“Thank you, Mr. Cary,” Holmes responded, smiling as he reached in his coat for his favorite briar pipe. “Actually, this form of smoking is more to my liking! It’s become an old friend.”
At that response, Holmes slowly rose and began to make his way around the periphery of the cavernous room, stopping here and there, perhaps taking more mental notes that could be of use later in the investigation. While he moved about, I happened to notice that he seemed to pay particular attention to one corner of room, dusting off one of the shelves while we waited for our beverage.
The sprawling library was located in the front portion of the regal building, overlooking the vast gardens and walkways that led to the harbor. Holmes peered out through each window, apparently to become more familiar with the size of the huge estate. For my part, I stared around the magnificent room, intrigued by all of the legal books and maps that were present, as well as the varied selection of titles I was able to see, all neatly organized by topic.
Along one wall, Cary had a black telescope near one of the windows, positioned or aimed at a large promontory extending into the Channel. A glowing fireplace, located directly behind his large desk, served to warm the regal work space.
A short time later a bell signaled the butler’s return. After adding some honey to my still-steeping cup, I took my seat on a sturdy oaken chair that faced Cary’s work desk. Holmes hovered over my left shoulder, munching on one of the warm biscuits that had been brought into the room.
Cary opened the conversation, asking, “Well, Holmes, where shall I begin?”
“Mister Cary, you may start wherever you like,” Holmes replied. “And, please do not qualify your statements. Nothing is too trivial or obvious to be dismissed from consideration. In fact, in many instances, seemingly unimportant items become the most valuable clues in helping to solve a mystery.”
“Very well, then,” Cary remarked as he slowly paced around his massive desk.
“Gentlemen, let me properly introduce myself before we go any further. I am Atty. James Cary. I currently have an office in Torquay and have spent the last 15 years operating my law office. My wife and I are the proud parents of two fine youngsters, Thomas, who is six, and our daughter, Margaret, who has just turned fifteen.
My father, Christopher, bought this former Premonstratensian Abbey when Thomas Ridgeway put it up for sale, and it was willed to me upon his passing. Our family has been living here for more than twenty years. I spend much of my time as a member of the Torquay town council, having recently been appointed to head a commission.”
Cary paused for a moment, then added, “I must state that I have a rather strong constitution that makes this nonsense hard to tolerate. I’ve had to perform some difficult tasks in my time. I’ve witnessed some horrible things, and, as you might imagine, the nature of my council work has sometimes placed me in harm’s way. By that I mean that I have received threats for having chosen to defend certain unsavory individuals, as well as those who have sought my assistance in prosecuting their cases. Let me assure you both, that I have never broken the law, but rather I have spent most of my life seeing to it that all of my clients received their proper day in court.”
He went on. “That having been said, I have recently come to believe that my life, indeed, even the lives of my family, are in great danger!”
“Pray continue, sir,” Holmes insisted, tapping his pipe on the teacup saucer.
“As I have suggested in my letter to you, our family has been the brunt of several mischievous actions over the last month or so. Most have been relatively harmless in nature with short notes attached, all suggesting that our family leave our home. I’m sorry to say, but I simply tossed them into the fireplace, never giving them a second thought. However, seven days ago, I received this message,” Cary completed his remarks, handing the missive to Holmes.
Holmes took the somewhat soiled paper, and after a cursory examination began to read aloud, “Leave this property... It is cursed land...More need not die!”
After reading those words, Holmes looked my way, passed me the note, and inquired, “What do you make of this, Watson?”
I shuddered when I saw the way the letters were formed. Each seemed to have been written in a most alarming, quaking manner. There was no signature, but as I looked more closely, a shiver went up my spine, for there was a reddish spot that looked like blood!
“Um, ah, Holmes,” I blurted out, “this is outrageous... Why it must be taken seriously, especially with the bloody stain!”
We both looked at our host, Mr. Cary, who, by this time, had once more, taken his seat behind his desk.
