‘This, of course, explains why you insisted on Willis’s immediate arrest, but why should the secure rear door of the inn confirm to you that Rawlins was the culprit?’
‘Who but the landlord, of such an establishment, would hold the key to so obscure an entrance? You see, the trail led right up to the door, and there were even traces on the step itself.’ Holmes replied, with the barest hint of impatience in his voice.
‘Ah, now I understand, and, of course, by having Willis arrested for the murder we have secured him for his minor role and lulled Rawlins into a false sense of security at the same time. As usual, Mr Holmes, a masterstroke!’
‘Hardly that, Hopkins,’ Holmes replied, somewhat dismissively. ‘Yet the tracks that led to the back of the inn do explain how Rawlins maintained the façade of Dyson still being alive. Obviously once he had made the return journey from shack to inn, in the guise of the hooded man, he returned to the inn by the back route to reassume his role as the landlord.
‘At this point I realized my investigations in Broadsea had run their course. I had established the identity of those who perpetrated Dyson’s murder, and all that had occurred subsequently. However the events and motives that led to these were still no clearer to me. Therefore, once having entrusted Nellie’s safety into your capable hands, Watson, I decided to return to London and there spent the next forty-eight hours in the manner I previously described to you. Oh, Mrs Hardcastle, might I prevail upon you for a cup of tea. I am finding these endless questions and explanations quite exhausting.’
Mrs Hardcastle responded at once, and a few moments later, when she returned, we were all grateful to see that there was enough tea and sufficient cups for all. During the ensuing, brief lull, Holmes re-lit his cherry wood, and smoked slow and hard. He then drained his cup in an instant, and returned it to the tray before continuing.
‘By now the motives behind my calling upon Mrs McCumber at her hotel in King’s Cross will be obvious, and self evident. Those behind my journeys to Greenwich, and Somerset House, somewhat less so. Therefore, Inspector, to help clarify the situation, I would ask you to cast your most studious and retentive mind back sixteen years, and attempt to focus on the case of the notorious Folkestone Counterfeit Gang.’
‘By heavens, Mr Holmes! I shall have no difficulty in doing that. Despite the great time lapse, that is one file that remains open still. I was only a young, inexperienced Detective Sergeant at the time, working alongside the esteemed Inspector Culver, yet despite our efforts, and six long months of graft, we were never able to bring the ringleaders to book. Furthermore, over half their haul, the best part of sixty thousand pounds in counterfeit twenty-pound notes, was left unaccounted for. The balance of the money and three inconsequential members of the gang were all we had to show for our efforts.’ Hopkins appeared, somewhat deflated as he recounted his bitter memories.
‘You will be pleased to know that, unless I am very much mistaken, the file should soon be finally laid to rest.’ Holmes was amused to note the change that came over Hopkins’s countenance as he spoke these words.
‘It would give me great pleasure to close it finally.’ Hopkins responded. ‘Yet I see no connection between the two affairs.’
‘Do not berate yourself, Hopkins. My visit to London has given me the advantage over you. When I first sat down with the files at the maritime offices in Greenwich, my sole intention was to establish whether there were any noteworthy features connected to the fire on board the “Sea Lizard”. Something, perhaps, that would supply me with a motive for Dyson’s murder. Save the bare-bone facts, already in my possession, the information was scant, to say the least. However, when I idly skipped forward a page or two, I found mention of the raid you made on the hideaway of the counterfeit gang in Folkestone. Normally, such an incident would not find its way into the files at Greenwich as they are restricted to maritime affairs. However, on this occasion it was included because the gang members, who had eluded you, made their escape on board a large steam trawler, of which there were very few at that time.
‘As my friend Watson will attest, I am not a man who readily accepts coincidence. I was convinced that the two incidents had to be connected. It was the only logical conclusion, and, to my immense personal gratification, this was confirmed by my visit to Somerset House.’
Sensing an imminent barrage of questions, coming from both the direction of Hopkins, and myself, Holmes pre-empted us, and hastened to his conclusion.
