“Very well,” said Holmes. “As the hour is quite late, I do not wish to keep everyone up unduly, but I do wish to speak with each member of the house privately, if the Inspector will acquiesce.”
“Of course, Mr. Holmes,” said Wallace.
“Madam,” said Holmes to Honoria Upton, “we will use the library for this purpose, with your permission.”
“Gladly, Mr. Holmes,” said she.
“And as I wish to guard your health, I would like you to be the first person interviewed. I have a very few questions and then you may retire.”
“Certainly. I am quite strong enough for questions.”
“I will come with you,” said the Colonel, in a gruff, but gentle manner.”
“”I wish to interview the lady alone, Colonel North,” said Holmes.
“But she is fragile. She has had a great shock. Can you not see that?”
“She will be treated gingerly, Colonel, and have no fear as Dr. Watson will attend, as well. Under his gentle care no harm will befall her. Mrs. Upton, if you will.”
Holmes gave a hand to the lady and we proceeded to the library. The Inspector instructed the sergeant to remain outside the door, to assure privacy, and I went in with Holmes, Wallace, and Mrs. Upton. We were soon seated, save Holmes, who paced about. Wallace gave the lady a brief overview of the case and the interview began.
“Is the handwriting here familiar to you?” he asked, showing her the note that I had received.
She furrowed her brow in concentration as she peered at the paper. “What an extraordinary note, Mr. Holmes. I am afraid I cannot be a great deal of help to you. It is a man’s writing to be sure, but I do not recognize it for certain.”
“Your stepson postulated that it was like to your husband’s handwriting.”
“That is possible,” she said hesitantly. “I rather fancy that it looks like Stanley Woodson’s hand, but, as I say, I do not have a head for such things.”
“It is of no consequence,” said Holmes. “There are handwriting samples of all the household available, I dare say, and we can compare those.”
I thought I saw a faint alarm in the lady’s eyes, but it passed quickly, and I wondered if I had imagined it.
“You left for bed early with your stepdaughter and Mrs. Woodson, is that correct?” asked the Inspector.
“Yes. I read for a bit and then I went to sleep. I am in the habit of taking a sleeping draught and I am afraid I heard nothing until I awoke with my maid by my side.”
“Have you ever known your husband to smoke a black cigar?” he asked.
“Black cigar?” she repeated blankly.
“Yes, the victim was found in his study with two black cigars smoldering in the tray. Presumably your husband, and some unknown person, were smoking them. Have you ever seen such cigars?”
“I do not believe so, Inspector. You could ask Meadows. Surely he would know.”
“We have done so, madam. He states that he has never seen such cigars previous to tonight.”
“Well, then that settles it,” said Mrs. Upton woodenly.
It seemed that if Meadows did not know about something then it did not exist in her mind. I saw a fleeting smile cross Holmes’s lips. He produced the broken compact and displayed it to the lady.
“Is this yours?” he asked.
“Mine? Oh, it is a compact. No, indeed,” said she.
“You do not have a compact?”
“Oh, was that the question? I have one, of course, but it is red. It was a gift from Simon.”
At the mention of her husband tears sprang into her eyes. Wallace produced a handkerchief that she pressed into service.
“Do you have anything further, Holmes?” asked Wallace.
Holmes shook his head no and Wallace escorted the lady from the room. He returned with a worried expression.
“She seemed quite vague,” he said. “Of course, there is the shock and all to consider. Did anything stand out to you, Mr. Holmes?”
“There was one point of interest. The lady stated that she could not identify her own husband’s handwriting, yet she felt that it might be Stanley Woodson’s.”
“What is there in that, Holmes?” I asked. “It was a simple aside from her and pure speculation at that.”
“Not speculation, doctor. She did not say it might be his writing, she said it looked like his writing.”
“I fail to see the distinction.”
“My point, Watson, is where would the lady have become familiar with Woodson’s handwriting?”
“Why, he is the estate agent, Holmes. Surely, that explains it.”
Really, doctor,” he scoffed. “Does the lady strike you as the type who is involved in the business affairs of the estate?”
I was struck by the logic of his statement. It was odd that Mrs. Upton had seen enough of Woodson’s writing to essay an opinion on it.
“Are you insinuating a err…personal connection between the two, Mr. Holmes?” asked the Inspector.
“No. I merely point out that her statement is incongruent with her position within the household. The Judge would certainly have been aware of Woodson’s handwriting, and even Cyril Upton as well, but the lady? It seems doubtful.”
“Could there be another answer?” I asked.
“Indeed there could, Watson. It is possible that the lady did recognize the handwriting and mentioned young Woodson as a mere blind.”
“To what purpose, Holmes?”
“That, doctor, is the question. I suggest we see Mrs. Woodson next.”
Jane Woodson entered the library in a composed manner and sat primly upon the sofa with her hands clasped on her knees. She looked expectantly at the Inspector.
“Mrs. Woodson, would you please tell us of your movements after you retired this evening?” he asked.
“Certainly, Inspector, but I am afraid they are not much help in this matter. I went upstairs with Mrs. Upton and Cecilia, and went immediately to the room that had been made ready for Stanley and myself. I believe that I read for some time, and then went to sleep.”
