by John Hall
‘I do, though, sir, and that’s a fact.’
‘Could you tell us about the events of the afternoon?’ said Holmes. ‘Or is it inconvenient – time for your luncheon, perhaps?’
Welsh took a handsome gold watch from his waistcoat pocket, and studied it. ‘Half an hour to go, sir. I eat when the gentlemen do, you see – saves the wife doing two lots of everything. Not that I can tell you much that you won’t already know,’ he added.
‘Be that as it may, you might just supply a missing piece of the puzzle,’ Holmes told him.
‘Very well, sir. Shall we sit down?’ and Welsh led the way to a sort of rustic arbour, complete with a bench.
Holmes handed him a cigar.
‘Thank you, sir. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll keep it for after my dinner – it wouldn’t do for the secretary to see me smoking during the day, especially not with the gentlemen, as it were.’
‘I quite understand. Now, about yesterday? You were, I believe, working out here just before three o’clock?’
‘I was, sir. Me and young John – John Merryweather.’
Holmes glanced round the garden. ‘He is not here today?’
‘Sent word he wasn’t feeling well, sir. I can believe that,’ said Welsh with a wry smile, ‘for he was upset enough in all conscience yesterday – sick as a dog, if you’ll excuse the expression. Mind you, I wasn’t exactly delighted myself. Turned me over, it did.’
‘But you are an old soldier, surely?’
‘Dr Watson tell you that, did he, sir? Yes, it’s true enough that I did my time, and saw many a dead ’un – killed a few myself, too, come to that. But that was in the heat of battle, as you might say. When it happens on your very doorstep, so to speak, it’s a different matter.’
‘It must indeed have been a considerable shock.’
Welsh nodded without speaking.
‘You went inside for a cup of tea at three o’clock?’ prompted Holmes.
‘On the dot, sir. It’s the only way here. You see, although there are never more than six or seven gentlemen staying in the house, by the same token there’s only the wife and a couple of maids – and the maids are just women from the village, who come in by the day. The wife does what she can to keep them up to the mark, but there’s still a lot to do, and too few pairs of hands. So, three o’clock each day, I have my tea – and so does the wife, she has what you might call a bit of a breather before putting the kettle back on for the gentlemen’s tea at four.’
‘And you drank your tea in the kitchen. Was that your normal practice?’
Welsh’s face clouded. ‘It wasn’t, sir. That’s what bothers me – in the usual way of things, it being summer, I’d have brought my tea out here. That’s what I do, as a rule, this hot weather. Winter, now, I find jobs to do round the house – an old place like this takes some keeping up to, of course – or if by some chance I’ve had to be outside, well, it’s pleasant to have ten minutes warm by the stove.’ He stared out over the lawn. ‘I still keep thinking that if I’d come outside, I might have done something, sir.’
‘If it’s any consolation –’ I began.
Holmes cut me short. ‘Was there some particular reason that you stayed inside yesterday?’
Welsh seemed to consider this for a time. ‘Not what you would call particular, sir.’ He hesitated.
‘Come, now, Welsh,’ said Holmes sternly, ‘you must understand that in a case of murder, anything that is at all out of the ordinary must be questioned.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Welsh, glumly. ‘But I can take my oath that it had no bearing on Mr Morgan being killed.’
‘Let us be the judge of that,’ said Holmes.
‘You’ll both be married, gentlemen?’
Holmes looked nonplussed at the question.
‘I am a widower,’ I said.
‘Then you’ll know, Doctor, that a husband and wife don’t always exactly see eye to eye,’ said Welsh. ‘It’s this way – this job doesn’t pay very much, but we do get our board and lodging, so our bit of money is ours. We’ve never been ones for throwing money about – I like my pipe, and a new suit every couple of years, and I treated myself to a decent watch a couple of years back, as you see, but I don’t spend every evening in the pub as some do. Similarly, the wife likes a new hat now and then, which of them doesn’t? But still we put a goodish bit in the Savings Bank each week, and over the years we’ve built up a modest little nest-egg. Now, we’ve talked about a pub of our own, or a little tobacconist’s in the town, though I fancy a little market garden, being as gardening is my hobby as well as my profession, as you might say. There was no argument there, only a friendly discussion as to just what we would do. But the difference between us was just this – the wife’s mother.’
