Lestrade’s eyes positively bulged. “Lord Brennan? What do they say his daughter has done?”
“They claim she has written letters to, and been indiscreet with, a young soldier. They also claim to have seen assignations with the man at a house in St. John’s Wood, which house they say was hired privately by the soldier for that purpose. Langston will meet with Lord Brennan three nights from now to receive the sum of fifty thousand pounds in return for the letters, and a list of the dates on which she was seen. This amount will also buy the silence of Mrs. Jarrice, who claims to have been the witness. They showed Brennan the letters and the list of dates.”
Lestrade eyed us shrewdly. “Why isn’t Brennan paying?”
I nodded, “A good question—but there’s something Langston doesn’t know. Brennan pretended to be terrified of the scandal, but he has talked to his daughter and believes her when she swears it is all lies. Remember he was a soldier, he was able to go privately to the barracks and examine the official service records. He also bespoke this lad his daughter was supposed to be meeting. Lestrade, the whole thing is a tissue of lies. The boy has no knowledge of her, and moreover he was on duty or elsewhere all of the times they claim she met him.
“As well, Brennan swears to us that the letters are forgeries. He has known his child’s handwriting all her life and he says that she did not write the letters Langston showed him.” I took in a deep breath. “I tell you, my friend, the man was a soldier and he is not amused at this attempt to defraud him. He has also checked his and his daughter’s diaries, and can show that on the dates they claim she met her soldier, not only was the lad elsewhere, so was Miss Chloe.”
A huge beatific smile spread over Lestrade’s face. “And they will appear in court when we bring prosecution?”
“Lord Brennan has given us his word.”
Holmes spoke then. “I have said that the downfall of a blackmailer will ensue only if he or she makes the error of choosing to blackmail one who is completely and provably innocent of wrongdoing. For once, Lestrade, a blackmailer has made such an error.”
“I will wait on Lord Brennan immediately.”
“Go by the back entrance in case they have set a watch on him,” was Holmes’ advice. Lestrade must have taken it, for we heard no rustling of alarm in the Langston dovecote, but Lestrade called on us the next day in some jubilation.
“I do believe we have a case, Mr. Holmes. Lord Brennan received me very kindly. He says that on his daughter’s word the man, Langston, is a liar, he made his own inquiries privately and is satisfied that this is an impudent attempt to defraud him by forgery and false witness. He is willing for both himself and his daughter to appear in court, as he says he wishes to have an example made of Langston and his associates.”
“Good.” Holmes commented.
“Good? Mr. Holmes, it shall be the pinnacle of my career to date. We know these blackmailers operate in society, but we have never been able to bring a case solely because their victims will not speak. If we can but convict this pair, it may discourage others of their kind from the same actions for some time to come.”
“There is another possibility,” I said thoughtfully. “If it may be very clearly shown in court that Langston was using forgery and lies to accomplish his task, then others who have suffered at his hands may be the more ready to come forward, seeing that their peers may well accept they too were innocent in any wrongdoing.”
Lestrade almost hopped with joy. “That is possible, that is very true. Oh, I shall have promotion from this.”
“So long as you move very quietly and carefully,” Holmes added.
“I shall. If you have any advice for me, Mr. Holmes, let you give it to me and I shall mark every word. I am deeply grateful that you brought this to my attention.” After which we talked very earnestly together for more than an hour before Holmes and I made our way back to the rooms in Baker Street.
Two nights later a number of people entered a great house on the outskirts of Northfleet. Holmes and I came first and enjoyed a fine dinner before concealing ourselves—at about half-past nine—behind a sliding panel in the library. We were no sooner comfortably settled than we heard Lord Brennan usher in Lestrade, who was then seated behind a large screen in one corner of the room.
“My officers will be ready, Lord Brennan.” we heard him say. “I have only to blow my whistle and they will be at this door.”
