Sherlock Holmes at the Breakfast Table

by L. F. E. Coombs

  ‘I have another question, Holmes. How could the ruby have remained on display in the Royal Pavilion museum without someone realizing it was paste?’

  ‘That is something we need to determine. And also we need to reconstruct the events at the scene of the crime. Have you still got the times of trains to Brighton? We, that is two visitors to the resort, shall make a close inspection of the exhibition in the Royal Pavilion.’

  We spent some time among the Oriental splendour of the one-time royal palace before returning to London. In the train I asked Holmes if our visit to the resort had been of value.

  ‘Very much so. The answer to your question of why the fake remained unnoticed for so long lay in the manner in which it was on view. You will recall that when we visited the display we saw that the most valuable jewels were in a glass case. There was a barrier to prevent visitors getting close enough to detect the quality of the ruby. The murderer, more than likely, had concealed himself close to the display and waited for the moment to strike. That moment was just as the exhibition was closing when there would be few people about. As we know from the newspaper reports, a number of people saw the “clown” leaving the Pavilion at the time when the attendant was killed.’

  Lestrade was able to obtain authority to enter the house in Chelsea. The owner opened the door. She was surprised to find a Scotland Yard detective standing there. Holmes and I, as two other detectives, remained anonymous. When questioned, she revealed that she had a lodger who used the front bedroom. His name was Prescott. He had a key to the front door and kept his room locked. His breakfast tray was left outside the door. After breakfast she was allowed in to make the bed and clean the room. Her lodger stayed seated, facing the window, and said little. Apparently he came and went at all hours. He sometimes returned with a companion.

  We examined the room and its contents. Holmes stood looking at the desk in the window bay and said, ‘Note the position of that heavy silver oil lamp, the way in which the pens in their tray are pointed, the position of the inkwell and the position of the pile of London street directories.’

  ‘He is obviously a very tidy person,’ said I.

  ‘More than that, Watson, he is left-handed and so is our suspect. However, we need more than that to establish his guilt.’

  Once more Holmes spent the greater part of the night going though his commonplace books and old magazines. His search was rewarded.

  ‘A most important clue has emerged, Watson. I found this account of a cricket match in Kent. Much is made of the tactic employed by the captain of one of the teams in opening with a left-handed and a right-handed batsman. The left-handed player was Sandarson. Now have we just a coincidence or something far more significant?’

  When Holmes proposed to Lestrade that we should once again stand watch in turn outside the house in Chelsea, he was very reluctant to do so. ‘I can’t see any point in it, Mr Holmes.’ Nevertheless we stood watch. Lestrade watched first while Holmes and I kept out of sight. Late in the afternoon Lestrade came round the corner and reported on something of interest.

  As he spoke he kept looking back at the house. ‘Gentlemen, about ten minutes ago a hansom stopped at the top of the road and a tall man in a frock-coat and carrying a heavy silver-topped cane alighted. He walked toward the house and then stopped and stood still for about two or three minutes. He kept looking up and down the road. Then suddenly he turned. Went up the steps, put a key in the front door lock and went inside.’

  Holmes pondered this news and then said, ‘This suggests that Prescott has given him a key. Now we must watch to see if they come out together.’

  Nothing happened for another half hour and then we saw someone leave the house. He was not with the man in the frock-coat. He was dressed in rather nondescript clothes and carried a Gladstone bag. We assumed it was Prescott so we followed him. He walked toward the main road and stood waiting, as if for a passing hansom.

  ‘There’s nothing to be lost and much to be gained. I’m going for his bag,’ said Holmes. At that he leapt forward, knocked against the man, tore the bag from his grasp and was away round the corner. Lestrade, who was quicker than I in grasping the situation, immediately went up to him and said, ‘I’m a Scotland Yard detective. We’ve been after that lad for some time. May I have your name, sir? I’ll try and get your bag back. You’ll have to give evidence against him if we catch him.’

