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

by Steven Ehrman

  “Then Harold is guiltless,” said Johnson.

  “I have not said that,” returned Holmes.

  “But your manner certainly implies…”

  The stockbroker left his thought unfinished and he slumped back in his chair even further. I felt for him. His affection for Harold Highlander was palpable. I wondered if he was aware of the health of his friend, and doubted it. What would be his reaction when he discovered the dire news? Whereas Samuel Johnson had been mortified to find his friend might face prison, he would assuredly be devastated to find that Highlander was in the throes of a terminal disease.

  Over the next hour, Holmes employed his most politic manner in putting off Mr. Johnson’s understandable curiosity until that evening. Our client did not yield at once, but he was gradually ground down by Holmes’s obstinacy in the face of his inquiries. He finally, reluctantly, departed with a promise that he would not return until the appointed hour.

  Once we were alone again, Holmes began to wax eloquently to me on the subject of military deportment and dress. I had little hope that the conversation would return to more pressing matters, and I resolved to wait contentedly for eight o’clock. Still, I wondered just what the great detective had planned.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Between seven thirty and eight o’clock our guests began to arrive. Holmes was ensconced in his bedchambers, and did not deign to make an appearance until the last chime of the clock had rung. As the final note faded, Holmes strode confidently in the room. He gave a nod to Inspector Hopkins and walked to the fireplace where he stood with his back to the assemblage. After some moments, Hopkins broke the silence of the room.

  “Mr. Holmes, I have brought Mr. Harold Highlander as you asked,” said the Inspector. “I have every hope that the trust I showed you in bringing him here will not be disappointed.”

  Holmes turned at the Inspector’s words.

  “Your trust will not be in vain, Inspector,” he began. “I will not thank any of you for coming, as everyone is here out of self-interest, mere curiosity, or by force, as is the case with Harold Highlander.”

  There was a murmur of disapproval at Holmes’s words, but no one assayed an out-and-out objection to them either. I looked from face to face and saw stern, worried expressions from most. David and Sylvia Highlander sat next to each other on a sofa. Elizabeth Woodbury was in my usual chair. Harold Highlander was on the settee that was normally Holmes’s province, and Inspector Hopkins stood by his side. Two burly police sergeants stood guard by the door. As Holmes had prophesized, William Benton did not make an appearance.

  “I was called in on this case by Inspector Hopkins because the crime seemed to be one that was out of the ordinary. A woman is beaten and stabbed in her own home. There is a note delivered to Mr. Harold Highlander that threatens her life. Mr. Highlander investigates by going to the young lady’s home. Upon arrival, he is joined by Miss Elizabeth Woodbury and they discover the body. Are we all agreed so far? Mr. Highlander?

  Holmes addressed the question to the elder Mr. Highlander.

  “I have nothing to add to my confession, Mr. Holmes,” he said stiffly. “I have already informed the Inspector that I will not play an active part in this charade. You can force my attendance, but not my participation.”

  The old man made a dignified presence, but if he had hoped to stay the hand of Sherlock Holmes, he was doomed to be disappointed.

  “Well, we shall see,” said Holmes. “Upon my arrival at the cottage along with Dr. Watson, I immediately noticed that there were inconsistencies with the murder scene. The lady had been struck with a candlestick holder and it lay beside the body in the foyer. However, there was an oil lamp. Why would a candlestick be in that small area of the house if a lamp was there already?”

  “Perhaps the lamp was empty, Mr. Holmes,” said Inspector Hopkins. “That would explain it nicely.”

  “It would, Hopkins, if the lamp had been empty. However, I picked up the lamp. It was full of oil.”

  I remembered the scene as Holmes spoke. I had thought he had only casually picked up the lamp at the time. Now I saw that his mind had been keenly at work, as always.

  “But what could this mean, Holmes?” I asked. “Is it important to the murder?”

  “It is not a mere aside, Doctor. It is essential to understanding what happened. It means that the body was moved from its original position. And it was moved for a very important reason. It was meant to fool one very important person.”

