Holmes and I slowly ascended the steep marble steps and turned down our hallway, when Holmes suddenly grabbed my arm and dragged me behind a doorway alcove.
Holding a finger to his lips, he smiled and whispered, “Quiet, Watson, we are being followed!”
As the young girl slipped furtively around the corner, Holmes called out in a most comforting manner, “Hello, young lady. May we be of any assistance to you?”
The poor girl stopped instantly, and as she slowly backed away, offered, “Gentlemen, please excuse me. I thought that I recognized you, but perhaps I was wrong.”
At her comment, Holmes gave me a wink, as if struck by her confident manner. I must admit, we both were surprised by her pluckiness. She didn’t seem ill-at-ease in the least!
As she turned to go, Holmes called out, “Come now, young lady, you’ve already gotten past the difficult part. Let us see if, in fact, you may have found whom you’ve been searching for!”
Instead of rushing away in embarrassment, our spy turned quickly and walked over to us, remarking, “Sirs, I do apologize for my brazen affront, but my curiosity simply got the better of me. Is it possible that I’m now in the presence of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and the eminent scribe, Doctor John Watson?”
We were somewhat caught off guard by her inquiry, but Holmes acknowledged her suspicions.
“Yes, my dear, I’m Holmes and this is, indeed, the ‘scribe’, Doctor Watson,” Holmes conceded. “May I inquire as to the reason for your venturing out, alone, to a hotel and accosting two strange gentlemen?”
“Oh, this is most wonderful,” the young girl happily replied, turning a bright pink. “I know this was most rude of me, but I just had to discover if I was correct!”
The child continued, “My name is Aggie Miller. I’m a resident of Torquay, but I’m certainly not here alone. My mother and I just finished our afternoon tea at the Imperial. This is where we come to celebrate special occasions.”
“Well, Miss Aggie,” I remarked, “it is quite good to know that you’re here with your mother. Now, might I suggest that you return to her care, for she is probably searching for you as we speak!”
The girl’s eyes almost popped out their sockets when she realized that her mother would indeed be quite concerned over her sudden disappearance.
She quickly said her “good-byes” and stormed around the corner and back down the hotel staircase.
Holmes and I exchanged whimsical shoulder shrugs, laughed a bit, and continued on our way.
“Most interesting young girl, Holmes, say what?” I inquired.
“Of that, there can be no doubt, Watson,” he agreed, as he inserted the key into our hotel suite. “You know, my good fellow, I wouldn’t be surprised if we come across this young lady again in the not too distant future!”
I smiled at his suggestion, as we entered our suite, wondering why I had felt the same way. After closing the door, I quickly made my way to my bedroom. I found I was totally exhausted. This sudden surprise trip through the middle of the night had exacted its toll upon my aging frame. Even though it was only 12:30 in the afternoon, I simply needed to rest.
After removing my outer coat, I called out to Holmes, “If it is acceptable to you, my friend, I fear I need a nap.”
“Off you go, Watson,” he offered, lighting his pipe. “I’ll have no time for sleeping until I’ve studied Cary’s documents.”
The last thing I remembered before nodding off was Holmes studying the journal and then, peaceful dreams held sway.
Cary’s Journal
Evening of December 18th
“Watson, Watson,” a most familiar, annoying voice suddenly rang in my ears. “Get up old boy!”
“What? Who? Where?” I sputtered, wiping the sleep from my still squinting eyes.
“Dear chap, you’ve been out for nearly three hours,” he added, “and you’ve lost the best part of the day!”
“I am sorry, Holmes,” I offered humbly, “I was physically and mentally spent, what with all the travel, threats, murders and all the other goings on.”
Holmes went back to the corner table and once more sifted through the pages of the Cary journal. His pipe was blazing fiercely in the side of his mouth, exaggerating the size and scope of his protruding jawbone. Since I had seen him in that type of frenzy only on rare occasions, I gathered that he had found some interesting points in Cary’s crime narratives.
“Have you solved the murders yet, Holmes?” I teased.
“Well, if I had had the support of one sleeping lummox, I might have!” he joked, shaking his pipe in my direction.
“Sadly, no Watson, not yet,” he divulged, adding, “however, there are some bits and pieces in these reports that may merit some closer scrutiny.”
“Uh... Is that so?” I queried, still a bit groggy from my afternoon refresher.
“Come, Watson, I would like your opinion on the Cary commentaries,” Holmes beckoned.
While I made my way over to the small table, Holmes was already laying out the journal for my inspection.
“Watson, I believe that you will find these notes most interesting, particularly in the manner in which Cary responds to each of the articles,” Holmes offered.
“Let us begin,” he said. “Would you please read the first newspaper article aloud? And, after you’ve read it, please close the journal, placing this page marker where we’ve left off.”
I knew better than to ask him his reasons for such a request and so I began to read the article which had been clipped from the local paper and pasted into the leather-bound case:
Torquay, Thursday, October 20, 1905
Body Discovered Along Village Road
Early Thursday morning, Officer Philip Bennett discovered the body of Torquay town banker, Mr. Henry Dinsmore, on Meadfoot Road. It is believed that Mr. Dinsmore, one of our town’s leading citizens, succumbed from head injuries he had received from an apparent accidental fall on his way home from work sometime late Wednesday evening.
