The Iron Dog (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale)

by Steven Ehrman

  As I finished my cursory examination of the letters, I returned my attention to Holmes. He was leaning back in his chair with his fingertips from each hand together. Although it appeared that he was nearly dozing, I knew that posture to be indicative of his great intellectual process in motion. The lady and I both waited for Holmes to break the silence.

  “You are in a most difficult position, madam,” said he. “I expect your arrest at any moment.”

  “But, Mr. Holmes, I had hoped by sharing all with you that you would be able to shield me from arrest,” she cried.

  “I had hoped so as well, Miss Crawley, but I fear you have not given me the truth.”

  The statement was so bald that it took me by surprise. Holmes usually employed the wedge, and not the hammer. I saw that the lady was dumbstruck as well.

  “Mr. Holmes, I swear that I did not kill Benjamin Rutherford. That is the truth.”

  “Had you indeed told me the truth, I may have been able to help you in this moment of need but alas! It is too late now,” said he.

  “Surely not, Holmes!” I interjected. “Can you not see that this lady is in earnest?”

  “I only see what logic and the evidence dictate,” said he coldly. “In any case, I hear the well-known footsteps of Inspector Lestrade upon our stairs. The moment for candor is past. Now you are in the hands of Scotland Yard.”

  As Holmes spoke, I too heard the tread of footsteps approaching our door. In the next moment Inspector Lestrade and two burly sergeants entered the room. Lestrade was the picture of officiousness. He strode quickly by Holmes, and confronted Kate Crawley, as she remained seated.

  “Miss Crawley, I have a warrant for your arrest in the blackmail and murder of Benjamin Rutherford,” he intoned.

  The lady paled visibly, yet remained calm. She stood up and faced the Inspector.

  “Do with me as you will, sir, but I say for all to hear that I am guiltless in Benjamin’s death.”

  “That is for English justice to decide, Miss Crawley,” said the Inspector. “Any statement you make will be noted. Sergeant, take charge of the prisoner.”

  The nearest sergeant stepped forward and took Miss Crawley gently by the arm. She maintained a stoic expression and was led from the room with no further words. Lestrade followed her with his eyes and then turned an accusing scowl towards Holmes.

  “Why, of all the dwellings in London, did Miss Crawley find her way here?” he asked. “Could it be that you had a message delivered to her, Holmes?”

  “If you intend to answer your own questions, Lestrade, then my presence becomes superfluous,” said he blandly.

  “She has been under observation, and my report is that one of your rapscallions was seen delivering a message that was obviously from you. Do you deny it?”

  “I deny nothing, Inspector.”

  “What was the purpose of this message, Holmes?”

  “The purpose was twofold. Firstly, I wished to speak with Miss Crawley and discover her defense against the accusations made against her. She came and she made her defense.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “She denies all. She says she made no extortion attempt and, by extension did not murder Rutherford.”

  “Of course, she would say that, Holmes,” cried Lestrade. “Surely, you are not taken in by a simple denial.”

  “Perhaps not, but I wished to hear it from the lady’s lips.”

  “You said you had a twofold purpose, Holmes. What was the second?”

  “I only wished for my agent Wiggins to observe her rooms and report to me.”

  “What was his report?”

  “He has not reported as of yet. The lady made her way here so quickly she has beaten him to Baker Street, but I believe he is now here.”

  There was the patter of small footsteps on the stairs, and the diminutive figure of Wiggins burst into the room. The sight of the Inspector brought him up short. He looked a question at Holmes and said nothing.

  “I believe that will be all, Lestrade,” said Holmes. “I am certain that you have many pressing matters to attend.”

  Lestrade gave Holmes a grave look.

  “So it’s to be like that, Holmes?” asked he. “Very well. The Yard needs no help with this crime in any case. Good day, gentlemen.”

  With those words Lestrade strode from the room.

  Chapter Six

  “Well, my lad,” said Holmes. “I expect that you have a report to make. Out with it, if you will.”

  The boy shifted uncomfortably on his feet and glanced at me.

