Chapter Fifteen
Holmes and Garden arrived in the car park of Messrs Carlton, Piccadilly and Mayfair at a quarter past five, having shut their own office a little early, as they had no clients in for consultation. For this reason, they had also taken separate cars, so that Holmes did not have to take Garden home, nor Holmes return for his own motor.
Sanjay Chandra saw them enter the reception area, and immediately went out to greet them and apprise the receptionist of the reason for their visit, or as respectable a version as he could think of on short notice. If Mr Sandiford got wind of the fact that Holmes thought him a multiple murderer, he might get very irate, then Sanjay would be looking for another positon elsewhere, and Mrs Chandra would be very unhappy.
Mr Sandiford greeted his two uninvited guests with a little puzzlement, but with perfect manners. Such was the innocence which shone through his comments and opinions that even Holmes could not raise the enthusiasm to point the finger and proclaim him to be a murderer who was too mean to pay redundancy money.
He seemed genuinely distressed about what was happening to his staff, and likened it to the Agatha Christie novel the name of which was now unmentionable. ‘They seemed to be being wiped out, one by one,’ he summed up, ‘and I wonder if this is the macabre work of an unscrupulous and psychopathic business rival. Certainly I don’t think any of my staff would be able to locate a brake pipe – which I believe was cut on Davidson’s car – let alone have the murderous intent to cut one.’
‘That’s an angle we haven’t thought of,’ said Holmes, looking thoughtful, and even Garden seemed to find this an interesting proposition. ‘Could you give me the names of any of your business rivals who seem at all aggressive in their approach to acquiring new clients, and such?’ Holmes didn’t really know what he was talking about, but it seemed as good a question as any at the time.
‘Let me think on it, gentlemen. Let me mull it over overnight, and see if I can come up with anything,’ Sandiford declared in an attempt to bring this unscheduled interview to an end.
‘Thank you very much for your time,’ Garden said in reply, thus aiding and abetting the man’s aims, then tactfully escorted Holmes back to the reception area. Before Holmes could protest that his questioning had been cut short, Mr Chandra appeared as if by magic and now stood before them with his hands clasped together in a beseeching manner. He bowed his head slightly at them and asked,
‘I wonder if you would do me the honour of returning with me to my marital home to take a cup of chai with my wife and me. You are both being so helpful that I would like my Indraani to meet both of you, who are so diligently engaged in protecting me from harm.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Chandra,’ Garden accepted for the both of them, leaving Holmes with his mouth hanging open, and no say in the matter.
Chapter Sixteen
Three cars drew up at the modest terraced townhouse, and Mr Chandra ushered them up to the first floor, calling out, ‘Indraani, my little flower, we have important visitors. Where are you?’
A woman appeared at the door of what the two visitors assumed was the kitchen, as delicious smells were issuing from it. Her face set a little rigidly as she realised that her husband was not alone, but she managed to turn the grimace into a smile of welcome after only a fraction of a second, and held out her hand to both of them in turn.
‘I see your car is back from the garage,’ commented Sanjay conversationally, as she bowed politely to each of her guests in turn.
‘It has needed some work doing on it,’ she replied.
‘That is life, my flower. Now, come into the sitting room while Indraani makes us chai.’
Garden took a seat with a rather preoccupied expression, and seemed to be lost in thought as Holmes and Mr Chandra made polite conversation. ‘… eh, Garden?’ The junior partner of the firm suddenly became aware that he had, indeed, been lost in his own thoughts and conjectures, and that he didn’t have the slightest idea of what Holmes had just asked him.
‘Sorry, Holmes. I didn’t quite catch what you said,’ he replied, a little shamefacedly.
‘Didn’t quite catch it? Why, you were in a world of your own. Penny for ’em, old man, and we were just saying how worrying it must have been for Mr Chandra here, hearing of all his colleagues being bumped off.’
‘Quite so,’ Garden replied, still not really up with the conversation.
