The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part IV

by David Marcum

  I was amazed at these words. “Why involve her? She knows nothing about this matter.”

  “She knows more than you might imagine,” he told me, ringing the bell once more. The door was opened by the same footman who had opened it to us previously, and who regarded us with an air of astonishment, as well he might, having let us out of the house not some five minutes previously.

  “I appear to have forgotten my gloves,” Holmes told him calmly. “No, do not trouble yourself. I know exactly where I left them, and I will retrieve them myself.” So saying, he stepped into the hallway, and I followed. “And by the way,” he called over his shoulder as he led the way to the study where we had previously talked with Harden, “please inform Lady Harden that Sherlock Holmes would like a word with her about the little matter of Joshua Leman.”

  Holmes, as I had suspected, had not left his gloves in the house, but it had allowed us entry, and we awaited Lady Harden. She entered the room, and I bowed as Holmes inclined his head. Her photographs had done her less than justice, and I found myself looking at one of the most beautiful women I have ever beheld. Her face, however, was set and pale.

  “How do you come to know of Joshua Leman and my relationship with him?” she asked in a cold tone, which failed to mask a thread of fear.

  “It is, as I have said to others elsewhere at other times, my business to know what others do not,” he replied calmly. “How much are you paying him?”

  I was astounded by this question, but my astonishment was nothing compared to that of Lady Harden, who sank, almost senseless, onto the sofa behind her. “How did you know?”

  “It was elementary,” Holmes told her. “Leman always plays his foul tricks for financial gain. He is not asking your husband for any money, therefore he must be obtaining an income from another source. And you, Lady Julia, are that source.”

  “It would appear that I must tell you all, then,” she said. There were tears in her eyes as she began her tale. “I knew Jonathan Eddoes from the time I first visited America as a child. Our families were more than happy that we should marry, and when he proposed marriage to me, I believed I was the happiest woman on earth. He had many friends, among them my present husband, whom I liked well enough. When Jonathan fell sick, I was heartbroken. I knew from the start that there was no recovery from the malady from which he was suffering, and I mourned his loss long before he was taken from me.” Here she paused, and wiped her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. “Jonathan, noble soul that he was, could not bear to see me suffer, although he was in pain himself. He made John Harden promise to take care of me after - after he was gone, and made me promise not to repel any advances that he might make.

  “I realised what my beloved Jonathan was doing for me, and though I liked Harden well enough, I knew that no-one could replace Jonathan in my heart. And now I come to the most terrible thing of all. Before Jonathan had passed away, Harden had asked for my hand in marriage, and I had accepted. Jonathan, that noble soul, had given his blessing to the nuptials, even though he knew he would not live to be present. The engagement was announced in all the newspapers. And then... then-”

  She appeared to lose her composure, and Holmes and I waited in silence while she regained it. “It was two nights before he died. He summoned me to his bedside, and he told me a terrible tale. Harden had made the most infamous wager that besmirched the honour of an innocent girl. He begged me to forget the matter, as far as was in my power.”

  “Why did he tell you this?” Holmes broke in.

  “He told me he was ashamed of his part in this wager, and he wished to cleanse himself of guilt before he died. However, following this revelation, I found myself unable to look upon Harden with the same affection that I had previously felt for him, nor have I ever been able to do so since then. It was expected, however, that we would be married - our betrothal had been announced, and the wedding arrangements had been made. It would have caused a scandal if I had refused him. But what he had done was most shameful and scandalous. And indeed, it was with scandal in mind that the rogue Leman approached me shortly after our wedding. He was aware of the fact that the wager had been made - I believe that my fiancé may have told him - “ (“Aha!” exclaimed Holmes) “ - and had somehow discovered that Jonathan had told me of it. I do not know how. Maybe he had visited my fiancé after I had been informed of this thing, and Jonathan had confessed to him that he had told me. I do not trust him,” she added suddenly, and shuddered as she seemed to withdraw into herself.

