By the time I finally caught up with Holmes, I was quite winded and it took me a few minutes to catch my breath and compose myself. During that time, Lestrade and the other officers had arrived or were climbing the hill. Holmes turned to me and said, “Watson, keep everyone but Lestrade back at least 50 feet. And tell Lestrade to take a wide berth as he ascends the hill.
“After you have done that, join me by the body.”
I descended some 50 feet back down the hill where I met Lestrade and passed along Holmes’ instructions. He ordered his men to canvass the area looking for tracks of any kind, but to come no further up the hill until they were instructed to do so.
Lestrade and I then set out to our left and gradually ascended the hill until we were some 20 feet above the body. We then made our way back across until we were directly above Holmes, the constable and a figure prone on the grass.
As it had started to grow lighter, Holmes was on his knees examining the scene with his lens, He looked up and said, “Watson, please examine the body and tell me if anything significant strikes you.”
As I approached the body, I could see that it was a woman, perhaps around 40. She was wearing a green dress that blended into the grass to a degree.
I heard the constable tell Lestrade, “I switched places a few times during the night. I only found her because as dawn was starting to break, I decided to conduct one more circuit of the entire hill about halfway up.”
“Well done, Gribben,” said Lestrade. “I can’t believe that he has struck again, and this time right under our noses.”
As I examined the body, I saw that she had been stabbed several times. The wounds were in various place, including her hands, which led me to believe that she had put up quite a struggle while trying to defend herself.
“Anything, Watson?”
“The wounds on the hands tell me she tried to fight off her attacker. Also, I am inclined to think given the pronounced rigor mortis that she was murdered at least 12 hours ago, perhaps longer.”
“Excellent, Watson,” said Holmes. Turning to Lestrade, he continued, “This is not the work of our ‘deadly druid’.”
“How can you can be so sure of that Mr. Holmes?” asked Lestrade. “She was killed on the druidic feast day, at a site that we had under consideration. Surely, this is the work of the same person.”
“Where is the druidic symbol? The ogham writing? The branches placed around the body? No, Lestrade. It won’t do. This is a crime committed by someone who would like us to think the druid killer has struck again.”
“I’m still not convinced, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps, he spotted Gribben before he could administer his finishing touches.”
“Perhaps, Lestrade. I will grant you that, but all the other victims also had one other thing in common.”
“The puncture mark in the neck!” I exclaimed.
“Bravo, Watson, Have you found such a mark?”
“I looked for it and found none,” I said.
“So then who killed this poor woman?” asked Lestrade.
“Give me time to examine the scene, and I may perhaps be able to provide you with an answer, or at least point you in the right direction.”
Holmes then began a thorough examination of the poor woman’s body. Fortunately, one of the constables had thought to bring a blanket, so we were able to cover her face after Holmes had finished.
He then began to examine the surrounding area, dropping to his stomach to examine particular spots and working his way slowly down to the base of the hill. This went on for some 20 minutes. When he had finished, he walked slowly back up, pausing to examine various spots in greater detail. After he had rejoined us, Lestrade began, “So what can you tell us, Mr. Holmes?”
“She was killed some distance away and then carried to this spot on the hill, so right away, we know that we are looking for a strong man in good physical condition. Climbing this hill is difficult enough, so doing it while carrying a body must be quite taxing, I imagine.”
I could see Lestrade getting ready to interrupt, but I caught his eye and my friend continued uninterrupted.
“I would put his height at slightly above six feet, and he is right-handed. The angle of the wounds tells me his height, which is further substantiated by the footprints I found in the grass. There is one set of deeply indented marks ascending the hill and another set, far lighter, descending. The cuts on her dress and the lacerations on her skull all point to his being right-handed.
“I think he must be from somewhere around here, and I would wager that his face and neck might be very badly scratched. There are traces of skin under her fingernails. If I were pressed, I would say that the killer lives quite near or works with a forge. The cuffs of her dress contain very faint traces of coal dust from coke rather than bituminous coal. I should also think that he has very black hair that is just starting to show signs of grey. And finally, I believe that he considers himself a member of the upper-class and has quite the superior air.”
“Mr. Holmes, I know far better than to doubt you, and I can follow all of the physical deductions you have made. I am assuming that you found a stray hair or two on the body for the color, but as for the upper class and the air of superiority, I must confess that I am baffled.”
“Quite simple, Lestrade. Consider the dress. It is made of the finest brocade and the workmanship is flawless. Then look at her shoes, which are made of excellent leather. I do not think you will find too many servants attired in such finery. If we then take into account her jewelry, the wedding ring displays a certain craftsmanship as does the brooch she is wearing. They were costly, which certainly indicates a member of the upper class or one aspiring to be thought of as one.
“As for the superiority, he has lavished his attention and money on this woman, but now she is dead. I do not think this a crime of passion, but one that was obviously premeditated in that he tried to make it look like a druidic killing. To know that yesterday was a druidic feast would seem to indicate he is educated.”