Officials in the department notified the family of the deceased immediately upon discovery of the body. After additional inquiries, police learned that his wife, Emma, had reported him missing very early on that same Thursday morning. When asked why she had waited until the next day to file a missing person’s report, the widow offered that her husband often kept late hours due to the many responsibilities of his position. She further informed authorities that her husband was in the habit of staying up late and very often she wouldn’t see him until the next morning’s breakfast.
After completing the reading, I rested the journal on my lap and voiced, “Holmes, it appears to be a simple police report printed in the town paper.”
“Ah, yes, Watson,” my friend continued, “just a matter-of-fact police report. Now go back to the journal and tell me, dear fellow, what you think of Mr. Cary’s notes. And, carefully read them aloud, as well, if you would.”
I was somewhat off-put by my friend’s implication, for he frequently accused me of not paying enough attention to all of the possible details. Nevertheless, I continued my perusal of Cary’s notes which he had neatly written directly below the newspaper article. They consisted of the following remarks:
Poor old Dinsmore should never have been out that late.
Beaten to death with some type of hammer-like instrument.
Judging by rumors from coroner’s office, it could have been a Druid ceremonial dagger of some kind. Ah, Dinsmore... All of us have enemies, and I’m sure you had your share of them.
He had been warned, but he wouldn’t listen to his friends.
Will there be others? I wonder... I certainly hope not... Meadfoot Road served as a perfect locale for an ambush.
There are many turns and hollows where evil might be done.
Could Dinsmore simply have been
in the wrong place at the wrong time? Perhaps, perhaps not... It is most alarming!
Despite the official police report, I have my suspicions.
I, for one, don’t believe his death to be accidental!
“Oh, dear me,” I stopped suddenly. “Yes, Holmes, I see what you mean. What might Cary be hiding? What do you think he means when he refers to ‘others’?”
“Exactly, Watson! What is the man implying?” the great detective inquired with some consternation. “Suspicions indeed. Let’s examine his other remarks. Go on, now, read the next newspaper clipping.”
Torquay, Tuesday, November 22, 1905
Councilman Hall’s Corpse Discovered
Town Residents Shocked by News
Our peaceful little community suffered another terrible loss when it was revealed that Mr. Trent Hall’s lifeless body had been found in some dense shrubbery off Belgrade Road. Hall had gone missing for several days before family members elected to notify the local constabulary. After a preliminary examination, local officials announced that they suspected foul play.
Cause of death was believed to have been from severe loss of blood, the result of a huge gash atop his cranium. When asked to comment on what might have created such a deadly strike Chief Inspector Davis issued the following statement:
“Gentlemen, while we are hard-pressed to state with any real conviction the exact nature of the weapon that was used to murder Mr. Hall, it appears that a very sharp ax-like instrument may have done the damage.”
When pressed for additional commentary, Chief Inspector Davis offered, “At this time, our criminal investigation has just begun and it would be foolhardy to speculate on mere preliminary findings.”
Upon concluding this account, I immediately moved down to Cary’s notes regarding this particular newspaper report.
Now it’s Hall? Good Lord, they’re after the Council!
Belgrave Road... Too close for comfort. Is it possible?
Could this be a reaction to Article 7, I wonder?
Surely, they are capable... From what I’ve observed...
I do believe that these people are dangerous.
They hate all of those who refuse to follow their beliefs...
Hall’s skull was opened up like a melon! Probably
done with a trench-cleave, another Druid tool!
Our community will never accept their heathen ways.
I’m very worried for our future. We must protect ourselves.
But how? Even the local magistrates seem to be against us!
“This is most curious, Holmes,” I said. “Why would anyone choose to make such notes? To me, they seem to be merely reactive remarks to the events that have taken place! Furthermore, who are these ‘dangerous’ people to whom he refers?”
“Watson,” Holmes stated, “I am of the same opinion. While Mr. Cary clearly needs our help, and while he was most kind to offer these journals for our examination, his remarks do seem to be simply reactionary and somewhat theatrical!”
“Thus far,” he continued, “he has hinted at some possible perpetrators but has not seen fit to identify them, other than to mention the Druid cult. We must find and examine ‘Article 7’. Hmm... I can only surmise that it must refer to an edict the town council enacted with respect to this local band of Druids! And yet, as you continue reading the journal entries, you will find additional information that may shed some light on this case.”
“Holmes, do you wish me to continue?” I asked, “or, have you had enough of this morbidity for one day?”
Shaking his head with a wry smile, he waved his hand casually, signaling for me to go on.
The third article was the same one that had only recently appeared in the London Daily Telegraph. This time I gave it much greater attention as I once more offered my rendition to my “audience” aloud:
Saturday, December 16, 1905
Another Body Discovered in Torquay
Residents of the peaceful town of Torquay, well-known tourist destination for summer holiday-breaks, may soon be receiving notoriety for other, more sinister reasons! Police officials have just released the name of a third apparent murder victim, Tom Dennison, yet another town council member.