‘As you are aware, Inspector, it is a tendency, amongst the criminal element, to adopt an alias. You can imagine, therefore, my amazed satisfaction, when, on examining the birth certificate of Nellie McCumber, I found the name of Ryson Douglas listed as being her father!’
Neither Hopkins nor Mrs McCumber could suppress their emotions for a moment longer.
‘Good heavens, Holmes!’ Hopkins exclaimed. ‘That was the name of our chief suspect in the counterfeit case!’
‘Stop, please Mr Holmes,’ Mrs McCumber pleaded through her vehement sobbing. ‘Let me explain the rest to my daughter, and why she never knew that the late Captain John Dyson was her real father.’
‘By all means, madam. You still have much to explain to us all.’ Holmes announced with a dramatic wave of his hand in her direction.
The poor woman, had, by this time, moved towards her daughter, and placed her arm comfortingly around her shoulders.
‘Before you judge me adversely,’ she began. ‘I must explain to you the nature of my relationship with both the man you thought was your father, and the man who truly was. Mr McCumber died at a tragically young age, it is true, and suffered much with illness before he passed away. Yet even before he was stricken down he had never treated me kindly. He drank far more than was good for him, and whenever the devil alcohol was in him his treatment of me worsened still. He was a loud, vile, bully of a man who quite often dealt violently with me, if the mood was upon him. As his health deteriorated, so too did his treatment of me.
‘John Dyson, by which name I knew him then, was a different breed of man. Tall, strong and handsome, he was every inch the dashing, seafaring man of romantic fiction. I beseech you to believe that at that time I had no knowledge of his criminal activities. I met him several times, merely by chance, down by the harbour, each meeting lasting longer as we grew to know each other more. He was so romantic, and before long, we fell deeply in love.’
At this I heard Holmes softly grind his teeth, but out of sympathy for the distressed woman, he managed to suppress his impatience.
‘By the time of Mr McCumber’s death you had already been conceived, and for your own sake, I decided to keep the truth of your parentage to myself. Of course, after the fire and John’s out casting, this secrecy became still more important to your well being. Despite his injuries, and terrible deformities, my love for him was still alive, and I alone could not desert him.
‘Then the truth about the money came out. It had been in the hold of the “Sea Lizard” when she went down, yet sealed and secure within oilskin lined lead boxes, and lying in shallow waters. Frustratingly accessible, yes, but only to a fit, healthy, man with eyes. He only wanted the money to make a better life for me and I only wanted it so that I could make a better life for you, dear Nellie.
‘That was why he struck that, ill-fated, deal with the devil himself, Linus Rawlins. He and his “weasel” already had something of a reputation for various dubious and underhand dealings. In a village as small as ours, even a minor misdemeanour soon attracts some gossip, so out of frustration, and against my better judgement, John went to see him. In exchange for half the proceeds, Rawlins agreed to unload the boxes from the “Lizard” and to store them in his cellar. Each day when John shuffled pitifully down to the inn, ostensibly for supplies, Rawlins loaded some money into the small cask. As far as the towns people were concerned his daily trips were to collect food and drink, whereas, in reality, I was supplying him with all his needs.
‘My part in all of this was to
pass the money on to small shops, making minor purchases with large notes, thereby accumulating legitimate currency. This I was indeed loath to do, but such was my love for John Dyson that I would deny him nothing. I began by visiting shops in large local towns, such as Ashford and Canterbury. After a time, however, when there was still plenty of counterfeit money to unload, I realized that the large metropolis of London was a far safer option.
‘It was during one of these trips that Nellie, in all innocence whilst out on a walk noticed some money fall from the cask while John was making his way back up the hill. When Rawlins heard of this he was resolved to do away with my Nellie, in case she told of what she had seen, something she would never do. Yet to his evil, greedy mind she was a threat to his fortune and had to die. It was then that I decided to tell John that he was Nellie’s father, and begged him not to let Rawlins kill her. Once the initial shock of this discovery was past, he embraced the idea of having a daughter and warned Rawlins that he would go to the police if he even went near her.
