Hadley stood up behind his desk. ‘Is there any chance that you misunderstood the priest’s actions, Mr Holmes?’
Holmes shook his head wearily.
‘Mr Vitale told us that Father Lamb attempted to kill him,’ I said.
‘But Mr Vitale has lied before!’ said Hadley. ‘Holmes?’
‘No. Father Lamb was yanking on Mr Vitale’s legs to hasten his death.’
‘But might you be mistaken? Couldn’t he have been trying to hoist him and save the boy, as we did, just in time?’
We heard a commotion just outside the door and Father Lamb’s strident voice: ‘An outrage! Unhand me!’
‘Shall I let them in, sir?’ asked Palmer.
Holmes leaped to his feet, discarding his blanket. He was suddenly on fire. ‘Wait!’ He paused, finger to his lips. ‘Mr Hadley, let me question the priest. What I say or do will seem strange. Give nothing away, please. All will become clear shortly. I will require Constable Palmer’s help. Trust me. Mr Hadley, may I suggest that you do not indicate to the father that he is a suspect, rather that we made a mistake? Will you agree to all this?’
Hadley hesitated briefly, then nodded. ‘In for a penny,’ said he. ‘Palmer, give Mr Holmes your full support.’
Holmes beckoned the young man over and whispered at some length to him. The fellow nodded. ‘I understand you, sir.’
Palmer looked over at Hadley, who nodded approval. ‘Do as he asks,’ said the Inspector.
Palmer departed. Holmes turned to us both with a smile. ‘As they call this in a conjuring show, gentlemen, you are about to witness … the Prestige.’
CHAPTER 42
The Prestige
Finnegan and Palmer entered with Father Lamb in tow. Covered with a thin sheen of sweat, the man was the picture of wounded innocence. ‘Unhand me!’ he cried. ‘I beg your forbearance!’
‘Men, you can let him go. Do be seated, Father Lamb,’ said Hadley. The two policemen exited the room, leaving the four of us. ‘Some brandy, sir? Or coffee?’
The priest shook his head but remained standing.
‘We clearly owe you an apology. However, we have just a few questions for you. Why did you run from us?’
‘I was trying to cut down poor Mr Vitale from hanging himself when this madman attacked me!’ said the priest, gesturing to Holmes. ‘I was so upset, all I could think of was to get away! I am afraid I panicked.’ He glanced around the room taking in Hadley, Holmes and me. ‘The young man? Did he survive?’
‘No. I am sorry, Father,’ said Holmes. ‘You have my abject apology. Had I not mistakenly tried to stop you, Mr Vitale would be alive today.’
Hadley and I exchanged the smallest of glances.
The priest swallowed. ‘Vitale is dead, then?’
‘Alas, he is,’ said Holmes, the picture of contrition. ‘And may God forgive me. You were trying to save him. I made a dreadful mistake.’
‘What a terrible shame indeed!’ exclaimed Father Lamb, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘You behaved precipitously, Mr – what was it? – Holmes?’
‘Please be seated, Father,’ said Holmes.
I was eager to see Holmes play this through. He continued the subterfuge. ‘I suppose the only small recompense is that I saved the hangman’s fee. That is, if Mr Vitale killed Miss Dillie Wyndham.’
The priest sighed and took a chair facing the three of us. ‘Sadly, it is true. I do not reveal confessions normally, but in this case I must. I entered the room and Vitale was already standing on his cot, a sheet tied round his neck and ready to jump. “I confess, Father,” he said, “I killed Odelia Wyndham. She betrayed me.” And then before I could stop him …’ Lamb shook his head ruefully. ‘What a terrible, terrible end for what I hear was a promising lad.’
‘Indeed,’ said Holmes. ‘Of course, it is true that Miss Wyndham had lied and cheated Mr Vitale. Can you shed any light on this for us?’
‘Yes, we are all ears, Father,’ said Hadley.
‘Well, now you are,’ said the priest righteously. ‘Although if you had come to me in the first place—’
‘What would you have told us?’ asked Hadley.
‘Mr Holmes knows all this, that Miss Dillie Wyndham came to Peregrine – to Deacon Buttons – for advice, for help. She was being hounded by two students and was afraid for her life.’
‘For her life?’ mused Holmes.
‘Sir, you are being disingenuous,’ replied Father Lamb testily. He turned to Hadley. ‘I was present when Deacon Buttons told this man of threatening letters Dillie Wyndham had received. May I see Deacon Buttons, please?’
