Treachery in Torquay

by Lawler, W. P. ;

  “Now, where in the world are Doctor Watson and Mr. Holmes?” she whispered aloud as the sea terns flew overhead.

  Holmes and I had only just arrived at the Cary estate when we spotted Aggie Miller down by the coast.

  “Come, Watson,” he suggested, “I see that Miss Margaret Cary is not at home. Let us take a nice brisk walk to the beach and see what our young private investigator has discovered.”

  As we walked toward the young girl, I was very much surprised that she never turned our way. For being such an inquisitive child, one would expect her to be much more alert. I could never have imagined that anyone would ever be able to sneak up on her. My only guess was that she was fully engaged in her work. At any rate, we would soon find out as we came up behind her.

  She was facing the sea, swaying back-and-forth, apparently very much unaware of our presence. Holmes and I stood quietly behind her, just waiting for her to see us. Nothing was happening. Clearly, the young girl was lost in her thoughts, our first indication that she was, after all, only a youngster!

  A slight tap on the shoulder startled her from her reverie. Aggie quickly jumped around, fists clenched and ready to defend herself. This reaction quickly dissipated as she recognized the familiar faces of Sherlock Holmes and me, standing before her.

  “Well,” Holmes offered, teasingly, “have you solved the case, Miss Miller?”

  Slightly embarrassed by the remark, the young girl blushed and replied, “Not yet, gentlemen, but I’m confident that we’ll soon have this mystery solved.”

  “Bravo,” I spoke, smiling at the young lady. “That’s our girl, Holmes. That’s what we like to hear. Now, then, what has happened and is there anything new you can tell us?”

  Holmes gave me a strange look. Then, looking around, he stooped down, took the girl by the shoulders and whispered, “Aggie, is anything bothering you?”

  He continued, “Obviously, Margaret Cary was not at home. Can you tell us how you’ve been spending your time?”

  Aggie, after assuring Holmes that all was well, took out her notes and put forth all that had occurred when she met with Mr. Malcolm and Mrs. Bedlam. Aggie informed us that Mr. Cary and family were still at the country estate. Additionally, she was happy to impart her own theories about Randolph’s strange behavior in the presence of Mrs. Bedlam. When Aggie had completed her report, Holmes was fairly beaming at her.

  “Watson, old chap,” the detective praised, “what do you think of our newest irregular?”

  “I told you, Holmes,” I replied, gazing at Aggie Miller, “I knew she would be a great help to us!”

  “It was nothing, gentlemen,” the young girl replied modestly. “I’m proud to be considered one of your famous irregulars. What’s next, Mr. Holmes? I’m anxious to hear about that alternate business you mentioned, that Plan B of yours.”

  My companion squinted his eyes at the remark, then quickly responded, “Why, Aggie, it is quite simple. Watson and I will proceed to the Abbey, as planned. You, my dear young girl, will go to visit Mr. Francis Powe, owner of some land that is most interesting to me.”

  “Tell me, Miss Miller,” he continued, “have you ever been to his caves before?”

  “As a matter of fact, Mr. Holmes,” she replied excitedly, “my mother and I are very familiar with those caves. Did you know that several years ago, Mr. Powe purchased that land from Lord Haldon’s estate?”

  Holmes smiled, issuing, “Please, tell us more.”

  Without skipping a beat, Aggie informed us that the caves, now referred to as Kents Cavern, had been used by Mr. Powe, a carpenter by trade, as a storage area for his work. Powe made beach furniture, huts and even small boats for the local inhabitants.

  After her brief informative interlude, Aggie tilted her head, scowled somewhat, and asked, “Mr. Holmes, what do you expect me to discover, besides some beach furniture?”

  My friend, started her along the road, insisting, “Miss Miller, I expect you to be able to describe anything and everything that you find there. Examine the entire area carefully, no matter how insignificant you believe an item might appear to be. We’ll discuss it over dinner tonight at your home.”

