by Paul Gilbert
‘Gentlemen, I am sure you will agree that the motive of Garside shoring up his crumbling empire with the proceeds from the insurance company, would be a strong one?’
Fowler and I agreed most emphatically, but then declined Burnley’s offer of further hospitality, wishing to be present at the hotel when Holmes made his return As it turned out we were back at the Ship hotel well before Holmes arrived, and our vigil in the bar was a long, albeit, comfortable one.
By the time Holmes did stride into the saloon all the other guests had long retired to their rooms and the barkeeper was impatiently waiting for Fowler and myself to drain the dregs of our pints and knock out our final pipes.
‘So good of you to wait up for me! I must apologize for the lateness of the hour. Bartender! I think a round of Cognacs is in order. Oh, and one for yourself, of course,’ Holmes added, at his most charmingly persuasive, clearly observant of the man’s annoyance at the lateness of the hour. However, we received our Cognacs and retired with them to the comfortable armchairs.
Holmes’s appearance was most peculiar. His face was flushed with success and yet was undoubtedly exhausted from his efforts. Remnants of his impersonation of an old sea dog still clung to his hair and cheeks and he plucked at these impatiently while we sat there talking.
‘So, Watson, your countenance smacks of self-satisfaction. I assume, therefore, that you have important information to impart,’ Holmes speculated.
‘That honour should fall to my colleague from Scotland Yard,’ I replied gesturing towards the inspector.
Then to the dismay of both Fowler and myself, and just as Fowler was about to bring out his notebook, Holmes launched into a narrative of his own, before either of us was able to utter a single word. However, and to his credit, Holmes noticed our crestfallen faces. He broke off in mid-sentence, and gestured towards Fowler and his book. ‘Perhaps your information will render mine redundant,’ he suggested.
It became clear, however, that his statement was not born of humility, for this was not a virtue with which Holmes was particularly well-endowed; it sprang more from the certain knowledge that this would not prove to be the case. However, he listened patiently and in silence whilst Fowler read from his notes.
‘Ah, gentlemen, if only you had acted upon your information at once, rather than rushing back here to impart it to me! Alas this remissness of yours, has now led to our bird having flown his coop!’ Holmes immediately countered this admonishment by adding: ‘Do not be dismayed, though, for an astute station clerk observed Garside boarding a train bound for Fenchurch Street and, even now, Inspector Fowler, your colleagues, should be meeting his train on its arrival. However, his far more malevolent colleague is still at large here in Leigh and I expect his arrival in but a few minutes.’ This last sentence Holmes uttered in a whisper.
‘I do not understand,’ I said. ‘Surely Captain Johnson was with you earlier. Why should you require him to present himself here, now, at this ungodly hour?’
‘Oh Watson, you still do not understand the precept that I have long preached of the dangers of forming false assumptions. Captain Johnson, to whom I have promised an unhindered retreat from Leigh, by the way, was only Garside’s confederate in the attempt to defraud the insurers. The true and far more sinister motive for the sinking of the Alicia was known to only one other and it is that individual’s arrival that I am now expecting here shortly.’ As he spoke, Holmes finally achieved success in removing the last piece of false whisker from the side of his face. With a sigh of grateful relief he lit a cigarette and sat back in his chair so that he could study our expressions with an air of amused anticipation.
‘I am not certain that you have the authority to grant such immunity.’ Fowler sternly commented, echoing my own thoughts, although I had been witness on many occasions to Holmes dispensing his own brand of justice.
‘Very likely not, Inspector, however, I am sure that once I set before you the true nature of the crime, and the part that Captain Johnson has played in bringing about the apprehension of the worst of its perpetrators, you will not judge me too harshly!’
Suddenly, Holmes leant forward, pressing his bony elbows down into his equally bony knees. ‘Perhaps,’ he went on mischievously, ‘it would be best if I fill in the missing pieces of this most tortuous puzzle, once our eminent caller has said his piece.’ However, upon observing the look of indignation upon our faces, he partly relented.
