurious to the general health. Having said that, I shall now pass on to the business which brought me here.

  ‘You should understand, Mr Holmes, that I have a private apartment over my consulting rooms in Harley Street. At about ten o’ clock last night, my doorbell was rung and the maid showed a gentleman upstairs. He introduced himself as Josiah Wetherby but presented no card, his explanation being that he had left home so hurriedly that he had omitted to bring his pocket-book. I should add that he spoke with an American accent and was in a highly agitated state. He requested that I should immediately accompany him to his house in order to treat his daughter who had been taken ill.

  ‘In view of the lateness of the hour and the fact that I had never seen the man before, I demurred. Could he not, I asked, consult his own doctor? He explained that, as he had not long been in this country, he had not yet acquired a personal physician but, having heard of my reputation, he desired my services.

  ‘In the end, I reluctantly agreed and accompanied him downstairs to a carriage which was waiting outside my door. No sooner had we seated ourselves inside it than it started off at a brisk pace but to what address I have no idea, Mr Holmes, as the blinds were drawn over the windows. After a journey lasting about an hour, we drew up outside a house in a dimly lit street. I was hastily taken inside and up the stairs to a room on the first floor where a young woman was lying in a bed.

  ‘I examined her and found that her breathing was slow and irregular and that she was extremely drowsy, symptoms which made me suspect that she was suffering from the effects of a narcotic analgesic.’

  ‘Cocaine, do you suppose?’ Holmes put in quickly. ‘Did you observe any needle-marks upon her arms?’

  Dr Moore Agar gave him a long, shrewd look as if he had deduced from the too-eager question that my old friend’s interest and knowledge derived from personal experience as was indeed unfortunately the case.*

  ‘No; in my opinion, it was not cocaine, Mr Holmes. Nor did I perceive any marks on her arms which might have suggested that the narcotic had been injected into the bloodstream. I am more inclined to believe that the drug was morphine* and was introduced orally as a solid, perhaps as a powder or in tablet form. Mr Wetherby’s anxiety to explain that the young lady was subject to these attacks of extreme drowsiness tended to confirm my suspicions. There is indeed a medical condition known as narcolepsia† but I am convinced that the patient was not suffering from it.

  ‘As Wetherby refused to allow his daughter to be admitted to hospital, his excuse being that she had an aversion to such places, and as her condition was not serious, I recommended an immediate intake of caffeine in the form of strong, black coffee which would act as a stimulant upon the system and allay the symptoms.

  ‘I should add, Mr Holmes, that, apart from these circumstances which I have already described, there were two others which caused me further misgivings. The first was the marked differences in any physical resemblance between the young woman and Wetherby who claimed to be her father. The other was the absence of servants about the place, apart from a woman who Wetherby said was his housekeeper and who remained in the room while I examined the patient. It was she who went to make the coffee I had recommended which I administered myself.

  ‘After I had completed my treatment and my patient was showing signs of recovery, I was again hurried out of the house to the carriage by Wetherby who accompanied me on the return journey to Harley Street where I was left outside my front door.

  ‘I hardly slept last night, Mr Holmes, I was so uneasy in my mind. The young woman’s drugged state, Wetherby’s furtive manner, the fact that there appeared to be no servants in the house apart from the housekeeper, all suggested that I had been drawn unwittingly into some highly suspicious affair. At first, I contemplated going to the police but I have so little information to offer, no positive identification as to who these people are, no address, not even the faintest idea where the house is situated except it must be somewhere in London.’

  ‘But you have some evidence,’ Holmes pointed out. ‘You met the man who described himself as Josiah Wetherby. You say he is an American. What is his appearance?’

  ‘He was a tall, heavily built man; in his fifties, I should estimate, with a full, dark beard turning grey; well-dressed but rather coarse in his manner; hardly a gentleman.’

  ‘Did you notice any distinguishing features? I myself usually remark on a person’s hands.* They are often highly revealing as to their owner’s social standing and employment.’

