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

by Thomson, June

  Naturally, I am disappointed, for it possesses some singular features, most particularly in the light it sheds on the darker side of human nature. However, I feel obliged to bow to Holmes’ opinion and I shall therefore lay this narrative to one side among my other unpublished papers.

  It was, I recall, one early afternoon in mid-November1 when our client, Miss Rose Addleton, was shown into our sitting-room in Baker Street.

  She was a pretty, slightly built young lady, not more than one and twenty, charmingly dressed in blue and carrying a serviceable leather hand-grip which seemed out of keeping with the daintiness of the rest of her attire.

  ‘I trust you will forgive me, Mr Holmes, for my unexpected arrival without an appointment or a preliminary letter,’ she said with admirable directness, after she had introduced herself. ‘But the matter is so urgent, as we are in London for only a short time, that I have come in the hope you will grant me an immediate consultation.’

  ‘“We”?’ Holmes enquired, inviting her most cordially to sit down. He seemed as touched as I by her youthful dignity.

  ‘My parents and I. It is at my mother’s request that I am here. She is most anxious, as I am, too, about my father, Professor Henry Addleton.’

  ‘Not Professor Addleton of Christchurch College, Oxford?’

  ‘Yes, the very same. You know him?’

  ‘I read his treatise Ancient British Monuments and Burial Sites when it was published in 1882. It is a most erudite and scholarly work. I take it, from your earlier remarks, that you have come without your father’s knowledge?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Holmes. Indeed, I am sure he would be very angry if he knew I was discussing his affairs in this manner. I should explain that we came down from Oxford only this morning and shall stay overnight at Bentley’s Hotel.2 At present, my parents are visiting the British Museum. On the pretext of a headache, I stayed behind so that I might have the opportunity of consulting you in their absence. Tomorrow morning, my mother and I will leave to stay with relatives in Kent while my father will set off to spend a week in Cornwall. It is on account of his visit there that I have come to see you.’

  ‘I think,’ said Holmes, leaning back in his chair and regarding her with the keenest attention, ‘that you had better give me a full account.’

  ‘I am not sure myself of the whole story; neither is my mother,’ Miss Addleton replied. ‘However, these are the facts, as far as I know them.

  ‘About ten days ago, my father received a letter from a Mr Montagu Webb of Tintagel in the county of Cornwall. In his letter, which my father read aloud for my mother’s and my benefit, Mr Webb explained that he was an amateur archaeologist whose hobby is to study the prehistoric sites on Bodmin Moor. It is his intention to write a monograph on the subject for the local historical society.

  ‘In the course of his explorations, he had discovered a hitherto unknown ancient British barrow, close to a disused mine known as Wheal Agnes. There had evidently been heavy rain for several days which had washed away part of the mound, revealing a corner of a cist grave.3 Telling no one of his discovery, Mr Webb returned to the site the following day and, by digging away the remainder of the earth, was able to expose the burial chamber fully. When he removed the slabs of stone covering it, he discovered traces of human remains together with pottery and other objects which had been buried with the body.

  ‘My father was extremely excited by Mr Webb’s letter. As you know, Mr Holmes, he specialises in ancient British history and the discovery of a previously unknown barrow with its contents still intact is a rare event indeed.4

  ‘He immediately entered into correspondence with Mr Webb, instructing him to say nothing about the find and to cover up the burial chamber temporarily until he himself could examine it. He also asked Mr Montagu Webb to make arrangements for him to visit Cornwall as soon as possible, so eager was he to begin his own excavations.

  ‘A few days later, my father received another letter from Mr Webb informing him that he had carried out his instructions and suggesting that my father catch the 10.55 from Paddington to Bodmin on Friday; that is tomorrow. Mr Webb would meet him at Bodmin station and would book rooms for them both at the Blue Boar for the week. They would then have seven whole days in which to uncover the barrow and study the grave and its contents at their leisure.

  ‘With the letter, Mr Webb sent a small package containing three sample pieces of some of the broken pottery he had found in the cist chamber. It was on receiving them that my father began behaving in a most strange manner.’

  ‘I assume he was angry that the pottery had been removed from the site?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Mr Holmes; very angry indeed. He is strongly of the opinion that all excavations should be carried out under strict scientific methods and that nothing should be moved until it has been properly recorded in situ. He accused Mr Webb of unprofessional conduct, although I understand that his action in forwarding the pottery shards was well meant. It was to give my father the opportunity of examining them in detail before undertaking the journey to Cornwall. But there was something else which had a more profound effect on him than the mere receipt of the pottery.’

  ‘What was that, pray?’

  ‘The pottery itself. It was after he had examined it that his behaviour showed such a marked change.’

  ‘How precisely?’

  ‘He became extremely morose, cancelled all his lectures and tutorials and remained in his study for most of the day, emerging only for meals. At night, my mother and I could hear him pacing up and down until the early hours of the morning. It is unusual for him, although I can remember him behaving in a similar manner in the past.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘The first time was twelve years ago when I was only nine.’

  ‘So there have been other occasions?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Mr Holmes. As I grew older, I noticed they occurred every spring.’

  ‘Can you be more exact?’

