The Adventure of the Tired Captain A Sherlock Holmes Case

by Gaschnitz, K. Michael

  “Good morning, Watson,” he said his voice sounding chipper. “It is nice of you to rejoin the land of the living.”

  “Why in heavens did you allow me to sleep the day away, Holmes?” I leaned back in my chair and lit a cigarette, my appetite for food satiated. I was however hungry for information.

  “I thought it best that you should get as much sleep as possible. As I said last night I shall need you at your best today if we are to have success in our investigation.”

  I had my doubts about Holmes’ need for my help, however I humoured him.

  “You have been making inquiries?”

  “Yes, Watson,” he said lighting his pipe and taking his chair. I poured him a cup of the strong black coffee.

  “I have been back to Kensington. I thought the scene could bear further scrutiny in the light of day.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “As you know, Watson the pavement is being pulled up in the street just to the north of your neighbour’s house. What you may not know is that your gas supply will be interrupted tomorrow as they replace the faulty line. However that is neither here nor there.

  “As is their custom, the workmen have laid planks over the trench to accommodate pedestrian traffic. These planks, as is also the custom, have quickly become covered with the soil which is the result of the digging. It is for the most part a light gray in colour. I saw no evidence of this type of earth on the floor of your neighbour’s house.

  “I also spoke to the watchman who keeps guard over the excavation at night and even though I noticed an empty gin bottle in his tent, there is no reason to believe that he was not in full possession of his senses last evening. His eyes this morning betrayed no sign of drunkenness. He says that he saw no one who might match the description of our two suspects. This indicates to me that these two approached the Anstruther house from the direction of your house. Since you have your shingle hung out on the iron fence which surrounds your front yard it seems that they quite purposely went to your neighbour’s house. This would seem to suggest that they really had no need of a surgeon’s services.”

  “I think events have already indicated what their intentions were Holmes,” I said rather testily for I could not see where my friend’s investigations had gotten him.

  “I agree with you old fellow although it is always wise to confirm one’s suspicions.”

  “I suppose you are right.”

  “Right or not my little excursion has really brought us no closer to an answer.

  “It would only seem to attest to the fact that the events of last evening were no accident or random occurrence. If these men had robbery in mind they would have chosen your house. Your practice being much the busier, you can afford more of the rich trappings of the successful practitioner than can your neighbour. Your premises are also further from the watchman’s tent, so it would be more of an inviting target for a smash and grabber. Therefore this was not some bungled robbery where your wife and neighbour were innocent victims, but rather a well orchestrated plan to abduct your wife.”

  I interrupted him. “Why could not the object of this intrigue been Dr. Anstruther and not my wife?”

  “You have forgotten something, Watson. According to Mrs. Dobson when the group was marched into the bedroom they asked for your wife by name, plus the pair were set to truss up the doctor along with the women when he made what seems to be a futile attempt at escape.”

  “Yes I had forgotten that. You do not think that he has escaped from his attackers then?”

  “I have made inquiries at all of the hospitals, and while there were certainly several victims of murderous attacks admitted last night none of them were your neighbour. So now Watson.....”

  His discourse was interrupted by a knock. I got up from my chair and opened the door, to admit our old friend, Inspector Lestrade. The sallow, rat faced Scotland Yard inspector was an old acquaintance of ours and while Holmes had little respect for the official police force, Lestrade was a favorite of his. Though he was highly conventional and unimaginative he was tenacious when he got the scent. Despite some mistrust early in our association he was now quick and willing to accept Holmes help and tutelage.

  “Good morning, Lestrade. Pray have a seat and a whisky.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson. No thank you, it is a little early for me. I trust I have not come at a bad time.”

  “No, Lestrade we were just discussing a case,” said Holmes offering the official detective a cup of coffee from the large silver pot on the table.

  “Ah, the disappearance of the good doctor’s wife,” ventured Lestrade.

  “How did you come to hear of last evening’s events, Inspector?” I asked him.

  “No doubt it was the good Mrs. Anstruther who called in the Metropolitan Police,” Holmes commented with little enthusiasm. He always took exception when the official forces were called in on a case with which he was involved.

  “Indeed you are correct, Mr. Holmes. It is for that reason I have come here this morning.”

  “Have you solved the case already then Inspector?” Holmes asked.

  “Not yet, Mr. Holmes but I am sure it is but a matter of time. However events have occurred which I think you and Doctor Watson should be made aware of,” he said looking at me.

  Holmes’ body tensed and you could almost see his ears perk up like those of the faithful Toby. “What events, Lestrade?”

  “A body was found this morning....,”

  I gave a start. The sharp intake of breath caused Lestrade to stop in mid sentence. He turned to face me.

  “There is no cause to worry Doctor; the body is not that of your wife.”

  Lestrade turned back to face Holmes who was sitting with his eyes closed, his hands clasped in front of him.

  “A body was found this morning off of King William Street in Greenwich. Constable Watkins who was on the beat in the area has a reputation as a capable fellow although I think a bit of a dullard. He is a good family man....,”

  “Get to the facts, Lestrade,” Holmes barked at him impatiently.

