The Secret Notebooks of Sherlock Holmes

by June Thomson

  ‘When the scheme was put to me, I agreed to it like a shot. My wife’s been dead these many years and my only child, Tom, named after me, had died when he was twelve, so I had no close family to worry what had become of me. A sum of several hundred pounds, my share of the insurance money, would come in very useful. I was getting close to retiring age, you see, Mr Holmes, and I had this dream of owning a little farm somewhere south where it’s warmer, in Cornwall maybe, but near the coast so that I could still be in sight and sound of the sea. As for the details of the plot, the claiming of the insurance money and the re-registering of the Sophy Anderson under a new name, I left all that to the McNeil brothers. For that was the idea, Mr Holmes. She’d go on trading as the Lucy Belle but not from those ports where the Sophy had traded in the past, like Liverpool, Glasgow or London. That way, the vessel would still be making money and the men would earn their usual wages, plus their share of the insurance which, taking into account the value of the ship and its cargo, would add up to a fair sum, more than most of them would see in a year’s sailing.

  ‘Like I said, we took on a cargo at Valparaiso but no passengers and set sail for Glasgow on January 17th and, with a good wind behind us, in 128 days we were in sight of the small island of Duncraig to the south west of the Outer Hebrides. Chafer and I knew the island well because we’d taken shelter there from a storm several years before. It’s an uninhabited island with steep cliffs rising straight from the sea on its western coast, a treacherous shoreline for any mariner who doesn’t know the tides and currents. But to one who does and has the courage to take a ship between the rocks, there are several sheltered inlets where a vessel can lie up for weeks out of sight of other shipping. And to give Chafer his due, he didn’t lack for neither skill nor courage. So with my help and the rest of the crew’s, Chafer took the Sophy Anderson into one of those inlets, where we dropped anchor.

  ‘When we’d loaded up the nitrate, I’d taken on board extra stores at Chafer’s orders in the way of lengths of timber and tins of paint, and, once we were safely anchored, the whole crew set about changing the look of the ship, painting her dark blue down to the water-line instead of grey and giving her a white line round the hull. The ship’s carpenter, Morrison, also changed the trim round the edge of the deck housing which, too, was painted white. We renamed her as well, the Lucy Belle, which was written in dark blue letters along her prow.

  ‘When all that was done and the paint was dry, Chafer called us all up on deck and made a speech welcoming us aboard the Lucy Belle and wishing us God speed on all her voyages. He then re-christened the vessel in a little ceremony, pouring a tot of rum over her fo’csle. When that was done, every man jack of us from me, the mate, down to the least on board, young Billy Wheeler, a deck-hand, was handed a glass of rum and his new papers and the old ones were torn up and burnt there on deck in an old iron cooking pot. More rum was handed round and we went from one to the other getting used to our new names and those of the rest of the crew. Chafer’s was Michael Lofthouse, mine Joseph Nully, but I only use it when I have to. It don’t seem to sit easy on me like my old one, Thomas Corbett.

  ‘I think the handing out of the new names and the getting rid of the old ones made everyone realise there was no turning back. Like the papers, we had burnt our bridges and it was too late to change our minds. Some took it hard, especially Billy Wheeler, the young deck-hand. I was told later that on his last trip to Glasgow he’d met a lass he fancied but that was all finished and done with now.

  ‘Anyways, whatever the reason, he drank too much of the rum and lost his nerve. Or perhaps he found it. He ran up and down the deck telling everyone that when we got to Rotterdam, the port we was to make for after we’d got under sail again, he’d sign on with another vessel and make his way back to Scotland. “I want to go home!” he kept shouting. As for the insurance money, it could be dropped in the sea, as far as he was concerned. He wanted none of it.

  ‘Well, Mr Holmes, what with him running about and shouting like a madman, it was like putting a spark to a powder keg. Several of the men, including Morrison, the ship’s carpenter, set about him like madmen themselves and began hitting him, not just with their fists but with anything that came to hand. I think I know what was in their minds. They, too, were wondering if they’d done the right thing and at the same time they were fearful that Billy might blab and then not only would the fraud come to light but their part in it. They’d lose their share of the money and perhaps finish up in gaol. By the time me and Chafer managed to drag the men off Billy, he was lying on the deck, his face and head covered in blood.

