We heard nothing from the searchers for two days. Eventually the leader of the Irregulars and another boy arrived. ‘Mr ’Omes, sir, we got ’im. ’e’s art side the Blackfriars Inn. If you ’urry you’ll catch ’im. Tommy ’err sawed ’im abhaat an hour back.’
‘Well done, Tommy,’ said Holmes. ‘Now if you are right and lead us to the man with the scar there’s half a crown in it for each of you. Now cut along and hail a growler. We’ll be down in a minute.’
On our way down the stairs to the hall, Holmes gave Billy a shilling and a message to take to the telegraph office. Ignoring the cabman’s protestations about having two filthy urchins in his cab, we urged the driver to take us at the fastest possible pace toward the bottom of Farringdon Street. Once in the cab, I soon realized that the boys were most obviously strangers to soap and water.
As we drew up outside the Blackfriars Inn, Tommy pointed and said, ‘’e’s still ’er. That’s ’im. The tall bloke wots ’aving a barney with the laidy.’
‘Now, boys,’ instructed Holmes, ‘keep back and be ready to follow them if they scarper.’
‘Don’t rush, Watson. Have your pistol ready.’
At that moment a cab stopped and out stepped Lestrade and another inspector from the Yard.
‘Which one, Mr Holmes?’
‘Glad you could get here, Lestrade. The tall one talking and gesticulating to the woman with the floral hat. That’s your man and I suspect the woman is an accomplice.’
We closed in from four sides. After a short struggle the two suspects were bundled into a cab and taken to the nearest police station. I forgave the boys their filthy appearance when I saw the broad grins of pleasure on their faces as Holmes gave each half a crown.
Later, as we discussed the day’s events, we both fell silent when we realized that the whereabouts of the diamonds still remained a mystery.
‘As Norden did not have the diamonds on him then we shall have to question the woman very carefully. It may be possible to trap her into revealing where they are,’ said Holmes.
At the police station, where the woman was being held in custody, Lestrade allowed Holmes to put questions to her.
‘Your name is?’ asked Holmes.
‘Mary Spencer,’ was the reply.
‘Oh, that is a remarkable coincidence. It’s the same as that on the wall calendar advertising Spencer’s footwear for the constabulary. However, it is not the same name as that on the envelope found in your possession. Why should you have a letter addressed to a Miss Mary Hammond of number twenty-five Leinster Row?’
‘Isn’t mine,’ replied she.
‘Oh, I’m sure it is. The letter instructed you to be at the Blackfriars Inn at midday yesterday.’
I could see from her expression and resigned droop of her shoulders that she realized she had been identified.
Holmes continued his questions and then said, ‘Miss Hammond, for that is your name, I expect that you have lost some weight since you stepped off the butter boat at Harwich. It is those lost pounds which interests us.’
‘I’ve no idea what you are talking about.’
‘Well, I am sure you do. A visit to twenty-five Leinster Row may prove rewarding. Agreed, Lestrade?’
‘I’ll need to get a search warrant, Mr Holmes. I should be round at Baker Street by ten in the morning.’
Armed with a warrant, we examined the woman’s small terrace house. Lestrade and his men searched all the ‘traditional’ hiding places. Nothing was found out of the ordinary and certainly nothing that would lead to the diamonds. The linoleum flooring showed no signs of having been disturbed. Holmes was able to verify the fact by observing that all the depressions made by the legs and feet of the furniture were old and none had been made recently. We did not examine the loft because the paint round the edges of the trap door was old and had stuck the trap door shut. The small paved yard at the back showed no sign of any of the slabs having been lifted.
Holmes started to pay particular attention to the door into the parlour. He pointed to the hinges and said, ‘Someone has been removing these screws. See the slots are burred. Push that chair over, will you, Watson?’
He climbed up onto the chair and was able to feel the upper surface of the door. ‘Lestrade, will you get your men to remove the door?’
Lestrade supervised the removal of the door. Once it was off Holmes borrowed a knife and started to scrape away at the top edge. Within a few minutes he had uncovered four holes plugged with newspaper. In the holes were packets of diamonds.
Later, as I was writing up some notes of the salient facts of the case, I put the question, ‘What led you to the door? Unless the door was open the hinge screws could not be seen.’
‘Your memory is not what it was, my dear fellow. Recall one of the cases involving the Fenians. You remember? They hid their bullets in the top of a door.’
‘Yes, now you mention it, I do remember. You know, Holmes, this appears to me to be a very unsatisfactory case. One that has not exercised to any great extent your powers of observation, other than the damaged screws. I am inclined to subscribe the successful outcome more to two half a crown pieces than anything else.’
‘I agree.’
Nothing more was said.
The Sycamore Seed
In which sycamore seeds and circles in the corn play a part.
Part One
A letter arrives
The letter that Holmes received one autumn morning was obviously of great interest.
‘I’ve had a most interesting letter,’ he said. ‘It’s from my cousin Charles Wellbos, the chief constable of Wessex. Apparently, a body has been found with no means of identification. The clothing is that of a fisherman. The injuries that caused death are strange. He asks if I can spare time to investigate,’
‘Do you want me to accompany you?’
