The Lambs Lane Affair (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale Book 5)

by Steven Ehrman

  “It is not disapproval, Holmes,” I protested. “It is merely surprise. Surely the time to question these people was here and now.”

  “We have their stories, Watson. Whether they are true or not, we will not discover without effort. This crime will not be solved from this flat, I assure you.”

  “Then you have a plan, Holmes?” I asked eagerly. “How will we proceed?”

  “We have already started, Doctor. The cables I sent out this morning will answer several questions I have. In addition there is work yet to be done today here in London.”

  “That is more in line with my thinking. Where away are we?”

  “I am afraid it is not we this time, Watson.” I fear that I showed my disappointment too clearly. “I am sorry, old friend; I must conduct this part of our investigation alone, but you do have a role to play.”

  “I suppose that I am to stay here and await messages,” I said somewhat glumly. “Really, Holmes, I am more than your secretary.”

  “Doctor, I assure you that I value your skills. Indeed you have an important role in the investigation.”

  “And what is that, Holmes?” I asked suspiciously.

  Instead of answering, Holmes swept from the room into his bedchamber. When he did not return immediately, I began to pace the floor. To be kept in the dark was business as usual with Holmes, but I still felt aggrieved at times in my association with the great detective. As I was nursing my perceived slights, Holmes returned to the sitting room. He had changed from his normal clothing into the uniform of a livery driver.

  “Are you changing professions, Holmes?”

  “That is actually very droll, Doctor,” he replied. “I must mix among the working classes today, and this uniform is the perfect costume in which to make my way in that world.”

  “I take it you wish to speak to the stable boys, delivery men, servants and the like in the area of the crime.”

  “Very perceptive, Doctor.”

  “But surely, Holmes, the police have already covered that ground.”

  “Perhaps, but remember the Yard believes the case to be solved. They are likely not asking any more questions, unless Hopkins has had a change of heart. In any case, many mouths close when a policeman is the questioner and not a fellow workman buying a drink. People often do not like to speak to a officer of the law asking questions, but will revel in gossip with a bar mate.”

  “But is there any value in mere gossip, Holmes?”

  Holmes laughed a throaty laugh, and I noticed that his entire posture was different from the norm. Instead of the ramrod straight bearing of my friend, I saw a slightly slouching roustabout. Holmes mastered his mirth and continued.

  “There are no secrets of the upper class from the servant and working classes, I assure you, Watson. I hope to find much information that will aid us in our quest.”

  “In that case, I ask again. What am I to do in your absence?”

  “I wish for you to visit Mr. Langston and Miss Woodbury. I would like your general impressions of them and I would ask that you report to me what type of teapot they each possess.”

  “Teapot? What in the world do teapots have to do with this mystery? Are you jesting with me, Holmes?”

  “I assure you, Doctor, I am in earnest.”

  “But how I am to do this without causing comment?”

  “My dear doctor, it is really quite simple. You do yourself an injustice by speaking without thinking.”

  I furrowed my brow in concentration, and then it came to me.

  “I suppose I could simply arrive at tea time. Is that what you suggest, Holmes?”

  “Precisely, Watson. You know, you are really coming along quite nicely.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I gave Holmes a wry smile at his jab.

  “Do you wish for me to visit these people in any particular order?” I asked.

  “I should think that it would be well that you call upon Mr. Langston first.”

  “What shall I say if they ask me about the state of the investigation?”

  “You may tell them that I have been engaged to uncover the true culprit of the crime. In fact, that is the other reason I wish you to go. I want the news of the investigation well known. But remember, I wish you to employ your judgment and simply engage these two in conversation.”

  “While everyone’s eye is upon me, you will be free to make your own inquiries.”

  Just so, Watson,” said he. “I am off. I will likely be quite late, Watson, so do not await my return. I shall surely see you in the morning.”

