The Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

by Paul Gilbert

  ‘I must apologize both for my appearance and the lateness of the hour, gentlemen, and yet I am certain that once I have explained my situation you will surely bear me forgiveness.’

  Holmes smiled sympathetically towards him and waved him towards a spare seat.

  ‘Mr Crosby, please explain to me in precise detail the true nature of your predicament and how you consider that I might be of assistance to you,’ Holmes requested quietly.

  Clearly uncomfortable in these surroundings and incommoded by his personal circumstances and attire, Crosby repeatedly shifted nervously on the edge of his seat.

  ‘Calm yourself, Mr Crosby,’ Holmes kindly reassured him. ‘Perhaps a glass of Cognac and a Dutch panatella might go some way towards easing your nerves,’ he suggested, indicating to me that I should supply these aids.

  Crosby gratefully received both the drink and cigar. He bowed his head. ‘Both very fine indeed, gentlemen.’

  ‘Mr Crosby, you have evidently been both raised and educated as a gentleman. Perhaps you might find it easier to begin by explaining how you have come to your present circumstance.’ Holmes proposed.

  ‘That will prove to be easier than you might think. Whilst it is true that my upbringing was very much as you have suggested, it was also obvious, from a very early age, that it would not always be so.’ Crosby drew upon his cigar and sipped from his glass before continuing.

  ‘In order that you might not preconceive any judgement upon my family, I should immediately point out that they had experienced much anguish and no little expense in determining both my condition and how best to cope with its consequences.’

  Observing my own quizzical glance at the mention of the word ‘condition’ Crosby directed his next words in my direction. ‘Even allowing for your vast knowledge and experience, Dr Watson, I am certain that not even you will have heard of “Solar Urticaria”.’

  ‘Upon my word, I have not!’ I exclaimed, whilst making my way towards the small remnant of my medical library that still remained in Baker Street.

  Crosby called me to a halt. ‘Do not trouble yourself, Doctor, for I can assure you that my own experience has given me a knowledge of the condition that will far exceed anything that your learned volume might provide. As its very name suggests, “Solar Utricaria” is aggravated by exposure to direct sunlight. Even bright daylight might produce an effect on the skin.’

  Having sensed Crosby’s hesitation Holmes prompted: ‘And what effect is this, Mr Crosby?’

  ‘Monstrous large red welts, the size of leeches, immediately form on every unprotected surface of my skin the very instant that it is exposed to natural light. The effect that this apparition had on any observer soon made it obvious to my parents that it would be impossible for me to leave the confines of our home during the hours of daylight.’

  ‘Good Lord, how awful!’ I exclaimed. ‘Of course, that would explain your unusually pale complexion.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Crosby gravely acknowledged my comment with a slow nodding of his head, ‘Due to the fact that these welts are slow to disappear, socializing, of every description was impossible. I was even educated at home! My beloved parents employed the very best private tutors who taught me well in every subject. However as I grew older I came to realize that the strain of the burden upon my parents, both emotionally and financially, was proving too great to bear. This despite the fact that they took great pains to conceal it.’ Crosby then paused for a moment to draw gratefully upon his cigar and to sip at his brandy.

  ‘Their love and compassion knew no bounds. So I then resolved to spare them further heartbreak by taking my leave of the family home. My brother, Nathaniel, was proving a great success at his chosen career of banking and I was certain that he would prove to be a great comfort to them as they mourned my departure.

  ‘Therefore, at the age of thirty-two, with but a few possessions and a little allowance money that I had managed to save, I found myself in an outside world of which I had very little knowledge and experience. In order to avoid the attentions of those whom my parents might set to finding me, I resolved to travel. I managed to ingratiate myself with the owners of a small travelling carnival that was, fortuitously, heading towards the West Country. I kept my head covered during the day and worked with the keeper at feeding and cleaning out the various creatures that formed part of the show. The owners, Mr and Mrs Josiah Smythe of Blackheath, were most kind to me and gave me board and a small allowance for my efforts. However there were two caravan drivers, with a leaning towards drink, whose curiosity as to my covered head was becoming increasingly difficult to ward off.