‘Very well then, although I am inhibited by lack of time from providing you with a full discourse, let me then lay before you certain significant points that you have not, so far, been privy to, but which should allow you to reach the same conclusion as I have arrived at. Despite their apparent lack of relevance, I entreat you both to refrain from comment until you have been able to digest them all.’
Fowler took advantage of the brief pause while Holmes lit up his pipe, to sharpen his pencil and light a cigarette of his own.
‘You are aware, of course that Nathaniel Garside is responsible for the upkeep and maintenance of the local highways, but not, perhaps of the fact that many of his labourers are drafted in from the ranks of prisoners sentenced to hard labour. I learnt from my friends in the coastguard office that a man as callous as Garside thought nothing of removing these men from their highway duties and drafting them in to his small army of cocklers. His attitude towards their safety was nothing less than cavalier and on the afternoon prior to the Alicia’s final voyage, the coastguards observed Garside collect the men from the creek, long after the tide had begun its slow journey towards land. When you bear in mind the fact that the mudflats of Two Tree Island are notoriously liable to sudden flooding and that these unfortunate men are required to remove the cockles by rake from the sand right up to the moment before Garside arrives with his boat and nets, you can well understand the coastguards’ concern for the men’s safety. However they took no action because when Garside eventually returned to shore, all appeared to be well with the men on board his boat. They thought no more of it, because they had not noticed a small report in the local news sheet that told of two members of the highway work party escaping from their guards, on the very day in question.’
Holmes was clearly warming to his theme and all thoughts of his mysterious guest’s arrival seemed to have been dispelled for the moment. He paused to light his pipe once more, staring strangely at Fowler and myself as he did so. ‘Ha! so the light of realization is at last illuminating your grasp of matters, I observe!’ Holmes suddenly exclaimed.
Fowler and I exchanged glances, then nodded our affirmation emphatically. For my own part, the disjointed facts that Holmes had just volleyed towards us had built up a picture of a most dreadful and inhumane crime. But I was still at a loss as to the identity of our eagerly awaited visitor.
‘I am certain, therefore, that when I tell you that Captain Johnson confirmed to me that he had personally scuppered the Alicia to help his employer ease his financial difficulties by way of the coffers of his insurers, you will not be particularly surprised. More interestingly, however, was his assertion that the hold of the vessel, which he personally inspects thoroughly before any voyage, contained two large barrels that had not been present the night before. These Garside must have loaded in the dead of night and, because of their size and weight, with the help of one other—’
‘Holmes,’ I interrupted, ‘you are so certain that this “other” could not have been Captain Johnson, that you allowed him freedom to go on his way?’
‘Watson, he would hardly have mentioned the barrels at all were he not innocent of the act. I would have had no other means of knowing of their existence, seeing that they now rest on the bottom of the Channel.’
‘No, no, of course not,’ I hurriedly and abashedly admitted. ‘Then who else would have aided Garside in his awful deception? Another member of the crew?’
‘I think not; they were unreservedly loyal to Johnson, to the last man. No, the person we are looking for is someone as ruthlessly ambit
ious as his master and one who would stop at nothing to preserve his job and career—’
‘Even if it meant seeing his own father unjustly incarcerated to further his ambition?’ Another voice callously asked this question from the entrance to the saloon. After all I had just heard and understood; even I was not surprised to see the sneering figure of Edward Lomas standing there.
‘I apologize for the lateness of my arrival, but from the moment that I received your note, I knew that the game was up. If the all-powerful Nathaniel Garside had found it impossible to escape from you, Mr Holmes, what chance, then had I, his underling? Besides I have heard enough from behind the door to know that any defence or resistance now would be futile.’ Despite these words of bravado, beads of perspiration on his brow and a tremor in his right hand indicated that Lomas was surely affected by the situation. As though to confirm this he made for the bar and drank hungrily from a large glass of cognac.
