As we were about to leave the match, a letter was handed to Holmes.
After reading it he said, ‘It is unsigned but I am sure I know who sent it. Apparently, Sir Percy is to travel up to town tomorrow on the 8.53 from Templecombe. I want to be on that train, even though I anticipate that I may have to rise at six in order to catch the connecting train from here. Make sure I am awake in time. Do you think the landlord of the Station Hotel could provide some sandwiches for the journey?’
Later the next day a telegram from Holmes just said: ‘Suggest you come back to town.’ I was reluctant to leave bucolic Dorset, although the thought of another night in the dreadful hotel was too much to bear.
When I returned to Baker Street, Holmes recounted the events of the previous day. ‘At Templecombe, I followed Sir Percy into a first class compartment of the South Western train bound for Waterloo. As was customary with travellers, we did not converse. As I already knew who he was, the usual scrutiny of dress, accoutrements and gestures was not really necessary. I used the Morning Post as a screen for observing my companion, who spent most of the time intently reading The Times as the train ran toward London. Now and then he used his fountain pen to mark certain items. As the train approached Waterloo, the paper was flung onto the seat with the financial pages in view. Some of the items were ringed and marked in ink. He left the newspaper behind so I took it with the intention of studying those items he had marked.’
‘What happened at Waterloo? It can be a very busy and confusing place, Holmes, especially if you are trying to follow someone.’
‘You are right, Watson, there was a dreadful confusion of milling passengers, porters, ticket collectors, news vendors and pickpockets. Passengers trying to reach their train were impeded by those trying to find their luggage or jostling for cabs. I observed that the low roofs of this collection of disparate sheds, masquerading as one of the most important termini in the capital of a great empire, trapped the smoke and noise. It is time the South Western tore the whole station down and started again.’
I responded to his criticisms and account of his journey by saying, ‘I understand they do intend to do something about it. Did you manage to follow Sir Percy when he left the station?’
‘There was a press of people endeavouring to find a cab and in the confusion I lost sight of him.’
‘So, then what did you do?’
‘I decided to walk across Waterloo Bridge and there I leant against the parapet and interested myself in the busy traffic on the river. Faintly, on the wind, I heard the sound of a military band. That prompted me to think about the army and in turn that led me back to thoughts of Sir Percy. As an officer he would no doubt be a member of the Army and Navy Club. You know, Watson, whenever you need a cab none is in sight. I had to walk the length of the Strand before I found one.’
‘Is he a member of the Army and Navy?’
‘Yes, I inquired at the club. Apparently, he frequently uses it and often takes a room for the night. On the pretence that I had hoped to meet him there, I was able to find out from the hall porter that Sir Percy had telegraphed for a room and had indicated that he would not be arriving until late that evening. I asked the porter to suggest where I might find him. He showed me a message that had been received the day before which was signed ‘Athens’, indicating that Sir Percy was expected at a place or meeting someone of that name in the evening. In reply to the porter’s question, “Who will I say has called?” I said I was Major Strubbshaw.’
‘Athens could be a restaurant or even a club,’ said I.
‘My thoughts exactly. I had hoped that the porter, like most of his kind, would be a depositary of the most detailed information about restaurants and clubs and would know about such a place. Unfortunately, he could not help me.’
‘A Greek connection?’ I opined.
‘Possibly, possibly. Thank you, Watson, your suggestion prompts me to look through my commonplace books. To do so will require the assistance of some strong tobacco. I shall not feel offended, old fellow, if you now decide that you have some business that will take you out for an hour or two.’
I needed no excuse to leave. The mere thought of the throat-rasping clouds of smoke that were about to assail the sitting room was enough to make me reach for my hat and coat. For some unaccountable reason my footsteps took me to the waxworks of Madame Tussaud. Under the influence of the memory of all the cases and adventures of Holmes that I had recorded, I was drawn to the amazingly lifelike wax figures of notorious criminals. I suppose a psychologist, a profession that was not high in the estimation of my friend, could have studied their past behaviour and deduced much about their future behaviour. To my surprise, many had the most benign features. Only a few exhibited what I would term an evil look. The most interesting were, of course, those who had gone to the gallows because of the diligence of Holmes.
On my return to Baker Street, I was greeted by Mrs Hudson and told that Holmes had gone out. ‘I’ve opened all the sitting-room windows, Doctor. Do you want me to close them now?’
One breath of the noxious atmosphere prompted my reply. ‘For the time being let us leave them open.’
I did not see him again until breakfast the next day. Not wishing to be so uncouth by venturing a serious conversation at breakfast, I bided my time.
Eventually, I asked, ‘What of Athens?’
