There were a few other men in the room, but they were busy playing cards or dominoes. I made my way to the bar where Lestrade asked, “What can I get for you, stranger?” I ordered a pint of ale and then sat at the table nearest the doorway. I patted my pocket just to reassure myself that I had remembered to bring my sidearm.
There was little conversation in the room, and so, like Holmes, I pretended to read my newspaper. We had been there about an hour when a tall dark-haired man entered, and took a seat at the bar. “You’re new here aren’t you?” he asked Lestrade in a broad Irish accent. “Where’s George?”
“He was called away on some sort of a family emergency,” replied Lestrade. “Can I get you something?”
“I’d like a pint of ale and a shepherd’s pie,” replied the stranger.
Drawing the pint, Lestrade said, “Just let me check in the kitchen on your pie.”
While he was gone, the stranger surveyed the room, and apparently there was nothing there that alarmed him, for he soon returned to his pint and a consideration of the bottles behind the bar.
Lestrade returned a minute later and said, “You’re in luck. You’ve ordered the last one, so they just have to warm it up and it should be ready in no time. Will you be eating it here or taking it to a table?”
“I’ll eat here if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” replied Lestrade. “It’s slow tonight, as you can see, so there is plenty of room. We have some fresh-made cabbage soup if that appeals to you while you’re waiting.”
“I haven’t had cabbage soup in a long time,” replied the stranger. “A small bowl if you please.”
Lestrade disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later carrying a tray on which sat a bowl. As he started to place a napkin on the bar, one of the men left his table and stood to the stranger’s left. “After you’ve finished, I’d like two more pints,” he said.
“I’ll be with you momentarily,” said Lestrade.
He then bent beneath the bar, at which point, I said, “And I’ll have another as well.”
When the stranger turned to look at me, Holmes bolted from his seat and pinned the man’s right arm to the bar even as the man on his other side held the left arm firmly against the counter. Lestrade arose from behind the bar, and before you could say “nicked,” he had slapped a pair of handcuffs on the man.
“Liam O’Dowd, you are under arrest for the murders of Annie Lock, Jeremy Mason and the Honorable Trent Deveron.”
“There must be some mistake,” O’Dowd replied. “I have no idea who any of those people are?”
“Do you know Lady Deveron?” asked Lestrade.
There was a slight pause before he answered, “I have heard of her, certainly. Who hasn’t? But as for knowing her ...”
“Mr. O’Dowd,” said Holmes, “she sent you a message earlier today. Perhaps if we search your room, we will come across the missive.”
O’Dowd appeared to ready to brazen it out. “You may search my room as well as my person. You will find no note from Her Ladyship or anyone else.”
“Why don’t you save us the trouble?” asked Holmes. “I will find the note eventually.”
At that point, O’Dowd tried to break free from his captors and lunge at Holmes, but he was quickly restrained. “Take him to the jail,” Lestrade ordered the two men, whom I soon discovered were local constables. As they led him from the bar, O’Dowd looked back over his shoulder and said, “I’ve done nothing, and you will find nothing.”
“Lestrade, do go along with the constables and make certain that he has not concealed the note somewhere on his person. Should you discover it, please let me know at once. In the meantime, Watson and I will conduct a thorough search of his room.”’
“And you are certain there is a note?” asked Lestrade.
“He was contacted by Her Ladyship. Unless he has eaten it, which I doubt, we must find that note. I am certain that it will give us a clue as to whether Her Ladyship is involved.”
After they had left, Holmes and I ascended to O’Dowd’s room on the second floor. It was a fairly Spartan affair, containing only a bed, chair, desk, bureau and wastebasket. There were also a few books, a closet in which his clothes had been stored and a crucifix on the wall.
Holmes pulled the chair into the center of the room, steepled his fingers under his chin and began to concentrate.
After I had examined all the obvious places, including the wastebasket, desk and bureau drawers, various books and the backs of the pictures hanging on the wall, I turned to Holmes and said, “You know he may have thrown it down the privy.”