‘Certainly. Your medical knowledge could be of value. Can you see if Bradshaw lists a convenient morning train to Dorchester.’
‘We will need rooms at a hotel?’
‘No need. My cousin has invited us to stay at his manor house.’
The next morning we were in a comfortable South Western railway compartment speeding west. At each stop Holmes carefully scrutinized people on the platform. I did not interrupt his studies because, from experience, I knew he was storing impressions of individuals in his mind for future use. I did not doubt for one minute that the portly man wearing stout boots and gaiters and a low-crowned hat was a farmer. I was well aware, of course, that Holmes had already filled his card index of a brain with much more information, such as: a farmer on the way to market; is a widower; has both arable and livestock interests; is careful with his money.
At Dorchester we hired a four-wheeler. It was most refreshing to the mind and the senses to be in bucolic surroundings and away from the stifling heat of the city. An hour after leaving the station and having passed many prosperous-looking farms, a gaunt Norman castle increasingly began to occupy our view toward the sea. I commented on the sight.
‘That’s strange, Holmes. The castle is Norman. Yet I understood that few were built in these parts.’
The closer we came to the great pile of stones, the more we could discern the out-of-character additions made to the eleventh century original. The eastern side was a jumble of low-roofed outbuildings. The walls surrounding the bailey were surmounted by the Tudor domestic quarters.
On our arrival at the manor house we were welcomed by Holmes’ cousin and his wife. The house was itself a mixture of old and new. Some parts were Stuart and others Georgian. I could not help noticing the Holmes’ family likeness when we were greeted by his cousin. His first words were, ‘Cousin, I am very pleased to see you. I am faced with a strange affair that is most baffling. My men are at a loss to know how to proceed further. Now, enough of the problem for the time being. We shall discuss it after dinner. By the by, I have not mentioned to anyone that you are here.’
That evening we were joined by Doctor H
edges, the county coroner, and his wife, to whom we were introduced as a Mr Pallisser and a Doctor McCloud. Nothing was mentioned during dinner about the case. When the ladies had retired, we settled down to talk about those subjects that are normally forbidden at the dinner table. The coroner raised the subject of the body on which there was no means of identification. Holmes said nothing. He sat with his long fingers together under his chin. Only his eyes betrayed his attention to points of interest.
The coroner turned to Holmes and said, ‘Forgive my intrusion on your privacy. For you see, ever since you were introduced to me as Mr Pallisser I was certain that you were a relative of Wellbos. You both have the same distinctive features. I will go further in my deductions. If I am not mistaken, you are the famous detective Sherlock Holmes. And,’ turning to me, ‘that makes you, sir, Doctor Watson, alias Doctor McCloud.’
The chief constable laughed and said, ‘You are correct. This is indeed Sherlock Holmes and this is his friend, Doctor Watson, who records his cases. I have requested their help. You are most observant. I considered it prudent to keep their identity a close secret. The fewer people, other than yourself, who know that they are about to come under the fearsome scrutiny of Sherlock, the better.’
‘Watson and I are most happy to assist,’ said Holmes.
He then put some questions to the coroner.
‘Doctor Hedges, you say that a body clothed as a fisherman was found lying in the long grass at the side of the road. I have met cases before where there has been nothing to indicate who the deceased had been. It would be most helpful if you could show me the place where the body was found.’
Early next morning the coroner arrived and we drove in his carriage through the lanes for about two miles.
‘This is the spot, Mr Holmes. As you see, the grass still bares traces of where the body lay.’
Holmes made his usual meticulous examination of the surroundings. I was somewhat surprised when he picked up a small branch that had fallen from an oak tree, whose limbs reached over the road. He also examined a number of other small broken-off branches.
‘Mr Holmes, do you think these branches have something to do with the deceased?’ asked the coroner.
‘At this stage of my investigation it is far too early to reach such a conclusion.’
We returned to the manor house.
Part Two
A newspaper report
At breakfast the following day I passed the Wessex Times, that I had brought to read in the train, over to Holmes.
‘There is a report in here that may be of interest.’
Holmes read through the item and commented, ‘It seems that a local newspaperman went down to Stourminster Regis to investigate a strange phenomenon. Among those he interviewed was the Reverend Seymour Chase who has very firm views about phenomena of all types. His views are in marked contrast to those of the farm labourers and servants who were questioned. Oh, this is amusing: the reverend gentleman dismissed their reports as hallucinations and pointed out that the men questioned were on their way home from the public house. Nevertheless, the recollections all had one thing in common. The night was dark with low cloud and light breeze, when each experienced a rushing wind and hissing sound. The wind appeared to blow straight down upon them. Where they differed one from another was in the descriptions of what they saw. Some said they saw a vast dark shape. Others mentioned a dark cloud low overhead.
‘You know, Watson, there was a similar report two months back of unaccounted-for phenomena in Dorset. However, I do not place too much trust in newspaper accounts. I am inclined to accept the clergyman’s explanation. For the time being I shall cut out the story and put it in my commonplace book when we are back in Baker Street. That is if you have finished with the paper?’
I agreed and no more was said of the matter.
