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

by Thomson, June

  ‘It was not until this morning when Mrs Mortimer called at my office, most anxious about her husband’s whereabouts, that I realised he had disappeared.

  ‘I now feel able to voice certain misgivings which I could not have expressed in her presence. They concern Mr Johnathen Smith’s conduct yesterday afternoon.

  ‘When he arrived at the Grange, I noticed he was highly agitated, a state of mind I put down to his reluctance to come face to face with his cousin. In addition, he was somewhat dishevelled in appearance.

  ‘At the time, I thought little of it. However, when Mrs Mortimer informed me of her husband’s disappearance, I recalled these facts which I feel it is my duty to pass on to you, Mr Holmes, now that you have agreed to take on the case. They may, of course, have no bearing on your own enquiries. I sincerely trust that they do not.’

  ‘You think that Mr Smith may have been involved in his cousin’s disappearance?’ Holmes asked abruptly.

  Mr Berkinshaw seemed taken aback by his directness.

  ‘It is not my place to draw conclusions. I leave that to you and the official police. However, as I have agreed to act as Mrs Mortimer’s legal adviser in this affair, I have to bear her interests in mind and those of her small son. In her husband’s absence, she has no one else to turn to. I have already passed the same information regarding Mr Smith to Inspector Lestrade. It seemed only right that you should also be apprised of those facts.

  ‘I intend going down later today to Boxstead in case Inspector Lestrade should require my assistance. I have already sent a telegram to Mrs Deakin, the housekeeper, warning her to expect me. I assume that you, too, will prefer to begin your own enquiries in Essex, rather than in London?’

  ‘In view of what you have told me, it seems the logical place to start,’ Holmes agreed.

  ‘Then perhaps we may travel together?’ Mr Berkinshaw suggested pleasantly, rising and holding out his hand. ‘I propose catching the 2.10 from Liverpool Street station, the one which Mr Eugene Mortimer should have caught yesterday.’

  ‘Dr Watson and I shall be on it,’ Holmes assured him, accompanying him to the door.

  On his return, he held up a warning hand.

  ‘No, Watson,’ said he, ‘not a word about the case. I refuse to discuss it until we have found if Mr Eugene Mortimer did indeed arrive at Boxstead Halt yesterday afternoon. Until that simple fact is established, we shall be indulging in mere speculation. Even Inspector Lestrade is aware of its importance to the investigation, for he is apparently travelling down to Essex with that same question in mind. And now, my dear fellow, if you care to pass over those papers lying beside you on the table, I shall continue my study of the Saltmarsh affair, a curious business but one at least in which the main evidence is beyond doubt.’

  There was no further discussion of the Smith-Mortimer case, not even later on the train down to Essex in company with Mr Berkinshaw, Holmes making it clear that he preferred a more general conversation.

  It ranged over a series of topics until the train drew into Boxstead Halt, a small rural station, where we alighted and where Holmes immediately sought out a railway official. The only one he found on duty was a rubicund, middle-aged man who appeared to combine the functions of station-master and porter as well as ticket-clerk and collector.

  On Holmes’ enquiring if a gentleman had alighted from the 3.55 train the previous afternoon, he answered at once in a strong local accent.

  ‘Yes, ’ee did, sur. I punched ’is ticket for ’un meself. A return it was, from Lunnon. You’re the second gen’leman to be asking after ’im. T’other one was a lean, ferrety-faced fellow in a tweed suit; said ’e was from Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Inspector Lestrade,’ Holmes said, suppressing a smile at this unflattering description.

  ‘’Ee didn’t give ’is name. ’Ee just asked about the passenger off the train. Well, I’ll tell ’ee the same as I told ’im. The gen’leman set off up the road in the direction of the Grange. I know, ’cos I watched him as far as the bend by that little wood. After that, I lost sight of ’im be’ind the trees. And that’s all I knows.’

  ‘So it would appear then,’ remarked Holmes as he thanked the man and we passed through the station barrier, ‘that Mr Eugene Mortimer arrived safely. That fact, at least, is now established.’

  ‘But disappeared somewhere along this road before he reached the Grange,’ Mr Berkinshaw interjected, his features assuming a most grave expression.

