With the same taut urgency, his fingers were already rifling through the volume for a second time.
‘Teddington: Middlesex village situated on the River Thames, 12 miles south west of London, chiefly notable for its navigable lock and for a footbridge linking Middlesex with Surrey.’ He looked across at Dr Watson. ‘Nothing obvious there, my friend. And it would be wise to see if those paths are leading in the right direction before we follow them too far.’
He closed the book, placed his fingertips together and contemplated the ceiling.
‘This is a very pretty puzzle, Watson. But not one beyond our capabilities, I trust.’ He smiled again, then rubbed his hands as if relishing the challenge. ‘And what about you, Mrs Hudson?’ he enquired with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Does the Viscount’s clue suggest anything to you?’
The housekeeper furrowed her brow in response. ‘Do I understand, sir, that those words are intended to indicate the whereabouts of the lost document you mentioned?’
‘That is correct, Mrs Hudson.’
‘And that message was written by Viscount Wrexham?’
‘It was. He wrote it immediately after his father had told him where to find the document.’
‘I see, sir. Very interesting. Very interesting indeed. And do I understand, sir, that you intend to concentrate your search in the locations you’ve just mentioned?’
In reply, Sherlock Holmes simply raised an eyebrow and there seemed to me to be particular meaning in the look they exchanged.
‘You can be sure Sir Percival will not wish to rule anything out, Mrs Hudson,’ he told her with a smile. ‘And he will no doubt wish to employ considerable resources in the search.’
Mrs Hudson nodded, then reached down to straighten the large pile of books we had placed on the floor beneath the window. That task complete, she wiped her hands on her apron.
‘I’m afraid, sir, I couldn’t suggest the precise meaning of such a message at present. But, of course, sir, if any location does suggest itself, I shall be sure to let you know. Now, will there be anything else, sir?’
The gentlemen requiring nothing further, Mrs Hudson took her leave with all the dignity of a battleship putting to sea, leaving me with no option but to follow, bobbing slightly, in her wake.
Chapter VII
Too Many Colonel Middletons
The days that followed our discovery in Randolph Square were hectic with activity. Sir Percival Grenville-Ffitch mobilised the might of Scotland Yard and set it to investigate the clue left behind by Viscount Wrexham. If any citizens of either Andover or Teddington had even the slightest knowledge of the Lazarus Testament, Sir Percival declared, his men would find them out and extract it. And as for the military man in question, well, he made it clear to Inspector Mapperley and his men that he wanted every officer named Middleton, serving or retired, who had ever reached the rank of colonel, to be found and interviewed.
‘Although I confess I am a little anxious,’ he declared. ‘That question mark – might it not suggest that Viscount Wrexham was uncertain of the man’s rank? Or perhaps even of his name? Perhaps he couldn’t hear his father’s whisper. Perhaps the whole clue is flawed…’
Mr Holmes heard this with a smile. ‘But, Sir Percival, might the question mark not equally refer to the word tyrant?’ he asked. ‘Perhaps the Viscount’s doubt concerned this colonel’s degree of tyranny?’
This sort of comment invariably made Sir Percival groan, and his distinguished face would contort in an agony of doubt.
‘And what are we to make of the reference to Prince Leopold, Mr Holmes? I refuse to believe any son of our good queen is involved in this matter in any way. His Royal Highness died rather young, if you remember, and as far as I can discover at no point in his life did he show any interest at all in Biblical archaeology. I met him myself on more than one occasion. Hardly a tyrant. He was a most mild-mannered man…’
Despite these doubts, Sir Percival’s efforts were unstinting, and even Sherlock Holmes confessed himself impressed by his energy and by the resources being brought to bear on the case. Perhaps in recognition of Sir Percival’s determination, he charged Dr Watson with the task of reading through the very large number of reports being collected about various Colonel Middletons; and with interviewing in person those individuals he considered most promising. This involved a good deal of travelling, and very soon the task began to strain the doctor’s temper.
