Sherlock Holmes and The Adventure of The Pigtail Twist

by M J H Simmonds

  “I was called that morning to attend an unresponsive patient. Sadly, by the time I arrived, he had passed away. I simply informed the family as compassionately as I could and reminded the servants of the procedures that should be followed in events such as these. After that, having seen no evidence of anything unusual or any sign of foul play, I completed the death certificate and left.”

  “Was it the same for both cases?” Holmes inquired. Armoise nodded. “At what times were you called out on each occasion and when exactly did you leave? Please be as precise as you can,” Holmes asked with a thin smile.

  “Oh, it was early the first time, maybe seven o’clock. I left around nine to nine-thirty, I think. The second time was later. If I recall correctly, I was called shortly after eight and didn’t leave much before eleven.”

  “Why were you there so long on the second occasion? Why, that’s almost three hours?” Holmes had subtly increased the tone of his questioning from purely friendly to one bordering on the belligerent.

  Armoise clearly did not appreciate the rise in temperature.

  “Mr Holmes, I have no more answers for you. I have told you clearly that I carried out my duties regarding these matters as courteously and professionally as I could, given the circumstances. I was in no position to rush anyone or anything and it was certainly not the time, nor the place, to be impatient. I left as, and when, my obligations were fulfilled.” He stood up. “Now please, I am a very busy man and have patients to attend. Gentlemen?” He gestured to the door.

  Holmes sprang up. “Thank you, sir, for your cooperation. We will show ourselves out.”

  And with that, he swooped from the room, his black coat billowing up behind him. I had to move at a fair pace myself, just to keep up.

  Holmes almost jumped into the waiting Hansom and we swiftly set off back into town. Holmes spent the forty-five minute journey in virtual silence. He spoke only once, to explain that he needed to return to Baker Street in order to consult his files.

  Holmes’ ‘library’ consisted of papers, folders, files and boxes, containing the most eclectic collection of information imaginable. From the most innocuous looking article in a local newspaper to the most obscure and outré scientific studies. However, the vast majority consisted of reports of crimes from around the world, their perpetrators and the methods they had employed. Holmes’ esoteric collection was ever growing, but only rarely curated, so it often appeared to resemble a waterfall of paper, cascading down from the shelves and onto the floor.

  As soon as we reached Baker Street, Holmes bounded up the stairs, threw his hat and coat to the floor and began to energetically search his records. I removed my own coat and hat more carefully and sat down in my armchair. With Holmes, it was impossible to predict how long he might take in such a search so I lit a small cigar, feeling that a full pipe might be wasted if he discovered his objective too soon.

  After what was, indeed, an unexpectedly short exploration, Holmes took a deep breath and loudly exclaimed, “Ha! Just as I thought.”

  Unexpectedly stentorian vocal pronouncements were one of Holmes’ great endearments, and they almost always signalled a breakthrough.

  “You’ve solved it, haven’t you?” I asked, failing to conceal my surprise.

  “I do not have enough data to yet be certain, Watson, but I am beginning to make definite inroads” he replied.

  Holmes then looked at me with a most serious expression. “This is the moment, Watson, the watershed. Very rarely do we see it at the time. Once a case is over, one can look back and see the pivotal point, the decision, the action or the discovery that swings the balance. But right here and now we are on the very fulcrum itself. Which path we now take will determine whether we succeed or fail. Which path to take?” It was clear that the final question was meant just for himself.

  “Well unless you share your revelations, you will get no advice from this, or any other, quarter.” I tried to sound helpful, hiding the terrible frustration I felt inside.

  Holmes paused, then stared at me with wide eyes. “Share! Of course! Watson, you have done it again. Dear old Watson, my lightning rod, bringing the wild untameable spark of knowledge safely to my feet. We must contact Lestrade, immediately.”

  “Of course, if you say so. However, I do have to ask one thing? Which path have you chosen?”

  “Why, both of them, of course, my dear old chap.”

  I was totally baffled by Holmes’ enigmatic reply, but recognised the urgency in his voice. We then set off for the nearest post office where Holmes wired an urgent message to the Inspector.

  “And now we must wait for Lestrade’s reply,” Holmes said, as we strolled back to 221B.

  “Well, maybe now you will share something of this opaque mystery with me. After all, you did state that I had helped you solve it, even if I have no idea of exactly how.”

  “Very well, but it is almost teatime and you must be ravenous old chap. Let us see what the inestimable Mrs Hudson can muster up and, while we wait to hear from our friend the Inspector, I shall try to answer some of your questions,” Holmes said, somewhat condescendingly. He seemed to be enjoying my inability to comprehend his deductions, but I refused to rise to his bait.

  In no time, we were back in our Baker Street rooms. I was soon eagerly tucking into the early supper that Mrs Hudson had conjured up, seemingly in moments. Holmes sat in his chair, the only thing that had passed his lips was the dirty brown stem of his rancid clay churchwarden.

  “Watson, what we are dealing with here is not, of course, four separate crimes. Put most simply, we have two murders and two thefts. I am sure that it is perfectly obvious to you that all four are connected. The problem is, of course, finding that connection.”