  While Aggie skipped down Torbay Road, Holmes and I began our walk to the Cary household. It was nearing the lunch hour, but we were in no need of nourishment after the fine morning fare we had enjoyed at the Imperial Hotel.

  “Ah, Holmes,” I ventured, “this Plan B... What is our part in Plan B?”

  “Watson, that ruse was only for Miss Miller,” my friend replied. “However, I haven’t been totally forthcoming with all of my plans for us today, old friend.”

  “Whatever are you talking about, Holmes?” I responded with some mild discomfort.

  “Watson,” he continued, “I will need for you to offer an excuse for me when I disappear from Cary’s library.”

  “Disappear?” I queried, “What do you mean disappear?”

  Holmes hastened to add, “You may have noticed how much time I spent examining that room when first we visited him. Well, I found evidence of a passage located behind the far bookcase, and I fully plan to explore it!”

  “I see,” I remarked, softening, reconciling my position. “Well, how can we accomplish this task? Won’t Randolph or Mrs. Bedlam be there? Why, how might I explain your sudden absence?”

  “That will not be too much of a problem, old friend,” Holmes smiled. “I have planned a disturbance that should keep them busy. When they find you alone in the library, you merely state that I had forgotten some important papers and needed to return to our lodgings.”

  “Hmmm,” I voiced, shaking my head in some discomfort, “I’ll do the best I can, but how long must I remain at the Abbey?”

  “My good man, simply continue to survey the property,” Holmes voiced with measured impatience. “See what else you may find by revisiting all of the rooms. Take some notes, but, by all means, do be careful!”

  Holmes wound up his remarks with a final, “Watson, once our plans have been put into action, you and I will meet back at the hotel at 5:00, and I’ll reveal all that I may have discovered.”

  “Very well,” I replied, as we continued our walk. “I’m looking forward to hearing all about your findings.”

  A strong breeze was now blowing off the Channel, and upon approaching the Cary home, I was only too happy when the main door slowly opened before us.

  “Gentlemen, welcome back,” the butler politely offered, continuing, “I hope you are no worse for wear after yesterday’s frightful experience.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Randolph,” I responded for the both of us. “We’re fine, though I certainly don’t wish to experience any more attempts on our lives, my good man.”

  “Oh, heavens,” our greeter replied, “let’s not consider even the slightest possibility that such a horrible event could ever repeat itself.”

  He continued, “Mr. Holmes, I reflected on what you said to me in private, yesterday, and I must say that I’m having a most difficult time with your directive. In truth, I tossed and turned all night!”

  Holmes replied, “We know how you wanted to call the local constabulary to report yesterday’s events, but you must not continue to worry about that. You have to trust us!”

  Randolph just shook his head, and remarked, “I hope you are correct, sir.”

  The awkward silence was shortly broken by the sound of the housemaid coming down the main staircase.

  “Good day, Mrs. Bedlam,” he offered in a kindly manner. “How are you this crisp winter’s day?”

  “A fine morning to you and Doctor Watson,” she spoke somewhat reluctantly, adding, “well, it is another cold day, but, after all, it is December.”

  While she was speaking, I turned my attention to Randolph, for I was hoping to observe any signs of discomfort when Mrs. Bedlam made he
r entrance. Was it something that Holmes and I had imagined, or were we spot on in our conjecture?

  Sure enough, as the maid stormed past, I noticed Randolph rolling his eyes and twiddling his fingers. We were correct. Something was amiss. Anyone could see how nervous and withdrawn Malcolm Randolph became whenever Bedlam was in his presence. I could only continue to ponder what was causing such tension in the man.

  After Holmes removed his coat, he carried it over his left arm as we slowly moved across the shiny hardwood floor toward the Cary library.

  “By the way, Randolph,” he inquired, “have you lately heard anything from Mr. Cary?”

  “No, sir,” he replied, opening the door for Holmes and me. He added, “As you recall, Mr. Holmes, Mr. Cary did explain that he had other responsibilities requiring his attention. Should he return during your visit I will certainly tell him that you wish to see him.”

