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

by Thomson, June

  Never have I seen an individual more altered. From a tall, upright, vigorous man he was reduced to a pitiful, stooped wreck of his former self as he stood hesitating on the threshold, clutching his valise in his hand and peering about him uncertainly.

  ‘My dear fellow!’ I exclaimed, hurrying forward to greet him and trying to conceal my shock at his changed condition.

  As we shook hands, I was relieved to see a smile break upon his haggard countenance.

  ‘Watson!’ cried he. ‘What a pleasure to see you again after all these years!’ And then his expression changed and he gripped me fiercely by the arm. ‘In God’s name, do not tell me that you, too, are in this vile woman’s clutches!’

  ‘No, no,’ I hastened to assure him. ‘Quite the contrary. I am here to take you away. Mrs Rawley’s evil scheme has been exposed and you, my old friend, are a free man.’

  Under the circumstances, a lengthy explanation seemed inappropriate and I confined myself to introducing Warburton to Holmes and Inspector Davidson before giving him a brief account of the events which had led to our presence in Ivy House.

  Holmes and I departed soon afterwards for Guildford station, taking Hal Warburton with us and leaving the inspector to charge Mrs Rawley and Dr Ross Coombes with the various offences of which they had been accused and to some of which the doctor had already admitted his own guilt as well as Mrs Rawley’s.

  It was only when we were safely installed in the privacy of a first-class carriage on our way back to London that Hal Warburton was able to tell us how he himself had fallen victim to Mrs Rawley’s blackmail.

  As a medical practitioner as well as his friend, I was reassured to see that he had by then recovered a little from his dreadful ordeal at her hands and had regained some of his former assurance.

  He had first met her, he explained, when he was a young subaltern, stationed at Aldershot.11 As his father was dangerously ill at the time with pneumonia, he was given special leave to visit him on compassionate grounds. It was on this occasion that he first met Mrs Rawley, who had been called in by the family physician to nurse his father and who was then practising under the name of Miss Harding.

  ‘I must confess,’ Warburton admitted with a rueful glance in our direction, ‘that I immediately fell under her influence, as I believe she intended. In my own defence, I should perhaps add that concern over my father, as well as my own youth and inexperience in affairs of the heart, made me particularly vulnerable to Miss Harding’s charms. She was an exceedingly beautiful woman, older than I, and seemed of a warm and sympathetic nature. During the seven days I spent at my father’s house, a passionate relationship developed between us which continued through an exchange of letters after I returned to Aldershot. A few weeks later, my father died and I was again given leave to attend his funeral and to arrange his financial affairs. In the meantime, my ardour had somewhat cooled and I decided to break off my relationship with Miss Harding as being unsuitable.

  ‘However, when I spoke to her on the subject, she became extremely angry. I had compromised her good name, she told me, and unless I agreed to marry her immediately, she would be forced to write to my commanding officer and ask for an interview at which she would disclose the letters I had written to her.

  ‘As the scandal would have ruined my army career, I had no choice but to agree and we were married shortly afterwards at a quiet ceremony in London, attended by no one except two of the vicar’s elderly parishioners who acted as witnesses.

  ‘By mutual consent, we agreed to keep the marriage a secret and we parted immediately after the ceremony, I to return to my regiment, she to lodgings in Streatham where, as agreed between us, I sent her a monthly sum of money for her upkeep. I never saw her again. Less than a year later, I received a letter on her behalf from a solicitor, requesting that in future I paid her the allowance through him.’

  ‘Which no doubt increased over the years and which you continued to forward even after you were posted to India?’ Holmes enquired. ‘It was a clever scheme on her part, Colonel Warburton. By acting through a solicitor, Miss Harding, your so-called wife, was able to conceal from you her own whereabouts, should you have made enquiries, but to keep herself informed of yours.’

  ‘“So-called wife”!’ Hal Warburton exclaimed, starting up in his seat.

  ‘Indeed, yes,’ Holmes replied coolly, taking from his pocket a small notebook and turning the pages. ‘When I examined the documents which I extracted from Mrs Rawley’s bureau, I jotted down the dates of the various marriage certificates I found among them. Your wedding took place, I believe, on 25th November 1867? On that day, Mrs Rawley had already been married twice, once legally to a Mr Randolph Fairbrother, the second time bigamously to a Mr James Thirkettle, both of whom were paying her maintenance money through different solicitors and, like you, had no doubt good reasons for keeping their marriages secret. There were other subsequent husbands, five in all, whose names are not at this moment relevant.’