  ‘Chafer knelt beside him and felt for the pulse in his neck. Then he stood up and said in a loud, harsh voice, “Now listen up, my lads. Billy’s dead. There’s nothing we can do for him except set him adrift.”

  ‘The sound of his voice and the sight of Billy’s dead body brought the men to their senses. They drew back and one of them, Newton, started to speak, the tears standing out in his eyes.

  ‘“We didn’t mean to …’ he began, but Chafer cut him short. “Shut your mouth and get below,” he ordered him. “Find a length of canvas and some rope.”

  ‘When Newton came back, he and another man wrapped the body in the canvas and tied it up. They were lifting it to carry it over to the side ready to tip it overboard, when I stepped forward.

  ‘I don’t know what made me do it but I couldn’t let them chuck him into the sea like a dead sheep. He was fifteen, Mr Holmes; a pleasant lad, always laughing and joking. Many a time he’d put me in mind of my dead son with his fair hair and blue eyes. I just couldn’t see him thrown overboard with nothing to mark his going.

  ‘When I first went to sea, my mother gave me a silver St Christopher on a chain, which I’d always worn round my neck for good luck on my voyages. I took it off and, just as they had lifted the body up on to the rail and had it balanced there, I put my hand through the folds of the canvas and laid it on his chest.’

  At this point, Corbett broke off his account and stared fixedly down at his huge hands, which he was kneading together as if trying to squeeze the life out of them. Then just as suddenly, he lifted his head and looked directly at Holmes.

  ‘He was still alive, sir!’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Holmes asked sharply.

  ‘As sure as I’m sitting here. I felt his chest rise and fall under my hand. I looked across at Chafer, who was standing by the rail ready to give the order to throw Billy overboard. He looked back at me, Mr Holmes, and he knew, sir! Oh, yes, he knew all right! He stared me straight in the eyes and then he drew one finger across his throat, meaning “I’ll kill you if you don’t keep your mouth shut.”’

  ‘About Wheeler still being alive?’

  Without speaking, Corbett nodded his head in agreement. Then, swallowing hard, he continued, ‘The next second, Chafer looked away to give the order and Billy had gone overboard. It all happened so quickly, Mr Holmes, I didn’t get a chance to stop them.’

  A terrible silence fell over the three of us as we pictured the scene, Holmes and I in our imaginations, Thomas Corbett all too vividly in his memory.

  Then Corbett continued in a husky voice, ‘I’ve thought of what we did that day thousands of times since and gone over and over in my mind what I could or should have done. I’ve tried telling myself that, if we’d kept him aboard, he wouldn’t have lived. The injuries to his head were too severe. He’d’ve died sooner or later. But thinking that don’t make it any better. The truth is, sir, we committed murder and it’s been lying on my conscience ever since like a stone. That’s why I’ve come to you, Mr Holmes. I can’t bear the burden no longer and I want you to ease my soul by reporting what happened to whoever needs to be told. I’m willing to make a full confession and take whatever punishment the law thinks fit for me.’

  ‘That is highly commendable of you but it is easier said than done, Mr Corbett.’ Holmes said in a brisk, matter-of-fact manner which I thought a little brusque under the circumstan
ces, although Corbett seemed to accept my old friend’s comment, for he lowered his grizzled head in a humble, compliant manner.

  ‘I’m in your hands, sir,’ he said in a low voice.

  Holmes took a turn or two up and down the room, deep in thought, eyes lowered and arms folded tightly across his chest. Then, spinning round, he confronted Corbett, his mind clearly made up.

  ‘Before I go any further with this matter,’ said he, ‘first let me establish the facts of the case and, in order to do that, I need to learn from you what happened after Billy Wheeler was put overboard. You continued on your way, I assume?’

