The Mad Judge (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale Book 3)

by Steven Ehrman

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The butler turned on his heels and Holmes and I both followed in his wake. All were now seated in the hall, with the exception of three new visitors.

  There was a uniformed police sergeant standing behind two other men. One was a man of roughly thirty years. He was slender with dark hair and a sandy moustache. He had an eager, intelligent face.

  The other was a somewhat older gentleman. He was portly, with a kindly demeanor. He carried a black bag and wore the frock of a country doctor.

  The young man strode towards us as we entered from library. He had a wry smile upon his face.

  “Mr. Sherlock Holmes?” he asked, looking at my friend.

  “I am Sherlock Holmes,” said he.

  “I cannot tell you how glad I am to make your acquaintance, Mr. Holmes. “I am Inspector Wallace.”

  “My pleasure, Inspector. Allow me to introduce my friend, Dr. Watson.”

  I bowed my head. “Of course, your faithful chronicler,” said the Inspector. “An honor to meet you as well, doctor.”

  The older man walked over as we were talking.

  “Wallace, hadn’t we better examine the body?” asked the man. “The hour is quite late and I would like to dispose of this matter with some dispatch.”

  “Of course,” said Wallace. “Gentlemen, this is Dr. Brown. He is our local GP and he doubles in brass as the local police surgeon.”

  Introductions were exchanged.

  “Mr. Holmes, I would be glad of your aid in this investigation,” said Wallace. “I don’t mind admitting that I am rather out of my depth in a murder case, if murder it is.”

  “I am completely at your service,” said Holmes.

  With those words we repaired to the study. The sergeant remained with the others in the hall. The Inspector opened the doors to the study and made his way quickly to the body.

  “Bad business this,” he said, “I did not know the Judge well, but he was well regarded in these parts.”

  As the Inspector spoke, Dr. Brown quietly went about examining the body.

  “We have left all as it was,” said Holmes. “The body has not been moved, except as was necessary for Watson to ascertain that the Judge was past all hope.”

  “What say you, doctor?” asked Wallace, to the elderly GP.

  The doctor had performed a routine check of the Judge’s body.

  “It is as it appears, Wallace,” said Dr. Brown. “The Judge was stabbed with this blade in the heart. Death was certainly instantaneous. Do you agree, doctor?”

  “I do agree,” said I. “With the blade puncturing the heart, it would stop pumping immediately, with little bleeding.”

  “Then we can remove the weapon and examine it now?”

  “Certainly,” said Brown.

  The Inspector carefully pulled the blade out. It was very thin and the incision it left was almost indiscernible. A short gasp escaped my lips as I realized what the dagger was.

  “Why, it’s a letter opener!” I cried.

  The Inspector was turning the blade over in his hands.

  “Not a very efficient weapon,” he mused. “Well, that settles the idea of premeditation.”

  “How so?” I asked.

  “Why, it is simple, doctor. Whoever broke in had to use what weapon he could find when the Judge surprised him. I understand from John Withers and Colonel North, that you three actually heard the struggle. The robber panicked when he realized that the house was aroused, and left through the window.”

  “Inspector,” began Holmes. “The window could not have been the exit used.”

  Holmes patiently explained the reasons that we had determined this to be true. Wallace went to the window and opened it. He carefully examined the ground with a lamp, and looked at the walls of the outside of the house.

  “Aha,” he cried. “Mr. Holmes, I believe I have the answer. There is a lattice frame against the house.”

  I looked and saw what the Inspector meant. There was, indeed, a lattice frame secured to the house. It was probably used for vines though none were apparent. The framework was a good fifteen feet from the window however.

  “It would appear to be out of reach wouldn’t you say, Inspector?” I asked.

  “Perhaps under ordinary circumstances,” said Wallace, as he warmed to his subject. “But I think an athletic man could make the leap. The man made it to the lattice and used it to climb to the roof. Once there he could exit the manor from another side unobserved.”

  “Unlikely, Inspector. It would take a man of unusual athletic prowess to make such a jump,” said Holmes. “But let us accept it for the moment. How then did he gain access to the room? Surely he did not leap from the lattice and open a locked window while in the air.”

  “No, I admit that is a puzzle,” said Wallace. “However, it may be that we are overlooking a simple answer.”

  “And pray, what is that?” asked Holmes.

  “The man may have entered the room before it began snowing.”

  “And then he remained hidden for hours in a room that was in almost constant use the entire evening?” said Holmes.

  “Well, I admit that it has problems,” said the Inspector. “But it does answer the facts of the case.”

  “But it certainly describes a most unusual burglar.”

  “That is true, Mr. Holmes.”

  “There is also the matter of the note,” said Holmes.

  “Note? What note are you speaking of?” demanded Wallace.

  I had nearly forgotten the note myself until Holmes had mentioned it. I reached into my pocket and produced it for the Inspector. He eagerly grabbed it from my hands and scanned through it.

  “Well, well,” he said. “This is a bit of a fly in the ointment, as it were. We hardly needed anything to muddle this further. How did this letter come into your possession, doctor?”