‘Oh, yes, of course, I recall that now,’ said Holmes, rubbing his forehead tiredly. ‘It has been a fraught night and morning. Of course, no one has actually seen these letters. Unless perhaps your deacon. But was there a further threat, perhaps more specific, after this?’
‘Yes, another letter from Leo Vitale.’
‘I see. A letter from Vitale? What did it say?’ asked Holmes. ‘Do you have it now?’
Father Lamb shifted in his chair and turned to Inspector Hadley. ‘Sir, why are you allowing this man to question me so?’
‘Please consider him as an official representative of the police and answer him directly,’ said Hadley.
The priest paused, fingered the cross hanging from a chain round his neck. ‘Very well. In a letter Miss Wyndham had received, Vitale threatened to murder her. It seems the duplicitous girl had pledged herself to him, then became engaged to another.’
‘Enough to enrage anyone, certainly. Where is Vitale’s letter now?’ asked Holmes. ‘Or is this, too, conveniently missing?’
‘The deacon destroyed the letter, of course, hoping to dissuade Vitale from murderous sin,’ declared Father Lamb.
Convenient indeed, I thought. But what if there was such a letter? If this were true, it did indeed implicate the young scientist.
‘Hmm. Are you sure it was not Miss Wyndham’s other suitor, that terribly wealthy Freddie Eden-Summers, who threatened her?’ asked Holmes. ‘He, too, must have felt wronged.’
‘I don’t know. That fellow may have written also. Deacon Buttons knows the whole story. May I see him, please? Why are you holding him, Inspector Hadley?’ asked Father Lamb.
‘He attempted suicide,’ said Hadley. ‘That’s against the law, and we are holding him for his own good.’
But Holmes was not finished with Father Lamb. ‘It seems odd that Mr Vitale would murder Miss Wyndham in Deacon Buttons’ room. Father, did he tell you why he did that?’
‘No! My God!’ Father Lamb shuddered at the thought. ‘What on earth makes you think this happened under my own roof?’ he cried.
‘Both the police and I have confirmed it from the evidence,’ said Holmes.
‘How terrible. But you are the detective! Isn’t it obvious why Vitale might have killed her there? To make it look like Peregrine did it! She had probably come to him for help. Vitale must have followed her!’
‘He did indeed follow her, Father Lamb,’ said Holmes. ‘That, too, has been confirmed by the evidence.’
‘Well then, there you have it,’ said Lamb. He stood. ‘I should like to see my boy now.’
‘Sit down, please, Father,’ said Hadley. The priest hesitated, but at Hadley’s stern look did so, reluctantly.
‘As I said, we know that Vitale did follow her there,’ said Holmes.
And, of course, Vitale had just admitted it to us, I thought. Had he lied about the rest?
‘It must have taken a great deal for you to hear him confess.’ Holmes continued, ‘learning that he was a murderer.’
‘Even a murderer is God’s creation,’ said Father Lamb. ‘I offer comfort where I can.’
Just then, Constable Wright burst through the door. ‘Mr Holmes, Mr Hadley, I’ve completed my investigation of the deacon’s room.’
Holmes smiled. ‘Ah. The ink, then, Mr Wright? The dent?’
‘Precisely where and how you described,’ sai
d Wright crisply.
‘Excellent work,’ said Holmes. ‘Thank you. Stay now and enjoy the fruits of your labour. If he may, Mr Hadley?’
Hadley nodded, and Wright remained. The young officer stood in the corner, smoothing his black moustache and watching the proceedings with intense interest.
‘Mr Wright’s findings have just confirmed Peregrine Buttons’ innocence. Dillie was beaten badly. All three young men had injuries to their hands, her two suitors and your young deacon, Father. Mr Buttons told me that his injury came from his punching the wall in frustration. When I examined the room, I saw no such dent, but it apparently was in the hallway just outside the door. Wright has confirmed the dent exactly as Buttons described. Ergo, Peregrine Buttons did not beat the girl.’
‘Well, of course he would not!’ cried Father Lamb. ‘The boy is blameless!’
‘Father,’ said Holmes, ‘it is such a puzzle. We all agree that Miss Wyndham went to the deacon for help. She received a fatal blow in his room some time later. I wonder, though, why she was naked in Deacon Buttons’ bed at some time in the night.’
