Treachery in Torquay

by Lawler, W. P. ;

  “Hmmm...” my friend sighed, “is that so? Pray continue...”

  Bedlam then said, “‘Mr. Randolph, have you forgotten who’s in charge here?’”

  “What?” Holmes questioned, dropping one of the cufflinks. “She actually made that remark to Randolph?”

  “That’s exactly what was said, Holmes,” I confirmed.

  “The poor man,” I continued, shaking my head, “I truly felt sorry for him!”

  “Go on, go on...What happened next?” my friend inquired, anxiously strolling around the room.

  “Holmes, Randolph said nothing...nothing at all! He simply turned his back and walked away toward the back of the house,” I whispered. “Now, sir, what do you make of that?”

  My friend had ceased his pacing, and sat down in one of the quaint hotel wing chairs. He had now assumed his familiar steepled hands together in front of his eyes pose. Whenever he was so positioned, I knew that his mind had seized upon something. I said nothing more for several minutes; instead I continued getting ready for our upcoming visit to the Miller home. Knowing Holmes, he would comment only when he was good and ready.

  “Watson,” he suddenly remarked, “this is most fascinating. Is there more to report?”

  I had eagerly waited for such a request, responding to the affirmative, “Holmes, there is much, much more.”

  I described my lunch with Bedlam and Randolph.

  “‘There was not a word spoken between them. In that awkward silence, I decided to compliment each for their kind attention to our needs. I suggested that we would soon be finished with our investigation, implying that we were very near to wrapping up the mystery. At that remark, Mrs. Bedlam abruptly stood up and moved toward the butler, whispering something to him. Randolph, for his part, waved her away and she quickly slipped on her winter coat and left through the rear door.

  While I finished my muffin, I sensed that Randolph wanted to tell me something. I tried to get him to comment on Bedlam, but he would say nothing. Still, I persisted.

  “Mr. Randolph,” I began, “I may be imagining things, but is there something the matter with Mrs. Bedlam?”

  “Why, no, Doctor Watson,” he replied. “That’s her way. She’s always been most direct in her conversations. With her it’s all about keeping the household in order. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get on with my own responsibilities.”

  After the butler had left the room, I decided to return to the library to see if I could find any additional information for us. Moving slowly to the window, I saw that Bedlam was walking along the path toward the Channel. Knowing she would be out of the house for a brief time, I ran back to Cary’s desk and tried several other drawers.

  Most of them contained what you might find in any lawyer’s desk drawers: billing accounts, requests from prospective clients, etc. However, when I tried to open the bottom drawer on the left side of the spacious oaken piece of furniture, I found that it was locked! Hmm... I noticed that the drawer had a lock made by a company called Bridgelock. Oh, well, I couldn’t very well break into that drawer without leaving tell-tale signs of forced entry! That being the case, I quickly rose from the chair and headed to the window again, just to check on the whereabouts of Bedlam and Randolph.

  I was surprised to see the two of them sitting on a bench near the Spanish Barn. They were too far for me to hear their conversation, but that gave me a chance to do more snooping. I looked at Cary’s desk once again. I kept thinking of the locked drawer. Now why that bothered me so much, I couldn’t tell you. For some reason, I simply had to see what was in that drawer.

  Suddenly, an idea came to me. I had my own set of house keys in my pocket and also a key to my own desk drawers. I realized that my desk had been constructed by the same company, Bridgelock. Now, what were the odds that my key would open that drawer? However remote the possibility, I simply had to try. Quickly, I knelt down behind the huge desk and slowly slipped my own key into the lock. Voila!

  Fortuitously, my key opened the drawer and I was able to peruse the contents, finding another journal, this one dealing with the minutes of the last several town meetings. I quickly jotted down the main points raised regarding the murders and a strange request from Terra, the cult leader.’”

  At that, Holmes bolted straight up from his chair, almost foaming at the mouth, “Brilliant, Watson, I knew there was larceny somewhere inside your person! Please let me see your notes.”

