The Mammoth Book of the Lost Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

by Denis O. Smith

  “I am sure that it was.”

  “So whatever the damage was, it was done after you had been there. That would have been at about three o’clock, I take it.”

  “That is correct.”

  “But the damage must have been done before the evening, as there was evidently sufficient time after its discovery for Admiral Blythe-Headley to write the note to your father which was delivered at Oakbrook Hall the following morning. Why do you suppose they believed you responsible for the damage?”

  “I really have not the faintest notion,” said Reid.

  “Well, well. Perhaps it was simply that you had been seen there and no one else had. No doubt that seemed clear enough evidence from their point of view. Hum! It is certainly a tangled skein that you have presented us with, Captain Reid!”

  “The whole business does indeed seem utterly incredible and inexplicable as I sit here speaking of it,” remarked our visitor with a puzzled shake of the head. “I could not be more dumbfounded if I had returned from India to find that the man in the moon had lately arrived in England and been proclaimed king. The behaviour of my family and friends towards me seems to admit of only one conclusion: either they are insane, or I am.”

  “Tut! Tut!” said Holmes quickly in remonstrance. “Do not entertain such debilitating thoughts, Captain Reid. If the problem is to be solved, we must assume as a premise in our little chain of logical reasoning that all parties concerned are acting rationally, as they see the situation. Let us turn now to the letters you received from home when you were overseas. You cannot recall anything there that might shed light on the matter?”

  Captain Reid shook his head. “As a matter of fact, I received very few letters during my time abroad. I received one from my mother and father fairly soon after I arrived in India, as I mentioned before, a second and third a little later from my father, and then heard nothing more from home until the brief note informing me of my mother’s death, after which I again heard no more. I received a single letter from Miss Blythe-Headley soon after my arrival. I replied to it promptly, but had no further communication from her. I also received three letters from my sister, Louisa, at very long intervals. Her letters were the only ones I received during my final two years in India.”

  “And you are certain that none of these letters contained any information which might have a bearing on your present situation?”

  “No. They were all friendly and consisted almost entirely of quite trivial news.”

  “I see. Well, whatever the quality of the letters you received, which is, of course, a matter of which only you can judge, their quantity would, I feel, strike even the most casual observer as somewhat on the meagre side, considering the length of time you were away. Did this infrequency of communication cause you any surprise, Captain Reid?”

  “Not with regard to my sister, Louisa, for she has always been a notoriously poor correspondent; but with regard to the others it certainly did. I am sure that there was scarcely another man in the regiment who received so few letters. Each time there was a delivery, I would enquire if there was anything for me, and generally I would be disappointed. My friend Ranworth was given charge of postal matters for our battalion, following an injury to Major Bastable, and I fear that he eventually became quite disconcerted by my constant queries. It embarrasses me now to recall the many times I obliged him to shake his head apologetically, as I enquired yet again if any letter had arrived for me.”

  “India is, of course, a vast place,” remarked Holmes, “and with the troops being so widely scattered, especially during the Afghan campaign, I suppose it is possible that letters might sometimes go astray?”

  “No doubt it happens occasionally, but the Army postal service is remarkably efficient, all things considered. I am sure I should eventually have received any letter which had been sent to me.”

  “No doubt. You have not seen your sister since your return?”

  “No. I had been looking forward with pleasure to visiting Louisa and her family in Truro, but under the present circumstances I have decided to postpone it. I should not wish to inflict these difficulties upon them.”

  “Quite so. Do you know if your sister paid any visits to Oakbrook Hall while you were in India?”

  “She returned very briefly for our mother’s funeral, which she subsequently described to me. Apart from that occasion, she has not left Cornwall in the last three years, so far as I am aware.”

  “I see,” said Holmes, nodding his head in a thoughtful manner. “Now,” he continued after a moment, “how do you propose to spend the next few days, Captain Reid?”

  “I shall be at my club for two more nights. On the thirteenth I am going down to stay with Captain Ranworth at Broome Green, and may be there a week.”

  “His address, if you please,” said Holmes, opening his notebook. “I may need to write to you there.”

  “You will take the case, then?”

  “Certainly.”

  “It is, as you will understand, a very delicate affair.”

  “Most are which are brought to my attention.”

  “It is such a personal, family matter that I should never have given details of it to a stranger were it not that I am utterly at my wits’ end.”

  “I understand that perfectly,” said Holmes. “You have acted wisely. I shall go down to West Sussex tomorrow and make a few discreet enquiries.”

  Captain Reid shook his head, an expression of perplexity upon his features. “I cannot think that there is anything you can learn which would explain the nightmare in which I have dwelt in recent days. The circumstances must surely be unique.”

  “They are certainly unusual,” remarked Holmes, “but not, I think, unique. There is little in this world that is truly unique, I find. I shall communicate with you in a few days’ time, Captain Reid. Until then, remember your regimental motto, Fidus et Audax, and do not despair.”

  When our visitor had left us, Holmes lit his pipe, and sat for some time in silence, then he turned to me with a smile.

