She wept inconsolably. “Oh, Alistair! I thought he would return to his father and his rich life if he believed that I had betrayed him. I drugged the wine and sent a ransom note to his father. I knew Alistair would not be able to live in poverty. He has always had a privileged life - he does not understand how much effort it takes to simply survive. I intended to send another note later and clear out before his father arrived to retrieve him. I may have even taken the money.”
“I take it that your friend did not approve of your sacrifice?” Holmes said.
The girl nodded, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. “I did not know what had happened. When I came to, William told me that I had fallen unconscious and he had carried out my plan, and Alistair was back with his father. He also asked me to marry him and move to South Africa with him. I refused, at first, but I have been considering it. Yesterday, I overheard that brash man speaking to you about how you saved Alistair. I confronted William, and he told me what he had done.”
“What did he do?” I asked, morbidly curious. What a tragic, dramatic tale this was!
“He himself can tell us,” Holmes said. “If I am not mistaken, I hear his footsteps on the stairs.”
A well-built young man marched in, once again followed by a harried Mrs. Hudson. Before she could speak, however, Holmes reassured her of the credibility of the newcomer, and she left, muttering to herself. Our landlady was a long-suffering woman, indeed.
“You!” he spat at Holmes. “You are Holmes! You deceived me!”
The detective chuckled. “And how exactly did I do that, Mr. Hart, if I may ask?”
William Hart bellowed and launched himself at my friend, but the girl sprang from her chair to stop him. He paled as soon as he saw her.
“Lisa?” he said faintly. “Why are you here, my darling?” He eyed her clothes with distaste. “Why are you wearing that again?”
Lisa stamped her foot defiantly. “This is who I am,” she snapped. “I am no longer the girl you knew, Will. Go back to South Africa.”
Hart shed his cloak silently and draped it over the girl’s shoulders. He smiled slightly. “You are every bit the girl I knew... as fiery as her flaming hair. Come with me, dear Lisa.”
“No, Will,” she said sadly. “You nearly killed Alistair. I cannot forgive you for that.”
“I told you I would not have let him die! One of my mates followed him all the way to the Tower Bridge, and if Mr. Holmes hadn’t saved him, Jimmy would have!” His face crumpled. “I had to see if he did love you after all, Lisa. I couldn’t bear to let him go without a scratch when you were giving up your entire life for him. A proper man would never let you sacrifice yourself like that! I never would!”
Lisa glared at him. “Are you satisfied now? You staged my murder and made him think I was dead - no, even worse, you made him think he had killed me! It made him try to kill himself! Does that make you happy?”
“No,” William said softly, falling to his knees. “When you look at me like that, it makes me the most miserable wretch in the world. What do you want me to do, Lisa? Should I go and apologise to this Lord of yours? If that is your wish, I will confess to my wrongdoings and beg at his feet until he takes you back as his fiancée.”
Lisa knelt next to him. “No, Will,” she said gently. “I am not suited to be the wife of a nobleman. It was an insane, impossible dream from the start. I am glad Alistair has returned to his family. I, too, shall return to my work.”
“Come with me, my love. Be my wife. There is no man on this earth who loves you as I do. You used to care for me. Do you detest me now?”
Holmes and I stared at each other. The dismay on Holmes’s face at the emotional drama playing out in our living room was almost comical.
“Will... you are a wealthy and respectable businessman now. A wife like me would only be a liability and an embarrassment for you,” Lisa said, tears pouring down her face.
Hart cupped her lovely face with a big, gentle hand. “Then I will leave my wealth behind. Let us go to a new place and start all over. I have worked my way up with my own hands, and I can do so again. With you by my side, I would be the happiest man alive, whether we live in a hut or a castle.”
“A man does not get sincerer than that, young lady,” Holmes declared. “You may as well marry him and put us all out of our misery.”
The young couple looked up at us in shock. They had clearly forgotten our presence until Holmes’s rude interruption. They flushed, mumbled incoherently, and left in a haste. Holmes groaned and dropped into a chair, while I burst out laughing.
“That was a good conclusion,” I told him.
He moaned piteously. “Agony, Watson! Sheer agony! I would rather have dealt with a real criminal than these young fools in love.”
“You were concerned enough to go looking for them,” I reminded him. “I am certain nothing they said today was new to you. Admit is, Holmes. You were happy just now.”
“Et tu, Watson?”
I laughed again. “Perhaps we should visit your brother and let him hear the tale in full detail.”
Holmes smiled. “Ah, but you are diabolical, Watson.”
Mycroft was as horrified as we had expected. He did give us an update on Alistair, though. The boy would be attending Oxford as planned. He went on to become one of the best barristers in the country.
Nearly a year later, Holmes received a letter from South Africa. Lisa and William Hart had married almost immediately after their departure from our rooms, and were now happily settled in Johannesburg and expecting their first child. Holmes scoffed at their words of gratitude, but he placed the letter carefully in a drawer.
