The lawyer nodded in confirmation. ‘It was at that point that I began to agree with Lord Backwater that a more vigorous investigation was required. A wire to my London agents gave me your name and we came at once,’ he said.
‘You were quite right,” said Holmes, ‘to consult someone who has always believed that there is a great deal too much coincidence about.
‘Lord Backwater,’ he continued, ‘the newspapers list some of the causes to which your father contributed over the years. Most were concerned with the education of the poor, the relief of poverty or the care of orphans. Did he contribute to animal charities?’
‘As you may imagine,’ said Mr Predge, ‘the late Lord Backwater received many appeals to his generosity. The causes you have mentioned were foremost, but he made regular donations to support organisations that cared for horses.’
‘He was not a dog lover?’ asked Holmes.
‘He neither liked nor disliked them. There are dogs about the estate,’ said Lord Backwater, ‘working dogs, and old Towler followed my father about.’
‘But neither old Towler nor any other dog was with him when he met his death?’
‘No sir,’ said the young Lord, and a slow light of remembrance dawned across his face.
‘What have you recalled?’ demanded my friend.
‘The dogs,’ said Lord Backwater slowly. ‘There have been a number of occasions recently when my father has ordered the dogs locked up before he went out for a walk, as he did that afternoon.’
Holmes smiled, but quickly suppressed the expression. ‘I fear,’ he said, ‘that I must ask a question that may appear indelicate in the circumstances. The newspapers say that Lady Backwater has been dead some ten years–”
‘Mr Holmes!’ interrupted Lord Backwater angrily. ‘Do not dare to suggest that my father went to meet a – a female! My father and mother were devoted to each other and since her death he has not looked at another woman.’
‘It was a remote possibility in the light of the note,’ said Holmes, ‘but it had to be considered. Now that it has been eliminated, we may, I think, draw some inferences.’
Lord Backwater and Mr Predge leaned forward eagerly.
‘It seems likely that the note was, in fact, delivered by hand to Backwater Hall on the afternoon of your father’s death,’ said Holmes. ‘The fact that no one saw it delivered is not evidence against the proposition. That an action was unremarked does not make it impossible. The note seems to be from someone with a long-standing acquaintance with your father, if not friendship.’
‘Why do you say so?’ asked Lord Backwater.
‘Because your father accepted the assignation in the note and went to it without trepidation and with no precautions. Evidently he felt that he had nothing to fear from the meeting.’
‘Then he was killed by someone that he knew!’ exclaimed the young Viscount.
‘I did not say so, nor do I believe it to be so,’ said Holmes. ‘You are in danger, Lord Backwater, of running ahead of the available data. Tell me, had your father any enemies?’
‘None of which I was aware,’ said the young man, and turned again to his lawyer for confirmation.
‘The late Lord Backwater,’ said the solicitor, ‘was universally admired and respected. Apart from those major acts of charity which became known to the public, he made many minor donations to relieve distress in individual cases in the area of Backwater Hall. In addition, he was scrupulous in his commercial transactions, often to his own disadvantage.’
Holmes nodded. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Then there is only one more question of consequence. What connection had Lord Backwater with the Antipodes?’
Lord Backwater and his solicitor looked at each other with identical expressions of astonishment. Even I, who had become used, I thought, to my friend’s apparent non-sequiturs, was bewildered.
‘None, none, I think,’ said the young Lord. ‘He had business interests, of course, in many regions – in America, in Canada, in South America, South Africa – but you will have read that in the obituaries. I do not think he had any interest in the Antipodes, had he, Mr Predge?’
‘I am sure not,’ said the lawyer. ‘His fortune came from the mining of metals and gems and, as Lord Patrick has said, his holdings were widespread, but I cannot recall any connection with Australia or New Zealand.’
‘You said that you had only that one question,’ said Lord Backwater. ‘Does that mean that you have reached a conclusion, Mr Holmes?’