  “The facts then are these, Mr. Holmes,” the little detective said petulantly.

  “It was around two o’clock in the morning when Watkins heard a cry of murder from down the street.”

  “Surely a cry of murder in that area of the city and at that time of night is not an unusual occurrence,” I interrupted.

  “No Watson, it isn’t, but of course they all must be investigated,” Holmes replied.

  Lestrade carried on. “When he got there, a group of people had gathered around the prostrate form of a man lying dead in the street. Death appears to have been caused by a number of stab wounds to the upper body.”

  “Did any of this group witness the assault, Inspector?”

  “Possibly, however we don’t know for sure, Mr. Holmes.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Before Watkins could summon additional help most of the crowd had disappeared back into the night. As is always the way in such things, no one wished to become involved in matters which did not concern them. Of those who remained, they vowed to a man that they had seen nothing.”

  “At what time did death occur, Lestrade?” my friend asked.

  “I believe that the inspector mentioned two o’clock, Holmes,” I said.

  “He said the body was discovered at two o’clock, but it may have been laying there for some time before that.”

  “We don’t know the time of death yet, Mr. Holmes. That will have to wait for the police surgeon’s inquest. However Watkins did note that blood was still flowing from the wound and the man’s pipe lay smoldering beside him. In his left hand he held a locket. No doubt this man met his end only moments before the alarm was raised.”

  “Tell me Lestrade you say that this man held a locket in his left hand. Was he also missing a finger on that same hand?”

  “Yes he was, Mr. Holmes. How did you know that? The story has not made it into the pap
ers yet.”

  “It is a hunch only Lestrade,” said Holmes.

  Lestrade looked askance at my friend. All through our long association he knew that Holmes seldom if ever relied on hunches.

  “Why have you brought this case to our attention Lestrade? Surely the incidence of someone being murdered near the river is something that the official police run up against every day.”

  “That is true Mr. Holmes but it concerns the locket that was found in the dead man’s hand.”

  “You have the item with you, Lestrade?”

  Lestrade reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out the item in question. The familiar smoky yellow of the Scotch topaz glinted dully in its setting.

  “I believe Dr. Watson that you will recognize this. It is your wife’s is it not?” he asked holding up the pendant.

  “What makes you think that this item belongs to Mrs. Watson, Lestrade?” Holmes asked.

  “My wife always carried a picture of the two of us inside,” I told Holmes. The words caught in my throat.

  “It also contains initials engraved on the back,” said Lestrade.

  “Yes I gave it to Mary when we were courting and had the letters MM engraved on the back. When we celebrated our second anniversary Mary had our pictures put inside and she had the engraving changed. She left the first M but added a W on top of the second one. She thought that changing the engraving made it look a little like a butterfly.”

  I settled into a silence as I noticed both Holmes and Lestrade staring at me.

  It was Holmes who spoke next.

  “May I see the locket, Inspector?” he asked, reaching out his hand to the Scotland Yarder. Lestrade handed him the jewelry.

  As Holmes walked over to the window he picked up his magnifying lens from the mantel. He studied the locket with care in the bright sunlight.

  “What can you deduce from it, Mr. Holmes?”

  “Only that the purpose of this murderous assault was certainly not robbery. The attacker did not make off with the jewelry or for that matter, the pipe. As you know Lestrade, whenever there is a crime committed in Greenwich, or indeed in any of a half a hundred areas of the city, as often as not robbery is the reason. Individuals have been robbed for little more than a bit of string or a broken piece of mirror.”

  “You are right there Mr. Holmes and while there are certainly worse parts of the city such things are not unknown in Greenwich. The dead man did not appear to have been robbed, having in fact a few notes still in his pockets, amongst some other items. We also found some sort of message on his person, Mr. Holmes.”

  “A message?” asked Holmes.

  “Indeed. I have it here,” replied Lestrade, pulling a small parcel from his pocket.

  “One thing at a time Lestrade let us concentrate on the locket,” said Holmes.

  “Might not the attacker have been interrupted before he could rob his victim?” I asked exasperated. It did not matter to me what direction the investigation took as long as it was going somewhere.

  “I think not,” said Holmes handing me the pendant.

  “What do you see, Watson?”

  I looked at the item and noticed a brownish stain upon in. “It looks like blood,” I said.

  “It is undoubtedly blood, and probably that of the dead man. Thus the locket would have been placed in his hand after his death.”

  “I don’t follow you, Mr. Holmes?” replied Lestrade.

  “Well I am sure you would agree with me Lestrade that in Greenwich or for that matter any of the less savoury parts of the city a man would be foolish indeed to proceed down the street with such an expensive bauble in plain view. His life or at least his good health would not be worth a moment’s purchase.”

  “Come now, Mr. Holmes it is not as bad as that,” the Inspector replied.

  “Well perhaps. Tell me, Lestrade, did this fellow have wounds on his hands or forearms?”

  “Not that I noticed, Mr. Holmes. Why do you ask?”

  “Such wounds are quite common during attacks of this kind. It is instinctive in such a situation to raise your hands to defend yourself.”

  “Perhaps he was attacked from behind and did not have a chance to defend himself,” Lestrade remarked.

