by David Marcum
“Are you hurt, sir? I am a doctor, and I’d be happy to assist you.”
“No need,” the man answered in a low-range mumbling voice. “I suffered an injury yesterday evening, but the pain in my leg is nothing compared to the pain in my chest.”
I descended the stairs until I was level with the man and offered him the support of my shoulder. He gripped it and, with a few careful steps, I helped get him into the flat. Holmes joined us at the door and offered additional support. Through Mrs. Hudson’s coordination, we quickly sauntered across the room, lay Mr. Smith upon our couch, and elevated his leg. Mrs. Hudson promised to chip some ice from the block in the icebox, bag it, and return shortly. She left us alone with Holmes’s battered client.
Holding the man’s hand, I checked his pulse. It was steady. “You said you were feeling pains in your chest?” I asked.
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Are the pains sharp?” I inquired. The man could be suffering from dyspepsia, I surmised, but he also could be suffering from a weak heart.
“Yes, Doctor,” he moaned. “I feel as though my heart could burst.”
“Before you make any rash judgements, Watson,” Holmes said in a tone of amusement, “I believe that Mr. Smith’s ailment is one of emotional pain and not physical.”
I was going to ask Holmes what he meant, but before I had a chance, Mr. Smith jolted up and clutched Holmes’s arm. “You are correct, sir. My fair love, my Miss Welty. I fear I have lost her. But you, sir, you are known to work miracles. Can you find my lass? She is enchanting. An angel in our midst, for no woman of such fairness and beauty has ever come from this earthly realm. But she is in grave danger, Mr. Holmes. You must help me find her!”
The loud pleas of Mr. Smith covered up my quiet yet audible snickers, for if Mr. Smith’s love was the pristine image of beauty he conveyed, she most certainly was the opposite of this man’s form. Mr. Smith looked a bit like a human potato, lumpy and oddly shaped. His eyes were small and seemed squished against his thin line nose. The man had a bald dome for the top of his head, with just a few thin, greasy, black strands slapped over the top. His clothes were unkempt, and even before he lay down, one part of his shirt was untucked and dangled outside of his trousers.
“Pray control yourself, sir,” commanded Holmes in his high pitched voice. “As you’ve noted, it is my job to succeed where others fail. I will listen to your case and may be able to assist you, but you must steady your nerves, contain your emotions, and tell your story from the beginning. Who is this mysterious goddess of whom you speak, and what is the nature of this danger?”
“Miss Katherine Welty is her name, and though we’ve only known each other for a week’s time, truly our souls have been entwined for an eternity, for when I saw her that night and scared away her attacker, Cupid’s arrows must have been flung into our hearts.”
“Attack?” inquired Holmes. “Really, sir, if we are going to make sense of your dilemma, you must be more linear in the telling of your tale,” Holmes scolded. “Pray start at the beginning.”
“Of course, oh yes, oh please, sir, please accept my apologies,” blubbered Smith. “I am so, so sorry. My thoughts are tangled as I think back to her fair face. But I will tell my story how you ask, by starting at the beginning.
“As you know, my name is Smith, and what you may not know is that my trade is coffee. I have a little distribution business which supplies beans to some of the most renowned coffee houses in London.”
“Your trade was noted when you entered the room, based on the aroma emitting from your hair and clothing,” confirmed Holmes. “However, I am aware of the smell of beans from several continents, yet yours is one of which my nostrils are unfamiliar.”
“Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes,” Smith responded in a rapid fire of giddy enthusiasm. “I am the sole distributor of beans from the Kingdom of Hawaii. I spare no expense in getting the beans around the world from their islands to ours, but I also more than make up for the cost by fees I charge my clients.
“I am a rather diligent businessman, Mr. Holmes, and I spend long hours at my establishment, checking books, counting beans, making sure the shipments are not delayed. Most days, the only hours I spend away are when I go home for slumber, though there has been many a night that I have slept in my office. It is the reason that I have remained a bachelor all my life.”
