by John Hall
‘Indeed, no!’ I said, fervently.
Gregson gave a wry smile, and smoked in silence for a time.
‘That is surely not the whole of your story?’ prompted Holmes.
‘Not quite. The lady’s choice fell first on Ben. We never spoke of it, but I imagine she put it to him fairly bluntly – certainly she put it to me fairly bluntly, when it came to my turn. Ben refused; I did not. I got the exhibition, and it set my career off in a modestly spectacular fashion.’
I could not think of anything to say to this odd and somewhat disturbing revelation; but Holmes merely remarked, ‘If you never spoke of it to Morgan, how did you know that he had been – approached, shall we say?’
Gregson looked most downcast. ‘Oh, there can be no doubt.’
‘But –’
‘If you must know, the lady herself told me, in a – what I might call a tender moment.’
‘Ah, I see.’
Gregson waved Holmes’s cigarette case in the air. ‘May I be further indebted to you?’
‘Please do.’
Gregson lit another cigarette, and threw the case over to Holmes. ‘Thank you, sir. And of course, once I got the show, Ben would know just what had been going on, would know what price I had had to pay.’ He leaned forward and spoke earnestly. ‘But don’t you see, Mr Holmes, that although that rather sordid old episode might account for the strained relations between Morgan and myself, it was the wrong way round?’
Holmes looked a question at him.
‘It was I, and not Ben, who – well, let us be plain, who put my career before my conscience. It was my career, not his, which benefited from my ungentlemanly conduct. I can see that Ben might resent that – although I do not in all honesty think that he would resent it enough to want to kill me because of it – but why on earth should I want to kill him because of it? It is, as I say, the wrong way round; it simply makes no sense.’
‘Then what does?’ asked Holmes. ‘What reason would anyone have for killing Morgan?’
Gregson shook his head. ‘There you find me at a complete loss, Mr Holmes. I do not think that any of the men in the house felt even the kind of petty dislike – and, in truth, how very petty it now seems! – that I once felt. We had grown – I will not say we had grown closer with time – but we had, I think, grown to respect one another’s work as we grew older. Perhaps we had simply begun to grow up, belatedly enough in all conscience.’
‘What did you know of his private life?’
‘Only that it was exceptionally private. He would hardly speak of intimate matters to me, even latterly, given what the relations between us had once been, but I do not think he ever confided in any of the others either, though they got on with him better than I.’
‘Was he married, say? Did you know that much?’
‘Married? No.’ Gregson hesitated. ‘Not as such.’
‘Oh?’
‘He had his own standards, you see. The artistic temperament, once again! He has often spoken about marriage in harsh terms, said that the marriage certificate is the death warrant for a woman’s freedom, that sort of thing. I could go along with much of what he said, but some of it was pretty radical. But that was Benjamin Morgan for you – you might not agree with all his views, but you could never doubt his sincerity.’
‘The police will, I imagine, have informed the lady concerned?’
‘Not unless they’re damned clever,’ said Gregson bluntly, ‘for I know for a fact that she is on the Continent, somewhere between Italy and Greece. A sketching tour of sorts. Ben came here, she went there.’
‘She is evidently of independent views too,’ said Holmes. ‘An artist in her own right, I take it?’
‘In an amateur way only,’ said Gregson. ‘The sort of genteel, delicate watercolour studies of flowers in which a certain class of genteel, delicate English lady tends to specialize. I have seen a few of them. They – well, as I say, she is an artist in an amateur way only.’
‘And have you also seen the lady, as well as her sketches?’
Gregson shook his head. ‘Never. I tell you, Ben kept his private life very private.’
‘And if she is not an artist, then what does she do?’
‘Keeps house for Ben, I imagine. Is that not what they all end up doing? The presence or absence of a wedding ring never seems to alter the actual status quo, does it?’
