The Mammoth Book of the Lost Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

by Denis O. Smith

  “‘There are circumstances, Georgina – and one must recognize them when they arise – in which one must be on one’s guard at all times.’ He then offered to teach me how to use the little pistol effectively, but I declined the offer.

  “A few days after this, I had been up to town on various errands, and returned by the late afternoon train. It was a cold, foggy day, and the light had almost gone by the time the train reached Beckenham. There were few people about as I left the station, and by the time I had been walking for two minutes, I was all alone on the road. This did not particularly concern me: I had walked alone down that quiet and remote road so many times in the last year that I felt I could have done it with my eyes closed; but as the grey, drifting fog closed in around me, it did feel uncommonly cold and lonely. I could see only a few feet in front of me, and practically nothing on either side. I had been walking for perhaps ten or twelve minutes, and had turned down the long narrow lane that leads towards Bluebell Cottage, when I had the distinct impression that there was someone else on the road, somewhere behind me. Of course, the fog creates strange echoes of one’s own footsteps, in addition to the constant dripping noises among the trees, but on this occasion the impression was so strong that I stopped and turned. There was nothing to be seen there but a white wall of fog, and the other footsteps I’d thought I had heard had stopped when my own did. I turned again and resumed my progress through the fog, but this time at a brisker rate. Then I had the impression that someone or something was in the wood at the side of the road, keeping step with me, and I hurried forward. But the other steps, and the rustling in the trees, at once increased in pace, too, and I began to run as fast as I could. By the time I reached the garden gate of Bluebell Cottage and could make out the hall light shining through the fanlight over the door, I was almost completely out of breath. However, relieved though I was, I did not pause, but pushed open the gate, ran up the short path and hurried in at the front door.

  “As I took my coat off, I put my head into Professor Palfreyman’s study to tell him I was home, but saw to my surprise that he was not there. I then went through to the kitchen, where Mrs Wheeler was making pastry, and asked her if she knew where the professor was. She said that she thought she had heard him go out to the garden half an hour previously and had not seen him since.

  “‘But it’s quite dark now,’ I protested. ‘What is he doing in the garden in the dark?’

  “Before she could answer, we heard the front door open and, looking out of the kitchen, I saw it was the professor, looking grim-faced. As he came in, I saw that he slipped his little pistol into his jacket pocket.

  “‘I thought I heard someone moving about out there,’ said he in answer to my query. I suggested that it was perhaps me he had heard, as I had only recently arrived, and asked if he had been up the road at all, but he shook his head. I then ventured to suggest that we had perhaps both been mistaken, but this suggestion seemed to irritate him intensely, and I wished I had not made it. Then, as we stood there in the hall, we both heard the unmistakeable sound of footsteps on the garden path. A moment later, there came a loud rat-a-tat-tat at the doorknocker. Professor Palfreyman yanked the door open and there, blinking in the light of the hall, stood Professor Ainscow.

  “He looked from one of us to the other, an expression of curiosity on his features. ‘I’m sorry to barge in on you without warning, Palfreyman,’ he said at last. ‘You appear a little preoccupied. But I wanted to discuss the exhibition at the British Museum with you.’

  “‘That’s perfectly all right, Ainscow,’ returned the professor in an affable tone. ‘We were just discussing something. It’s nothing, really. We thought we heard someone out in the garden, that’s all. Do come in, old man. Will you stay for supper?’

  “‘If it’s not too much of an imposition.’

  “So Professor Ainscow dined with us that evening, and I must say I was glad he did, for his presence lightened the mood considerably. The two men continued their discussion for some time after supper, then Professor Palfreyman accompanied his colleague to the railway station. I was unsure whether this was out of courtesy to his guest, or because he wished to see if there was anyone loitering outside in the lane. When he returned, he looked a little agitated again, but this might simply have been the result of coming into the bright house from the dark lane outside.

  “‘Did Professor Ainscow catch his train?’ I enquired.