  ‘Which lies where?’

  ‘Over to our left behind that small beech wood which is where the station-master last saw him. You may just catch a glimpse of the chimneys above the tree-tops,’ Mr Berkinshaw explained, pointing towards a copse, the foliage of which was already turning russet-coloured with the onset of autumn.

  ‘Then let us follow the same route,’ Holmes proposed.

  The road was little wider than a lane and meandered along in the desultory fashion of such rural byways between high hedges. There were no footpaths, only wide grassy verges.

  After about a five minutes’ walk, we reached the copse and the turning where the road swung sharply to the left in the direction of the Grange, which was where Mr Eugene Mortimer had disappeared from view.

  It was also here, as we turned the corner, that we caught sight of Inspector Lestrade.

  He was standing in the centre of the road, in company with another officer in uniform, a stout, red-faced man, and was directing the activities of half a dozen constables who, like beaters at a pheasant shoot, were making their way slowly along the verges, searching the hedges and peering over gates into adjoining fields.

  Several conveyances, including a gig and a wagonette, were drawn up at the roadside.

  Inspector Lestrade came forward to meet us, shaking hands cordially with Mr Berkinshaw but greeting Holmes and me more coolly.

  ‘I think it is hardly worth your trouble coming all the way down from London, Mr Holmes,’ he remarked. ‘But since you are here, let me introduce you to Inspector Jenks of the Essex Constabulary whom I telegraphed this morning to meet me at Boxstead Halt. As soon as we discovered Mr Eugene Mortimer had indeed arrived off the London train, he sent his sergeant to Fordham for extra men to help in the search for the missing gentleman. They arrived only ten minutes ago so we have not yet proceeded very far. I should add,’ Lestrade continued with a self-satisfied smile, ‘that I have been asked to take charge of the investigation. In the meantime, there is little either you or Dr Watson can do. I suggest you accompany Mr Berkinshaw to Woodside Grange where you will find Mr Johnathen Smith.’

  ‘Mr Smith is here?’ Mr Berkinshaw asked in great surprise.

  Inspector Lestrade’s smile broadened.

  ‘We don’t let the grass grow under our feet at Scotland Yard, sir. Soon after you called on me this morning, I went round to see Mr Smith at his hotel on my way to Liverpool Street station in order to inform him of his cousin’s disappearance, about which he denies all knowledge. He insisted on coming down here to Boxstead.’

  ‘Then he is not under arrest?’ Holmes put in quickly.

  ‘No, Mr Holmes. He is merely helping with enquiries. However, as it is clear Mr Eugene Mortimer disappeared somewhere in this vicinity and Mr Smith was in the neighbourhood at the same time …’

  He broke off as one of the constables, who was searching the right-hand side of the lane ahead of us, raised an arm and called out urgently, ‘Over here, Inspector!’

  Lestrade set off along the road at a brisk pace, Holmes and I, together with Mr Berkinshaw and Inspector Jenks, following hard at his heels.

  The constable was standing by a gate which gave access to a meadow.

  As soon as we reached the place, we could see what had attracted the man’s attention. Lying in the field, about three yards from the gateway, was a bowler hat.

  ‘Good man!’ Lestrade exclaimed, clapping the constable on the shoulder.

  He was about to open the gate and retrieve the hat when Holmes put out a hand to de
tain him.

  ‘One moment, Inspector,’ said he. ‘There is something else here which I think you should examine first.’

  ‘And what is that?’ Lestrade demanded, reluctantly turning back.

  Holmes was pointing to the verge.

  ‘If you look to the right of the gate you will see the grass is flattened as if someone has been standing there. There is also a cigar butt lying nearby; a Dutch cheroot, if I am not mistaken.’

  Mr Berkinshaw gave a violent start. ‘Are you sure, Mr Holmes?’

  ‘Without a doubt. Its thinness makes it quite distinctive. You seem shocked by the discovery?’

  ‘I have noticed Mr Smith is in the habit of smoking Dutch cheroots,’ Mr Berkinshaw replied in a pained voice.

  ‘Is that so?’ Lestrade exclaimed. ‘Then that could be crucial evidence. I am surprised the constable failed to notice it.’

