“Gentlemen, this is a closed meeting. We cannot allow you to remain.”
Holmes walked up to the table and looked over the company. I saw a smile play out across his lips.
“But I have come to buy my way into your club,” he said blithely.
“Buy!?” Captain Marbury nearly shouted in his deep voice.
“Of course, Captain,” returned Holmes. “With a story.”
I saw stunned looks around the table. Blake resumed his seat with an unreadable expression on his face.
“That is the price of admission, is it not?” asked Holmes. “I am certain all save one will enjoy my tale.”
As no man essayed a protest, Holmes continued.
“The night of the murders I immediately saw that the crime had been carefully staged. It was made to appear that Judge Bainbridge had murdered Harold Wainwright and in turn been murdered, from the grave one might say, by Wainwright. It occurred to me that the murder of the Judge was simply to have a handy suspect for the murder of the American. I began to look for a motive to kill Wainwright. Additionally, it appeared as if the story Wainwright had told might hold the key to his death.
“As I began to investigate it looked as though the part of his story dealing with the ship sinking might be the most fertile ground. Not only is Wainwright associated with a ship sinking, we find the Judge and Captain Marbury are as well. Could Harold Wainwright have been somehow responsible for the sinking of the Nova Scotia? I have seen the reports from the Admiralty. The cause of the sinking remains unknown.
“But then another idea came to me. What if the true target was the Judge and that killing the American was a mere blind? I find that Judge Bainbridge lost a great deal of money investing on the advice of Mr. Wallace Hunter and that he filed a lawsuit. It is withdrawn, but could be refiled at any time. Perhaps Mr. Hunter would be willing to kill to keep that from happening. I find that Captain Marbury was on the scene of the sinking of the Nova Scotia in which the Judge’s daughter died. Perhaps the Judge uncovered some evidence that the Captain was derelict in his duty and through that dereliction allowed his daughter to die.”
“That is a lie,” rumble the Captain.
“I only mention it to demonstrate that there are many reasons one might want to murder Judge Bainbridge,” said Holmes. “As another example, Arthur Blake tells the doctor that the Judge ruled against him in a plagiarism lawsuit years ago. Mr. Blake gives Watson the distinct impression, without actually saying so, that his work was plagiarized, but I find that he was the one that was accused of plagiarism. Isn’t that so, Mr. Blake?”
Blake looked defiantly at Holmes and evinced no sense of guilt or shame.
“So I stole a few words from a mouldy old poem. What of it?” he demanded. “You seem to have a wealth of documents at hand, Mr. Holmes. First it is an Admiralty report and now court records. How is it you can lay your hands upon such documents so easily?”
“I have an important friend within the government,” said Holmes with a smile. “The documents you mention were useful, but they were not the ones I really wished to see. Those documents dealt with another matter.
“I began to despair of finding a motive for killing the Judge because most of you have known each other for many years and in some cases decades. In fact, besides the unfortunate Mr. Wainwright, your newest member is Mr. Jonathan Sawyer. Mr. Sawyer, you have only been here for ten years, is that correct?”
“That is so,” said the bearded man, blinking from behind his glasses.
“I have heard mention before from someone in this case about something happening ten years ago, but we will come back to that. I told the Inspector and Doctor Watson that two things were curious to me the night of the murders that no one else seemed to notice, and both of them concerned you, Mr. Sawyer.”
“You amuse me, Mr. Holmes,” said the man.
“Do I? Well, we shall see,” said Holmes. “The first thing that stood out to me was Captain Marbury’s statement that the Judge took advantage of your good nature.”
“I thought that I explained that to you,” said Sawyer.
“Oh, it is true that you had a story at the ready. It even sounded plausible, but there was another explanation.”
“What was the other thing you found curious that night, Holmes?” asked I.
“It was something that happened during the small scuffle between Mr. Hunter and Mr. Blake. Do you remember the incident, Watson?”
“Of course.”
“Describe it please.”