  Enjoying the fact that I had captured his full attention, I continued, “You’ll have to wait, Holmes, I’ve not finished my report.”

  “‘After putting the journal back and locking the drawer, I left the house and began to re-trace our steps outdoors. I spent much of the afternoon interviewing some of the other service personnel that worked at Torre Abbey. Tom, the young stable-boy, had decided to quit school early. He said that school held no interest for him. He had to get a job and informed me that he had heard that the Cary family needed someone to care for the Abbey barn, carriage and horses. He applied for the position and was hired on the spot. The young lad had nothing but praise for Mr. Cary, who treated him very well. I concluded that Tom was most content working for the Cary family.

  I returned to the home and decided to try to glean some background information from Mrs. Bedlam, but she refused my request. I sensed the woman was, suddenly, most uncomfortable. She stated emphatically that she was far too busy at this moment to be subjected to any questions that I might wish to ask, suggesting another time might be better.

  Now, Holmes, I was truly confused by her reply. It bordered on impertinence, especially when she had offered to help us earlier. Well, I highlighted her behavior in these notes, knowing you would be most interested in her reaction.

  Next, it was Mr. Randolph’s turn. Would he be willing to talk to me I wondered? Or, would he, like Mrs. Bedlam, refuse to hear me out. I’m happy to report that he was only too happy to oblige, as long as the questions pertained to his daily household duties and responsibilities.

  Naturally, I was delighted by his willingness and we quickly began our intercourse. You’ll be interested to hear that our butler is an avid reader. He is most familiar with many of our adventures that I’ve penned over the years. He also confided that he has great admiration for you, my good fellow! As we talked, he spoke of his total dedication to the Cary family, for whom he has worked since he came to Torquay. He had little to add, though, about the threatening letter Mr. Cary had received. When I asked about Cary’s recent frequent absences from the house, he simply remarked, looking around, almost in a whisper, ‘I would like to be able to tell you and Mr. Holmes more, but I can’t... I simply can’t...’

  Later in the day, it must have been near 2:30 PM, I heard the door close and caught sight of Mrs. Bedlam heading up the stairway. She was quickly followed by Randolph and, once more, I heard them bickering. Again, they were too far away for me to hear their words, but it was clear to me that there is no love between them. I decided that it was time for me to get back to the hotel and informed both the butler and the housemaid that I would be leaving.

  While walking toward the front door, Bedlam inquired as to the possibility of seeing us again. I politely replied that I didn’t know, and bid them adieu. As I was leaving, Randolph called the young stable-boy and had him take me back to our hotel. And here I’ve been, anxiously awaiting your return.’”

  After a slight pause, I turned to Holmes and asked, “Well, that was my day. What about you? How did your explorations go?”

  My friend shook his head and weakly offered, “Later, Watson. Now let me see those notes, if you would be so kind.”

  He snatched them from my hands and quickly scanned the findings that I had so quickly scribbled. Occasionally, my colleague would offer a smile of approval in my direction, finalizing his brief study of the information with a closing, “Well done, Watson.”

/>   I returned his smile, offering, “Well, what do you think our next move might be?”

  “We’ll get into that after our dinner,” he stated, sliding my notes into his dress coat. But now, it’s time we were on our way to visit Ashfield.”

  We started down the stairs to the hotel lobby when we spied Wiggins and his diminutive partner heading our way. Wiggins winked at our approach and pretended to stumble into us, falling to the floor.

  Holmes, playing along, raised his voice, “Young man, watch where you are going. You could have easily been injured. Worse than that, you might have injured others!”

  After those remarks, I watched Holmes help Wiggins to his feet and in the process, drop a small envelope into the young detective’s coat pocket.

  Wiggins began straightening his jacket issuing, “I’m fine. I’m fine. Now please get out of our way. You and your friend might watch where you’re going as well!”

  The hotel manager had been observing this brief disturbance and quickly approached trying to quell what seemed to be the beginning of a nasty altercation.