  “‘Yes, yes, he did,’ Professor Palfreyman replied, but in an abstracted tone, as if his mind were on something else. ‘Georgina,’ said he after a moment, ‘there is something I wish to tell you. However,’ he added, ‘I think I will wait until tomorrow. Thank you, by the way, for being such very good company at the supper table this evening. I am sure Ainscow was very glad he came. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but he paid you a great compliment as we walked up the road. He said he thought you must be the prettiest assistant that any archaeologist had ever had, and if I ever felt that I no longer required your services, he would take you on like a shot.’

  ‘‘I laughed heartily at this, as much from embarrassment as humour, but the laughter died on my lips as I saw the professor’s grave face. ‘For my own shortcomings and failings, Georgina,’ he said, ‘I am very sorry. I sometimes think I may have outlived my usefulness in this world.’

  “‘What nonsense!’ I cried, patting his arm. ‘Don’t say such things, Professor! Don’t even think them! What you need is a good night’s rest, and then I’m sure everything will seem better!’

  “Alas! He might have needed a good night’s rest, but I don’t think he got one. I heard him talking to himself in his sleep in the small hours of the night, and it was clear he was experiencing a terrible nightmare, for his voice gradually grew louder and more agitated, though whether from fear or anger, I could not quite decide. Some of the phrases I heard him use were such as I had heard before: ‘Don’t look at it! For God’s sake, don’t look at the face!’ and similar exhortations.

  “The following morning, the professor’s features bore a haggard look, but after a solid breakfast – which we ate largely in silence – and several cups of coffee, he seemed restored to his usual affable and urbane self. It was as I was about to leave the breakfast table that he spoke to me.

  “‘Georgina,’ said he, in a kindly, thoughtful voice, ‘I will tell you now what has been weighing on my mind lately, and what I am going to do about it. I feel it is only fair to you. You have had to put up with a lot lately.’

  “‘Not at all,’ I began, but he waved my protests aside.

  “‘There are things in my past of which I am not especially proud,’ he continued after a moment, ‘and one thing in particular. This is not entirely a secret: most of the facts have always been known to my colleagues, to the relevant authorities and to anyone else who cared to enquire about the matter, but my thoughts – the thoughts I had at the time and have had since – are known to no one but me. They relate to some of the disturbances you have had to endure recently, Georgina. What I am therefore going to do is to write out a full, honest and accurate account of what happened, so that if – when – I die, you will be able to read it, and then you will understand everything.’

  “‘Don’t talk like that, Professor!’ I interrupted. ‘I’m sure you have many good years ahead of you! You’d better have, for you haven’t yet finished even one of those three books you intended to write!’

  “Professor Palfreyman smiled at me. ‘It is good of you to be so encouraging, Georgina! But I do sometimes wonder if I shouldn’t perhaps think of making way for the younger generation. I’m not sure I deserve to live any longer.’

  “‘Nonsense!’

  “‘This brings me to the other thing I wished to say to you. I know, from conversations we have had, that although of course you wished to care for your dear mother as well as you could, you nevertheless felt somewhat imprisoned in the house while you were doing so. You found life there very dull and tedious. You should
know, then, that the very last thing I should ever wish upon you is that you should feel imprisoned in this house, Georgina. Much as I enjoy your presence here, you should not feel you have any duty to remain if you don’t wish to.’

  “‘It is quite unnecessary for you to say these things,’ I responded. ‘I can assure you that the last year has been the happiest year of my life. If the remainder of my life were just half as happy, I should be more than satisfied.’

  “‘It is kind of you to say so,’ said he, ‘but the fact remains that you are young, and may meet someone of your own age with whom you wish to spend the remainder of your life. In which case, I should not wish you to feel in any way restricted by the fact that I have found you such a pleasant companion here. I am not so selfish as that, and I do not wish you to think that I am.’

