Robin Hood's Revenge (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale Book 7)

by Steven Ehrman

  “So you were called in by Xavier Thornton because of these letters,” said Holmes.

  “Actually, by his family,” said the Inspector. “Xavier Thornton himself seems to consider the letters mere curiosities. It was his sister-in-law who insisted that the Yard investigate these letters and their senders.”

  “I see,” said Holmes. “And have you done so?”

  “Of course, Mr. Holmes. London has a dozen of these societies and three of them sent letters of what they call protest, to Mr. Thornton. However, they disavow any threat of violence.”

  “And since Mr. Xavier Thornton did not call you in himself, it stands to reason that he did not feel under threat either.”

  “That is just it, Mr. Holmes,” said Lestrade. “Thornton seemed sheepish about the entire matter. It was the sister-in-law, a Mrs. Victoria Thornton, who was most insistent that the authorities investigate.”

  “And yet now Xavier Thornton sends me a telegram in which he expresses alarm. Do you not see what that means?”

  “That something new has happened, I suppose,” said Lestrade.

  “It is more than that, Lestrade, but I suppose he will tell us in a few hours.”

  “Then you are to meet with him today?”

  “Yes. The good Doctor and I have an appointment at one o’clock this very afternoon.”

  Holmes at this point produced the telegram and handed it to Lestrade. The Inspector quickly scanned the note and returned it to my friend.

  “It is quite vague, Mr. Holmes,” he ventured.

  “That it is, although it is instructive, as I say. I do have something that is somewhat less ambiguous.”

  Holmes showed the Inspector the arrow and told him the story of how it came to be embedded into the wall of our sitting room.

  “Why this is extraordinary,” exclaimed Lestrade. “If your life is in danger merely from receiving a telegram, then Xavier Thornton’s may also be in danger.”

  “That may be possible,” said Holmes. “Has Mr. Thornton taken any security measures?”

  “Nothing special I should say, but the Thornton estate is built like a castle. It has large grounds with horse barns, but the main house is surrounded by a heavy fence. There are no close neighbors, so a stranger would be spotted quickly. At night the dogs are loosed within the fence, so an assault then would run into heavy opposition before it even began. During the daylight hours the estate is a hive of activity, so once again it would seem difficult to approach in secret.”

  “Was it only the letters that have set the estate on edge?” I asked.

  “That is a very pretty point, Doctor,” replied Lestrade. “As a matter of fact, there have been several small instances that would appear to add up to escalating harassment. A window was broken several weeks ago, a saddle was stolen, and two of Xavier Thornton’s nephews became ill after a meal and poison was suspected.”

  “Was a doctor called?” asked Holmes.

  “There was the local physician who was called. An old country practitioner named Edwards. He put it down to food spoilage, but the mother, the same one who called us originally, claimed they had been deliberately poisoned. Both lads were ill for some days, but they recovered. It has been just enough to jangle nerves. Nearly everyone I interviewed seemed quite on edge, excepting Mr. Xavier Thornton.”

  “But now he is nervous enough to call in Sherlock Holmes,” said I.

  “That is true,” said the Inspector, biting his lower lip. “What do you make of it, Mr. Holmes?”

  “I make it a policy to never become wedded to a theory without all the facts, but I believe that I do make out the faint outlines of a plan here. Tell me, Inspector, what is the composition of the household?”

  “Well, Mr. Xavier Thornton’s extended family dwells upon the estate. Xavier is the middle of three brothers. He is a lifelong bachelor. Indeed it could be said of him that he is a bit of a misogynist.”

  “Evidently his father’s proclivities were not passed on to the son,” observed Holmes.

  “Xavier Thornton and his two siblings all reside at the estate,” said Lestrade, ignoring Holmes’s jibe. “His older brother, Lawrence Thornton, is an elderly man and is a retired barrister. He seems a bit frail in body, but he very much has his wits about him.