‘Come along, old man, pay attention,’ Holmes exhorted him, as Indraani entered with a loaded tray, immediately capturing the full attention of the man’s partner. ‘What are you staring at, Garden. It’s rude to stare.’
‘Sorry, Holmes, Mrs Chandra,’ he apologised. ‘Will you excuse me a minute while I go outside to make a phone call.’
‘You don’t have to go outside,’ Sanjay explained politely.
‘It’s a rather personal matter,’ Garden explained, leaving the room and trotting down the stairs to the outside.
All four of them were sitting sipping sweet, milky chai in the Chandra’s living room when there was a ring on the doorbell and Sanjay, as the head of the household, went down to answer it.
When he re-entered the room, he had the figure of Inspector Streeter in tow, much to Holmes’ utter surprise. Was the man out to quash their investigation? With a glint of triumph in his eye, the Inspector recited the familiar caution to Indraani, arrested her, and took her away in handcuffs.
Chapter Seventeen
‘How on earth did you fathom that one out?’ asked Holmes in an aggrieved voice, when they had retired to the nearest public house to discuss what had just happened.
‘There was simply nobody else left who could have done it, except for her. When we arrived, I noticed that she had an oil stain on her sari that looked as if it were part of the pattern, at first. Mrs Chandra wasn’t the sort of person who messed with the workings of a car, so I wondered if she’d been under one recently.
‘Then Mr Chandra mentioned that her car was back and she said she’d had some work done on it. It wasn’t a million miles away from a dirty great sign that she had been trying to ensure that her husband received any promotion that was going.
‘I phoned Streeter when I went outside, and he got a couple of his men phoning round the garages in Farlington market to see if a Mrs Chandra had dropped a vehicle in for repair recently, and one of them discovered that she’d had some work done to the front end and had had the bonnet replaced.
‘It probably won’t be a long time before a witness near the Rothwell house remembers seeing an Indian woman in the street on the day of Mr Rothwell’s murder. She must have slipped into the house via an unlocked door when he was home for lunch, which she would have known if she’d phoned Sanjay and he’d happened to mention it. He said he phones her every day to make sure that everything at home is running smoothly. And she could just have waited until he returned, as Mr Chandra was liable to be late, as always – all that unpaid overtime.
‘It was what she said as she was arrested that got to me, though: the reason she did it all.’
‘‘A matter of honour,’’ repeated Holmes, bemusedly. ‘It was a matter of honour due to his long service that her husband be awarded the promotion. Whatever next?’
THE END
THE HAUNTING OF SHERMAN HOLMES
Chapter One
‘I won’t have any of those rubbishy decorations in an office of mine. I simply don’t understand this mumbo-jumbo of paganism, and American, to boot – and why do they have to call it Holloween instead of Hallowe’en?’
Garden could hear the absence of an apostrophe in the first rendition of the word.
‘I find it absolutely beyond the pale and positively sinister. It always used to be All Hallows Eve, when I was a boy; or at least, I think it did. And now we have all this airy-fairy nonsense of decorations and pumpkins – foul vegetables that they are – and wearing masks and disguises, with gangs going round and terrorising respectable folk in their own homes,’ snarled Holmes.
‘You’ve had a party of early trick-or-treaters round, haven’t you?’ Garden asked, with a sigh. ‘Whatever can you have against an excuse for innocent children to dress up and call on the neighbours? They’re usually accompanied by a parent or another grown-up.’
‘These weren’t. They were about six feet tall and had cigarettes, acne, and attitude.’
‘What? But you can hardly hold them responsible for an innocent childhood pastime at the end of October,’ Garden replied, quite reasonably.
‘It’s socially acceptable begging in the best light.’
‘Holmes, you old grump. Where’s your inner child?’
‘I am, fortunately, without issue, and am harbouring no such being.’
‘Then you need to get one. It’s half the fun of life, being able to look at certain things from a child’s point of view.’
‘You’ll be asking me to start believing in Santa Claus again.’
Garden gave another heavy sigh. When Holmes was in this mood, there was no point in arguing with him.