  “Are there any other matters that I may help you with?” the butler voiced.

  “Not at this time, Mr. Randolph. We will be using this room as our headquarters,” Holmes informed the curious butler.

  “Furthermore, he continued, “when you do talk to Mr. Cary, please tell him how much we’ve been able to glean from his writings. In fact, Watson and I will continue to peruse his notes for most of our morning.”

  “As you wish, Mr. Holmes. Once again, please notify Mrs. Bedlam or me should you or Doctor Watson have any need of our service,” Randolph bowed, exiting the room.

  The moment the door closed, Holmes walked briskly to the far bookcase.

  “Watson,” he whispered, “take a peek into the hallway to see if Bedlam and Randolph have gone.”

  Quietly, I opened the door and peered down the carpeted hallway in time to see the maid lead the butler into the kitchen area. She slammed the door and immediately began to admonish her companion. I was tempted to move closer to hear their conversation, but quickly returned to Cary’s library.

  Backing into the room, I closed the door softly, whispering, “Holmes, all is well. The two of them have gone into the cookery.”

  There was no response to my remark, for Holmes was nowhere to be found. It was no use saying anymore, for he had found and entered the passageway and, assuredly had begun to see where it would lead. Left alone in the room, I thought it best to get busy reviewing the notes Cary had left, and so I started for the desk. After two steps, I decided to try to locate the secret passage. Nervously, I made my way to the far corner bookcase.

  “Now,” I reasoned, “Holmes said the bookcase was the entryway, so he probably went behind this section.”

  I carefully moved a few books at a time to try to find some sort of latch or switch that would open the way, but I had no luck. Of course, I couldn’t move too many volumes, for I wouldn’t be able to replace them properly if Bedlam or Randolph should suddenly return to the room.

  “Yes,” I whispered, “that most certainly would ruin everything.”

  Suddenly, I heard some loud screaming, followed by a knock on the front door. Unable to contain my curiosity, I walked into the hallway only to find the stable-boy informing Randolph that three of the horses had made their way from their stalls and were now freely roaming the estate grounds.

  “Easy, easy, my boy,” the butler calmed the young lad, continuing, “Tom, they’ll not wander too far. Don’t be in such a panic. It’s happened before and it may happen again. You’ll see, they’ll be wandering back to the barn in no time at all.”

  “Hmmm...” I thought, laughing softly, “so that was Holmes’s disturbance. Jolly good!”

  Returning to the library, I once more got to work perusing Cary’s notes, and it was just in time. Not five minutes had passed when, suddenly, Mrs. Bedlam barged into the room. She seemed bothered to a degree and was about to leave whence she had come, when she quickly turned, looked all about the room and stared into my eyes.

  “Doctor Watson,” she inquired, “I don’t see Mr. Holmes. Might I ask where he has gone?”

  “Mrs. Bedlam,” I quickly responded, “my friend had to go back to our lodgings. He should be returning in a very short time. Thank you for your concern.”

  “I know it’s none of my business,” she continued, “I just thought that I might be of some use to him in the investigation.”

  “I say, Mrs. Bedlam, that is very considerate of you,” I politely responded, “but we have our own ways of doing things. Thank you just the same. If we need your help in any way, we’ll be sure to seek you out.”

  Bowing, she left the room in a huff, if I can judge by her actions.

  “Hmm,” I pondered, “I wonder if she guessed where Holmes had really gone...”

  Meanwhile, at the entrance to Kents Cavern...

  Young Aggie Miller had just arrived at Powe’s shop at the entrance to the cavern. The wind was up a bit and, while sunny, it was still winter, and she was feeling the cold. At that moment, she realized that Mr. Powe might not even be at his workshop.

  “Oh, please, please be here, Mr. Powe,” she began to pray, “it is getting so cold!”

  Slowly, she walked up the path that led to the cavern, wishing and hoping that the carpenter would be at work in his cabin, for she truly needed some warming up. Rounding the last corner, her spirits lightened for she caught sight of Powe rubbing down some wooden slats. When she saw him a broad smile of relief came to her face.