  “You are right not to trust him,” Holmes told her. “He is a serpent of the worst kind, and it is an ambition of mine to silence his poisonous tongue for ever. Let me finish the story for you, and you will tell me if I am mistaken. Leman first proposed blackmailing your husband, but you saw a way of ridding yourself of a man you had come to despise, while ensuring your family’s financial future. You paid him money for him to harass Harden in such a way that he would be forced to separate from you, or be separated by the order of your father, the Duke. Upon such a separation, you would receive a settlement - I have been informed of this by your husband. The harassment was to be done through the gibes of street urchins, and anonymous letters, written by Leman, and delivered to his desk by you. You had caused a duplicate key to be made - I am guessing that Leman instructed you as to the method. Am I correct so far?”

  “Oh, Mr. Holmes, your reputation is well deserved. It is as you say, save for one detail. Leman will receive his money following the separation. I have not yet paid him a penny.”

  “Nor will you ever need to,” said Holmes. “I will put a stop to his antics at once, and you, Lady Julia, must also cease. Your husband does not strike me as an evil man. He appears to be genuinely remorseful regarding his past action. Has he told you, or did Eddoes inform you, that your husband repaid the amount of the wager within days of his receiving the money from Eddoes? He did not? I am certain that little detail would never come to your ears from Leman.”

  “You believe he is sorry for what he did?”

  “I cannot be completely certain of this, but it is my sincere belief that he bitterly regrets his life and his actions before he married you, Lady Julia.”

  “Mine also,” I added.

  Lady Harden bit her lip and frowned. “He is not a bad man or a bad husband when all is taken into consideration,” she eventually answered in a quiet tone. “It is merely my pride that has kept me from him, and has spurred this business with Leman. If you can silence Leman, I will do my part to be a good wife to him.”

  “Thank you, Lady Harden,” Holmes replied. “I believe Leman will bother you no more. I must ask you, however, if you would be prepared to swear in court to what you have just told us?”

  “I would,” she said in a stronger tone. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes, for giving me hope, and removing this weight from me.”

  “I have waited for some time for this,” Holmes told me, as we sped through the streets in a hansom towards an address in South London, some days later. The time immediately following our conversation with Lady Julia Harden had been largely concerned with the events I have described under the title of “The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist”, but Holmes, with his usual energy, had at the same time been conducting his researches into the Harden case. “He has been under my eye almost since his arrival in this country,” he said, referring to Joshua Leman, “but as yet, I have been unable to establish any proof of any criminal act. Lady Julia’s testimony will not be needed, I am sure, but the mere threat of it may well be enough to put an end to his mischief.”

  We arrived at the street in Battersea where Holmes had directed the cab, and paid off the driver.

  “Now for it,” said Holmes, rapping smartly with the head of his cane at the door of one of the houses. It was opened by a man in shirtsleeves, smoking a thin cigar, whose physiognomy answered to the description given by Wiggins.

  “A
nd what do you want?” he drawled out of the corner of his mouth in an unpleasing accent.

  “Joshua Leman?” Holmes answered him in a pleasant tone. “May we come in?” He did not wait for an answer but pushed his way through the doorway.

  “Well, if that don’t beat all,” exclaimed Leman. “What happened to Englishmen and their homes as their castles?”

  “You are no Englishman,” retorted Holmes. “The saying has no applicability in your case.”

  “What are you after, anyway, and who are you?”

  “My name is Sherlock Holmes.”

  “I’ve heard of you. You make trouble for honest folk, I hear.”

  “I make no trouble for honest folk, but it is my business to make trouble for such as you.”

  “You mind your mouth, Mr. Holmes.” Leman said, reaching inside his coat.

  Holmes lashed out with his stick, catching Leman’s wrist, and the revolver clattered to the floor.

  “Naughty, naughty,” Holmes admonished the American. He stopped and pocketed the pistol before swiftly withdrawing the blade from the swordstick, and pointing the tip towards Leman’s throat. “You are to cease the harassment of John Harden. Lady Harden informed me the other day that she will no longer play your little game and wishes you to stop your persecution of her husband.”