As the Inspector shook his head in bewilderment, Holmes said, “Come now, Lestrade, I have done everything but supply you with a photograph of him. Give the description to your men and have them canvass the surrounding towns. I do not think our man will be all that difficult to find.”
Holmes and I watched as Lestrade summoned his men up the hill. After they had been gathered together, the Inspector related Holmes’ description of the killer, He had hardly finished, when one of the constables said, “I saw just such a man in Marlborough yesterday, but his face wasn’t scratched.”
“Did you now?” asked Lestrade.
“Yes sir. I hired my horse from him.”
“A stable hand?” asked Lestrade, casting a wry look at Holmes.
“No sir. He owned the stable and the blacksmith shop. While we were talking, he told me that he had been a farrier in his youth, but he had spent several years in South Africa from which he had returned a rich man.”
“And did you get this fellow’s name?” asked Lestrade.
“Yes sir,” replied the constable. “He said his name was Henry Dalton.”
“Well, why don’t we pay a visit to Mr. Dalton before we head back to London?” Lestrade asked. “You have to return the horse anyway.”
Lestrade then pulled Holmes aside and said, “I hope you are right about this Mr. Holmes. A quick arrest would go a long way toward lengthening my career.”
“If you find things as I told you,” said Holmes, “I believe that you may able to arrest Mr. Dalton with impunity. However, his incarceration advances our other case not a whit.”
“Well, let us clear this matter up, and then we can redouble our efforts as we have almost seven weeks before the winter solstice.”
We then took our leave from Lestrade, checked out of the inn and hired a carriage to take us to Swindon. Holmes was unusually quiet during the trip. He continued his silence aboard the train, and it was only as we neared London that he finally spoke, announcing, “And so
it is settled, Watson.”
“What is?” I asked, being totally baffled.
“I must attempt the impossible and divine the future in order to prevent a crime before it even occurs.”
Chapter 16
The next afternoon Lestrade called upon us at Baker Street.
“And how did Mr. Dalton respond to the charges?” asked Holmes.
“Oh, he denied them at first. Claimed that he and his wife had had a terrible row, and that she had taken one of his carriages and driven off.
“But when I saw the scratches on his face, and the dark hair going grey at the temples, I knew he was our man. It took a few hours of interrogation, but eventually he broke down and confessed. It seems his wife had an eye for the gentlemen, and he had actually followed her halfway to Avebury where she was going to meet a gentleman before confronting her.
“He said that she laughed at him, called him an old fool and said he didn’t know how to keep a wife. I think it was her sharp tongue that got the better of him. He admits that he was in a blind rage and the next thing he knew, she was dead.”
“And you believe him?” asked Holmes.
“Why would he lie after admitting to murdering her?”
“Because juries are far more apt to forgive a crime of passion than they are premeditated murder, especially if the wronged party committed the crime. However, this is a case of cold-blooded murder. How convenient that they had a row on a druidic feast day! How convenient that he left her body halfway up the hill at Avebury, a druidic site! No, Lestrade. If you want to see justice served, then I fear you must insist that Mr. Dalton tell you the truth about his relationship with his wife.”
“Well, I will certainly consider that,” said the Inspector. “Now, the next date we must concern ourselves with is the winter solstice, is it not Mr. Holmes?”
“Indeed,” said Holmes, “in druidic lore the winter solstice is often called the Alban Arthur, which Professor Connors informs me can be translated as ‘The Light of Arthur’.”
“Not King Arthur?” exclaimed Lestrade.
“That depends on which group of druids you choose to follow,” said Holmes. “There are those who believe that on that day, King Arthur is reborn as the Sun Child. After all, once the solstice has passed the days start to grow longer.”
“And the other druids? The ones who don’t believe in King Arthur?” I asked.
“They see the light as belonging to the constellation Ursa Major, the Great Bear, also sometimes referred to as the Plough. Arthur or Art is the Gaelic word for ‘bear’.”
“Mr. Holmes, this just gets more confusing. Every time I think we are taking a step forward, there’s another new element introduced. Will it never end?”
“Lestrade, I think the confusion is deliberate. If you had planned a series of crimes, wouldn’t you do everything possible to throw your pursuers off the scent?”
Before Lestrade could reply, Holmes answered his own question: “Of course you would. So, these are merely red herrings designed to make us stray from the path that we should follow.”
“You sound as though you know who killed these people,” said Lestrade.
“I have a suspect, Lestrade. The problem is there is at least one other involved.”
“Tell me whom you suspect, and I’ll invite them to the Yard for a nice long conversation,” said the Inspector.
“I should very much like to, Inspector, but I am afraid that’s not possible at this time.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Lestrade.
“These are some very intelligent people that we are dealing with Lestrade. Were you to bring them down to the Yard, I can assure you that they would confess to nothing.”
“How can you be so sure of that?”
“Because they have been very careful. Their planning has been meticulous. They know that they have left no clues behind. Were you to make them aware that they are under suspicion, they might cease their activities altogether, and then where would we be? No, Lestrade, for the moment they must be allowed to proceed unencumbered.