‘Sherman, can’t we at least have a pumpkin with a candle in it in the window?’ This question was from Shirley Garden, John H.’s mother and secretary/receptionist of the Holmes and Garden private investigations business, for whom her boss had a very soft spot.
After a short silence, Holmes capitulated and agreed, but on the condition that he didn’t have anything to do with buying or carving it. Shirley did a little dance of glee, then fled from the office to purchase a pumpkin rather than draw any unwanted attention to herself. She needed, at all costs, to avoid Holmes’ admiring glance.
Later that afternoon the smell of recently carved gourd pervaded the offices, and Sherman Holmes wrinkled his nose. ‘Can we also get a can of air freshener?’ he pleaded.
‘Do you really dislike pumpkins that much?’ asked Garden. ‘I love the soup, and have you ever eaten pumpkin pie?’
‘I have actually tried the latter. We had a chap in the office for a short time who was American, and he insisted on making a huge one for everyone to try, at what he referred to as Thanksgiving. I thought I was going to do what is known in the vernacular as “blow my guts”.’
‘Sherman!’ Shirley was disgusted by the very thought.
‘Was it really that bad?’ asked Garden, now interested.
‘Absolutely foul.’
‘Maybe the man was just a bad cook,’ he offered.
‘Bad cook be damned. He was wolfing it down as if there was no tomorrow and making all sorts of horrible little squeaks of delight and appreciation.’
‘We are, indeed, two nations divided by a common language and fractured culture.’
‘Johnny, stop being a smart arse.’ ordered his mother imperiously.
‘If either of you wants to take the blasted thing home when it’s served its purpose, that’s fine by me, otherwise it goes in the dustbin.’
‘Recycling of vegetable matter bin.’ Garden had now become pedantic.
Thus was the mood in the office of the detective agency on the day that Mr Harry Twister entered its portals, the bell pinging to announce his arrival and putting a stop to the petty squabbling that had been taking place therein.
‘Good afternoon, sir. How may we help you?’ asked Shirley, retaking her seat behind the reception desk and immediately looking demure. Holmes and Garden stood as still as statues, trying to look benevolent and caring. ‘Do take a seat.’
Mr Twister introduced himself, inspiring introductions all round and seated himself opposite Shirley. ‘I have a problem which I am unable to solve,’ he began.
‘Come on through to the back office,’ Holmes invited, and led the way as all three men disappeared and Shirley sulked. She never got to hear any of the good stuff.
Harry Twister began his strange tale from a chair placed between the two desks. ‘It’s like this. There is a house in the possession of my family which has not been occupied for some time, because the stories go that it is haunted.’
‘It’s what, sir?’ Holmes looked startled, and Garden sat up straighter with interest.
‘It is said to be occupied by a number of ghosts and spirits who only manifest themselves on Hallowe’en. Now, this is a difficult problem to get to grips with. I’ve had a word with the police and they are, of course, unable to help me, but Detective Inspector Streeter said that this might be right up your alley.’
‘Have you ever consulted a psychic or ghost-hunter?’ queried Garden, feeling a little foolish at such a question.
‘There is no point in talking to such people. Not only are most of them charlatans, but I’m convinced that they would “find” all sort of presences there just for the publicity. No, what I need is a couple of rational heads that wouldn’t be swayed by such thoughts.’
Holmes took a moment to preen himself. ‘I think you’ve come to exactly the right people. Nobody more level-headed than us, eh, Garden?’
Garden nodded his agreement, then wondered what Mr Twister would think of his alter ego, Joanne. Would he consider her existence level-headed or just plain potty? ‘I think we could investigate with complete integrity,’ he added, without a hint of a blush. Joanne was private, and what a man did in his private life was no one’s business but his own.
‘Of course,’ Mr Twister continued, ‘I realise now that common trespass is a civil matter, and not something that can be attributed to spirits or ghosts and, therefore, not able to be investigated by the police. Thus, I find myself here, invoking your help.’
