The Secret Journals of Sherlock Holmes (A&B Crime)

by Thomson, June

  ‘I am totally at a loss, Mr Holmes. A black hand! What action do you advise me to take?’

  ‘To pay heed to the warnings and leave before that last letter arrives for, once it is delivered, your safety cannot be guaranteed.’

  ‘You suggest I return to the States? No, sir!’ Hardern exclaimed. ‘I refuse to be hounded out of this country.’

  ‘Then at least retire to your house in London.’

  Hardern, whose anger had been simmering just below the surface, could contain it no longer. His blue eyes blazing, he brought his fist crashing down on the arm of his chair.

  ‘I will not, Mr Holmes! That would be capitulation and no man living has ever got the better of John Vincent Hardern!’

  ‘There is not only your safety to consider,’ Holmes reminded him quietly. ‘There is also your daughter’s.’

  ‘I am well aware of that, sir. She is at present out riding with Gerald Wroxham and his sister. As soon as they return, I shall ask if Edith may be allowed to move to Whitehaven Manor. I am sure Lady Wroxham will agree. She and her son are aware of the threats made against me. Indeed, it was Gerald Wroxham who recommended you, Mr Holmes. As for myself, I intend remaining here.’

  ‘Then I strongly advise you stay indoors and make sure the windows and doors are securely locked and barred at night. You have a revolver?’

  ‘A Colt, Mr Holmes.’

  ‘Then keep it with you at all times,’ Holmes said, rising to his feet. ‘And as soon as you receive the fifth letter, the one bearing the thumb-print, you must inform me at once.’

  ‘You really think Hardern’s life is in danger?’ I enquired when, a little later, having taken leave of our client, we set off in the brougham for the return journey to Maidstone station.

  ‘I fear so, Watson,’ Holmes replied, his expression grim. ‘As he has refused my advice to leave Marsham Hall immediately, we can only trust that, when his unknown enemy chooses to strike, we are at hand to deflect the blow. What an abstruse case this is proving to be! I refer not just to the matter of its sequence. There is also the motive to consider. Why should anyone wish to force Hardern to leave this country when he has only just arrived in it? Then there is the curious business of the Black Hand signature. It suggests a connection with an unlawful fraternity. And yet I know of no gang which operates under such a nom de guerre although I pride myself on keeping informed of all underworld activity.

  ‘I shall ask discreetly among my criminal acquaintances. In the meantime, I propose returning to Maidstone tomorrow to start making enquiries at the hotels and inns for a stranger answering my description.’

  ‘Do you wish me to accompany you?’

  ‘Thank you, but I think it would be better if I went alone. If we are to discover this man’s identity and whereabouts, we must go about it circumspectly. Two of us asking questions might arouse suspicion.’

  The following morning, Holmes left for Maidstone by an early train, not returning to Baker Street until late that evening.

  ‘You have found out nothing?’ I enquired, seeing his morose expression as he entered the sitting-room.

  ‘Not a trace,’ he replied, seating himself wearily by the fire. ‘I believe I have visited every likely hostelry in the town and have drawn a complete blank. There remain, of course, the lodging-houses, of which there must be dozens but where I shall be forced to continue my enquiries tomorrow. To be frank, my dear fellow, it is like looking for one particular pebble on a beach. But I see no other alternative if I am to run this scoundrel to earth.’

  In the event, there was no opportunity for him to return immediately to Kent as he had planned. The following day, Saturday, Miss Violet Smith arrived from Charlington in Surrey with her own remarkable account of her pursuit by an unknown cyclist, and begged for Holmes’ assistance. Reluctant though he was to take on another inquiry while he was so deeply immersed in the Hardern affair, her plight and the singular nature of the story she laid before him finally persuaded him to accept the case, even though I urged against it.

  ‘My dear Watson, I could hardly turn her away,’ he protested. ‘She is a solitary female with no one to protect her. I admit it will be a distraction. However, as I expect to hear nothing from Hardern for several days until the fifth and last letter is delivered, then I should have time to pursue this other investigation.’

  ‘But your enquiries in Kent!’

  ‘I shall continue those on Monday. If in the meantime you could assist me with the Sussex case, I should be infinitely obliged.’

