The Patient's Eyes: The Dark Beginnings of Sherlock Holmes

by Pirie, David

  ‘It will happen to us first,’ I said ruefully. It was not that I was in any way sure of his success but I knew the Doctor well enough to be certain there was some kind of serious method in these antics. His ruthless logic and speculation had often led to disagreement between us, but once he acted as resolutely as this there was generally good reason for it.

  The Doctor was now a little closer for he had weaved back across once more. Suddenly he stopped, turned, then shouted, ‘Here, Doyle!’

  I moved over to him. He had dropped the axe and turned to pick up the auger, a long-handled instrument with a corkscrew at the end, which is used by geologists for taking earth samples. The Doctor bent over, pushing it carefully into a patch of exposed earth where the vegetation was not so thick. Fortunately the frost had gone and the ground was soft. But as I reached him he was not obtaining the results he wanted. ‘Nothing,’ he said as I came beside him. ‘Nothing, but I am certain …’

  He broke off, for as he was speaking the earth seemed to give way under the auger and it sank some inches into the ground without resistance. The Doctor’s face flushed with triumph. ‘There,’ he said. ‘There! I knew it.’

  He studied the hole he had made. It was clear now that below where we stood was empty space. The Doctor angled the instrument one way, then another so he could find that space’s limits. ‘We just need to find the line of it,’ he muttered. Then he looked up again at the terrain. ‘Yes, I am sure! That copse. It will be the entrance.’ He straightened up and strode towards a clump of bramble bushes and trees. There was, I now saw, a relatively bare area of twigs and earth and dead plants beside one of the bushes. Again he plunged the auger down and this time it hardly moved at all. It seemed to hit something quite solid. ‘Here!’ he said with a great cry of excitement, which brought Warner over at once.

  ‘This is one entrance,’ said Bell, ‘but we need tools to get it open. Any handle there is will be on the other side.’ Warner stamped his boot down where Bell had been working and felt the hard surface at once. ‘Yes,’ the Doctor confirmed, ‘it is wood.’

  Inspector Warner was amazed. ‘But how could he get a bicycle down there?’

  ‘He did not need to,’ said Bell. ‘It seems there were munitions stores and old tunnels all over here. There will be other entrances and he has probably covered most of them up for good. This one, though, we can prise open.’

  Now a frantic unloading of further equipment began. The Doctor himself grasped a pickaxe as soon as it was brought to him, I had a sharp spade and, together with others, we began a furious assault on what we soon saw was a wooden trap.

  It astonished me how little there was to see at first, but soon the entrance was obvious though, as the Doctor had warned, there was no evident means of opening it. Two of the men had chisels and managed to force them underneath, and eventually with a great splintering of wood the trap was open.

  Below us, sure enough, we could now see a tunnel space. It was not very wide – indeed, there could only be room for one man to crawl at a time – but it led away from us into the wood.

  ‘This’, said the Doctor, ‘will take you to him under that abandoned cottage. It will not be pleasant but two men with lamps must follow it. I am sure there will be another way in from there, probably under the stair. Doyle and I must find it.’

  The tiny tunnel below was hardly an appetising prospect but even so, I would have been glad to get down there at once. The Doctor, however, insisted I would do more good with him.

  The two of us made our way back to that wreck of a house in the clearing where the figure had pushed me from the window. All around us the wood was a fever of activity. Men with lanterns ran to the tunnel, for Warner had decided at once to put more than two down it. Now he had a goal, he did not want to risk losing his prey and he was nearly as energised as the Doctor.

  Bell and I reached that dark ruin, which was as gloomy and dilapidated as when I had first seen it. Inside it seemed quite as still and deserted as ever. Bell was holding a lamp and took it straight to the moth-eaten panelling under the staircase. Certainly, it seemed solid enough to the eye and there was no obvious sign that we could penetrate it but, holding the lantern high, Bell brought his face within an inch or two of the wood and studied it minutely. At first, quite clearly he could see nothing. He moved back and forth, appraising the entire surface. He ran his hand over it, still without conclusion. Then he stopped and his hand moved back.