Then he sank wearily into an armchair opposite ours and acknowledged the presence of both Fowler and myself with the briefest of nods. Upon hearing the metallic sound of Fowler rummaging in his pockets for a set of handcuffs, Lomas said, ‘I can assure you, Inspector, that there will be no need for those. If nothing else, I am a man who knows when he has been bettered.’
Fowler, however, ignored his words and applied the cuffs with a rapid certainty.
‘Very well, Inspector, but before you drag me off to your cell, I beseech you all not to judge me too harshly,’ Lomas said, his tone of voice mellowing somewhat.
‘Really sir!’ I reproached him. ‘It is hard not to do so!’
‘Perhaps, but consider; it is not easy for an ambitious young man to make a life for himself in a village like Leigh-on-Sea. With a young sister to support and a father with a pronounced leaning to drink, it was not easy to stay out of the clutches of a man such as Nathaniel Garside. Besides the men in the barrels were only convicted prisoners,’ Lomas concluded.
‘Perhaps they were,’ Holmes rejoined. ‘Yet they were still entitled to a better fate than falling victim to avariciousness and greed. It hurts me to know that despite all my efforts at bringing the full weight of British justice down upon you, your fate should prove to be less unhappy than theirs!’ Acting upon an indication from Holmes, Fowler began to remove his chained prisoner from the room, only to be confronted by the tearful Miss Lomas leaning on the doorframe.
‘Oh, Edward!’ she screamed. ‘How could you, your own father?’
Before Lomas could reply, Fowler finished hauling him out of the room and I raced to the girl’s side to guide her over to a chair, for she could now hardly stand.
Then, to my great surprise, Holmes crouched down before her and took her by the hand.
‘My dear young lady, I assure you that I take no satisfaction from the conclusion of this case. My great regret is that on the very night that I have been able to restore your father to you, I have been compelled to remove your brother.’ As the girl’s tears began to fall on Holmes’s hand, he became momentarily embarrassed and, inevitably, it was left for me to comfort her.
An interesting postscript to the events just described was our discovery of the fate of Captain Johnson’s crew. Apparently they had been sufficiently rewarded by Garside to have been able to buy a small fishing vessel of their own, which they operate successfully out of Grimsby. Their escape from the Alicia was achieved by virtue of a small dinghy, attached to the larger craft. Its towline had been severed by a knife … with a serrated edge!
THE ADVENTURE OF THE RED LEECH
‘… I see my notes upon the repulsive story of the red leech and the terrible death of Crosby, the banker …’
(The Adventure of Golden Pince-Nez by A. Conan Doyle)
‘Well, well, friend Watson, I perceive that a matrimonial fracas, at “Castle Watson” has brought you to my door this morning.’ Holmes mischievously observed one bright spring morning, during the years of my marriage to my beloved Mary.
As a result of my long association with Sherlock Holmes I had been witness to many examples of my friend’s extraordinary powers and yet he had still not lost the ability to surprise me. I had just taken to my old familiar chair by the fireside and was slowly unfolding my unread morning paper as Holmes greeted me with this amazing statement. My paper fell from my grasp, for I knew from past experience that this was neither guesswork nor conjecture on his part.
My mood and disposition were such that on this occasion I had no great desire to express my amazement. ‘Evidently I have not been altogether successful at concealing my frame of mind this morning!’ I snapped whilst reclaiming my paper from the floor.
‘On the contrary, my dear fellow, I merely reached my conclusion from the fact that the redoubtable Mrs Watson would not, under normal circumstances, allow you to leave the house wearing unpolished shoes and both a brown and black stocking,’ Holmes remarked with some amusement.
I glanced down to confirm that I was, indeed, wearing a different colour on each foot.
Ignoring my embarrassment, Holmes continued: ‘On the only other occasion that I have observed such a sartorial calamity, Mrs Watson had taken herself away for a few weeks to visit her people. I recall your lamenting such a visit barely a month ago, so she is patently not due for another for some time to come. Therefore there must be another reason for her apathy towards your appearance this morning. Your early arrival and your undoubtedly grouchy demeanour merely confirm my simple deduction!’ With a dramatic, self-congratulatory wave of his arms Holmes sank back into his chair once more.