I found myself biting my tongue at this statement. There were many more assets Mr. Smith lacked to make him a proper suitor.
“On the Tuesday of last week, I had locked the door to my business, a small establishment on Market, and began walking the pavement to my home when I heard several cries for help. I saw two distinct figures running in the road. The one in front I could tell was a woman, and the one in the distance was a tall man.
“‘Help! Help!’ called the woman. ‘He is after me!’ She saw me and ran straight into my arms. She clutched at me, her body trembling, her eyes blazing with terror. ‘Please, you have to save me!’
“‘What’s all this then?’ I called out to her pursuer. He stopped his approach and stood back in the shadows, so I could not make out any distinct features besides his height and muscular build. The man lifted a fist in the air and shook it in anger.
“‘Ya canna hide from me furever, Katherine!’ he called out with a strong Scottish lilt in his voice. Then, he turned and fled.”
“Just a moment,” interrupted Holmes. “From which direction had they approached?”
“From the west, I believe.”
“Were there more witnesses besides you?”
“No, when I heard the cries from Miss Welty, it was just the three of us on the street. The hour was rather late.”
“Hmm... and did you see if your assailant fled in the direction from which he came?”
“No, no, I was looking down at Miss Welty and comforting her at that point in time. He must have, though, because he didn’t pass by us. I would have given him a thrashing if he had. Besides, the man couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.”
“Ah, that is a true statement,” confirmed Holmes.
“Is that important?” inquired Mr. Smith.
“Perhaps. If your attacker fled towards the west, the roadways are much busier even at such a late hour. There could be others who spotted the man, though with your description of the attacker, or lack thereof, it would be difficult to ascertain.” Holmes paused, and tapped his steepled fingers together for a moment in thought. Then he added, “Pray, continue with your story.”
“Well, there I was, standing with this delicate creature in my arms, and she says to me, ‘Please, sir, could you take me somewhere for a moment’s rest? I am too frightened to be on my own now, and I fear my legs will collapse if I continue on by myself in the dark, from thoughts that my accoster will find me.’
“I assured Miss Welty that I would allow no harm to come to her. We were a few yards from my business, and she could rest there while I fetched the authorities.
“‘Oh, no, sir, you can’t bring the police into this matter. Please, just allow me to rest, sir.’
“When I saw the fear in this poor maiden’s eyes, I nearly melted away. ‘Of course, you can rest here, my dear. Don’t worry, we won’t need to tell the police anything that you don’t want us to tell them.’
“With that, Mr. Holmes, I brought Miss Welty into my office, and we stayed up talking until dawn. She told me of her situation. A Scot of wealth and prestige had become enamored with her beauty. He made advances towards her with no intentions of marriage, and she, a woman of the utmost grace and highest of standards, refused. This led to an unhealthy obsession on the part of the man in question, and that very night, he found her walking home from a nighttime delivery of flowers. She works for a florist, mind you, and that is why she was out alone in the evening.”
“And which florist employ
s her?” asked Holmes.
“That’s one of the mysteries of Miss Welty,” said Mr. Smith with a twinkle in his eye. “She is rather secretive and refused to tell me her place of employment, her residence, even the name of her accoster. I believe she feared that eventually I would go to the police with the information. She wanted no trouble, no trouble at all. We spent the night talking, her and me, and by the time the sun came up, she knew all about my family and my business, and I knew of hers as well. Her great-grandparents emigrated from Berlin to London seeking wealth and opportunity. Once they arrived in London, they settled and never left. The generations of her family since then have remained in our kingdom and they have no regrets.”
“But that night was not the last time you saw Miss Welty,” said Holmes, pressing Mr. Smith to tell more of his tale.
“No sir. At dawn, with the rising sun’s light casting long shadows over London, my dear Miss Welty said she was ready to leave on her own. She then surprised me by asking if she might return that evening, at a more reasonable hour as she so enjoyed conversing with me.
“I invited Miss Welty to dinner that evening, which she accepted with one caveat. She wanted to dine at my establishment, not at a restaurant.