  “Well, guv’nor, I did just as you said. I handed the lady your note myself.”

  “Did you observe the room as I instructed?”

  “Yes, sir. The sitting room was orderly, it was, sir, and a fire had been lit the night before. It was still warm this morning.”

  “Very good, Wiggins, now off with you,” said Holmes. “I expect you to keep the other lads on the trail, as instructed. Report to me yourself when you have news.”

  With a tip of his cap Wiggins disappeared from the room, and clattered down the steps. I heard Mrs. Hudson’s disapproving voice as he passed her door. Our landlady took a dim view of the Irregulars, as I well knew. Only her affection for Holmes kept us in home and hearth.

  I was thoroughly in the dark. The case against Miss Crawley was strong, yet circumstantial. The only direct testimony against her was the word of a man now dead. Rutherford had vouched no witnesses to the blackmail attempt save himself. His wife was privy only to the letters given as proof that they, and others, existed. Holmes, as was his wont, now lounged back in his chair sending columns of smoke towards the ceiling.

  “Do you suppose that Kate Crawley will be convicted in this crime, Holmes?” I asked. “She seemed quite adamant in her defense. I found her story compelling.”

  “She is certainly a beautiful woman,” said Holmes.

  “Holmes, I said nothing of beauty,” I protested. “It was her testimony on which I was basing my opinion.”

  “Of course, doctor,” said Holmes soothingly. “It was not my intent to suggest otherwise, yet I was struck by her looks.”

  It was unlike Holmes to essay a comment upon the beauty of a woman. It occurred to me that Holmes was trying to throw me off balance by this unusual comment, so I plowed ahead with my reasoning.

  “Could perhaps Lestrade have been right with his theory? Is it possible that a business associate with a grudge took advantage of the situation and murdered Rutherford? It would take fortuitous timing, but it could be done.”

  My friend stirred himself, emptied his pipe, and replaced it on the table.

  “It is a possibility, Watson,” said he. “If there is anything to it, I am certain the energetic Lestrade will find evidence of it.”

  “That seems to me to be the only other possibility, besides Miss Crawley being the culprit.”

  “On the contrary, Watson. I can imagine fourteen separate theories that fit the facts as we now know them.”

  “Surely you jest, Holmes,” I cried.

  “No, my dear doctor. Because the crime appears a certain way, you, and our friend Lestrade, see it only that way. A clever criminal uses such inclinations to advantage.”

  “I am entirely in the dark, Holmes. You must have observed something that I have not.”

  “Not at all, doctor. You have seen and heard all that I have. If you do not make use of what you have seen, I am hardly to blame.”

  This was a typically cryptic comment from Holmes. From our long history together I knew that further questions would not yield further answers. I resolved to keep my own counsel, as well. Holmes had little regard for my own powers of deduction, but I claimed a better understanding of my fellow citizens. It was my hope that the knowledge of humanity would do me in good stead.

  The morning papers came and went, and Holmes and I spent the rest of the morning in silent contemplation of the day’s news. While Holmes was mainly interested in the agony column and the cr
iminal news of the penny press, I enjoyed perusing the Times in a thorough manner. The pulse of the great city could be felt within the broadsheet pages of the great paper. The news of the day was the usual collection of eclectic events, some sad, some merry, and others simply odd or baffling. A hurricane had ravaged the American coastline, an obscure actor had died of an overdose of sleeping draught, a tragedy at a circus had killed three performers and two spectators, there had been a fire at a Fleet Street publishing house, and an arriving passenger ship from New Zealand had been found to carry smallpox and had been quarantined. These were but a few of the stories that captured my attention.

  I attempted to engage Holmes in discussion of these news events, and was met with a desultory response. As morning waxed into afternoon I found myself feeling quite drowsy, and I slipped into an uneasy sleep. When I awoke I found Holmes scanning the Times and jumping from section to section. At length he arose and began pacing the floor, muttering to himself and smoking furiously. Finally he ceased pacing and seemed to come to a decision.