‘Well,’ said Holmes, ‘if the lady is abroad, she can scarcely be a factor in the murder.’ He frowned. ‘And by the same token, it cannot have been the lady whom Morgan was trying to contact on the telephone. You would not venture a guess as to whom he might have been trying to reach?’
‘I would not. It might have been anyone – except the lady in question, of course. It must obviously have been someone who has a telephone, so that would narrow the field. A banker, or stockbroker, would you not think? Someone of that sort?’
‘You are probably right,’ said Holmes. ‘And your own telephone call?’
‘Oh, there is no mystery there. I am to have an exhibition – the outstanding events in my life seem to coincide with exhibitions! And with lady gallery owners, for it is a lady who is arranging this exhibition, too. You need have no fear that I am about to shock you,’ he added with a smile, ‘for she is married to a very worthy lawyer. Very worthy, and very dull, too, but dull as he is, she loves him very much. I know that, because I offered her the chance to leave him. Oh, dear! Now I have shocked you!’
‘Not at all,’ said Holmes untruthfully. ‘Pray continue.’
‘Her own gallery was too small to take my sculptures, so she was obliged to hire rooms. At the last moment, there was some difficulty, some quibble over the terms, and there seemed every prospect that the arrangements might have to be cancelled. I worry about occurrences of that kind, I always have done. So I wanted to speak to Sarah – the lady concerned – and rang her accordingly. But there was no reply.’
‘And this was at three o’clock?’
‘No, this was earlier, when luncheon was just over. Around two o’clock, or so. I let myself out of the house and into the garden, closing the door, but not locking it – the key was on the inside. I knew that I should be wanting to get back in to try again, you see. I had taken a canvas and sketch pad and so on outside earlier, to make a few drawings of the house – I draw partly as a break from sculpting, and also to record ideas for my statues. I tried, but could not settle, not with the uneasiness about the possible failure of the exhibition. But I stuck at it, until Welsh – who had been working close by me, near the little round pond out there – walked past and said it was tea time, or words to that effect.
‘I looked at my watch, and was rather surprised to find that an hour or so had passed. I had intended to try the telephone a little earlier, but had not done so, and now I saw that it was almost exactly three. I stood up, said “Hullo”, or something of the kind, to Welsh and his assistant, then went inside and tried Sarah again. There was still no reply, and I was undecided what to do. Just then, I heard the main door of the dining room open, so I opened the inner door, and there was Morgan, just come into the room. He said “Sorry”, or something, as you do, and made as if to leave, but I told him that I had finished, and held the door open for him. I myself went into the dining room. I wanted to try the telephone again, but you will understand that I did not want to hang around whilst Morgan was speaking on the instrument, and so I went to the front door to smoke a cigarette.’
‘Now,’ said Holmes, ‘you said that the two gardeners passed you as you initially went to the outer door?’
‘I am certain of that, for I spoke to them. They will tell you the same, I am sure.’
‘I did not question that,’ said Holmes. ‘But the point is of the first importance, for there has been a suggestion that some unknown person might have approached the outer door of the porch via the garden, as the two men were both inside for some short time – Welsh to drink his tea, the lad to use the domestic offices before he went back to
the garden.’
Gregson shook his head. ‘I think you may safely eliminate that theory, Mr Holmes. Even if the assistant gardener were inside for some considerable time, so too was I. As I have told you, I was concerned about the state of my forthcoming exhibition. I therefore remained at the telephone for some quite considerable time, letting it ring in the hope of an answer. The girl at the exchange would, I am sure, confirm that, were you to ask her. Indeed,’ he added with a smile, ‘I am quite certain that she will remember, for she told me more than once that there was no reply, and asked – rather pointedly – if I wished her to continue trying.’
‘So it is your opinion that the assistant gardener would have returned to the garden by the time you left the dining room and Morgan went in?’
‘Well, I could not swear to it on oath – I was inside, and so could not possibly see just when the assistant went back to the garden; but for all practical purposes – unless his sojourn in the privy were of a duration which would indicate that Dr Watson’s professional opinion might be required – I should say that he must certainly have been back in the garden when I turned the telephone over to Morgan.’