“I’m not so concerned about my own person,” Cary remarked with his hands folded. “It’s the welfare of my family... their safety!”
I returned the paper to Holmes and he quickly began a more thorough examination of the warning. Moving over toward the window, he held the paper up to the sunlight that shone into the library. Apparently satisfied with his findings, he made his way back to his chair and re-lit his pipe, caressing his wrinkled brow.
“Mr. Cary,” Holmes inquired, once again holding the letter to the light, “may I ask how you came by this letter?”
Cary responded, “Sir, I found it on this very desk when I entered the room the morning of December 11th, seven days ago.”
“Have you any thoughts as to ‘why’ it was all crumpled up in your ashtray?” the great detective offered.
“What did you say, Mister Holmes?” Cary queried. “How did you know that?”
“Forgive me, Mr. Cary,” Holmes replied, “surely the many visible creases hinted at its having been crushed or folded several times. As for the ashtray, you can clearly smell the ashy odor and see the tobacco marks.”
Cary smiled at those comments. I sensed that the local lawyer was feeling the same way I was often made to feel whenever Holmes had posited one of his astute observations.
“Well, Mr. Holmes,” Cary went on, “my first impulse upon receiving such a note was one of great anger. I was so furious that I crumpled up the paper and threw it in the cigar ashtray. My home had been violated. Our family’s well-being threatened. I angrily made up my mind to ignore this vile warning. That was my first response.”
“Upon further analysis, I decided that I simply had to take the threat seriously, for the safety of my family. I knew that I needed to take certain precautions and prepare my home for the possibility that some kind of attack might be made upon me and my loved ones.”
“A short time later, I decided to pick up the note and save it as possible evidence.”
“Ah, that was wise indeed,” my friend acknowledged. “Such warnings cannot be taken lightly!”
Holmes continued his questioning, “Mr. Cary, what did your staff have to say about the matter?”
There was a slight pause with Cary looking away.
“Sir,” Holmes went on, “surely, you met with them?”
Shaking his head Cary spoke, “Actually, Mr. Holmes, I didn’t. I decided to keep it my secret... that is, except for Malcolm. He has been a loyal member of our household for many years. Indeed, he is like a member of my own family. I would, and do, trust him in all things, even with my life.”
“That’s all well and good,” Holmes remarked. “And what did he have to say about it?”
“Mr. Holmes,” Cary stated with some consternation, “Malcolm was extremely upset. He naturally assumed the blame for allowing someone to have reached the inner recesses of our home. I can’t tell you how cross he became. When alluding to the intrusion, he felt that he had let me down. Indeed, he even tendered his resignation, offering to leave his position!”
“And you, sir,” Holmes remarked, “obviously, you refused to accept his offer.”
“I would hear none of it, Mr. Holmes,” Cary spoke, assuming a rather stern posture. “I looked
him straight in the eye and informed him of my wish that he stay on. I expressed our family’s deep affection for him. I only asked that he keep the matter to himself, suggesting that it would be better not to worry the staff. He, for his part, bowed, thanked me for the kind words, and agreed to do as I had requested.”
Holmes seemed content with Cary’s response, and facing the window, once more, re-lit his pipe. Already it had become a two-pipe conundrum!
“I see,” remarked Holmes, scratching his left ear.
“And you’re certain,” he continued, “that this man, Malcolm, won’t discuss this threat with any of the other servants or family members?”
“There can be no question of his discretion in this matter, Mr. Holmes,” Cary remarked with much annoyance.
“That is very good,” Holmes commented. “Let us turn our attention to the actual murders. Mr. Cary, did you know any of the victims?”
“Actually, Mr. Holmes,” he replied, “I did know them, but mostly through our work on the town council. The most recent victim, Mr. Fenwick, however, was a dear friend of mine. I’d known Eldridge for over fifteen years. He was one of the finest men I had ever met.”
