Sherlock Holmes--The Red Tower

by Mark A. Latham

“It stands to reason that Madame Farr would be foremost in our suspicions in the event of any crime committed at the house. This makes me wary indeed, Watson. She is not as clever as she thinks she is, but she is also no fool. After performing those tricks upon you, the best she could have hoped for was a quiet evening, with no unscheduled ghosts and no mysterious deaths. You would have gone away, pondering her words, and possibly returning as one of her regular clientele.

  “Ah, there is the house up ahead. There is just time for you to explain to me the details of the séance again. Leave nothing out…”

  CHAPTER TEN

  PARLOUR TRICKS

  “Please, humour me, Lord Berkeley,” Holmes said.

  Crain shifted on his feet, looking more restless and nervous than ever. His eyes were ringed with red, almost as his sister’s had been when I had found her body. He rubbed at his nose, and sniffed, before finally replying, “It’s just… how much longer will this take? My guests are not used to being treated this way, and you are making me look like a dreadful host.”

  “Under the circumstances, Lord Berkeley, I am sure they will understand. Now can I count on you for this favour? Soon you will see for yourself the necessity.”

  Crain looked to me for support, and I nodded encouragingly.

  “Very well,” he sighed.

  “Excellent!” said Holmes. “I shall need half an hour at most. In that time, I would have all of the guests, save for Watson and I, gathered in the drawing room. I would ask that the servants contain themselves to the back rooms, all except Simon and Judith. You may keep the butler on hand, should you wish—he seems a trustworthy fellow.”

  Crain looked unsure of himself.

  “Is something the matter?” Holmes asked.

  “No… well, it’s just that Simon… I’m not sure he’s here. That is, I think he left this afternoon, about the time I went out for my… stroll.”

  “No,” I said. “He was here when you went out, I remember it quite well.”

  Crain pinched at his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “I must be mistaken,” he said. “It’s all been so confusing.”

  “Might I ask where you went this afternoon?” Holmes asked, brightly.

  “That is my business!” Crain snapped.

  “Come on, old fellow,” I said. “Holmes is trying to help. It might be important later.”

  “Oh well, if you must know I went to see Sir Thomas, to break the news. He… he took it rather hard.”

  “I see,” Holmes said. “Thank you, Lord Berkeley.”

  “I… Never mind. It’s just that everyone keeps calling me that—Lord Berkeley, I mean. And my father not yet cold in his… well, you know.”

  “Apologies, my lord,” Holmes said, with surprising kindness in his voice. “I suppose people only want to show due respect, you understand. Now, as I said, if you could help the constable here gather all the guests, and I shall make certain arrangements. Half an hour!”

  I supposed Holmes had given the instruction to stop Crain brooding so, and it seemed to work. Crain reluctantly went to find Eglinton, shadowed by Hardacre.

  Whatever Holmes was up to, he had been planning it from the moment we had finished our walk. He had insisted on making a thorough study of the drawing room, alone. He had scoured the flower beds outside for the impress of footprints, though if he had found anything he had not seen fit to tell me. Then he had made me walk him through both wings of the house, upstairs and down, pointing out every room as far as I knew, taking particular note of who occupied each of the bedrooms. Finally, he had met Crain to organise his little gathering.

  “Watson, I want you to find out if any of the maids tidied the drawing room this morning. If so, bring them with you in half an hour.”

  “And what will you be doing?” I asked, rather put out that Holmes was keeping me in the dark.

  “Something that might ordinarily be considered illegal. Which is why I’m going to take that young constable with me, and leave you to bask in the glow of glorious ignorance.”

  With that, Holmes summoned the other policeman, who had been stationed outside the front door by his more senior compatriot. With a few words of the most authoritative sort, he strode upstairs, the constable in tow, passing the first of the guests as he went.