  “The solution seems indisputable at first,” Holmes continued. “Young Doctor Wormwood had treated both patients the night before they died. He had administered some poison that led directly to their deaths, sometime between him leaving and the discovery of their bodies the next morning. After injecting them, he had somehow committed the burglaries before leaving. This theory forms the basis for his arrest and current incarceration.”

  “However, this was all blown apart when the potential third victim recovered fully from Wormwood’s attentions. Add to this the fact that the substance he was caught injecting was nothing more than an ordinary, everyday sedative, administered in an amount that would cause no lasting effects.”

  “Yes, that much is clear,” I agreed. “So therefore, unless he was warned in advance of Lestrade’s ploy, which both you and he appear to believe inconceivable, then he must surely be innocent. But, if Wormwood is not our man, then who else could it possibly be? The only other person present at both locations was Doctor Armoise, but he was present only in the morning when the poor victims were already dead.”

  “Watson, you see only what you are supposed to see. Look at the facts. Only two men could have committed these murders. Wormwood is one. If it could not have been him then it must have been the only other suspect. The killer must have been Doctor Armoise.”

  “I understand your reasoning, Holmes, but I just don’t see how he could have done it. Not to mention, how he could have possibly arranged for the victims to conveniently fall ill beforehand so he could be called in to attend them?”

  At that moment, we heard the bell downstairs. “Ah, news from Lestrade I believe,” declared Holmes. A minute later, a liveried boy appeared at the door to our rooms.

  “Urgent telegram for Mr Holmes,” he announced. “To be delivered to his hand only,” he added, holding the envelope close to his chest.

  “I am he,” Holmes announced loudly, before taking the message from the now-startled young man. He quickly read the missive before handing a shilling to the boy and waving him away. “No reply required, thank you.”

  As the boy left, Holmes reached for his coat
. “Come Watson, Scotland Yard awaits. We can talk on the way.”

  We quickly procured a cab and headed for the Yard. The early evening light bathed the stone-faced buildings in a warm sandy glow. London in the twilight is a magical place, the grime and poverty temporarily washed away by the gentle golden rays of the late spring sunshine.

  Holmes’ voice dragged me back to reality. “What most people simply fail to realise is how much time, effort and ingenuity some criminals are prepared to put into their schemes. Forget the stereotype of the lazy burglar. Forget the idea of the opportunist robbery. This case is of the very highest echelon of criminality, possibly the greatest I have yet encountered.” I was so intrigued to hear more that I very nearly let my lit cigarette drop from my now half-open mouth.

  “Connections are the very heart of this case. What connects the Doctors to the crimes? What connects them to the victims? But most of all, what connects them to each other?”

  “You mean they were working together? But even if this was indeed a nefarious partnership, I still cannot see how they carried out the murders and the thefts, not to mention how they outwitted Lestrade over the third attempt.” My personal fog was far from lifting.

  We arrived at Scotland Yard before Holmes could continue further. Lestrade greeted us warmly and led us to his austere office.

  “Well Holmes, we have done exactly as you asked. Three cells are now occupied. Now, for the love of all that is holy, please tell me you have the solution.” Lestrade seemed to know as much, or as little, as did I.

  “Logic, my friends. Ignore your emotions and expectations. Recount, precisely, everything relevant that has happened, as simply as you can.” Holmes was as infuriating as ever, but I acquiesced.

  “Very well. Let me see. A doctor makes a late call, prescribes and administers a sedative. The next morning the patient is found dead -” but Holmes interrupted.

  “Wrong, Watson. We must be exact. How was the patient found to be?” he demanded.

  “Unresponsive,” I suddenly remembered. “Wait a minute, I think I am beginning to see it.” The fog had thinned a little, right there in front of me.

  “Unresponsive, yes.” Holmes continued. “But not dead. The poor victims were still alive when Armoise arrived, it was he that administered the fatal blow. As a doctor, he would know of several poisons and methods that would induce a quick death, leaving little or no trace.”

  “That much could certainly be true, I can think of several chemicals that have just those properties. However, the simplest method would be to simply inject some air directly into the patient’s veins. It would induce heart failure within seconds.”

  “With no need to carry any tell-tale poisons which might incriminate him if caught,” added Lestrade.

  “Why, Watson, Lestrade, I never dreamed that you had such murderous expertise. Remind not to cross you in future.” Holmes’ smile came and went swiftly, but was most welcome.

  “Of course, this also explains how they managed to outmanoeuvre the police,” Holmes continued. “I had no reason to suspect that the operation you carried out, Inspector, was anything less than professional and discreet.” Lestrade nodded at this rare acknowledgement of his competence from Holmes. “But being followed, or indeed detained, was never something that Wormwood was ever overly concerned about. This was the genius of their plot, you see, for if Wormwood was arrested then no murder or subsequent theft would have taken place. Nothing incriminating would be found on Wormwood and, as it appeared that no crime had been committed, he would have to be released without charge.”

  “And by the simple fact that Wormwood hadn’t returned home on the night of his capture, his accomplice would know that the following day’s evil mission was cancelled,” concluded Lestrade, rather admirably I thought.