‘If I never drink another glass of dining-car claret again, it will be far too soon,’ he declared to Mrs Hudson one evening. ‘And it’s not as if I know what to ask these chappies when I do meet them. It’s clear from the first few words they say that none of them has ever had the slightest interest in the New Testament. They can’t wait to tell me that they spent their best years in the army snoozing through church parades. Dash it! Most of them think Aramaic is what the Roman’s used to decorate their floors!’
An attempt to advertise for any undiscovered Colonel Middletons proved even less helpful, with a persistent stream of individuals arriving on our doorstep hungry for reward, very few of whom proved, upon investigation, to be either genuine colonels or genuine Middletons.
Mr Holmes viewed all this urgent activity with an air of detached amusement. While tolerating Sir Percival’s investigations with a benign smile, he confessed openly to Mrs Hudson that he believed Viscount Wrexham’s note had a less obvious meaning.
‘After all, Mrs Hudson, the man who thought to remove the paper from that blotter had no common intelligence. He knew what he was about, and his brain moved quickly. We must ask ourselves what sort of cipher such a man might have adopted to disguise his father’s meaning.’
With this end in mind, Mr Holmes confined himself to his study for long periods, with the words of the Viscount’s message scrawled on a large blackboard which he had placed above the mantelpiece.
‘You see, Flotsam,’ he explained to me one evening when I interrupted his vigil with a plate of thickly-cut sandwiches, ‘either these words are the actual message given to Viscount Wrexham by his father, with a meaning we can only guess at, or they are some sort of shorthand or code employed by the Viscount himself.’ He brandished a sandwich at the blackboard as he spoke, but his eyes rarely left the cryptic words in front of him. ‘If the former, then no doubt Sir Percival will get his man. But if the latter, Flotsam, well, the nation’s hopes rest with us. And if you would like to crack the code, my girl, don’t ask yourself what the words actually mean. Ask yourself what meaning they would have to a man such as Viscount Wrexham…’
Mrs Hudson, however, appeared unmoved by all this excitement. She observed the comings and goings of Dr Watson and Sir Percival with an indulgent shrug of her shoulders, then rolled up her sleeves to make sure that the smooth running of the household never faltered. In the days that followed, however unlikely our gentlemen’s requirements for sustenance or clean laundry, we were never found wanting.
Only once did I see her show any interest in the mysterious message that was causing such consternation elsewhere. That was a full three days after its first discovery, when Mr Holmes had been summoned to the Home Office and we were taking advantage of his absence to dust and tidy the study. I was busy on my knees dealing with the skirting boards, and when I looked up I saw Mrs Hudson was standing deep in thought by the fireplace, studying the blackboard where the message was scrawled.
‘What do you think it means, ma’am?’ I asked her rather timidly. ‘Mr Holmes thinks it might be some sort of code. If he’s right, then I’m afraid Dr Watson might be wasting his time investigating people called Colonel Middleton.’
‘Of course he is, Flotsam, and Mr Holmes is well aware of it,’ she replied without hesitation. ‘But I agree with him wholeheartedly that it’s good for Dr Watson to be getting out and getting some exercise. Sitting here smoking all day with Mr Holmes would be very bad for him. He’s a gentleman who needs to keep active.’
‘But, ma’am,’ I reproached her, ‘how can you be
so sure? It almost sounds as though you know what the message means!’
But rather than denying such a preposterous suggestion instantly, as I had expected, the housekeeper frowned at the board for a few seconds more.
‘Why Colonel, Flotsam?’ Her frown deepened. ‘Colonel. It’s very puzzling. You see, Flottie, there’s only one element in that message I don’t quite understand. But I can think of just the person to help us with it, and as soon as I get a moment in this upside-down household of ours, I shall drop him a line.’
‘Dr Watson says all the experts on ciphers have already seen it, ma’am,’ I warned her. ‘And Sir Percival told him it’s been circulated to any number of top professors too.’
‘Has it really, Flotsam?’ Mrs Hudson seemed unimpressed. ‘Well, the person I have in mind is an expert, certainly, but I confess he is no professor.’
What became of Mrs Hudson’s inquiry wasn’t immediately clear, for the next day I heard no more from her about the Viscount’s message. And the day after that, when she finally had an hour or two free, it became clear that the unfortunate Mr Swan was still uppermost in her mind.
