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

by Steven Ehrman

  “I am aware of that, Doctor,” said Holmes dryly. “At any rate I believe that we are done here. Let us return to the house. Watson, be a good fellow and bring the bow and arrow with you.”

  I did as I was bid and we exited the loft and then the carriage house itself. As we were crossing the yard, a carriage came through the gate. It stopped in front of us and two men stepped to the ground. One was a man unknown to me. He was a young constable with a short-cropped beard. The other, to my surprise, was Inspector Lestrade.

  The Inspector spied us as well. We walked over to the two gentlemen, carrying the clues we had found.

  “Well, Mr. Holmes,” said Lestrade, “it appears that the incident at your rooms last night was a precursor for this day’s tragedy.”

  “So it would seem, Inspector.”

  “Well, Constable Thomas,” Lestrade waved at the short, stocky constable by his side, “has informed me that Xavier Thornton has been shot and killed. Obviously the threats were not so benign.”

  “That is so,” said Holmes. “I was not expecting you until late this afternoon, Inspector. For what reason have you come so early?”

  The Inspector gave Holmes a long look before he spoke.

  “It is just this, Mr. Holmes. I grew increasingly uneasy over the entire matter. The more I considered it, the more uneasy I became. I am sorry to have been proven right in my worries. What have you there, Doctor?”

  He indicated the weapons I was holding.

  “These were found in the loft of the carriage house, Inspector,” I said in reply. “They have been undoubtedly left behind by the culprit.”

  I handed them to him as I spoke. He knocked the dust off of them with his hand.

  “Is the Doctor correct, Mr. Holmes?” he asked. “Were these left by the murderer?”

  “I have absolutely no doubt in my mind, Inspector, that Watson is correct. These were left by the murderer.”

  I was warmed by Holmes’s enthusiastic endorsement of my words. Holmes often spoke in either riddles or generalities at this stage of an investigation, but he obviously believed his words.

  “You best take charge of these, Thomas,” said Lestrade. “They should prove to be valuable at trial.”

  He handed the evidence to the young village constable.

  “Then you believe there will be a trial, Lestrade?” asked Holmes mildly.

  “I should say so,” said the Inspector importantly. “Whoever has done this has overplayed his hand. All that is needed is to interview again the Robin Hood societies that sent the previous letters. I am confident that we will unearth the culprit.”

  “It will interest you to know, Inspector,” said I, “that Holmes states that the arrow that Constable Thomas now has is the mate to the one shot into our rooms last night.”

  “Is that a fact?” asked Lestrade. “Well, that makes it simple enough to follow. It is a conspiracy.”

  “How so, Lestrade?” asked Holmes.

  “The way I read it,” began the Inspector in a lecturing tone, “is that this is at least a two-man job and possibly more.”

  “Why a two-man job, Inspector?” I asked.

  “You see, Doctor, that one person had to be in London to shoot the arrow into your rooms and the other would need to be here to fire the shot that killed Mr. Xavier Thornton.”

  It was well reasoned, I thought, but Holmes was clearly skeptical.

  “There is a flaw in your theory, Inspector, if I may so say.”

  “What is that, Mr. Holmes?”

  “Why, merely that Watson and I were in London and yet, here we are today,” said Holmes. “I might further point out that you yourself were in London last night and yet here you are.”

  Lestrade seemed irritated for a moment and then broke into a broad smile.

  “Oh course, Mr. Holmes, you will have your little joke,” he said. “But mark my words that my theory will prove to be the correct one.”

  Holmes merely shrugged his shoulders in a noncommittal way.

  “At any rate,” said Lestrade, “let us inspect the scene of the crime. Thomas, come with me.”

  With that, the Inspector moved off briskly towards the house. Holmes and I followed closely behind.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The four of us trooped back into the house and we soon found ourselves in the secretary’s third-floor room. After some short introductions Lestrade, Holmes and myself went into Xavier Thornton’s room. Scragg had been standing guard in our absence and he gave way to the Inspector gravely. Like a terrier, Lestrade scurried about the room.