‘It is a place, not someone’s name,’ was his reply. ‘Exactly where I was not sure of, though I felt it was in London, certainly. I found nothing in my books that would provide a clue. Therefore, I decided to go after Sir Percy and that the best place to start would be at the Army and Navy Club. When I arrived I found that he was not there. I decided to wait. He arrived late in the afternoon. I immediately left and waited across the road. An hour later he came out and took a cab and I followed in another. We only went as far as Grosvenor Square, where he alighted. I followed him on foot as he walked toward Piccadilly. In a narrow alleyway near Shepherd Market he went down some steps to a basement door. I stood close by to see if there was a name on the door. It was just a very plain one in need of a coat of paint. He gave a succession of knocks on the door, which was opened quickly and shut behind him just as quickly. To my surprise, who should then come along but someone I knew well. In fact a member of the Cabinet. He was just about to step down to the basement when he saw me. He became flustered and muttered something like, “Oh, it’s you, Holmes, good evening.” And at that he turned and retraced his steps. I thought it a very strange behaviour for a government minister. No sooner had he gone than I realized that another important person was approaching. I stepped back so that he would not see me. During the next half an hour a number of well-known gentlemen made their way through that inconspicuous door.’
‘I hesitate to mention it, Holmes. Is it possible that you were standing outside a place of ill repute? There have been a number of scandals in society recently in which notable people have been accused of engaging in unusual practices.’
‘I have to disabuse you on the subject of scandals in high society. You see, I managed to take a look at the contents of one of the bins that stood at the top of the steps. In order to avoid any suspicion, I contrived to fall and in doing so I tipped over the bin. Two passersby helped me to my feet, although not before I had observed among the rubbish a broken croupier’s stick and a playing card cut in half. From those two objects I deduce that your house of ill repute, Watson, is nothing more than a secret gaming club. Furthermore, it could be that Sir Percy has been losing large sums of money. You remember I mentioned that I had taken his copy of The Times that he had with him in the train? The ink marks he made against certain shares in the Stock Exchange report clearly indicated frustration. Many had been fiercely scored out. From that I concluded they were those in which he had lost heavily in the market.’
I responded, ‘That being so, then we can tell Lady Constance that her husband is not involved with another woman. I’m sure she will be most relieved.’
&nbs
p; ‘She may well be reassured of her husband’s fidelity, Watson, and may come to accept his change of character. She may also accept that he is involved in what must seem to her some very unprofitable ventures including gambling and, no doubt, involving her money. However, I am not satisfied that this is the end of the affair. There is more than meets the eye with Sir Percy. You will recall an event which, at the time, appeared an insignificant happening at the village cricket match. I mean when some of the fielders moved across to take positions for a left-handed batsman. That batsman was Sir Percy. Now I recall that the photographs his wife showed us clearly indicated that he was a right-handed batsman.’
‘I think I know the line of reasoning you are taking, Holmes. You suspect that Percy is not Percy. A very dangerous assumption to make should it prove to be wrong. Yet I have to admit that the left-handed stance at the wicket may be irrefutable proof.’
‘I did come to that conclusion some time ago. To make absolutely certain I entered into a casual conversation with one or two of the players that afternoon. I learnt two important facts. One, Percy, that is the person they assume to be Percy, only started to play for the village team on his return from South Africa. Therefore, none would have reason to comment on his handedness with the bat. And two, his wife took little interest in the game and, as far as I could gather, had never attended a match. As we know, my dear fellow, those that study human laterality have determined that most of us have a preferred limb or hand for specific actions, such as kicking a ball, holding a gun or holding a bat. Such preference can be contrary to their left or right-handedness for, as an example, writing. “Percy” is, as I have observed, predominately right-side preferring. Only when holding a cricket bat is he left-handed. When he took a stand at the wicket he reverted from a predominately right-handed person to a left-handed batsman.’
Holmes adopted that look of his which said, ‘I know I’m right’.
‘I should have noticed that,’ I replied.
‘These letters which Lady Constance has allowed us to examine can provide additional proof. Handwriting, as you are well aware, Watson, can reveal much, not only about the writer’s character but subtle changes over time. Here we have two letters written a year apart. I compared the handwriting of the letter from before the war with that written after her husband’s return to this country. The former was an affectionate letter that expressed clearly his profound love for her. The latter was written in the same style yet somehow, and this is a difficult thing to explain, the tenor seemed different. At first sight the hand is the same. Only when I made a close examination of the formation of some of the letters did I discover differences even though both were written with the right hand. The signature unfortunately tells us little because Sir Percy just scrawls the single letter P.’
I did not look forward to our next meeting with the anxious lady. We were about to turn her world upside-down. For once Holmes was reluctant to come straight to the point. He even took a cucumber sandwich to have with his tea. It was some minutes before he cleared his throat and said, ‘What I am about to tell you concerning your husband may come as a great surprise.’
‘Who is the woman, Mr Holmes?’
‘It is not another woman. It is far more complicated than a simple lack of fidelity. I regret to have to tell you that your husband, or the man you assume to be your husband, is an impostor.’
She half rose from her chair and her face took on a waxen pallor.
‘An impostor! What can you mean?’