  “A very pretty little puzzle, Watson, would you not agree?” said he in the tones of a connoisseur, his eyes sparkling. “What would you say to a few days in the pleasant Sussex countryside?”

  “Why, there is nothing I should like better than to exchange the London reek for the fresh air of the Downs,” I returned, more than a little surprised at the question. “But would my presence there not hamper your investigation, Holmes?”

  “On the contrary,” said he. “It would be a great convenience to me to have a companion upon whom I can rely as events unfold, as I am certain they will. I have no doubt that Captain Reid will be more than willing to defray your expenses as well as mine if it means his problem is the more speedily solved.”

  “Then I accept your invitation with pleasure,” said I.

  II: IN QUEST OF A SOLUTION

  In the morning a fresh breeze was blowing. A few wraiths of fog still hung about the streets as we made our way to the railway station, but by the time our train had passed Croydon and was through the North Downs the mist had cleared from the fields and the sun was shining. Wrapped in a long grey cloak, and with a close-fitting cloth cap upon his head, my companion appeared the very picture of the rural traveller, which was a strange sight to one who had only ever seen him upon the bustling pavements of London. He had scarcely spoken since we left Victoria, but stared silently from the window, completely absorbed in his own thoughts.

  “I cannot imagine how you intend to proceed in the case, Holmes,” I remarked at length, breaking the silence in the compartment. “The mystery surrounding Captain Reid appears utterly inexplicable.”

  “There are one or two indications,” responded my friend, turning from the window and beginning to fill his pipe.

  “If there are, then I confess I have missed them.”

  “You have no doubt been pondering the matter overnight,” said he.

  “I have certainly given it some thought,” I returned, “but can make n
othing of it. It seems to me to be perfectly impenetrable!”

  “Let us apply a little logical analysis, then,” said my friend as he lit his pipe, “and let our starting point be the one thing we know for certain: that the entire parish of Topley Cross appears, for some reason, to have turned against our client. We do not yet know what this reason might be, so let us, in the manner of mathematicians, call it ‘x’, the unknown, and see if we cannot, by reasoning around it, succeed in defining it a little more precisely. In the first place, whatever it is that has caused all these people to alter their opinions of Captain Reid must be considered by them a most serious matter. For surely only an occurrence of the utmost seriousness could have led them all – including, of course, Reid’s own father – to act in the way that they have done.”

  “Well, that is fairly obvious,” I agreed.

  “Yet Reid himself disclaims all knowledge of such an occurrence. Now, if the matter in question pertained to his military career, he would surely have heard something of it from his fellow officers in the regiment. We are therefore led to the conclusion that our unknown ‘x’ occurred in West Sussex, in the parish of Topley Cross. This is also indicated by the fact that whereas letters to Captain Reid from Topley Cross practically ceased after a short time, those from his sister in Cornwall did not. We must take it that she knows no more of the matter than her brother, and that during her stay at Oakbrook Hall at the time of her mother’s funeral, it – whatever it is – was not mentioned in her presence. As to ‘x’ itself, we must suppose that the facts of the matter are very clear, with evidence which appears to implicate Captain Reid directly, for we cannot think that his friends and family would turn against him on account, merely, of casual hearsay or local gossip.”

  “That seems indisputable.”

  “But here we encounter a difficulty. For it seems that when Captain Reid departed the area for India, his reputation was unblemished, his character unstained.”

  “Whatever occurred, then,” I suggested, “must have occurred after he had left.”

  “But how, then, can it reflect badly on Captain Reid? You see the difficulty, Watson? Clearly, it is not the date of the incident itself which is important, but the date when the facts came to light. Something occurred while Reid was still in England – otherwise he could not possibly be blamed for it – but did not become public knowledge until after he had departed, otherwise he would have become aware of it before ever he left the country. We can, I feel, date these events quite precisely. He received a friendly letter from Miss Blythe-Headley soon after his arrival in India. This must have been written within a week or so of his leaving. He replied, but heard nothing more. Some matter therefore came to public attention in Topley Cross approximately two weeks after his departure. We have thus narrowed down the place and the time quite precisely.”

  “I cannot see that that helps us very much.”

  “On the contrary, it helps us a great deal. To have established the place and time so closely will save us wasting our energies in irrelevant enquiry, and will undoubtedly help us to reach the truth much more speedily than would otherwise have been the case. Now we must address the nature of the problem itself.”

  “There, I fear, we have nothing whatever to help us,” I observed. “Captain Reid has no idea what it is he is supposed to have done, and as no one, it seems, is prepared to tell him, we have nowhere to begin.”

  “Come, come,” said my companion, smiling, “the matter is not quite so featureless as you suggest. In the first place, it cannot be that our client is believed guilty of an act that is criminal, or otherwise illegal, for we may suppose that if that were so, he would have long since been made aware of the fact by the authorities. Nor, on the other hand, can the matter be a trivial one, which might be soon forgiven and forgotten, since he remains subject to obloquy three years after the supposed date of the incident. Clearly, the censure to which he is subject is moral censure. We must therefore seek an act or series of acts which are generally held to be morally reprehensible – and seriously so – but which are not criminal in the strict legal sense of that term.”