“Very well, Lestrade. I shall rely on you. Now, they should be here shortly. I will wait at my desk.” Through the peephole in the panel we could see Lord Brennan place himself in a chair behind his desk, lay a cash-box upon the desktop, and sit back in patience awaiting the arrival of his blackmailers.
We had little time to wait. Richard Langston and his mistress came upon the exact hour and were shown up to the library. Lord Brennan made no move to greet them. Langston advanced across the carpet smiling, while the woman waited near the door. Before he could speak, Lord Brennan halted him.
“Say what you have to say, give me the list and letters, collect your blood-money, and go. I have no wish to breathe the same air as you for longer than I must.”
Langston snarled. “Sing a different tune, my Lord, or I might yet leave.”
“And forgo what I have here? I think not.” We saw him open the cash box and saw too as Langston passed his tongue over suddenly dry lips at the sight. “Do you have the list and letters? I warn you, you do not see a penny until they are before me.”
The woman broke in. “I have them here. Count the money, Richard.”
Lord Brennan looked across at her. “Let us be clear about this, madam. I am paying you fifty thousand pounds, and in return you will give me the letters you claim my daughter wrote to a lover. You will also give me a list of dates and times upon which you claim to have seen her arriving at a house at St. John’s Wood for assignations with one Alan Williams, a soldier in the Fusiliers.”
By now both blackmailers appeared mesmerized by the sight of the money. Langston was counting the hundred pound notes, and smiled in an ugly fashion while his mistress was openly rejoicing.
“Do you agree I am paying you for this, and that my payment guarantees your silence forever, as well as your giving me the list and letters? Well?” His last word was a barked demand so loud that both jumped, briefly turning their attention from their payment.
“Yes, yes.” the woman agreed impatiently.
“Langston?”
“Of course. You get the list, the letters, and our eternal silence, I swear it.” And to the woman he added. “It’s all there, now let’s get out of here.”
From behind the corner screen a whistle shrilled. Uniformed officers appeared at the library door as the woman and Langston turned to run. As his arms were pinned Langston turned back to look at Lord Brennan, his face that of a trapped and vicious beast.
“You’ll regret this. We’ll be tried, maybe, but we’ll talk. Everyone will know your daughter for the trull she is.”
Lestrade motioned and the handcuffed pair was dragged out of the room still snarling abuse. The police departed with their catch and we emerged to shake Lord Brennan’s hand.
“The worst is yet to come, not so much for you as for Chloe,” Holmes warned.
“I know, but she is resolute.”
The trial was a sensation in London for all of a week, during which time and little by little a net was woven about Richard Langston and Letty Jarrice. Lestrade testified on oath that he had clearly heard the defendants attempt to extort fifty thousand pounds from Lord Brennan. Experts from the police showed the letters to be forgeries. In the witness box, an angry Corporal Alan Williams furiously refuted the list of dates of the claimed assignations, knowledge of Chloe—and the assignations themselves.
“I do not know the lady, I have never met her. Moreover, I am engaged to a girl from my own village and have no wish to play her false. I have never rented a house at the address given and know nothing of it.”
His colonel was ca
lled and testified vigorously that Corporal Alan Williams could not, in fact, have been at any assignation with any woman at all on the dates claimed, since he was on parade on many of them and provably on other regimental duties for the remainder.
The owner of the house in St. John’s Wood was called and testified reluctantly. “I cannot be sure who rented the property. I was paid in cash for the use of it for three months.”
“Who paid you?”
“A man who came at night, I could not see him clearly.” The police lawyer pointed at Alan Williams who stood six feet in his socks, was broad, powerful, and possessed a rich country accent.
“Could it have been this man?”
“No. The man who paid me was short, slim and with a gentleman’s accents.”
“Ah, more like the defendant then?”
“Very like,” the witness said before he could be silenced.