  Dr Moore Agar looked astonished.

  ‘How perspicacious of you, Mr Holmes! I did indeed take note of his hands. They were scarred and rough-skinned as if he had been used in the past to heavy, manual labour. His face also had a weather-beaten appearance, suggesting he had worked in the open air.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Holmes cried. ‘You see, we are already making progress! What of the young lady?’

  ‘She was fair-haired and fine-featured, which made me doubt that Wetherby was her father. As for the housekeeper, I can tell you nothing except that she was a short, stout, middle-aged woman. She did not speak while I was attending the patient so I have no knowledge of her accent or her social background.’

  ‘And the house?’

  ‘As I saw so little of its exterior, I cannot describe it in detail except that it was a large, detached villa set back from the road and that there was a bay window to the right of the front door.’

  ‘The colour of the door?’

  ‘Black.’

  ‘Was there a knocker?’

  ‘Yes, indeed there was! It was in the shape of a dolphin. Really, Mr Holmes, it is quite astonishing how much detail I absorbed without being aware of it myself. There was, now I recall it, a number on the gate. It was thirty-two.’

  ‘Can you remember any other details, however unimportant they might seem?’

  ‘No; except I recollect there was a path of red and black tiles leading up to the front door. I could see nothing of the garden; the street lighting was so poor. However, I happened to notice that a large quantity of fallen leaves had blown up against the step as if from a nearby tree. When I returned home last night and prepared myself for bed, I discovered one of them stuck to the sole of my boot. I have brought it with me in case it should be useful to your inquiries as, trifling though it may be, it is the only material evidence I can offer you.’ Taking out his pocket-book, Dr Moore Agar extracted an envelope from it which he handed to Holmes. ‘I am not familiar with the species of tree from which it came.’

  Holmes looked briefly inside the envelope before laying it to one side with the remark, ‘It may indeed be of use, Dr Moore Agar. In my experience, it is often on the most trivial-seeming data that the success of an investigation may depend. Pray continue. If there is nothing more you can tell us about the exterior of the house, let us pass on to its interior.’

  ‘Apart from the young lady’s bedroom, I saw only the hall, the staircase and the upper landing and these only briefly as Mr Wetherby hurried me up the stairs so quickly that I had little opportunity to look about me. Moreover, the lighting was exceedingly dim. However, I had the impression that the house was rented. There were few personal possessions about the place, not even in the patient’s own room. The general furnishings were old-fashioned and shabby. The blind was drawn down over the window and there was a chest of drawers standing …’

  ‘The details of the furniture are of less consequence than the position of the young lady’s room,’ Holmes broke in. ‘Where precisely was it?’

  ‘At the front of the house and to the left of the door.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Moore Agar. That is most useful information. We come now to the journey itself to this unknown address. You say it lasted about
an hour. Have you no idea which route you took?’

  ‘I have already told you, Mr Holmes, that the blinds in the carriage were drawn,’ Dr Moore Agar replied, somewhat testily. ‘I could see nothing.’

  ‘Quite so. But that should not have prevented you from obtaining some impression of your journey. When you accompanied Mr Wetherby from your house, in which direction was the carriage facing, south towards Cavendish Square or north towards Regent’s Park?’

  ‘Towards the park.’

  ‘And when the carriage started off, which way did it turn?’

  ‘To the left and then soon afterwards to the right.’

  ‘So you were still proceeding in a northerly direction?’

  Dr Moore Agar seemed to grasp the purpose behind Holmes’ questions for his heavy, rather severe features suddenly became quite animated.