  “That leaves rather a wide field,” I remarked with a chuckle. “Most people’s idea of morality covers a very broad sweep of miscellaneous virtues and vices, great and small, but save for its sound provisions against murder and theft, the law of England chooses to concern itself with very few of them.”

  “A wide field it may be,” returned Holmes, “but it is also an interesting field for speculation. We have also, let us not forget, the mysterious initials S. D. to help us in our enquiry. But, come! This next station is Pulborough, where we must take the branch-line train.”

  The countryside through which the branch railway passed was a delight to the eye. On either side lay a multi-coloured patchwork of fields, and between them the bright autumnal hues of the hedgerows and spinneys. As if he had said all that he wished to say of his case for the moment, my companion began then to discuss the farming methods of the land’s first settlers, drawing numerous interesting observations to support his thesis from the landscape through which we were passing. He spoke almost as if he had made a special study of the subject, which surprised me very greatly, for I had never before heard him speak of anything save the ways of the denizens of London, and I had come to believe that his brain contained only such knowledge as was directly useful to his work, and which had its application strictly within a dozen miles of Charing Cross.

  Presently, as our train pulled into a little rural station, its platforms brightened by tubs of flowers, Holmes sprang to his feet.

  “Here I must leave you,” said he abruptly, much to my surprise. “The station for Topley Cross is the next but one, Watson. Take care of the bags, if you would, old fellow, and see if you can secure a couple of acceptable rooms at the best-looking inn you can find. I shall join you there later this afternoon.”

  With no further word of explanation my companion was gone; the carriage door slammed behind him, and I was left to continue the journey alone. I did as he asked and took two rooms at the White Hart, a large, handsome old inn, which stood in the marketplace of Topley Cross. Then, I regret to record, although it was a beautiful autumn day, and I longed to walk to the end of the village and explore the countryside there, my illness overcame me. Tired by the journey from London, I lay exhausted upon my bed and soon fell into a deep sleep.

  I was awakened by a tugging at my shoulder. Holmes was standing by my bed.

  “I have made progress,” said he. “I have ordered a pot of tea, if you would care to come downstairs and hear the details.”

  In a minute I was in the private sitting room of the inn and Holmes was giving me a sketch of what he had discovered.

  “I have spent some time in the office of the local weekly newspaper,” said he, “where I was able to study the editions of three years ago. My hope was that I might uncover some suggestive fact there, some clue, however slight, to Captain Reid’s problem. I was prepared for a long and possibly fruitless search, and certainly could not have expected that success would be so swift. So narrowly, however, had we managed to define the time of that which has caused our client so much difficulty – our unknown ‘x’ – that in a matter of but a few minutes I was satisfied I had identified it beyond all possible doubt.” He took a long folded sheet of paper from his pocket and spread it out on the table before him, before continuing: “Upon Tuesday, 10 September 1878 – that is less than two weeks after Captain Reid sailed for India – a local girl, twenty years of age and well-known in Topley Cross, where she lived with her parents, was found dead. She had drowned in a pond about a mile from the village. Her name, Watson, was Sarah Dickens.”

  “S. D.!” I cried. “Those were the initials in the letter Reid received!”

  “Precisely. The stretch of water in which she drowned, incidentally, was the ‘Willow Pool’, to which Reid referred yesterday. Her body was discovered by two local youths, who were passing along the footpath that sk
irts the pool. So far as I can make out from the newspaper reports, the girl was from traditional yeoman stock. She was not especially beautiful, nor especially intellectual, but had a simple charm that endeared her to all who knew her. The reports describe her as friendly, good-hearted and very popular in the district. Now, at the inquest, which was held a few days later in Topley Cross, the verdict recorded was that of accidental death. There was no mark upon the body, save a small bruise to the side of the head, and it was suggested that the girl had slipped from the bank while picking blackberries – her purpose, apparently, in being at that spot – had fallen into the water, and had struck her head on a submerged stone. However, to judge from the tone of some of the newspaper reports, it was widely suspected in the district that the girl had in fact taken her own life while in a state of extreme distress. As you are no doubt aware, Watson, coroners’ juries are notoriously reluctant to bring in a verdict of suicide, save in those cases where the evidence admits of no other conclusion. This is especially so in rural areas, when the deceased is often someone well known to the jurors.”

  “Was there any specific evidence that might have suggested the girl had deliberately taken her own life?”

  “Her family deposed that she had not seemed quite herself for a week or two, and had taken to wandering off alone, as she had done on the day she died. When questioned during the inquest, they stated that she had been in somewhat better spirits on the day of her death, but this was not confirmed by other witnesses, and it seems likely that the observation was made chiefly to influence the jury against a verdict of suicide.

  “It seems there was a man in the case somewhere – the old story, by the sound of it – but he is not named in any of the newspaper reports, and it is not clear from the reports if his identity was known to anyone. A note was found, which the girl had apparently written shortly before her death, in which she had expressed her anguish at being cast aside by this man. Her family confirmed that she had been seeing someone during the summer, but stated that they did not know who it was.”