The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part IV

by David Marcum

  “To come now to recent events,” Lidington continued after a moment: “I receive little correspondence at Naxon House, but two weeks ago I received this puzzling letter.” He drew a small envelope from his inside pocket, which he passed to us. I saw that it was addressed to “The Occupier, Naxon House, Apstone”. The postmark was that of Ashford, which indicated that the letter had been posted locally. Holmes took out the letter from within, and held it so I could see it. There was no address at the head of the sheet, nor any salutation, and the brief message ran as follows:

  Will come soon, as arranged.

  “Those who have done no wrong have nothing to fear.”

  C.

  “The date is a very singular one,” said Holmes.

  I had not noticed the date at the top of the letter. Now I looked again and saw that it read “April 25th, 1869”.

  “How very strange,” I said. “What on earth can that mean?”

  Holmes shook his head in puzzlement. “According to the postmark, the letter was posted on October 13th,” he said.

  “That would be right,” said Lidington. “I received it on the fourteenth.”

  “Does the letter mean anything to you?” asked Holmes.

  “Nothing whatever. I have not arranged anything with anybody, and know no-one with the initial ‘C’.”

  “Very well. Pray continue.”

  “I leave the house very little - the local carter who calls twice a week supplies most of my needs - but except when it is raining heavily, I go for a walk every morning at ten o’clock, to take a little exercise and think about what I will be studying later. I generally go the same way every day. I was out one morning, about two weeks ago, and was passing along the edge of a large field. All along the other side of that particular field is a dark and dense wood. As I passed along, I chanced to glance across the field, and was surprised to see a man standing there, at the edge of the wood, apparently watching me.”

  “Was it anyone you knew?” asked Holmes.

  Lidington shook his head. “I don’t think so. He appeared to be wearing a long black coat or cloak, which reached down to his feet, a low-crowned black hat with a wide brim and - as far as I could make out - dark-tinted glasses. I had never before seen anyone in the district who looked even remotely like that.”

  “What made you think he was watching you?” queried Holmes. “It sounds from your description as if he would be too far away for you to be certain about that, especially if he was wearing dark spectacles.”

  Lidington nodded. “Yes, you are right. I suppose it was because he remained so still, and because each time I glanced across at him - which I did several times - his face seemed to be turned my way. When I reached home, I threw myself into my work, and gave no more thought to this strange figure. Two days later, however, I was out for a walk in the same place, at the same time, and there was the man again, standing perfectly still at the edge of the woods on the other side of the field, staring across at me. I considered crossing the field to where he stood - although I admit I felt strangely nervous and disturbed by his appearance - but the field had been recently ploughed and was nothing but a sea of rutted mud. I was not wearing suitable footwear, and judged that if I left the path I should become caked in mud, so I abandoned the idea.

  “The field is slightly higher in the middle than at the edges, and as the side I was on dipped down a little, I lost sight of the other side, and of that strange, still figure. As my way rose up again a little, I looked again across the field, but there was no sign of him.

  “A few days later, I set off for my morning walk as usual, wondering as I did so if I should again see the sinister dark figure. As I made my way along the lane near my house, I happened to run across one of my neighbours, Colonel Strother, a retired military man who lives by himself about half-a-mile away. He said he was out to get some fresh air and stretch his legs, as he put it, so we walked along together. I was tempted to ask him if he had seen the dark figure loitering at the edge of the woods on his recent walks, but I resisted the urge. I was aware from remarks my cleaning-woman had made that I was already regarded as something of a reclusive figure, an oddity, in the district, and I did not want to give Colonel Strother or anyone else any reason to regard me yet more oddly. It had occurred to me that I had been putting a strain on myself, working very hard recently, and although I could not really believe that the dark figure I had seen was simply the figment of an overheated brain, I knew that that is what others might think. I thus said nothing to the colonel.

  “As our way brought us to the field across which I had seen the figure, I glanced nervously over to the dark woods on the other side. It was at first difficult to make anything out there, as it was a dull and gloomy morning. The woods appeared dense and dark, and a thin mist was drifting about the field in front of the trees. After a moment, however, I saw that the dark figure was standing where I had seen him before, at the edge of the wood, against the trees.

  “‘Colonel,’ I said, interrupting his flow, for he was at the time discoursing at length on the different owls he had seen in the district, ‘do you see that man over there?’

  “‘What man?’ he responded, turning and squinting in the direction I had indicated.

  “‘The man in the black coat and hat, with the dark glasses on,’ I said, ‘standing just between those two tall trees.’

  “‘No,’ said he at length, shaking his head. ‘I can’t say that I do. It’s probably just a trick of the light, Lidington. Of course, no-one likes to think they’re imagining things, but sometimes your eyes or brain, or whatever it is that arranges these things, makes you think there’s something there when there isn’t. I remember one morning when I was in India. I’d had to rise very early - before the sun was up - and had had less than three hours sleep. As I walked down a rural lane in the dark, I saw a man about thirty yards away, coming straight towards me. He was a big, strong-looking fellow, and there seemed something determined and a little menacing in his manner, so I braced myself for a possible attack. Next moment, I looked again, and there was no-one there at all. I could hardly believe it. I’d seen him as clearly as I see you now - or thought I had, anyway.’