  * * *

  I waited in the drawing room with the others. Madame Farr, Simon and Judith sat together, away from everyone else. Langton and Constance sat to my left, Langton’s foot tapping incessantly. The Cavendishes sat beside the Langtons, while Melville sat to my right, stern-faced and silent. Eglinton stood solemnly near the door, a young maid beside him—the same maid, Polly, who had first seen the Red Woman. Crain paced back and forth. I knew I ought to confront him about whatever it was he had taken earlier, but at such a sensitive time I could not see how to broach the subject.

  The traces of the previous night’s entertainment had been mostly cleared from the room. The round table was still present, though it was now bare. The drapes that had hung all about the room were gone, and the high windows were exposed, allowing light to flood in.

  At last, the door opened and Holmes entered, carrying a large cast-iron pot from which dark smoke belched, mingling with the aroma of incense that still lingered from the séance. Holmes was followed by the two policemen. The younger constable carried a large box, which he set down on an empty chair at Holmes’s direction. The older man, Hardacre, closed the door and stood in front of it, arms folded. Holmes placed the burning pot in the middle of the table.

  If any of our number now looked agitated, it was the spiritualists, and I rather relished the prospect that Holmes might be laying a trap for them.

  “I thank you all for your patience,” Holmes said. “I have gathered you all here to conduct a séance in reverse.”

  “Oh dear Lord…” Melville groaned.

  “Do not worry yourself, Mr Melville, for I think this is one demonstration of the spiritist art that should interest you enormously. You see, before my arrival I exchanged notes with a new professional society in London—the Society for Psychical Research—whose members are devoted to the scientific study of spiritualism. Whilst they count amongst their number many true believers in psychical phenomena, they are all men of science, and take an especial interest in uncovering fraud and charlatanry, in order to remove obvious trickery from their serious studies. By this, I mean of course the study of psychic mediums, like our friend Madame Farr here.

  “From the society—the ‘SPR’, as they call themselves—I received a great many case-notes, including all manner of techniques employed by fraudulent mediums in reproducing ‘séance phenomena’. Table-rapping, materialisations, strange noises, and even fire-walking.”

  At this, a good many eyes turned to Madame Farr, who remained impassive.

  “By the end of this little demonstration, we should know whether or not Madame Farr is a true conductor of the spirits, or a shameless fraud.”

  “Really, Mr Holmes,” Crain said. “Madame Farr is an honoured guest in my home.”

  “I understand, my lord. But it is also essential that we establish the facts, for at present I am aware of several unexplained occurrences this weekend that have a direct bearing on your sister’s untimely passing, and many of those occurrences begin and end with Madame Farr. If she can be proven a genuine medium, then it is the first step on the road to eliminating Madame Farr from our inquiries.”

  Crain pondered this for just a moment, a worried frown on his face, then nodded. “The sooner this is done, the sooner you can look for the real culprit, if any physical culprit exists,” he said.

  “Thank you, Lord Berkeley. Now, Watson has provided me with a full and detailed account of the séance, with each incident described in the order they occurred. If I make any mistake, please do correct me, and I shall take it up with my friend later.” Holmes gave a wry smile; he was enjoying this moment, and I knew it must surely bode ill for Madame Farr. I kept my expression as even as possible.

 
“First,” Holmes said, “let us examine that most ubiquitous tool of the medium’s trade: table-rapping. All of you heard this phenomenon—and indeed felt it, as I shall come to later.

  “Before I can examine the evidence, I must first ask our butler, Mr Eglinton, whether this room was cleaned this morning.”

  “It was, sir,” said Eglinton. “This is Polly—her duties each day include cleaning the drawing room and dining room.”

  Polly gave a nervous curtsey.

  “And did you notice anything unusual this morning, particularly about the furniture?” Holmes said to the maid.

  She looked to Eglinton, who gave an encouraging nod. “Yes, sir,” she said. “I told Mr Eglinton straight away, in case he thought it was me that done it.”

  “Would you explain what you found?”

  “Scratches, sir, on one of the chairs. That one.” She pointed to the empty chair beside Holmes.

  “Where are the scratches?” he asked.

  “On the left front leg,” she said. “Mr Eglinton was going to send for a French polisher before it was noticed.”