‘Merely a trifle,’ I responded quietly. ‘Just a trifle. However I observe that there may be a means for you to put your powers to more productive use and an explanation for your own light mood.’ I remarked whilst pointing towards a small piece of paper on the arm of Holmes’s chair.
‘Well then, pour your nervous energy into providing me with your conclusions regarding this!’ Holmes leapt up from his chair and tossed the note into my lap on his way to the mantelpiece, where he filled his pipe from the Persian slipper.
My newspaper now forgotten, I hurriedly unfolded what was, potentially, the road to a new adventure.
‘Why, there is nothing here at all!’ I exclaimed with much disappointment.
The note was a simple one:
I would appreciate a consultation, any time after sunset on the 14th. Yours, RANDELL CROSBY.
‘Watson! After all that you have observed and chronicled of my methods over the years you seem to have learnt nothing. Do not merely read the words of the note. Deduce!’
Somewhat put out, I filled a pipe of my own, while formulating my observations. ‘Evidently the matter is of some importance, for today is surely the 14th, besides which, the brief, untidy nature of the writing seems also to indicate urgency. It is almost as if the note was written off the cuff because the paper used has surely been torn from a larger sheet and the tool used was a most blunt pencil. Other than these points, I can deduce nothing.’
Holmes clapped his hands together gleefully. ‘Excellent Watson! Evidently your domestic dramas have sharpened your faculties. However, valid as your observations undoubtedly are, your conclusions are somewhat wide of the mark. For example, if Mr Crosby’s situation was as dire as you presume it to be why does he request an evening consultation? I would have been more persuaded of its urgency had he arrived here before you! Furthermore, I am convinced that the ragged state of his writing materials is due more to his impoverished position than to any lack of thought. See here the black thumbmark on the bottom right-hand corner. Of course none of this means that there is no urgency involved, but there are certainly other factors to be taken into consideration.’
I nodded gravely. ‘Why should he be so insistent on arriving after sunset? It is a most unusual turn of phrase.’
‘For the answer to that we shall have to await the evening,’ Holmes replied.
‘We?’ I queried his assumption.
‘I had hoped that you would
be prepared to spend the day in my company. I am certain that Mrs Hudson is well able to double the rations of supper, and perhaps you might aid me in my interview of the nocturnal Randell Crosby. Unless, of course, you have some more pressing matters elsewhere?’
‘Not at all.’ I smiled. ‘I should be delighted!’
‘Ha! That is more like the Watson of old.’ Holmes laughed.
As it turned out, Mrs Hudson was well able to accommodate me for both luncheon and supper and to my great surprise Holmes was only too willing to help me collate the notes of our most recently completed case. Normally he took little interest in my ‘humble scratchings’, however the Adventure of the Aspiring Architect had proved to be such a personal triumph for Holmes and his seldom reported ability of transposing himself into the place of the criminal by way of meditation, that he wished to ensure that the story was laid out correctly.
Although I was subsequently duty bound to embellish the story with sufficient dramatic content to satisfy my public, by the time the supper things had been removed and the sun had gone down, we were both reasonably satisfied with the results of our labour. It had soon become quite dark outside and we now prepared ourselves for the visit of Randell Crosby.
Alas, even upon our first glance at the poor fellow, Holmes’s assessment of Crosby’s impecunious circumstances was confirmed. Holmes, of course, thought nothing of such things, but I was certain that Mrs Hudson, had she been present, would have taken pains to cover her chair before allowing Crosby access to it.
Crosby shuffled slowly into the room, his gait that of a man twenty years his senior, although, as we learned later he was only thirty-five years of age. He was of average height, although his stoop rendered him shorter. He wore an old greatcoat, two sizes too large for him and caked in grime, a dusty bowler, and a long scarf that covered most of his pale unshaven face. When he spoke it was in a surprisingly modulated tone, albeit at a volume so soft that he was barely audible.