Secrets From the Deed Box of John H Watson, MD (The Deed Box of John H. Watson MD)

by Ashton, Hugh

  I was somewhat reluctant to allow him access to our rooms, but I judged that should he attempt anything untoward, I was younger and stronger than his appearance suggested, and I would come off better in any potential physical encounter. I therefore acceded to his request, unlocking the door and inviting him to enter.

  Once in the room, he seemed slightly ill at ease, moving from foot to foot restlessly. “You don’t mind my sitting down?” he asked, moving to place himself in the chair usually occupied by Sherlock Holmes.

  “I would rather you chose another place to sit,” I admonished him, turning away to indicate the preferred location. “That chair—”

  “—is my usual seat,” he replied in a completely different voice. I turned and looked, astonished. The white hair had gone, as had the bent posture, and Sherlock Holmes was sitting in the place of my aged unkempt visitor, his wig now in his hand, laughing at my surprise.

  “Holmes!” I exclaimed. “Why on earth...?”

  “There are occasions, Watson, when Sherlock Holmes is not an identity with which I necessarily wish to be associated. Today, Enoch Masterton has been exercising his trade and assisting the grooms of Upper Grosvenor Street with currying the horses and cleaning out the stables. And many interesting things he learned, too, while he was so engaged. Allow me to resume my usual attire and appearance,” he added, rising, “and I will tell you all.”

  Holmes reappeared in a few minutes, dressed in his usual style, and with all traces of the grime and dirt that had previously disfigured him now washed away.

  “Before you start, I must tell you some things,” I said to him, and proceeded to tell him of Lestrade’s visit, handing him the list that had been presented to me.

  Holmes scanned it and frowned. “This upsets my theory,” he said. “I was almost certain that I was on a strong scent, but this throws me back to the start.” He noticed my look of puzzlement and continued. “Let me explain. The object of today’s little masquerade was, as I am certain you realise, to determine the identity of the woman who took a fancy to your watch yesterday. To that end, I assisted the grooms and coachmen of the house where I saw her enter, as well as some of the neighbouring houses – in order to divert attention away from my main object. I discovered that the woman in question is, as we surmised, from Australia. However, she is a niece of the Marquess, and comes from a wealthy family. Miss Katherine Raeburn arrived about six weeks ago on an extended visit to her relations and has impeccable credentials.”

  “Miss Katherine Raeburn? Unmarried?” I asked. “So the child is definitely not hers?”

  Holmes shook his head. “None of the servants seems to have seen any child at the house. The child we saw yesterday seems to have been borrowed as a property, to use a theatrical term, for an occasion such as the one that transpired.”

  “And you say that she is from a wealthy family? Why, then, would she wish to engage in acts of pilferage and theft such as yesterday’s?”

  “That makes little sense to me also. In cases of the condition known as kleptomania, the afflicted person typically acts on impulse, seizing the object on display in an almost spontaneous, somewhat magpie-like action. Such was not the case here. There was a strong suggestion of forethought and planning, as evidenced by the use of the scissors – which must be of a particularly sturdy construction, given that they cut through your watch-chain so readily – and the use of the child. These would appear to be the work of a dedicated thief, and there is no apparent necessity for this, given that she is by all accounts independently well-off, and furthermore is a guest of one of the wealthiest peers of the realm. I confess to suffering from some mental confusion here.”

  “And I suppose there is still a possibility that this Miss Raeburn is not the woman that relieved me of my watch yesterday?”

  Once more, Holmes dismissed my suggestion with a motion of his head. “There is no doubt whatsoever. No other person remotely answering to that description appears to have entered the house in the past few days. Furthermore, as I was engaged in cleaning the wheels of the landau, the woman in question was pointed out to me as she departed the house, and she was, without a shadow of doubt, our acquaintance of yesterday.”

  “It seems most mysterious,” I said.

  “Indeed it is. But notwithstanding these factors, I remained convinced that somehow there was some connection between her and the thefts that have taken place of which we talked last night, and concerning which Lestrade paid his visit this morning. But it appears that I was mistaken.” He waved Lestrade’s list in his hand. “This wretched piece of paper has upset all my calculations.”