  ‘Then I am indeed a free man!’ Warburton gasped.

  ‘And legally married to your present wife,’ Holmes pointed out, at which my old army friend seized us both silently by the hand in turn, too overcome by emotion to express his feelings out loud.

  V

  ‘To give the lady her due, she showed great intelligence in her choice of prey,’ Holmes remarked, a note not unlike grudging admiration in his voice although his lean features bore an expression of extreme distaste.

  It was after our return to London when, on arriving at Waterloo, we had taken a hansom to our lodgings, having seen Hal Warburton into another cab to return to Hampstead and to a joyous reunion with his wife.

  ‘Quite reprehensible, of course,’ my old friend continued. ‘Blackmail is one of the vilest crimes12 which inflicts the most exquisite mental suffering upon its victims, the equivalent to death by a thousand cuts. From the moment you brought the case of Warburton’s alleged madness to me, it was quite apparent he was being blackmailed.’

  ‘Was it, Holmes? I must confess that such a thought never entered my head.’

  ‘My dear fellow, the signs were obvious in his insistence that his marriage in India should be kept secret and in his reluctance to return to this country. His lack of capital to set up home after he had resigned his commission also suggested the payment of extortion money. As a bachelor and a high-ranking officer, he should have had enough put aside from his army pay to guarantee himself a comfortable retirement, especially as his style of living, as you described it, was far from extravagant.

  ‘My suspicions were further aroused when I made enquiries into Ivy House. You yourself posed the question most succinctly, I thought. Why should Dr Ross Coombes, an elderly and famous neurologist, decide to open a clinic when, like Warburton, he should have been able to afford to retire in comfort? Why, indeed? It seemed highly likely that he, too, was a victim of blackmail.

  ‘As soon as I saw Mrs Rawley, I was convinced that she was the extortionist. Her manner towards Dr Ross Coombes, together with the fact that she appeared to have charge of the finances as well as making the decisions, all pointed in that direction.

  ‘You will recall that, when you paid over “Mr Escott’s” fees, she carried the money into an adjoining room, which apparently served both as her bed-chamber and her office. That, too, I found suspicious. There were plenty of rooms upstairs. Why, therefore, should she choose to sleep on the ground floor, unless it was to keep guard both day and night over something important, such as evidence which might prove her guilt? The most likely place of concealment seemed to be the bureau which I had observed in her room.

  ‘During my three days’ incarceration in Ivy House, I kept watch on Mrs Rawley’s movements and noted that her chamber was always kept locked. No one was allowed to enter it apart from the housemaid to clean it and even she was strictly supervised by Mrs Rawley.

  ‘My suspicions were now confirmed. But the dilemma remained of how to contrive Mrs Rawley’s absence from her room for l
ong enough to allow me to remove the evidence. Hence my little stratagem of smuggling you into the grounds of Ivy House and raising the alarm by ringing the bell.’

  ‘But why twice, Holmes?’ I interjected. ‘You were most insistent on that although, in the urgency of the occasion, there was not time for you to explain its importance.’

  ‘Because, my dear Watson, a single peal signified fire and I did not wish Mrs Rawley to believe the house was ablaze. Had she thought so, her first action would have been to save the documents from the conflagration, in a similar fashion to another lady of our acquaintance.13 That was not my intention at all. A double peal, however, signalled any other emergency, apart from fire, of sufficient gravity to rouse the household. The alarm instructions, by the way, were posted up in the hall for all to study, including myself. In the meantime, I had left my room by the back stairs and concealed myself in the lobby. As soon as Mrs Rawley, together with Dr Ross Coombes and other members of the staff, had vacated the premises to discover the cause of the alarm, I picked the lock of Mrs Rawley’s door, which she had taken the precaution of securing behind her, and let you in through the window.’

  ‘But were they not suspicious when they discovered there was no emergency?’