“Were you awake when your husband came up?”
“No, but I fancy that I woke up a bit when he entered.”
“And what time was that?”
“Oh, I have no idea, Inspector. It is really just a feeling that I had.”
“Did you hear anything during the night from on the grounds, madam?” asked Holmes.
“I do not think so. I am a deep sleeper, but one does notice unusual sounds in the country, so I do not believe there was any during my sleep.”
“Is this yours, madam?” asked Holmes, as he held out the silver compact.
“No, indeed,” she answered. “I do not hold with the wearing of make up, Mr. Holmes.”
I thought as much as I looked at the lady. She had a fresh scrubbed look that was enchanting. I realized that, perhaps, I had been unkind in thinking her somewhat plain. To be pulled from her bed, and to still have a serene and pleasant countenance, was to her credit.
She denied that she had ever seen the black cigars and the Inspector soon dismissed her from the room. Quickly upon her departure Holmes asked that Miss Upton be brought in.
The young woman entered and sat in the same sofa that Jane Woodson had previously occupied. She also was quite composed and had a different type of attractiveness than her predecessor. Her hair was now perfectly coiffured. The freckles on her nose were charming, and she appeared thoroughly alert. She looked from Holmes to Wallace.
Wallace began the interrogation and led the lady through her movements after departing the hall. She stated that she had gone to sleep almost at once and had been awakened by Meadows only after the tragedy.
“Your father was found with a box of black cigars, with two of them smoldering when the door was broken in, Miss Upton. Do you know where they came from?” asked Wallace.
“I have never seen my father smoke a black cigar, but surely they were brought by the burglar.”
“The
re was no simple burglar, Miss Upton, and in any case burglars rarely sit down and smoke with those that they burgle.”
“Well, then my Father must have purchased them himself.”
“Meadows says that is not the case.”
“Meadows,” she snorted. “Meadows is a meddling old fool, but he does not know all that goes on in this house.”
“Such as, Miss Upton?”
I saw at once that Holmes had struck a nerve. The lady flushed.
“Well, I do not have a list of examples, if that is what you are asking,” she said with some heat. “But I would wager everyone here has a secret that they do not want aired and that remains hidden.”
“That is an intelligent statement,” said Holmes mildly. He did not proceed and remained silent for some moments. The pause in the conversation seemed to annoy Cecilia Upton.
“Is there anything else?” she asked.
Holmes appeared to come out of a reverie. “Just two more items. Are you aware that your stepmother thought that, perhaps, your father was on the verge of a mental breakdown?”
“Father? That’s absurd. Of course, he was eccentric and believed himself to be lord and master of all he beheld, but he wasn’t round the bend.”
“So you would say he appeared much the same to you?”
“Yes, of course, I have been away for some time,” she conceded. “You must remember that my father had lived most of his life in a courtroom where his word was literally law. Such a man takes it as his due that he can judge people outside the court, as well. Any eccentricities are likely due to that.”
“I believe that might be the case,” said Holmes. “One last thing. Is this yours, Miss Upton?”
Once again Holmes displayed the compact. Cecilia glanced at it casually and shook her head.
“It is not mine. I do not wear make up. The days of Elizabeth with her white face are quite gone.”
With that statement the lady was dismissed. Holmes sat for the first time since we had entered the room.
“Well, Holmes, I do not see that we are advancing very far,” I said.
“Indeed,” said Wallace. “Everyone denies everything so far. No one wrote the note, or knows who did, and all three of the ladies deny the compact is theirs.”
“We are making some progress, gentlemen,” said Holmes. He looked up and I saw the fire in his eyes that I recognized when he was hot on the scent. “We have, at least, been told one demonstrable lie.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Who do you mean, Holmes?” I cried. “What lie has been told?”
Almost as soon as the words left my lips I realized the futility of such a question. Holmes, as long experience had taught me, generally played his hand very close to his vest and was not one to share his thoughts. His reasoning was generally that I had seen the same evidence as him, but that I had no powers of deduction.
“Really, Watson,” said he. “You have an advantage over the Inspector, as he was not present last evening, but you were.”
“What of it, Holmes?” I asked baffled.
“What was your first impression of Miss Upton? Cast your mind back to your first meeting. You met her in the company of Mrs. Woodson. I was watching you, and I noticed that you were quite taken with the lady. Think, doctor, I implore you.”
I did as Holmes instructed, and I tried to recall some detail from my first meeting with Cecilia Upton that I was missing now. I frowned in concentration, yet I could not see the path that Holmes was outlining.
“I’m sorry, but I recall nothing out of the ordinary.”
I did not say it was out of the ordinary. Close your eyes and describe Miss Upton.”
“Very well, Holmes,” I said, and did as I was bid. “Let me see. The lady has long blonde hair, a very pretty smile, and has unblemished, alabaster skin.” I opened my eyes to see Holmes nodding. “That’s really all I can say I noticed at first meeting the lady.”
“Does that description match the lady you have met this evening, Inspector Wallace?”
“No, it does not, Mr. Holmes. I see what you are driving at.”
“Well, I for one do not see,” I said, with impatience. “What are you both talking about?”
