“Is there anything else?”
“Of course,” said Holmes, who then pulled several small evergreen branches from the bag. “This is what I really wanted you to see, Lestrade.”
“Branches? There have been branches at every murder.”
“But none quite like these.”
“And what makes those so special?”
“The trees from which they were cut.”
“Oh, Mr. Holmes. I am really starting to worry about you. We have here a few branches from a Christmas tree, and you are telling me that these will lead us to our murderer.”
“These are not just Christmas tree branches, as you put it Lestrade. These branches have been cut from a Douglas fir. As you know, I dabble a bit in botany and could bore you with the story about the Scottish botanist David Douglas and his rival, Archibald Menzies, but I digress. The important thing to remember is that the Douglas fir is distinctive in having cones that exhibit a long tridentine bract that protrudes prominently above each scale, just as these cuttings do, Consider, it almost resembles the back half of a mouse, with two feet and a tail.”
“Oh, Mr. Holmes, after a disappointing night such as we have just had, I must warn you that my patience is just about gone. For the love of God, please make yourself plain about the importance of these branches.
As Holmes spoke, it soon became apparent to everyone in the room that he knew exactly where the branches had come from and how they related to the attempted murder.
“So all we have to do then is go pick them up,” said Lestrade.
“If only it were that simple,” replied Holmes.
“Well, what’s to stop us?”
Holmes then explained how our efforts might be met with skepticism for certain - if not outright resistance.
“So then what’s to be done?” asked Lestrade.
Holmes then outlined exactly how he wanted to proceed. When he had finished, he looked at Lestrade and asked, “Do you still believe in me?”
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” replied Lestrade. And with that we began ironing out the rough spots in Holmes’ plan and formulating a way that we might apprehend the guilty parties without placing anyone else in jeopardy or besmirching the good name of Scotland Yard.
Chapter 25
For the next two weeks, we did absolutely nothing. I could see that Lestrade was chafing under the yoke of inactivity. With each visit to our lodgings, he grew increasingly anxious to be about the business of the law, as he put it.
“Lestrade, they suffered a bad scare on the winter solstice. You came quite close to apprehending the killer,” said Holmes, trying to console him.
“Exactly, my point. What’s makes you think they aren’t in the wind and heading for some remote section of Europe or that they haven’t already set sail for America or Australia?”
“They killed for a very specific reason,” said Holmes.
“A reason you are not willing to share with me,” replied Lestrade rather tartly.
“I am keeping you in the dark for your own safety,” replied Holmes. “I need the killers to feel safe and secure. They must think that they have gotten away clean. There can be no word of this or they will be on that ship you mentioned. And if there were a slip-up, it very well might mean your job. You’ve trusted me thus far; just a bit longer, old friend.”
I could see that Lestrade was unhappy but he nodded his head and acquiesced to my friend.
Three days later, I awoke to find a note from Holmes on the breakfast table.
Watson,
I have decided to spend a day in the countryside communing with nature. I will see you this evening. Please ask Mrs. Hudson to hold dinner for me.
Yours,
S.H.
What a curious note, I thought to myself. As I have often remarked, Holmes eschewed exercise for its own sake and the thought of the finest brain in London “communing with nature” as he put it was, I must admit, rather a difficult concept for me to grasp.
Still, I had known Holmes to undertake even stranger endeavors in the name of his chosen profession. I also knew that if he were successful in whatever quest he might be on that he would be unable to refrain from telling me about it.
I spent the morning recording my notes on this adventure and then writing up my notes from one of Holmes’ lesser exploits, “The Curious Cask of Curzon Street.” After that, I treated myself to lunch at the Criterion where I handed the “Curzon” pages over to my literary agent for his consideration. After leaving my old haunt, I strolled back to Baker Street where I spent the rest of the afternoon re-reading and revising my notes on this case. It was just after five when I heard Holmes on the stairs and he burst into our rooms with a huge smile on his face. I knew that something important had broken his way, and was debating whether to ask him what had transpired or let him tell me in his own manner.
I decided once again to indulge my friend’s flair for the dramatic and let him tell me what had occurred when he was ready. He threw himself into his chair, fished out his cigarettes and asked me for a match.
After lighting his cigarette, he looked at me and asked with a practiced nonchalance, “Is the fare at the Criterion still top-shelf? I have heard a few people express misgivings about it lately.”
“How on earth could you know where I have been?”
“You have just handed me a new pack of Swan Vestas and while there are several establishments in London that provide them to patrons, the only one I know that you frequent is the Criterion.”
“Blast it, do you never tire of being right? Yes, I did dine there, and yes, the food is as good as it ever was in my opinion.”
“And your companion, does he share your enthusiasm for the fare?”
“How could you possibly know that I dined with a friend?”
“The pile of notes that was on your desk early this morning is there no longer, having been replaced by a new, smaller stack of notes that you were working on when I arrived. The only one who has any interest in your writings before they are published is your agent. Therefore I can only conclude that you dined with him and submitted another of my cases for possible publication.”
“You never miss a trick, do you?”