‘What precisely would you like us to do?’ Holmes was definitely intrigued.
‘I wonder if you would allow me to employ you to visit the place with me, perhaps this afternoon or tomorrow, and then return to it on the thirty-first at dusk, to spend the night there. There are tales of other people attempting to do so and going mad in the process. I have no idea of the veracity of these tales, but the family would very much like to sell the property, and the scurrilous stories are currently hindering our attempts to market it. I know it’s an esoteric undertaking, but I should be very grateful to retain your services in this matter.’
Holmes was hooked, his face a mask of anticipation, and he accepted with alacrity, arranging for them to meet at the offices the next morning for a viewing. Before their new client left, he told Holmes that, if that individual didn’t mind him saying so, he was the absolute spit and image of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Garden thought his partner would burst with pride. ‘But you’re Sherman, nor Sherlock,’ he concluded.
‘I rather think my mother must have been scared by a tank during the War,’ Holmes added; a somewhat outré statement. ‘Did you know that Conan Doyle went to school with two brothers Moriarty, and that there was also at his school a student called Sherlock?’
‘Would ten-thirty tomorrow morning suit you, sir, outside this office?’ enquired Garden and, having set their rendezvous, Mr Twister took his leave of them, but not before commenting,
‘Goodness me. His fellow students must have been an inspiration to him.’
When Mr Twister had left, Garden expressed his concern for what they had taken on but, as Holmes said with complete logic, if it was a load of old wives’ tales, then it was easy money, and something that would further their reputation in the investigating field.
Chapter Two
Holmes came in in a terrible state of anxiety the next morning and, on enquiring what the matter was, he told Garden that when he had got home the previous evening, he had found his beloved cat, Colin, limping very badly on his left front paw. When he had inspected it, he found a swelling of some considerable size.
Delaying only to apply a couple of sticking plasters to his injured hand, he took the animal immediately to the late-evening surgery at the vet’s, only to discover that the trouble was caused by an infection, probably from a bite inflicted in a fight with another feline. The vet had said that he would have to lance the infection and, that he would keep him in overnight to keep an eye on things, as he didn’t have t
ime to do anything until the morrow.
‘I can’t pick him up until two o’clock this afternoon, and I have a dental appointment which I can’t cancel as I have been suffering, for the last couple of days, with toothache,’ he explained then looked at Garden piteously but with hope.
Garden stared back at him, mute, until his partner steeled himself to ask the favour, as no obvious offer of help was forthcoming. ‘I don’t suppose you could possibly pick him up for me and take him back to my apartment, could you? He’ll have had a general anaesthetic, and should be very dopey.’
Garden heaved a great sigh of defeat, and found that he was unable to refuse this small service, as Holmes was in pain, and the cat couldn’t stay indefinitely at the veterinary surgery. ‘I suppose so. Give me your keys before you go off for your appointment. Which vet’s is it?’
‘The one on the outskirts near the old church. Thanks, old boy. I’m pretty sure I’ll need at least a filling, if not an extraction, and I simply don’t know how long I’ll be.’
Harry Twister turned up promptly, and the three of them set off, Holmes and Garden in Holmes’ car, Mr Twister leading the way. It was quite some distance to the property in question and in some ways reminded them of a property they had visited on a previous case.
It was very large, isolated, and enclosed by a tall walled garden. It was also in a state of some disrepair, and loured there forlornly like a neglected dog that is ever hopeful of some kindness.
When they were out of the vehicles and standing before it, Twister remarked, ‘It’s a bit of a pile, isn’t it?’
‘It hasn’t the most welcoming of aspects,’ replied Holmes, staring at the place thoughtfully. ‘I can quite see why it’s got rather a reputation.’
‘The family would really like to offload it, as we cannot afford either to redevelop it into something else, or demolish it for new building.’
‘That would certainly be one pile spent on another.’ Holmes was being witty.
The Bookcase of Sherman Holmes: A Holmes and Garden Anthology Page 10