  ‘There is paint here and it is not so old. It serves to cover the line. We need a chisel or better, a compass saw.’

  I had a bag of instruments with me but the best we could find was a chisel and hammer. Bell showed me where to aim my chisel and soon we were exposing the line of some kind of join in the wood. At last I managed to get some purchase and a part of the panelling splintered open, revealing an aperture behind.

  ‘Yes, he has nailed it down from inside,’ said Bell with excitement. ‘But we can force it.’

  I kept working with the chisel; the Doctor took up his axe, using the blade this time to smash through the wood. It was not easy work, for we could see what we were uncovering was a cellar door of thick oak that had been disguised on the outside and nailed fast on the other, but soon more wood was splintering and we had a hole. I had the lantern now and held it up to peer inside. What I saw made my heart leap.

  ‘Bell, there are steps!’

  And then it came from somewhere below. A woman’s muffled scream.

  ‘My God!’ I shouted. ‘It is her.’ I seized the axe and gave it all my strength. This time I smashed a hole close to where the lock must once have been and the door was beginning to buckle under the weight of our attack. At last, after more blows, there was room to get through.

  We moved on and into that space. I held the lantern high and we began to descend the steps, which were covered with dirt and moss, but still, as we observed, showed signs of recent use. The lamp sent ghastly flickering shadows around us but beneath all was pitch-black.

  I called her name but there was no reply. Still we could see nothing at all below.

  We rounded a corner and the steps became steeper. ‘My God,’ I said, ‘if we are …’

  But I broke off, for now at the bottom I saw a lair with makeshift signs of occupation. The beams picked out an old mattress, bits of food and some clothes and blankets, and then a shape on an ancient mattress.

  She was there. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes wide and half terrified and pleading, for all she could see was the light. But she was alive and conscious. She muttered a word I could not quite make out and then I think she saw me and I moved towards her.

  There was a warning cry from the Doctor: ‘Careful, Doyle.’

  In that instant I saw the shape come at me out of the darkness. It was cloaked and carried a long knife like a machete, which it swung at my neck.

  I just managed to avoid the knife and, turning, threw my lamp full in its face. It did not hit its mark but connected with its arm and the weapon went flying as my lamp crashed to the ground.

  The cloaked figure had sprung back and I ran for the blade as the flame from the lamp found some old straw and clothing, and fire flickered up.

  As the figure turned, weaponless, its hood fell back and in the dancing light of the flames we caught our first glimpse of its features. It was an unnerving sight. Only a part of the face was there at all and it was clear now why I thought it had no eyes: one was missing entirely and much of the skin on that side appeared to have gone with it.

  But our glimpse was fleeting for the figure turned and ran like a trapped beast towards the far corner of the lair. I could see there were two or three entrances to tunnels and he might well have eluded us for good, but already more lanterns had appeared and his way was blocked. Warner himself had taken the low road and now with two policemen he moved on the figure. They tackled it hard, and held it as more police clambered down the steps behind us.

  I had already turned back to the mattress where she was
. ‘You are all right?’

  Now I was sure she did recognise me, but I could also see she was fevered. She made an effort to get to her feet and almost did so, despite the cord that tied her.

  ‘Oh, Mr Doyle I think …’ she said in a tone that told me she barely knew where she was, and then she fainted dead away.

  The Doctor was beside me now. ‘She has only fainted. We must get her up and out.’

  Quickly he applied himself to undoing her bonds. ‘See the knots, Doyle, just as on Baynes! It was what first told me our man was naval. That and the tarred twine and that fragment of his Royal Marine scarf. It was only then that I saw the full significance of Natal. But what bedevilled me was this. If this man had left her, why would he have returned? The initials on the tree were what gave me the answer.’

