“So we discovered. But whatever the cause, Potter found himself trapped, unable to retreat from his acquaintance from you, left with no choice but to move forward, the little services he had once done you growing ever larger. What I cannot be sure of is when you first realised that you could use Potter to manipulate Major McLachlan.”
Finally, Lestrade found his voice, interjecting an outraged exclamation before Galloway could speak. “You’ve gone too far now, Mr. Holmes, really you have! Keegan, even Potter, if the trap was cunning enough, I grant you – but Sir Campbell McLachlan? A decorated war hero and a member of Her Majesty’s government? No,” he said, shaking his head vigorously, “that I’ll not believe, and nor will anyone else.”
“As ever, you misunderstand, Lestrade,” Holmes replied calmly. “Sir Campbell acted throughout for the most noble of reasons. He trusted Potter implicitly, and believed him when he whispered that action needed to be taken against the criminals who plague London’s streets. If he is guilty of anything, it is simply that he was too trusting. But why should he not have been? Potter had proven true in the past, after all.”
“In the past?” I had remained silent until now, but I knew my role well enough.
“You recall the nature of Potter’s original fall from grace? His over-zealous pursuit of certain younger members of prominent families? It required only a few minutes’ browsing through my scrapbooks to uncover the reason Sir Campbell places so much trust in Potter. I confess I gave the case little mind, either at the time or since, for it seemed unconnected to your current travails. But when we spoke to McLachlan, he implied that his positive view of the man was based on more than mere opinion, and I began to wonder what had brought them together in the first place. After all, Potter, for all his fame in the police force, was only an inspector, and would be unlikely in the common way of things to have many dealings with a decorated knight of the realm. But when McLachlan described the wayward character of his younger brother, and his efforts to curtail his activities, the association was clear.
“Potter suffered for his part in an investigation which potentially implicated several of the greatest families in the land in a scandal of a moral nature. The matter was not widely reported, hence my lamentable failure to make the link earlier, but one or two of the more radical journals printed what detail there was, and fortunately I included those reports in my own library. Alistair McLachlan was one of the names mentioned in the very earliest reports on the scandal – a raid on a house of ill repute on the outskirts of the city – and note was made that the police had been working on the basis of information supplied by a person or persons unknown. That person, I have now discovered, was none other than Sir Campbell McLachlan.
“McLachlan knew that a blind eye was routinely turned to the more regrettable actions of young men of a certain standing, but wished to scare his brother into reformation before the family name was irrevocably sullied. Crucially, however, as a member of the government, he could be confident that such an affair would be hushed up. So he contacted Potter, a man with a reputation in the force for a strong sense of duty and morality, and provided him with the information he needed to lead a raid on the disreputable premises. This Potter did, and though the matter ended up damaging his career, the younger McLachlan’s name featured in no official report. Sir Campbell was obviously impressed enough by Potter’s discretion to keep in touch and, later, to take his advice on how best to deal with the gang problem. Advice that came directly from Galloway.”
“That’s about right, Mr. Holmes,” Galloway announced in the silence that followed Holmes’s explanation. “Potter already had McLachlan’s ear when I got in touch with him. In fact, it was that what put the idea in my head. I’d heard that there was a policeman, a right eager sort, who’d joined with some old duffer, and intended to put an end to businesses like mine. I admit, I thought to have him done away with, first off, but it doesn’t do to waste something useful, I always say, and I reckoned the two of them could prove very useful indeed.”
Galloway had obviously decided that his best chance of avoiding the rope was to divulge as much information as he could without implicating any of his own men. He appeared at ease, standing before us, almost amused by Holmes’s recital, in fact. We could have been a group of friends discussing a play we had seen, or a trip to the country. But I remembered the bodies he had left in his wake, and the thought brought bitter bile to the back of my throat.
“And Miss McLachlan?” My voice cracked as I spoke, anger making me indistinct, but to my surprise it was Holmes who replied.