  “I can no longer sit and wait for evidence to come to me, Watson,” said he. “There are several avenues of inquiry that I must explore. I may be all day and evening, so do not await supper on my account.”

  “But, Holmes,” I cried. “Can I not accompany you? I am most anxious to find the solution to this foul crime.”

  “I am sorry, doctor, but it is best that I go alone,” said he. Seeing the crestfallen look upon my face he hastened to add, “But, fear not, you do have an important role. While I am gone, Lestrade or Wiggins may return. You are to be my proxy here. If Wiggins returns in my absence, take any message he has precisely. Should the good Inspector make an appearance, use your own wit and judgment to discover what may advance our investigation.”

  I was indeed disappointed not to be invited to attend with Holmes on his inquiry, but I was gratified to have a function.

  “Very well, Holmes. I shall be your eyes and ears here at Baker Street, but can you give some clue as to your thinking?”

  Holmes was at the door with his walking stick when he turned towards me with a grim expression on his face.

  “The weather is key, Watson. Indeed, had it not been for that I might not have solved the case.”

  “Then it is solved?” I asked astonished.

  “Everything, except for the identity of the murderer.”

  “Surely, that is not a small item,” I cried.

  “Indeed not, but I know how the murder was done; now I need to know which of the five people actually committed it.”

  With that statement, he swept from the room. I was left breathless at his casual announcement that the murder was solved, but the murderer was still unknown. The two statements seemed at odds with one another, but I had learned not to casually dismiss the words of Sherlock Holmes. And what five potential murderers did Holmes have in mind?

  I was left to ponder these questions alone for most of the afternoon and into the evening until our page admitted Inspector Lestrade. The Inspector was his normal terrier-like self, but seemed to be a bit agitated.

  “And where is Mr. Holmes?” he demanded.

  “I have no way of knowing,” said I truthfully. “Holmes merely said that he had inquiries to make, and he wished me to remain here in case of visitors.”

  “Doctor, this is a murder case and I will not play cats-paw for Holmes. I demand you tell me where he has gone.”

  “Inspector, need I remind you again of the character of Sherlock Holmes? He keeps his own counsel and only shares at the denouement. I have often found it frustrating, but I choose to light a candle rather than curse the darkness.”

  “Do not quote the Bible to me, doctor.”

  “It is a Chinese proverb,” I said mildly.

  “Oh,” said Lestrade. “Marvelously clever people, the Chinese. Invented gunpowder, you know.”

  “I believe so, but that is hardly the point of your visit Inspector.”

  Lestrade shook his head violently.

  “Indeed, it is not. I received a telegram from Holmes informing me that Benjamin Rutherford had a silent partner. It is my understanding that in the theater troubled productions often rely upon an angel, as they say. Holmes identified one, Edward Brown, as the partner. I have just come from questioning him, and he admits the partnership. I had no idea that Rutherford had a partner and Mrs. Rutherford claims no knowledge of one either. How is it that Holmes knows of such matters?”

  My mind flew to the Irregulars. Perhaps this was one of the missions Holmes had given them. As I had no direct knowledge, I decided to keep quiet about Holmes’s motley army.

  “Again, Inspector, I am not privy to the thoughts of Holmes. I swear to you, the name Edward Brown is entirely unknown to me.”

  Lestrade gazed at me suspiciously, and then his face slowly broadened into a grin.

  “Of course, you are right, doctor. I should have known that Holmes would keep you groping in the dark, as well. I admire, I admit, the skill Holmes has shown in solving some very baffling cases, but he has a way of treating the Yard as ribbon clerks.”

  I did sympathize with Lestrade, and I told him so.

  “Is there any message you would like to leave for Holmes?” I asked.

  “Just what I have already told you, with one additional fact. Brown has no alibi for the time of the murder. He claims he was strolling through the streets at that hour. It seems to be his custom, and I have no reason to doubt it; but the mere fact that he is an unknown that Holmes is interested in makes me wonder.”