  I briefly outlined the circumstances behind the delivery of the note. Inspector Wallace asked clear incisive questions about the arrival and the timing of the note.

  “And you have no idea as to the author of this missive?” he stated rather than asked.

  “None at all, Inspector. I am a stranger in the house to all, except John Withers, and it could not have been he as he was insensible with drink.”

  “Well, it may be of no account at all,” said Wallace. “At least, nothing to do with the murder, at any rate. I believe that we are getting quite deep in the weeds in trying to connect this with the tragedy.”

  “But, surely the timing is at least suspiciously coincidental,” said Holmes quietly. “It is almost the very moment of the crime, Inspector.”

  “I agree that the timing is a bit on the suspicious side, but I think that the most obvious answer is likely the correct one.”

  “And, what is that?” I asked, thoroughly confused.

  “Why, doctor, isn’t it most likely that one of the ladies of the house was hoping for an assignation with you? Possibly you yourself know who the lady is, but discretion is holding your tongue.”

  “Why, Inspector, that is a monstrously improper accusation to make, I assure you that I have taken no improper steps in my relations with any woman in this house.”

  “These things are easily misunderstood though,” mused Holmes.

  “Holmes, don’t tell me that you agree with this scandalous deduction made by Inspector Wallace.”

  “Of course not, doctor. I am only too well aware of the chivalric nature of your character. Inspector, I can assure you that if Watson says he knows nothing of the author of this note, then you can be assured of the veracity of that statement. Besides, surely the note is written in a masculine hand.”

  Wallace returned to the note he held in his hand and examined it once more.

  “It would appear that it has been written by a man, but that could be a mere blind on the part of a woman.”

  “To what end, Inspector?” asked Holmes blithely.

  “Well it could be…well any number of…human nature be
ing what it is,” the Inspector sputtered. “Well what is your theory, Mr. Holmes?”

  “My dear Inspector, my method is not to make the facts fit the theory, but rather to postulate a theory that fits the facts. As circumstances now stand I see no reason to see the note as anything other than what it plainly is. A note, written by a man, who wished to speak with Watson. Now, he has told no one, but myself about this note so I suggest that we question the members of the household about it. Perhaps one of them will claim authorship and close the matter.”

  “And if no one comes forward then we will know that the note has something to do with the murder,” said Wallace.

  “Again, you go to fast for my tastes, Inspector,” said Holmes. “It may have everything to do with the murder, but the person who wrote the note may have other reasons to deny authorship of the message. We will simply have to discover the reasons.”

  “Then I take it, Mr. Holmes, that you are going to lend an active hand in this investigation?”

  “With your permission, of course, Inspector.”

  “Gladly!” cried the man. “I had hoped you would, but hearing it plainly spoken is a relief to me.”

  The young Inspector was beaming at Holmes and I hid a smile at his obvious worship of the detective. I heard the doctor give a short cough.

  “Wallace,” he said. “If you have no further need of me...”

  “Just one thing. Is there any reason the body cannot be moved now, doctor?”

  “None at all. The cause of death is established and my work is done. Anything you need to advance your investigation will not hinder my work at this point. I will take my leave now, gentlemen.”

  “Of course, doctor,” said Wallace. “Send the carriage back if you will and I will need a statement from you in due course.”

  The doctor agreed, and with a bow to the company, he left the room. I watched the weary doctor exit and his heavy, plodding footsteps reminded me how late the hour was. Wallace was in conference with the sergeant, and he was instructing him to take notes on the position of the room and the articles within the room. The bloodstains were noted along with the pile of broken glass on the floor, the two black cigars, and the broken compact. Both the sergeant and the Inspector were energetic, and it was a pleasure to watch two well-trained English law officers at work. Holmes seemed to take little interest in the cataloguing of the room. I questioned him about this, but he was blasé in his response.

  “I have already noted all in the room, doctor, save for two that remain hidden.”

  “And what are those two places, Holmes?”

  “Under the body and in the desk. I noted some papers visible under Judge Upton’s body and his legs are blocking the drawers from being opened.”

  “But surely, the body is merely where it fell.”

  “Perhaps, doctor, but moving the body will resolve the issue in a trice,” said he. “Ah, it would appear that the Inspector has exhausted his examination of the room.

  Holmes was correct and the Inspector approached, closing his notebook.

  “Well, gentlemen,” he said. “If you will lend a hand, perhaps we can lay the body upon the sofa where it may lie in a more appropriate repose.”

  It was agreed and the four of us each took a limb and carefully set the Judge upon the sofa. Although a tall man, the Judge was also very gaunt and his weight was not an issue for four healthy men. I turned and saw that Holmes was fixated by something on the desk. The Inspector and I joined him, and saw what had gained his attention. On the blotter of the desk was a piece of paper with the child’s game noughts and crosses, with a line drawn through a set of three crosses. The word revenge was crudely written at the bottom of the sheet.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “My God, Holmes!” I cried. “It is the crosses that he feared!”