  “Whom are you hinting at, Mr. Holmes?” asked Samuel Johnson.

  “Let me answer you in this way,” said Holmes. “Yesterday I went to the area of the murder disguised as a common livery man. In this way I was able to obtain information that was only traded between people of the same class. Much of what I learned was useless, but I came upon the one piece of information that I was looking for. This was the piece that explained Mr. Harold Highlander’s actions the evening of the crime. For you see it was Mr. David Highlander who struck Miss Benton on the head with the candlestick at around four o’clock.”

  “What is this nonsense?” asked Sylvia Highlander. “Are you saying David struck this woman and then wrote a note so his father would read it? It makes no sense.”

  “It makes sense when once you factor in the fact that David Highlander and Anne Benton were having an affair. This is what I discovered last night speaking with the servants and tradesmen of the area. Inspector, you will be able to verify this now that you know what to look for. I suspect that David went to the cottage that day to break it off with Miss Benton. Or perhaps she threatened to expose him as an adulterer. Either way, he is threatened and reacts.

  “Allow me to lay out the scene. David strikes the woman and, thinking he has killed her, he leaves the cottage and returns home. He is a weak man, but not an evil one. He confesses to his father what he has done. The father leaves to go to the Benton cottage to see for himself. While the father is gone, the son drinks himself into senselessness.

  “When Harold Highlander arrives on the scene, he quietly slips in the side entrance. He discovers the body of the dead girl. It was likely in the living room. He is a man of long experience and he wishes to shield his son from the grips of an unscrupulous woman. How does he do it? He decides to make it look as if the girl has been stabbed. He will then discover the body and call the authorities. But there is another problem. He must have some reason for finding the body. He comes up with the idea of the note. It is a dramatic device that gives him the motive to force the door. He makes an ample amount of noise so that Miss Woodbury is drawn out of her home. She witnesses the discovery and the police are called.”

  “Half a moment, Mr. Holmes,” said Inspector Hopkins. “Why stab the girl and move the corpse? Why not just discover the body. The note will still serve to give him ample reason to make the discovery.”

  “You forget that Harold Highlander was working to deceive two separate audiences,” said Holmes. “He was attempting to fool the police, to be sure, but he was also attempting to deceive his son. He was certain that when David Highlander arose from his stupor and found the girl had died from the blow to the head, that the son would confess. So he needed the son to believe that the girl had died in some other way.

  “But Harold Highlander has another problem. The girl is already dead. If she is stabbed then she will not bleed. He comes up with an ingenuous idea. He will stab the girl in the chest and pour some water around the wound to make it appear wet. The only impediment to that was, that unless the Benton girl was wearing black, it would be obvious that it was water and not blood. Now, according to Mr. William Benton, the dress was part of a mourning outfit. It is highly unlikely that she was wearing it that day, so Harold Highlander quickly searched her wardrobe and found the black blouse he needed. The one that Miss Benton actually had on that day went onto the fireplace.”

  “So you never really believed that the shirt was used by the killer to cover up bloodstained clothing?” asked Hopkins.


  “No, Inspector. I never actually advanced that theory, I merely did not disagree. No, Harold Highlander burned it because blood from the head wound must have splattered on it. There must be no question that Miss Benton was wearing the black top. At any rate, he makes the change. Once on the scene I perceived that the wet area around the wound was not blood. I clearly called attention to it.”

  Holmes was correct, of course. I now remembered that he had actually put his fingers into the wet area. I had not realized, nor had anyone else, the significance of his actions at the time.

  “So now you see what actually happened,” Holmes continued. “Mr. Harold Highlander in a bid to shield his son, moves the body into the foyer, makes it appear that the body has been stabbed, and then writes the note. He makes enough noise to ensure that another witness joins him and discovers the body. He hopes to get away with his deception, but he has already resolved to confess to the crime himself if he must. He knows he is a sick man and has already received his death warrant.”