Holmes who had not spoken the entire time I was searching, looked at me and said simply, “That won’t do. Suppose you were O’Dowd,” said Holmes, “and your lover had sent you a missive - on the off-chance that it might be the last communication you received from her, wouldn’t you save it, treasure it?”
“So now he and Lady Deveron are lovers?”
“Of course, they are. Anyone could see that she has been involved in this from the beginning.”
“I must confess, I couldn’t.”
“What did you just say?”
“I said, ‘I must confess, I couldn’t’.”
Holmes looked at me and asked, “Is there by chance a small painting of any kind in that closet. Or does it contain just his clothes?”
“Let me take another look.” Upon giving the closet a much closer examination, I discovered that a small still-life had been pushed to the back of a shelf where it might have remained unseen, had Holmes not inquired about it. “How on earth could you possibly know?”
Holmes smiled, “Does O’Dowd strike you as a religious man?”
“Not if he has killed three people,” I replied.
“Exactly,” said Holmes. “Yet he has a crucifix hanging above his bed.”
“What of it?” I asked. “Perhaps the landlord put it there.”
“Perhaps,” said Holmes, “but given the rather subtle Freemason symbol that rests above the bar, I rather doubt he is inclined to sympathize with the papacy.” As he said this, he rose and removed the icon from the wall. Bringing it closer to the light, he began to examine it. Suddenly, the figure of Christ and the top piece of wood slid up, revealing a hidden compartment.
“What on Earth!”
“This is what the Catholics refer to as a sick-call set,” explained Holmes. “Normally, one might expect to find candles and a vial of holy water. People keep them on hand in case they should need a priest in a hurry. When he arrives, everything he needs to perform the last rites is at hand.”
“Ingenious,” I said.
“No, what’s ingenious is the use to which our friend O’Dowd has put it.”
Looking over Holmes shoulder, I could see that the secret recess in the cross contained two small vials as well as a tightly rolled-up scrap of paper.
“Unless I am very much mistaken, those are extra vials of the drug O’Dowd used on his victims, and this should be the note from Her Ladyship.”
Unrolling the piece of paper, I saw that the note had been written in ogham. I have reproduced the message below.
“Blast,” said Holmes. “I should have expected this. The ogham may prove our undoing.”
“This is a college town. Surely there must be someone who can translate it for us.”
“Excellent, Watson. We must try O’Dowd first and then, if he proves uncooperative, as I suspect he will, perhaps there is a faculty member who is familiar with the language.”
Holmes and I then proceeded to the local jail where we were met by a beaming Lestrade. “I never doubted you, Mr. Holmes, and I cannot thank you enough.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Lestrade. The job is only half-done.”
“What do you mean?”
“From the very start, I suspected there were at least two people involved. Yes, we have the killer, but I want his accomplice as well.”
“And who might that be?”
“When the time is ripe,” replied Holmes. “For the moment, I should like to question O’Dowd. Perhaps he will be more forthcoming with someone who is not attached to the official police.”
“Before we go any further, do we have any new evidence?” asked Lestrade.
Holmes showed him the crucifix with the hidden compartment. “I am certain that if you test these two vials they will prove to be the same drug that we found in the bag on Merlin’s Mound. We also have this note written in ogham.”
“What does it say?” asked Lestrade.
“That is what I am hoping Mr. O’Dowd will tell me. Now, Lestrade, time is of the essence here.”
We then went back to the cell where O’Dowd was being held. Holmes looked at him and said, “I must confess that hiding the note in the crucifix was a stroke of brilliance, but I did discover it, nonetheless. I don’t suppose you would be kind enough to translate it for us?”
O’Dowd said nothing, merely glowering at Holmes from the cot on which he sat.
“We have you. We have the knife used in the killings which was in the bag you dropped on Merlin’s Mound. I am certain the drugs in the crucifix will also match those in the bag. You will certainly go to the gallows for those murders. Do you really want your accomplice to enjoy the fruits of your labors - perhaps with another man?”