  ‘I had two friends among the workers with the carnival. A young lad called Tom, who had an unusually small head; he was one of the sideshow attractions under the moniker of “Pin Head”. The other was the animal keeper, “Old Ben”, an elderly fellow, from the East End of London who was half-blind. These two tried to shelter me from the attentions of the two unsavouries. However, I found myself alone one morning with the horses, and during the course of a violent scuffle with the drivers I found my head covering removed and my awful secret was exposed.

  ‘The drivers took great pains to reveal my appearance to all in the camp and I was resolved upon making a hasty departure, when the Smythes made me an unusual proposal.

  ‘Business had become quite slack of late, so they suggested that I should share his enclosure with Tom and appear as the “Red Leech”. In this way I should become one of the sideshow attractions. The idea of becoming a fairground freak appalled me at first, as you might well imagine.’

  He paused for a moment, scanning our faces for signs of understanding and, perhaps, a little sympathy. I looked across at Holmes and was amazed to observe how intently my friend was gazing into the eyes of our tragic client. The man’s obvious pain was mirrored in the eyes of the habitually ice-cold Sherlock Holmes.

  Then, as if remembering himself, he suddenly straightened up and remarked: ‘Although your story has a certain poignancy about it I would now appreciate it if you could proceed to the crux of the matter, Mr Crosby. You might begin by explaining why you agreed to become the “Red Leech”.’

  Understandably taken aback by Holmes’s biting outburst, Crosby apologetically cleared his throat and stumbled over his first few words.

  ‘I could see that Tom had never been maltreated or humiliated; indeed he even regarded the carnival as a form of refuge from the somewhat harsher treatment he might have expected from the world outside. Therefore I resolved to accept the offer that I had received from the Smythes. The arrangement suited both parties; for a time. I was content with my modest accommodation and keep and the “Red Leech” was proving to be a popular and profitable attraction for the Smythes, which pleased me also. It all ended somewhat abruptly, however, when I chanced upon a week-old copy of the Times.

  ‘Therein, gentlemen, almost hidden in a column listing recent deaths was the first intimation that I had received of my parent’s untimely passing. They had always been keen explorers and, as a consequence, were aboard a small steam transport, which had been wrecked but a few miles off the East African coast. No trace of them or their belongings were ever recovered.

  ‘I decided to return to London at once, there to seek out my brother for more information than the newspaper afforded and to discuss any family arrangements that might concern me. Ben, the old animal keeper, kindly accompanied me, as he knew of a small basement room in a run-down old building near Brick Lane. He offered to run any urgent errands that could only be accomplished in daylight. I had no great difficulty in finding my brother, as he had yet to vacate the family home, and I found his welcome somewhat warmer than I might have expected. However, he reluctantly informed me at the outset, that my parents had been so convinced either of my death or my inability ever to return to them, that no provision had been made for me in their final will.

  ‘To his credit, Nathaniel was not insensitive to my reaction to this news, nor could he have failed to obser
ve the very obvious physical effects of my present situation. There and then he resolved to make me a small monthly allowance. He explained that his imminent wedding was proving to be a most costly affair and that our parents’ estate had proved in the end to be a surprisingly modest one, probably eaten away by the costs of their insatiable lust for travel. The amount was barely sufficient to keep body and soul together, but I was grateful even for that.

  ‘I did not wish to embarrass my brother by revealing my address to him, so it was agreed that he would deposit the money at a large newsagent’s on the Commercial Road on the first Monday of every month. My friend Ben collected it regularly and this meagre sum was supplemented by my night cleaning job and any small errands that Ben was able to run for the local traders. By these means we were somehow able to survive.