‘I mean just that,’ responded Holmes. ‘We are reasonably certain that the man you welcomed back from South Africa so affectionately over a year ago was your husband’s cousin Patrick. The unhappy fact is that you may be a widow. I know that is a dreadful thing to have to tell anyone. You have to face the truth.’
For a moment or two she just sat there trying to settle her troubled mind.
‘Madam, if you will now cast your mind back over the past year I am certain that you will recall things, however trivial, that will confirm what I am saying. If you will allow, I will leave you with Doctor Watson so that I may walk on the terrace and consider some of the facts.’
I realized that Holmes deliberately wanted to leave me with the shocked widow. He expected that she would confide in me, as a medical man, concerning the more intimate aspects of her time with the impostor during the past year.
When Holmes came back into the room, she had regained her composure and listened intently while we told her about the strange financial affairs of Patrick. We learnt that he had used over ten thousand pounds of her money.
‘But what of Percy, what could have happened to him?’ said she. ‘Why was his death not listed? Perhaps he is still alive. Surely Patrick would not have been involved?’
Holmes replied, ‘The disappearance of your husband will have to be investigated. This will certainly involve the police and the military authorities. Do you want us to help? We shall make every endeavour to keep the press away. However, such a serious affair may prove very difficult to conceal.’
‘Certainly, Mr Holmes, I should welcome your continued involvement with this dreadful affair. If only because I must hope that Percy may be found alive.’
Mycroft Holmes soon produced documents that indicated that a Lieutenant Patrick Mayhew Roget-Gascoigne had died from wounds. His report also mentioned that Sir Percy Marmaduke Roget-Gascoigne Bart had been in the same field hospital at the same time.
After reading the report, Holmes’ first comment was, ‘We can be fairly certain that Patrick took the opportunity to change places with his dead cousin. Somehow, he was able to exchange personal effects and papers before Percy was buried. It is significant that Mycroft’s information mentions that, at the time, there was much confusion among the field hospital staff over the identity of wounded and those who were dead. With the two cousins so much alike, it would not have been difficult for Patrick to change places with his dead cousin.’
I nodded agreement and for a moment or two my mind was back in the army, with thoughts of the times when I had had to deal, in the confusion of a battle, with the injured and sometimes the dead. Then I said, ‘Surely there must have been a motive. Patrick would not have suddenly decided on such a complicated plan and one that could expose him to severe censure were it discovered. He must have planned it before the battle, or even before leaving for the Cape?’
‘Certainly, a motive has to be found. Can you reach the bound Illustrated London News for 1898? Its pages may provide a motive.’
Holmes spent over an hour carefully reading through every issue in the volume. ‘Ah, ah, I’ve found it. I have found a motive.’
He pushed the volume over to me with his finger on an illustration. It was of a beautiful young woman. Underneath I read: ‘The Lady Constance Langhope, third daughter of the Marquess of Forfar and Elgin, whose engagement is announced to Mr Patrick Mayhew Roget-Gascoigne of Clonmare.’
‘I don’t follow,’ said I. ‘She married Percy, surely?’
‘Indeed, eventually she did. It seems that the engagement with Patrick was broken off and instead she married his cousin just before both sailed for the war. Frustration and revenge compounded by greed were the motives.’
‘I suppose Patrick can only be charged with deception?’
‘I believe you are right, Watson. I cannot think immediately of another specific charge related to impersonating a woman’s husband, other than intent to deceive. However, as you discovered, they had an intimate relationship which could lead to a very serious charge.’
We confronted Patrick Roget-Gascoigne with his crimes. He admitted to them. In exchange for not being handed over to the police, he agreed to disappear and travel in disguise to one of the colonies, and there to take up a new life. That he should be allowed to escape the punishment he deserved was in the interests of the woman he had so cruelly deceived. Mycroft arranged the necessary documents.
As far as the world would know, Sir Percy Roget-Gascoigne Bart’s bo
dy was never recovered after his small sailing boat was found drifting and abandoned. Only four people knew who was buried in a South African military cemetery beneath a metal cross inscribed ‘Lieutenant Patrick M. Roget-Gascoigne’.
Note
Despite Holmes’ indifference to the activities of the aristocracy and their customs, he addressed the deceived wife correctly as ‘Lady Constance’ and not as ‘Lady Roget-Gascoine’ because, although she was the wife of a baronet, she was the daughter of a marquise.
Copyright
© L.F.E. Coombs 2012
First published in Great Britain 2012
This edition 2013
ISBN 978 0 7198 0906 4 (epub)
ISBN 978 0 7198 0907 1 (mobi)
ISBN 978 0 7198 0908 8 (pdf)
ISBN 978 0 7090 9593 4 (print)
Robert Hale Limited
Clerkenwell House
Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R 0HT
www.halebooks.com
The right of L.F.E. Coombs to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
Sherlock Holmes at the Breakfast Table Page 23