  The Inspector was at a loss for the moment. Although we had told him of the lady’s visit to the Withers estate, we had not had the time to fully explain all her fears of what the Judge had shared with her.

  “What is this talk of crosses?” he asked perplexed.

  Holmes and I quickly explained the growing mania that the Judge had evidenced in regard to the subject of crosses.

  “But this is merely a children’s game, gentlemen,” protested Wallace. “In any school house you might find children playing noughts and crosses. What is the meaning of the Judge’s fear and of this paper?”

  The meaning of the paper is clear and so is the fear that the Judge demonstrated,” said Holmes. “Inspector, I don’t suppose you remember the Roberts gang?”

  “I do not believe so, Mr. Holmes.”

  “Likely not as you have been in the country, but in London some years back it was a name much in the news. Surely, Watson, you recall the case.”

  I dimly remembered a criminal gang of that name.

  “Were they not the London gang of ruthless gem thieves, Holmes? I recall now. The entire bunch was caught and sentenced to prison at least a decade ago.”

  “That is so,” said Holmes. “But what you do not recall is that the gang was known in the underworld as the Noughts and Crosses gang. Each member had those two symbols tattooed upon them as evidence of membership.”

  “What of it?” asked the Inspector. “I have heard of no valuable jewels owned by the Judge or his wife. Why would this gang burgle a lonely estate in the countryside?”

  “Because the magistrate that presided over their case, and sentenced them to long prison terms, was Simon Upton.”

  “Do you mean then that this paper is their calling card, so as to express their revenge upon the Judge?” asked Wallace. “By gad, this begins to make sense.”

  “You go too fast, Inspector,” said Holmes. “I merely state that we are obviously meant to think the Roberts gang is responsible. Someone with knowledge of the case might use the gang’s symbols to divert suspicion.”

  “Mr. Holmes, at every turn I believe the case is nearing an end only to have you raise objections.”

  “It is not my intention to be difficult, but there is a deep mystery here. I fear much of what we see, we are meant to see. At any rate, let us search the desk. I feel there is one final piece of the puzzle left.”

  At his suggestion, the Inspector made quick work of the desk. There were the usual papers and correspondence, along with a wooden box that was rectangular in shape. Holmes pulled it from the Inspector’s hands and opened the latch. The box was filled with distinctive black cigars. There were two cigars missing from the case.

  “Well, here we have the cigars that no one has seen before,” said Wallace. “Mr. Holmes, you were apparently expecting to find them. Why?”

  “It is merely that the murderer is unlikely to have brought them. That being the case, there must be a box of cigars in the room, and the desk was the only place that had not been searched owing to the position of the body. These cigars are of a distinctly Cuban derivation. As it happens, I have written a slight monograph on the origins of cigars. I suggest we have Meadows come in here. He can clear up several small matters quickly.”

  I wondered to myself just how many “slight monographs” Holmes had written, as the butler was called for. He entered the room and stood stiffly before Inspector Wallace.

  “Now, my good man,” began the Inspector, “have you seen this box of cigars before?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You are certain?”

  “Most assuredly, sir.”

  “But your master was a regular smoker of cigars, was he not?”

  “Indeed, sir, but his brand has a tan wrapping, most different from these.”

  “I see. Do you know how they came to be in the home?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Very well, Meadows. Do you have any questions, Mr. Holmes?”

  “Just two, Inspector. Now, Meadows, you are aware that your master was found in this room and that the room was locked.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The key was found upon the body, so the assumpt
ion has been that the Judge locked it himself. Do you follow?”

  “Very well, sir.”

  “Now, the question is whether or not there is more than one key to this room.”

  “There is not, sir. The master was most particular on this subject. His study was a substitute for his chambers, and no one was allowed a key, save himself.”

  “Could a duplicate have been made?”

  “It hardly seems likely, sir. The master carried the key upon his person at all times. Is there anything else?”

  “Did you serve coffee after dinner tonight, Meadows.”

  “No, sir.”

  “To no one? You are certain?”

  “Yes, sir. All of the gentlemen had either brandy or whiskey and soda sir. The ladies all had either brandy or gin and tonic.”

  “Very good, Meadows,” said Holmes.

  “All right, Meadows, you may go,” said the Inspector.

  The butler hesitated a moment and seemed uncomfortable.

  “Is there something else?” asked Wallace.

  “The gentlemen and the ladies are growing somewhat restless, Inspector. The hour is quite late.”

  “Of course. Let them know that I will be out shortly.”

  At these words Meadows turned and glided from the room. He had been gone for only a minute when Cyril Upton burst into the room.

  “Inspector,” he said. “I am certain that you wish to interview us, but I would like to a have a conversation in private first.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Upton. Do you wish to make a statement?”

  “Well, call it that if you wish, but I understand that you have been told about a disagreement between my father and myself, and I would like to clear up that matter.”

  “What do you desire to clear up?” asked Holmes.

  “Well, for one, I understand that some people overheard enough to think that I had asked my Father for money. That could not be further from the truth. The fact of the matter is, that my Father is broke and I have been extending him money for the past year. It was he that was asking me for money.”