Dennison’s body was discovered on Friday, December 15th, along Babbacombe Road by Dan Tate, a local resident, who had been walking his dog. Over the last three months, the council has now lost three of its more illustrious members, all of them under suspicious circumstances! Residents are naturally outraged by these events and are demanding answers from the community’s law enforcement authorities.
According to the local coroner, the first victim had been found bludgeoned; the second man died from a deep head-wound; while Mr. Dennison had been strangled. Constables found a wire-iron device at the site, indicating that Dennison had been garroted.
This most recent murder led the Torquay Town Council to hold an emergency session last evening to discuss what might be done to better protect its citizenry. Local constables in attendance advised everyone to keep a sharp lookout for any strange goings on that they might observe.
The last order of business was to appoint James Cary, another council member, and one of the town’s most accomplished civic leaders, to head a commission which would oversee the investigation of these heinous crimes.
Cary’s journal entry for this report read as follows, issuing some additional thoughts including his reference to contacting Holmes.
Dennison? Why would they kill Tom? He was a fine
young man, newly elected to replace old Dinsmore.
Why as far as I know, Dennison wasn’t even aware of
these brigands. All of our decisions were made long
before Tom was appointed... .
Babbacombe Road... logical location for a murder!
Plenty of ground-cover and densely wooded...
A garroting...common enough method of execution...
I’m glad I contacted Holmes... I trust he can help.
He may be our only hope!
When I had finished the last of Cary’s brief notations, I turned and slowly glanced at my friend. He was now pacing back and forth, peering through the window curtains that overlooked the Channel. As he turned in my direction, I noticed that he had a most anxious look on his face. Slowly, he made his way over toward the table and retrieved the journal.
“Well, Watson,” he paused, closing the work, “what do you make of the notations? Obviously, you have identified the common thread all throughout his remarks.”
When he had finished his challenge to me, I felt pressured to react, and react quickly. To me, it was as if what I had read was so obvious that it needed no additional confirmation on my part. But, like it or not, I offered my opinion.
“Holmes,” I spoke almost in a whisper, “of course, I observed the references to Druidism. How could one not?”
I continued, “Still, they were mostly Cary’s thoughts and feelings about those horrid events. He wasn’t there, so how much credence can we place on his notes? Why even I might have arrived at similar findings had I been in his position. “
Holmes made no response to my remarks. Instead, he quickly extinguished his pipe, rose, grabbed his Mackinaw and headed for the door, calling back, “Watson, I’ll see you for dinner at 7:00 P.M.”
“Holmes, what... where... whoa!” I exclaimed while the hotel room door slammed shut behind him.
I must have sat motionless in my chair for at least five minutes while I pondered such an abrupt exit. Surely, something must have triggered his actions, but what could it have been? Clearly, had he wished to have told me, he would have done so. It was too late to speculate, knowing his ways. I would simply have to wait until dinner.
Rather than dwell upon the point, I decided to return to the bed and conti
nue my physical restoration. I would catch another forty winks and let the matter rest for a short time. Conditions for my nap were ideal with the winter wind whistling through the cracks of the warped old windows of our suite. I curled up under the soft sheets and sleep came easily.
Almost immediately I found that I was in the middle of a most vivid dream. It seemed so real that it remained with me long after I had awoken. While I sat waiting to go to our evening meal, I carefully tried to recreate what I had only recently experienced. It would be something to share with Holmes!
In the dream, I was being followed by a group of shrouded figures on horseback. Black robes covered their heads, hiding their features. As their steeds came ever closer to my speedy sorrel, I knew that I would soon be overtaken. Pushing my mount ever faster, I was fortunate in spying a deep, dark cave ahead. Desperate to escape, I rode through the narrow opening, looking for some way to escape.
Inside the cave, I rounded a corner and suddenly, a bright light materialized, overtaking the darkness. Not surprisingly, my mount whinnied in terror and reared up on his hind legs. Try as I might, I couldn’t stay in the saddle, and soon I was rolling on the ground. Fearing for my life, I reached for my service revolver and quickly took cover behind a large rocky outcropping illuminated by the light.
There, I was determined to defend my position or die trying! Several tense minutes had passed before I realized that there was no noise except for the sounds of my racing heart, my own hurried, elevated breathing and a weird, popping sound. Bravely maintaining my position, I waited for the riders, preparing for the worst. I sensed that they would make their appearance at any moment, but strangely, they were nowhere to be seen!
Questions peppered my active noggin... Where had they gone? What had happened to them? I remained anxiously on edge, knowing it would only be a matter of time.
Once again, my attention was drawn to the popping sound and reflecting light. Kneeling down, I crept further into the depths of the cave. Peering around another nook, I discovered a fire blazing away in a small pit. The intense light rushed into my eyes, causing some minor discomfort. Shading my vision with my left hand, I slowly moved behind my poor, exhausted, lathered horse.
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