‘What? She never! Peregrine would not have allowed such a thing.’
‘I found unmistakable traces that Miss Wyndham was in the deacon’s bed with little or no clothing.’
‘You cannot prove this. And why would you want to? Are you so bent on ruining my young deacon’s reputation?’
‘No, in saving it. I have the proof right here. I collected traces from the bedding …’ Holmes reached into his pocket for the small folded card into which he’d placed some evidence in the room, only to find it waterlogged and useless. ‘Oh, no, well … washed away!’ he fumbled. ‘I, uh … you will have to take my word for it.’ He seemed confused and dismayed.
‘Some coffee, Holmes?’ I said.
He waved me off. If this was an act, it was an effective one.
Lamb eyed him superciliously. ‘You struggle, Mr Holmes. Naked in his bed? I tell you, no. Traces? What nonsense!’
‘Well, to continue,’ said Holmes. ‘We all agree that Leo Vitale was in Deacon Buttons’ rectory rooms. Then there is the matter of the bottle of ink.’ It seemed that he was losing steam with his argument. I was worried about him.
Father Lamb looked confused.
‘You remember the purple ink that Deacon Buttons used to write on Dillie’s doll,’ said Holmes, ‘the reason I became involved in this case at the beginning?’
‘What of it?’
‘I wondered why Deacon Buttons kept the bottle. I noticed it was near full when I saw it earlier and half empty last night. And the top was cracked and leaking. Where had all the ink gone to in so short a span of time?’ Holmes began coughing. He seemed to be struggling.
At a pause, the father interjected. ‘What does it matter? Peregrine wrote with it, perhaps.’
‘Half a bottle, so quickly? The notes in his Bible were all in black ink. So, I began to look. The ink had gone to several places, as it turns out. I discovered a small pool of purple ink had caught in the doorframe. It had dripped into the crack between the moulding and the wall, near eye level for a tall man. Then someone attempted to wipe it away. And tonight, I found a dot of it on Mr Vitale’s neck.’
‘Well there you have it!’ said Lamb. ‘As I have told you. Mr Vitale is the killer.’
‘And Mr Wright reports a smear of ink … on the sheets on Deacon Buttons’ bed. Someone got into that bed with ink on their hands.’
Father Lamb shrugged, dismissively.
‘What does all this tell you, Mr Holmes?’ asked Hadley.
‘A great deal, actually. Thank you for that, Wright. Here, then, is what happened. Miss Wyndham went to see Deacon Buttons, and from the deacon’s own testimony she sent him to pawn her two engagement rings so that they could run away together.’
‘I doubt that,’ sneered Father Lamb. ‘Now you are simply concocting.’
‘The rings have been found at the pawnshop, and Deacon Buttons has been identified as the one who pawned them,’ said Hadley, coldly.
Holmes smiled. ‘To continue, then. While Buttons was off pawning the rings, Miss Wyndham disrobed to enact the second part of her plans. Vitale had followed her from her hideaway at the Cross and Anchor to the rectory. There is evidence that he remained awhile under the window. Once Buttons had left, Vitale came to the room, lingered at the door and asked again for his ring back. Seeing her unclothed, he stayed at the door, whereupon Miss Wyndham threw a bottle of ink at him. The cap cracked as it hit the doorjamb, splattering there, and a small drop landed on his neck. Vitale left, went to Eden-Summers’ rooms at Trinity College, where the two young men fought, both receiving damage to their hands and persons. Failing to convince his rival to join him in confronting Miss Wyndham, Vitale gave up, and returned to his dormitory to sleep.’
‘What evidence do you have for this?’ cried the priest. He turned to Hadley. ‘Inspector Hadley, why have you turned over your investigation to this amateur? Leo Vitale confessed to me!’
Holmes continued, unperturbed. ‘Meanwhile Miss Wyndham cleared up the ink the best she could and awaited the deacon’s return. My theory is that she got into bed so as to appear to provide a warm welcome. One can only presume she planned to offer herself to him. Hence the ink stain on the inside of the bed.’ Holmes took a sip of water.
‘Notice that I said “appear”, he continued. Because when Deacon Buttons returned, she told him that the money he received was not enough and she sent him next to retrieve a third ring, which she said was still back at the Cross and Anchor. It is my belief that she then got up, began to pack up her belongings, and was preparing to abscond with the pawnshop funds. Her plan all along.’