  ‘Of course, Holmes; in any way I can,’ I assured him.

  Therefore, on the Monday, when Holmes set off once more for Kent, I was despatched to Charlington in order to make enquiries there on his behalf, quite unsuccessfully according to Holmes who criticised my methods.4 Although at the time I was deeply hurt, I could make allowances for his strictures. His own investigations in Kent, as well as those among his criminal acquaintances, had still come to nothing and, in consequence, he was in a state of high nervous tension.

  The Surrey adventure was satisfactorily resolved on the following Saturday, 30th April, when Holmes and I were in time to prevent the abduction of Miss Violet Smith and to effect the arrest of a certain Mr Woodley who had been attempting, by means of a forced marriage, to seize the young lady’s fortune.

  It was a singular triumph for my old friend who now had the leisure to turn his full attention to the Hardern affair.

  In the meantime, he had heard nothing from the American millionaire and it was this period of uncertainty which plunged him into the deepest gloom. He was fearful that, despite his confident assertion that the Black Hand would not strike until after the receipt of the fifth letter, he might be mistaken and his client’s life was therefore in immediate jeopardy.

  It was not until the following Monday, 2nd May, that Holmes at last received the long-awaited communication from Hardern which arrived by the second post.

  As soon as it was delivered, Holmes eagerly tore the envelope open.

  It contained two sheets of paper, the first a letter from Hardern himself which Holmes set to one side while he hurriedly scanned the second missive, before passing it to me.

  As he had anticipated, it bore at the bottom of the page the thumb-print of the Black Hand while the message itself was as chilling to the blood as that sinister imprint.

  It was dated Saturday, 30th April, and read: ‘I have waited long enough, Hardern, but time is running out. Leave at once, for your days are already numbered.’

  ‘A charming note, is it not, Watson?’ Holmes asked with a grim smile. ‘But at least we know that the villain has not yet struck, as I had feared.’

  ‘Perhaps Hardern will at last take the matter seriously and decide to leave,’ I suggested, although without much hope, I must confess.

  Holmes confirmed my doubts.

  ‘Out of the question, Watson! The man is as stubborn as a mule. Instead, he proposes in his letter that we catch the 3.17 train to Maidstone this afternoon and stay overnight at Marsham Hall, although what he imagines we can achieve is beyond my comprehension. We are no nearer establishing the identity of the Black Hand, let alone apprehending him. Apart from standing guard over our client, we can offer little else.’ Rising to his feet, he began to pace restlessly about the room. ‘This is a most damnable affair, Watson! An unknown adversary and a client who declines to take my advice! I can think of no worse combination.’

  ‘You could refuse to continue with the case,’ I pointed out.

  ‘And risk putting Hardern’s life in danger? Never! Besides, it would be admitting defeat,’ Holmes cried, at which last exclamation I had to admit a wry amusement, despite the gravity of the situation, for my old friend was proving as obstinate as his client.

  Under the circumstances, there was nothing Holmes could do except comply with Hardern’s instructions, however unwillingly, and consequently we caught the afternoon train to Maidstone, fully expecting our journey would be wasted, although, as
a precaution, Holmes insisted I packed my army revolver.

  However, as soon as we arrived at Marsham Hall, we were made aware that, since our receipt of Hardern’s letter that morning, something of a much more dramatic nature had occurred. Hardern himself was impatiently awaiting us, pacing up and down the terrace with the restlessness of a caged lion.

  Hardly had the carriage halted than he came rushing down the steps to meet us, calling out excitedly, ‘The villain has sent me another of his damnable threats, this time inside the house itself! Come and see for yourselves.’

  As he hustled us into the hall, he continued over his shoulder, ‘It must have happened last night or in the early hours of the morning …’

  He broke off to address the butler, who had come forward to take our coats.

  ‘Be quick about it, Mallow,’ he ordered in his hectoring manner. ‘And then bring Inspector Whiffen to me at once. You know where to find him.’

  Hurriedly divesting ourselves of our outer garments, we turned to hasten after Hardern, who had gone charging ahead of us with the energy of a steam locomotive down a series of corridors and passages which led at last to the kitchen quarters.