  “Thank you,” Holmes said. “Watson, was this the chair on which Madame Farr sat during the séance?”

  “I believe so, Holmes.”

  “Then any scratches would be consistent with a very famous trick, used by mediums to produce rappings upon a table. In its most basic form, the method requires a small contrivance on the knee, hidden beneath the medium’s skirts. By flexing her knee, she creates raps of varying power, seemingly emanating from beneath the table, or downwards upon the floor. A more complex form, used for more powerful raps—and other, more sensational phenomena—requires a larger device, comprising a series of rods fixed together with leather strips. When contorted into the correct position, these can become rigid, producing very loud raps, or even levitating a table. The problematic factor in this magic trick, however, is that the rods must be supported against a sturdy object, such as a chair, the result often being that physical evidence is left behind. As séances are normally conducted in the medium’s own home, this is of no matter. But here… Well, might I ask for a volunteer?”

  “I will!” Constance Langton laughed.

  “Very well, Mrs Langton. Please come over here, that’s it.” Holmes moved the chair aside. “Now, I would ask you to feel beneath the tabletop for scratches, dimples and dents.”

  She ran her hand under the tabletop. “Yes,” she said. “There is a whole little cluster of circular marks—little dents, I think. How curious!”

  Holmes helped her up. “Thank you, Mrs Langton; if you would take your seat again. There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. As verified by an independent witness, we have evidence congruent with a simple trick—one which the SPR have documented several times.” At that, Holmes shot a knowing glance to Madame Farr. “The marks indicate that a larger device was used, which would have allowed Madame Farr, at the crucial moment, to align the rods and levitate the table. A flick of the knee, and the whole thing would come crashing down. I take it you all recall being reminded several times not to break the circle? This was to allow Madame Farr time to wriggle free whilst you recovered from the shock of the crash, and kick the device beneath her chair, where her amanuensis, Simon, could bundle it away under cover of darkness.”

  “Surely even with such a device, Madame Farr would require free hands to complete the deception,” Crain said. “Yet her hands were linked with us the whole time. I myself held her hand, and I swear on my honour that I did not break the circle.”

  “And I believe you, naturally, Lord Berkeley,” Holmes said. “But on Madame Farr’s other side was, I am afraid, a willing accomplice. Miss… Judith, is it? Might I ask your full name?”

  Holmes fixed Judith with a firm stare.

  “Just Judith,” the young woman replied, an air of defiance in her small voice.

  “Please, Judith, your family name, for the constables,” Holmes demanded.

  “I have none. I rejected my family when they rejected my beliefs.” For the first time, her eyes shone with remarkable strength, and I sensed a degree of pain behind them. I wondered now at how genuinely Judith held her beliefs.

  “Very well. You will, at some point, have to answer to a higher authority than me,” Holmes said, “but for now ‘Judith’ will do. You see, ladies and gentlemen, Judith is a true believer in spiritualism. From all I have seen and heard, I have no reason to doubt her sincerity. But she also knows that the spirits themselves do not deal in theatrical flourishes and sudden manifestations. She has come to accept that the spiritualist church will never thrive without the patronage such sensations bring. She assists in small deceptions, because she thinks it is in the greater interest of her beloved movement.”

  “No… I…” Judith almost choked on the words.

  “Releasing Madame Farr’s hand occasionally when no one was looking was a minor subterfuge. I am afraid Judith has done worse in the name of her faith. I present to the room one pair of carpet-slippers.” Holmes took a pair of slippers from the box and held them aloft. Judith’s cheeks flushed. “You recognise these, Judith?”

  The girl scowled.

  “Under the supervision of Constable Aitkens here, these slippers were taken from Judith’s room. They are of singular interest to me, because of a testimony given to me by my colleague Dr Watson. Out of embarrassment, Watson did not relate this story to any of you, but now is the time for transparency.”

  I cringed, for I knew what was coming next.

  “On Saturday night, Watson was visited by a ghost.” Holmes let this sink in, and mutters rippled around the room.