Despite Holmes’ best efforts, he could not get O’Dowd to speak, let alone give up his confederate.
As we left the cell, O’Dowd spoke for the first time, “I think you will have a devil of a time proving I was on Merlin’s Mound, let alone that I killed anyone.”
After that he lapsed back into silence. Holmes, Lestrade and I met in one of the small offices.
“He won’t help us,” said Holmes, “and we have nothing to use as leverage. Take him up to London tomorrow, but keep him isolated as best you can. Make sure that nothing gets into the press. And Lestrade, do not leave until noon, I may wish to interrogate O’Dowd one more time.”
“I have four men arriving in the morning to help me escort Mr. O’Dowd,” said Lestrade. “But while we are going to London, what is it that you and Dr. Watson will be doing?”
Holmes looked at Lestrade and said simply, “Trying to bring a second murderer to justice.”
Chapter 27
The next morning, Holmes and I traveled to the Bath City Science, Art, and Technical School. A relatively new college, it had been formed to foster an interest in the sciences on the part of the area’s young people. Holmes was hopeful that we might find a member of the faculty familiar with ogham.
As luck would have it, we were soon directed to a Professor John Coughlin. A genial man, Coughlin was intent upon preserving the histories and literature of the British Isles. In addition to Middle and Old English, he was also familiar with Gaelic and had recently undertaken the study of Welsh.
After sitting at his desk for some 10 minutes, Coughlin looked at us and said, “I can translate it gentlemen, but I cannot make sense of some of it.”
“What does it say?” asked Holmes.
“The first two words are easy, it says ‘tomorrow night,’ but it is the last word that puzzles me.”
“And why is that?” inquired Holmes.
“Because it appears that the final word is tenus, Latin for ‘down’.”
“Curious,” said Holmes, “a code within a code. Well, I can’t thank you enough Professor.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Holmes. I just wish I could have been more precise in my efforts.”
“Might I impose upon you for one more favor?” asked Holmes.
“Certainly,” replied Coughlin, and Holmes then told him exactly what he wanted. I could see the pieces of my friend’s plan coming together, and I could only marvel at his ingenuity.
We took a cab back to the station where O’Dowd was being held.
After speaking with Lestrade, Holmes and I went back to the cell so that we could speak with the prisoner. “Good morning, Mr. O’Dowd. In case you were wondering, we managed to translate your note. It appears that you will miss your assignation this evening.”
The hatred on O’Dowd’s face manifested itself in an angry sneer, but still he remained silent.
“However, I was hoping that you might clear up minor point. Why in the middle of the message do we have the Latin word tenus?”
All of a sudden O’Dowd broke his silence by laughing. Holmes looked at him and said, “Thank you again, Mr. O’Dowd. You have confirmed my suspicions.”
As we were leaving, O’Dowd began to hurl a string of invectives at Holmes. When we had re-entered the office with Lestrade, Holmes said, “You may take him away, Inspector. Please be careful not to let him escape. He is a very dangerous man and will seize upon the slightest opportunity.”
Holding up a pair of shackles that included both handcuffs and leg irons, Lestrade said, “Unless he’s been studying under that Houdini chap in America that I’ve read about, he’ll not be getting out of these.”
“Just be careful all the same,” cautioned Holmes.
When we had left the station, I looked at Holmes and said, “What’s next?”
“Tenus,” he laughed. “I might have missed it but for O’Dowd’s laughter.”
“Missed what?”
“It’s not one word, but two - ten us.”
“And that helps us how? I still don’t understand what the difference is between tenus and ten us.”
“Remember the rest of the message, ‘Tomorrow night - ten us. She wanted to meet him at ten o’clock.”
“What has the ‘us’ to do with it?”
“I would suggest that you consider the ‘us’ as a form of shorthand.”
“Usual spot,” I exclaimed.