  At first the man declined to give his name, insisting that the bag was empty and that he did not want to waste his time, or that of the police, in pursuing the matter further. ‘It was an old bag. Not worth much. If you have to know, my name is Prescott.’

  Lestrade and I went back to Baker Street. Holmes was back before us. His first words were, ‘As I suspected. However, I wanted to be certain before I gave my opinion. Prescott and Sandarson are one and the same. This Gladstone bag, as you can see, contains Sandarson’s usual attire when in London.’

  Following further inquiries, and after Holmes had reconstructed the case, the Metropolitan and the Brighton police had enough evidence to arrest Sandarson for the murder of the attendant. As he had suspected, Holmes was able to show that when Sandarson, alias Prescott, realized that Charteris was likely to die within a few weeks, the will would disclose that he had exchanged the real ruby for a fake. We were unable to determine with any certainty the original part played by Charteris. Possibly he was blackmailing Sandarson. He had either been with Sandarson when the jewels were taken during the Mutiny and was party to the deception, or he found out about it many years later.

  As for the great ruby, it had long disappeared and had been turned into the wealth on which Sandarson had established his web of crime. The threatening attitude of the chief constable was nothing more than his annoyance that Scotland Yard and Holmes in particular were interfering in a ‘local’ matter.

  Finally, the real clown was once again walking the promenade or standing outside the West Pier handing out playbills.

  A Liquid Mystery

  In which Holmes comes closer than ever to death.

  What Charles Dickens referred to as a London Peculiar had been settled over the capital for the past three days. In my experience, only snow dulled the noise of traffic in Baker Street during the day. The fog made it difficult to make out the details of the houses opposite. They were just faint grey shapes. As for the sky, that had not been seen for some time. In its place was a strange, copper-coloured glow.

  I was staying at 221B for a few days. The sitting room was a warm cheerful island in the midst of the gloom outside. My friend Holmes reclined in his favourite, somewhat shabby chair. His pipe was not lit. Had it been then no doubt it would have added to the fog that had crept through every convenient crack.

  After a long silence he remarked, ‘My dear fellow, I cannot help other than to conclude that life is infinitely more uncertain and diverse than anything we might conceive. All around us in this great metropolis there are queer things going on; there are strange coincidences, planned happenings; as well as events that are at cross purposes. All these and their results can make all those fictional accounts that are based upon convention and predictable conclusions stale and useless. I’m sure you will agree.’

  ‘Indeed, I do,’ I replied.

  After spending a few minutes at the window endeavouring to see whether the fog was lifting, I remarked, ‘Do you consider that the number of crimes, particularly burglaries, is greater when there is a dense fog such as this?’

  ‘I am not sure, Watson, about burglaries. However, I do know that there are ruffians who take advantage of the fog and assault people. In broad daylight they would never attempt to do so. Ah, that sounds as if it is the front door. Have we a visitor?’

  Mrs Hudson entered and handed over a visiting card, saying, ‘A gentleman wishes to see you, Mr Holmes.’

  ‘Please show him up,’ said he.

  A middle-sized man wearing a heavy overcoat with an Astrakhan collar and having, as far as I could see, no particular cha
racteristics of apparel or demeanour, entered. He placed his hat on the table and, at Holmes’ bidding, sat down. Having become used to my friend’s methods of determining much about a client from dress and mannerisms, I waited to see what he would deduce. Of course, I noted that he first glanced at the inside of the upturned hat and then at the visitor’s boots.

  ‘Now, Mr Prendergast, how can I help you? Am I correct in assuming that you have walked from Euston station?’

  ‘Indeed you are, sir. How did you know?’

  ‘Very obvious. The mud on your boots reveals that you have had to traverse the extensive roadworks in front of the station. Now how can I be of help? I anticipate that you have come about something concerned with finance.’

  Our visitor gave a surprised look and said, ‘In a way you are correct, sir. Yet I cannot understand how you could know. We are not acquainted.’