“Well, Hunter struck Blake and then Blake attempted to throttle Hunter. Sawyer was the peacemaker. It was over very quickly.”
“Nothing else happened?”
I furrowed my brow in concentration.
“Sawyer’s glasses were knocked off, if that is what you mean?” I said finally.
“Yes, Doctor, and they fell at my feet and I handed them back to Mr. Sawyer, but while they were in my possession I noticed that they are not corrective lenses. They are merely glass.”
“An affectation, Holmes?” asked I.
“A disguise,” said Holmes.
“What you describe is not a crime, Mr. Holmes,” said Sawyer.
“No, but what we are investigating is.”
“Glasses are not much of a disguise, Mr. Holmes,” said Colonel Pelham.
“But they are just part of the disguise. Mr. Sawyer also has a great beard that covers much of his face; however, you are correct in one thing. It is not a disguise that would fool someone who knew him well. To understand why he needed a disguise at all we have to go back many years. Captain Marbury, on the night of the murders you told an interesting story about the Judge being declared dead years earlier. Will you tell it again?”
“I suppose I can,” said Captain Marbury, “but it is no secret. The Judge was in the American West ten years ago and was thought to have perished in a snowstorm. The papers all printed stories of his death. It wasn’t until he showed up months later that we knew he was alive and that the reports were false.”
“Thank you, Captain,” said Holmes. “And in that story we again hear the phrase ten years ago. Just about when you first came to London, Mr. Sawyer. Or so you say.”
“I did come here ten years ago,” insisted Sawyer.
“Oh, I do not doubt that you came here, but I believe that you returned here,” said Holmes. “The night of the murders, in my presence, you spoke of returning to London.”
“You are right, Holmes,” I said. “Now that you call attention to it, I do remember the words, but that might have been a mere slip of the tongue.”
“It might have been, Watson, but it was revealing nevertheless. As the pieces came together I began to see a pattern. What if the Judge was blackmailing Mr. Sawyer? The clues are all there. The Judge sells his home to Mr. Sawyer yet remains in there a decade later living, and paying no rent to Mr. Sawyer. We are told that the Judge lost all his money investing with Mr. Hunter, yet we are also told that he hosts lavish parties. Where is this money coming from? Why not from his wealthy young friend, Mr. Sawyer?”
“And what is the dark secret that I have, Mr. Holmes, that would cause me to pay blackmail to Judge Bainbridge?” asked Sawyer.
“The Judge himself gave the reason and all of you heard it,” declared Holmes. “Watson related the story to me that the Judge mentioned sentencing several men to death. I remember the names. Mr. Blake, I ask you. What were the names?”
“As I recall they were Carpenter, Fisher, and a Lieutenant Barkley.”
“That’s right, Holmes,” I said. “It was Sean Carpenter, Lewis Fisher and Lieutenant Barkley. Do you believe that a relative of one of these dead men took revenge on the Judge?”
“No, Doctor. Among the documents that I received were the files on the three men in question. Fisher and Barkley were executed, but Carpenter escaped. He has never been found. That was twenty-five years ago.”
“So let me see if I understand this,” began Sawyer. “You believe t
hat I stage-managed the murder of Judge Bainbridge, and made it seem as if the Judge and Wainwright had done each other in. You believe that the Judge was blackmailing me and you have no proof of that. That is very thin gruel, sir. You will never convict me of either murder.”
“I do not intend to, sir,” replied Holmes. “You will be easily proven to be Sean Carpenter. There is already a sentence of death hanging over you. That original sentence will be carried out. Do you really propose to carry this charade further, Mr. Carpenter?”
The man stared at Holmes for a long minute and no one else spoke. The man I knew as Sawyer finally stirred himself.
“The murder that I was convicted of all those years ago was over a simple disagreement over cards. I was not the aggressor. I am actually of gentle birth,” he said with dignity.
“Then you are Sean Carpenter?” asked Holmes.