‘If only I had not gone to London for that one last trip, John would still have been alive. Unfortunately John wanted me to go one last time. He decided to let Rawlins have the rest of the money, and I was to change as much as I could so that the three of us could afford to move from Broadsea and set up a home together in another part of the country. That was why I was away for so much longer than on previous trips. Even the extra money John tried to bribe him with was not enough to placate that evil man. My dearest John died trying to save his daughter, and thanks to you Mr Holmes, in a way he succeeded.’
By the time she had finished, both mother and daughter were distraught with their mutual grief.
‘Watson!’ Holmes directed me to minister to them. I managed to get them to swallow some brandy, and to lie down for a few minutes in Nellie’s room.
‘Quickly, Watson,’ Holmes whispered urgently. ‘Get our things and come. Our train leaves in fifteen minutes!’
‘Should we not wait to make our farewells?’ I asked.
‘That, old friend, is precisely what I am trying to avoid. I think I have been witness to enough display of emotion for one day.’
Such was Holmes’s desire for haste in our departure, that even Hopkins had to run after us as we made our way up the hill towards the station.
He grasped Holmes firmly by the hand. ‘Mr Holmes, once again I find myself in your debt. You have given me a case that would pass a conviction in any court in the land, and closed the file on another.’
‘Inspector, you are in danger of becoming my only source of gainful employment. Rest assured, any summons from you will be met by a prompt response from us. Come Watson, if our train schedule is true then we may have time to visit a small bistro around the corner from Victoria that might be persuaded to serve us a late supper, and a well earned cognac and cigar!’
THE OLD GREY HORSE
It was a particularly tempestuous evening in early March that found Sherlock Holmes and I sharing the view of Baker Street from our large bay window.
A coarse rain was being driven against our glass by a typically strong, westerly March wind and those passers-by foolhardy enough to venture out into the eye of the storm were being blown along as if they were so many large pieces of street litter.
‘Ha!’ Holmes suddenly exclaimed, ‘It must be an errand of great importance that brings those dank and bedraggled creatures onto the street this night, eh, Watson?’
‘Indeed, it must be Holmes and none more so than that poor fool pushing his way forward on our side of the street, down there to the Marylebone end,’ I pointed out, ‘he appears to be searching for a particular address.’
Before I had finished speaking, Holmes had turned suddenly away and began dressing for the harsh conditions outside. In answer to my astonished look, Holmes explained.
‘Whilst you have busied yourself at your practice these past few days, I am glad to report that I have not been entirely idle myself. Indeed, Watson, I have been of some small assistance to our old friend Lestrade in the matter of some, apparently connected, jewellery thefts. Though the conclusion of this matter is, in my estimation, some way off, Lestrade has engaged a valuable informer whom he promised, would come to me with some vital information this very evening.
‘I trust you will be able to amuse yourself for the next twelve hours or so, for, unless I am very much mistaken, that poor bedraggled fellow you most astutely observed, is this same man and, therefore, I must leave at once.’
To my astonishment, as he finished speaking, we could hear a loud knocking at the street door below and, without waiting for a summons from Mrs Hudson, Holmes was gone.
For a few moments I stayed by the window and watched Holmes and Lestrade’s informer hasten down the road through the thin veil of rain. Then with a shiver I turned away and took to my chair by the fire, well fortified with a glass of brandy and a cigar.
I realized, after a few reflective moments, that it would be folly to speculate as to Holmes’s movements. From past experience I knew that once on a scent Holmes could disappear for days on end, rather than merely hours. His energy, at times like this, was boundless and his self-deprivation of both rest and sustenance sometimes bordered on the dangerous. He would then return at last, usually satisfied with his efforts, but always totally spent.
I was sure such would be the case in this instance, and resolved, before turning in, to busy myself the following day at my surgery once again and extract more information from Holmes in the evening, should he have returned by then.