‘Ah!’ I said, with a sudden access of understanding.
‘The old lady lives in London, you see,’ said Welsh, getting fairly into his stride, ‘and she’s happy enough there, with her old cronies. She doesn’t want to live in the country – doesn’t like it. But I can’t live in London, couldn’t do it if you paid me. That was all about it, gentlemen.’
‘You had words over your mother-in-law, then?’ said Holmes.
‘Not words, sir, not words as such. Just wondering what to do for the best, talking it over, as it were. But then, blow me if I don’t say something or the other about the old lady – and I couldn’t tell you just what it was I did say – and the wife takes it entirely the wrong way! She flounces out of the kitchen and into our little parlour, leaving me holding my cup of tea with egg on my face, as you might say. Now, what was I to do? If I came out here, she’d be sure to accuse me of ignoring her, while if I followed her, she’d be sure to say I was picking a quarrel! So, I’m standing there, feeling like – well, I won’t say what – when I hear someone shouting and carrying on in the dining room. Then there’s a knocking at the door, the door between the kitchen and dining room, you know, sir.’
‘And you very naturally went in to investigate?’
‘At first, I thought one of the gentlemen must have been taken bad, or had an accident. Some of the older gentlemen, you understand, have had funny turns, or slipped on the stairs, things like that. So I went in, through the door from the kitchen to the dining room, expecting the worst, you might say. But I wasn’t exactly prepared for what had happened.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I couldn’t say, sir, not exactly. Everything happened at once, you might say. I shoved Mr Gregson out of the way – he seemed taken very bad, sir, hysterical like, a bit like the wife’s sister was once took – and I looked to see if Mr Morgan was dead, or just hurt.’
‘Not much doubt?’ I said.
‘No, Doctor. I’ve seen a few in my time, but even if you hadn’t, you couldn’t think he was anything but a goner. Then a couple of the gentlemen came in – Mr Tomlinson and Mr Pountney, it was – and they sort of took over. Mr Pountney got Mr Gregson out of it – he was still carrying on fit to burst – and Mr Tomlinson, he went to fetch the secretary.’
‘While you stayed in the dining room?’
Welsh nodded. ‘I stepped over poor Mr Morgan, sir, being careful not to disturb anything – we may be out of the way here, but I know how these things should be handled – and checked the outside door. It was closed, but it wasn’t locked, and I thought maybe – you know? So I called over to John, who was sitting out in the garden with his tea, had he seen anyone go that way? He looks at me, not really knowing what I’m on about, then he looks round and says, no. And then he realises something is not quite right, and he comes over and sees Mr Morgan. And then he had to take himself off into the shrubbery. A small place like this, I expect it was the first body he’s seen – the first to die like that, at any rate. You know what it’s like – these youngsters have to pretend that they know it all, nothing shocks them, and all the time they don’t know their aspidistra from their elbow, so to speak.’
‘Indeed not,’ said Holmes. ‘Your first
thought, then, was that the murderer had approached through the garden, and the outer door?’
Welsh hesitated once again. ‘Not exactly my first thought, sir, no,’ he mumbled.
‘Come now, Welsh!’
‘The truth is, I don’t know just what I did think when I first got in there. Bewildered, you might say – after all, Mr Holmes, what would you have thought? Mr Morgan lying there, dead as mutton, and Mr Gregson more or less standing over him? I ask you, what would you think, sir?’
‘It must have been confusing,’ agreed Holmes.
‘It was, sir. Then I bethought myself, no, he’d not draw attention to himself like that, had he done it, now would he? And I didn’t see how anyone could have got in through the house – oh, it gets quiet, sometimes, when all the gentlemen are out, but even so, there’s usually someone around. I knew that Fred Evans had been working round the front, he’d have seen any strangers. I nips out and I asks Fred, and he says, no there’s been nobody out there all afternoon.’
‘You were certain it must be a stranger, then?’
‘I hardly like to think of it being one of the gentlemen, sir!’
‘Of course not,’ said Holmes. ‘Tell me, did this Evans not come round to the kitchen for a cup of tea?’
Welsh grinned. ‘He’s not much of a one for tea, isn’t Fred,’ he said. ‘More in the way of calling in at the pub on the way home.’