  Stooping down, he picked up the cigar butt, placing it in an envelope which he stowed away carefully in his pocket while the constable, so recently praised, looked on, much abashed.

  ‘And now,’ said Lestrade, opening the gate, ‘for the bowler hat.’

  ‘Which I have no doubt will prove to be the property of the missing heir,’ Holmes murmured to me in an aside.

  I looked at him somewhat askance, finding it difficult to judge his mood. There was the familiar air of suppressed excitement about him which was always evident at the beginning of a case. But on this occasion, it was tempered by a touch of wry amusement which I could not account for unless it was caused by Lestrade’s criticism of the constable when the inspector himself had failed to observe either the cigar butt or the flattened grass.

  But whatever had aroused my old friend’s derision, his prediction concerning the ownership of the bowler hat proved correct for, as we caught up with the others who had gone ahead of us, we heard Lestrade give an exclamation of triumph as he turned the hat over to examine the inner band.

  ‘See here, gentlemen!’ said he. ‘The letters E.M.! I think you will agree it must be Mr Eugene Mortimer’s. The question now is – where is its owner?’

  Holmes, showing scant interest in Lestrade’s discovery, had strolled a few yards further on, hands clasped behind his back, head lowered, apparently following some faint traces in the grass which only he had noticed.

  He came to a halt beside a clump of bushes where he remained standing for several moments. Then, taking out his pocket lens, he scrutinised one of those bushes closely before turning and walking back to where we were still clustered about Lestrade.

  ‘Inspector,’ said he quietly, ‘if you care to walk in that direction, you will find, hidden in the undergrowth, the body of a man which I have no doubt Mr Berkinshaw will identify as that of Mr Eugene Mortimer. Judging by the cord about his neck, he has been strangled.

  ‘However, before you hasten off, may I draw your attention to the two faint parallel tracks in the grass? It was they which led me to the body. They suggest that whoever committed the murder dragged his victim along by the armpits, causing the heels of the dead man’s boots to make those tracks. You will, however, find no footprints. The ground is unfortunately too dry.

  ‘Caught on a bramble close by the body, you will also find a coat button to which a few light brown threads are still attached.’

  I saw Lestrade exchange a significant glance with Inspector Jenks at this last piece of information and then the two of them, accompanied by Mr Berkinshaw, hurried off towards the clump of bushes, taking care not to tread on the tracks which Holmes had indicated.

  ‘You are not coming, Holmes?’ I enquired when he showed no sign of following after them.

  ‘No, Watson. I have seen enough. But do not let me prevent you from making your own examination of the body. As a medical man, you will be able to advise Lestrade as to an approximate time of death.’

  The corpse, that of a young man in his early thirties, lay in a dry, shallow ditch and was almost completely concealed by a thick undergrowth of brambles. It was turned on its side so that most of the features were mercifully hidden from view, apart from one cheek, livid with suffused blood, and the back of the neck where the cord used to strangle him had bitten deep into the flesh.

  He had been dead for at least twenty hours, judging by the rigidity of the muscles,4 information I passed on to Inspector Lestrade who, as I arrived, was in the act of removing a small brown button which was caught on a nearby bramble.

  ‘You have identified him?’ I asked of Mr Berkinshaw, although I already knew from his grave expression as well as those of the two inspectors that the body was indeed that of the missing Eugene Mortimer.

  ‘I am sorry to say I have,’ Mr Berkinshaw replied. ‘It is a dreadful business, Dr Watson. I do not know how I shall break the news to his widow. She will be inconsolable.’

  ‘And it will not help her to know that the evidence suggests her husband’s cousin may have committed the murder,’ Lestrade interjected.

  Mr Berkinshaw was quick to object to this remark. ‘Surely you are jumping to conclusions, Inspector?’

  ‘I think not, Mr Berkinshaw. You yourself have admitted that the cigar butt found by the gate is the same brand as those smoked by Mr Smith. There is also the question of motive. Jealousy. A very powerful emotion is jealousy. It is quite clear Smith harboured a long-standing grudge against his cousin for marrying the woman he himself loved. Then there is this button with the brown threads. You saw Mr Smith yesterday, Mr Berkinshaw. What type of coat was he wearing?’