I returned to Baker Street at six o’clock the following evening, but was disgruntled to hear from Mrs Hudson that I was to partake of a lonely supper and that no word had been received from Holmes all day.
I amused myself for the rest of that evening by reading an examination of the life, and career of General Gordon, by the light of the fire. At approximately half-past-ten, when my eyes were starting to close and I was ready to retire, I became aware of a commotion emanating from the hall below. I went to the landing and called down to Mrs Hudson.
‘Is there some news of Mr Holmes, Mrs Hudson?’
‘No, Doctor, but there is a gentleman here to see him, he says he has most urgent business with him and will not be put off.’
‘Indeed, then show him up immediately if you please,’ I replied, surprised at the tingle of excitement the prospect of this development had given me.
I waited by the door of our sitting-room to show my visitor through and found myself confronted by one of the largest individuals I had ever encountered. He stood at a height of at least six foot four, and was broad to boot. Yet there was something in his manner, which belied his appearance, and suggested that he posed no physical threat. I therefore introduced myself and did not hesitate in showing him to our visitor’s chair by the fire.
Despite his size, a more pathetic, bedraggled figure you could not find. There had been no respite in the inclement weather, so obviously he was soaking wet, the front of his uncovered hair dripping in cascades down his face and his clothes were old and threadbare. This then was Benjamin Matthews.
I attempted to alleviate some of his discomfort by bringing him a towel and a warming drink.
‘I apologise for my colleague, Mr Holmes’s absence, but he is engaged on a case at present, which demands all of his time,’ I began.
‘Not at all. I am grateful for your seeing me at this late hour and at such short notice.’ When he spoke there was no mistaking his broad Yorkshire accent, which surprised me somewhat, for he seemed ill able to afford a journey of such a distance merely for a consultation. ‘The fact that you accompany and most ably assist Mr Holmes in most of his cases is well known and I have every confidence that you will convey my story to him as soon as you are able. In the meantime any advice you might give me would be most appreciated.’
I bowed slightly in gratitude and took out my pencil and notebook.
‘Please proceed.’
‘Well sir, to b
egin with, my story is as brief as it is bizarre.’
‘Indeed,’ I said with a smile, ‘well that will certainly attract Mr Holmes’s immediate interest, for his taste tends towards the unusual.’
‘That my tale is, but I must be brief, for I will be missed before too long. As you can see from my clothes, I am at present embarrassed financially, and my recent search for accommodation, close to central London, and at a cheap price, proved almost impossible.
‘However, two weeks ago, during a long trek which took me northward from Ladbroke Grove into Kilburn Lane, I came upon a curious little side turning called, inappropriately, Regent Street. I say inappropriately because this little road could not be more different from its more famous namesake, being little more than one hundred yards in length and containing very few buildings.
‘The side walls of the Kilburn Lane facing premises, take up a large section as you enter the street and apart from a couple of warehouses, there are no other buildings save one. This is the most curious of all, being one of the largest and most impressive looking public houses I have yet to see, but it stuck out like a sore thumb in such a tiny road.
‘I have come to you, however, because its location and appearance are not the only thing that is unusual about the “Old Grey Horse”, that’s the name of the place. Despite its size and the fact that there were no other residents, the landlord and his lady seemed very reluctant to accept my custom. I was not to be put off, however, and even offered my services as an odd job man and cleaner for very nominal pay and lodgings. I must say at this point that if there is a more miserable and unpleasant couple than Jonathan and Agnes Blackwood, I have yet to meet them. In my two weeks there I have yet to receive a pleasant or friendly word from either of them. They really are made for each other, being the same size and build, large, ruddy and untidy.
‘The room I was given is in the attic and like the rest of the building, is in a bad state of repair, so as well as being small and uncomfortable, my room is exceedingly damp. Yet, despite being almost uninhabitable, the Blackwood’s demanded that I keep to my room for several hours each day. The curious thing is that the times when they want me to take to my room vary from day to day and in length: two hours one day, six the next. The times of my duties vary as well, and if I wish to go out they always demand that I return through a side door.’
The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes Page 11