“Do continue,” Holmes prompted. “If you would, tell me all you can about the crimes. Spare no detail. As I’ve mentioned, no fact can be deemed to be insignificant when it comes to performing a thorough investigation.”
With that having been put forth, Cary reached into one of his desk drawers and placed what appeared to be a journal before us.
“Mr. Holmes,” he stated, “while I don’t pretend to be any kind of detective, I have been blessed with an orderly disposition and a healthy, possibly perverse, curiosity for all things criminal. When the first atrocity was reported, I began to jot down what officials had discovered, placing their information in this journal, along with some of my own thoughts about the event. With each additional murder, came another set of facts for me to ponder, analyze, and add to this record. I have not yet had time to enter the horrible account of poor Eldridge’s demise into this journal, but was planning on doing so.”
“Perhaps you might find these writings useful,” Cary suddenly offered. “If so, I would be most happy to submit them to your keeping for further examination. Along with them goes my sincere hope that these humble efforts on my part, might somehow help you in your investigation.”
Holmes nearly dropped his pipe at Cary’s offer. I have never seen my friend so confused. Holmes eagerly accepted the journal from Cary and quickly leafed through the neatly written details, shaking his head up and down as he scanned the informative passages. Several minutes passed before Holmes carefully closed the book, and gave Mr. Cary a most incredulous look.
“My word, Cary,” a smiling Holmes offered, “I am truly delighted with your impressive reporting skills. Why, Lestrade and Gregson of Scotland Yard have never even approached this level of investigative ability. I am stunned at your attention to detail in these case descriptions. Why, I almost feel as if you were a witness to these tragedies!”
Cary smugly bowed at Holmes’s remarks, but suddenly the smile quickly faded as he construed that Holmes might have just accused him of being the murderer.
“Just a minute, Mr. Holmes,” a now, somewhat-agitated Cary roared. “Are you suggesting that I might be involved in any of these deplorable crimes?”
“Heavens no,” smiled the consulting detective, “I would never accuse you of having done the deeds, Mr. Cary. My remarks were meant as true and genuine compliments to the thoroughness of your reporting and your written reflections of each of the crimes. I am duly impressed with your findings.”
Cary’s grimace had relaxed and once again, a bright-eyed, contented smile returned to his countenance as he remarked, “Really, Mr. Holmes, I’m delighted to hear that you appreciate my efforts.”
“Sir, I do sincerely applaud your work,” Holmes replied, extending his hand. “You know, if you should tire of the court room, you might consider opening up your own detective agency!”
All of us smiled at that comment, as it was evident that the mood had been lightened somewhat by the jovial remark.
“Mr. Cary,” Holmes earnestly implored, “I hope that you understand that we may need a day or two to go through your reports to see how they may corroborate what has been officially reported. You’ve really saved Doctor Watson and me a great deal of time and effort. Let me assure you, once again, sir, that it is most appreciated.”
“Certainly, Mr. Holmes,” spoke a now-strutting, smiling Cary, “I am honored to have such approbation from a man of your reputation. Feel free to make of it what you will and return it to me whenever you are finished.”
Cary suddenly moved across the room to the bookcase opposite the front windows. He lifted a pile of books on the third shelf and carried them over to his desk.
“Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson,” he advised, “these books might aid you in your investigation. Each offers information about our little village. One is a book of local maps. Another is a brief history of Torquay. The last book describes our own home. It traces its beginnings as a working Abbey and continues to the year 1900.”
He continued, “Please feel free to browse through them if you feel they may be of use to you and Doctor Watson.”
That having been said, Cary sat behind the stack, looked around the room, winked at Holmes, and picked up his letter opener, taking great care while placing it atop his desk.
I noticed that Holmes was staring at Cary, and Cary noticed the same thing.
“Mr. Holmes,” the lawyer inquired, “will there be anything else?”
My friend quickly responded, “Not at this time, thank you.”