  ‘Never mind how I know. Tell me why you are here.’

  ‘A mystery, Mr Holmes. As you are reputed to be able to solve the meaning of even the most abstruse and strange happenings, I decided to seek your help.’

  ‘And the mystery is?’

  ‘A house, Mr Holmes, a house.’

  ‘I’m not surprised to hear that. From the exterior many houses display an air of mystery. Where is the house?’

  ‘It is next to mine in Harrow. I have observed some very strange happenings.’

  ‘Have any of these happenings caused you or your family harm or distress?’

  ‘I cannot say they have, Mr Holmes. My reason for coming to see you is the noise as well as the unsightly buildings that have been erected in my neighbour’s grounds. They will lower the value of my property. Unfortunately my business affairs have suffered a severe setback recently and I shall be forced eventually to sell up and move to a more modest establishment. So you see, I must sell on the most favourable terms. My agent has already told me that some potential buyers have commented adversely on the noise and on the strange smells coming from the outbuildings.’

  ‘I appreciate your concern, Mr Prendergast. Now, I see from your card that you live in a part of Harrow that I know fairly well. In the meantime, leave things with Doctor Watson and myself.’

  When our visitor had left Holmes said, ‘Not the usual sort of case. No body nor disappearing heiress. Tomorrow we shall go out to Harrow and view the interesting property. That is if the fog will not disrupt the running of the trains.’

  In the train I put the inevitable question. ‘How the devil did you deduce that Prendergast had financial problems?’

  ‘His clothes and boots. His overcoat was a very expensive one, as were his boots. However, most of the buttons on the coat had been replaced at some time and the cuffs were shiny at the edges. His boots, despite the mud, were well polished; however the surface exhibited numerous fine cracks in the leather. As for their soles and heels, both had been repaired more than once. His hat, although well brushed, no longer had a pristine finish. I also noticed that his overcoat and his collar no longer fitted him. These indicated that he had lost weight because of worry. Therefore, I deduced that at one time he had been well off. I also deduced that he no longer had the means with which to replace his overcoat and boots. I am not suggesting that he is penniless; rather that he is now having to be very careful with his money.’

  ‘Ah, will he be able to settle your account at the end of the investigation?’

  ‘I have no concern over that, Watson. If, as he told us, he wants to protect the value of his property then I am sure he is prepared to meet my modest fee.’

  I knew that Holmes was not avaricious and only asked a client for a sum that he was sure was reasonable and matched their circumstances. The exercising of his special and unique skill was of far greater importance to him than the acquisition of wealth. He would not involve himself with an investigation if the facts were not unusual or the case did not present a challenge. On occasions he had even declined to help the powerful and wealthy; particularly if he considered their case to offer no wothwhile test of his skill.

  From the fog-bound station at our destination we took a cab out to a well-wooded hillside on which stood a number of elegant mansions. The houses were close together and each appeared to have a long, narrow garden. We observed that the exterior of the front of the large house next to that of Prendergast’s provided no indication that its occupants and use would be any different from those of similar properties in the neighbourhood, except for the distinct and pungent smell that grew stronger the closer we came to the gateway guarding the driveway.

  ‘A strange aroma, Watson. Yet there’s something very familiar about it.’

  Prendergast was waiting for us. He led us down the side of his house to where we could look over the wall into the next garden. He pointed out the unsightly sheds that had been erected. Without our prompting, he mentioned the aroma of oranges.

  ‘Indeed, it is the aroma of oranges that have been heated,’ said Holmes. ‘However, I cannot see any point in just looking over the garden wall. We shall have to return to Baker Street and consider a number of possibilities. Do not worry, I am certain that an explanation can be found for the pungent aroma and the presence and purpose of the sheds.’

  We did not return directly to Euston because the next and usual step in this type of case was to seek that unfailing source of information, the local shopkeepers. However, we discovered nothing out of the ordinary with the exception of a chance remark by a greengrocer. Apparently two or three dozen crates of oranges were delivered to the house every two or three days. The greengrocer opined, ‘They must be making enough marmalade to feed an army.’