‘I see. And then presumably Mr Morrison came along and summoned the police, and so forth?’
‘That’s right, sir. I kept out of the way after that, apart from helping to take poor Mr Morgan into the library when they asked me to.’
‘Well,’ said Holmes, ‘that is all very clear, and very helpful. It is something of a pity that this assistant of yours – John Merryweather, is it? – is not here. I would have wished for a word with him, not that I expect his evidence to differ appreciably from yours.’
‘He should be here tomorrow, sir. Of course, if you really wanted to see him, he lives just half a mile down the lane, with his father. A big house, it is, “Cherry Trees”. A sign on the gate and all.’
‘His father is a gardener, as well, I take it, then?’
Welsh grinned. ‘Bless you, no, sir. His father has a name for being one of the richest men in these parts, though he doesn’t get out much these days.’
‘Oh?’ Holmes looked puzzled.
‘It’s this way, sir – the lad – or I ought to say, the young gentleman – plans to study for an estate manager, or something of the sort. He came to us before going up to the university, to get his hand in, as you might say. He’s just here for a month or two, before he starts his studies in earnest.’
‘Oh, I see. And this house, “Cherry Trees”, you say? Down the lane?’
‘Down the lane towards the village and turn left, sir.’
Holmes thanked him, and Welsh gave his curious little salute, studied his watch again, and made his way slowly towards the kitchen. Holmes pulled out his watch, and said, ‘It is almost the hour of luncheon, Watson. Shall we join the others, or shall we go see this lad, while Welsh’s testimony is still fresh in our memories?’
‘I ate a decent breakfast,’ I told him, ‘and can happily last until dinner – though not too much longer. But you have been travelling – are you not hungry?’
‘Not I. Not when I am fairly on the scent.’
‘And you believe we are on the scent, Holmes? The whole business merely seems darker by the minute to me.’
Holmes led the way round to the front of the house and into the lane. ‘But we are building up some sort of picture, slowly but surely,’ he told me. ‘What think you to Welsh’s tale?’
‘In what way? Did it not ring true to you?’
‘It did. But that does not mean it was true.’
‘But, Holmes! The fellow is so transparently honest! Salt of the earth!’
‘An excellent fellow, indeed. And yet he quarrels with his wife.’
‘I would hardly label it a quarrel. A minor difference of opinion, no more. Had you ever married, Holmes, you would be only too well aware how easily these things arise – and how very often!’
Holmes laughed. ‘I bow to your greater knowledge,’ said he, then he nodded down the lane, where an elderly man was moving slowly ahead of us. ‘I will wager that this is the third gardener,’ said Holmes in a low voice. He increased his stride, and in a moment we had caught up with the old man. ‘Mr Frederick Evans, I think?’ said Holmes.
The old man looked at us suspiciously. ‘Maybe. And who might you be?’
‘My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend and associate, Dr Watson.’ Holmes paused, confident that this announcement would have its usual effect.
‘Oh? I’m very happy for you, I’m sure.’ And the old fellow made as if to turn away.
‘Evans,’ I said, ‘we are staying at Belmont, and Mr Morrison has asked us to investigate yesterday’s dreadful occurrence.’
‘Oh, has he, sir? Beg pardon, I’m sure, Doctor. Yes, I’m Fred Evans.’ He looked anxiously from one to the other of us. ‘But I’m sure I don’t know nothing about it, gents. Nothing. No.’
‘You were working in the front garden, I believe?’ asked Holmes.
‘That I was, sir. All day.’
‘You never left the garden?’
Evans hesitated.
‘You did not take a little stroll, as you are doing now, for example?’ Holmes prompted him.
Evans scratched his head, then indicated a rather mouldy old canvas knapsack affair which was slung over one shoulder. ‘I usually brings me dinner, sir,’ he said. ‘What you gents’d call luncheon, I expect. A bit of bread and cheese, bacon if I can get it. Very tasty, and all, but –’
‘A bit dry, sometimes?’ said Holmes.
‘You have it, sir. I usually take a walk along the lane about one o’clock, have a quick half at the pub here.’ He waved a grimy hand at a shabby and uninviting hostelry by the side of the road.