  “Then I killed her,” murmured David Highlander in a daze. “It all seems like a dream.”

  “David, say nothing,” pleaded Harold Highlander. “She is already dead. You can do nothing for her.”

  “I can do something for my soul, Father,” said a suddenly resolute David Highlander. “I should never have allowed you to take all the blame. Even if I believed your story, I at least knew it was not the whole truth. I am sorry, my dear.”

  Those last words were expressed to Sylvia Highlander. Her face at first was hard, but it gradually softened and she put her hand in his.

  “David, you silly ass. I knew the entire time. You should have come to me. I would do anything for you.”

  Up until that time Sylvia Highlander had seemed a harsh woman who had little regard for her husband, but I now realized that she was desperately in love with a weak man. It had been up to her to make the difficult decisions in their family, and it had hardened her over time. But for all that, she was simply a woman in love.

  “Holmes, there is something I still do not understand,” said I. “What was it that caused Harold Highlander to confess to the crime? Even though you proved the note had been written at the murder scene, I thought he carried it off well. Why confess later, when it would appear he had been successful?”

  “Shall I tell it, sir, or shall you?” asked Holmes.

  “You are telling it well, Mr. Holmes,” croaked the old man.

  “It was the visit of Simon Langston,” said Holmes.

  “Langston?” cried Hopkins. “How was the old tailor involved?”

  “Simon Langston was a bitter old man,” said Holmes in reply. “He had lost his son and his investments had gone badly, but he was very crafty and astute in his own way. He had observed all that had happened that day from his sitting room.”

  “But he said he had been asleep during the time in question,” said I.

  “That is what he said, Watson, but he also talked of how he could have observed all, had he only been awake. I watched him, and he spoke directly to Harold Highlander. That was a message to Mr. Highlander that Langston knew, and wanted something for his silence. When Langston visited the Highlander estate later that same evening, he made the extortion explicit. Is that not a true account, Mr. Highlander?”

  After a heavy sigh, the old man replied.

  “You have said it all as it happened, Mr. Holmes. When I saw the Benton girl dead on the floor of the sitting room, I was devastated. I quickly decided that I would take my son’s place. I arranged things as you said. All went as planned. The police seemed to have no case against me, and I convinced my son later that he was guiltless of murder, at least. However, Simon Langston had seen all. He openly blackmailed me that night and I resolved to confess to the crime, so as to give him no power over me or my son.”

  “This puts matters in a very different light,” said Hopkins gravely.

  “Can you not let the crime hang around my neck, Inspector,” asked Harold Highlander.

  “Sir, that is quite impossible,” replied Hopkins.

  “It is no use, Father. The truth has come out. I foolishly fell in with an evil woman,” said David Highlander. He turned to Holmes. “Sir, the truth of the matter was that I went to see Anne that day to try and end the affair. She became mad with rage and flew at me with a knife. I grabbed the candlestick and struck wildly. I ran from the house like a coward and selfishly put my father in harm’s way. I am ready to pay for my crime.”

  David Highlander stood, with some dignity and faced the Inspector. Hopkins placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “You will have to come with me, sir,” he intoned.

  “Inspector, I ask you to wait,” said Holmes.

  I glanced at my friend in surprise.

  “Surely the case is complete, Holmes,” said I.

  “Not quite, Doctor,” said Holmes, “for you see, David Highlander is not guilty of murder.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Mr. Holmes, have you gone mad?” asked Inspector Hopkins in astonishment. “Are you saying that Harold Highlander did, in fact, kill Anne Benton? This is mind-boggling.”

  A sudden inspiration hit me.

  “I think I see it, Holmes,” said I.

  A slight smile played across Holmes’s lips.

  “Shall I elucidate, Holmes?”

  “By all means, Doctor.”