  ‘You are quite right, Mr Holmes! You were recommended to me by a colleague as being the best private inquiry agent in the country and I can now appreciate why you have gained such a reputation. As a matter of fact, my curiosity was aroused by the singularity of Wetherby’s request and I paid particular attention to the first part of the journey. Allow me a few moments to consider.’ There followed a silence in which Dr Moore Agar contemplated his beautifully polished boots, chin in hand, before his brow cleared and he continued, ‘We seemed to travel along a relatively straight route for some distance. For part of the way, it was a main thoroughfare, for I recall seeing lights behind the drawn blinds and was aware of our carriage overtaking other vehicles. We then turned off to the right and began a long, slow climb up an incline which lasted some considerable distance and which grew steeper as we progressed. Somewhere along it, we turned off to the left.’ Dr Moore Agar’s brief animation passed as he concluded, ‘I am afraid, Mr Holmes, that is all I can recollect. We took several more turnings after that but whether to the left or to the right, I cannot now recall. Mr Wetherby engaged me in conversation and my attention was taken off the journey.’

  ‘No doubt deliberately,’ Holmes remarked. ‘No matter. I believe I may have enough information.’

  ‘You mean you may be able to find the house?’

  ‘I shall certainly do my best to trace it this very day,’ Holmes replied, rising from his chair and holding out his hand. ‘I shall call on you at Harley Street as soon as I have any definite information. I take it you will have no objections if the official police are called in at some later stage in the investigation should the case prove to be a criminal matter?’

  As soon as Dr Moore Agar had given his assent and had departed, with many protestations of gratitude, Holmes settled down in his chair, refilling and relighting his pipe with every sign of satisfaction.

  ‘Despite Dr Moore Agar’s strictures on the evils of tobacco,’ said he, puffing away contentedly, ‘there is nothing like the smoke from a strong shag to clear one’s mind and stimulate one’s thoughts.’

  ‘So you really think you can find this unknown address?’

  ‘I believe I can at least locate the immediate area. There were several clues in Dr Moore Agar’s account of the journey, including the length of time it took. If you care to hand down my gazetteer which contains a large-scale map of London, I shall begin my research. As I know nothing about Nature, I shall assign the leaf which the doctor so thoughtfully brought with him to you for study, Watson. I believe there is a volume somewhere on the shelves which deals with the subject. It has never afforded me the slightest pleasure to tramp about the countryside, exclaiming over the beauties of bird, beast and flower.’

  I have commented before on the strange gaps in Holmes’ knowledge* and, as I fetched the volumes of reference, handing the gazetteer to Holmes, I could not resist remarking,

  ‘I am surprised at your lack of interest, Holmes. After all, Nature is a study of botany which is a branch of science. Think of osmosis and the dissemination of seeds.’

  ‘I would rather not, my dear fellow. Given the choice, I should much prefer to inspect a footprint than a foxglove. Or if you insist on forcing the foxglove upon me, then it would be its medicinal properties which would engage my attention and the effects of digitalis on the human heart.’

  From an illustration in that section of the reference book devoted to deciduous species, I had no difficulty in identifying the leaf as coming from a beech tree, a discovery which I communicated to Holmes who was still poring over the map which he had spread out upon the table.

  ‘And I,’ said he, ‘believe I may have traced the greater part of the route which Dr Moore Agar took last night.’ As I joined him, he continued, placing a long finger on the page, ‘Harley Street is here, Watson, and the carriage was facing towards the park. When it started off, it turned to the left, almost certainly into Marylebone Road, before turning again, this time to the right into, I believe, Park Road. Now, according to our client, it then continued on a straight route for some considerable distance. This would have taken it into Wellington Road which leads through Swiss Cottage to Finchley Road, the main thoroughfare where Dr Moore Agar was aware of lights and other vehicles. Somewhere along that road, the carriage turned again to the right and began to climb a long hill. This could answer the description of Belsize Lane or any of these other turnings which lead eventually to the steeper incline of Heath Street in Hampstead. As it was here that the carriage turned to the left, it will be in this area,’ he concluded, his finger resting on a portion of the map which indicated a series of side roads to the south and west of Hampstead Heath, ‘that we shall find the house we are looking for. As soon as I have made a large-scale copy of this particular portion of the map, our hunt shall begin.’

  We set off shortly afterwards by hansom, Holmes giving the driver precise instructions as to the first part of our journey which followed the route he had indicated in the gazetteer.