  “So that’s what they were on about at dinner,” Langton said. “I’m glad someone has finally explained it. Another ghost, eh?”

  I felt several pairs of eyes burning holes in my head.

  “Now, now,” Holmes said, holding up his hands to call order. “This was not a real ghost, of course. But it was convincing enough to have even the staunch Dr Watson doubting his senses. There were two reasons for this—first, the illusion conjured by the intruder in his room that night was most effective. Second, Watson was drugged.”

  “Drugged?” Crain stopped pacing now, and looked at Holmes in shock.

  “Yes, Lord Berkeley. At the moment, I can prove the former, but not the latter, though it is a matter of time. Let me explain. At some point on Friday evening, after Watson dressed for dinner, someone crept into his room and went through his things. There they found a small portrait of Watson’s late wife, Mary, and used it as a point of reference to deceive him. Dressing up a slender young woman in as close a fashion as possible to his wife’s likeness, in garments and wig soaked in luminous paint, these cruel tricksters set about tormenting the good doctor. In his drug-addled state, head swimming, he could not rely on his own eyes, and due to a lack of evidence, he kept quiet about what he had seen until pressed at dinner the next night.

  “The ghost—a real, living person, naturally—vanished from sight. I believe through a secret passage located somewhere in the vicinity of the Red Tower.”

  “Pish!” Crain said. “A family legend, but no more than a legend.”

  “A family legend well known in the village, and one that Madame Farr would doubtless have heard before even meeting you, my lord. Indeed, rumours that the passage leads to hidden treasure would be enough of a motive for unscrupulous types to search for it, and search thoroughly.”

  “I resent the implication,” Madame Farr said.

  “I am very sure you do, madam,” Holmes said, “just as I resent my good friend being used as a pawn in what amounts to an elaborate confidence trick. These slippers—”

  “Finally, we get to the point,” Crain said.

  I could tell Holmes was annoyed, but he retained his immaculate manners. “These slippers,” he resumed, “belong to Judith. And inside them is a faint residue, particularly around the heel of the left foot. I shall pass it around that you might see it better for yourselves.” Holmes p
assed the slipper to Melville, along with his magnifying glass. As Melville inspected it, Holmes continued. “The residue matches, in both size and shape, a small mark found in Watson’s room. It is the sediment from thinned luminous paint. I have a small chemist’s set in my bag, and when my tests are complete I am sure the results will be conclusive.”

  I was certain Holmes could not have brought his chemist’s set in his small bag, but naturally held my peace.

  “Wait!” Melville snarled. “Are you saying this girl disguised herself as a ghost? So… she was also the Red Woman!”

  “No!” Judith cried. She leapt up, and turned to Crain. “Sir… James… don’t listen to them!”

  “Sit down!” Holmes commanded, and Judith obeyed, shaking all over. “Judith was at the séance table with you all, remember? She may have contrived to drive poor Dr Watson out of his wits, but she was not the Red Woman. Now listen, Judith—you would save us all a great deal of time if you would show us the entrance to the secret passage you found.”

  Judith hung her head, and said nothing.

  “Mr Holmes, these accusations are baseless and false,” Madame Farr said, her accent bordering on the exotic, her voice gruff. She rose from her chair like an apparition in black.

  “How so?”

  “This dear girl is devout in her beliefs, and would not take it upon herself to commit a fraud that might bring shame upon us. Not only that, but none of us were in a position on Friday night to enter Dr Watson’s room. He was with us all evening, except for those moments during which Lord Berkeley can personally vouch for us.”

  “Of course, Mrs Mellinchip, I would expect nothing less.”

  For just a moment, Madame Farr looked too shocked to be outraged, but that outrage did indeed follow.

  “What did you call me?”

  “Mrs Mellinchip. That is your real name, is it not? Your theatrical skill at masking your Newcastle accent no doubt comes in very useful when mimicking spirit-voices from beyond the veil.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir, but I shall not be insulted so.” Nevertheless, Madame Farr sat down again, looking somewhat rattled.