  “I will expose him!” said Leman, with an air of quiet menace. “I hold the ace here.”

  “Not so. I fear that your ace will be trumped by Lady Harden and her husband, who, I am confident, will be able to explain his indiscretions to the Duke in such a way that the marriage will be preserved and your intentions thwarted. May I advise you to leave this country and return to the United States.”

  “I have no reason to do so.”

  “Oh, but indeed you do. I, along with the police here in London, have their eye on you, and you will find our judges less amenable to your methods of persuasion than yours - oh yes, I know all about the Atlanta trial, never fear. I suggest that you bear this in mind, and I bid you a good day.” So saying, Holmes turned his back and walked out of the house. Leman appeared ready to spring after him, but a preventative move on my part appeared to dissuade him, and he slunk back, snarling like a wild dog deprived of its prey.

  I followed Holmes out into the street, where we hailed a cab.

  “It is not often that I act as a bringer of matrimonial concord,” remarked Holmes, “but it appears to me that Harden is genuinely repentant, and had not acquainted his wife with the full facts of the matter concerning his remorse, out of modesty, I am sure. He strikes me as being essentially a good man, if a little weak at times.”

  “And Leman?”

  “I saw it in his eyes. His game is played out here in England. He will take ship across the Atlantic to the land of his birth.”

  Here, however, Holmes was mistaken. About two months after the events described here, we received word from Vienna that Leman had removed himself to that city, and was plying his vile trade there.

  Harden and his wife appeared to be completely reconciled, if the reports in the newspapers were to be believed, and Harden himself confirmed this when he visited us. He expressed his warm appreciation of the work that Holmes had undertaken on his behalf, paying a most generous sum of money to my friend by way of a fee.

  “Some of this, I believe,” said Holmes, fingering the cheque, “should perhaps go to Wiggins, who has been deprived of the reward of five shillings per day for the simple task of abusing gentlemen.”

  “I think not,” I laughed. “It is hardly a habit that should be encouraged.”

  And so we left the matter, though I believe that some of Harden’s money did indeed eventually make its way into the pocket of that most valued leader of the Baker Street Irregulars.

  Murder at Tragere House

  by David Stuart Davies

  I returned late to Baker Street one evening in the autumn of ‘95 after dining at my club and indulging in a game of billiards with my friend Thurston. And as I approached our sitting room door I could discern voices within which informed me that, despite the lateness of the hour, Sherlock Holmes was engaged with a client. With some diplomacy, I entered with the intention of going straight to my room, but Holmes waved me to my chair by the hearth.

  “Ah, Watson, just in time,” he cried. “When there is a crie de cour, I am quite lost without my Boswell,” he said, addressing his remarks to his visitor who sat in the shadows on the chaise longue. He was a young man, somewhere in his early twenties with tousled sandy hair, and was leaning forward in a crouching fashion which indicated his emotional discomfort.

  “This is my friend and associate, Dr. Watson, who takes an inordinate interest in my investigations,” said Holmes.

  The young man rose, gave a nod of acknowledgement and shook my hand.

  “And this,” continued Holmes, “is Mr. Andrew Sinclair, who has travelled all the way from Ayrshire in Bonnie Scotland to elicit my help.”

  “Aye, sir,” the young man said, with some passion. “My train just got in about an hour ago. I’m hoping I can persuade Mr. Holmes to return with me to Tragere House. It’s a most urgent business.” He leaned further forward lowering his voice. “It’s murder.”

  Holmes gave a brief cackle and rubbed his hands with pleasure. “That is just the point we had reached in the matter when you so conveniently joined our company, Watson. Now you can be in at the beginning. You know how much I value your opinion in these cases.” The veneer of sarcasm in this utterance was so fine that I doubt if Mr. Sinclair noticed it, but I did.

  “Would you be so good as to supply us all with a glass of brandy, Watson? I’m sure Mr. Sinclair would welcome such a restorative after his long journey, and then he can tell us all about this story of murder.”