  ‘A light brown tweed ulster,’ Mr Berkinshaw replied unhappily.

  ‘From which I have no doubt you will find a button is missing,’ a voice said. While we were talking, Holmes had come up quietly to join us for, when we looked round, he was standing behind us, regarding Lestrade with a smile on his lips. ‘You have also forgotten to mention the matter of opportunity.’

  ‘I was coming to that,’ Lestrade said. ‘I have already made a few quick calculations. Smith’s train got in at Fordham at a quarter to four. It is a half-hour’s walk across the fields to the Grange. However, if Smith doubled his normal pace, he could have arrived in time to accost Mr Eugene Mortimer on his way from Boxstead Halt. It would have taken him no more than a few minutes to murder his cousin and hide his body in the ditch. He then hurried on to the house, arriving in an agitated and dishevelled state which you yourself remarked on, Mr Berkinshaw.

  ‘I therefore propose questioning Mr Smith in the light of the evidence I have uncovered. If it can be proved that the button came from his coat, I shall have no other choice than to arrest him. Inspector Jenks, I shall leave you to arrange for the removal of the body to the mortuary and to send one of the constables up to the Grange with the gig in case it is needed to take Mr Smith into custody. In the meantime, if the rest of you gentlemen care to accompany me to the house, we shall see what our suspect has to say for himself.’

  II

  Woodside Grange, a large, imposing mansion, lay a little distance away, set back from the road at the end of a long carriage drive.

  On the way, we passed the stile which gave access to the footpath leading to Fordham, a mere five minutes’ walk from the gateway where it was assumed the murder had taken place, a fact which Lestrade commented on with satisfaction.

  ‘It further proves my point that Smith could have had the opportunity,’ he said.

  Holmes made no reply. We were approaching the house and he seemed more interested in looking about him, especially at the lawn and shrubbery of the front garden.

  Mr Berkinshaw rang the doorbell and we were admitted into a large hall by a plump, grey-haired woman dressed in black whom he introduced as Mrs Deakin, the late Mr Franklin Mortimer’s housekeeper.

  On his enquiring where Mr Smith was to be found, she replied, ‘In the drawing-room, sir,’ and turned as if to lead the way when Lestrade called her back.

  ‘One moment, Mrs Deakin,’ said he. ‘Was Mr Smith wearing an overcoat when he arrived?’

&nbs
p; ‘He was, sir.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘I hung it over there, sir.’

  ‘I should like to see it.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ said the woman.

  Going to a large coat stand in a corner of the hall, she returned with a light brown tweed ulster which she handed to the inspector. Then, at a gesture from Mr Berkinshaw, she left us, but not before she had cast an anxious glance in our direction.

  Lestrade examined the coat eagerly, turning it over before pointing with an exultant cry to the cuff of the right-hand sleeve, where a button was plainly missing.

  ‘That settles it, gentlemen,’ said he. ‘I think no further proof is needed of Smith’s guilt. The remaining buttons exactly match the one I found near the body.’

  Folding the coat over his arm, he hurried ahead of us into the drawing-room.

  It was a magnificent room, furnished in the most splendid fashion. But it was not the pictures hanging upon the walls nor the displays of silver and porcelain which drew my attention. It was the tall figure of a man who was pacing restlessly up and down, smoking a thin cheroot which he crushed out into an ashtray as we entered.

  Johnathen Smith was over six feet in height, powerfully built and with a rugged handsomeness about his features which were deeply tanned from a life spent in the open air. There was an impatience about his manner, evident in his hot blue eyes, as he confronted Lestrade.

  Here was a man, I thought, who, if roused, would be capable of violence.

  ‘Well, Inspector,’ said he roughly, ignoring the rest of us. ‘I assume your investigation is over and I am cleared of any suspicion of involvement in Eugene’s disappearance? It was a ridiculous imputation in the first place.’

  ‘My enquiries are indeed complete,’ Lestrade informed him grimly. ‘We found your cousin’s body a short time ago in a field not far from the house.’

  ‘Eugene dead!’ Smith cried, staggering back. ‘But how has it happened? Was there an accident?’