“Oh, I have missed a great many tricks on this case, but I am trying to atone for my shortcomings as best I can.”
“You are too hard on yourself. Scotland Yard has ...”
He interrupted me by asking, “Surely, you are not comparing my efforts to those of Lestrade and his crew?”
“Not at all; it’s just that...”
“No explanation is necessary, Watson. This has been far from my finest hour, but we may still salvage something of our reputations.”
“Well, since you know where I have been all day, would you care to tell me what it was you were doing?”
“I have been collecting evidence,” he said, opening the bag he carried and placing an evergreen branch on the table. “Does this look familiar?”
“Indeed, it looks just like the branches we confiscated on the winter solstice.”
“Exactly. In fact, this particular branch probably came from the exact same tree that provided our killer with two of his cuttings.”
“In all of England, how could you possibly know which tree to examine?”
“One of the things I neglected to mention about the Douglas fir is that it is a relatively new tree to England.”
“Extraordinary!”
“And that is where my knowledge of botany comes into play. Any botanist worth his salt will tell you that our fair isle is home to only three native species of conifer trees - the Scots pine, the yew and the common juniper. As a result, the Douglas fir, though it is catching on, is still relatively rare here. Native to North America, the Douglas fir was introduced into England in 1827 by that Scottish botanist David Douglas.
“If you know what to look for, it is relatively easy to spot. We had seen a magnificent stand of such trees during ...”
“Our visi
t to the estate of Lady Deveron.”
“Indeed. In fact, I believe that I remarked upon them at the time. Earlier today, I took a rather circuitous route onto the estate and was able to inspect the trees at my leisure. I discovered that several low-hanging branches had been cut from different trees. Having brought along a small saw, I cut this one for comparison.”
“You mean Lady Deveron has been involved with the killings?”
“That remains to be determined, although all inclinations would seem to indicate so.”
“She may have been coerced or she may have been duped,” I said.
“Always the knight in shining armor. I will grant you that possibility, but of this I am certain - someone in her employ has played an active role in the slayings.”
“To what end?”
“There we must venture into the realm of speculation. As you know that is something I am loath to do. But I have been gathering evidence and collecting facts, and I think it is about time that we paid another call on Her Ladyship.
“Now, let me send a wire to Lestrade, and then we can enjoy our dinner. Nothing like a long walk in the fresh country air to build up an appetite.”
And so it was that early the next morning, Holmes, Lestrade and I again boarded a train at Paddington. The trip took about four hours, and Lestrade peppered Holmes with questions for much of the journey. By the time we had arrived, I knew that Lestrade and Holmes were of one mind, and both agreed that there were several loose ends that needed to be tied up.
Lestrade had wired ahead to Her Ladyship, telling her that there had been some developments in the case of her stepson’s death.
When we arrived at the estate, the gatekeeper was waiting for us and informed us that Her Ladyship was indeed expecting us.
As we drove toward the house, I was once again overwhelmed by the vastness of the grounds. “It is a veritable arboretum,” I remarked.
“Yes,” replied Holmes, “and I shouldn’t wonder that the various trees served as a source of inspiration.”
As we neared the house, I found myself fixated on the stand of Douglas fir that had captured my attention on our first visit. I nudged Holmes, who followed my gaze to the trees, and then nodded imperceptibly in my direction.
The same servant greeted us at the front door, and escorted us to the same room where we had met with Her Ladyship on our previous visit.
We had been sitting for a few minutes when she entered. She was again dressed all in black, and I was struck once more with how well she appeared to be holding up.
We rose and Holmes introduced Lestrade. Her Ladyship began by stating, “I understand that you have news for me.”
“Indeed,” said Holmes, looking at Lestrade. “We came very close to catching this druid killer on the night of the winter solstice. Unfortunately, he managed to escape despite our best efforts to apprehend him.”
“Where was that?”
“The assault took place on a young man from Marlborough on the top of a historic site the locals call Merlin’s Mound. As you might expect, the location of the attack and all the particulars are in accordance with the earlier killings.”
“Have you any idea where the killer is now?”
Holmes replied, “We have tracked the suspect to the Continent, but in Calais he was able to elude his pursuers. For the moment we are endeavoring to pick up the scent again, and you may rest assured that we will not rest until he is brought to justice.”
“Does this person have a name?” asked Her Ladyship.
“He is known as Lawrence Mayweather. He is an itinerant Scotsman who has been working hard to revive the flames of the old pagan religion. Do you know if your stepson ever spoke of such a man?”
“Not that I can recall,” said Her Ladyship, “but Trent was always a very private boy.”
“Ah, that explains it perhaps,” said Holmes.
“Was my offer of a reward any help?”
“It provided us with a number of false trails and one or two interesting letters, but I regret to inform you that ultimately the offer did not factor into our efforts.”
“Then I am sorry that it proved more of a distraction than an incentive,” she replied.
“It was a noble effort,” said Lestrade.
Although Her Ladyship asked us to stay for lunch, we declined. Holmes said he had to return to London to attend to another pressing case. After we had said our farewells, we walked down the long gallery and Holmes once again paused by the painting that had attracted his attention on our last visit. This time, he only examined it for a few seconds, and then we made our way downstairs where our cab was waiting for us.