  He checked the body thoroughly.

  “Would you say that death was instantaneous,” Doctor?” he asked.

  “It is difficult to say for certain, but in my opinion a shot through the throat, such as we have here, would have killed the man instantly,” I replied.

  “It is easy to see where the shot came from,” said Lestrade, as he walked briskly to the window. “It seems a horrible shame to have killed a man because he was publishing a book that you do not like.”

  The last part was spoken with Lestrade’s head shaking slowly back and forth.

  “I should like to see the threatening notes,” said Holmes.

  “Of course, Mr. Holmes,” said the Inspector.

  In a few moments he had summoned the secretary into the room.

  “Now, Mr. Smythe, where are the letters that your master had received?” asked Lestrade.

  “They were kept with Mr. Thornton’s other correspondence in his desk,” said Smythe.

  He glanced with obvious distress at the body of Xavier Thornton draped over the desk.

  “I see no reason why the body cannot be moved at this time,” said Lestrade.

  The four of us gently transferred the body onto a nearby sofa. A sheet was sent for and the body was properly covered.

  Smythe rifled through the bottom right drawer and produced a sheaf of papers. He handed them to Lestrade, who in turn gave them to Holmes.

  “As you can see, Mr. Holmes, the letters do not actually threaten Mr. Thornton. They merely accuse him of disrespect to the name of Robin Hood,” said Lestrade. He pulled a battered notebook from his pocket and continued. “There were three of these societies that wrote letters and I visited them all in turn. One called itself The Men of Sherwood, another was The Merry Men, and the last was The Robin of Locksley Society.”

  “And what of The Will Scarlet Society?” asked Holmes. “Did you interview them?”

  “I have never heard of them,” replied Lestrade. “Why do you ask?”

  In answer Holmes handed the Inspector a single letter. Lestrade quickly scanned it.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he thundered. “Smythe, why was I not shown this letter before?”

  The secretary paled under the eye of the Inspector.

  “I…I…I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered.

  “Inspector,” said Holmes quietly, “perhaps you better have the Doctor read the letter aloud.”

  Lestrade looked a bit annoyed, but he handed me the letter. It was written in red ink and contained only two sentences.

  I cleared my throat and read. “You will die at the hands of the Will Scarlet Society for your insolence. The arrow of Robin Hood will fly once more.”

  Holmes looked pensive, but Lestrade was obviously angry.

  “I ask you again, sir, why was I not shown this letter before,” he demanded.

  “Inspector, I swear I have never seen this letter. It was not in there before.”

  “When did you last see the contents of that drawer?” asked Holmes.

  “Let me see,” said the man in concentration. “It must have been three or four days ago. I would swear that a letter with red ink was not there.”

  “So it was a recent threat,” said Lestrade. “This explains the telegram he sent you, Mr. Holmes.”

  “What are you suggesting, Inspector?” I asked.

  “Why, just this, Doctor,” he said. “Xavier Thornton has
been receiving these other letters for months. In fact, ever since word got out that he had decided that Robin Hood was a myth. The letters, while rude and annoying, are not actually threatening, so he ignores them. His sister-in-law is the one that sent for the authorities. She has gotten the wind up about several small accidents and believes there is danger.”

  “But Mr. Thornton did not,” reminded Holmes.

  “Just so, Mr. Holmes, and therein lies my point. This time the letter is explicitly threatening. Mr. Thornton is moved to send for you and he is killed before you arrive. We will avenge his death if I have anything to say about it. Scotland Yard will not rest until The Will Scarlet Society is called to justice.”

  Lestrade’s stirring words brought forth in me a national pride in our police force, and I did not doubt that Lestrade was correct in his reasoning.

  “It should not be difficult to track down this society,” said Holmes mildly. “Their address is printed on the reverse side of the letter.”