  ‘It was invariably towards the beginning of March. He would become increasingly withdrawn and silent, hardly exchanging a word with either my mother or myself. Then, after about ten days, his agitation would reach a climax. This always happened in the morning, when the first post was due to be delivered. Instead of waiting for the maid to bring it in, he would take it himself from the postman, as if he were expecting a certain letter to arrive. He would then shut himself up in his study and the same pattern would repeat itself. He would refuse to leave the house and we would hear him walking restlessly about late at night. After a fortnight, his conduct would gradually return to normal.’

  ‘How long did this continue?’

  ‘For five years and then quite suddenly it stopped. I have reason to recall the date with absolute certainty. It was 21st February, my father’s birthday. It was his habit to retire to his study after breakfast with The Times before leaving for college. He was already beginning to show those signs of unease which always occurred in the early spring. But on that particular morning, he came hurrying out of his study, a changed man. By nature, he is not normally jovial, nor does he find it easy to express his emotions. But I remarked how cheerful he looked. He was smiling broadly, like someone relieved of a dreadful burden. After that, he never again showed the same deterioration in his conduct until a few days ago, when he received the pottery samples from Mr Montagu Webb.’

  ‘Was your mother able to offer any explanation for these changes in his manner?’

  ‘No, Mr Holmes; although I asked her the first time he became so taciturn, assuming it was I who had unwittingly displeased him by some childish misdemeanour. But she assured me that he was suffering from overwork. However, a child can often perceive the truth more clearly than an adult and I remember thinking that he seemed more frightened than tired.’

  ‘Frightened? Of what, pray?’

  ‘I wish I knew, Mr Holmes! Since this recent recurrence of his strange conduct, my mother has taken me into her confidence and expressed her concern more openly, parti
cularly as I myself am so much older. Indeed, it was on her urging I have come to consult you. But even she is uncertain of the precise nature of the problem, except that it seems to be connected with some incident in my father’s past, exactly what she does not know as he has refused to discuss the matter with her. Whatever it is, she is convinced his life is threatened in some way. I have heard her pleading with him on several occasions not to go to Cornwall. However, he seems determined to undertake the journey. I think he himself is aware that some danger awaits him there which, for some unknown reason, he cannot, indeed must not, avoid.’

  ‘And it would appear that he was warned of that danger when he examined the ancient British pottery, sent to him by Mr Montagu Webb?’ Holmes enquired.

  ‘So it would seem,’ Miss Addleton replied. Opening the leather hand-grip, she took out a box about six inches square which she handed to Holmes. ‘I have the shards here, Mr Holmes. I took the opportunity of removing them from my father’s valise so that you might examine them.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Holmes exclaimed. Rising eagerly from his chair, he carried the box over to his desk where, having taken off the lid and unwrapped the pieces of pottery from their protective wadding, he subjected each in turn to a minute scrutiny with the aid of his powerful magnifying glass.

  During this examination, Miss Addleton and I watched in silence, the young lady with some trepidation, I agog with curiosity to know what, if any, evidence Holmes might discover. It was impossible to tell from his expression. His lean profile was as inscrutable as a Red Indian’s when at last, laying down the lens, he turned to us.

  ‘Interesting!’ was all he vouchsafed to remark, before adding, ‘Would you care to look at them, Watson?’

  I accepted the invitation with alacrity, crossing to the desk and, as Holmes had done, studying all three shards separately, first with the naked eye, then under the glass.

  Each of them was not much larger than a half-crown and was composed of coarse, gritty clay which, when magnified, showed unmistakable signs of having been hand-worked. Two bore an elaborate zigzag pattern, deeply incised, while the third, evidently part of a rim, was decorated with small indentations to resemble the twists in a piece of rope.

  ‘Well, Watson?’ Holmes enquired when I had finished my examination. ‘What are your conclusions?’

  ‘I am no expert,’ I protested. ‘However, they seem perfectly genuine to me.’

  ‘Oh, my dear fellow, there is no question of that. They are perfect examples of ancient British pottery of the Bronze Age period.5 Have you no other comments you wish to make?’

  ‘Only that they seem remarkably clean.’

  Holmes smiled at my ignorance. ‘Not surprising, Watson. Mr Montagu Webb would hardly have sent them to Professor Addleton with the earth of the barrow still clinging to them. And now, Miss Addleton, since my colleague appears to have completed his examination, I shall return the samples to your safe keeping. No doubt, you will wish to replace them before your father discovers they are missing.’ Quickly rewrapping the shards in the wadding, he packed them in their box which he handed to her with a slight bow. ‘Dr Watson will escort you downstairs and call a cab to take you back to your hotel.’

  Miss Addleton received the box with evident reluctance. She seemed as bewildered as I by Holmes’ dismissive manner and the haste with which he had concluded the interview.

  ‘Then you have decided you cannot help, Mr Holmes?’ she asked.

  Holmes raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Whatever gave you that impression, Miss Addleton? I have every intention of accepting the case. It has some most interesting features. You and your mother may rest assured that Dr Watson and myself will investigate the evidence with the greatest assiduity.’

  ‘What evidence, Holmes?’ I enquired when, having seen Miss Addleton into a hansom, I returned to our sitting-room.