‘Perhaps you would care to join me, Flotsam?’ she asked. ‘It is my plan to call on Constable Dobson at the police station, to see if he can help us with one or two more questions. Since the day is mild and our two gentlemen are not at home, I think we would both benefit from the walk.’
It was certainly true that the day was a fine one. The pale sunlight of the week before had already grown stronger, and everything, from the deportment of pedestrians to the whistling of the bakers’ boys about their rounds, spoke of a bright new season on its way. The tentative buds on the plane trees were already showing green, and around the ponds in the parks the crocuses were surprising last year’s ducklings with their splashes of purple and of gold. As we walked, we talked of things unrelated to Mr Holmes and his mysteries, until we arrived at the police station where Constable Dobson was on duty and in excellent spirits.
Unfortunately, however, our optimism received something of a check at his hands. Mrs Hudson, it appeared, had hoped to persuade the constable to let us look at Mr Swan’s personal effects, only to be told, to our great dismay, that everything Mr Swan owned had already been parcelled up and shipped to his heir in South Africa. And by the slowest class of shipment too, so it was probable that nothing would emerge from transit for many weeks to come.
‘All his things?’ Mrs Hudson asked with some asperity. ‘Even the train tickets he carried with him when he died?’
‘I’m afraid so, ma’am. It’s procedure, you see.’ Constable Dobson spoke as one paying reverence to a higher power.
The only good news seemed to be that the silver watch which I had seen in Mr Swan’s hand had not been sent with his other possessions. The official view remained that it must have been dropped by a third party, and so it lingered, unclaimed, in the police station’s lost-property room. Constable Dobson allowed us to look at it again, but apart from the sinister initials on its case, there was nothing about it to excite our curiosity. It was a relatively inexpensive object, perhaps the sort a prosperous shopkeeper might own, but it was solid, weighty, and in every way inscrutable.
‘And tell me, Constable,’ Mrs Hudson went on, changing the subject, ‘that railway ticket of Mr Swan’s… Have you by any chance been able to recall the destination he was bound for?’
In his eagerness to help, Constable Dobson contorted his face and stared quite hard at the ceiling, but in the end he could only shake his head and explain that he hadn’t really taken much notice of it.
‘Was it Alnwick?’ he asked himself, scratching his chin. ‘Or North Allerton? Somewhere like that, I reckon. You see, I just remember thinking I’d heard of it. I didn’t think at the time that the place was important, ma’am.’
And Mrs Hudson could do no more than accept his promise that if the name came back to him, he would let her know straightaway.
‘It’s all a great shame, Flotsam,’ Mrs Hudson sighed as we stepped back into the street. ‘I blame myself for not clarifying the point earlier, but it hadn’t occurred to me that the authorities would be so prompt in their actions.’
She shook her head again and a little frown betrayed her frustration.
‘You see, Flotsam, it occurs to me that Mr Swan might have been going to visit his Elsie on the day of his death. If we only knew where he was going, we might be able to look for her there. But now, I fear, we can do little but hope that Mr Rumbelow’s advertisements will reap some reward.’
I thought this was an end to our inquiries that day, but as Mrs Hudson and I continued our wanderings, our path brought us close to the Albany, where Viscount Wrexham had once lived.
‘And since we happen to be in the vicinity,’ the housekeeper conceded, ‘I can see no harm in us paying a call. The caretaker here is known to me, and it’s never a bad thing to renew an old acquaintance, is it, Flotsam?’
This caretaker turned out to be a rather grizzled old man of piratical appearance, for he wore a patch over one eye and one sleeve pinned to his chest. He welcomed Mrs Hudson with a greeting that betrayed a slight Cornish accent, which only enhanced the suggestion of a retired buccaneer. However, he seemed to welcome our company and he ushered us into a tiny basement room where a kettle bubbled on the stove amid countless piles of old sporting newspapers.
‘One moment and I’ll have cleared a seat for you ladies,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s been a few years since I saw you last, ma’am, and I’d be telling the truth if I said you don’t look a day older. You’ll find me sadly aged, I’m afraid, sadly aged. And as for my lumbago…’
Mrs Hudson waited until we were seated and supplied with tea before turning the conversation to Viscount Wrexham and his disappearance.