  “How so?”

  “One of those who reports a missing diamond bracelet, valued at three thousand guineas, is a Miss Katherine Raeburn.”

  “That would certainly seem to argue her innocence.”

  “As regards that particular series of crimes,” he admitted. “But the fact remains that I discovered her red-handed, Watson, in the theft of your watch. Can she be both perpetrator and victim?”

  “We have a chance to find out,” I pointed out to Holmes. “Should you accept Lestrade’s invitation to the ball, if I can put it that way.”

  “Humph. I can imagine more enjoyable and productive ways of passing the time,” he remarked. “Still, these functions may prove to be of some interest if there are to be lawbreakers as well as the nobility present. And of course,” he added with more than a touch of cynicism and a twinkle in his eye, “the two groups are not necessarily distinct from each other.”

  -oOo-

  It was two days later that Holmes and I set out for Lady de Gere’s ball to be held at her Park Lane residence. The ball was a splendid affair, and though I was introduced to many guests whose names were familiar to me from the newspapers, only a few were known to me personally. There were two Royal personages present, to whom Holmes and I were presented, and I noticed with some amusement Holmes’ pride in his name being recognised by them. The ladies were splendidly and fashionably dressed, and I noticed many glittering ornaments, almost dazzling in their brilliance, which would undoubtedly constitute a temptation to any thieves such as those whom we were seeking.

  When the dancing began, I was presented to a charming young girl blessed with glorious auburn hair and eyes of emerald green, the daughter of an Irish aristocrat. We chatted together happily as we circled the floor, almost as old friends rather than acquaintances of a few minutes’ standing. I was struck by Holmes’ skill in dancing as he escorted his partner around the floor. He moved with a grace that I had previously only ascribed to habitués of dance-halls and similar establishments. My fair partner and I danced the next few dances together, after which I led her to the supper-room, where we availed ourselves of an ice apiece and retired to an ante-room away from the crowds. To my astonishment, Holmes was already there, partnering the purloiner of my watch as he helped her to refreshments.

  I could not help being fascinated by the sight, and I fear my interest must have been obvious, because my partner broke in on my reflections.

  “Do you know that lady? Or that gentleman?” she asked me. “You seem most interested in that couple.”

  I saw no reason to dissemble my acquaintance with Holmes, but somewhat to my disappointment, I confess, she appeared not to recognise his name or his reputation. “The lady,” I concluded, “I do not know. Are you acquainted with her?”

  “She is the cousin or niece or some such relation of the Marquess of Cirencester. She is visiting this country from Australia, I believe. She was introduced to me first about three weeks ago. Indeed, it was exactly three weeks ago, I remember, for it was on that evening that I lost my locket, and Papa was most fearfully angry.”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” I replied. “Was it a valuable piece of jewellery?”

  “Papa tells me that it was, and he scolded me for being so careless. But indeed,” she assured me, with an attractive fluttering of her eyelashes, “I was not careless in the least little bit. The lock
et was securely fastened by a chain around my neck, and the chain broke, and the locket must have dropped to the floor without my realising it. Though we searched after the ball, and we made enquiries of the servants, the locket was nowhere to be seen. I wish you had been with me to help me find it, since you tell me that you are a friend of a great detective.” She appeared almost kittenish as she made her innocent appeal to my limited powers of detection.

  I was intrigued by her story, which had a somewhat familiar ring to it. “This may appear a somewhat unusual request,” I said to her, “but do you perhaps have the chain of the locket with you at this moment?”

  She looked at me strangely, as well she might. “I suppose this is a result of your acquaintance with that man,” she replied. “Do you know, I may possibly have it in my reticule, for it is the same one that I was carrying on that occasion.” She opened her bag, and withdrew a slim golden chain, which she passed to me.

  I moved over to a spot under a gasolier, by whose light I examined the chain closely. As far as I could make out without the benefit of a lens, the chain had been cut in the same fashion as had my watch-chain a few days earlier.