‘I understand your concern to bring your father’s murderers to justice,’ said Holmes, ‘but it is far too early for conclusions. Inferences, yes. We can be reasonably sure that your father left home in a cheerful frame of mind to meet an acquaintance – perhaps even a friend – who disliked or was afraid of dogs and whom your father did not regard as a threat. In keeping that rendezvous he was set upon and savagely killed.’
‘Then you believe his friend – his acquaintance – lured him into a trap?’ asked Lord Backwater.
‘I do not know,’ said Holmes. ‘At this point I cannot be certain, but I believe it improbable. It seems to me much more likely that the trap was set by others, for one or both of them. No doubt we shall learn more when we accompany you to Backwater Hall.’
He rose and our guests rose too. ‘When shall you be there?’ asked Lord Backwater.
Holmes glanced at the mantel clock. ‘I have no engagements that require me to remain in town,’ he said. ‘If Mr Predge will be kind enough to reserve a first-class smoker, Watson and I will meet you at Paddington in time for the noon train. Good day, Lord Backwater. Good day, Mr Predge.’
When the visitors had departed, Holmes flung himself full length on the couch with a hand over his eyes. ‘Be so good,’ he asked me, ‘as to run over the longest obituary you can find for me.’
I shuffled through the mass of the morning’s papers and finally selected a lengthy obituary of the late Viscount Backwater and rehearsed the principal points for Holmes.
‘Former James Lisle – born in humble circumstances – orphaned at an early age – took to the sea – adventurous years in America – one of the discoverers of the Great Empress Silver Lode – expanding interests in mining – returned to England twenty-five years ago – reclusive life at Backwater – increasing generosity to charities – made Viscount Backwater – married Lady Felicia Eaglestone – wife dead ten years – leaves a son Patrick, the new Viscount, and daughter Patricia, engaged to Henry Ruthen.’ I looked up at Holmes. ‘There seems to be little else of consequence,’ I said.
Holmes waved his hand impatiently. ‘It is not there, it is not there!’ he exclaimed.
‘What is it you are seeking?’ I asked.
‘The Antipodean connection,’ he snapped.
‘It is the entry to this maze and we must find it.’
‘But why are you so certain that there is such a connection?’ I enquired.
‘Because it is in the note,’ he replied, and swung his long legs off the couch. ‘Be so good as to ring for our boots, Watson. We have an appointment at Paddington.’
Three
THE TATTOOED CORPSE
Our journey to the west was pursued largely in silence. Both Lord Backwater and his lawyer were showing signs of the strain under which the tragedy and their hurried journey to London had placed them and it was impossible for me to question Holmes as to his remarks at Baker Street.
Wiggin, Lord Backwater’s principal gamekeeper, met us at Backwater Halt with a carriage, but also present was an Inspector of Police who greeted Holmes warmly.
‘Mr Holmes,’ he said, ‘when I heard that Lord Backwater had gone to consult you I was very pleased, sir, very pleased indeed.’ I was intrigued to note that the accent was from the lowlands of Scotland rather than these western valleys.
‘Scott!’ exclaimed Holmes, smiling warmly. ‘The move west has evidently been successful.’ He turned to me and introduced the officer. ‘Watson,’ he said, ‘this high official of the County Polic
e was a mere constable back in my Montague Street days, when I had the opportunity to assist his division with a small matter. I take it,’ he said to the Inspector, ‘that you are not in agreement with your Chief Constable’s view of the matter?’
‘That is not for me to say, sir. Let us just say that I am pleased to see you here, Mr Holmes.’
Holmes turned to our client. ‘I shall ask Inspector Scott to take Dr Watson and me to the scene of the crime, Lord Backwater, but there is no need for you to attend. Perhaps we may wait on you at Backwater Hall later, when I may have some observations for you.’
The Viscount’s relief was evident. ‘That is most thoughtful of you, Mr Holmes. We shall take your luggage on and await your findings.’
Very shortly Wiggin took Lord Backwater and his solicitor away and Holmes turned to Inspector Scott.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘we may address ourselves to that most unpleasant but necessary of speculations, Inspector. Is there any likelihood that Lord Patrick, or any other member of the family, is involved in this matter?’
