“How on earth could you know where I have been?” I asked. “Are you having me followed?”
“Watson, I assure you that I have just returned to London within the hour and spoken to no one except yourself. As to your whereabouts today, I should think it rather obvious.”
“Not to me,” I said.
“Has it been raining all day?” asked Holmes.
“No, it was clear in the morning. The rain didn’t start until the afternoon.”
“Yet, your shoes are still bright and shiny. Your coat and hat are but slightly damp, as I noticed when I was hanging mine up. Taken together, those two facts indicate to me that you spent the majority of the day, or at least the afternoon, indoors.”
“I will grant you that,” I said, “but how do you know I wasn’t at my club all afternoon?”
“Today is Thursday. You never go to your club on this day because you know that Colonel Walker is there, and you have repeatedly told me how tired you are of listening to his war stories. Moreover, you are using a new tobacco that you just purchased.”
“True enough. I avoided my club and did stop at my tobacconist, but how did you determine that I had spent the day at the museum?”
“That was the easiest part of all,” remarked Holmes.
“But how did you arrive at the Natural History Museum? Why not the Science Museum or the Victoria and Albert Museum?”
“Because ever since you stopped going to James J. Fox, you’ve been saving a few shillings by buying from Becton’s on Thurloe Street. I can only conclude that after making your purchase and exiting Becton’s, you found yourself threatened by showers. With no umbrella for protection, you headed for the closest shelter, the Natural History Museum.”
“Bravo, Holmes. But I must tell you, had I taken just a few more steps along Cromwell Road, I might have had the last laugh.”
“True. Sometimes I do put too fine a point on it, but then you know my flair for the dramatic.”
“All too well,” I laughed. “So what did you learn in Uffington?”
“The boy was named Jeremy Mason. He was 18 and working as an apprentice to the local butcher. I spoke with his parents and what few friends he had and learned next to nothing.”
“So we are stymied once again?”
“For the moment,” he said, as he refilled his pipe. After drawing deeply, he began, “Let us consider what we know. Two young people were murdered, one on the vernal equinox and the other on the summer solstice. Their bodies were found on two prehistoric sites separated by approximately 40 miles. Both were discovered nude, with various organs having been removed and placed about the bodies; both bore a druidic mark on their forehead and ogham writing on their torso, and both bodies were surrounded by branches cut from different types of trees. The obvious implication to be drawn is that our victims were in some way sacrificed at the behest of a druidic cult.
“Have I summed it up neatly enough?”
“Indeed,” I replied, “but don’t forget that both may have been drugged before they were killed.”
“Thank you, Watson. Of all the aspects in this case, that is the one that I find the most baffling.”
“And why is that?”
“Because people kill for any number of reasons - money, anger, jealousy, love, hatred - but seldom, if ever, do they take the time to make certain that their victims are spared the pain. No, Watson. It will not hold. There is something else at work here, but I must admit that at the present, I haven’t the faintest idea what it is.”
“So what’s to be done?”
“I will continue my investigations,” said Holmes, but I’m afraid that, to quote the poet, Milton, ‘They also serve who only stand and wait’.”
“You can’t mean...”
“I’m afraid, I do, Watson. We must possess our souls in patience until the autumnal equinox.”
“You must stop this madness, Holmes.”
“Would that I could, my friend. Would that I could.”
Chapter 7
As the summer dragged on, Holmes found himself involved with an array of “pretty little problems.” There were several interesting cases, chief among them was the adventure that I have titled “The Case of the Meandering Marigolds.” Unfortunately, none seemed to shed any light on the murders, and Holmes continued to spend much of his free time at the British Museum, running theories past Connors and attempting to cram the little attic of his mind with all types of information that I knew he would never have concerned himself with under other circumstances.
When he was not at the museum, he was trying to learn all that he could about the various druidic societies that had come so much into vogue. As a result, between excursions to the museum and nightly meetings of the various groups, many of which he attended in various disguises, his days were filled from dawn to dusk.
I have often remarked on my friend’s tenaciousness, and this case was certainly no exception. His inability to make any real headway was consuming him, as had the contents of the hypodermic that he had once kept on the mantel.
In fact, I was so concerned with his behavior that I had decided to address him about it. I was dissuaded from it by the fact that one day in the middle of July, the 16th to be exact, Holmes returned home in what I can describe only as jubilant mood.
I was sorely tempted to ask my friend what had occasioned the change in his demeanor, but I knew that he would get around to it in his own good time.
After we had eaten, he suddenly broke the silence, “Watson, I must thank you for your forbearance with regard to this problem.”
“Think nothing of it, old man,” I replied.
“No, you have been the picture of patience, tolerating my comings and goings at odd hours and my moods of deep despair.”
“Nothing new there,” I said lightly.
Holmes smiled, looked at me, and said simply, “Good old Watson! I should be lost without you.”
“What has occasioned this bit of introspection?”