  Ignoring the little detective Holmes continued, “It is also instinctive in such situations to raise your hands to the wound in an effort to staunch the blood. In such a case you would, of necessity, drop anything you happened to be holding.”

  “Maybe he picked up the locket again while he was lying on the sidewalk,” I ventured.

  “I would think that if you lay bleeding to death on the pavement you would have more important things on your mind than protecting your valuables,” said Holmes.

  “Maybe, however I doubt you would be thinking rationally in such circumstances,” I replied.

  “What would this man be doing with Mrs. Watson’s locket?” asked Lestrade.

  “We may never know. Possibly he was looking to pawn it. There are a number of pawnshops in the area,” answered Holmes.

  “You said that there was a message, Lestrade?”

  “Yes, Mr. Holmes,” said the little detective producing a long strip of paper from the small box which he had earlier set upon the side table. He handed the paper to Holmes who studied it minutely.

  “Where was this found, Lestrade?”

  “It was found inside of the dead man’s vest pocket, Mr. Holmes.”

  “As I thought,” replied my friend.

  “What do you make of it, Holmes?” I asked peering over his shoulder. He handed the paper to me.

  “You are familiar with my methods Watson, what do you make of it?”

  I took the paper from him and examined it.

  “Other than the fact it is covered in a random and meaningless jumble of letters I can make nothing of it.”

  “On the contrary, Watson you can see as much as I but you deduce nothing.”

  “What can you infer from it then, Holmes?” I asked handing the item in question back to him.

  “The paper has been cut into strips with a small curve-bladed scissor as evidenced by the jagged edge along the bottom. The strips have been glued together with what appears to be a simple water and flour paste. The paper is of a quality which can be purchased at any stationers and is moderately priced. It is of English manufacture, the partial watermark,” he said holding it up to the window, “seems to indicate one of our paper mills located in Maidstone. The author of this note is a heavy smoker. The paper fairly reeks of tobacco. As you know Watson my sense of smell is a particularly acute one and I dare say that I can detect the lingering smell of an Egyptian tobacco. The writer was probably enjoying a smoke as he was composing the message. There is also a smudge of ash on one end. As Lestrade pointed out the paper was found in the dead man’s vest pocket however it appears that it was also kept safely in a pocket book for a time as you can still see creases in the paper where it was folded.”

  “And what of it’s meaning?” I asked.

  “I have written the message down, Watson. Please read it back to me so I can double check my own accuracy.” He passed the paper back to me.

  The message consisted of one long unbroken sentence, which I have reproduced below.

  HEAVENPOLO22WINEWILLEDWILLIAMCADMAWITHCOXCINCINNATITOWERCAB

  “It appears to be a simple transposition cipher or perhaps a substitution cipher,” remarked my friend. “You may not be aware of this Lestrade but I am familiar with over one hundred and fifty different codes and ciphers, this little puzzle should present nothing new.”

  “This is all very interesting Mr. Holmes, but....,” replied the official detective rising from his chair.

  “You are going, Lestrade?” I asked.

  “Yes, Doctor Watson, I have a cab waiting and was hoping that you and Mr. Holmes might come to view the body.”

  “Capital idea!” exclaimed Holmes.

  It was but a short ride to the mortuary. The attendant led us to the small
and gloomy chamber where the body was laid upon a bench and covered by a filthy sheet.

  Holmes gave the body only a cursory examination disturbing a small swarm of flies in the process. We did not need Holmes’ magnifying glass to see that the man was missing a finger on his left hand or that his throat was disfigured by a hideous wound.

  “You remember those cuts on the forearms that I mentioned a few minutes ago Lestrade, you will notice that such wounds are absent here. This would seem to indicate that either the attack was unexpected and sudden or less likely that the assailant was known to the victim. These types of people trust no one, friend or not.”

  “Do you have his effects, Lestrade?”

  “They are laid out in the next room, Mr. Holmes.”

  Holmes made a thorough search of the man’s belongings. He let out a sigh.

  “Thank you, Lestrade. There is nothing more to be learned here.” With that we took our leave of that dreary place and began to walk in the direction of Baker Street.

  “What did you expect to find, Holmes?” I asked.

  “Simply confirmation, did you notice his shoes Watson? Did you see how the one shoe was slit along the sides? What does that indicate to you as a medical man?”

  “The man is suffering from corns,” I said. “He has slit the shoe leather in order to relieve the pressure. I have seen many of my own patients do the same thing while awaiting professional help.” The relevance of this fact suddenly dawned on me. “Of course Holmes, the pain from the corns would cause him to limp.”

  “If you had looked closely through my lens Watson you would have observed that the bottom layer of the leather has not yet been discolored.”

  “It indicates that the slits are fairly new,” I said.

  “Yes Watson, you have hit the nail on the head. The deceased has probably only begun suffering from this infirmity, which may indicate that he has only begun to spend long hours on his feet.”

  Even walking it did not take us long to arrive at Baker Street.

  “Now Watson, let us turn our full attention to the matter of the paper which was found on the dead man,” said Holmes pouring me a whisky.

  “It appears most mysterious,” I remarked holding the strip of paper up to the light.