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

by Steven Ehrman

  “So when you asked him what he had picked up, he simply pulled out the handkerchief as a bluff,” said I.

  “How did he get the arrow into the room, Mr. Holmes?” asked George Smythe. “Mr. Thornton’s office was very sparse. I would swear it was not hidden in there.”

  “I agree,” said Scragg. “I cleaned the Colonel’s room every morning and every night. There was no arrow hidden.”

  “And that is one of the most fascinating parts of this case,” said Holmes. “Inspector Lestrade, can you have the Constable bring in what was found in the pond?”

  Lestrade nodded and walked out of the room. In just a few moments he and Constable Thomas returned carrying the saddle, jacket, and the book. They set all three on the floor in front of Holmes.

  “Now, Howard Thornton took advantage of the fact that his uncle had been receiving some annoying letters from the aficionados of the Robin Hood legend,” began Holmes. “To make it seem more menacing, he broke a window and stole a saddle, which he threw in the pond. During the hour after he murdered his uncle he had to get rid of something else, so he threw that in the pond as well. What was it he needed to get rid of?”

  Holmes looked around the room for an answer.

  “The book, obviously,” said Lestrade finally.

  “That is incorrect, Inspector. He needed to get rid of his black frock coat, so he wrapped it around the book and threw them both in the pond.”

  “If he was trying to get rid of the coat, why did he not just use a rock to sink it?” asked I.

  “Because had he done that and the coat was found, it would have been obvious to everyone that the coat was what he was trying to hide,” replied Holmes. “In this way it seemed that the book was the object being hidden.”

  “But why was he trying to hide the coat?” asked Lestrade.

  “Because he had altered the coat,” said Holmes. “Allow me to show you what I mean.”

  Holmes bent down and picked up the frock coat. He turned it inside out and showed it to everyone. I looked closely and could see that three loops had been sewed into the inside back of the coat. Holmes handed the coat to Lestrade for a closer examination by the Inspector.

  “I realized early on in this case,” said Holmes, “that if someone did carry the arrow on him into the room, it could only have been Howard Thornton.”

  “Why only him?” I asked.

  “I had considered that perhaps Lawrence Thornton was involved as well. I tripped over his cane to test if it was hollow. It was not, of course. No arrow had been hidden within it. That left Howard Thornton. Only he was tall enough and had the erect posture to do the deed.”

  “Lawrence Thornton is a tall man also,” I pointed out.

  “It is true that Mr. Lawrence Thornton is also tall enough, but he walks stooped over. Howard Thornton, on the other hand, has a military carriage. No one would notice a long arrow hidden in his jacket. However, there was a problem. Howard needed to rid himself of the jacket in case his room was searched. Burying it would take time, and burning it was out of the question. On a day as hot as that day was, anyone building a fire would be noticed. So Mr. Thornton wrapped the coat around the book, donned another black frock coat, slipped out of the house and threw the bundle in the pond.”

  “That is quite a theory, Mr. Holmes,” said Howard Thornton with a smile. “However, I was in my room until just before you arrived. I could not have done the deed of which you speak.”

  “I have a witness who will testify that you were not in your room, sir,” said Holmes.

  “Who is this witness?” asked Howard Thornton.

  “Why, it is your own mother, sir,” replied Holmes blandly.

  “That’s preposterous,” said the young man.

  “Not so, I assure you,” said Holmes. “The day of the murder I asked your mother how she spent the hour between the end of the meeting and the discovery of the body. She told me that she talked with the cook for a while, planning the evening meal, and then she took her son a sandwich. However, Franklin Thornton was with his nurse the entire time and they said nothing about Mrs. Thornton coming by. In addition, you said that you were undisturbed. Someone is lying in this matter, and I am certain it is you, Mr. Thornton. What say you, Mrs. Thornton?”

  All eyes turned to Victoria Thornton. Her own eyes were downcast, but she gradually raised them to meet the gaze of Sherlock Holmes.

  “It is true, Mr. Holmes,” she said softly. “I realized last night when I visited with you that Howard had lied.”

  “I know that, madam,” said Holmes.

  “How could you know?” she asked.

  “When I described where your sons said they were during the hour in question you began to say, but Howard was not in his room. When you realized the importance of Howard’s absence from his room, you cut it off and pretended that you had meant something else. I judged you to be an honest woman, and I knew you would not lie, even for your own son.”

  All eyes turned towards Howard Thornton, but he did not quail before their stare.

  “You have proven nothing, Mr. Holmes,” said he. “I still say that an archer killed my uncle. You have only a fanciful theory.”

  “I’m not finished yet, Mr. Thornton,” said Holmes. “There is still the murder of David Garret to deal with.”

  “Who is David Garret?” demanded Lawrence Thornton.

  “That answer starts with the letter that the supposed Will Scarlet Society sent, threatening Xavier Thornton,” said Holmes. “Howard, of course, wrote the letter, but he did not stop there. He had had a tailor named David Garret alter his frock coat for him. Howard Thornton, though, could not leave the tailor alive. What if he read about the murder of Howard Thornton’s uncle and put the facts together? Howard made up some story to tell the tailor, but then murdered him and set a fire to cover it up. He then decided to make the address of the Will Scarlet Society one which he knew was vacant and next door to the tailor. When it was found burned, no one wondered about the tailor, but rather they wondered about the vacancy where the Will Scarlet Society was supposed to be.”

  “This theory is even more fantastic than your other one, Mr. Holmes,” sneered Howard Thornton. “I did not even know this David Garret.”