  I could follow some of his logic and knew I would soon be clearer about the man but the last observation about the initials on the tree baffled me completely. ‘I cannot see why,’ I began. ‘You have already admitted those initials were nothing to do with the case.’ But I had lost his attention. Bell had spied something on the ground and gone to pick it up. I did not see what it was but when he turned back to me, I was shocked to see how worried he looked. ‘What is it, Doctor?’ I asked. ‘Is she all right?’

  His features had composed themselves again. ‘We are very fortunate,’ he said. ‘As far as I can tell she is quite unharmed.’

  Now a stretcher was ready for Heather, other police were lifting her on to it and she was being borne out of that hellish place. I was still overwhelmed with relief and turned back to the activity over by the tunnels. The figure was lying handcuffed, the police torches shining on him. As I stared down at the wretched creature, who had so long eluded us, I found myself thinking of how poor Baynes must have felt to see such a man attack and bury him. I was beginning to recall, too, where I had heard of such a punishment before.

  Meanwhile, Warner had turned to Bell. ‘Who is he?

  ‘He is Captain Horler,’ said Bell, ‘of the heroic British defence at Majuba Hill in Natal. The Boers took half his face and most of his mind, it would seem. But his skill with munitions had not left him and he became fanatically jealous of his former fiancée whom he had left here. Now we must get him out.’

  Our party must have made a strange spectacle as we came back through the wood in the gathering shadows. Our rescued heroine was in the lead, borne aloft on a stretcher. Behind came the police party pressed around the odd, shambling figure of Horler, his hood now replaced for he seemed easier with it. Lastly there was myself and the Doctor. But I spared time for one last look back at that hideous old cottage, whose sightless windows even now looked strangely impervious to the rays of the setting sun. How fervently I hoped I would never have reason to visit it again.

  When we reached the road, Miss Grace was carried to a vehicle as Captain Horler was safely secured in a Black Maria. Inspector Warner looked on with what was clearly great satisfaction.

  ‘If only I had your brains,’ he told the Doctor, ‘I would have made the connection to Natal. The Boer massacres caused enough sensation here; you can see the unhappy results on every street corner. On Majuba Hill were not the poor devils attacked by surprise while they slept?’

  ‘Yes and the burial with weighted feet was meted out to traitors in the same campaign,’ added Bell. And now I recalled I had once read of such a thing. ‘But please remember, Inspector,’ Bell went on as he gave a look of concern at the Black Maria carrying our fugitive away, ‘this man was severely wounded fighting for his country. He must be treated properly.’

  ‘Yes, I will remind my people tonight. My congratulations, Bell.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the Doctor. ‘I do not deserve them.’

  ‘Well, we should have been on him quicker I suppose, but at least it is wrapped up very nicely. We have the blade. There can be no doubt he killed Baynes and Greenwell.’

  ‘Oh, none at all,’ said Bell. ‘He killed them, and brutally.’

  Knowing the Doctor as I did, I was quite sure he was irritated that he had allowed the murderer to stay so close to him and not been able to prevent the deaths. As before – in fact, as so often in my cases with Bell — I thought I knew everything.

  I did not. Indeed, I knew nothing.

  THE DANCE ON WATER

  The Doctor and I visited the rectory that night, where the Blythes could hardly have been more welcoming or relieved. It was certainly the most hospitable greeting we had yet received at that place. My advice had been that Miss Grace should be taken to the infirmary for a thorough medical examination but this had revealed nothing at all serious bar a few bruises and general exhaustion. She was sleeping peacefully and would return home in the morning.

  ‘It is quite wonderful,’ said Mrs Blythe and her husband seemed genuinely grateful too. It was remarkable to see the change in him, as he smiled at us both — yes, even at me – and offered glasses of his favourite sherry. But then I recalled how volatile the man had shown himself even from our earliest meeting when blatant hostility had suddenly given way to flattery. Later I had watched as he bent that spade in a rage, evidently about to strike out, then suddenly thought better of it when he saw the steadiness of his opponent. Blythe, I decided now, was an eccentric bully with a fierce and erratic temper who had been chastened by this experience. His understanding with Guy Greenwell was probably tacit but I am sure Greenwell offered every hope that, after marrying his niece, he would help Blythe with the expansion of the collection. However, with Greenwell gone such hopes were dashed. And, for the moment at least, I was glad to see that Mrs Blythe seemed to have regained some power in the marriage. ‘My husband’s hope that Heather should marry Guy led to some actions that were wrong-headed,’ she said quite openly in front of him, as Blythe merely pursed his lips and recharged our glasses. ‘Now Guy is gone there can be no point at all in opposing the settlement.’