  “Why, Miss Aggie Miller,” the kindly carpenter called out, putting his work aside. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  “Good morning, Mr. Powe,” the girl responded, smiling, “I was just enjoying a walk on a winter’s day, when I realized how cold it had become. I wondered where I might seek some refuge to warm up. Then, I realized that your shop was just around the corner. I hope you don’t mind me coming inside to warm up a bit?”

  “Young lady,” he replied, guiding her into the first chamber of the cave, “you are welcome to come and visit me at any time. Please sit and I’ll make us some tea.”

  As he moved to the wrought-iron stove, he continued, “Aggie, might I ask you if your mother knows where you are?”

  Wasting no time replying, Aggie offered, “Mr. Powe, I’m almost a grown-up, you know. My mum trusts me to go wherever I please. Besides, she holds you in the highest esteem, so there is no need for you to worry about me.”

  “Well, that’s all well and good, Aggie,” Powe commented, “but we both know that Torquay is no longer the quiet little village it once was... if you understand my concern.”

  “Yes, I suppose you are correct,” the young girl replied, spying a small model of sailboat sitting on display atop a rock ledge. “I’ll only stay a few minutes to warm my bones, and then I’ll be on my way.”

  The two of them sat and talked for a few minutes, sipping their tea, when Aggie spoke up, “Mr. Powe, as long as I’m here, if you’re not too busy, would you consider giving me another brief tour of Kents Cavern? I haven’t been here in years, and I am curious to see if you have made any major renovations.”

  The carpenter smiled broadly as he rested his cup on the table, “Aggie, my dear young girl, I would be delighted to do so. I have to warn you though, you might become frightened by some of our recent findings!”

  “Me, frightened?” she chided, “Mr. Powe, I’m surprised at you. Why I’m not afraid of anything.”

  Laughing again, he scolded, “Well, Missy, maybe you should be a little cautious... for your own good, I mean...”

  He quickly lit two small lanterns and they slowly made their way behind some shelving down and through the next chamber of the cave. At once, Aggie experienced a cool, damp breeze coming from the darkness that lay ahead. The flickering lanterns provided quite a bit of light, lessening the tension that such an excursion might have on anyone. For several minutes, the only sounds she heard were their feet shuff
ling along the damp pathway. Powe led the way, describing some of the stalagmites and stalactites that were present everywhere in the dark surrounds.

  They continued making their way further into the cave, down through low, narrow passages that wound ever deeper into the darkness. Aggie had read that this cave had been used by smugglers in bygone days. She imagined she was one of the pirates who had sought a place to bury some of the swag they had acquired in sea battles! Oh, this was so exciting...

  With every step, the air became more musty, and Aggie could clearly hear the sound of water trickling from overhead as they passed along the limestone walls.

  “Mr. Powe,” she said, “please tell me if you see what I see over there. Is it possible that there is some writing on the far wall?”

  He laughed at her suggestion and they moved closer to take a look. Sure enough, there were inscriptions dating centuries back. Aggie raised her lantern over her head and began to read, “Robert Hedges of Ireland, February 20, 1688.”

  “Look, Mr. Powe,” the girl offered excitedly, “there’s another one... William Petre, 1571... Oh, my...”

  “Yes, Miss Miller,” Powe responded, “notice how these writings are covered by a thin layer of liquid calcium coming from the stalactites above. It was Mother Nature’s way of preserving the script.”

  Powe suddenly stopped and turned the lantern on his face, smiling. “Now, Aggie,” he said, “when we turn this next corner, you are in for a big surprise. This section has only been visited by archeologists who are still in the process of discovery. So, young lady, get ready to look back into the history of mankind!”

  Aggie’s eyes just about popped out of her head with what she had just been told. She sensed that she had issued a kind of nervous giggle at her good fortune as Powe lowered his lantern, disclosing a locked wooden door which served to secure the site.