  “Gentlemen, please calm down,” he spoke in a most comforting manner.

  The proprietor continued, “Surely, there was no malicious intent by either party. If no one has been injured, I would suggest that you just move along and go about your business.”

  “Well,” Wiggins spoke, “I suppose you are correct. Please accept my apology for the way I have behaved, sir. We’ll be on our way.”

  The manager smiled as Holmes briskly replied, “Thank you sir,” then he turned to me and offered, “Come, Watson, no harm has been done.”

  Seconds later, we were out of the hotel and into a carriage, heading toward Ashfield, the home of Clara Miller and her delightful daughter. As we rode along in silence, I wondered if Holmes was going to tell me what that collision with Wiggins was all about. Oh, I knew he had taken advantage of that coincidental meeting to pass along some information to Wiggins and his partner, but I couldn’t imagine why he hadn’t shared it with me. I waited for several minutes, hoping he would explain what had transpired. He remained silent.

  I could take it no longer. I simple had to ask, “Holmes, why won’t you tell me about the note you gave Wiggins? Surely, you know that I saw you slip it into his pocket. Why all the secrecy? I’m your partner, after all. After our last discussion, you assured me that this would not happen again!”

  I continued, angrily, “I can’t imagine why you are keeping things from me.”

  After an awkward silence, my friend responded calmly, “Watson, the note was only a directive for Wiggins and Bobo. Believe me, I have no intention of keeping anything from you. And yes, I know a man of your detective skills would easily see my drop. I would never try to fool you, dear fellow.”

  “Holmes,” I replied with some mild agitation, “that simply won’t do. Damn it, man, tell me what’s going on. What are your suspicions at this point? What do you want Wiggins and Bob-o to do?”

  Holmes could certainly tell by my response that I was greatly bothered. My patience at an end, I needed to know if I was essential to the success of this investigation or merely a pawn of sorts, merely playing a part in the goings on.

  “Watson,” he suggested, “I see that you are at the brink, so I will explain all of our plans later this evening. I promise you that. As far as the note to Wiggins and Bobo is concerned, it was only a summary of my findings in the caves beneath the Cary household. I thanked them for setting the horses loose at the Abbey, telling them it had done the trick. Finally, I further requested that they examine the sea cliffs by Daddyhole. Now, we are almost at the Miller house, so can we please save this conversation until after our dinner?”

  Before I could respond, our carriage came to a stop in front of a stately home, situated on a small slope. We had arrived at Ashfield.

  Ashfield

  The evening of December 20th

  The Miller home was most impressive. Positioned on a slight rise, it was tucked away behind a lovely stand of oaks. The light from within the stately residence seemed to warm the spirit on this cold winter’s night. As we carefully proceeded along the snowy walkway, we could see the young girl peeking through some curtains adorning one of the building’s front windows. Suddenly, Holmes, quite uncharacteristically, gathered up some snow and tossed it, gently striking the frosty pane. A startled Aggie Miller jumped back at the snowy, noisy surprise. After quickly recovering from the disturbance, we observed her laughing and grinning as she moved toward the front door to receive us.

  “Mr. Holmes... Doctor Watson...” she politely offered, wearing her best smile, “we are truly honored by your presence. Do come in. Welcome to our humble abode. Welcome to Ashfield!”

  Holmes bowed politely, then turning to me, offered, “Why Doctor Watson, who is this fine young lady welcoming us into her domicile? Could it be that famous detective, Aggie Miller?”

  Nodding at my friend’s jest I said, “Miss Miller, thank you for that warm greeting. We are most happy to be here.”

  No sooner had we entered the residence, when Aggie’s lovely mother, Clara, appeared, joining us in the spacious foyer.

  “Gentlemen, we are so pleased that you have chosen to visit us this evening,” Mrs. Miller spoke, leading us into the living room. “I trust that you’ve had a most profitable day with your investigations.”