  Watching Blythe as he chatted animatedly, I guessed he was one of those men who find supposedly principled reasons to mask their own greed even from themselves, but who quickly change tack when their hypocrisy is effectively challenged. Now his greatest wish was only to talk science with the Doctor and he invited Bell to make a lengthy tour of his collection. Rather to my surprise, the Doctor agreed, for I had absolutely no desire to go with them. Mrs Blythe had been a far truer ally to her niece than anyone else in the family and I was quite happy to sit hearing her stories of Heather.

  But, as he got up to leave the room with the Doctor, Blythe did proffer some interesting information. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I was the only one who had seen Captain Horler since the massacre and knew of his condition. Some months ago I received a confidential letter from a London doctor, who informed me Horler was his patient and I visited him there briefly. The man was obviously off his head but I had no idea he had conceived this obsession with Heather. Naturally I never told anyone and I understood he was returning to Natal almost at once. I genuinely thought he had gone back.’

  ‘I quite accept that,’ said Bell cordially as they were leaving the room. ‘Still, while we are exploring the ocean of science I do have some other matters to discuss with you.’

  ‘Of course, you have earned it.’

  ‘The first is trivial,’ Bell began as the two men exited the room. ‘You take The Times, do you not?’

  ‘Yes, what of it?’ I heard Blythe reply as their voices drifted away down the corridor.

  In the days that followed I did not see very much of the Doctor. I visited Miss Grace twice after she returned home from the infirmary and found her shining with gratitude, but still quite weak. I had already made arrangements to hand over her medical care to another doctor of my selection who seemed eminently honest and very suitable for the task. Since I have already written here of hypocrisies that we hide from ourselves, I might as well admit that he was elderly and married with four children.

  On my second visit, I found Miss Grace sitting up in her bed in her old room, smiling hap
pily as I entered. I could never have disguised how pleased I was to see her and we chatted about nothing in particular for a while. Her birthday had been celebrated extremely quietly the previous day and she laughed to tell me how her ancient lawyer had talked to her of ‘entails’ and ‘deeds’ and other things she barely understood. ‘I like him very much, but he believes in conveying every single clause and comma, and he was so serious, Dr Doyle. My hand ached from signing all his papers. I think there is every chance I am going to be the silliest and least practical woman of independent means in England.’

  ‘That would be quite an ambition,’ I said. ‘I would hate to think your new-found status is already leading to pride.’

  We laughed at this and other trivialities for both of us, I think, wanted for the moment to avoid being serious, but in the end she had enough of it and looked at me in that way she had. ‘I miss our talks,’ she said gently.

  I did not reply. For I was glad she said it, but I had resolved to leave any serious discussions until she was up and about.

  ‘And therefore I have something to ask you,’ she continued. ‘I know we are being light-hearted and I want that. You and I have known sadder things and it is good to escape them a while. But I have decided that when I am better I will leave here and go to London. Then I would like you to come and visit me and we will see if you still find me as interesting as a person as I was as a patient.’

  ‘I think you know’, I said slowly, ‘that I do. For it is why you have a new doctor.’

  She smiled radiantly at that. How vividly now I see her smile, the way it dimpled her left cheek, the way her eyes closed slightly, the way a lock of hair curled just over her ear. Sometimes at moments like these, when I visited her, sheer joy overwhelmed her, and she would throw her head back and laugh as if she were no more than fifteen years old. I loved her; I might as well acknowledge it, but never more than in those moments.