The evening was sultry and from the distance came the grumbling of thunder. I had left the door ajar and the window of my room open. Two of the servants were on the landing. Their conversation was more than the usual below-stairs gossip. I distinctly heard one say, ‘Last night my Gabriel felt that great wind and the rushing noise when he crossed the long bottom field.’
‘What you on about, girl? Of course it’s windy down there,’ replied the other.
‘No, it’s like ’e said. A rushing noise and wind. He swears he zor a huge black bird o’ prey like the devil come from the sky. Just ’is telling of it makes me shiver.’
Instantly I recalled the newspaper report we had been discussing. In the past, under the influence of Holmes, I had acquired an interest in strange phenomena. At the same time I agreed with his opinion that there is a simple explanation for all we see, feel and hear in this world. All the same, the servant’s tale was intriguing. I ventured to mention the subject to our host. He was not surprised and said, ‘For the past year I have been receiving stories about some very strange happenings around here, such as noises, disturbances of the air and dark shapes.’
‘I have read the newspaper report,’ said Holmes. ‘Charles, tell me, are there any common facts among the different tales other than a dark night and low cloud?’
‘Only that I happen to know that most of those to whom the reporter spoke are not only tenants of mine, they are also of a sober disposition,’ replied the chief constable. ‘Of course their experiences are passed from ear to ear and it is natural that the events become somewhat embellished by the time they reach the other side of the county.’
The next morning we accepted the coroner’s invitation to examine the corpse. The skull had been fractured from the eyebrow on one side to the occipital region. Furthermore, the skull had been subjected to great heat. In my many years in the army I had never come across such a strange wound. I could only construe that the victim had been violently struck by a cylindrical object that was very hot. Even if the blow to the head had not proved fatal, the fracture of all the major bones in the body would have eventually resulted in death.
I thought for a moment and then ventured my opinion.
‘The injuries are consistent of his having fallen over a cliff. That is with the exception of the burn mark on the head. Yet the only cliffs near here are on the seashore a few miles away.’
I became aware that this was one of the very few occasions when Holmes appeared lost for comment. He did not even venture to say, ‘A most singular set of injuries.’
As we were about to leave the mortuary, Holmes stopped and said to the coroner, ‘May I examine the deceased’s clothes?’
When the clothes were laid out on a table, he spent some time carefully examining them.
‘Certainly, these appear to be those of a fisherman,’ said Holmes. ‘However, this heavy jersey, the tarpaulin jacket and the close-fitting woollen cap are not often to be seen being worn so many miles from the sea. Even more puzzling, though, is this pair of plimsolls. They are those of a yachtsman, yet the garments are those of a rough fisherman. I need to re-examine the body.’
Holmes paid particular attention to the hands. After a few minutes he said, ‘These are not the hands of a fisherman let alone a yachtsman. See, there are no calluses. However, you will observe the discolouration of the forefinger and thumb. If I am not mistaken the skin has acquired a permanent black hue from being in contact with the ink of a pen. Our victim is more a clerk than a fisherman. I might even venture that the lack of any blue tint suggests that he was a draughtsman using dense black drawing ink.’
Holmes made another study of the clothing. He searched through the pockets. ‘Ah, what have we here?’ he said, holding up a sycamore seed with its characteristic shape. ‘And here are some more. Now, the question is why this particular botanical item? Are these the clothes of a botanist who is also possibly a draughtsman?’
The next day we told the chief constable that we were going to walk along the high ground leading to the castle. ‘I for one should like to look inside. From the exterior it gives the impression of being a most interesting example of its kind,’
said I.
‘I must warn you not to get too close,’ was the reply. ‘They are a very strange lot in there. They keep to themselves and employ a number of brutal gamekeepers. Furthermore, the shrubbery and the copse and spinneys close to the walls are strewn with mantraps. I have sent warnings to the owner about the illegality of the methods he employs to keep trespassers away.’
As we walked along the high ground toward the castle, Holmes discussed the problem of the unidentified body with which we were faced. Suddenly in mid sentence he said, ‘Now that is rather odd. Look over there, Watson, at that wheat field. Can you see it? The one to the right of the village down in the vale.’
I could see clearly that the expanse of golden grain was marred by a large circular depression.
‘Come on, Watson, that is a strange sight. Let us investigate further.’
We set off down into the vale. After walking and, despite the pain of my old wound, half running to keep up with Holmes, we arrived at the edge of the wheat. We could see no further into the field than the nearest stalks.
‘Are you any good at climbing trees, Watson? No, I’m sorry, of course your damaged leg will not allow such exertion.’
Before I could comment, Holmes, as lithe as a cat, climbed one of the oak trees at the edge of the field. When he came down from the tree, brushing the dirt from his clothes, he said, ‘I was only just able to discern the location. Ideally, we need to be either on the ridge or up with a bird to see clearly. Let us hear what my cousin has to say before we go trampling through the crop.’
Wellbos was surprised at our finding. None of his tenants had reported such an event. He decided to accompany us to the farm. The farmer was also surprised when we met him and said we would like to inspect his field. He agreed that we might make a path through the standing wheat.
Sherlock Holmes at the Breakfast Table Page 13