  ‘You know, Holmes, if the oranges are being used to make a preserve, I find it difficult to find anything suspicious about such an activity. Unless, of course, we have come across a secret producer who is intent on flooding the market and thereby affecting the business of the well-known and principal makers of preserves.’

  ‘My dear fellow, I believe there is more to the oranges than meets the eye, or should it be meets the nose. And I have to admit that the clues we have are only skin deep.’

  I ignored his attempt at a pun and said, ‘Then I suppose we must try and find out more about the buildings that have been erected in the grounds next to the Prendergast establishment.’

  ‘Agreed. We must see inside the grounds. Of course, we cannot enter in daylight, or what daylight there is in this fog. We’ll come back tonight. If the fog persists it will help to hide our movements.’

  We returned to Baker Street. After supper we set out again for Harrow. A Gladstone bag held a dark lantern and Holmes’ ‘special’ tools. I commented, ‘Is this wise, Holmes? If we are caught at night with housebreaking tools, we are likely to finish up before the bench.’

  ‘If I thought that we might be caught I should not have started in the first place.’

  Prendergast led us to a place where we could climb over the wall into his neighbour’s property. By then the fog had become less dense.

  ‘I don’t believe there is anybody in. I can’t see any lights,’ said Prendergast.

  The mansion loomed menacingly through the trees and shrubs. To one side was a long, low, wooden shed not in keeping with the formal arrangement of the garden. It had even been erected across one of the original gravel paths. As we came closer, the aroma of oranges was unmistakable. Holmes searched among his ‘special’ tools, selected one and within a few seconds had manipulated the door lock. We entered. Our senses were assailed by the overpowering smell. Crates of oranges filled the shed, except for a long space down the middle.

  By the light of the dark lantern we could make out a long table covered with chemical equipment, such as retorts and distillation apparatus. Further on there was a very large apparatus of great complexity. On the floor in front of this strange collection of pipes and vessels was a carboy into which a liquid was dripping.

  ‘I’m sure this is a laboratory, Holmes. I wonder what this liquid is? It certainly smells ve
ry strongly of oranges.’

  I let a drop fall on my finger. I was just about to taste it when Holmes seized my hand. ‘Stop, don’t taste that, it might prove dangerous. This is a Rumpenkoff distillation apparatus used to concentrate certain elements of a raw liquid to an unimaginable degree. That amber fluid dripping out could be lethal. Hand me that test tube, please. I must take a sample.’

  I expressed astonishment by saying, ‘What on earth could such a liquid be used for? Surely not for making an unbelievably strong preserve?’

  ‘At this juncture, my dear fellow, I have no clear idea on the subject. However, I do know that what we have to do now is to find out where these carboys go to next.’

  We left as we had arrived, unseen and silently.

  Using his network of minor criminals, Holmes was able to find the destination of the ‘orange’ liquor. It turned out to be a small factory on the outskirts of Watford. The nameboard told us that it was Edgar and Sons, makers of agricultural machinery. Posing as journalists researching facts for a series in The Strand Magazine on the industries of Hertfordshire, we learnt from Mr Edgar, the proprietor, that a separate part of the factory was rented to K. Stoff and Company.

  ‘It’s a strange name. Not from these parts I wager. I reckon it’s a Lunnun company,’ said Edgar.

  ‘You could be right,’ replied Holmes.

  The proprietor also mentioned that carboys were often being delivered. ‘No idea what’s in them. Whatever tis they uses a lot of it. Oh, there’s another odd thing. At least one hundred tons of coal is delivered every week. There’s often steam about.’

  ‘Well, thank you for your help, Mr Edgar. Should the article be accepted we’ll make sure your name is mentioned,’ said Holmes. With that we returned to town.

  On our way up to Euston, we discussed the case.