‘I see. That is most important,’ said Holmes. ‘Now, I know this next question will be painful, but could you possibly bring yourself to recount your discovery of the body?’
Gregson shuddered theatrically. ‘I shall never forget it, sir! Never! I finished my cigarette, and returned to the dining room. It was all in silence. The inner door to the porch was closed, and at first I did not know if Morgan had gone, or might still be in there. I cleared my throat, to announce my presence, and went nearer the door. There was no sound from inside, so I opened the door, and –’ and he broke off with a sort of sob.
‘The body, as I understand it, fell out more or less literally at your feet?’
Gregson nodded, unable to bring himself to speak.
‘Now, was the body facing you, or was the back towards you?’ asked Holmes.
Gregson stared at him.
‘It is of the first importance. It might indicate, you see, which door Morgan had been facing when he was killed – the knife was in his chest, so he must have been facing his killer. He would naturally look up, turn round, as the door opened – you follow?’
‘Oh, I see.’ Gregson stared into space, then waved his hands in the air, as if trying to recreate the circumstances of yesterday afternoon. ‘No,’ he said at last, ‘if you were to press me, I should have to say that the body fell out more or less sideways, as it were.’
Holmes sighed.
‘It sort of turned round as it fell, you know,’ Gregson elaborated, with every indication of trying to be helpful.
‘No matter. It would have been useful to know, but – no matter.’ Holmes thought in silence, then added, ‘If only things had been left as they were! An acute observer might still have deduced much!’
‘Things were very confused,’ Gregson pointed out. ‘Our first concern was to see if any spark of life remained, rather than to worry about which way round the body had been.’
‘Of course.’ Holmes’s look spoke volumes. ‘It must have been a double shock for you, since of course you would immediately recognise your own letter opener?’
‘Indeed it was.’ Gregson’s face grew haggard. ‘It was up in my room, you know! It really was! I swear it was!’
‘I am sure it was,’ said Holmes in his most soothing tones. ‘You carry it with you always?’
‘I have a leather writing case, with paper, envelopes, and what have you. The letter opener is part of the fittings, there is a little leather loop device to hold it. I always take the case when I travel, so I always have the letter opener.’
‘I understand. You said “our” first concern was to check the body for signs of life. Who else was in there – who came into the room to see what had happened?’
‘Welsh was the first. I knocked on the kitchen door, and he obviously heard that, or perhaps my shouts – for I made a fair old din, I think, though I cannot even be certain as to that. He came in through the serving door from the kitchen – and I was never more glad to see a man in my life, for I simply had no notion as to what to do. Then – I cannot recall – yes, Pountney and Tomlinson came along then, together as usual. They more or less took charge, brought Gordon Morrison down, and what have you. They took me out into the library, calmed me down somewhat.’
‘We have heard that Tomlinson was in the sitting room,’ said Holmes. ‘Where was Pountney, think you?’
Gregson shook his head. ‘Up in his room, I think. I did not exactly ask, you are to understand, but I got that impression. Yes, when I think about it, for he came down the stairs as Welsh was helping me out of the dining room.’
‘He too had heard your calls for help, even upstairs in his room?’
‘I think he must have. As I say, I gave voice pretty freely, and hammered on the door.’
‘And yet you say they had to go to fetch Morrison down? Did he not hear you, then?’
Gregson frowned. ‘He was most probably working, busy at his desk.’
‘Of course.’
‘Was there anything more?’ asked Gregson. ‘If not, I should like a breath of fresh air.’
‘There is nothing more at the moment,’ said Holmes.
Gregson stood up, and went out through the French windows.
‘Bit like a stage farce, this,’ I said. ‘People coming and going through the French windows.’
‘Indeed. But there are serious aspects, too, are there not? Tell me, Watson, what is your opinion of Mr Gregson?’