  Lestrade snatched the paper from my hand and turned it over. Over his shoulder I saw the address of 1314 Torrance Street, London.

  “Well, right you are, Mr. Holmes,” said he. “This is the height of arrogance. Perhaps they know that Mr. Thornton has been threatened by others and simply assume that their letter will be one of many. That would explain it.”

  “Perhaps,” said Holmes.

  Lestrade called for Constable Thomas and instructed him to have a wire sent to London informing the Yard about the Will Scarlet Society. The Constable took all the information down efficiently and left to have the message sent on.

  Holmes then suggested that we remove ourselves to the secretary’s room, and it was agreed that we would. All the family members were still there, and conversation was muted.

  “If I can have everyone’s attention,” began Lestrade, “as you all know, Mr. Xavier Thornton has been murdered. Everyone shall be questioned about his movements and the events leading up to the crime.”

  “Why should we be questioned?” demanded Lawrence Thornton. “It is as plain as the nose on your face what happened.”

  “It is merely standard procedure,” replied Lestrade. “Mr. Holmes has been of some small aid to me in the past and he will participate as well.”

  The old solicitor looked doubtfully at Lestrade, but I saw some respect in his eyes toward Holmes. The old man seemed even more stooped than before, and he leaned on his long cane heavily.

  “Uncle, please do not allow yourself to get upset,” said his nephew, Howard Thornton.

  The tall young man rushed to the side of his uncle and helped him to a seat. He stood next to the elderly man with his back ramrod straight and his hands behind him.

  “Lestrade perhaps we can conduct the interviews here,” said Holmes. “I suggest we start with Mr. Lawrence Thornton.”

  Victoria Thornton did not like the entire idea and expressed herself volubly. She was finally hustled out of the room and down the stairs by her husband and son. The others also left until only Lawrence Thornton remained along with Lestrade, Holmes, and myself.

  “I do not see what I can tell you that you do not already know,” said Thornton, gazing from Holmes to Lestrade.

  “I understand that there was a family meeting this morning before your brother was murdered,” said the Inspector.

  “That is true enough,” replied Thornton.

  “Did the entire family attend this meeting?”

  “All save my nephew Franklin. He has been ill for some time and has taken to his bed.”

  “Did not your sister-in-law believe that Franklin and Howard were poisoned?” asked Holmes.

  “Yes,” said the elderly man. “Victoria has convinced herself of that, but Edwards thinks not. Victoria is a willful woman who gets an idea into her head and will not let go of it.”

  Even seated, the old man leaned heavily on his cane as if he were quite weary.

  “But there were other disturbances, were there not?” asked Holmes. “As I recall, a saddle was stolen and a window was broken.”

  “That is so, but I put no faith in a conspiracy because of these things.”

  “Why not?” asked Lestrade, following Holmes’s lead.

  “Because this is a large holding, Inspector, and we have many hands. The saddle was likely lost and a broken window is hardly a dastardly deed. A careless maid is the likely answer. It was the letters that got Victoria’s wind up. She was just being a nervous woman.”

  “And yet your brother lies dead,” observed Holmes.

  “Yes,” said Thornton. “I have not forgotten that.”

  Lestrade made a great show of looking through his notebook and returned to the questioning.

  “Was the meeting this morning a regular affair?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. Xavier liked to bring us all together to remind us that he was in charge.”

  “Did this cause hard feelings in the family?”

  “For some perhaps,” said Thornton, “but not for me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the money was his, and we all lived here at his sufferance. Gentlemen, do not get the wrong idea about Xavier. He could be, and was, very generous. I loved him dearly, as I love all my family. It is true that had I been in Xavier’s place I would have made a different decision, but he was his own master.”

  “Did you never marry, sir?” asked Holmes.

  “No, I did not,” said the man with a rueful smile. “I am a lifelong bachelor, like Xavier. Most modern women have too tart a tongue for my tastes. I will not be a serf in my own home.”