  I returned the chain and thanked her. “Did you inform the police of your loss?”

  She flushed slightly. “Oh, no. Papa has a strong aversion to publicity and seeing his name in the newspapers.”

  We returned to the ballroom, and spent the next few dances agreeably discoursing of trivial matters, before she excused herself, telling me that she had to take an early Holyhead train the next morning. I bade my fair companion a good night, and handed her into a cab, before returning to the revels.

  On my way to the ballroom, I nearly collided with a large man blocking the entrance, whose corpulence and red face spoke eloquently of his taste for the good things of this life.

  “By Gad, Watson!” he exclaimed. I was somewhat dumbfounded by this sudden greeting, but looked a little closer at the speaker.

  “It’s Brookfield!” I cried as I recognised an old Army comrade. “I thought you were still in India with the regiment. Fancy meeting you here!”

  “The same might be said of you, you old dog. No, no India for me, old boy. A touch of the old malaria did for me, and I came home,” he answered, digging me familiarly in the side with his elbow. “By the way, I saw you with that charming little Miss Eileen O’Rafferty. An elegant filly, is she not?”

  I particularly detest such talk, but there appeared to be no escape from the man, who now seized my arm and dragged me to the supper-room where he loudly demanded two brandy and sodas.

  “Here you are, sir,” answered the footman, handing over the glasses. Something in the inflection of his speech attracted my attention, and I spoke to the man.

  “Excuse me, my man, are you in Lady de Gere’s employ?”

  “No, sir. I work for the hotel kitchen providing the catering for this occasion.”

  “You’re not a Londoner?” I asked him.

  “No, sir, I am not. My home’s in Sydney, Australia. I arrived here some six weeks back. Now, if you’ll excuse me, sir, there are others waiting.” He turned to another guest and started to open a bottle of champagne.

  “I say, Watson,” said Brookfield, who had been listening to the exchange. “Do you always chat to the servants in that way? Dashed bad form, if I may say so, at a ‘do’ such as this.”

  I bit my lip against the possible retorts I could make to his words, and instead asked him what he was doing in civilian life.

  “Insurance,” he sighed. “Fire, loss, damage, or theft. Y&L Insurance. Best in London. Come and see me some time and buy a policy. Special rate for old comrades in arms.” The brandy he was drinking was obviously far from his first of the evening, and the drink was having its effect on him. “Extraordinary thing,” he remarked to me in an over-loud voice. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of villainy that goes on in this town. Even in places like this, it’s amazing the amount of jewellery and things like that going missing. Mysterious business, wouldn’t you say?”

  Before I could reply, Holmes was at my elbow. “Can you persuade your oafish friend to keep his mouth shut?” he hissed at me. His mouth was smiling, but there was anger in his eyes. “Let us get him outside.” Holmes and I took an arm each, and assuming as friendly a manner as we were able, escorted my acquaintance to the door. A footman followed us, bearing Brookfield’s hat and coat, which we handed in to him after we had installed him, with surprisingly few complaints on his part, in a hansom cab.

  As the cab clattered away, Holmes turned to me. “I apologise, Watson,” he said to me. “I do realise that you are not responsible for the actions of your friends, and I understand you well enough, I hope, to know that the fat fool now making his way home is not the kind of companion with whom you would choose to spend an evening. My ill temper comes upon me, though, at times and lashes the undeserving. My sincere apologies.”

  “Accepted without reservation,” I replied, touched by this manly confession of his weakness.

  “I fear, though, that we have outstayed our welcome somewhat, and it may be as well for us, too, to depart. Come, let us collect our hats and coats, and make our way back to Baker Street on foot. It is a good night for a walk, do you not think?”

  Our way home took us along Upper Grosvenor Street, and Homes paused for a moment outside number 45. “Only the servants are awake, waiting to admit Miss Raeburn, I assume,” he remarked, looking at the darkened windows.

  “I noticed you dancing with her,” I replied. “And remarkably skilfully, I might add. I had no idea of your terpsichorean expertise.”