  ‘Yes, we did, Mr Holmes. Once we were clear of Duncraig, we threw some debris into the sea – bits of wood, some rope, a lifebelt with the name Sophy Anderson painted on it – so that anyone finding it would think the vessel had gone down with all hands. Then we set course for Rotterdam. We had all the necessary papers to show the officials there, for the McNeil brothers had already registered the ship as the Lucy Belle with a shipping company based in Panama. No one questioned the papers. The McNeils had already set up a buyer in Rotterdam for the nitrate we were carrying, so we unloaded it and took on a cargo of coal which they’d also arranged in advance. We then set sail for Bergen where we sold the coal and took on another cargo. And so it went on for the next three years, going to and fro between the Baltic and the Dutch ports where we’d never traded before and where the crew was not known, as well as the Far East where we were likewise strangers.

  ‘In the meantime, a passenger ship had picked up the debris we had thrown overboard and the Sophy Anderson was duly posted missing by Lloyds, presumably lost at sea with all hands. Later, the insurance money was paid out and all seemed sealed and settled but I couldn’t put it out of my mind. In fact, Mr Holmes, as the years have gone by, it’s got worse, not better.’

  ‘And where is the Lucy Belle now?’

  ‘In the Port of London. We were on our way from Bremen to Shanghai when one of the crew fell down a companionway and broke his leg and we had to put in there to get him to a doctor. Chafer went off to find a replacement for him and I took him by cab to the London hospital in the Mile End Road. While I was there, I got talking to one of the porters and, without telling him what it was all about, I asked him if he knew of a detective, not a policeman, who could look into a private matter for me. It was him who mentioned your name. “Go and see Mr Holmes,” said he “at 221B Baker Street. He’s the best in the business.”

  ‘Indeed!’ murmured Holmes, raising his eyebrows. ‘A hospital porter, your said? Was his name Reynolds, by any chance?’

  Corbett looked abashed.

  ‘I didn’t ask his name, I’m afraid, Mr Holmes, but he was a little man with as much hair on his head as a billiard ball.’

  Holmes threw back his head and laughed heartily at this description.

  ‘Excellent, Mr Corbett! You have caught Reynolds exactly!’ Seeing my baffled expression, he turned briefly to me in explanation. ‘I met Reynolds two years ago. A lady, a Mrs Dawlish, wanted me to find her husband who was missing. To cut a very long story short, I found him in the London hospital, thanks to Reynolds’ co-operation. The man had been knocked down by a hansom and had lost his memory temporarily as a result of head injuries.’

  Turning back to his client, he added, ‘Pray continue, Mr Corbett.’

  ‘There is not much more to tell, sir,’ he replied. ‘I took a cab straight here from the hospital to ask for your help. There may not be much time to spare, Mr Holmes. At this very minute, Chafer is looking about for a new crewman to replace the one who’s broken his leg. It’s his intention to sail early tomorrow morning with the high tide. If it’s possible, I’d like to have this business settled before we leave. God knows when we’ll be back in London. Perhaps never.’

  ‘I take your point, Mr Corbett,’ Holmes said gravely. ‘But before I agree to act in this matter, I must explain the serious nature of the situation. We are dealing here with murder on the part of Chafer, the ship’s captain, for, if your account is correct, and I assume it is, then he gave the order for Billy Wheeler to be thrown overboard knowing he was still alive. Then there is the part played by those members of the crew who attacked the young man, against whom charges of grievous bodily harm could be brought. In addition, there is the question of your own responsibility in the affair. Supposing the case came to court with you as witness against Chafer? A clever counsel could argue that you, too, knew Wheeler was alive and yet did nothing to prevent his death by drowning.’

  ‘I had no chance, Mr Holmes!’ Corbett broke in, the sweat standing out on his brow. ‘On my oath, he was thrown over the rail before I could stop it from happening!’

  ‘On your oath!’ Holmes repeated. ‘That is another important point to consider, Mr Corbett, before you decide to take action. It is your word against Chafer’s that Wheeler was still alive. There are no other witnesses to that fact. Chafer, who is obviously no fool, will swear to the contrary – should a trial be held – that when he felt for the carotid artery in Wheeler’s neck, there was no pulse. The man was undoubtedly dead. Who is a jury most likely to believe, you or Chafer? Are you prepared to take that risk? For whatever way the decision goes, you are certain to suffer. If the vote goes against Chafer, then it is murder in which you are implicated. And if the verdict goes the other way, then you could be charged with perjury and, even if it does not come to that, your reputation will be ruined. What shipping company would be willing to take you on as mate when the imputation is you lied on oath against a senior officer? Apart from all that, there is matter of the insurance fraud in which every one of you is involved. Have you thought of that?’