  “Like your brother Winston, I presume,” said Holmes.

  “I did not say that,” scolded the man. “Victoria is a fine woman, but I daresay she is a bit of a tartar.”

  “An opinion I would wager your brother Xavier agreed with,” said Holmes.

  “That is true, indeed that is why...”

  Lawrence Thornton abruptly stopped and did not finish his thought. He turned to the Inspector.

  “Do you have further questions for me?”

  “Can you tell of the exact purpose of this morning’s meeting, sir?” asked Lestrade.

  “Yes, of course. It was the normal scolding about overspending. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Did your brother seem out of sorts in the least?” asked Holmes.

  “Is this man an official part of the investigation, Inspector?”

  “Mr. Holmes is here with my blessing, sir, and may I remind you that your brother sent for him himself.”

  “Little good it did him,” muttered Thornton. “Very well. I would say that Xavier seemed a bit more animated than was usual. That is only a vague sense that I had.”

  “And when the meeting was concluded, did everyone leave at once?” asked Holmes.

  The old man furrowed his brow in concentration. “Yes, I believe so. You should ask Smythe. He would remember.”

  Holmes began pacing the floor. “It is my understanding that your brother was a collector of many bows and arrows from the medieval period.”

  “Oh my, yes. There is a room on the first floor simply brimming with them.”

  “Do you know the disposition of your brother’s estate?” asked Holmes softly.

  “I do, and it is no secret.”

  “And what would that be?” asked Lestrade, suddenly very interested.

  “I am to inherit everything,” said the old solicitor flatly.

  “That seems very hard on your brother Winston,” observed Holmes.

  The old man shrugged and said nothing.

  “Did he have any particular reason to leave the estate to you only?”

  “He was a man of strong opinions,” returned the solicitor, and he would say nothing more on the matter.

  “Do you know of anything else that might have a bearing on this crime?” asked Lestrade.

  “Nothing, Inspector. I can only imagine it was committed by some deranged individual with an animus towards my brother. It is almost
certainly because of this Robin Hood business. I have been shocked at the strong feelings it provokes. Is there anything else?”

  “Just one more thing, sir,” said Holmes. “Can you describe your movements from the time you left your brother until the time his body was discovered?”

  “That is an impertinent question, young man, but never mind that. I was in my study reading.”

  “Can anyone corroborate that, sir?”

  “I believe that Jackson came into the room, but I really do not remember. If there is nothing else, may I go?”

  He directed that last statement towards the Inspector. He had clearly tired of Holmes’s questioning.

  “Very well,” said Lestrade. “You may go, sir, and thank you.”

  Holmes was pacing back and forth in front of Thornton, and before the old man could begin to rise, Holmes tripped over his cane. It clattered across the floor as Holmes fell heavily to the ground. Holmes seemed unhurt and immediately sprang to his feet. I retrieved the cane and handed it back to its master. It was a heavy cane that had obviously been in long use to the man. Thornton accepted the cane from me and tottered from the room.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “We seem to have learned little from this interview, other than the disposal of the estate,” said Lestrade. “Once this Will Scarlet Society is tracked down, I believe this matter will be brought to a close in any event. I wonder if we should put off questioning the family. They have suffered a major trauma.”

  In the main, I tended to agree with Lestrade. Holmes’s face betrayed no indication of his feelings. His hands were thrust into his pockets and he seemed deep in thought. Realizing Holmes was not going to answer him, Lestrade continued.

  “Of course, since we are here, we may as well continue,” he said. “What say you, Mr. Holmes?”

  Holmes was finally stirred to respond by this direct question.

  “Oh yes. Most certainly, Inspector,” he said. “I suggest we have the other brother in here.”

  This was agreed to, and Winston Thornton soon joined us. He sat upon a sofa and looked to Lestrade with intelligent eyes.