  “That is a false statement, Mr. Thornton,” said Holmes. “As it happens, I was immediately suspicious of the fire. When I heard that a tailor had been killed in the blaze, I was further intrigued. I knew that you must have used a tailor to alter your frock coat. With this in mind, I visited David Garret’s widow. She told me that when he filled in a ledger book, he would replace it and take the old one home. She showed me the last book. It has your name in it, Mr. Thornton, and it describes the nature of the alteration. It will hang you, sir.”

  I watched Howard Thornton closely and I thought I detected a slight deviation from his usual military carriage. His back bent ever so slightly for a moment and then he stood straight up again.

  “You must understand, Mr. Holmes,” he said. “My uncle would have left us destitute, and for what reason? That my father dared marry. I knew that with the money in Uncle Lawrence’s hands that he would do the right thing. I could not take a chance that Uncle Lawrence would die before Uncle Xavier.”

  “Howard, be quiet,” said his mother. “You do not know what you are saying.”

  “Yes I do, Mother, and it is time someone called out Uncle Xavier for the tyrant he was. Even if you and Father do not believe that you had the right to the money, I do. It should have been mine.”

  “Howard, you have gone mad,” said Winston Thornton.

  “I tried to follow in your footsteps, Father, but I cannot live as a pauper as you have. You were happy with the handouts of a rich man.”

  “Mr. Thornton, I must place you under arrest in the name of the crown,” said Lestrade.

  The Inspector took a step towards the young man. Before he could do more Howard Thornton pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket and emptied the contents of it into his glass of whiske
y. He then downed his drink in one swallow. It was all done in a matter of moments.

  “I now take my exit from the stage,” he said dramatically.

  Howard Thornton leaned over and braced himself against the sofa his mother and father were sitting in. He gave a gasp and crashed to the ground. No ministrations could save him and he died within the hour of arsenic poisoning.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The next morning found Holmes and myself back at our diggings on Baker Street. Inspector Lestrade joined us after breakfast and was sharing coffee and cigarettes with us in our sitting room.

  “Mr. Holmes, I do not mind saying that I was quite out of my depth in this case,” said Lestrade. “When did you first suspect Howard Thornton?”

  “Almost immediately,” replied Holmes. “He was the last to see his uncle alive, after all. It was quite clever of him to set the stage as he did.”

  “What stage do you speak of, Holmes?” I asked.

  “Remember, Watson, that Howard Thornton was a dramatist. He understood staging. Although an arrow can be used at close range, the first thought upon finding a person killed with an arrow is that was loosed from a bow. His uncle’s work, of course, gave him the idea.

  “He furthered this impression by shooting an arrow into this room when he found out his uncle had written me. He doubtless snuck out of the estate at night and returned before morning. It would not be difficult. He also made certain that not just a bow, but an arrow would be found in the carriage house loft. That the bow and arrow he left were dusty, was testament to the fact that they had been there for some time, and not simply left behind hurriedly by an assassin that day. That the three arrows were all a match to each other solidified the impression that a mad archer was responsible.”

  “It would seem that he planned the perfect crime,” I said.

  “Up to a point, that is true, Doctor,” said Holmes. “However, he became infatuated with his storytelling and tripped up by making the address of the Will Scarlet Society next to the murder scene of the tailor. It was the pure vanity of an immature mind showing off.”

  “I wonder if Howard Thornton was truly in possession of his faculties,” said I.

  “That is impossible to say, Doctor,” replied Holmes. “I do, however, suspect some derangement. Lestrade, has the cause of death for Howard Thornton been determined?”

  “It has, Mr. Holmes. The coroner says it is undoubtedly arsenic. A full autopsy will have to be performed, but it seems clear.”

  “I hardly think that this is the first time Mr. Thornton has employed arsenic,” said Holmes.

  “Do you mean to say that he and Franklin Thornton were really poisoned?” I asked. “Mrs. Thornton was right after all, then.”

  “Yes, I believe that she was,” said Holmes. “I believe that Howard Thornton poisoned his brother and hoped to eliminate one more heir in the process.”

  “But he might have died himself,” said Lestrade.

  “It is my belief that Howard Thornton dosed himself very lightly and exaggerated his symptoms when he poisoned his brother. As I say, he was a clever and dangerous man.”

  “Oh, one more thing, Mr. Holmes,” said Lestrade. “I have spoken to Xavier Thornton’s solicitor and he reports that had Lawrence Thornton predeceased his brother that Xavier was of a mind to make his youngest brother the beneficiary, despite his qualms about Mrs. Thornton.”

  “So it was all for nothing,” I said sadly. “Howard Thornton’s family would have come into the family fortune in any case.”

  “True, Watson, but remember that Xavier Thornton was a relatively young and vital man. He may have lived for years,” said Holmes. “No, I think young Thornton would have struck at some point.”

  We lapsed into a silence for a few minutes. Finally, Lestrade took his leave of us, and Holmes and I were alone. A thought occurred to me.

  “Holmes, if you believe that Howard Thornton deliberately poisoned his brother, should the family be told?”

  “I think not, Doctor,” said Holmes after a short pause. “Franklin Thornton is out of danger. Telling the family can only cause them further pain.”

  “But I thought that you were the champion of the truth.”

  “Sometimes even the truth must be gilded, Doctor,” replied Holmes. “Do you not agree?”

  “I do so wholeheartedly,” I said. “Let the foul deed be buried with the man.”

  The End

  SPECIAL NOTE

  If you’ve read and enjoyed The Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tales, please add a review at the site on which you purchased your copy. Reviews provide a valuable guide for those attempting to find books they might enjoy.

  Thank you,

  Steven Ehrman

  Table of Contents

  DEDICATION

  CONTENTS

  Works by the Same Author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  special note