‘I should say not,’ said the Inspector. ‘Not that it can be entirely ruled out, but as far as I can determine relations between the family were most amicable.’
‘Then, if you do not have violent poachers in these parts, we had best find another explanation,’ said Holmes. ‘Is it possible to see the body?’
‘It is, Mr Holmes,’ said Scott. ‘It is at the county mortuary for the present. The Chief Constable was all for releasing it to the family, but once I heard you were on your way I knew you would wish to examine it.’
The station trap took us to the little red-brick county mortuary buildings where we were soon examining the corpse of a well-built, healthy man in his fifties. His early days had left him with fine muscular development and he had not run to fat in his retirement.
The front upper portion of the body and both arms were covered with the marks of vicious cudgel blows, while the cause of death was easy to see in a single, massive blow struck to the back of the head. It was plain that Lord Backwater had defended himself vigorously against more than one assailant before being felled from behind.
Inspector Scott and the attendant rolled the body into a prone position and, as the back was revealed, Holmes drew a long breath and smiled slightly as though some unspoken prediction had proved true.
I was astonished, for the pallor of death had made more visible on the dead man’s back a pattern of old and wide scars.
‘He was flogged!’ I exclaimed. ‘More than once by the look of it!’
‘So I perceive,’ said Holmes, ‘but can your military eye help me as to whether this was done in the Army or Navy?’
‘No,’ I said, after a second look. ‘I’ve seen any number of old sweats who’ve been triangled. Their marks are higher than these, care being taken in the services to avoid the kidneys. This man was lashed at random by someone, most probably in his youth.’
‘Excellent, Watson,’ said Holmes and signalled to have the cadaver restored to its former position. ‘Now, what do you make of his tattoos?’
‘Very little,’ I replied. ‘We know that he was humbly raised and worked in mines. Many such men carry tattoos.’
‘Not such as these,’ said my friend, and stepping back towards the table he turned the corpse’s left forearm slightly outwards.
I had noted that there was a tattoo on the inner side of the forearm, but I had paid it scant attention during my examination. Now I looked more closely and saw that it was amateur work of the kind that is done by schoolboys with a pen-nib and ink, or by soldiers with a knife-point and gunpowder, but it had been strongly and regularly incised and stood out clearly against the pallor of the skin.
It was none of the patterns that I had ever seen in the Army or in my civilian practice. It consisted of a heraldic cross-pattée with a single word in capitals across its centre – “NEVER”.
My face must have shown my bewilderment, for Holmes turned the right forearm as well. There, in the matching position, was another such decoration, this time a simple square containing the word ‘EVER’.
‘Do they tell you anything?’ Holmes demanded.
‘Very little, Holmes,’ I admitted. ‘They are not professional work, but that means little. Soldiers, sailors, even public schoolboys tattoo themselves and each other.’
‘Schoolboy tattoos are made with common ink,’ said Holmes, ‘while soldiers and sailors use gunpowder. Both fade relatively quickly. Sometimes lampblack is used and that can last a lifetime. I think that is the agent here.’
He turned the two forearms again, gazing thoughtfully at the inscriptions.
‘It is a pity,’ he remarked, ‘that they are not on the torso or the upper arm.’
‘Why so?’ I enquired.
‘The growth of the body and the development of the muscles would have distorted them had they been applied at an early age, but no such distortion occurs on the inner forearm. What do you learn from the symbols themselves?’
‘I have seen a deal of tattoos,’ I said, ‘but I recall none like these. Soldiers have swords, guns, regimental emblems; sailors have the anchor of faith and the crown of hope, ships, ships’ names, mermaids; both have hearts, flags, inscriptions to sweethearts, wives and mothers. I even remember attending a fellow on the Orontes who had the famous fox-chase tattoo.’