“Yes, Mr. Holmes, you were correct about everything. At twenty years of age I found myself in prison awaiting the gallows. An opportunity presented itself for escape and I took it. I left England and eventually settled in South Africa with a new name. Through hard work and some good fortune I made my pile there, but I longed for my home. However, I dared not come back. Over the years most of the people who knew me intimately passed on. I kept myself apprised of the doings of London through the papers. The only person left was the judge who had unfairly convicted me. I remember his eyes burning holes through me at the trial. That dirty little peasant who had my life at his fingertips seemed to be memorizing my face the entire time.
“Then the papers brought the news that the petty tyrant had died in the Americas. I quickly wrapped up my affairs and came back to my home. I had long worn a beard and glasses to guard against someone recognizing me. By the time I returned to England, the Judge had come back also. I missed the news of his return from the dead while in transit. At the theatre one night I was stunned and horrified to run into him. Even with the passing of the years, and with my beard and glasses, he knew me right away. To my surprise, he did not expose me, but a sly, evil look came into his eyes.
“He immediately began to blackmail me lest he reveal my identity to the authorities. I had no choice but to acquiesce. I spent a decade under his yoke as he extracted greater and greater amounts of money from me. Finally, I saw a way out that would leave no suspicion on me. I came to know of this reporter Wainwright and found that he had been a survivor of the Nova Scotia foundering. I began to formulate a plan. I knew that the Judge’s daughter drowned aboard that ship and I also knew that the good Captain had been the master of one of the rescue vessels.”
“How did you find that out?” asked Captain Marbury.
“One night you were deep in your cups and you let out the secret.”
“I have no memory of that.”
“In the condition you were in, I do not doubt it. But it was all the better for my plan that your memory was clouded by drink. I arranged for the Judge to invite Wainwright to one of his parties and saw to it that he was seated by Hunter. I was delighted when they began a friendship of sorts. I recommended to Hunter that he sponsor Wainwright for club membership when a spot opened.”
“Then my memory was correct!” cried Hunter.
“I am afraid so,” said Carpenter. “You should have trusted your memory. To my surprise, I found as events proceeded that Wainwright had tangential connections to the Colonel as well as our resident poet. As a reporter he had naturally met a myriad of people. I thought this would be more confusion for the police should my original plan fall through.
“The night of the meeting I came prepared with a knife and a vial of arsenic concealed on my person. I dosed the brandy decanter right before the ceremony started. I wanted the Judge to die, but it would upset my plan if he died first. I stabbed Wainwright on my second trip into the voting room. I covered his mouth before I struck. I did it very quickly and he died before he knew what was happening.
“I knew that after the Judge discovered the body he would be in an agitated state. That would lead him to imbibe more heavily of his brandy. He suspected I had a hand in Wainwright’s death right away. He gave me a queer look and then he deliberately mentioned my real name to warn me off. He did not want to expose me because by this time he had grown fat and happy on my largesse and did not want it to end. He thought he could frighten me out of any action against him. Little did he know that he was inching closer to death with every snifter of brandy he quaffed.”
“It must have been difficult pretending to be friends with your tormentor,” said I.
“It was, Doctor. It was the Judge’s own idea that we should act as if we were bosom pals. Over the years I became so practiced at the charade I believe the Judge forgot at times that we were not genuine friends,” he said wistfully. He turned his attention back to Holmes. “I suppose you will call the authorities now.”
In answer Holmes walked to the door and opened it. The figure of Inspector Hopkins walked into the room.
Epilogue
The following evening Holmes and myself were sharing drinks and tobacco with Captain Marbury and Arthur Blake. Wallace Hunter and Colonel Pelham had been invited as well, but both pleaded other engagements. Hunter’s wife was ill and he wished to be by her side, and the Colonel was beginning another speaking trip on the Continent.
“You have my congratulations, Mr. Holmes,” said Blake. “I must admit that I doubted you up to the task.”