“I think they have one final crime planned, and then the killings will cease. So our only chance to apprehend them is to catch them in the act.”
“And can we do that?” asked the Inspector incredulously.
“I believe that we can. Consider this: We know approximately when the next murder will take place - on or about the winter solstice. I have a developed a theory as to where the crime will take place. I believe that I even have ascertained the identity of the person behind the plot. Were we hard-pressed, we could move now. However, the case we would be forced to present is a tenuous one, built largely on conjecture and circumstantial evidence; moreover, I want to apprehend everyone who had a hand in this, and that is why I counsel caution.”
I could see that Lestrade was less than pleased with Holmes’ deductions, but there was certainly no arguing with the logic of them on the surface. After he had considered them for a moment or two, he spoke, “I don’t like it, Mr. Holmes.”
“Neither do I, Lestrade. If someone else should die, I shall never forgive myself, but I am convinced that to move against them now is to hazard all when we need not. Our best strategy is to lull the killers into a false sense of security. We have seven weeks to plan, and for the first time, the playing field is not totally tipped in their direction.”
“I will be guided by you, Mr. Holmes.”
“You know, Lestrade, if the press were to learn that Mr. Dalton had been apprehended for the murder of his wife, who died in a manner similar to the other druid victims, well, there’s just no telling what conclusions they might jump to.”
“That’s a capital idea, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps if they believe the police are no longer looking for them, they will be a little less careful.”
I saw a slight smile cross my old friend’s face, and I could tell that he was going to allow Lestrade to enjoy his moment in the limelight.
“Brilliant, Inspector. Remember though, just as before, no details about the branches or the ogham. Just let them know that the murder was committed in a like manner and that all indications point to the suspect you have in custody.”
“Well that will certainly keep my superiors from breathing down my neck,” said Lestrade. “However,” he continued, “catching them before their next atrocity now becomes more important than ever. If the Yard were to come out of this looking foolish, well I don’t have to tell you what might happen.”
Lestrade left soon after, a decidedly happier man than when he had arrived.
After he had departed, I said to Holmes, “Do you feel any regret about saddling Mr. Dalton with three murders that he didn’t commit?”
“None,” replied my friend. “I don’t know why Dalton killed his wife, but I suspect that were we to investigate, we might discover that he was the philanderer - not she. At any rate, he took an innocent life, and he must pay for his crime. If we can use his guilt to prevent another killing, it seems that’s some small atonement for his heinous act.”
I considered informing Holmes that atoning for one’s sins is normally a matter of conscience and usually done voluntarily, but I decided against it.
The next day the papers were filled with stories about the ‘Druid of Death’ being captured. On my way to my club, I must have passed at least six different newsboys all hawking their papers, yelling, “Deadly Druid in custody” or some variation thereof.
When I returned home that afternoon, I found Holmes perusing his copy of “The Origin of Tree Worship.”
“Anything of interest?” I asked.
“Just double-checking a few conclusions,” he replied.
“About trees?”
“The trees are the key to this case,” replied Holmes.
“Really?”
“Of course, all along this has been an exercise in misdirection. The tree branches stand at the center of everything. Consider, they are the only things that had to be brought to the crime scenes. In a sense, they ar
e the only foreign objects to be found; now, the more we know about the trees and their locations in the countryside, the closer we are to solving the case. There are no trees at Stonehenge, as you know. Nor are there trees at the Uffington White Horse or Drizzlecombe.”
“True enough,” I said, “but trees grow everywhere.”
“Yes,” replied Holmes, “but not all trees can be found in all places. Some can be found only in very specific locales.” Pausing, he looked at me and with a mischievous grin added, “And some trees really don’t belong here at all, but that remains to be seen I suppose.”
Since I could get nothing further from Holmes, I contented myself with a thought that has often crossed my mind, “The man can be absolutely maddening.”
As the weeks passed, I saw less and less of Holmes. He would be gone for a just a few hours, and at other times, he would disappear for three or four days at a stretch. I noticed that as we moved toward the end of November, his absences grew longer. I could only assume that he was exploring avenues of inquiry with regard to the case. I also believed that he was doing everything possible to prevent another killing.
When he was at home, he barely ate, choosing to immerse himself in a number of different tomes on an array of subjects and studying maps that detailed different parts of the kingdom.
One afternoon, I walked in and found him poring over a large map that he had spread out on the floor. I recognized it as the map that Professor Connors had made for him shortly before the summer solstice murder. “Still following the same trail?” I asked.
“I see no reason to leave a trail that has not led me astray.”
“But it hasn’t led you to the killer either,” I offered.
“True enough. Although the locations of the first three murders can be seen on the map,” he said pointing to different spots, “as well as the death of the unfortunate Mrs. Dalton, I do not think this is the key to the next murder.”
“I must admit that I am lost.”
“You remember the winter solstice has very strong connections to the Arthurian legend?”
The Druid of Death - a Sherlock Holmes Adventure Page 10