  “So, if I understand you correctly, and the doctors were indeed working together, then Wormwood’s entire role was a blind, Holmes! But how did they arrange the late night visits? Surely they couldn’t have engineered the victim’s illnesses?” My head swirled with the possibilities.

  “This is where we would enter the world of speculation and conjecture. No, it is now time to interview the chief architect of this most elegant, but deadly, plan. Lestrade, would you be so good as to ask the Duty Officer to bring out Doctor Armoise?”

  A burly sergeant with a magnificent red beard escorted the older doctor into Lestrade’s office. His face was expressionless but his eyes shone with defiance. The sergeant bustled him into a chair.

  “Doctor Hugo Armoise,” Holmes began. “I know almost everything. I cannot save you, but if you cooperate with me I promise I shall do everything within my powers to spare your son from the gallows.”

  As an opening statement, it was stunning and I could see from his face that Lestrade thought the same.

  “So, you think you know something, but you have no proof that I or this other gentleman, whoever he should be, have committed any crime. Please feel free to huff and puff but eventually you will have to let me go.” The doctor appeared to have nerves of steel.

  “Very well. Let me tell you exactly what I know and then I will again make my offer, one last time.” Holmes’ voice was expressionless, his eyes ice cold.

  “You and your son are scions of Poitiers. Your family was once high born but when the revolution came, like many others, you had to hide, give up the family name along with its money, land and privileges. The final insult was having to leave France and escape to the land of your hated rivals, there to live in relative poverty. After all, what else could have driven you to such jealousy and contempt towards those who still had all that you had lost?”

  “Your family could not, however, break all ties with your homeland and, once it was safe to do so, sent its sons back home to study in the family tradition. As you did yourself, followed by your son.”

  “Nothing of which you can remotely prove,” Armoise responded, coolly.

  “Are you quite certain of that? We have your son’s medical degree certificate and even now, the authorities in France are looking into a request from the good Inspector here. Namely, who paid young Wormwood’s university fees? I believe we already know the answer.”

  “Your son is facing capital charges, I will not make this offer a third time,” Holmes finished with quite some menace.

  “How did you know?” Armoise’ face slackened as his resistance failed.

  “Your tie pin sir. A lion rampant beneath three Fleurs-de-lis. The ancient coat of arms of Poitiers. That, along with a generally familial appearance would have been enough to connect you but then there is also, of course, the matter of your names, or rather, your assumed names”

  “Their names?” Interrupted Lestrade. “What about them?”

  “Wormwood? Armoise? Please, doctor, you do not have to be a horticultural expert to see the connection there. What was it? Some family joke?” Holmes asked.

  Armoise shrugged subtly, his pertinacity all but gone. “We were never a conventional family, even before things went rotten in our homeland. One of the things we were most famous for was our Absinthe, the first in all of France. So, wormwood, mugwort or armoise, call it what you will, was always a part of our lives even if we were no longer distilling ‘la fée verte’ ourselves.”

  “I now need only to confirm a few details from you and my case will be complete.” Holmes had visibly relaxed, now firmly on the finishing straight. “How you chose your victims and why were they chosen, how you arranged for the late night calls and how you perpetrated the thefts?”

  “Knowing a little of your history it seems likely to me that you would target victims sharing the characteristics of those that you now hated the most. Not wealth accumulated nobly over generations by titled families, like yours, but those whose wealth was more recently acquired. The merchants, the bankers, the industrialists. What you might call the ‘Nou
veau Riche’.”

  “This new class is often guilty of less than subtle public exhibitions of their wealth. Their ostentatious displays of gold and jewellery adorning their bodies like trophies have been seen at many an event and function throughout the city. During the course of your many visits over the years to these wealthy households, you heard your clients boast about their collections of valuables and, crucially, about where they were kept. It was also useful to know who had bought which latest fabulous creation in order to outshine his peers. This, I believe, answers the how and the why the poor souls were chosen, am I correct Doctor?”

  Armoise nodded. “Correct in every detail, I am astounded sir,” he agreed meekly.

  “The late night calls were, I believe, simply a matter of being patient,” Holmes continued. “To induce an illness would add an unnecessary risk to an already complex scheme. You would have known from past experience which of your patients would be most likely to fall ill and simply waited for the timing to be right. And, in any case, I am sure that you had identified several targets over the years. This way, the chances of one of this group of aging men eventually falling ill, during the night, would have been higher than you might think.”

  “Now all was set. Wormwood had visited, administered a higher than usual, but not fatal, dose of a common sedative and had departed, leaving the patient sleeping but, importantly, still alive. The next morning’s evil drama would unfold, you would inject the coup de grace and declare your poor victim dead. Amidst all of the shock, chaos and confusion, you would simply slip away unnoticed to wherever the jewels, or other valuables, were secreted. You had, of course, chosen targets who did not take the security of their valuables seriously enough - I myself am still astounded by how many wealthy people fail to own even a safe and simply lock up their precious items in drawers or jewellery boxes. Once you had located and acquired your plunder, you returned to the centre of activity where you completed the death certificate and left. Would I also be right in thinking, from the extra time taken during the second incidence, that you either had trouble obtaining the jewellery, or that you were disturbed at some point?”