Reaching over to shake Cary’s hand, Holmes called, “Watson, old chap, let us take our leave for now. Thank you for the journal, Mr. Cary. Rest assured that I will take the utmost care in its perusal and safe return. We will contact you in the next several days to apprise you of our findings.”
“Good day, Mr. Holmes... Doctor Watson,” waved the lawyer as he walked us to the front door. “Please feel free to come and go as you please in the course of your investigation. I will be back and forth over the next few days, while I move my family to safer surroundings.”
After bidding Mr. Cary adieu, we started down the steps, when Holmes, suddenly stopped and turned toward back to the servant, “Malcolm, I wonder if we can have a word with you?”
“Why, certainly, sir,” he responded anxiously. “Please feel free to ask me anything at all Mr. Holmes. I am completely at your disposal.”
“Ah, that is well, Malcolm,” the detective whispered. “Watson and I have a few questions for you. Is it possible for us to meet with you when we visit tomorrow?”
“Sirs,” he bowed, “I will be most happy to oblige. Is there anything else?”
“Not at this time, Mr. Randolph,” Holmes remarked, waving to the butler. “Until tomorrow, then... “
“Good day, gentlemen,” Cary’s servant offered as the door closed behind him.
After taking the reins from the young stable boy, Holmes and I started back to our hotel. The skies were starting to clear, but a cold, damp wind had come up, inducing us to pull the plaid carriage blanket around us. It would only be a short ride back to the hotel, but the elements made our trip seem so much longer. At least the scenery along Torquay Road did help to make our return trip somewhat more palatable. I had begun to occupy my mind by observing the many quaint architectural styles of Torquay, when my friend suddenly stopped our carriage.
Holmes straightened his deerstalker, turned quickly and inquired, “Well, Watson, what do you make of Mr. Cary? Be sure to hold nothing back.”
“Really, Holmes,” I replied, “what do I think of the man? My word, I’ve only just met him!”
“Yes, yes,” he impatiently offered. “Surely you’ve formed som
e opinion, Watson. Have you not?”
“Hmmm, well, Holmes, if you must know, I judged him as being extremely nervous. But, having received such a threatening note, and under the circumstances of the recent murders, anyone in his position might feel the same.”
“I know, I know,” Holmes continued in a somewhat agitated manner.
“What else, my good man?” Holmes questioned as our carriage started up again, approaching the last hill before arriving at our hotel.
I suddenly caught his drift, “Oh, I see what you’re looking for. You want to know if I believe his story. Is that what you’re looking for?”
“Watson,” Holmes continued, “I hold you to be as fine a judge of human character as there has ever been. I simply want your honest opinion of the man.”
“Well, then,” I responded, “as I have already suggested, he seemed to be very nervous upon meeting us. Certainly, more about meeting you than me, I would suggest. I further sensed that, though most cordial, he couldn’t wait for us to leave. Do you share that opinion?”
Holmes, placing his right hand over his furrowed brow, posed, “I’m not certain what to make of the man, Watson. I, too, sensed that he seemed to be acting ‘on script’, as it were. Perhaps, that is just his way, but I felt that he was keeping something back from us. And yet...”
Our conversation was interrupted by the hotel stable boy, for we had pulled up to the Imperial. After helping us from the carriage, we watched the young man quickly return the horses to the hotel livery.
Continuing toward the main entrance, Holmes began again, almost as if he were thinking aloud, “Still, he was kind enough to give us his journal. That should count for something. I’ll just have to give these notes the utmost scrutiny. Hopefully, we may find something there for us to go on.”
As we entered the busy hotel lobby, I noticed that a young girl was standing near the main desk. She seemed inordinately interested in Holmes, who had stepped away with the hotel manager. It appeared to me that she recognized him or, perhaps had believed him to have been someone else. In any event, I kept a close watch on her out of the corner of my eye until we had rounded the corner leading to the main stairway.
Treachery in Torquay Page 7