‘Very understandable,’ said Holmes. ‘And that you did yesterday, as well?’
‘Yes, sir. But the rest of the time, I never left the garden. The first I knew was when Ernest Welsh come to ask me if anyone had gone through the front garden, and I says, no, and he rushes back inside. Then the police came – and still no beggar told me what was going on! And then Ernie he came out again later, tells me what’s happened – poor gent! – and asks me to help him move the corpse. And then the police asked me, had I seen any strangers, and I said no again. I hadn’t, you see.’
‘You are certain you saw no-one who ought not to have been there?’
‘It’s a quiet old place, sir, as you’ll have seen. Even quieter working outside on your own. You notice anything, welcome it as a break from the work, you might say.’
‘And so you would very naturally recall anyone you saw? Who did you see yesterday, if I may ask?’
‘Postman came, sir, name of Henry Garrity, first thing. And again getting on towards dinner time, luncheon, or what you call it, twelve o’clock time. Butcher’s boy came, pretty early, and the grocer. That was all. Apart from the gentlemen, of course, they’re back and forth all day.’
‘I expect you don’t take any particular notice of which of the gentlemen came and went, or just when?’ asked Holmes.
‘I don’t, sir, and that’s a fact. We don’t exactly get introduced, as you might say,’ said Evans with a grin. ‘I remember the big chap, the one with the beard, he went out pretty early.’
‘Mr Davenport?’ I said.
Evans shrugged. ‘If that’s his name, sir. As I say, I don’t know ‘em to speak to, but I recall him, for he gave me a cigar last week, and complimented me on keeping the garden tidy. Most of them don’t even notice.’
‘I was most impressed by your moss roses,’ Holmes told him.
‘Indeed, sir? They’re my pride and joy, you might say. A bit dusty now, with this hot weather, but you should’ve been here last week, they were really lovel
y.’
‘You had not seen anyone odd – tramps, gypsies, or the like – hanging about in the lane?’ asked Holmes.
Evans shook his head. ‘Nothing of that sort round here, sir. A very peaceful little spot.’ His gaze shifted involuntarily to the inn.
‘Well,’ said Holmes, ‘we must not keep you any longer from your luncheon.’ He took a coin or two from his pocket. ‘You will perhaps be good enough to drink my health, sir?’
Evans touched his grubby cap. ‘That I will, sir.’
Holmes set off once more down the lane. ‘Well, Watson?’
‘Well, it seems clear that anyone at all could have approached the house unobserved at the hour of luncheon. This Evans had absented himself, to wet his whistle, the guests were at luncheon, as was Welsh, by his own account. And, for full measure, Mrs Welsh, the cook, and the maids would all have been busy serving the meal. Now, the dining room was full, so nobody could get in there through the porch, but absolutely anyone could have gone in by the front door.’ I waved a hand at the leafy lane. ‘It is a quiet spot indeed, Holmes.’ I lifted my stick over my head, and made to club him with it. ‘Why, I could murder you here, in broad daylight, and who would know?’
At that moment an errand boy cycled past, ringing his bell furiously as he passed us, although we were on the other side of the road. Holmes and I looked at one another, and burst out laughing.
‘Well, you would have one witness against you, Watson!’
‘But the general point is a good one?’
‘H’mm. Good enough, perhaps. I do not dispute the quietness of the place. The problem is just this, Watson – I do not give too much credence to the theory of an itinerant murderer. It is not a generally recognised profession.’
‘Perhaps not, Holmes, but the profession of itinerant sneak-thief is well enough known!’ said I with some heat. ‘Suppose some tramp had indeed entered the house, stolen the letter opener – and perhaps other items which have not yet been missed – then come back downstairs just as Evans returned from the pub? The thief could not leave by the front door without Evans seeing him, and he could not go through the dining room, where luncheon was being served. What does he do, then? Why, he hides in the cloakroom by the front door. He hears the guests disperse after luncheon, but perhaps the maids, or Mrs Welsh, are moving about, dusting and so forth. He skulks there until all is quiet, at around three o’clock. He peeps out – Gregson is smoking at the front door, so the thief sneaks into the dining room, makes his way to the porch – he does not know Morgan is in there – pulls open the inside door, and – and there you are!’