‘You are conjuring.’ said Lamb derisively. ‘You will have better luck on stage as a novelty act!’
‘I may consider it if work dries up,’ said Holmes with a smile. ‘In any case, Buttons returned to find that Miss Wyndham, the money and all her belongings were gone. He was staggered at this discovery. But he would have been even more so had he understood what had just transpired in that room. Because … while Deacon Buttons was at the Cross and Anchor, the killer came in and attacked Miss Wyndham. They fought, and she received a fatal blow to the head, from the water jug most likely. The killer then quickly tried to erase all signs of the fight, even proceeding to dump Dillie’s body in the convenient lock, pulling the lever so that the body would wash downstream, and then took her belongings somewhere we have yet to discover.’
‘So … Vitale returned,’ said Lamb.
‘No, it was another.’
‘You said Miss Wyndham was killed for love,’ exclaimed Hadley. ‘I don’t understand which of the three young men, then, was her killer?’
‘None of them. I have eliminated all three.’
Father Lamb looked at him in disdain. He turned to Inspector Hadley. ‘Perhaps the great detective from London is a trifle overrated. Vitale has confessed! Dillie Wyndham’s treachery destroyed him. Regret is the reason for his suicide. Let me collect Deacon Buttons, and we will be out of your hair.’
‘I am not quite finished, Mr Lamb,’ said Holmes. ‘What has been missing in this investigation is a fourth suspect. There was a fourth person with a motive to kill Miss Wyndham. Perhaps a less obvious motive than the three men who loved her.’
‘Atalanta Wyndham!’ I exclaimed. Of course. ‘She shot me. She was in love with Freddie Eden-Summers!’
The room sat silent. Everyone turned to look at me. Was it possible that for once, just for one time only, I was ahead of my friend in the matter? Perhaps I should not have blurted this out, but rather let him take the lead.
I faltered.
‘I believe, Watson, that Atalanta Wyndham was incarcerated in an asylum at the time of her sister’s murder,’ said Holmes quietly.
Hadley cleared his throat. ‘Er, no. She escaped almost immediately and returned home.’
Holmes stood still for a good five seconds. Once again, the tumblers were turning.
‘Father Lamb, had Atalanta Wyndham approached Mr Buttons for counselling?’ he asked.
‘She had. But he discerned that she was merely spying on her sister. He was kind but gave her no information.’
Holmes laughed suddenly, with that strange enthusiasm which made him so odd at times like this. ‘Yes! Of course! Thank you, Mr Hadley,’ he shouted. ‘Of course! Atalanta’s escape clears up one final mystery. What a puzzle. What a glorious puzzle! Ha ha!’
Electrified by whatever this news meant to him, he strode to the door and knocked on it four times for emphasis as he said, ‘One. Two. Three. Four. Atalanta! Peregrine! Leo! Freddie! So many tangled in this web. All with reasons to hate Miss Wyndham! And yet, … still, I say, she was killed for love.’
His eyes shone and he looked, quite frankly, mad. I had noted these oddly theatrical performances on several occasions. He was truly pushing the boundaries with this one. ‘Holmes—’ I murmured.
‘Love! When a murder is committed for love, it is the ultimate paradox! But what a capricious if not occasionally downright cruel young woman Miss Dillie Wyndham was!’ he said.
‘Well, the woman brought disaster upon herself,’ said Father Lamb. ‘It was as though she asked to be murdered.’ He paused. ‘God rest her soul,’ he added.
Holmes made an immediate left turn. His manner abruptly turned sober; his voice became very quiet. ‘Father, no one asks to be murdered. The poor girl was sorely used. Her private life was a misery.’ He advanced on the priest and stood directly facing the seated man. ‘Dillie confessed all of this to Peregrine Buttons. He offered her friendship. Kindness. Understanding. Her life at home was nothing short of a nightmare.’
‘Oh, come now, Mr Holmes,’ interrupted Inspector Hadley. ‘Professor Wyndham is a respected man. He is known to be just … rather strict.’
‘It is worse than that, Mr Hadley,’ said Holmes. ‘Wyndham is a cruel abuser, keeping the three women of his family in torment. Dillie responded by emulating him. And yet I had hope for her. Many children manage to recover from cruel treatment and turn the other way.’
This was not the first time that Holmes made me wonder about his own childhood.
The Three Locks Page 27