A Revenge Served Cold
by Maurice Barkley
There are times when a surprise is neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but worthy of note. One such example was the situation presented to us on a day in 1898. The surprise was that we left Baker Street before mid-day, and were back and enjoying a cigar and a brandy before the dinner hour - case solved. At least it was solved to our satisfaction and that of Inspector Gregson, who is now safely retired and immune from censure. The adventure began one fine summer morning, just after breakfast.
“I say, Holmes.” I lowered my newspaper to look at my companion, who was slumped on the sofa reading the agony columns. “Do you remember that episode last year when you almost came to blows with Lord Garrod?”
“Not with any degree of fondness,” Holmes replied. “I only regret that I did not bash him a good one. The nerve of the man, asking - no, demanding-that I do anything, even fabricate evidence, to keep him out of jail. I was sorely tempted to throw him bodily down the stairs.”
“Yes,” said I. “The man was a thorough swine. The way he treated his tenants was criminal. And, Emma Brunnel - that poor girl, he kept her locked in that dreadful room. She passed away in hospital. I try not to think about it.”
Holmes laid his paper aside. “I do recall that he managed to escape prison, but in the process, he lost over half of his estate, though unfortunately not his peerage - it was hereditary. Justice was not served by that turn of events. At minimum, the man should have gone to jail. I hope he has not returned to his unlawful behavior.”
“Perhaps he has,” I replied. “It says here the man is dead - murdered yesterday morning.”
“Really,” said Holmes. “The details, please.”
I went back to the article. “Very little, I’m afraid. He was served breakfast as usual in his room at about eight o’clock. The servant girl, one Ada Jade, then went to the basement to join the butler, Mr. Darwin Langdale, to have her own meal. I note that the writer of the article emphasized the fact that the two servants were in the basement at the time of the murder, and there were no other people on the premises.
“While still eating, they were surprised by the ringing chimes of the mechani
cal call device. Almost simultaneous with the bells, they heard what proved to be a gunshot from above. They both ran upstairs, but they were unable to enter the master’s room. The police were summoned and broke through the door, which was secured from the inside by two sturdy dead bolts. Once inside, they discovered Lord Garrod shot precisely between his eyes. No gun was found. He was alone.” I paused to refill my coffee cup. “That is the essence of the news writer’s story. There was some additional information attributed to Inspector Tobias Gregson.”
“He is a good man, Watson. I would like to hear his comments.”
“Mostly details,” said I. “For the past year, Lord Garrod used as his bedroom the room in which he imprisoned poor Emma. There is only the one entrance, and the windows are soldered shut. There are no secret panels. It is assumed that the man moved into that room in order to feel safe. The inspector only added that the investigation had just begun.
“Of course, this did not satisfy the reporter, who went on to speculate about ghostly apparitions and the possibility that the dead girl came back to gain her revenge.”
Holmes tapped his pipe on the iron ball of a fireplace andiron. “I wonder, Watson. Was the fact that ghosts as a rule do not use firearms of no concern to the man?”
“Apparently not,” said I, while putting a match to my morning pipe. “The Garrod estate is just across town. We could be there within the hour.”
“It does interest me, my friend,” said Holmes, a thoughtful look on his face. “However, knowing Gregson, I think it would be wise to let him come to us if he cannot puzzle this out.”
I set down my cup. “I will wager that the inspector will be at our door before this day ends.”
“Today, you say?” Holmes looked at me with raised eyebrows. “That strikes me as being overly optimistic. I will wager half-a-crown that he will arrive tomorrow.”
I did not hesitate to say, “Done.”
The wager was set. Holmes went back to the agony columns while I read more of my share of the paper. Later, Holmes went into the lumber room and returned with a folder labeled “Garrod”. We both spent a half-hour reading the old accounts.
“A swine indeed,” said Holmes. “That poor girl was kept in that room for just over one year until one of the servants had the courage to summon the police. To think that he went on a two-week holiday and left her there without food or water. She was rescued after six days, but she was so dehydrated that she could not recover. An immigrant from Australia, she had siblings there - a sister and a brother - but no relatives here.”
“Well,” I commented, “I can’t say he didn’t deserve a bullet in the head. I wonder what happened to the servants?”
“Oh,” he replied, “I am sure they are long gone and the house has new staff. If they stayed, the beast would have had his revenge.”
By then, the morning had passed and we rang Mrs. Hudson for lunch. As was our warm weather preference, the good lady served us cold sandwiches and some fruit. We had only to wait a few minutes for her to bring the tea water to a boil.
I answered her soft tap on our door and stood aside. “My dear Mrs. Hudson, I see three cups on your beautiful Benares tray. Will you be joining us for lunch?”
“Oh, no, Dr. Watson, I will not, but the gentleman behind me will.”
She continued on to the table, and the welcome figure of Inspector Gregson took her place in the doorway. Mrs. Hudson arranged our plates, poured the tea, and left with her precious tray.
“I must say, Inspector,” said Holmes, as we sat down, “after having read this morning’s paper, your visit is most welcome.”
Gregson took a large bite out of his sandwich. “I was sure,” he wiped a crumb from his moustache, “you and Dr. Watson would find this a dandy puzzle - I know I did.”
I handed him the cream cruet. “You are correct, Inspector, and you have our undivided attention.”