  “As a matter of fact, we have,” replied Holmes, “and thank you for your interest, Mrs. Miller.”

  Upon entering the parlor, I looked around and found it to be a most comfortable room. There were wonderfully scenic paintings of Torquay, the English Channel and other local points of interest artfully displayed on classic oaken paneled walls. Window treatments were stylish if not opulent, and everywhere could be seen tasteful, interesting miniature statuary.

  We both soon found ourselves relaxing in a pair of armchairs that seemed to have been made for us, so comfortable were they. I, for one, was most happy to rest my weary bones. While enjoying the warmth from the main fireplace, I allowed my olfactory senses to enjoy the delightful aromas that were emanating from the cookery.

  “Wine, gentlemen?” Aggie’s mother offered. “Or, perhaps something with a little more character?”

  Holmes and I both chose a mild claret to quench our thirst and warm our souls. Almost immediately after these refreshments had been provided, we were treated to a brief, but detailed account of the young girl’s day.

  “Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson,” Aggie excitedly began her concise report, “I hardly know where to begin...”

  “Now, Aggie,” her mother interrupted, “please calm down. We have the whole evening to hear what you have to report.”

  The young girl, bowed to mother, “Yes, Mother, I shall try to do as you’ve suggested. Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson, I hope my findings prove themselves valuable to you. But, before elaborating, I want you to know how much I’ve enjoyed my day. Thank you so very much for allowing me to join in your investigation!”

  For the next twenty minutes, Aggie carefully described her day’s findings, reading carefully from the notes she had compiled. The young girl excitedly informed us of all she had experienced. She shared, in great detail, all that she had gleaned: from the cocoa and conversation with Randolph and the Bedlam woman, to her exciting adventure exploring Kents caves with Mr. Powe. As Aggie was describing her visit to the cavern, I noticed a marked change in Holmes’s level of interest.

  “You see, Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson,” the young girl continued, “Mr. Powe took me deeper into the cavern than I had ever been before, leading me to the furthest recesses of the caves! When we arrived there, Mr. Powe had to unlock a huge wooden door that had been installed to protect the integrity of the most recent archeological digs. While we viewed those explorations, Mr. Powe provided me with a description as to how certain levels of strata had been careful
ly removed, section-by-section, numbered and marked for posterity.”

  The girl continued, “As you and Doctor Watson might imagine, I was truly gratified to have had this opportunity to see portions of the past, now displayed right before my very own eyes. Mr. Powe seemed to be as excited as I was, especially when he proudly told me how the Ministry had entrusted care of this historical site to his keeping.

  We lost track of time, but I sensed that it was getting late, and though I would have loved to have spent more time there, I knew I should return home. Mr. Powe understood, and we turned around, preparing to start back toward the cave entrance when I thought I heard voices coming from the other side of one of the cave walls! Mr. Powe listened as well, but suggested that running water, shifting limestone deposits or even cave bats were probably the cause of those sounds.”

  “And so, Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson,” the young girl concluded, “I hope that some of my investigative findings will prove to be useful to you.”

  When she had finished her report, we could see that Miss Aggie Miller was all aglow with excitement, waiting to hear our reaction to her findings. I had to admit that she had a wonderful talent for description. Apparently, Holmes felt the same, for soon after, he was beaming broadly. Why I actually thought that I had perceived a tiny smile upon his countenance!

  “Mrs. Miller,” my friend commented, turning to the young girl’s mother, “you must certainly be proud of your daughter. She has just given us an excellent account of her day’s work.”

  Then, turning to young Aggie, he continued, “Miss Miller, I must commend you on the thoroughness of your report. Bravo!”

  The young girl smiled contentedly, bowed, and offered, “Why thank you, Mr. Holmes, but I should be thanking you and Doctor Watson for your faith in me.”

  Clara Miller smiled proudly, but quietly brought her beaming youngster back down to earth, issuing, “Aggie, dear, would you please escort our guests to the dining room? I’m sure they must be famished.”