The public gallery muttered angrily. The muttering grew when Lord Brennan took the stand and told how he held the reputation of his daughter dearer to him than any money. He loved her and would do anything to preserve her name. Anything but bow to blackmail when the girl herself swore it to be forgery and lies and begged him to fight. He had believed her and made some small investigations. After that he had gone to Lestrade, whom he knew to be an honest man.
After that a number of witnesses paraded in and out of the court, all swearing that the lady at the claimed assignations could not have been Lord Brennan’s daughter. She had been at a dance, a friend’s house, the theatre, ‘riding with me, sir,’ and ‘at fittings for new dresses I was making for her on a number of occasions, my lord, I have the records in my shops and have copies here.’
But the greatest spectacle was when Chloe Brennan took the stand. She flung back her veils and faced the court and public gallery pale-faced and proud. No, she knew what she risked when she demanded her father refuse to pay, but she had done nothing, she did not know this soldier, she had never been to any house described in the court, and the letters were most emphatically not written by her hand. They had heard the witnesses; she could never have been where the defendants claimed her to have been.
In the silence of the court a woman could be heard to exclaim in approving cockney accents. “Poor brave love!”
It was a wicked scheme to obtain money, Chloe continued indignantly. To beggar her father who loved her, and as a daughter who loved her father equally she could not stand by and see a brave solider, an honest man, and a beloved father cheated of all he owned by two blackmailing extortionists who were not fit to be even the paving stones beneath his feet.
The poorer people in the public gallery, now ferociously on her side, rose to their feet and howled at this. A sound so threatening that police hastily surrounded the dock as Richard Langston and Mrs. Jarrice slowly turned white with fear. The judge demanded quiet and was granted it after an interval. Had they been charged with blackmail alone, they might have escaped with a sentence of months or a year or perhaps two. But justice does not like forgery or false witness, and the verdict was never in doubt. The two were led from the dock to serve long bitter years, while all that time they would wonder how it was that they had blundered.
We left the celebrations for three months until some other scandal should interest police and the public. Then Holmes and I were brought in Lord Brennan’s private carriage to his estate in Southfleet, where we found Chloe, Neville St. Clair, and his wife.
“Now,” said Lord Brennan. “Tell me how all that was accomplished, and did the police know what you were about?”
I shook my head. “Lestrade knew nothing. It was better that way. But you owe much to St. Clair and his wife. It was she who began it by taking the forged letters to Langston while hinting to him of the house in St. John’s Wood. He believed her to be a cast-off maid and paid her an excellent price. Mr. St. Clair then rented the house. He used to be an actor before he wed, and turned to more respectable pursuits.”
Holmes caught my eye and we considered that being a highly remunerated beggar probably did not quite fall into that category perhaps, but there was no need to tell Lord Brennan of it.
“St. Clair dressed as, and took on the voice of, Richard Langston, The landlord of the house never got a clear look at St. Clair in the darkness, but it was more than enough that he could say it had not been Alan Williams, despite the house being rented in Williams’ name. After that he played both parts.”
Holmes broke in then. “Turn your head, Mr. St. Clair.” And to Lord Brennan. “See, his profile is exactly that of your daughter. All he had to do was don women’s clothing, hide the color of his hair, and pause or slow and turn his head to show that each time as if fearful before he entered the house. Mrs. Jarrice was ready to swear after that that she had seen your daughter. It was why they were so ready to risk all, since they themselves believed the lie. It was unlikely they would notice that St. Clair is three inches taller, since they never saw him with another person while dressed as your daughter and Chloe might well have been wearing heeled shoes.”
“But the soldier? It could not have been Alan Williams. Who was he really?”
“Mr. St. Clair as well. He would leave by the back door that backs onto a house I rented privately and under another name myself. In that he donned a soldier’s uniform over his woman’s clothing, boots that had built-up heels, and came around from the next street to enter the house again. He left twice in the same fashion some hours later. It is an actor’s trick to change one’s walk, and it was the walk that had a great deal to do with fooling them. Firstly, they saw a slender girl in fashionable clothing, and who walked like any girl. Then they saw a soldier who marched rather than walked, appeared to be several inches taller, and who was of a sturdier figure. How should they ever think it to be the same person?”