  “Pah! The trivial exercise of dancing presents no fears to me. Fencing and boxing are good training for the dance-floor,” he retorted. “But yes, I was indeed dancing with the lovely picker of pockets. She had no opportunity to exercise her skills while she was with me, I can assure you. As soon as I saw her eyes fix on some bauble adorning another dancer, I was able to direct the dance to another part of the room.” He chuckled. “How she must have hated that series of seemingly accidental movements around the floor, forever removing her from her quarry.”

  “So there is no question at all of the identity of the thief?”

  “None at all in my view. In addition, while we were refreshing ourselves she unintentionally allowed me to observe that her reticule contained a piece of paper – a telegram, in fact. I managed to extract it without drawing her attention to the fact that I had done so. Before replacing it, I made a copy of the wording and other information. You may read it for yourself.” He passed his notebook to me.

  “Sydney, NSW, 14 October 189–,” I read. “That was two days ago,” I remarked. “Addressed to Miss Katherine Raeburn. ‘GLEBE PUSH SALED LAST NIGHT STOP SUGEST COME HOME NOW STOP JAY’. Do you understand this, Holmes?”

  “At present, no, but I intend to do so tomorrow. What did you learn?” he asked me in his turn.

  I told him of the fair Irish maid’s loss of her locket and my examination of the chain, and his eyes shone. “Well done, Watson! Bravo, indeed. More grist to the mill, would you not say?”

  “I agree, given what you have just told me. And there is one other point which may or may not be significant.” I informed him of the Australian footman, who had come to England at the same time as Katherine Raeburn.

  The effect on Holmes was electrifying. He clapped his hands together and stood on his tiptoes in a seeming ecstasy. “Watson, you have solved the whole problem for me! That was the link that was missing and you have found it. You have exceeded my expectations!”

  “I fail to grasp your meaning,” I said.

  “Never mind,” replied Holmes, more soberly. “Tomorrow night, Lestrade has secured us an invitation to the dance given by Sir Geoffrey and Lady Marchmont, has he not? Good. I foresee an excellent evening’s entertainment ahead of us.”

  -oOo-

  The next evening, we both dressed for the occasion, with our only departure from formal evening attire being a r
evolver, which I carried in an inside pocket of my dress coat, and a weighted life-preserver, which Holmes bore in a similar place of concealment. Each of us also carried a police whistle.

  “It would be foolish to be unprepared for opposition,” Holmes had remarked to me when suggesting the adoption of these accessories. “I am not anticipating any such, but one never knows.”

  “Will your little Irish friend be here tonight?” asked Holmes as we entered the house.

  “Alas, no,” I replied. “She informed me that she had to travel to Ireland today, and left for Holyhead by an early train this morning.” However, to my great delight, for I had much enjoyed the company of the pretty maid of Erin on the previous evening, I discovered I was mistaken, for she was standing in the ante-room, and, to my greater pleasure, came towards me smiling.

  “Doctor Watson,” she said to me. “You mentioned your friend Mr Holmes, the famous detective, last night. This is he?”

  “I am indeed,” replied my friend courteously, as I introduced them. “But Doctor Watson informed me you were to be in Ireland today.”

  “We were to travel today, it is true,” she replied, “but Papa was feeling unwell, and we have put off our journey for a day or so.”

  “I am delighted to hear that your father is unwell,” I replied, before I fully realised the meaning of what I had said. “What I mean to say is that I am very pleased to have the opportunity to meet you again, even considering the circumstances,” I blurted out in my confusion. I noticed Holmes smiling to himself at my gaffe, but my pretty companion thankfully took my meaning rather than my actual words.

  “A word with my friend, if I may, Miss O’Rafferty?” Holmes requested. He drew me aside and spoke in a low voice. “I spoke with Lestrade earlier today while I was at the Yard. His men are surrounding this place, and are ready to enter as soon as you or I blow our whistles. If you see anything untoward – you know my meaning – do not hesitate, but blow three blasts on your whistle. If you hear me do the same, no matter what you are doing at the time, come to me, as I will to you.”