  With those words Holmes slouched from the rooms. I spent the next several hours in contemplation. Holmes obviously had a theory as to the identity of the murderer, but I could see nothing save for the fact that Harold Highlander had confessed to the crime. When I had judged that the time was right, I departed our rooms and engaged a hansom for the ride to Lambs Lane.

  The trip was without event and I soon found myself in front of the dilapidated cottage of Simon Langston. I did not ask the carriage to await me, as I knew not how long my task would take. I walked to the front door of the home and knocked briskly. The door was opened rather quickly, and I saw a look of definite surprise upon the face of Simon Langston.

  “Why, it is Doctor Watson,” he exclaimed. “You do my poor house honor, sir. Please come in. I was just about to sit down to tea. Will you join me?”

  I was overjoyed that Holmes’s plan had worked out so well, and I eagerly assented to the old man’s invitation. Langston led me into a small sitting room that nearly matched the outside of the home in shabbiness. It was clean, but it was obvious that the roof was leaking, as there were water stains on the walls and ceiling. Langston evinced no embarrassment at the state of the room. Taking my cue from him, I sat in a chair by the fireplace. The table between us held two cups and the pot, and my host poured me a cup of tea and then one for himself.

  As Holmes had instructed me to observe the teapot, I did so closely. It seemed a common piece of earthenware and was noticeably chipped.

  “Well, Doctor,” said Langston, “I see that Mr. Holmes is not satisfied with events.”

  “What do you mean, Mr. Langston?”

  “There is no need to be coy with me, sir. I have spoken with Mr. Benton this day, and he told me of his visit to your rooms. I had thought the matter was settled.”

  The thought of an active investigation seemed to energize the elderly man. He leaned forward as he spoke.

  “It is true that Holmes had agreed to look into the matter further, but I fear I am not in his confidence. Have you any ideas on the case?”

  “Me?” he asked with a grin. “I am a simple tailor, Doctor. I have no head for solving crimes. I will leave that for the young people. I am content to merely survive in my small home.”

  I glanced around the room and again noted the dilapidated appearance of the house. I caught Langston watching me, and he broke into a broad grin once more.

  “Oh, I know this place needs some repairs, but I may be moving soon.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Langston. Where might you be going?”

  “Not far, Doctor. In fact, to tell a secret, I will be moving into the Benton cottage soon. It is in a much better state than this one. I have already discussed it with Mr. Highlander.”

  “I would have thought that David Highlander would be worried about other matters than the cottage,” I said.

  “It was Mr. Harold Highlander, Doctor. He sent for me last night. He said the Benton lease was up soon and that he would not renew it given the circumstances. That being the case, he offered it to me.”

  So that explained the visit to the Highlander home last night, I thought.

  “Of course, I had no idea that the gentleman was going to confess to murder the next morning,” Langston continued. “At any rate, I will be more comfortable than I am here. That is certain.”

  “But this will be an additional blow to William Benton. First his sister is murdered, and now he will lose h
is home. That seems rather hard on him.”

  “I have already talked to Mr. Benton this day. He is anxious to move on as well. He tells me that he has a job offer in Kent and plans to leave soon. The boy does not strike me as the type to stay for long in any one place.”

  “Soldiers are often like that, Mr. Langston,” said I.

  “As you say, Doctor.”

  I finished my tea and talked for some time more with the tailor, but he seemed to grow weary as we spoke and I finally arose and took my leave. I bade the old man to stay seated and saw myself out. As I was walking down the path towards the lane, I observed William Benton likewise leaving his home, carrying a small case. He gave me a friendly wave, and we met at his gate.

  “I did not expect to see you so soon, Doctor,” he said in a casual manner.

  “I was just making a friendly call on Mr. Langston. I understand that you have obtained work.”

  “It did not take long for word to spread, I see,” Benton said. “I take it that our town crier has been the source of your news.”

  He gestured towards the Langston place as he spoke. I acknowledged that Simon Langston had told me of his new employment.