‘Arr, that was a rum business, ma’am. He went out that morning like any other morning, he did, dressed impeccable, with those long silver locks of his all shining. Horace, he said to me, Pauncefoot is planning to return some collars to the laundry. He may ask you to pack them up for him. Now, I ask you, ma’am, is those the words of a man who expects to disappear?’
Mrs Hudson agreed they were not obviously indicative of such an intention.
‘And who is Pauncefoot?’ she asked.
‘Pauncefoot’s the Viscount’s valet, ma’am. Been together for years, they had. When the Viscount disappeared, his man took it bad. Took to staying out all hours, he did, like he couldn’t settle. I used to say to Mrs Hicks at the draper’s, he’s pining is Pauncefoot. And he was, ma’am. All jumpy and anxious he became. Missed the Viscount something terrible, I’d say. Don’t think he was being paid either, what with old Lord Beaumaris dying and the estate in the hands of the creditors. That’s why he went. Took another job, he did. Went into service out of town, I think he said.’
Mrs Hudson nodded. ‘I’d very much like to talk to Pauncefoot, Mr Trelawney. Did he leave a forwarding address?’
‘I don’t know that he did, ma’am. Least ways, not with me. Perhaps them solicitors who run things now might know where to find him.’
‘And what do you think happened to the Viscount, Mr Trelawney?’
The old man considered for a moment. ‘Well, like I say, ma’am, I don’t hold with them that says he’s running from his debts. He was never one to believe himself beaten, you see, ma’am. He always held that a good winner was just round the corner to put him back on his feet. Very resourceful was the Viscount. Nah, if he’s gone of his own free will, it’s because he’s up to something. But after all this time, well, I fears for him, ma’am. I said to Mrs Hicks only yesterday, there’s skulduggery at work, Mrs Hicks, I said, and she said straight back, I think you’re right, Mr Trelawney.’
‘And what has happened to the Viscount’s things? Are his rooms still taken?’
The old caretaker shook his head. ‘No, ma’am. After Pauncefoot left, they kept the place on for a bit, in case the old fox reappeared. But there’s nothing left to pay for such things now an
d the creditors kicked up a fuss. So three months after he disappeared, the solicitors had his things sent for and gave up the lease. If the Viscount came back tomorrow, ma’am, he’d find a young hearty just down from the Varsity sitting in his favourite seat. And much less cheery the place is for it, I’ll tell you that.’
‘Tell me, Flottie,’ Mrs Hudson asked as we made our way homewards, ‘have you noticed anything about the way people speak of the Viscount?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ I replied promptly, for our meeting with the caretaker had set me thinking. ‘It’s as if everyone who’s actually met him has a lot of respect for him, ma’am. And affection too. I mean, I know he’s a rogue, ma’am, and I’m sure all those terrible things Mr de Lacey told us about him are true, but even he said the Viscount always showed daring. And Mr Fallowell spoke of him dominating the room…’
‘Yes, Flottie. Somehow it’s hard to imagine such a man being set upon in the street, isn’t it? Not without him creating an uproar. And as for him being kidnapped, well, again you’d think such a resourceful figure would be a little ahead of his enemies, wouldn’t you?’
‘And I know it sounds stupid, ma’am, but I was thinking that once his father had whispered the secret to him, wouldn’t he have to disappear?’
Mrs Hudson raised an eyebrow. ‘Go on, Flottie,’ she prompted.
‘Well, I was wondering what I’d do if such a valuable piece of information came my way. I mean, he was desperate for money, ma’am, but he also knew that a great many other people were after the Lazarus Testament and they’d all be watching to see what he did next. I mean, he couldn’t start searching for it without leading all his rivals to it, too, could he, ma’am?’
We had reached a little square where there were public benches beneath the trees and Mrs Hudson steered me towards one of them.
‘I quite agree, Flotsam. He certainly couldn’t.’
‘But if he could somehow vanish so no one at all knew where he was… Well, ma’am, then he could go and find it in his own time, without giving anything away.’
Mrs Hudson and the Lazarus Testament Page 9