  ‘At first; especially Mrs Rawley. But when, on her return, she found that both her room and her bureau were still locked and that nothing had been disturbed, it was assumed that one of the village youths had rung the bell as a prank. By great good fortune, Mrs Rawley had no reason to open the cash-box this morning, otherwise she would have found it empty.

  ‘To continue with my account. After your departure, I returned to my room by the same route and spent the next few hours until daylight examining Mrs Rawley’s documents and making notes upon their contents which established her guilt as a blackmailer as well as a bigamist, a career which had extended over many years. As a nurse, she gained access to many wealthy households and was therefore in a privileged position to discover those guilty secrets which the families preferred not to be made public. She then used that knowledge to extort money from her victims. In addition, she was, when younger, an extremely beautiful woman, an advantage she used to ensnare any suitable gentlemen into marriage, often the sons or other male relatives of the patients she was called upon to nurse, such as your friend Warburton, who were then forced to pay her maintenance.

  ‘As her charms faded, she turned to other methods, using Dr Ross Coombes as a means to extract further payments from those unfortunate individuals who were already at her mercy. Whenever she felt the need for money or, more to her purpose, the desire to gloat over their suffering, they were forced to admit themselves to the clinic, for which doubtful pleasure they were charged an exorbitant sum in the way of fees. In this manner, both her mercenary as well as her crueller inclinations were satisfied. It was a brilliantly wicked scheme for, on the face of it, it appeared perfectly legitimate, especially as the clinic was ostensibly owned by such a well-known specialist as Dr Ross Coombes.

  ‘I have estimated that, over the years Mrs Rawley was active as a blackmailer, she must have amassed a fortune of over £50,000. No doubt the full facts will come to light when the case is brought to court.’

  A few months later, during the trial at Guildford Assizes, Holmes was proved to be correct to within a few hundred pounds.

  At this hearing, Dr Ross Coombes was true to his word and pleaded guilty. Mrs Rawley also entered the same plea. Faced with his decision and the weight of evidence against her, she had no other choice.

  Holmes and I were not called upon to attend. Because of the guilty pleas, our part in the affair was not made public and we were not asked to give evidence.

  Nor, to my immense relief, were Colonel Warburton and Mrs Rawley’s other victims, who were merely referred to at the trial by letters of the alphabet.

  Both Mrs Rawley and Dr Ross Coombes were sentenced to terms of imprisonment, she to ten years, as the more guilty of the two. In view of his lesser part in the affair, Dr Ross Coombes received a shorter sentence.

  As far as I have been able to ascertain, he retired to a small house in Kent on his release from prison, where he died a few years later in decent obscurity.

  As for Hal Warburton, I kept up my friendship with him, my wife and I often dining at their house and they at ours.

  There remained only one minor mystery which, in the excitement of following up the complexities of the case, I had entirely forgotten.

  It was finally solved one evening during the time when the trial was still being held at Guildford.

  I had called on Holmes to avail myself of his copies of the more sensational newspapers which I would not allow into my house for the sake of my wife and the servants.

  ‘Holmes,’ said I, the thought suddenly occurring to me, ‘what was the significance of the sprig of myrtle?’

  Much amused, he looked up from his own edition of the penny press.

  ‘My dear fellow, the answer is there in front of you if you care to read carefully through the reports of the various pseudonyms Mrs Rawley used when marrying her husbands. Miss Rose Bannister. Miss Lily Fletcher. Need I go on, apart from pointing out that a violet and a daisy were also pressed into service? In summoning her spouses to the nursing-home, Mrs Rawley enclosed with the official letter a floral emblem of the name by which each of them would have known her, in case there was any question of her identity. Under the circumstances, the apparent interpretation of myrtle as a symbol of maidenly love has a peculiarly ironic ring to it, does it not?

  ‘The language of flowers, Watson! To her victims, it must have seemed more like a communication from hell itself! I am inclined to agree with Falstaff, that wise old reprobate, when he referred to women as “devils incarnate”,14 for when they turn to crime, no mere man is capable of matching the subtlety of their wickedness.’