  “Very well. It occurs to me that a very deep game has been played. What if Harold Highlander did take the opportunity to murder Miss Benton? What if the first plan transpired just as you said it, Holmes? He would simply try to brazen it out and hope his position, and the confusion, would save him. Ah, but Simon Langston destroyed that plan. He could, of course, pay the blackmailer and hope to buy his silence, but that is a tricky, and dangerous, business. So he develops a fallback plan. He confesses to the crime because he knows the great Sherlock Holmes,” I nodded at my friend, “will discover the inconsistencies, and will free him against his will. Or at least seemingly against his will.”

  “Very good, Watson,” cried Holmes. “But there is an immediate flaw in the plan. How does Harold Highlander know I will continue my involvement in the case? He has confessed and Scotland Yard is satisfied.”

  Holmes was smiling at me as if he had successfully parried my riposte, but I had an answer.

  “That is where Mr. Samuel Johnson comes in!” I said, as I dramatically pointed an accusing finger at him.

  “Me?” asked the stockbroker. “Dr. Watson, I can assure you that my role in this matter is as I have described in our first meeting in this very room.”

  “Go on, Watson,” encouraged Holmes. “You are doing wonderfully.”

  “As I was saying. Harold Highlander needed an ally. Someone he could trust to approach Holmes and engage him in investigating the crime, even if the authorities would not. Who is the only person he communicated with that night after Langston has made the blackmail threat? Why, it is Samuel Johnson. A man, who by his own admission, is Harold Highlander’s best friend. Thus they enter into a conspiracy. As the first plan has failed, they enter into the next. Johnson hires Holmes. Holmes, as they doubtless knew he would, sees through the clumsy deception and suddenly Harold Highlander is a free man.”

  “What of Simon Langston, Doctor?” asked Holmes quietly. “Will he not simply make his blackmail threat again?”

  “Well, there must be an answer for that,” I said, with some small hesitancy.

  “I should hope so, Doctor. Otherwise your scheme falls apart.”

  “There is one possibility, Holmes,” said I. “Perhaps Simon Langston merely died. A convenient death I grant you, but you did say that one coincidence in a case is allowable. Simon Langston was an old man, and his body showed no sign of violence. Perhaps his death was a simple case of natural causes.”

  “Have you considered the other possibility, Doctor?” asked Holmes.

  “Yes, I see what you mean,” I replied.

  “What other poss
ibility?” asked Inspector Hopkins.

  “Simply this, Inspector,” I said, as I began to feel more confident in my role as detective. “It could be that Harold Highlander and Samuel Johnson chose a more direct path, and Mr. Johnson murdered Simon Langston.”

  I heard a gasp come from one of the ladies in the room. Samuel Johnson rose to his feet in a towering rage.

  “This is boldfaced slander,” he said. “It is actionable, I say, and I refuse to sit here and listen further.”

  He made as if to leave, but Hopkins motioned towards the two sergeants by the door, and they barred his exit.

  “Sit down, Mr. Johnson,” said Hopkins. “We shall all see this through. Go on, Doctor.”

  Johnson made as if to argue the point but saw the resolute face of Inspector Hopkins and retook his seat. He sat with his arms across his chest, and his manner bespoke his anger. After a few moments of silence, Holmes spoke.

  “How was Simon Langston killed, Doctor?”

  “Well, as I say, Holmes, there were no signs of bodily violence, so I would imagine that some form of poison was introduced to the man.”

  “But does not poison generally cause unpleasant and visible results?” Holmes asked.

  “Well, yes. But it could have been any number of sleeping draughts or pain medications. An overdose of either would do the job. The victim would simply go to sleep and never wake up.”

  “And where would Samuel Johnson obtain such drugs, Doctor?”

  “Holmes, really,” I protested. “I cannot cover every contingency. I am merely suggesting a method by which the crime could have been done. In any case, Mr. Johnson could have purchased them that morning.”

  “But that might appear suspicious if it came to light,” said Holmes, as he held up a hand to forestall another protest from me. “But for all that, I believe you have made several very able points, Doctor. Indeed, you are strikingly close to the truth in many ways.”