At that point, I picked up my sandwich and discovered half-a-crown hidden under the bread. I swear, to this day I do not know how he did it.
The inspector had a healthy appetite and quickly finished a second portion and spoke to us between sips of tea. “I know there must be an answer, but blessed if I can see any light. We did a right proper search - only one way to enter the room. When the girl was there, the locks were such that she could not get out. Now they have been changed so that a person on the inside can seal the room. We had to smash through two inside deadbolts. Ruined the door, we did.”
Holmes interrupted the inspector. “Were the dead bolts the type that can be engaged from the inside before the door is shut?”
“No, sir,” said Gregson, “If you twist the knob, the bolt springs out, and it’s not tapered or spring-loaded. In that position, the door can’t be shut.”
“Did you locate a key?” Holmes asked.
“That type has no key on the outside, only a solid metal plate. The window is soldered shut. I measured the room inside and out. There is no space unaccounted for. My boys moved what furniture there was - probed walls, the floor, the ceiling - and came up empty.” He sat back and looked at both of us. “That’s it, then. The trail ends there, unless you can make some sense of it.”
“Most interesting,” said Holmes, his half-eaten sandwich forgotten. “I suggest we go immediately to the Garrod estate.”
“Very good,” said Gregson, “I have a wagon waiting.” As he stood, he reached and took a third sandwich. He nodded toward the object. “If you please - for my driver. The lad’s had naught to eat today.”
“Of course,” said Holmes, “Very thoughtful of you. Take some of the fruit. Let me fetch my cigar case and we shall be on our way.”
“Back to Sevenoaks, Alfie,” said Gregson, while handing the driver his lunch.
The approach to the Garrod estate showed signs of neglect due to, I supposed, the disgraced Lord’s reduced circumstances. The main house was an unremarkable pile of stone - two stories topped by an elaborate garret. Inside, the rooms through which we passed also showed considerable inattention and a good amount of dust. Holmes did not bother with the visible footprints on the dirty floor. Any of potential importance were obliterated by the back-and-forth of official traffic.
Walking past the shattered door, I saw that the deceased owner had since done considerable redecorating and the former prison room was much more elegant. It was the only room I had seen that was in good order. A large but rumpled carpet covered the floor. It had been pulled back in the search. The master’s writing desk stood in front of the leaded glass window and a large canopied bed rested against the opposite wall. A screen in one corner hid a common chamber pot. No pictures decorated the papered walls.
Holmes went directly to the servant’s call device. It was a box fixed to the wall, much like those used for a ship’s communications. A speaking tube was mounted to the centre of the box and a small handle protruded from the left side. A metal rod sticking out above the speaking tube supported a curved metal spring that held the three bells. “You tested both ends of this device?” he asked Gregson.
“I did, myself,” the inspector replied. “The one in the basement is larger because it has several terminals for the other rooms in the house.”
Holmes bent over and leaned close to flick one of the bells and poke the call wire that ran to the basement. “This speaking tube is somewhat low, but I recall that Lord Garrod was rather short.”
“I saw the corpse,” said Gregson, “and he was below average in height.”
Holmes then made a show of examining the rest of the room. I am sure Gregson did not realise that my friend was no longer investigating, but I knew the signs. I looked again at the call device, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Eventually the inspector began to get restless. It was not his nature to stand idly by and watch others at work. I could see that Holmes sensed this and was waiting for this momen
t.
“Inspector,” said he, “I can see why you have had difficulty here. This may take more time than I had anticipated. Rather than have you wait while I work, perhaps you would like to carry on with your other duties while Watson and I familiarize ourselves with the house and the servants.”
“Good idea, Mr. Holmes,” said Gregson, with a degree of relief. “I will just go round and check with my men. Give a call if you need me.”
After he left, Holmes and I stood silently in the middle of the room, gazing out of the leaded glass window. I knew he was waiting for me to say something, so I remained silent.
“You are not curious?” said he.
“About what?” I asked.
“You did not notice my behavior?”
“Oh, that. Was it indigestion - ? Perhaps Mrs. Hudson’s sandwich?”
“Then you saw what I saw.”
“Of course I did.”
“And your conclusion?”
“Magic. Black magic.”
“How can you say that the barrel of a gun is magic?”
“A gun you say? I request a demonstration.”
Holmes walked over to the call device. “Lean close and smell the gun powder.”
I didn’t need to inhale much. “Yes, the odor is quite distinctive, but where is the gun?”
”Look at the metal rod that supports the bell spring.”
I looked and saw the hole in the middle. “Good heavens! How diabolical.”
“Indeed it is,” said Holmes. “There is a pistol mounted inside the box.” He pulled at the cover and the right side swung out and away, showing the revolver and the wire connecting the trigger to the call wire pull rod. “Once the trigger is cocked, the first person to pull the call lever will cause it to fire. The pistol can only be fired once, but the speaking tube guarantees that the unfortunate user is standing close to and directly in front of the weapon.”
As soon as Holmes closed the box face, we were startled by a vigorous ringing of the chimes. He again bent over and said, “Ahoy, who is calling?”
The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories - Part X Page 20