  Having reached Hampstead and the cab having gained the top of the steep hill which was Heath Street, Holmes ordered the cabby to turn to the left.

  We now found ourselves in a residential district, comprising quiet side roads, many lined with large houses, any one of which could have answered Dr Moore Agar’s description of the unknown residence he had visited the night before.

  It was here that our knowledge of our client’s exact route failed us and our real search began. With his copy of the map in his hand, Holmes called out to the driver to turn either left or right as we traversed the area, following a logical pattern of my old friend’s devising.

  After we had taken several such turnings, the little flap door in the roof of the hansom flew open and a bleary eye appeared in the aperture.

  ‘What h’exact h’address is you lookin’ for, guvn’r?’ inquired the cabby.

  ‘It is more a matter of finding a beech tree than a precise road,’ Holmes replied. ‘Drive on! I shall tell you when to stop.’

  For a moment, the eye continued to regard us suspiciously.

  Then, ‘A beech tree!’ came a disgusted voice, the flap was slammed shut and the cab continued on its way.

  We found the tree in the seventh or eighth turning. By that time, I had lost count of the number of roads we had driven down although Holmes kept a record, ticking off each name on the map he had prepared.

  It was situated in Maplewood Avenue and stood on the right-hand side in the garden of a tall, brick villa, very similar to the others which lined the road.

  Holmes rapped on the roof and, after the cab had drawn up and my old friend had paid off the driver, we stood waiting until the hansom had driven away before Holmes gave me my own instructions.

  ‘We shall walk casually past the place, Watson, without staring at it or paying it any undue attention. However, do please take a note of those distinctive details which Dr Moore Agar mentioned, such as the red and black tiled path and the dolphin-shaped knocker.’

  The house did indeed possess these features but, as we strolled past the gate, I noticed, to my great disappointment, that the number affixed to it was twenty-three.
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  ‘We should have kept the cab, Holmes,’ I remarked as we passed down the road. ‘Dr Moore Agar specifically stated that it was number thirty-two. It is the wrong house.’

  ‘I think not,’ Holmes replied. ‘You may have remarked, Watson, that the figures were made of brass and were screwed into place, thus making it easy for them to be removed and replaced in reverse order. What you evidently failed to notice, but which I took particular pains to observe, were the scratch marks on the heads of the screws, tiny but quite fresh, which suggest that this is indeed what occurred.’

  In fact, I had not noticed such a trifling detail although I was not in the least surprised that Holmes should have done so. Not only are his powers of observation remarkable but he has the keenest eyesight of any man I know.

  ‘In addition,’ Holmes continued, ‘the exterior of the house answers in every particular the description given to us by Dr Moore Agar. However, one problem remains. How are we to contrive to see inside the place? Before we can involve the official police in the investigation, I must have some data to prove we have found the correct address. Neither Lestrade nor any of his colleagues will be impressed when the only evidence we have to offer them is a beech leaf.’

  ‘Could we not approach the house on some pretext or other?’ I suggested.

  ‘What have you in mind?’

  In truth, I had nothing in mind although, casting my mind back quickly to another investigation in which we had successfully impersonated two clergymen in order to gain entrance to one particular residence,* I said, ‘Could we not pretend we are collecting on behalf of some charitable organization?’

  ‘No, no! That would not do at all!’ Holmes sounded impatient. ‘Supposing no one answers or we are turned away on the door-step? We shall have seen no more of the place than the porch or, at best, the hall. That will hardly satisfy Lestrade. We must be certain that Wetherby and the young lady, his supposed daughter, are indeed in residence.’

  While we had been discussing the matter, we had emerged at the top of Heath Street and were walking down the hill past some small, rather nondescript shops which lined the road when an empty hansom passed us. Holmes hailed it and, bundling me unceremoniously inside, gave the driver our Baker Street address, calling out, as the cab drew away, leaving him standing on the pavement, ‘I shall see you later, my dear fellow!’