  1 According to Dr John H. Watson, he introduced only two cases to Mr Sherlock Holmes, that of Mr Hatherley’s thumb, an account of which he published under the title of ‘The Adventure of the Engineer’s Thumb’, and that of Colonel Warburton’s madness. However, an account of a third case was discovered by my late uncle, Dr John F. Watson, among Dr John H. Watson’s alleged private papers, deposited at his bank, Cox & Co. of Charing Cross. This was later published in The Secret Files of Sherlock Holmes under the title of ‘The Case of the Amateur Mendicants’. However, I cannot guarantee its authenticity. Aubrey B. Watson.

  2 Shortly before his marriage to Miss Mary Morstan, Dr John H. Watson purchased a practice in Paddington. However, by June 1890, the date of the adventure involving Mr Jabez Wilson, he was practising in Kensington. Vide: ‘The Red-Headed League’. Dr John F. Watson.

  3 Dr John H. Watson was struck in the shoulder by a Jezail bullet but there are also references to his ‘wounded leg’. Vide: A Study in Scarlet and The Sign of Four. Dr John F. Watson.

  4 On being invalided out of the army, Dr John H. Watson received a pension of eleven shillings and sixpence a day. It was because of financial difficulties that he agreed to share lodgings with Mr Sherlock Holmes at 221B Baker Street. Dr John F. Watson.

  5 Queen Victoria’s daughter, Victoria, the Princess Royal, carried a sprig of myrtle in her bouquet at her wedding in 1858 to the future German Emperor. It was from a cutting from this sprig that a bush was grown at Osborne which supplied sprays of myrtle for other royal wedding bouquets. Dr John F. Watson.

  6 The relative was almost certainly an aunt whom Mrs Watson had visited on other occasions. Vide: ‘The Five Orange Pips’. Dr John F. Watson.

  7 Escott was the pseudonym used by Mr Sherlock Holmes when, disguised as a plumber, he became engaged to Charles Augustus Milverton’s housemaid, Agatha, in order to gain entry to the house. Vide: ‘The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton’. Dr John F. Watson.

  8 Dr John H. Watson had two medical colleagues who looked after his practice, presumably in Paddington, during his absence. However, in ‘The Final Problem’, dated 1891, by which time he had move
d to Kensington, he refers to ‘an accommodating neighbour’ who was willing to oblige him in a similar manner. Dr John F. Watson.

  9 Dr John H. Watson comments that, in adopting a disguise, Mr Sherlock Holmes’ ‘expression, his manner, his very soul seemed to vary with every fresh part that he assumed.’ Vide: ‘A Scandal in Bohemia’. Dr John F. Watson.

  10 Mr Sherlock Holmes possessed a ‘first-class, up-to-date burgling kit’ equipped with a ‘nickel-plated jemmy, a diamond-tipped glass cutter, adaptable keys and every modern improvement.’ Vide: ‘The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton’. Dr John F. Watson.

  11 Aldershot, in Hampshire, contains the largest military camp in the British Isles. It was at Aldershot that Mr Sherlock Holmes investigated the supposed murder of Colonel Barclay of the Royal Mallows. Vide: ‘The Adventure of the Crooked Man’. Dr John F. Watson.

  12 In speaking of another blackmailer, Charles Augustus Milverton, Mr Sherlock Holmes remarks that not even the worst murderer gave him such a feeling of revulsion. Vide: ‘The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton’. Dr John F. Watson.

  13 Mr Sherlock Holmes is almost certainly referring to Miss Irene Adler, who revealed the hiding-place of the King of Bohemia’s photograph when he tricked her into thinking the house was on fire. As he remarks, when faced with such an emergency, a woman’s ‘instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she values most’. Vide: ‘A Scandal in Bohemia’. Dr John F. Watson.

  14 In Shakespeare’s Henry V, Act II, Scene 3, Sir John Falstaff said that ‘the devil himself would have about him women’ for they themselves were ‘devils incarnate’. Dr John F. Watson.

  THE CASE OF THE ADDLETON TRAGEDY

  I

  As I acknowledged in ‘The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez’, so many cases were undertaken by my old friend Sherlock Holmes in the year 1894 that, when I looked through the three large volumes containing my notes, I was hard put to it to decide which of them deserved publication. Choosing between the merits of one particular inquiry compared to another is never easy. However, it was with considerable reluctance that I have decided, at Holmes’ specific request, not to publish the following account of the Addleton tragedy.