After we had left the grounds, we started back in the direction of Bath. We hadn’t gone but half a mile when Holmes bade the driver to pull over to the side of the road.
After he had done so, the driver looked at us and asked, “Now what, guv?”
“I want you to climb down and try to look as though you are working on one of the rear wheels. And if you ask no more questions, there’ll be an extra pound in it for you.”
The driver happily set about examining the rear wheel on the road side while Holmes, Lestrade and I climbed out and stood on the other side.
“And now we wait?” asked Lestrade.
“Unless I have missed the mark altogether, we shan’t have too long a stay here,” said Holmes. “The difficulty is in guessing the direction.”
“Which direction?” I asked.
“Whether Her Ladyship will send her messenger to Bath or Bristol,” replied Holmes.
Before he could answer, we saw a rider on a large black stallion leave the grounds of Ravenhurst and set out at a full gallop in our direction.
“Our luck holds,” said Holmes. “Driver, how are you doing with that wheel?” Holmes asked as the horseman, who took no notice of us, sped by.
As soon as the rider was out of earshot, Holmes exclaimed “To Bath with all due speed!”
No sooner had we clambered aboard than the driver turned to us and asked, “Any place in particular?”
“We will start at the Saracens Head, and if you are as sharp as I think you are, there may be a bit of extra work in it for you.”
When we disembarked at the Saracens Head, Holmes spoke briefly with the driver. I could not hear what was said, but I could easily discern the urgency in my friend’s voice.
After he had finished, he turned to Lestrade and me and said, “I don’t know about you but I am parched. I have it on good authority that this inn possesses not only a fine selection of ales but a rather impressive wine cellar as well. Shall we?”
As we sat there, I had a million questions swirling in my mind. Looking at Lestrade, I could see that he was as vexed as I was.
After we had been served, Lestrade took a long drink of ale and then said as patiently as he could, “I believe that we are entitled to an explanation, Mr. Holmes.”
“Indeed, you are,” said my friend. “The rider who passed was a messenger from Lady Deveron to her lover. It is her paramour who has actually committed the murders.”
“Lawrence Mayweather,” I exclaimed.
“Who?” asked Holmes, and then he began to chuckle.
“Isn’t Mayweather the name of the man we seek? That’s what you told Her Ladyship.”
“And so I did, but that was to put her at ease. I made up the name Lawrence Mayweather. I believe that we are looking for a fellow by the name of Liam O’Dowd.”
“The fellow who drugged Samuel in Marlborough?” asked Lestrade.
Holmes then proceeded to tell us what he had learned about O’Dowd, and the fellow’s relationship to Lady Deveron. When he had finished, Lestrade asked, “So is she his accomplice?”
“That last little bit continues to elude me,” said Holmes, “and I will not comment on it until I am absolutely certain. Slander is a serious offense, and I should hate to be accused of willfully besmirching the name of a member of the nobility - at least not until I am satisfied that she is
guilty.”
Despite vows of silence from both Lestrade and myself, Holmes remained adamant. Finally, he looked at us and said, “If Her Ladyship is innocent and I were sued, you might be called to the stand to testify against me. If I have said nothing, you can say nothing. This is a burden that I must bear alone.”
I have often remarked on the nobility of Holmes’ nature, but in that moment it shone as brilliantly as his intellect towered above others. I could see that he would have liked nothing more than to discuss it with us, but he understood that to do so might place us in a precarious position with the law at some point in the future. I don’t think I have ever been more proud of my friend.
We had just about finished our ales when the driver who had brought us to town poked his head through the door. Upon seeing Holmes, he started to enter the room. Holmes rose and met him halfway. There was a brief but hushed conversation, and I saw my friend press some notes into the man’s hand.
When Holmes returned to the table, Lestrade asked, “What was that all about?”
“I believe that Mr. O’Dowd is now renting a room above the Star Inn on The Paragon.”
“Well, if he is there, I should very much like to pay him a visit,” said Lestrade.
“And so you shall, my friend. I have no idea whether he knows Watson or myself, but as today was your first visit to Ravenhurst, and he was absent, we can be reasonably certain that he does not know you.”
Holmes then explained the part that each of us would play and how he hoped the evening would unfold. When he had finished, he looked at us and said, “Justice has been a long time coming for Liam O’Dowd, but I believe that day has finally arrived.”
Chapter 26
When I entered the Star Inn at around six that evening, as per Holmes’ instructions, I had no idea what to expect. The inn dates back several centuries, and, under different circumstances, I could imagine myself spending a pleasant evening here with Holmes and Lestrade.
Upon arriving, I looked for Holmes and spotted him sitting in the corner hidden behind a newspaper. When I turned my attention to the bar, I was a bit surprised to see Lestrade manning the taps. He was wearing a colorful vest with his sleeves rolled up and his tie missing. I must admit that he looked every inch the country innkeeper.
The Druid of Death - a Sherlock Holmes Adventure Page 15