  “‘But,’ I interrupted him again, ‘we’ve moved on some distance now, and I can still see him. Are you sure you can’t see anybody there?’

  “He stopped and looked again across the field. ‘No,’ said he at length. ‘I don’t think there’s anybody there, Lidington. I can see a bit of shadow between two trees. That’s probably what you’re seeing. Funny things, eyes, the way they play tricks on you. You can’t trust them for a minute.’

  “I didn’t pursue the matter. I don’t think Colonel Strother’s eyes are very good now, so his testimony was not really of any value, and I could not say for certain whether the man by the woods had really been there or not.

  “Mercifully, I did not see him again for several days, and I was able to pursue my studies without the man in the black coat and hat constantly intruding into my thoughts. I did learn something, however, which I found more than a little disturbing. Another of my neighbours, Mr. Meade Taylor, invited me round to take tea with him on Sunday afternoon. He also invited Colonel Strother. Over our tea, we chatted about matters of local interest, and the other two, who had both lived in Apstone much longer than I had, told me some interesting facts about the district.

  “‘Your residence, Naxon House, has a somewhat odd reputation,’ remarked Colonel Strother. ‘I wouldn’t have mentioned this to you when you were first here, in case it bothered you. But now you’ve been here a couple of years and got to know the district, I may as well tell you. I have heard it said that the house is built on the site of an ancient temple that predates the Roman occupation by several hundred years, and that the influence of this persists to this day. Of course, that sounds a lot of nonsense, but it can’t be denied that odd things ha
ve happened there over the years, some of them before my time, but some even since I’ve lived in Apstone, which is thirteen years last July.’

  “‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘What sort of things have happened?’

  “‘At least two occupants of Naxon House have gone mad, for a start,’ Strother replied. ‘It was lived in for many years by a writer of mystical stuff, Serenus Charling.’

  “‘Yes,’ I said; ‘I’m aware of that.’

  “‘But do you know what happened to him in the end? No? Well, I’ll tell you: they found his body one morning, floating in the old Military Canal. It seems he’d gone out in the middle of the night and flung himself in there. No-one could explain why, and the general belief was that he’d lost his mind. People said he’d been acting strangely for a while, so in a way it wasn’t such a surprise as it might have been. That was about two years before I moved into the district. Then, two years after that, the man who was living at Naxon House when I first came to Apstone was by all accounts a very mysterious, reclusive sort of fellow. I was told that he hid himself away all day, and only ever went out after dark. He had been a friend of Charling’s, so I understand, so perhaps he was a bit unbalanced as well. Anyway, they came and took him away early one morning, and that’s the last anyone ever saw of him. That was just a month or two after I’d moved here.’

  “I can’t tell you,” said Lidington, “how appalling it was to hear Colonel Strother speaking of these dreadful matters in so off-hand and careless a tone, just as if he were relating the latest racing results from Epsom.”

  “Did you know already that Charling had lost his life in the canal?” asked Holmes.

  Lidington shook his head. “No,” said he. “Although I had read several of his books, I didn’t really know anything much about the man himself. I did know that he had lived somewhere in Kent, at a place called Naxon House, but I’d never known where that was until the day I had chanced to see the name at the house-agent’s in Ashford. Anyway, you will imagine that I returned home in a somewhat disturbed state of mind after the conversation with Colonel Strother and Mr. Taylor.

  “That evening I felt horribly nervous, to be all alone in what now struck me as an over-large and gloomy house. I went all round the house twice, ensuring that the doors and windows were all securely fastened. The utter silence, other than the slight noise I myself made as I passed from room to room, I now found stifling and oppressive, and I longed for the sound of another human voice. About eight o’clock, a good three hours after it had gone dark, this silence was suddenly broken in the most dramatic and alarming fashion. I was sitting at my desk, writing, when there came a sudden thunderous hammering on the door-knocker. I picked up the lamp from the desk and carried it to the front door. There is a frosted glass panel in the door, but as it was pitch black outside I could see nothing through it.

  “‘Hello,’ I cried. ‘Who is there?’, but no answer came, only a complete, deathly silence. ‘Who is it?’ I tried again, but was met again only with silence. My hands were shaking, I remember, as I made sure yet again that the front door was locked, and returned, consumed by fear and trepidation, to my study. I lay long awake in bed that night, every slight noise from the garden outside setting my senses alert and my nerves jangling. Then, just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a creak on the stairs outside my room. I sat bolt upright and listened for a minute, but heard nothing more. Taking the lamp from beside my bed, which I had left burning, I opened the bedroom door. There was nothing to be seen there but the dark, shadowed staircase descending to the blackness of the hall below. I returned to my bed, locking my bedroom door as I did so, but I could not sleep. Some time later, there came a slight tap-tapping noise, as of a small branch of a climbing plant knocking against my bedroom window in the wind. I left my bed again, drew back the curtain and looked out. It was dark, but I could see that the wisteria on the house-wall was nowhere near my window, and could not have caused the tapping noise. However, the noise had ceased as I opened the curtain, so after a moment I returned to my bed and at length fell asleep.