“Galloway did not have Miss McLachlan murdered, Watson. I thought you would have realised that by now. Why would he? McLachlan was already doing exactly what he desired. Why would he risk that by killing his aunt? Besides, even if you do not trust his words just now, he had already told you – albeit unknowingly – when he had no reason whatever to lie. What was it that you overheard him say while you spied on him from your little storeroom? No public demonstrations. Avoid making too much noise. Obviously, Galloway had no part in the death of Miss McLachlan.”
He turned to Galloway. “But do you know who did kill the unfortunate lady?”
Galloway shrugged, a thin smile playing across his lips, and in that instant I profoundly hoped that whatever help he was to the police, it would not be enough to keep him from the scaffold.
“No idea,” he said. “It was a bit awkward, if I’m being honest. Potter came to see me. Said that if I’d killed the old bird, he’d go straight to the authorities, tell them everything, and take whatever punishment he was due. I had the devil of a job convincing him it wasn’t any of mine did the deed. Look to the other gangs, I said. They’re the ones who want to nobble McLachlan.”
“You did send the note regarding Watson’s alleged debt, though?”
“Yes,” Galloway said slowly. “In fact, I got Potter to do that. That did make me laugh; sending Potter to deliver a note that we both knew would end up back in his hands. It was too good an opportunity to miss, what with the doctor already the only one suspected. All it took was that, and a bit of play-acting in the yard, and every man, inside and out, believed he was a murderer. Telling Potter to drag his heels and obstruct you helped, of course. A silver lining to a sticky situation, you might say.”
“But why, Galloway? What did it really gain you? You did not kill Miss McLachlan. Why blame me?” There was no doubt he was telling the truth – with Collins’s murder irrefutably laid at his door, he had nothing to gain by denying another murder. I would soon have to consider the question of who had killed McLachlan’s aunt and gone to such lengths to implicate me, but for the moment I would settle for the answer to that one question.
“I already told you,” Galloway said, shaking his head, as though disappointed in me. “Don’t you remember, the first time we had one of our little chats? I told you then. Our paths have crossed before now, only you didn’t know it. Looked at in one light, in fact, you’re the reason I’m here right now.”
At this unexpected statement, Holmes jerked upright, and his eyes snapped open.
“We are the reason?” I asked before he could speak. “But there is no case of ours in which you were involved.”
“I realise you have had a trying time, Watson, but do pay attention,” Holmes barked, his interest evidently reawakened. “He said we were unaware of the connection. Go on, Galloway. How did our paths cross? Presumably as a result of an investigation in which you were only tangentially involved?”
“Well done, Mr. Holmes, well done. Exactly that. And more than once, in fact. The first time was when we were doing a bit of work for the Mendicant Society, ten years since at least. You broke up that little club, and the police happened to catch up three of my men who were unfortunately delivering to the premises at the time. Then there was Charlie Milverton. We’d put out a handy pile to buy a juicy tale from a certain under-butler and sold it on to Milverton, but he got croaked before we could collect our payment, an
d no way of making it back.”
Holmes’s fingers drummed on the desk. “Fascinating,” he murmured, then, “but though undoubtedly vexing to you, neither occasion led to your current confinement?”
“That was more… indirect, you might say. You remember Andrew Tankard, who you sent to the gallows in the spring? Well, he was another who owed us money – a great deal of money, in fact – but defaulted on account of his inconvenient demise. Writing off his debt as we had to left us in urgent need of funds. So I went cap in hand to that backstabbing swine Adams and asked to be cut into one of his schemes. And he betrayed me the first chance he had.” He shook his head ruefully. “I can’t really blame him – I might have done the same thing myself – but I only had to approach him at all on account of you. Anyway, I reckoned I owed you for that, even more so once I realised the good doctor here hadn’t offed McLachlan’s auntie after all.”
I could remain silent no longer. “You condemned me in revenge for something I did not even know had occurred?” I exclaimed, outraged.