  Here, our client unlocked a door which he then flung open with one sweep of his arm, at the same time announcing dramatically, ‘Take a look at that, gentlemen!’

  We found ourselves in a narrow pantry equipped with shelves and a sink with wooden draining-boards, above which a small casement window, less than three feet square, was swinging open upon its hinges.

  Below it, stamped in black ink on the whitewashed wall, was a single handprint, its fingers splayed out and so clearly delineated that, even from the doorway, it was possible to make out the individual lines and whorls which marked the surface of the skin.

  It was accompanied by a message in the same neat capital letters which the Black Hand had used in all his communications.

  ‘Your time has come, Hardern,’ it read. ‘Beware the terror that strikes at night.’

  ‘You see, Mr Holmes!’ the American millionaire was expostulating. ‘The infernal scoundrel has had the audacity to force his way into my house. It is not to be tolerated!’

  Holmes stepped forward to examine the casement, first shutting and then opening it again.

  ‘The window is loose in its frame,’ he announced. ‘It was simply a matter of inserting the blade of a knife, or a similar instrument, into the gap and lifting the catch. Was anyone disturbed by the intrusion?’

  ‘I heard nothing,’ Hardern informed him. ‘As for the servants, they sleep on the top floor of another wing. Inspector Whiffen questioned them earlier but they, too, were not aware that anything was amiss.’

  ‘Then who discovered the pantry had been broken into?’

  ‘The housekeeper. Fortunately, she is a sensible woman and came straight to me. After I had examined the scoundrel’s handiwork, I ordered her to lock the door and say nothing of her discovery on the threat of instant dismissal. I have no intention of allowing my affairs to become the subject of servants’ gossip. I then sent for Inspector Whiffen. Ah, I believe I hear him coming now!’

  All three of us turned at the sound of footsteps approaching along the stone-flagged passage to see a thick-set, blunt-featured man, accompanied by Mallow, the butler.

  It was obvious that Whiffen had already examined the black handprint and the message, for he hardly troubled to glance at them as Hardern introduced him to Holmes and myself.

  It was Mallow who was the more deeply affected. He had come to a halt in the passageway just behind the inspector and was staring fixedly over his shoulder, his pallid features even paler than usual and his eyes nearly starting out of his head in horrified consternation.

  ‘Oh, Mr Hardern!’ he gasped out involuntarily. ‘What a dreadful outrage, sir!’

  Hardern seemed aware for the first time of the butler’s presence.

  ‘Now you know why the police have been sent for,’ he said brusquely. ‘But, if you value your place, not a word to the other servants. It is none of their business. As far as they are concerned, an attempt was made last night to break into Marsham Hall; nothing more. That is why Inspector Whiffen and his men are here. You understand? Then you may go.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Mallow replied, his features resuming that expression of polite deference which a well-trained servant learns to maintain under all circumstances.

  ‘And now,’ Hardern continued, as the butler departed, ‘I suggest we lock this place up again and retire to discuss what is to be done. And I warn you, I expect action to be taken!’

  It was a demand which he repeated when, a few minutes later, we took our seats in the drawing-room.

  Hardern remained standing in front of the fireplace, glaring down at us with considerable disfavour.

  ‘So,’ he barked out, ‘exactly how do you propose laying this villain by the heels? Inspector Whiffen?’

  ‘Well, Mr Hardern,’ the inspector began, a little apprehensive at being called upon to speak first. ‘At present, I have my sergeant and a constable searching the grounds for the place where the man entered.’

  ‘But they cover several acres,’ Hardern protested. ‘It will take hours!’

  ‘I think not,’ Holmes interjected. He was sitting at ease in his chair, his legs crossed, not at all intimidated by our client’s blustering manner. ‘As all the letters were posted in Maidstone, I think we may safely assume that the Black Hand is residing somewhere in or near the town. I therefore propose that we begin our search in that part of the estate which adjoins the Maidstone road. Inspector Whiffen, if you and your colleagues would care to assist us, our task will be made lighter.’

  ‘What shall we be looking for, Mr Holmes?’ Whiffen enquired.