  ‘The pottery, of course,’ he replied.

  In my absence, he had lit his pipe and was seated in the armchair by the fire, his legs stretched out to the blaze and his head wreathed in smoke.

  ‘But you said it was genuine!’ I exclaimed, greatly astonished.

  ‘So it is, my dear fellow. However, it is not entirely what it seems. In whatever ancient barrow it may have been discovered, it was not found recently as Mr Montagu Webb asserted in his letter.’

  ‘What makes you so sure?’

  ‘Because of certain marks I found on the shards. Although, as you rightly pointed out, the pottery had been washed free of dirt, it was something else remaining behind which was significant.’

  ‘I do not follow you. To what are you referring?’

  ‘To a small, round, sticky patch on the back of each piece. I can see from your expression, Watson, that you not only failed to observe them but you still have not grasped their significance for our inquiry. Then permit me to explain. The patches indicate that the shards have been labelled at some point. As the gum was discoloured by age, it further suggests that this was not done recently. Therefore, one can only assume that the pottery was part of a collection, presumably Mr Montagu Webb’s, and that, having removed some identifying labels, possibly catalogue numbers, he then posted them to Professor Addleton, claiming he had discovered them only a short time before in a previously unexcavated barrow on Bodmin Moor.

  ‘Two questions arise from this conjecture. Firstly, what was Mr Montagu Webb’s motive in doing so? We may not discover the answer to that until the case has been solved. My second question is this. Was Professor Addleton aware of Mr Montagu Webb’s deception? I think we may safely deduce from his conduct after he examined the pottery that he not only knew of it but the discovery frightened him.

  ‘During the interview with Miss Addleton, we further learnt that her father’s behaviour had undergone similar changes in the past, the first occasion being twelve years ago. I find that highly pertinent.’

  ‘Do you, Holmes? To what?’

  ‘My dear Watson,’ Holmes replied, ‘you were present during the interview with the young lady and therefore should be as familiar as I with the relevant data. If you care to think back over what was said, you should be capable of making the connection for yourself. It is simply a matter of dates although, you may take my word for it, the successful outcome of the case may depend upon it.

  ‘To continue my explanation. Miss Addleton was of the opinion that the answer lay in some secret in her father’s past, so carefully hidden that even her mother was not aware of its exact nature except she feared it presented a threat to her husband’s life.’

  At this point, Holmes broke off to put a question directly to me. ‘Have you any dark secrets which you yourself would have hesitated to confide in your own wife?’6

  I was quite taken aback.

  ‘No, Holmes,’ I replied, at last. ‘I can think of nothing.’

  ‘I can well believe it, my dear fellow. There is an honest transparency about you which I find altogether refreshing. But let us suppose there was some event in your past which you would prefer remained hidden. What might it consist of?’

  ‘Something I was deeply ashamed of,’ I suggested tentatively.

  Holmes seized on my remark. ‘Watson, you may have supplied the answer! Shame can be as strong an emotion as love or hate, anger or greed. It may explain why Professor Addleton, despite his obvious fear of the consequences, is determined to travel down to Bodmin tomorrow. It is possible that, having lived with that shame and the fear for so long, he feels he must face them both in order finally to expiate them. However, all this is mere speculation. It is facts we must seek out. They are the very bricks on which any successful investigation is founded, otherwise one is building with straw. I therefore propose making a few preliminary enquiries into the case without further delay. In the meantime, Watson, you can assist me by looking up the time of the trains to Bodmin for tomorrow morning. As Professor Addleton is catching the 10.55, I suggest we travel by an earlier one.’

  ‘So you intend going down to C
ornwall?’ I asked, reaching for the timetable from the bookcase.

  Holmes raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Of course, my dear fellow. There is a limit to the amount of data I can uncover in London. It is on Bodmin Moor that the mystery of the ancient British barrow will be solved.’

  ‘There is the 9.05 from Paddington,’ I informed him.

  ‘Then we shall take that,’ Holmes remarked, rising to his feet and crossing to the door where he paused to add, ‘While I am gone, you may care to undertake a little research of your own, my dear fellow. If you look on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, you will find a copy of Professor Addleton’s treatise, which may prove illuminating, particularly with regard to the crucial matter of the date. May I recommend that you read with care the first few pages?’

  With that closing comment, he bustled out of the room and moments later I heard him whistling below in the street for a hansom.7

  He was gone for several hours, not returning until it was almost time for dinner.

  In his absence, I took his advice and, having found the volume, settled down by the fire to examine it. It was a large book, handsomely bound in red and lavishly illustrated with drawings of artefacts discovered at various prehistoric sites, including pottery of the type Montagu Webb had sent to Professor Addleton. But I confess I could make nothing of the date, although I noted it had been published by Snelling and Broadbent in 1882.

  Nor were the front pages any more revealing. They consisted merely of a frontispiece on which the title and the name of the author were set out, followed by a second page devoted to the dedications. The first and longer was to the professor’s wife, Elizabeth Mary Addleton, in which, in a charmingly worded paragraph, he expressed his gratitude for her unfailing support and encouragement during the many years it had taken him to compile the volume.