“As I was talking with Professor Connors today, we were trying to ascertain where the killer might strike next. And suddenly, it hit me. We were doing our best to guess - and you know how I feel about guessing. We are working with precious few facts, none of which, I now know, can be used to illuminate the darkness of the future.
“I can do a great many things,” said Holmes modestly. “However, even I cannot predict what is to come. I would like to be busy planning and baiting a trap of some sort, but it suddenly occurred to me that all my planning would be for naught. We anticipate a third killing, but we cannot be certain that there will be one.
“As a result, I must be as patient with the killer as you have been with me. I do think our murderer will strike again, but I have no idea where. While I am reasonably certain of the ‘when,’ but until that day draws near, my hands are tied.”
“So you will do nothing?” I exclaimed.
“No, Watson. On the contrary, I will do everything in my power to catch this fiend, but I must have more information. I just hope that the unwary citizens are not asked to pay too high a cost.”
“Perhaps, you have hit upon have something there,” I remarked. “Thus far, there has been precious little publicity linking the two killings. Perhaps if we raised a hue and cry in the press, it would put people on their guard - at least around the time of the autumnal equinox.”
“You make a splendid argument of the need for public awareness. Lestrade and I have gone back and forth over this. He is loath to publicize the killings, fearing the Yard will be embarrassed.”
“Would those running the Yard like to have a few more murders on their hands?” I interjected, “so they can really be shown to be fools?”
“That is the point I will take up with the good Inspector on our next encounter, which should occur rather soon,” said Holmes, glancing at his watch.
“How can you be so sure of that?”
“The Inspector and I have been meeting regularly. Sometimes, in his office a
t the Yard but more often than not in neutral locations - far from eavesdroppers. Earlier today, I sent him a message suggesting that we convene here tonight.
“In fact, he should be arriving any minute.”
“Would you like me to leave?”
“Heavens, no,” replied Holmes. “I know that I would welcome your observations, and I am equally certain that Lestrade would as well.”
Before I could reply, I heard the bell ring, and after looking at his watch, Holmes remarked, “If nothing else, Lestrade is punctual.”
A minute later the good Inspector entered the room,
“Good evening, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson,” he said.
“Inspector,” I countered.
“Sit down, Lestrade,” Holmes said. “We have much to discuss. I hope you don’t mind but I’ve asked Dr. Watson to join us tonight.”
“Not at all,” said Lestrade. Looking at me, he asked, “What do you make of this?”
“That’s really not my bailiwick,” I said, “but I do believe that you have a killer on your hands who poses a very real threat to public safety.”
“I agree, Doctor, but you know how people are. Tell them you have a murderer on the loose, and they’ll be looking for another Jack the Ripper hither and yon.”
“But what’s to be gained by concealing the truth?” I asked.
“The killer doesn’t know we’re onto him,” answered Lestrade rather smugly. “He has no idea that we have connected the two killings.”
I looked at Holmes beseechingly, and he said to Lestrade, “My dear Inspector, I am afraid I must side with the good doctor on this one. Thus far, at least, I am not onto anything. Have you made any progress with your lines of inquiry?”
“No,” admitted Lestrade. “We have no leads and precious few clues. But I don’t want to alarm the public needlessly.”
“Needlessly,” I spluttered. “Two people have been brutally murdered, and it may be just the beginning.”
Lestrade grew red-faced, but before he could respond, Holmes said quietly, “I think I may have hit upon a compromise, Inspector.”
After taking a moment to compose himself, Lestrade said, “And what would that be?”
“We have 69 days before the autumnal equinox on September 23rd. Suppose we keep everything out of the papers until the first of that month, and then if we have made no serious headway, we will inform the press that Scotland Yard has linked the two earlier murders and is pursuing several promising leads, but until the killer is captured, the public should be quite careful - especially in the days leading up to the equinox.”
“While I don’t like it,” said Lestrade, “I can certainly see the merit in your position, Mr. Holmes.”
“I think we would be remiss in our duty to the public if we failed to warn them,” Holmes said.
“Yes,” mused Lestrade, “and it is possible that the idea of several leads being vigorously pursued may give the killer pause.”
Holmes and Lestrade then spent the better part of an hour rehashing what they knew and suggesting various avenues of investigation. Occasionally, I would interject something, but my contributions might best be termed miniscule.
It was only after Lestrade had departed that I said to my friend, “I just have one question, Holmes.”
“Just one?”
“Do you really think that saying the Yard is following up on a number of promising leads will dissuade the killer?”
“Absolutely not, Watson. I am firmly convinced that - barring a great stroke of luck - someone will die in a most gruesome fashion on the morning of September 23rd.”
Chapter 8
As July gave way to August and we began inching toward September, I knew that Holmes had made little, if any, progress on the case.
As I have said, he appeared to have come to terms with his own lack of momentum, which he attributed to “a lamentable absence of facts.”