  ‘You may therefore understand my consternation when upon one Monday, now two months ago, Ben returned from our friend the newsagent empty-handed. I have implicit trust in old Ben and he, in turn, trusts the newsagent, so I had to assume that my brother had withheld the money for his own reasons. I decided to visit my family home once more, in the hope that the missing money was nothing more than an oversight. I was distraught to discover that the place had been boarded up and was on offer for sale, whilst the only information that I could glean from the neighbours was that my brother had been married and had moved away.

  ‘For reasons that I have now explained to you, I am not able to conduct any enquiries into Nathaniel’s whereabouts on my own account and the police would be aghast at the thought of granting me an interview. Although, I am sure, you will have far loftier matters that demand your attention, I turn to you, Mr Holmes, as the only recourse I have of restoring what scant means of subsistence remains to me.’ Crosby drained the last of his brandy and extinguished his cigar as he concluded his moving and remarkable story.

  For a moment Holmes sat silent and still. He then jumped up and strode to the window, through which he gazed wistfully, strumming his bony fingers against its glass.

  Holmes’s voice was barely audible when he next spoke.

  ‘You must understand, Mr Crosby, that this is not the kind of routine inquiry with which I normally involve myself. However,’ he added quickly so as not to lower Crosby’s spirits still further, ‘I am curious to discover the true reason behind the withholding of the money and you have surely suffered much already. If you give the address of your newsagent to Dr Watson here, I promise to leave word of your brother’s whereabouts there within a week.’ With a dismissive wave of the hand, Holmes turned his gaze towards Baker Street once more.

  As he slowly rose to take his leave Crosby added: ‘Your reputation for cleverness has been well documented by Dr Watson, but your kindness and compassion should be lauded equally.’ Holmes responded with only the briefest of nods, but maintained his vigil by the window until Crosby had shuffled out of sight towards the Marylebone Road.

  For a moment after Crosby had disappeared from view Holmes and I remained both silent and still, Holmes continuing to linger by the window and myself leaning against the door that I had just closed behind our long-suffering client.

  ‘So, Watson, what are we to make of all this, then?’ Holmes asked, turning away from the window and lighting a cigarette.

  ‘Well, I suppose the story itself is a simple enough one and its conclusion is that the size of the parents’ estate precluded the newly married, Nathaniel Crosby from continuing to live in the family home. I presume that he has now moved to a somewhat less salubrious area and has decided that his brother’s meagre allowance was an expense that he could ill afford.’

  Holmes eyed me quizzically for a moment and then grunted absent-mindedly as he extinguished his cigarette in a half-empty coffee cup.

  ‘Yours does seem to be the likeliest of explanations, yet such action would appear to be out of character. Remember how Randell described the warmth of the greeting that he received from his brother? Besides which, he was not coerced into granting his brother an allowance; it was his own idea, no matter how inadequate it proved to be. No, I am convinced that there is another reason for the money’s being withheld,’ Holmes quietly concluded.

  ‘Perhaps some form of ill-fortune has overtaken him,’ I suggested whilst gathering my things together.

  Holmes barely acknowledged me as I bade him a goodnight. ‘Perhaps I shall see you once my enquiries into this matter have gathered pace?’ he called, as I was halfway down the stairs.

  I spent the following morning making my peace with Mary and then found, over the next few days, that my practice was being overburdened by the victims of a quite virulent strain of influenza. This minor outbreak lasted but a short while, however, and my thoughts returned once more to the plight of Randell Crosby. It was not that my heart had been indifferent to his cause, rather that I had absolute confidence in Holmes’s ability to find Nathaniel without any great difficulty.

  I was proved correct in making this assumption, to the extent that Holmes was already deeply immersed in his subsequent problem by the time I next visited my old rooms. I found Holmes hunched over a glass jar, in the centre of the dining-table, studying its contents with such an intensity that he scarcely acknowledged my entrance. According to Mrs Hudson, who showed some concern, he had been thus engaged for a number of hours.

  ‘A junior scientist such as yourself might find the contents of this jar of some passing interest,’ he uttered mischievously as I quietly approached the table.