Galloway shrugged. “You and Mr. Holmes, you treat what you do as a game. It’s something to amuse you, to pass the time. The game’s afoot, isn’t that what he says? But you’re wrong. It’s no game, and people get hurt when you act like it is.
“I told you, crime is a business, no different to any other. Most people work for me because there’s nothing else they can do, but you act as though they’ve got a choice. You think the scum of the rookeries and the dregs of the slums could do whatever they wanted, be whatever they wanted, if they just worked harder. I’m telling you, they can’t. Surely you learned that in here? The honest ones try, and they end up dying in the same rotten houses they were born in, with no more money in their pockets or food in their bellies than they had then.
“Join up with me, though, and you might still die in a gutter, but you’ll have a life worth living in the meantime. My men rely on me to feed their families and keep a roof over their heads. They’d be in the workhouse or in the streets if it weren’t for me and my business.
“Answer me this, Doctor: why does it matter to you if a bank gets robbed or a lord has to pay through the nose to get back the letters he wrote to some pretty factory girl? Who’s injured? The bank’s insured and his lordship can afford it. But the money taken makes its way down from me to my boys, and from them to their families, and because of it people are fed and have somewhere to live that isn’t quite as full of filth and disease.
“I said to you before, you only see two types of criminals, and only concern yourself with one. Gents like yourself and Mr. Holmes, playing the same game as you, only doing it from the other side. But I told you, there are other types too. Only we’re not the sort you’d put in one of your books, and maybe you’re right, maybe we’re just sprats swimming among sharks. Still, though, you interfere in our business, even if you don’t know it, not giving a thought to the consequences. Because there ain’t any consequences for you.”
As he spoke, the veneer of amused detachment slipped for the first time, and I glimpsed the truth of the man underneath. There was genuine indignation in his voice and a ring in his words of the low station from which he had come.
“But watching you hang? That’d teach Sherlock Holmes that his little games have higher stakes than he thought.”
After that, Galloway would say nothing more, except to provide the name of an eminent lawyer and request that he be contacted as soon as possible. After a fruitless few minutes of questioning, during which Holmes looked thoughtful but said nothing, Lestrade threw his hands up in annoyance and ordered the sergeant to take him away, leaving just we three alone in the governor’s office.
“He’ll swing, of course. Keegan has already offered to turn queen’s evidence, and knows enough to condemn him,” the inspector said, offering me a cigarette. I leaned across to take it, and Holmes gave a start and reached into the pocket of his soiled prison jacket.
“My apologies, Watson. I had almost forgotten that I had brought you this.”
In his hand, he held my pipe and a pouch of tobacco.
“Lestrade is confident that you are a free man, too, for now at least,” he added as I lit the bowl and inhaled deeply.
Lestrade smiled in confirmation. “You are indeed, Doctor. Potter is being taken into custody as we speak. All his outstanding cases will be viewed as suspect. Indeed, though I would not like my saying it to go beyond this room, I would not be surprised if they are all abandoned and Potter himself allowed quietly to retire. It’s not that long since Palmer and Meiklejohn brought the Yard near to ruin; I doubt the authorities will want another scandal.”
When I had previously considered that moment, I had imagined that my primary feeling would be of relief, tempered perhaps by indignation that I had ever been suspected, but in the event I most keenly experienced a sense of disappointment that my name would never now be entirely clear of suspicion. Granted, due to the efforts of Mycroft Holmes, my shame was not widely known, but I would much have preferred that any doubts be unequivocally laid to rest.
Still, the prospect of walking out of the gates of Holloway a free man was a wonderful one. I smoked my pipe, and thought of Hardie, who would never do so, and gave thanks for the friendship of Sherlock Holmes.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The rest of the morning passed in a frenzy of paperwork and interviews, as I first told Lestrade everything that had occurred, then repeated myself in a formal statement to a sergeant from Scotland Yard. After that, Holmes harried the red-faced official who had been sent to run the prison in Keegan’s soon-to-be-permanent absence until all the relevant forms had been completed for my immediate release.