“Of course, how could I deny the request of one such as she? Her name was Katherine, but it probably should have been Helen - although even the beauty of Troy was no match for that of my dear Miss Welty.
“She thanked me and then with a promise of her return that evening, she was on her way.”
Before Holmes could ask another question, there was a rapping on the door. I called “Enter!” and Mrs. Hudson came in with a bag of ice for Mr. Smith’s knee. He groaned as she applied pressure, and Smith remarked, “I should tell you how I got this bruised knee of mine, and the lump upon my head.”
“Please, Mr. Smith,” complained Holmes, “there are several days in between which I’d like to hear about first.”
“Of course. So sorry, so sorry, I still... I can’t believe I’ve lost her,” sniveled Mr. Smith, having a momentary lapse of composure. His eyes began to tear.
“There now, Mr. Smith. You just tell Mr. Holmes what he needs to know,” consoled Mrs. Hudson. “He’s a miracle worker, he is.”
I could see by the look on Holmes’s face that he was going to say something sharp to Mr. Smith, but seeing Mrs. Hudson’s consoling of the man brought him back to his senses. Smith thanked Mrs. Hudson for her kindness, and as our landlady dismissed herself, I caught Holmes mouthing a silent “Thank you,” to her. The dear woman gave him a conspiratorial wink in response.
Mr. Smith returned to his tale, “That evening, when Miss Welty arrived, I had a meal of fish pie, fresh bread, boiled kale, and red wine awaiting her. We spent several hours speaking of business. She was quite impressed with my acumen, and asked me all sorts of questions about the coffee industry. In turn, I asked her about the flower business, and we had a wonderful evening talking as equals. Again, I was surprised that, at the end of the evening, she wanted to see me the next day. And so it has been, Mr. Holmes. Each night she would enter my establishment and we would converse about business, but we also talked more and more about each other - how she, like me, enjoys the theatre and symphony. We both prefer Brahms to Beethoven. We like swimming and going for walks and watching sunsets. Yes, as we got to know each other, we very quickly fell in love.
“We finally confessed our love for each other, and had I seen her last night, I would have proposed marriage. But... tragedy struck.”
“Tragedy?” I asked, now intrigued by this turn in the story.
“Yes, Dr. Watson, tragedy. I arrived at my work this morning, completed my morning business, and then locked up in the afternoon to make a bank deposit and enjoy a hearty lunch. After making my rounds and enjoying a delicious meal, I returned to my business and was about to unlock the door when I noticed shards of glass sprinkled about the pavement at my door. Someone had smashed the doorway window and had broken in. Upon entering, I looked around and was surprised to find that nothing was in disarray. The safe was locked. The papers were still in neat stacks. None of my files appeared out of order. I then removed the ledger from my desk when I discovered something underneath.”
Here Mr. Smith paused and removed a piece of foolscap from the inside pocket of his suit coat and gave it to Holmes, who read it carefully and then handed the paper to me. The writing was very crisp and neat upon the page. “Dear Mr. Smith,” it read, “If you want to see Miss Welty alive, gather £1,000 and await further instructions. Do not tell the police or I shall deliver to you the head of your lover in a wooden box.”
“How gruesome!” I said aghast.
Holmes glared at me for my word choice, and Mr. Smith broke down in a fit of sobs. “It’s horrible! Horrible it is!”
“Mr. Smith,” Holmes said soberly. “You were wise to come to me, for I am not the police, and since my name is little known, I doubt the abductor of Miss Welty would have any knowledge of your asking for my assistance. I can assure you that not only will I retrieve Miss Welty, but that no harm will have befallen her when I bring her to you.”
“Mr. Smith stopped his sobbing, and looked up at Holmes through red, puffy eyes as if the man were the savior returned. “Oh bless you, sir! Bless you! You really can do this for me?”
“Yes, but I still have a few questions which require answers.”
Smith sat up and became quite serious. “Anything that will save my dear Miss Welty.”
“First, did you ever show Miss Welty any photographs of your ancestors?”