‘Well done, Watson!’ exclaimed Holmes. ‘I see that you have retained a little of my oft-repeated observations on the importance of tattoos. Professor Lombroso asserts that all tattoos are the hallmark of a criminal personality, but in that, as in so many other matters, he is wrong. Continental criminals may have misled him by their flamboyant tattoos. British criminals occasionally wear a small emblem of their particular gang, often on the edge of the left palm, where it is unobtrusive and readily covered by the thumb, and a very few wear emblems of their criminous trade, but in general they conform to the ordinary decorations of the lower classes.’
‘Then what do these mean?’ I asked, indicating Lord Backwater’s tattoos.
‘They mean’, he said, lifting each arm in turn, ‘on the cross – never, and on the square – ever.’
‘An expression of affection and loyalty,’ I said. ‘Surely the name of a sweetheart should be with them?’
Holmes chuckled mirthlessly. ‘There is little affection embodied in that oath,’ he said, ‘and it was directed to no female.’
‘A secret society?’ I hazarded. ‘Do they signify that Lord Backwater was a criminal?’
‘No,’ said my friend, ‘but they signify that the late Lord Backwater’s past was more varied than the obituarists imagined, and they confirm my view that the man from the Gates of Hell came from precisely that address.’
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Author's notes on this chapter
Four
THE COCKNEY AGENT
Holmes and I waited at the roadside as Inspector Scott gave instructions to the mortuary-keeper about the release of Lord Backwater’s body to the family. As we did so, a rattle of wheels and hooves heralded the appearance of a smartly painted landau pulled by two fine greys. The driver brought his animals to a halt close to us and his passenger sprang to the ground almost before the vehicle had halted.
The newcomer was an exceedingly tall individual who, despite the warmth of the day, wore a long, old-fashioned military frock-coat, curiously frogged and braided. His narrow, square-chinned features were set with two protuberant black eyes and he carried his chin high.
‘Scott!’ he roared at the Police Inspector. ‘Is one of these two fellows the Cockney agent?’ and he jerked a heavy, gold-mounted cane towards Holmes and me.
Before the embarrassed Inspector could reply, Holmes stepped forward. ‘I believe,’ he said, ‘that I am the person you seek. My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my companion, Dr Watson.’
The stranger looked us up and down with an arrogant stare.
‘I,’ he said, ‘am the Chief Constable of this county. What, Holmes, make
s you believe that your presence here is of any value?’
‘I merely answer the call of those who claim my assistance,’ said my friend. ‘In this case Lord Patrick was moved to travel urgently to London and consult me. He revealed to me aspects of the case which intrigued me and which I believed would bear closer investigation.’
‘“Aspects of the case”!’ snorted the Chief Constable. ‘There is only one aspect of the case that matters. A generous and decent man – a friend and neighbour of mine as well – has been ruthlessly struck down by poaching rabble. The perpetrators shall hang for it at the next assize and it will need no Cockney amateur to guide my officers in tracking them. Oh, I understand Lord Patrick’s concern that everything possible should be done, but mark me, Holmes, if you interfere with my officers in the least particular I shall run you out of the county. We need no townees here – this is a simple country matter!’
‘I hear what you say,’ said Holmes from between narrowed lips, ‘and you need have no fear that I shall impede your investigation. On the contrary, I will tell you now that this is not a simple country matter confined to this pleasant county. The origins of Lord Backwater’s death must be sought a good deal further away.’
Colonel Caddage stared silently at my friend for a moment, then ‘Deluded!’ he snarled. ‘Melodramatic poppycock intended to increase your fees!’ and he turned back to his carriage. As he clambered in he roared again at the Inspector, ‘When you’ve finished wasting your time with these fellows, kindly remember I shall expect your usual report!’
As the landau rattled away Holmes turned to the mortified Inspector. ‘Do not apologise,’ he said. ‘It is I who should apologise that I thought your move westward an advancement, but I had not then met your Chief Constable.’
‘Chief Constables come in all shapes and manners,’ said Scott, ‘and this one can’t forget he was in the Army. I pity the poor beggars that served under him. At the worst I can resign.’
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