  As Holmes put the question, I saw Corbett’s right hand make a small, involuntary movement towards his chest as if, by physically reaching for the region of his heart, he wanted to reassure himself that the decision he was about to make was the right one, despite the strain it would cause him, an action which confirmed my earlier supposition that the man was suffering from some chronic, and possibly life-threatening, cardiac condition. His reply was a further ratification, if any were needed.

  ‘Mr Holmes,’ said he in the tone of a man who has come to a decision, ‘I’ve carried this burden for nigh on four years and I have no wish to go to my grave with it still on my conscience. Whatever the outcome, I want the truth known at last.’

  ‘Very well, Mr Corbett!’ Holmes replied, his voice as resolute and vigorous as his client’s. ‘Then there is only one problem left to be solved.’

  ‘And what is that?’ Corbett asked.

  ‘The matter of proving Chafer’s guilt. As I have already pointed out, it is a question of your word against Chafer’s as to whether or not Wheeler was still alive when he was thrown overboard. From what you have told me about the captain, I doubt very much if he would ever confess the truth of his own volition. What is needed therefore is a witness who is prepared to support your account of the events on board the Sophy Anderson the day Wheeler was murdered. Is there any among the crew who was present on deck and saw what happened?’

  Corbett was silent for a moment, rubbing his chin.

  ‘Well, there’s Harry Deakin, the ship’s cook,’ he said at last. ‘He was there at the time.’

  ‘He saw the attack on Wheeler?’ Holmes asked sharply.

  ‘He did, sir. In fact, he tried to stop it but he was outnumbered.’

  ‘And he was there when Wheeler’s body was wrapped in the canvas?’

  ‘He was, sir.’

  ‘And saw you put the St Christopher on Wheeler’s chest?’

  ‘Aye. He helped me fold the canvas back so that I could get my hand in. And I’m pretty sure he saw Chafer make that cutting motion across his throat because, after he made it, Deakin looked hard at me as if to ask what was going on. But nothing was said either then or later.’

  ‘No matter. If Deakin would be willing to make a statement, that would be enough corroboration to persuade a jury you are telling the
truth. Is Deakin still on board the ship?’

  ‘Aye, he is, Mr Holmes.’

  ‘Could he be persuaded to speak up for you in court if need be?’

  Corbett looked doubtful.

  ‘I wouldn’t like to swear to that, Mr Holmes. Deakin likes a quiet life and he’s afraid of anyone in authority. If it came to choosing between me and Chafer, he’d be more inclined to pick the captain or, at best, refuse to say anything.’

  ‘Then he must be forced to speak up on your behalf,’ Holmes replied.

  ‘But how?’ Corbett asked with a hopeless air.

  Without replying, Holmes got to his feet and strode up and down the room several times, before swinging back to face Corbett.

  ‘Who has left the crew since Wheeler’s murder, preferably someone who is himself dead?’ he demanded.

  Corbett seemed bewildered by the question.

  ‘Well, there’s Tommy Brewster, a deck-hand. He was killed when he fell from the rigging last February on a voyage to …’

  ‘Never mind the details. Was the man literate?’

  ‘Literate?’ Corbett stammered, his bewilderment increasing.

  ‘Could he read and write?’

  ‘Aye, sir. He could.’

  ‘Splendid!’ Holmes exclaimed, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction. ‘Now only one problem remains. Can you arrange for Dr Watson and myself to come aboard the Lucy Belle without arousing any suspicion?’

  ‘Yes, I could, sir, provided it’s after dark. If you could get yourselves up to look like seamen and make your way to Picott’s Wharf in St Katherine’s dock by ten o’clock tonight, I’ll be on deck with a lantern. I’ll wave it three times when the coast is clear for you to come up the gang-plank. Is there anything else I can do?’

  ‘Yes. Make sure Deakin is on board. Perhaps you could also arrange for a cabin to be available for Dr Watson and myself, equipped with paper, pen and ink. And now, Mr Corbett, I wish you good morning. We shall meet again at ten o’clock.’