  ‘Any signs that someone has recently entered – a fresh footprint or newly disturbed undergrowth. In the meantime, you, Mr Hardern, will remain in the house.’

  ‘Now, see here, Mr Holmes …’ Hardern began in protest.

  ‘No, sir; you shall not accompany us,’ my old friend said sternly. ‘I cannot guarantee your safety. At this very moment, the Black Hand may be lurking somewhere nearby, waiting for you to emerge into the open. You have refused to take my advice in the past, Mr Hardern. This time I fully intend you shall obey my instructions.’

  It was quite clear from the millionaire’s expression that no one had ever before had the temerity to address him in this manner. But he offered no further objection and shortly afterwards the three of us, Holmes, Inspector Whiffen and I, left the house and, having collected the sergeant and the constable, who were poking about ineffectually in the shrubbery with sticks, we set off for that part of the estate which abutted the main road into Maidstone.

  On Holmes’ instructions, we spread out, each of us taking a separate stretch of the boundary hedge. It was Inspector Whiffen who found evidence of the intruder. ‘Over here, Mr Holmes!’ he called out.

  When we joined him, we found him pointing excitedly at some bushes, where there were clear signs in the disturbed foliage and the trampled earth below that someone had recently forced a way through the undergrowth.

  With the eagerness of a bloodhound hot upon the trail, Holmes threw himself down on his knees to examine the bush and the surrounding soil, subjecting both to a minute scrutiny, at the same time commenting aloud on each fresh discovery as much for his own benefit as ours.

  ‘See the way the leaves are broken! The twigs, too! As for the boot-marks, they are highly significant.’

  ‘Of what, Mr Holmes?’ Inspector Whiffen enquired in a baffled tone.

  ‘Of the fact that our quarry has broken into the grounds but has not yet broken out again. All the foliage is bent inwards. The footprints, too, point in only one direction. It means, gentlemen, that the Black Hand must be lying low somewhere in the grounds.’

  ‘Then should we widen the search, Mr Holmes?’ Whiffen asked, clearly depending on my old friend to make the decisions.

  ‘There is not time for th
at. We must use another stratagem,’ Holmes replied briskly. ‘We now know not only where he has made his entrance but where he will make his exit when he is in need of one. The man may be as cunning as a fox but, like all wild creatures, he will come and go by the same familiar path.’

  ‘So you think he will strike soon, Holmes?’ I asked.

  ‘Without a doubt; probably this very evening. The black hand and the message upon the pantry wall with its warning of terror by night suggest that the man is growing desperate. I fully expect this affair to come to a head very shortly and, when it does, we shall be ready with our trap in the shape of Inspector Whiffen here and his colleagues.’

  Turning to address the officer, he continued, ‘As soon as it grows dusk, I suggest you and your men conceal yourselves in the shrubbery, near to this bush, ready to arrest the Black Hand the moment he appears. Dr Watson, who is armed, will stay close to Mr Hardern in order to protect him while I shall also remain in the house in case of any attack in that quarter, although I do not expect the Black Hand to strike until much later tonight when everyone is in bed.’

  As events were to prove, Holmes was too sanguine in making this assertion.

  We returned to the house where the plan was put to our client, who listened attentively, only objecting to that part of it which concerned his own safety when he again showed that obstinacy of character which we had experienced before.

  ‘Now, see here, Mr Holmes!’ said he, bristling up at once. ‘Do you expect me to sit idly by, looked after by you and Dr Watson like a child by its nursemaids? No, sir! I have a gun and, by thunder, I mean to use it! I’ll have you know I am reckoned to be the best shot in the whole of West Virginia.’

  Once more, Holmes overrode him.

  His voice as cold and as cutting as steel, he replied, ‘I do not doubt it, Mr Hardern. However, I, too, have a reputation to preserve and that is to protect my client’s life at all costs. And now, sir, it will soon be growing dark. I suggest you make arrangements for Inspector Whiffen and his men to be given supper before they leave to set up their ambuscade.’

  His brow contracted, Hardern stalked across the room to ring the bell for Mallow to whom he conveyed these instructions and, shortly afterwards, Whiffen and the other officers were summoned to the servants’ hall.