“Bravo, Watson. Unfortunately, we have no idea where their usual meeting place is, so then I think we must force the issue and pay a visit to Lady Deveron this afternoon.”
After a rather brief lunch at the Saracens Head, Holmes and I hired a cab to take us to Ravenhurst. When we arrived at the estate, the gatekeeper asked if we were expected. Holmes told him that we were not, but that it was a matter of the utmost urgency regarding Her Ladyship’s stepson.
There must have been something in Holmes’ tone of voice, for the gatekeeper admitted us, albeit reluctantly. “I hope it doesn’t cost me my job,” he complained.
Holmes ignored the man, and we proceeded to the main house. When we had knocked on the door, we were greeted by a different servant. Holmes handed the man an envelope and said, “Please give this to your mistress. We will wait for an answer.”
It must have been at least 15 minutes before the door was opened, and the footman announced, “Her Ladyship will see you.”
He led us on a familiar route to the sitting room on the second floor. After we had been seated, we waited another five minutes for Lady Deveron to enter the room. She was followed by another servant wheeling a tea cart.
Upon her entrance, we rose, and Holmes said, “I would like to thank you for seeing us, Lady Deveron.”
She looked at Holmes with a withering glance, held up the note and said, “What choice did I have? I don’t suppose that I can interest either of you in tea?”
When we shook our heads, she then poured herself a cup, added a lemon wedge and took a tiny sip.
“It’s an excellent Darjeeling,” she offered. Both Holmes and I again refused her offer.
Holmes steered the conversation back to the subject and said to Lady Deveron, “To answer your question of a moment ago, at the risk of sounding impertinent, you had no choice but to see us. After all, you know an arrest is imminent. How much of a spectacle you wish to make ...,” Holmes let the words trail off and hang in the air.
“And you think you know everything?” she asked, holding up the note again.
“I know enough to send you and Liam O’Dowd to the gallows,” said Holmes. “But I thought I might give you the opportunity to make a statement to me rather than the police.”
“What should I say,
Mr. Holmes? That my stepson was a beast with absolutely no regard for the feelings of others?”
“He seemed well-liked at school,” replied Holmes.
“Anyone with enough money can find friends of a sort,” she replied drily. “Trent was cruel and filled with hatred. He blamed me for usurping his father’s affection. He blamed me for everything in his life. If he failed an examination, he blamed me. If he couldn’t win a young lady’s affections, that too was my fault.”
“But you killed him,” said Holmes.
“And I would do it again,” she said.
“But what of the other victims? What did they do to deserve death?”
“Surely, you don’t believe that all lives are equal, Mr. Holmes. Consider your towering intellect. Isn’t your life, with that amazing brain, worth more than some poor beggar in the East End?”
“That’s not for me to judge,” replied Holmes firmly.
“My stepson never tired of telling me that the money in our family came from his father, not me. He also delighted in informing me that on the day he reached his majority, I was to pack my bags and leave.
“I had helped raise him, Mr. Holmes, and he was treating me as though I were some poor relation come begging for assistance. I loved his father and he loved me. That is not what he would have wanted, I can assure you.”
“What was the source of the boy’s enmity?” asked Holmes.
“He came home from school unexpectedly one weekend, and caught Liam and me in a rather compromising position. Since that time, his hatred for me has known no bounds.”
“So you determined to kill him, and hoped to have his death attributed to a cult of modern-day druids.” Lady Deveron nodded. “Whose idea was it to kill the others?” asked Holmes.
“We had to conceal it, don’t you see? I gave Liam orders to find other victims who were a burden on society. I readily admit to being a believer in the principles espoused by Thomas Malthus. That trollop of a girl heading for Canada, what had she ever done that was worthwhile? I give thousands of pounds to charity every year to help the sick and the indigent. That simpleton from Uffington - again, I ask, what had he ever done that was worth remembering?”
The Druid of Death - a Sherlock Holmes Adventure Page 16