‘Lower than it was, Holmes. Why, the fellow openly admits to having been little more than – than a gigolo! And that other business – trying to persuade a respectably married woman to leave her husband! Reminds me of that old tom cat which used to come on to the wall of the back yard and serenade us!’
‘The one you discouraged by throwing Sir Henry Baskerville’s boot at him? That was a sad loss to my little museum!’ Holmes put his hands together, sank his chin on to them, and stared into the air. ‘I had a good many difficulties in my early days,’ said he, ‘but – thank Heaven – I was never offered that particular solution to them!’
‘Holmes!’
‘But who can say what my response might have been, had the offer ever been made?’
‘Holmes!’
‘And, indeed, whether I should have proved equal to the task?’
‘Really, Holmes!’
He gazed at me reflectively. ‘And did not you yourself, in one of your more sensational chronicles, boast of an experience of women which extends over three separate continents?’
‘Completely different thing, Holmes! And it has been widely misinterpreted at that! And besides,’ I added, ‘I wish I had never thought of that damned silly statement! I never heard the last of it from my wife!’
Holmes laughed. ‘More to the point,’ said he, ‘Gregson was at some pains to tell us that it was Morgan who had most cause to bear a grudge. But think, Watson, how would you react to seeing a man who knew that you had a sordid secret such as that hidden in your past? To knowing that he knew the worst of you? Might it not be that a man would brood on that, think he was being despised for his youthful indiscretions, dwell upon it until it warped his mind – warped it to the extent that the only way to assuage his self-loathing was the removal of what he saw as the personification of his guilty conscience? Yes, there may be possibilities there, though to be sure they are more in the line of your alienist colleagues than of the humble detective.’ He suddenly got to his feet. ‘Well, Watson, we have heard some account from Gregson as to events inside the house – if we are to believe him. Now let us see the gardeners, and find out what happened outside.’
Chapter Five
As I followed Holmes outside, I said, ‘You never got around to telling Gregson that we suspect that the murderer had meant to kill him.’
‘No, Watson, and the omission was deliberate. If we have it complete
ly wrong, and Gregson is in fact the man we seek, then it would do no good to tell him our erroneous theory – indeed, it would merely make him feel more secure in his villainy. If we are wrong in part, and Morgan was in truth the intended victim of some unknown assailant, then again it would be pointless to suggest otherwise.’
‘But if we are right, Holmes?’
‘If we are right, then it would alert Gregson to any potential danger, true enough, but it would also worry him – and perhaps unnecessarily at that, for our presence in the house should, as I have said, prevent further attempts. Gregson seems sufficiently upset as it is, without adding to his distress.’
‘I’d far rather he were distressed than dead!’ I said.
Holmes stopped in his tracks. ‘You have a way of cutting to the heart of a problem which is most refreshing,’ he said. ‘You are right, as always – if matters are as I suspect, then Gregson may indeed still be in some danger. Never fear, friend Watson, I think I see a way out of the difficulty.’
He said no more, but continued on his way towards the shrubbery at the far end of the lawn, where Welsh was pottering about in an aimless fashion, seemingly there because it was expected, rather than for any serious purpose. As we approached, the gardener straightened his back and smiled as cheerfully as he could.
‘Gentlemen, good morning.’
‘This is Mr Sherlock Holmes,’ I told him. ‘The local police have asked him to look into this dreadful business of Mr Morgan’s death.’
‘Of course, we’ve heard of you even down here, Mr Holmes. I’m only sorry it had to be this which brought you here, sir.’
‘I understand that you were inside when the murder took place?’
Welsh’s face clouded. ‘I must have been, sir. And I have to confess that I did not sleep very well last night because of that – if I had taken my tea outside, as I generally do, then I might have seen whoever it was, stopped them, even.’
‘Come now, Welsh,’ I told him, ‘you can hardly blame yourself!’