“The lady does not have unblemished, alabaster skin, doctor,” said the Inspector.
In a rush I saw it. “My goodness, Holmes, you are right, of course. I should have seen it at once. I remember thinking to myself that her clear complexion was in contrast to the freckled skin of Jane Woodson.”
“Indeed, doctor,” said Holmes. “And what can you deduce from her present appearance?”
“That the freckles on her nose were covered by some cosmetic agent.”
“Precisely. So when the lady says to us that she does not adorn herself with makeup, indeed scoffs at the idea, she is being disingenuous.”
“So, the make up compact belongs to Cecilia Upton,” said Inspector Wallace.
“Possibly, Inspector. All that we are certain of is that Miss Upton has told us an untruth. It is possible that she recognized the case as belonging to someone else and is merely protecting them for some unknown reason.”
“Bah,” said the Inspector. “Surely the more likely explanation is that she was in the study at some point this evening and wishes to keep that a secret. I do not say she murdered her father, but that much is clear to me.”
“Possibly,” said Holmes mildly. “But, I believe there is another explanation for the case, and for Miss Upton’s lie.”
Whatever Holmes meant by that he did not say. The Inspector pressed him on the point, but he soon became acquainted with the famous Holmes reticence to share his thoughts. A frustrated Wallace saw the futility of his inquiries, and he gave up the ghost and moved on.
“Very well, Mr. Holmes. I suppose you have your methods. Whom shall we see next? I plump for John Withers.”
“What?” I asked startled. “Why, John Withers could not possibly be associated with this crime. He is an old friend of the family.”
“Doctor, it has been my experience that crimes are often committed by old friends. Don’t you agree, Mr. Holmes?”
“As a matter of fact, I do, Inspector. That is actually a most astute observation.”
The Inspector beamed at the compliment from Holmes.
“Then you agree we should interrogate Withers next?”
“He is the very person I think we should talk with next. Indeed, we cannot proceed until we clear up one small mystery from Mr. Withers.”
With that enigmatic statement Wallace went to the door and had the sergeant bring in John Withers. He sat down wearily and looked expectantly at Holmes and Inspector Wallace.
“We will not keep you long, Mr. Upton,” said Wallace. “Just for the record, you do not know where either the cigars or the broken case came from, is that correct?”
“Quite correct, Inspector.”
“And the note?”
“I am completely fogged by that. I certainly did not write it and I do not know who did.”
“I see. And did you remain in your room after you had…err….retired?”
“Well, yes I did. I am afraid I was a bit worse for wear and sleep was all that was on my mind.”
I smiled at his description of his condition.
“And yet, you awoke again rather quickly,” observed Holmes.
“True,” he conceded. “Truth be told I was going down to have another nip for a bit of a nightcap.”
“But since Watson was up with Colonel North your plans were upset.”
“Well, yes. I suppose you could say that.”
“Now then,” Holmes continued, “please describe what you heard close to one o’clock last night.”
“Just as I’ve said, Mr. Holmes. I was with Watson and the Colonel when we heard a crashing of glass from downstairs. It sounded like someone was having a real row. We rushed down and it was agreed that we would have a go at the door. We crashed it in, and saw the body.”
“Tell me your movements
after the door gave way, and pray, be as accurate as possible.”
“Of course, Mr. Holmes. As soon as we pushed in the door I saw the body.”
“But, it was dark correct? No lamp was lit?” asked Holmes.
“True, but the light from the dying fireplace gave off some little light. At any rate, I saw the body splayed out on the desk. I couldn’t tell who it was and we all ran over to body, and discovered it was the Judge.”
“And the room was empty save yourselves and the body?”
“Correct.”
“And then, what happened next?”
“We had only just made the discovery when Evanston showed up at the door. He came in, and then we noticed the window was open, and then you and Meadows came in.”
“Now, at some point it was established that the key to the study was on the victims person. Was that before, or after the discovery of the window?”
“I don’t recall, Mr. Holmes, but I rather fancy it was before.” Withers looked to me for confirmation.
“I believe it was before, Holmes,” said I. “I remember being astonished that the door was locked from the inside, and the discovery of the open window seemed to settle how the murderer had escaped, until you arrived.”
“And you discovered the key did you not, Mr. Withers?” asked Holmes.
“As a matter of fact, I did not. It was Colonel North.”
“But, you suggested looking for the key,” insisted Holmes.
“I don’t recall,” said Withers.
“Surely, we have gone over this before, Holmes,” said I. “Is the exact order important?”
Holmes appeared to ignore my question.
“Mr. Withers, since you were present when Mrs. Upton explained her worries I wonder if you noticed anything unusual about the Judge. Was his behavior odd to you?”
“Not particularly, Mr. Holmes. He seemed a bit self-satisfied, I suppose.”
“What of the other guests?”
“Well, there you have me,” said he, with a rueful smile. “I was in no condition to recall much of the evening.”
“I see,” said Holmes. He did not ask another question and appeared lost in thought.
The Inspector waited respectfully for Holmes, but when it became apparent to him that the detective was finished, he spoke.
The Mad Judge (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale Book 3) Page 11