Mr. Smith looked quite baffled. “As a matter of fact, I did show her a photograph of my parents.”
“Very good,” answered Holmes. “Did you ever take a photograph of Miss Welty?”
“No, sir. As I said, she was quite coy. She did not allow for that.”
“Is there a rear entry to your establishment?”
“Of course, but I seldom use it. I did check the door when I searched my business, and it was locked.”
“And the money? Have you gathered the ransom?” Holmes pressed.
Here Mr. Smith looked stricken. “I have not sir. When I saw the note and read it, I became so startled that I tripped over my own two feet and came crashing to the floor. Hence, my head and knee injuries. I lost consciousness when my head smashed against the wooden floor for what I thought was a moment, and when I regained my senses, I pulled myself up as quickly as I could, knowing I had to get to the bank as soon as possible. With the sharp pain in my leg, it made for a difficult journey. I hobbled along at an impeded pace and wished that Mercury himself would assist me. But, sadly, it was not to be. Upon my arrival, I was stunned to find the bank had already closed for the day. I realized that I must have lay unconscious on the floor for much longer than I thought, perhaps an hour or more. That, coupled with my halting pace, made me arrive at the bank too late to complete my mission.
“That is most auspicious, Mr. Smith. It guarantees that I shall have enough time to not only rescue Miss Welty, but to bring her accoster to justice.”
“Really?” Mr. Smith asked stunned. Then he broke out joyfully. “Oh, marvelous, Mr. Holmes! Stupendous! You really are a lifesaver. A dream maker! Just as Mr. Westmore said.”
“Ah, that answers my final question as to how you had heard my name.”
“Yes, Westmore, one of my associates, told me of your assistance in finding his missing nephew. Spoke the world of you, he did. When I saw that the bank had closed, I felt despair seeping into my being, but then I remembered your name and that I had written down your address and saved it in my desk drawer. That is what brought me to your door today.”
“Yes, well, that settles it. I just need a portrait of Miss Welty, and I believe all shall be cleared up by this time tomorrow.”
“But... but...” stammered Smith. “I already told y
ou that I do not have a photograph of Miss Welty.”
“That is not what I meant. A moment please.” Holmes got up and disappeared into his bedroom. He emerged with a pad of sketching paper and several sharpened pencils. I wondered not only what Holmes was going to do with his art supplies, but why on God’s Earth did he have them in his bedroom.
Holmes took to his chair and opened the pad of paper. “Now,” said Holmes, “I am going to ask you some questions about Miss Welty, starting with the shape of her face.”
“Oh, it was the shape of heaven itself,” began Mr. Smith.
“And was heaven more rounded or squared?” asked Holmes.
“More rounded,” answered Smith. Holmes then went down a long list of questions about the shape of the nose, eyes, mouth, eyebrows - even questions about skin blemishes and dimples. Smith answered all of them, and the detective kept sketching based upon Smith’s responses.
Finally, Holmes stopped drawing and asked Mr. Smith, “Is this Miss Welty?”
Holmes lifted up the portrait he had created from Smith’s descriptions. The woman in the picture was one of striking beauty.
“Why, is that Miss Welty?” I asked taken aback by the woman’s captivating eyes and soft lips.
“Indeed, it is as if my angel were in the room with us,” answered Mr. Smith. “Astounding, Mr. Holmes, truly astounding.”
“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” said Holmes, politely. Holmes stood for a moment and then walked over to the window overlooking Baker Street. “There is evening traffic, Mr. Smith. How fortunate! I’m sure Dr. Watson will have no trouble hailing a hansom for you. Also, he has a spare cane which I believe he will be happy to allow you to borrow. It will help you on your way home.”
I told Smith that he was welcome to use the cane. I went and fetched it from my closet, and when I reentered the sitting room, Holmes was at the entry, saying to me at a near whisper, “Thank you, Watson. Now indulge me with one more favor. Please wear your stethoscope around your neck when you help Mr. Smith outside.”
“My stethoscope?” I asked, confused.