As I stood in the reception area Holmes walked up and handed me my final release paper. His face was grim, however, as he passed on shocking news.
“Inspector Potter somehow managed to convince his escort to allow him to return home to collect a change of clothes rather than go directly to Scotland Yard. Left alone for a mere minute, he took a revolver he had secreted in his bedroom and shot himself. He died instantly.” He shook his head sadly. “Whatever his sins, he is beyond our judgement now.”
Though Potter had played a significant role in extending my recent misery, when I thought of him, the thing I remembered most clearly was the look on his face the last time I had seen him, when he had said he bore me no personal ill will and was only following orders. His expression had been that of a man weighed down by sorrow and regret. Now that those orders had come to naught I found that, more than any other emotion, I pitied him. Holmes was correct. It was no longer our place to judge him.
“The others?” I asked quietly, handing the gate guard my release form.
“Shapley, May and seven other guards have been taken into custody,” Holmes replied. “All Galloway’s men are currently being processed by Lestrade’s officers for a variety of offences. Meanwhile, Keegan and Galloway each wish to give evidence against the other. It is not yet clear who will be granted that particular boon, but while Keegan is corrupt to the core, Galloway is a killer. He will hang, I’m sure.”
We passed through the gate and out into the road where, as before, a hansom stood waiting for us. This time, however, Lestrade was not present; he had a great deal to do at Scotland Yard and had left in the early hours of the morning. He had promised to meet with us at Baker Street that evening.
I lowered myself into a seat and felt the exhaustion I had been fighting press down on me like a physical weight. I could not sleep, however, before asking Holmes if he had any idea who had killed Sarah McLachlan. He stared at me for what seemed an eternity, then slowly shook his head.
“I am truly sorry, my dear fellow, but though I have spent the last two weeks on what I thought was the correct trail, it proved barren in the end, and I am no closer to a solution than I was when last I saw you.”
I could see it pained him to make such an admission, and I hurried to remind him that I would have died in that attic had h
e not so timeously appeared to save my life. He nodded, but I knew Holmes well enough to know that he would not be so easily consoled. I had no energy to do so, however, and so allowed my eyes to close as the carriage rocked its way back to Baker Street and home.
I barely made it to my room before I collapsed onto the bed and slept the deepest and most contented sleep of my life.
* * *
When I awoke, it was evening. Outside, the night was foggy and grey, but a fire burned brightly in the hearth. Holmes greeted me with a vague wave of the hand, as though I had only been away for the afternoon rather than for weeks. I had a great deal to ask him, but first I was in grave need of a long bath and a good meal.
Once I had completed my toilet and dressed in more civilised garb than I had lately been used to, Mrs. Hudson appeared with a pot of tea and a fine supper of chops, which I fell upon with relish. It was only as I completed my meal that Holmes came over, and dropped the day’s newspaper, open to an inner page, in front of me. The section he wished me to read was largely taken up with a report on Harrods’ new stepless escalator, but underneath, in a small box, he had underlined a report that Inspector Jonathan Potter of Scotland Yard had been tragically killed in a domestic accident. There was no mention of Galloway or Holloway Prison.
“It was inevitable that Potter’s betrayals would be buried along with him,” Holmes observed, as he slid into a chair opposite me and lit a cigarette. “Nobody who counts would be well served by full disclosure, and several would be badly affected. Mycroft is of the opinion that Keegan will be convicted of a minor charge, something of a technical nature he suspects, and will serve no time in prison. Only Galloway will feel the full weight of the law.”
He blew smoke thoughtfully towards the ceiling. “I am no political animal, as you know, Watson, but I find myself somewhat dissatisfied with that. I reject his claim that I give no thought to the consequences of my activities, of course, but still… I am inclined to give some consideration to his claim that a certain type of person has no choice but crime, and that it is this sort who inevitably pays the price, one way or the other.”
The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes--The Improbable Prisoner Page 21