On the first of September, I was summoned at 3 a.m. to attend to a grievously ill patient in Pall Mall. After ministering to him, I returned to our lodgings, and as I stepped down from the cab, I could hear a newsboy hawking papers. He was lustily yelling, “Crazed killer on the loose. Read all about it.”
Knowing that Holmes would have already obtained copies of all the pertinent broadsheets, I ascended the stairs to our rooms, where I was surprised to discover that he had already gone out.
Hungry and exhausted, I read all the papers as I enjoyed a full breakfast of scrambled eggs and a rasher of bacon. I was happy to see the story although it seemed to me that Lestrade had overplayed the Yard’s role in linking the two cases while Holmes was not even mentioned.
I was wondering whether the omission had been at my friend’s direction as I slowly nodded off in my chair.
Sometime later, I was gently roused from my slumber by Holmes, who had returned to our rooms without my hearing him.
“What time is it?”
“It is nearly two,” he replied. “I can see that you have read the papers.”
“I have indeed, and I should think Lestrade must be quite pleased with himself.” Picking up the paper, I read aloud, “After painstaking research, Scotland Yard has concluded that there are certain common elements that would appear to tie together the murders of a young woman at Stonehenge last March and a young man at the White Horse of Uffington in June.
“My word, Holmes, a child could see that the two killings were almost identical. ‘Painstaking research,’ what absolute twaddle.
“While refusing to speculate or divulge any pertinent information about the killings, Inspector Lestrade would say only that there were obvious similarities that appeared to link the two murders and that the Yard was following up on several promising leads.
“He didn’t tell them that the killings occurred on the solstice and the equinox?” I asked.
“He wanted to withhold that piece of information,” Holmes said.
“But why? I thought the sole purpose of giving the press the story was to raise public awareness of the danger posed by the pending autumnal equinox.”
“As did I,” said Holmes. “It would seem that to a degree Lestrade has either reneged on our agreement or been told what he could make pubic.”
“So what’s to be done?”
“It has been taken care of,” said Holmes.
“You don’t mean...”
“The press have many sources,” said Holmes with a sly grin, “some official - and some not. However, if the killer thinks the Yard a bunch of incompetents that may be to our advantage.”
The next morning I awoke to discover that Holmes had once again risen early and left for a meeting with Dr. Connors.
However, on the table propped against a candlestick was a note that had been folded in two.
On the outside in Holmes’ rather spidery writing were the initials “J.W.”
On the inside was a short request;
“Watson,
After you have breakfasted, would you be so kind as to pick up an extra copy of today’s papers? I believe that you will find the lead story of some interest.
SH”
After eating, I went downstairs and even before I had opened the door, I could hear the newsboy bellowing: “Yard seeks deadly druid! Public warned about seasonal killer!”
Chapter 9
“It would appear as though Scotland Yard has finally linked the two murders,” he announced one afternoon.
“I should think they made the connection immediately after the second killing,” she replied. “After all, they certainly had enough clues between the druidic symbols and the ogham writing.”
“Yes, I agree, so why wait until now to make that information public?”
“I’m inclined to think they anticipated having the killers in custody by this point and then there would be no need to alarm the public unnecessarily.”
“I suppose you are right,” he replied.
“Have you made all the preparations for the next one?” she asked.
“I have.”
“And the location that I selected is to your liking?” she asked.
“It does have a definite sense of drama, I will you give you that, acushla. But doesn’t its relative newness rather undermine everything that we have done thus far?”
“Not at all,” she replied. “After all, it is a re-creation of sorts, and I should think that with the other stone circles nearby, this will just add another element of confusion. Feel free to disagree, since you are the one doing the work, but in my opinion, it suits our needs perfectly,” she said, a bit chafed at his lack of enthusiasm at her selection.
Suddenly it hit her, “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
“Not if you are certain that this is the only way,” he said.
“It was the only thing I could think of at the time,” she replied. “And I think we have come too far to give up now. To quote the beloved Bard, ‘I am in blood stepped in so far that should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o’er’.”
“Macbeth, Act III, Scene 4,” he replied. “Now there’s someone who knew a bit about blood-letting. ‘Gentle Will’ indeed. ‘Then I’ll screw my courage to the sticking place’,” he laughed.
“I’m impressed,” she said.
“Don’t be. There were several assignments while I was abroad where I had little else to do but read.”
“So then we are in agreement?”
As he gazed at her face with its incredible beauty, he realized that he would do anything, no matter how heinous, so long as he could continue basking in the sunlight of her radiance.
“As always, my dear, I remain your humble servant to command.”
Chapter 10
As the autumnal equinox drew near, the papers all carried stories warning the public about possible danger on the nights of September 22nd and possibly the 23rd. As a by-product of the stories, several meetings of the various druidic societies in London were disturbed by ruffians demanding to know if they were shielding a killer. In one instance, the secretary of a group was badly beaten as he tried to restore order, and several hooligans were arrested.
The Druid of Death - a Sherlock Holmes Adventure Page 4