“I too thought you were in over your head, sir,” said the Captain as he filled his glass again. “I wondered if perhaps your reputation was a fraud.”
The sea captain tossed off his drink.
“I am glad to have disabused you from that notion,” said Holmes. “Doctor, you look troubled.”
“Not at all.”
“Come now, Watson,” said Holmes.
“Well, I am troubled by several matters.”
“Pray unburden yourself.”
“You said that I helped solve the case. I cannot for the life of me see how.”
“Let us say that you illuminated a clue. When discussing your army acquaintance, you mentioned he wished to return to London. It recalled to me that Mr. Sawyer had used the same words. You cannot return to a place that you have never been to. It was an informative slip on his part.”
“I see,” said I. “Another part of the case that bothered me was your harping on Colonel Pelham’s interview. Why was the timing of it so important?”
“It was simply that I thought the Colonel was dissembling and it made me curious. Had he said that they met before his speech I would have let the matter drop, but he made the mistake of saying it took place afterwards. A meeting before and after struck me as possible payoff.”
“A payoff!” I cried. “What an extraordinary suggestion.”
“Not really, Doctor. It is a quite common transaction for certain types of newspapermen. Let us say that attendance was lagging for Colonel Pelham’s speeches. They are a major source of income for him. He told us that himself. When he comes to a new city he contacts a newspaperman and finds if that man is agreeable to a business transaction.”
“Publicity for money,” said Blake. “That is what you are suggesting.”
“Precisely. I believe the normal terms of such a deal are half in advance and half upon delivery. Hence two meetings.”
“I would never have believed it of the stolid old soldier. Always so proper and of the old school,” said Blake.
“You can never trust appearances,” rumbled Marbury as he topped off another glass. “I have heard rumours myself of the man.”
“The Captain is correct,” said Holmes. “Why, I have even heard wild tales that he was thoroughly impaired by drink the night that the Nova Scotia sank. People have actually had the temerity to suggest it cost lives.”
“What?” roared Marbury. “You accuse me of dereliction of duty?”
“I made no such accusation, Captain,” said Holmes mildly. “Who could ever take seriously the notion that you
are a toper?”
“It is an outrageous suggestion,” said Marbury. “The hour grows late. I must be off.”
With that the Captain grabbed his hat and stalked from the room in high dudgeon. As his footsteps faded on the stairs, Blake burst into laughter.
“That is a tweak of the nose he will not soon forget, Mr. Holmes. Well done.”
“Another thing, Holmes,” said I. “Who do you suppose blackballed young Wainwright?”
“One of the blackballs was undoubtedly Sean Carpenter.”
“Of course,” I replied, “but who was the second? As we know now, no one had any enmity towards the man.”
“I believe the motive for the blackball lies in Mr. Wainwright’s vocation. What if there was another writer in the club who thought Mr. Wainwright’s reputation as a writer might outshine his own? To be the second best writer in England or even London would be tolerable, but to be the second best writer in his own club would be another matter altogether.”
Blake said nothing for a few moments and stared hard at Holmes.
“You do not seriously expect me to confess to that, do you, Mr. Holmes?”
“I expect nothing, sir.”
“Even if I did this thing, Carpenter made the entire issue moot.”
“Still it was the act of a cruel and petty man,” observed Holmes coldly.
“I will not attempt to change your mind,” said the Irishman, as he stood. “I must be on my way. Watson, will you have dinner with me next week?”
“I do not believe that I will, Blake,” said I firmly.
“So it is like that, is it? Very well. I hold no grudges. Good night to you both.”
He strode jauntily from the room.
“I cannot believe how thoroughly I misjudged him,” said I.
“Do not distress yourself,” said Holmes. “Arthur Blake is undeniably a rogue, but he is a cosmopolitan and charming one. He has fooled many.”
“Well, he did not fool you, Holmes. You did an admirable job in the entire case.”
The League of Mendacious Men (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale Book 10) Page 8