  “Nothing much gets by the old crow, I suppose,” he said, with an undertone of slight rancor. “But that is neither here nor there, I suppose.”

  “Did you discover if any of your shirts are missing, Mr. Benton?”

  “Ah, yes, the missing shirt. David explained that theory. None of mine are missing, but I really could not say if any of poor Anne’s are not there. She had many outfits, and you know what women are, Doctor. You must excuse me now. I have several telegrams I need to send out. The nearest office is just down the lane.”

  We parted and I watched as he quickly walked away with his head bowed. I noticed a carriage was in front of Miss Woodbury’s cottage. It had certainly not been there when I had arrived earlier, and I wondered who was calling upon the lady. Holmes had told me to use my own judgment, so I decided to make my visit to Miss Woodbury, regardless of her guest. I knocked at her door and was cheerfully received by the lady herself.

  “Why, Dr. Watson, please come in and join us,” she said with a smile.

  I followed her into the sitting room of the cottage and found that her visitor was Sylvia Highlander.

  “Hello again, Doctor,” she said. “I came to see Elizabeth and invited myself to tea. I practically forced the poor girl to brew up a pot. Isn’t that right, Elizabeth?”

  “Now, Sylvia, you will make Dr. Watson think I am not a proper host. Please, sit down, Doctor, and let me pour you a cup.”

  I did as I was bid, and soon found myself with a cup of tea in one hand and a biscuit in the other. Sylvia Highlander was chattering away, and I used the opportunity to study the teapot of Elizabeth Woodbury. It was much more delicate and exotic than the one I had seen in Simon Langston’s home. There were curious drawings on the pot and I wondered where it had come from. I decided to take the direct approach.

  “I say, Miss Woodbury, this is an unusual teapot. Where did you find it? Surely it is not of English manufacture.”

  “Indeed not, Doctor,” replied the lady. “I found that in a marketplace in Egypt. They are made by the natives, and they say the process has not changed for a thousand years, but that may just be a tale. I am not an antiquities expert.”

  “The Doctor speaks for me, Elizabeth,” said Sylvia Highlander. “I think it is most unusual as well. May I see it?”

  Miss Woodbury handed the pot to her guest who examined it closely.

  It really is most exotic,” said Miss Highlander. “How I envy your travels. I have never been able to pry David from England.”

  “Well, my travels seem to be at an end as well, Sylvia. England, dreary as it is at times, is my home and I am content.”

  “That is well said, Elizabeth. David would certainly endorse that view.”

  Sylvia Highlander began to hand the pot back to Miss Woodbury, when it slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor of the cottage.

  “Oh dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Highlander. “Elizabeth, how clumsy of me. I am so sorry.”

  “Think nothing of it, Sylvia,” said the lady, as she knelt and began to pick up the broken shards. “It was a mere curio and of no real value.”

  The lady seemed sincere in her acceptance of the apology, and she excused herself from the room to clear away the remains of the pot. I took advantage of her absence to question Sylvia Highlander.

  “I was not aware that you and Miss Woodbury were social friends,” I said.

  “We do not generally make calls on one another, Doctor, but these are not normal times. I wanted to make certain that Elizabeth was all right. She is quite alone in the world, you know.”

  My reply was interrupted by the reappearance of our host. Sylvia Highlander took that moment to announce that she had to return home. She left, and I heard her carriage clatter down the lane. I listened until the noise faded completely away.

  “Does Mr. Holmes believe that Mr. Highlander is innocent?” Elizabeth asked. “Sylvia told me that he had agreed to look into the case for David.”

  “Actually, Mr. Samuel Johnson is Holmes’s client,” I replied. “But I am afraid that I am overstaying my welcome. After all, I am an uninvited guest. I only wanted to see if you were all right. You have had quite a jolt.”

  “That is true, Doctor. I thank you for coming by.”