Lord Brennan looked at us all. “I shall thank God every day that you chose to aid me.”
Holmes poured himself another glass of port and nodded. “Well you may, save that it was not done for you and Chloe alone. I have always loathed blackmailers, and it pleased me greatly to bring two of them at last to book. I have always said that this could be done if they made the error one day of selecting a victim who was innocent. That on this occasion it was Watson and I who selected their innocent victim is only justice. I feel that it was our turn.”
I raised my glass then and proposed a toast. “To the innocent.”
We drained the glasses and after that we were very convivial together.
THE MOST DANGEROUS PERSON
We were eating breakfast when we heard hurrying footsteps outside the door. Holmes glanced up and opened his mouth, to announce some deduction I think, but he had no time to do more than begin.
“That has the sound of—”
The door was swept open and the figure of my old school friend, Tadpole Phelps, was thrust forward, then aside. In his place came Annie Harrison, now Mrs. Annie Phelps, but this was not the calm, sensible, and very happy woman I had last seen at Tadpole’s wedding. This was woman as one of the Furies. Her dark Italian eyes were wild with horror and her luxuriant black hair was disheveled.
Tadpole was no better. It looked as if he had slept in his clothing, then rolled in the gutter a few times before running out without food or drink. He was white-faced, with a look of unutterable panic in his bulging eyes. It required no deductions from Holmes to tell me that the couple before us were in deep and very distressing trouble and had sought us out for assistance.
Before we could do or say anything, Annie fell gasping upon her knees at Holmes’ feet. She seized his hand and a spate of words fell from her parted lips. “My son, in God’s name, Mr. Holmes, find my brother, my son, oh, God, my son! That fiend has taken my child!” Here she fell to gasping open-mouthed again, as though she could not gain sufficient air through her nostrils alone.
I saw Holmes stiffen as though to receive a blow. “Your brother Joseph has kidnapped your son, I understand. Now, we will waste no time, but it will
avail your child nothing if you both collapse for want of sustenance. Let both of you sit, eat, and drink something, before you speak. We will go on much better if you are not fainting at my feet before you can give me the details I require.”
Knowing Holmes’ methods, I was already passing them cups of strong tea and buttering toast, to which I added a loading of honey, and thrust the slices into their free hands. They ate and drank as if famished, and indeed, once we had heard what they had to relate, their ravaging of our breakfast table did not surprise me.
Annie gulped the last of her tea and began. “As you know, my husband works for the Foreign Office still. His uncle, Lord Holdhurst, has continued in his kind patronage, and despite the perfidies of my brother four years ago, Percy never wavered in his love for me. He understood I was as much a victim of my brother’s criminal machinations as ever he was. We wed, and my joy was finally complete when two years ago I gave my husband a son, my little Oliver.” Here she almost broke down and Percy took her hand. Her grip tightened and with that comfort she continued.
“Yesterday morning I took Oliver to the park to feed the ducks. The streets were very crowded and for one moment I seemed to lose my grip on his tiny hand. I regained it and did not look down for some yards. What was my horror to find I was holding the hand of some grubby, ill-dressed child! He sneered up at me, freed himself, and fled before I could regain my wits. I screamed Oliver’s name, I searched desperately about the area, but there was no sign of him. At last I ran to the police station and begged them to tear down the very buildings if they could only find my son. They listened to me, Mr. Holmes, I know they have done their best, but they have found nothing.”
Tadpole took up the story as she faltered. “I was summoned to Annie’s side by the police. At first we assumed it to be no more than that our son was lost and diligent search by the police, along perhaps with a reward we might offer, would restore him to us. Then, once we were alone there came a quick rapping at the door. I opened it and a letter was thrust into my hand. The messenger departed before I could question him—although until I had opened the letter I would have had no cause to do so.”
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