  “The following day I did not leave the house at all. As the afternoon was turning into evening and the light was fading, I was working in my study, which overlooks the back garden, and the curtains were still open. It had been my habit to have them so throughout the summer and early autumn. I dislike closing the curtains before it is absolutely necessary to do so; I like to enjoy the evening light for as long as possible. As I worked away at my desk, making notes from one of Serenus Charling’s books, a difficult volume which seemed to lie somewhere on the vague and meandering border between mysticism and magic, I heard a slight noise in the garden.

  “I looked up. The light was fading rapidly now, and had almost gone completely. Thin wraiths of mist were drifting across the garden, and at the far end, where a hedge separates the garden from the field beyond, it was difficult to make anything out through a dense grey curtain of mist. Then, as a little eddy of wind stirred the mist a little, I saw, with a sickening shock of horror, that there was someone standing there, perfectly motionless, and staring into the study.

  “I sprang to my feet, but could move no more than that, so transfixed was I with terror. It was the man I had seen at the edge of the woods, clad in a long black coat, broad-brimmed black hat, and, on his strange round, pale face, a pair of dark spectacles. At the end of the garden is a large ornamental stone urn on a pedestal, and it was by this urn that the dark figure was standing, staring straight at me. Then, as I remained frozen with fear, the urn began to rock a little on its base, as if by some power of its own, and slowly, very slowly, it toppled over, onto the man beside it. It is a heavy urn, and as it fell it crushed the man beneath it in the most dreadfully gruesome way imaginable. I have never been struck with such horror in all my life. I dashed forward and pulled the curtains closed. Then I think I must have fainted, for I can remember no more.

  “When I came to my senses, I was lying on the floor in the study. I had clearly caught my head on the corner of a chair as I fell, for it was bleeding and throbbed with pain. I rekindled the study fire, the only fire in the house still alight, and poured myself a glass of brandy to steady my nerves. Then, taking the poker from the hearth, I made a slow and cautious survey of the whole house, but found nothing amiss, and no sign that anyone had been in there.

  “I spent the night sitting in a chair by the fire, with the poker on my knee. I suppose I did drop off to sleep once or twice, but awoke instantly at the slightest sound. I did not open the curtains again until it was broad daylight - about eight o’clock. To my astonishment, the garden outside looked as it had always done. The urn was still on its plinth, and there was no sign that anyone had been in the garden. I was stunned by this. Had any of what I thought I had seen the previous evening really taken place? Or had I perhaps fallen asleep at my desk and imagined the whole thing? No, that could not be, I told myself. I had been so frightened that I had fainted, and the cut on my head, where it had struck the chair, was real enough. Anyway, you will perhaps appreciate why I thought I might be going mad.

  “That was yesterday. I eventually fell asleep and slept away much of the day. Then, last night, either because I had slept too long during the day, or because of anxiety at what might happen in the night, I scarcely slept a minute. This morning I was up early, and caught the first train I could from Ham Street, in the hope that you could advise me, and perhaps shed some light on the horrible predicament I find myself in.”

  Sherlock Holmes sat for some time in silence. “I take it from your account, Mr. Lidington, that you do not keep any resident domestic staff,” he said at length.

  “That is correct,” replied Lidington. “I could not afford to do so even if it were necessary, which it isn’t. A local woman comes in twice a week to clean round a little, and comes in other days to prepare a meal for me, which I find sufficient for my requirements. I dislike having people bu
stling about when I am trying to study.”

  “Am I also correct in inferring that your two-year lease is shortly up for renewal?”

  “Yes, next month.”

  Holmes nodded. “Have you, or anyone else, seen any strangers in the district recently?”

  “I don’t think so. No, wait,” added Lidington, correcting himself. “There has been a commercial traveller about recently, an elderly, grey-haired man. I have seen him a few times, lugging a suitcase about, and one day we exchanged a few words when I bumped into him on the road to Ham Street.”

  “A commercial traveller?” queried Holmes. “It did not appear, from your description of Apstone, that there would be any shops there for him to visit.”

  “That is true. I think he must be one of those fellows that go from door to door with a case full of samples.”

  “Do you know what he is selling?”

  “No. He’s not called on me, nor any of my neighbours, so far as I am aware.”

  “Is there anywhere in Apstone where he might stay?”

  “No. But in Ham Street there are several inns, at least two of which cater especially for commercial travellers.”

  “Look up the trains to Ham Street in Bradshaw, would you, Watson?” said Holmes to me.

  “You intend to come down to Kent with me?” said Lidington in a tone of relief.

  Holmes nodded. “There are one or two things I wish to see for myself.”

  “I cannot quite see the drift of your questions, Mr. Holmes - my lease, whether I keep servants or not, and your interest in the commercial traveller.”

  “It is simply a question of ascertaining all the facts,” returned Holmes. “The more facts we have, the more likely it is that we shall solve the problem.”