  Vainly trying to stifle my indignation, I exclaimed: ‘Well, I am certainly enough of a scientist to recognize that this is nothing more remarkable than a worm!’

  ‘Watson, you must not allow yourself to be so affected by my little jibes. If you can control your nerves for a moment and observe our small friend with a little more attention you will come to realize that this is, indeed, a most remarkable worm and one completely unknown to science!’

  ‘How did you come to be in possession of so remarkable a creature?’ I asked mockingly. ‘Does it form the basis of your latest case?’

  Indignantly, Holmes hastily covered the jar with a napkin and led me towards our chairs and the Persian slipper. ‘This is a matter that can wait for another time, for I am certain that you wish to know the outcome of the Randell Crosby affair.’

  ‘Well of course I do … but that worm—’

  Holmes stopped me in my tracks. ‘Desist!’ Obediently I sat down and lit my pipe.

  ‘As you might well imagine, the searching out of Nathaniel Crosby was a routine matter that presented me with no great difficulties. Posing as a potential buyer of Crosby’s vacant house, I was soon able to extract his present address from the agent handling the sale. Then, masquerading as a cockney hawker, I was able to fall into conversation with a senior member of Crosby’s household. From this loquacious individual I discovered that Crosby was now in the employ of Kyle and Onstott’s, a small yet most influential bank in Cheapside, where Crosby is expected to do very well.

  ‘Of more interest to me, however, was this individual’s opinion of the lady of the house.’ Holmes paused for a moment to relight his old clay pipe.

  ‘Really, Holmes!’ I interrupted. ‘It is not like you to have any truck with idle household gossip.’

  ‘Have I not told you, Watson, on more than one occasion, that a trained student of human nature can glean more relevant information over a pint of ale with the clientele at a saloon bar, than he can from a thousand police reports!’ Holmes retorted, hurling his still lighted match to the floor with a flourish as he spoke.

  I mumbled apologetically as I fell to the floor to douse the offending flame.

  Having composed himself with a long draw upon his pipe, Holmes resumed.

  ‘Upon learning that the woman was both vain and cold-hearted in her meanness, I decided that a visit to the newsagent on the Commercial Road might be in order if I was to present a complete picture of the situation to brother Randell. My suspicions were soon borne out as the
newsagent recognized at once my description of the banker’s wife of ill-repute. It was she who demanded that the money should now be passed to her and not to old Ben. He was to inform Ben that the money had simply not arrived and to make no mention of her visit.’

  ‘How do you suppose that she discovered her husband’s little deception?’ I asked, as Holmes paused to re-light his pipe.

  ‘The servant, whose evidence you valued so contemptuously, thinks that she observed her husband handing the footman an envelope, in a most strange and cautious manner. Interestingly enough this individual was dismissed but a few days ago. I have informed Crosby of this in a brief note and I now fully expect him to arrange a clandestine meeting with his brother. As to its results, I am sure Crosby will inform us of them at some future date,’ Holmes concluded quietly.

  Any further thoughts that we might have had on the subject were suddenly dispelled by a disturbance in the passageway below. Even before we could take steps to investigate its cause, an awkward-looking, red-faced young constable burst into our rooms, with an apologetic Mrs Hudson in close attendance.

  ‘I am so sorry, Mr Holmes …’ she began, before Holmes dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

  ‘Now, Constable,’ Holmes spoke quietly and with a smile, ‘calm yourself for a moment and then explain the reason behind your clumsy intrusion.’

  ‘Yes sir. Sorry sir. You see, Inspector Lestrade was most insistent that you come at once. I have never seen him so put out before,’ the lad replied.

  ‘Where are we to come and with what purpose?’ I asked.

  ‘To the Kyle and Onstott bank, of Cheapside, although the inspector would rather inform you himself of the reason for the visit once you have arrived. I have a hansom waiting outside,’ he added hopefully.