  “The third brother, Winston Thornton, is the youngest of the siblings. He is a poet of sorts. You know, Mr. Holmes, one of those dreamy fellows who does no work. This brother is the lone married man in the household. His wife, Victoria Thornton, is a bit of tartar, I must say. She seems to rule the family roost, if you follow.”

  “That is the extent of the family, then?” asked Holmes.

  “No, sir,” replied the Inspector. “Winston Lawrence has two sons. The elder of them is a writer like his father, only of plays rather than poems. The younger is studying law. There are, of course, the usual staff at an estate that size.”

  “A researcher and scholar such as Xavier Thornton must have a secretary,” said Holmes.

  “Of course, sir,” said Lestrade quickly. “I was just coming to that. There is a secretary. His name is George Smythe. I understand that he is a distant relative of the last of Mr. Roger Thornton’s wives. The only one from which he did not produce a son. There is also a personal servant named Scragg. He was Xavier Thornton’s batman when he was in service and is now his faithful valet. He is a formidable personage and a morose character. I believe that he fancies himself Mr. Xavier Thornton’s bodyguard.”

  Holmes took all this in and leaned back in his chair. His eyes became hooded, and almost closed, as he put his fingertips together. I had seen this attitude many times. It signaled great mental exertion from my friend and I knew well enough not to interrupt. Lestrade as well was familiar enough with the great detective not to badger him for an opinion until Holmes was ready to bring one forth. Finally, after some few minutes, Holmes stood up and spoke.

  “Watson, we have an appointment to keep. I am afraid that we must leave now and forgo our hot breakfast. I would wager that we can survive with only a sandwich on the trip.”

  “But, Holmes, if we leave now we will be at least an hour early for our appointment,” I said in protest. “The telegram asks us to be there at one.”

  “True, Watson, but there is something to be said for arriving earlier than one is expected. Let us be off!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Holmes invited Lestrade to accompany us, but the Inspector pleaded other important business. He did say, however, that he would join us at the estate later in the day. Holmes did not press the matter and the Inspector soon left, wishing us a pleasant journey. With a minimum of preparation, we were off.

  Evidently Holmes had planned our early departure since before I had arisen that morning. He had engaged a four-wheeler and it was waiting for us as we exited 221B Baker Street.

  The smothering heat was already beginning to lie over the city even though it was still morning. I hoped that a ride to the country would alleviate the temperature even to the slightest degree. Holmes informed me that the Thornton estate was well outside the city and I settled in for a long ride.

  The busy streets of London soon gave way to the rolling hills of the country. I thoroughly enjoyed the sight of the green meadows and planted fields, but my friend saw little to excite his mind. The beauty of the pastoral scenes were lost to his analytical brain.

  We passed through several small hamlets on our trip. As the sun drew high in the sky we came to a halt in a charming village. A tradesman told us that the Thornton estate was just ahead. With a tip of the cap and a short bow he pointed the way. I could see that Holmes was all excitement as we neared our destination.

  It was nearly half past eleven when we finally came over a small rise and within sight of our destination. The Thornton estate was situated in a broad valley. There were many outlying buildings, but I saw little of livestock or planted fields. Horses were in abundance though, and we passed many fine animals as we approached the home. The manor house itself wa
s surrounded by a tall stone fence, pierced at several points with gates. A carriage house was the lone building inside the fence save the home.

  The home was a massive structure of ancient construction. It consisted of two wings bent back at an angle with a massive door at the connecting point. The building was a two-story affair, though at each end of the wings there was a large third-story room. I fancied that the rooms were either artist’s studios or even perhaps small greenhouses.

  We alighted from our carriage and we approached the door. Our arrival had certainly been noted, but there was no one to greet us. This being the case, Holmes strode up to the door and rapped loudly upon it with the brass knocker. After some moments the door was opened by a butler of middle height and advancing years.

  “May I help you, gentlemen?” he asked politely.

  “We have an appointment with Mr. Xavier Thornton, my good man,” said Holmes briskly.