  Moments later, we were all seated by the glowing embers of the fire with brandy glasses in hand. “Now, sir,” said Holmes, relaxing back in his chair, “let me have the facts and please be precise as to details.”

  “As you know, my name is Andrew Sinclair,” began the young man in a clear and confident voice. “I am engaged to be married to Morag Cameron, the daughter of Alan Cameron, the Laird of Tragere. That’s a large estate not far from Ayr. The tragedy occurred only last night. I was dining at the big house with my intended and my future in-laws, Mr. Cameron and his wife, Anne. It was the first time I had been treated in this fashion. Morag and I have only just become engaged and there was a certain reluctance on her parents’ behalf to accept the match. As wealthy landowners, they viewed me as something of an upstart fortune hunter, keen to get my hands on their wealth through their daughter. They did not want the marriage to take place. You see, I am only the son of the local cobbler, and at present I am merely an articled clerk to Smithson and Wylie in Ayr. But I have prospects, Mr. Holmes, I have prospects.”

  “I am delighted to hear it,” observed my friend, “but could we concentrate on the matter in hand?”

  “Aye, sir, I am sorry to digress. It’s a wee sore point with me, that’s all. I arrived at Tragere House at the appointed time and was met with stilted civility by Mrs. Cameron. Mr. Cameron apparently was attending to business elsewhere, in his study, I was told. But if you want my opinion, Mr. Holmes...”

  “Indeed I do,” said Holmes.

  “I believe he was putting off socialising with me as long as he could. Anyway, Mrs. Cameron was polite enough, I suppose, although I could tell it was a strain for her. Matters became worse for me when Morag had to leave the room to attend to a nose bleed. She had managed to stem the blood in her handkerchief, but needed some cold running water. She insisted that she needed no assistance to deal with this minor problem.” The young man gave a dry humourless cough. “So, I was left alone with my prospective mother-in-law. It was a trial, I can tell you. I know I am worthy of Morag’s hand and I will make her a good husband, and I fully
intend to be successful in my legal career, but of course I could not express these sentiments with any force to my beloved’s mother. I knew such claims would suggest a sense of desperation on my part.

  “Thankfully, before long the other dinner guests arrived, Dr. Eustace Pavlow and his wife Victoria. They are a gentle couple somewhere in their sixth decade, I should guess. Pavlow has retired from practice now, but is still called upon from time to time by some of his old patients for assistance. We have a nodding acquaintance. On their arrival, I was glad to take a back seat as it were in the general conversation. Then Morag returned and I felt a lot easier. The Pavlows expressed concern about her nose bleed, but Morag assured them that it was a minor matter and had been dealt with successfully. At this juncture, the butler, Rogers, shepherded us through into the dining room. Still, Mr. Cameron had not made an entrance. At first, his wife did not seem dismayed at his absence, but, when the soup was served, she gave an expression of annoyance. ‘That man,’ she snapped. ‘Sometimes he irritates me greatly. No doubt he will have become engrossed in his wretched paperwork and lost all sense of time. He does this quite often and it drives me to distraction.’

  “‘Oh, Mother,’ said Morag, ‘I am sure he isn’t doing it deliberately. Why don’t you go to his study and bring him down?’

  “Mrs. Cameron flashed us an uneasy smile and rose from her chair. ‘I will. I’ll go to his room and drag him here by the scruff of his neck like a naughty schoolboy.’ It was quite an embarrassing moment but we all nodded with false smiles. My darling Morag seemed the least perturbed. No doubt her father’s errant behaviour was a common occurrence. Mrs. Cameron instructed us to carry on dining so as not to let the soup grow cold and then disappeared. We obeyed her request and indulged in uneasy sporadic conversation until we heard a loud scream. Both Doctor Pavlow and I were on our feet in an instant, quickly followed by Morag.

  “‘That came from my father’s study,’ she said, and with speed led us from the dining room up the central staircase to a room immediately at the top of the stairs. The sight that met our eyes is one that will be forever etched in my memory.