  She arose and walked me to the door. As she opened it, I saw that dusk was beginning. I felt a shiver come over me.

  “It gets dark quite early this time of year,” she observed.

  I agreed and took my leave of her. I walked to the lane and began to trudge back towards the center of the great city. I felt no happiness at the thought of the weary journey I could be in for before I might be able to engage a hansom. As I walked I thought of the murdered girl and wondered if Holmes had made any progress. I was deep in thought when I realized a carriage was coming up behind me. It halted next to me, and the driver leaned over from his seat.

  “Would you be needing a carriage, guv’nor?” he asked in a reedy voice.

  “I would, and you’re a godsend, my boy,” I replied, and climbed into the cab. I gave the driver the address of 221B Baker Street and settled in for the unexpected ride. I was nearly asleep, although the night was still young, when the cab jolted to a halt and I realized I was home. I climbed from the cab and offered the driver a sovereign. I was almost to the front door when I heard the voice of Sherlock Holmes.

  “Am I to keep the change, Doctor? That is most generous.”

  I turned and saw that Holmes had been my driver and I had not realized it.

  Chapter Twelve

  My head was swimming at the sight of my friend grinning from atop his seat.

  “Holmes, I will never understand your childish delight in fooling me, your faithful friend and companion.”

  “My apologies, Doctor, but I did save you a tiresome walk. Does that not earn a reprieve from your wrath?”

  He had such a broad, friendly smile on his face that I felt my anger quite drain away.

  “I do thank you for that, of course, Holmes, but was it necessary to maintain the pretense the entire ride home?”

  “You never know who might be watching, Watson. My day is not done and it would not do for anyone to pierce my disguise before I have finished my investigation.”

  “Then it nears an end?” I asked.

  “The last pieces of the puzzle are falling in place, Doctor. I have known since yesterday who the killer is, but I could not answer all the questions. By tomorrow all will be known.”

  “But, Holmes, you have not heard my report.”

  I quickly related all that I had seen and heard. I gave careful testimony as to the teapots and most especially the breaking of Miss Woodbury’s pot by Mrs. Highlander. Holmes listened without asking questions until I finished my tale.

  “You have done well, Doctor, and you have answered another question fo
r me. It progresses, my friend.”

  “But what of the broken pot, Holmes? Does that upset your plans?”

  Not at all, Doctor. Please think nothing else of it.”

  “But, why would Mrs. Highlander break it?”

  “Did it seem to you that she broke the pot on purpose?”

  “Well, no,” I said hesitantly. “But it does seem to be quite a coincidence.”

  “That I will allow you, Doctor. It is an interesting coincidence, but then, coincidences do happen. Did you observe the telegrams that William Benton wished to send?”

  “No, but he had a small case with him. Any paper work was likely in there.”

  “Quite likely, Watson. There are many moving parts in the case.”

  “What of Langston’s explanation for his visit to Harold Highlander?”

  “We shall have to take his explanation at its own worth for now. As I understand it, Harold Highlander is answering no questions at this time. I will know all before dawn breaks again.”

  “So I take it that you are not coming up with me, Holmes.”

  “No indeed, Doctor. I still have several public houses to visit. I fear I will be quite late. I shall certainly see you in the morning, old friend.”

  With those words, Holmes flicked his whip and the horse clattered down the street, the hooves sharply striking the bricks in the road and echoing off the buildings.

  Once inside our rooms, I settled in my chair and perused The Times. In a city the size of London, a murder on the outskirts of town was not front-page news, at least not for the staid Times. There was talk of a visit from the King of Norway and sectional troubles in Montenegro. All such foreign policy concerns dimmed when compared to a cruel murder in my eyes. It was just on eight when I heard a knock at the door and Inspector Hopkins strode into the room.

  “Good evening, Doctor,” he said with his hat in his hand. “I hope this call is not too late in the evening.”

  “Hardly that, Inspector,” I replied. “Please come in and be seated.”