  The butler seemed somewhat befuddled by Holmes’s announcement. Nevertheless Holmes brushed by him and entered the home. I followed. The butler was protesting as Holmes handed him his hat.

  “But, sir, the master never sees anyone between eleven and noon. There must be some mistake.”

  “There is no mistake, my man,” replied Holmes. “Announce us to your master and I am certain he will see us.”

  “As I said, sir, that is quite impossible,” said the butler firmly. “Perhaps Mr. Smythe will know what to do.”

  “Then by all means, let us see Mr. Smythe,” said Holmes.

  The butler bid us to follow him and we did. There was a large double staircase at the end of the entrance hall. We took the left one and proceeded up the stairs. Once we came to the second floor, the butler turned and walked to the far end of the hall, again to our left, and we followed in his wake. A door at the end of the hall was opened by the butler, revealing another staircase. We proceeded up that staircase. The stairs emptied into a large room that appeared to be a study or library.

  Two walls were covered by bookcases and were full to overflowing with books. There was a desk at one end of the room next to another door. As we walked into the room we immediately gained the attention of the three occupants. One was a very tall young man, well over six feet, in a black frock coat and with long flowing dark hair. He was leaning casually against the desk in conversation with a sandy-haired man of middle height. The third man stood somewhat apart of the others and had a distinctly military bearing. He was somewhat stout and just under six feet in height. He was balding and had a head shaped like a bullet. The sandy-haired man at the desk stood and approached us.

  “Who are these men, Jackson?” he asked.

  “They insist upon meeting with the master,” he replied. “They say they have an appointment.”

  The man turned his attention from the butler to Holmes.

  “What is this nonsense of an appointment? I am George Smythe. I am Mr. Thornton’s secretary and he has no appointment for this day,” he said and then turned back to the butler. “Jackson, with the trouble we have had, how could you allow strangers in the house?”

  “But they are gentlemen, sir.” Jackson explained weakly.

  “I can settle this matter at once,” said Holmes, producing the telegram he had received from Xavier Thornton. He handed it to Smythe, who scanned it quickly.

  “So you would be Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” said Smythe. “I knew that Mr. Thornton had sent you a message, but he did not tell me what was in it. At any rate you are early, and Mr. Thornton sees no one during this hour.”

  I noticed that the butler had slipped from the room. The tall, dark man lounging against the desk ambled over.

  “So you are the celebrated Mr. Holmes,” said the man. “I am Howard Thornton. I am the nephew of Xavier Thornton.”

  “One of the nephews,” corrected George Smythe.

  “Of course, George,” said the man suavely. “May I see the message?”

  George Smythe still held the telegram in his hands. He reluctantly handed it to Howard Thornton.

  “Well you are a bit early, gentlemen,” he said after he read the note. “George is correct. The old man sees no one during his hour of repose. Scragg, did you know that Uncle was expecting a visitor?”

  The bald man maintained a stoic expression, but did nod his head in the affirmative and then spoke.

  “The Colonel did inform me that he had an appointment with Mr. Holmes today.”

  “Scragg believes that he and my Uncle are still with the old regiment,” said Howard Thornton with a laugh, “but apparently the old man put one over on you, Smythe.”

  “As I said,” replied the man with dignity, “Mr. Thornton gave me the message to send. It was his wish that I not read it before sending it. I only followed his express wish as always.”

  “Of course, George, and rightly so I daresay, but I believe that I would have snuck a look.”

  “I am certain you would have, Howard,” said Smythe. “Now, to the matter at hand. I am afraid that you are in for a wait, Mr. Holmes. This is the hour that Mr. Thornton holds open for his own reflection.”

  “I take it that he is very busy,” said Holmes.

  “He is that, sir, but if you and this gentleman,” he looked in my direction, “will wait, I am certain that Mr. Thornton will see you at noon, even if the appointment was for one P.M.”

  “We will certainly wait,” said Holmes. “But I am afraid that I have not introduced my companion. This is Dr. Watson.”