  I did as well, but I was as fully in the dark about this strange financier as Lestrade. We spoke for some few minutes more, and then the Inspector took his leave and left me to assess this new information. I was certain Holmes already knew everything the Yard did, and that he was simply alerting them to possible suspects. As I was pondering all the permutations of the case, I thought I heard a gentle knock at the door. I had nearly convinced myself that I had imagined it, when it opened and Holmes’s lieutenant Wiggins came into the room.

  “Doctor, is Mr. Holmes about?” he asked, with less than his usual self-assuredness.

  “I am afraid not, Wiggins. He asked me to take any messages for him. You may trust that I will relate any communication to Homes upon his return.”

  Wiggins shuffled his feet and looked around the room.

  “I waited for the constable to leave. Are we alone?”

  “We are quite alone, I assure you,” said I. I did not bother to correct the lad on Lestrade’s rank.

  “Mr. Holmes has always said we are to trust you as we would him, so I reckon it’s good and proper.”

  The grimy ragamuffin’s tale of Holmes’s faith in me warmed my heart, and made me forget the manner in which I had been kept in the dark as to my friend’s intentions in the case.

  “Speak then, lad.”

  “Tell Mr. Holmes that we have found one of the men, and he admits the commission. I gave him the note Mr. Holmes had given me and he went pale all over. I got the note back like Mr. Holmes instructed. Here it is.”

  With a dirty hand, Wiggins thrust the sheet of foolscap at me. The paper was folded twice over so the writing was hidden. I put it in my jacket pocket and returned my attention to the boy.

  “Is there anything further, my lad?” I asked.

  “Just tell the guv’nor I’ll be around tomorrow for Wilson’s guinea. He’s the one what made the find.”

  “Very good then, Wiggins. Off you go.”

  With a smart salute, Wiggins left as silently as the wind across the meadow. I pulled the note from my pocket. I was sorely tempted to open it, but my discretion held me back. Holmes would share it with me when the time was right. I sat it upon the dining table and returned to my chair. I lit a cigarette and watched the smoke curl up towards the ceiling. I soon despaired of Homes returning that night, and I repaired to my bedchamber in preparedness for sleep.

  Chapter Seven

  I arose from my sleep at my us
ual hour and found Holmes at our dining table. He was humming a tune and had begun breakfast without me.

  “Join me, Watson,” he said. “The day promises much adventure, and we must victual ourselves for the moment.”

  I needed no encouragement to break my fast. I eagerly assented to Holmes’s admonition. Soon I was tucking in a generous portion of the larder provided by our landlady and cook. Holmes avoided all comment on the case, as I expected, and I did not press him upon the point. After a leisurely meal, we made our way to our sitting room. Holmes lit his pipe and I a cigarette. The atmosphere was congenial to conversation.

  “Am I to understand, then that the case is at a crucial point?” I asked. “You seem most confident in manner.”

  “Confident?” Holmes mused. “If so, it is the confidence of the hound who has followed the fox to his den.”

  “Then the hunt is over?”

  “I have several small details yet to arrange, but the trap is set, Watson,” said he.

  The visit by young Wiggins sprang to my mind.

  “Holmes,” I cried. “I have a message for you from your Irregulars.”

  “Ah, yes, doctor. I have already spoken to Wiggins and all is arranged. I tell you, those boys are bloodhounds when a guinea is in the offing.”

  I was a bit deflated by this statement, as I had hoped to contribute in a material manner to the investigation. Holmes must have seen my expression, for he spoke quickly.

  “I do understand, from Mrs. Hudson, that Lestrade was a visitor in my absence. What, pray tell, did the good Inspector want?”

  “He has found you were correct as to the partnership between Rutherford and this Edward Brown. He seemed quite put out that you had discovered this without his aid. Quite put out indeed, Holmes.”

  “Lestrade never learns that many people become quite closed mouthed with the police, and most especially theater people. I learned more lounging in the stalls, and backstage, in a day than the Yard could possibly discover in a month.”

  “I take it you made these inquiries incognito.”

  “You would be correct in that assumption, doctor. I posed alternately as an agent and as an out-of-work stagehand. Once I was established as of the guild, tongues loosened and information ran as does water.”