  “‘If you are referring to Mr Martin,’ said I, ‘then I should tell you that he is simply a friend to me, and I certainly have no plans for our relations to be other than that. Besides, he himself has proposed nothing to me of the sort you suggest.’

  “‘Perhaps not, and I express no judgement as to whether Mr Martin would or would not be a suitable candidate for you, Georgina, but I know that it is in his mind to make such a proposal to you. One man generally knows what another man is thinking so far as these matters are concerned.’

  “‘Should he, or anyone else, ever make such a proposal to me, then I will let you know what my response is,’ I said. ‘Until then, I should prefer to drop the subject.’

  “Professor Palfreyman laughed. ‘Very well!’ said he, ‘At least I have aired what I wished to air. Now let us be about our work!’

  “That was last Thursday, and since then Professor Palfreyman has been scribbling away on his foolscap most of the time and has scarcely spoken to me except at mealtimes. He did go up to town on Friday morning on some errand or other, but I don’t know what for, as he didn’t tell me. It has been a strange few days. Dr Webb called in on Monday afternoon, and was very rude. When I happened to mention that Professor Palfreyman had been very busy lately, he retorted, ‘He’s not too busy to see me,’ which was not at all what I had meant, and when I took a cup of tea into the study for him, he completely ignored me. When he left, he did not say a word to me, despite the fact that I was standing in the garden when he walked down the path.

  “Yesterday morning, Professor Palfreyman had another of those letters, containing a blank sheet of paper. This time I made no suggestion about invisible writing, or anything of the sort, and he simply tore it up and threw it on the fire. In the afternoon, I took some papers up to town for him, and as the train passed Herne Hill I happened to think of Mrs Walsh, an old acquaintance of my mother’s who used to live there. Then an occasion when she visited us came into my mind, when she had spoken in glowing terms of you, Mr Holmes. She said you had helped a neighbour of hers, Mrs Trubshaw, who had been receiving unpleasant anonymous letters.”

  “Ah, yes!” said Holmes. “Edith Trubshaw! I remember the case well! As I recall, I was able to sort the matter out to her satisfaction.”

  “So Mrs Walsh said. As soon as I remembered that, I at once wondered if you could perhaps sort my troubles out, too. There and then, I resolved to consult you as soon as possible. At the university archaeology department I met Mr Martin and mentioned my idea to him. To be honest, he was a bit dubious at first; he was unsure what you would be able to achieve, but as we discussed it, he became more enthusiastic. ‘If Mr Holmes could somehow discover what it is that lies behind all this,’ said he, ‘and what the secret is that Professor Palfreyman is keeping to himself, then perhaps it would be better for everyone. On the other hand,’ he added, ‘if the professor wants to keep his own secrets, that is his right, and we can hardly go prying into his private affairs. It cannot be denied that he sometimes seems rather delicately balanced, and we would not want our interference to make him worse.’

  “‘No, of course not. But I shall put the matter in the hands of Mr Sherlock Holmes first thing tomorrow morning and see what he has to say about it. It will be a great relief to me to know that someone else is discreetly looking into the matter.’

  “‘I agree,’ said Tim. ‘Do you know, Georgina, I think I shall call in at Bluebell Cottage later tomorrow, so you can tell me all about it!’

  “I had several jobs to do in town before I could catch the train back to Beckenham. After my experience the previous week, I wanted to make sure this time that I didn’t leave it too late, so that it would still be light by the time I reached my destination. Unfortunately, however, I just missed the train I had intended to catch, and the one I did get was held up for nearly half an hour at Herne Hill, and then stuck in Penge tunnel for a further twenty minutes, so that by the time I reached Beckenham the light had gone completely. I considered taking a cab, but there were none there, so I set out to walk home as usual. This time, at least, I thought, I was mentally prepared and should not be so nervous on the quiet lanes to Bluebell Cottage. By the time I turned off the main road, however, there was absolutely no one about, and nothing to be heard but the drip, drip, drip among the trees on either side. The trees themselves, even those nearest to the lane, were but dark, shadowy shapes to me, and I began to wish I had waited for a cab after all. Forcing myself to look straight ahead and ignore the shifting fog among the trees, I pressed on. It was extremely cold and my cheeks felt as if they were touched by icy fingers.