  I nodded to the small group.

  “So the chronicler has come as well,” said Howard Thornton. “Even out in the country we have read the stories, but then I suppose there is a bit of literary license.”

  Howard Thornton dug his elbow into my ribs as he spoke. I began to protest, but saw a smile cross the lips of my companion. I decided that discretion was the better part of valor and remained silent. Smythe indicted that we should sit, so Holmes and I each took a seat on a sofa. Scragg had not moved from his position since we had arrived. George Smythe resumed his seat at his desk, and Howard Thornton paced back and forth across the room. I noticed that although he affected a nonchalant attitude, he had the ramrod-straight posture of a soldier. I taxed him about this and he admitted it was true.

  “Yes, Doctor,” he said, “I did a tour with the army in South Africa, but I decided the life was not for me.”

  “And what is your career, Mr. Thornton, if I may ask?”

  I am a writer as is my Father,” he replied to me. “Uncle says that we are both dreamers. Father is a well-respected poet, but I am writing for the theatre. I hope to stage my own plays someday.”

  Perhaps he might have said more, but he was interrupted by the entrance of two men. One was an elderly and very tall man. He was bent over and walked with a long cane. The other man was much younger and of below-average height. The younger man was running a bit to stout and was perspiring freely in the heat.

  “What is this nonsense about Xavier calling in a detective?” asked the older man in a querulous voice.

  “I see that Jackson spread the word in a most efficient manner,” said Howard Thornton with a grin to George Smythe.

  The secretary grimaced and looked to the elderly man.

  “What would you have me say, sir?” asked Smythe.

  The elderly man calmed down at once.

  “Of course, George. It is the heat that has made me a bit quick.” He focused his attention on Holmes. “Then you would be Mr. Holmes, I take it.”

  Holmes rose as the man spoke.

  “And you are Mr. Lawrence Thornton, the oldest brother,” said Holmes. “Which would make your companion Mr. Winston Thornton.”

  The younger man nodded at Holmes with a smile.

  “They say you are a difficult man to fool, Mr. Holmes,” said Winston Thornton.

  “Those who have supposed me a fool have found themselves very much mistaken,” replied Holmes.

  I thought I saw a smirk cross the lips of Howard Thornton. Holmes’s sta
tement did sound a bit pompous, but my experience with him was that he was correct.

  “Why are we all standing in the secretary’s room,” asked Lawrence Thornton. “Should we not be talking to Xavier?”

  “Mr. Thornton, you know your brother does not see visitors during this hour,” said Smythe.

  “It is only five minutes short of the hour,” said Winston Thornton with a glance at the clock.

  “But I believe that today he most especially did not want to be disturbed.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Holmes quickly.

  “Because I heard him latch the door from the inside a few minutes after everyone left,” said Smythe.

  “Was there a special meeting today?” asked Holmes.

  “Nothing special, I assure you, Mr. Holmes,” said the eldest brother. “Once a month Xavier gathers us together to complain that we are spending too much money.”

  “And today was no different,” said Holmes.

  “No, it was not,” replied Winston Thornton.

  “This is silly,” said Lawrence Thornton as he walked to the door at the far end of the room. “I allow Xavier his little eccentricities, but I will speak to him now.”

  As he spoke he rapped sharply on the door three times. He waited several moments before he repeated the action. He looked to the secretary.

  “Smythe, are you certain that he is in there?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Of course, he is,” replied Smythe. “I have not left this office since this morning’s meeting ended. Scragg has been here with me the entire time as well.”

  Lawrence Thornton turned the doorknob. It twisted easily in his hand, but the door remained shut.

  “It has been latched from the inside,” said Smythe. “I heard him do it myself.”

  “Is it usual for Mr. Thornton to lock his door?” asked Holmes.

  “Mr. Thornton locks the door at the end of the day,” said Smythe in reply. “But it is not his habit to do so when he is in the room.”