  “Then, when I knew I must be approaching Stagg’s Lane – although so thick was the fog that even the familiar little roadside landmarks were quite hidden from me – I heard, above the constant dripping of the trees, what sounded like someone moving through the wood to the left of the lane. I increased my speed slightly, but the movement at the side seemed to stay with me, then, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a shadowy shape slip from one tree to the next. Without turning my head to the side, I picked up my skirts and broke into a run, breathing heavily. On down that lonely, muddy lane I ran, madly, frantically, as if running for my life. For an instant, I had the impression of something in the air to my left, then something struck me hard on the side of the head, and with a scream I tumbled forward into the mud.

  “What happened next, I don’t know. As I tried to push myself up from the muddy ground, I heard muffled footsteps rapidly approaching. I think I may have screamed again, and then I passed out.

  “When I came to, I was lying on the couch in the sitting room at Bluebell Cottage, with a fire blazing in the grate and a plaid blanket laid over me. Professor Palfreyman and Mrs Wheeler were standing there, speaking quietly, and they turned to me as I opened my eyes.

  “‘There, there,’ said Mrs Wheeler. ‘How are you, my dear?’

  “‘I feel a bit sick,’ I said. ‘What happened?’

  “‘You’ve had a fall, my dear. Professor Palfreyman found you lying in the lane, in the mud, and carried you in. Here,’ she continued, picking up a cup and saucer from a side table, ‘have a sip of this. It’ll make you feel better!’

  “‘Would you like something stronger?’ the professor asked as I sipped the tea, but I shook my head.

  “‘I shall be all right in a minute,’ I said. I sat up, swung my feet to the floor and tried to stand up, but I staggered slightly and nearly fell over.

  “‘Don’t try to stand,’ said the professor, rearranging the rug over my knees. ‘We must keep you warm,’ he added, pushing the couch a little nearer to the fire.

  “‘What has happened to me?’ I repeated, feeling a little dizzy.

  “‘I don’t know,’ said the professor, shaking his head. ‘Luckily, I happened to be out in the garden, and heard you cry out. You had fallen just near the corner of the lane. Did you trip?’

  “‘No,’ I said. ‘Something struck me on the side of the head.’

  “The professor leaned over and examined the side of my head. ‘There is a muddy mark there,’ said he, ‘but the skin is not broken. I wonder what it could have been?’

  “�
�I believe there was someone out there,’ I said, ‘who flung something at me. If it hasn’t cut me, then perhaps it was not a stone but a bit of stick. It certainly hurt, anyway.’

  “‘How dreadful!’ said Mrs Wheeler.

  “The professor shook his head in puzzlement. ‘It will be too dark out there to see anything now, but I’ll have a look first thing in the morning and see if I can find anything.’

  “Later, Mrs Wheeler recommended a hot bath as being the best cure for a fall, as she referred to it, so I followed her suggestion. Afterwards I came downstairs in my dressing gown and sat for some time in the kitchen, watching her prepare some buttered toast and cocoa for me.

  “‘What was Professor Palfreyman doing out in the garden in the dark?’ I asked her.

  “She hesitated for a moment. ‘It was because of you, miss,’ she replied at length. ‘He didn’t want me to tell you, but he’s been worried about you all week. He came in the kitchen earlier, saying, “Isn’t that girl back yet?” and when I said, “No,” he said, “I’m worried about her, Mrs Wheeler. I think I’ll go out, walk up the lane a bit and see if I meet her!” The next thing I knew, he was coming in at the front door, carrying you in his arms and telling me to put the kettle on.’