The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories - Part IX

by Marcum, David;

  He slowly retreated ten steps backwards. Fortunately he was between two ancient grave markers, both of which were marked with a St. Andrew’s cross, a name, what appeared to be dates, and some ancient Gaelic or Latin script, all nearly worn away after three centuries.

  “There doesn’t seem to be anything significant about this spot,” I mused. “I suppose that’s to be expected, given the secrecy behind the treasury, but I would’ve thought there would be something more telling about the location.”

  “We’ve still an instruction to turn a circle half right.”

  Alex turned to his right and stuck his shovel into the ground “So I propose we start here. Perhaps Roderick meant between the protection of two St. Andrew’s crosses. We’ve only got to dig down eighteen inches or so to find out.”

  “You’re sure that’s what a cubit is?”

  “According to me pastor, a cubit is the length of a man’s arm from the elbow to the fingertips, roughly sixteen to twenty inches. If we’ve hit nothing by then, we’ll have to ask about digging up the tops of these old graves.”

  Thus we began our excavation, starting about four feet apart so as to allow for any variation between the length of Alex’s steps and Roderick’s. The ground wasn’t quite frozen, but rough digging all the same. It took us nearly a half-hour to dig out a trench four feet long, three feet wide, and two feet deep. Unfortunately, no treasure loomed up to greet us.

  As this was Alex’s adventure, I kept digging until he made the reluctant decision to halt. Conceding that either there was no treasure, or we were in the wrong spot, my friend agreed to pack up our equipment and return to the warmth of the castle.

  The next two days passed quickly. Alex’s pastor agreed to his request to search the top layer of the adjoining grave site only if he were present, and that ten percent (a tithe as he put it) of any treasure found be donated to the church. Late Tuesday afternoon saw the three of us again in the churchyard, but once more our efforts proved fruitless.

  After another couple of days’ visiting, I returned to London and Baker Street, none the richer in material goods, but certainly well pleased to have connected with my old comrade and the promise of a continuing friendship.

  Holmes appeared to have made some progress in his index filing, as the usual disarray of papers about our sitting room was much depleted. When I walked in, late in the afternoon of my return trip, he was not in, but Mrs. Hudson greeted me warmly and assured me that she had received my telegram and was preparing dinner for the both of us.

  “He’s off with that inspector fellow from Scotland Yard,” she informed me. “But he assured me that he’d be home for supper.”

  “Lestrade or Gregson?” I enquired.

  “T’was the weasel-faced fellow,” she answered.

  “Ah, Lestrade then. Very well, Mrs. Hudson, thank you. Could I trouble you for some tea and biscuits?”

  “Be glad to, Doctor,” and she bustled off to her kitchen while I unpacked, stirred up the fire, and settled onto the sofa with the afternoon edition of The Observer I had picked up at the station.

  About an hour later, the world’s first consulting detective burst through the door, flung his overcoat and homburg at the coat stand, and greeted me in high spirits.

  “Ah, good old Watson! Welcome back,” he said, plopping down in the chair opposite me and warming his hands by the fire as he took in my presence with that sweeping glance of his, while I returned his salutation with a bemused, “Hello, Holmes.”

  He continued, “How is your friend? Not too disappointed, I hope.”

  I was rather taken aback by that remark and replied tersely, “On the contrary, Holmes, Alex was quite pleased to see me, and we enjoyed our time very much.”

  “Of which I’ve no doubt, Doctor, for you are excellent company,” he said, smiling. “I was referring to the disappointing results of your little adventure.”

  I set aside the paper which I had lowered upon his arrival and leaned forward, my hands upon my knees. “How could you possibly know that?” I demanded.

  He picked up his pipe from the end table, filled it methodically as he gazed at me, then began his narration.

  “Being a civilian again for over a year now has softened your hands, and I see not one, but no less than four blisters. The placement of these indicates you were digging with a D-handled shovel. I also note that, despite the cold weather, your face, now that you’ve lost your tropical tan of army days, has slightly reddened, indicating considerable time spent outdoors.

  “I presume that a friend who owes you his very life would not invite you to his castle to dig fence posts. Ergo, you’ve been digging outside for something valuable, no doubt the ‘advantageous adventure’ of which he spoke in his invitation.

  “Your manner just now when I arrived was cordial, but only that. Had your enterprise been a success, your countenance would have revealed a more joyful expression. In fact, I would have expected you to be bursting with good news to share.”

  “What if I’d been sworn to secrecy?” I countered.

  He shook his head as he puffed away at his clay, “It won’t do, Watson. In this past year of our association, I have learned to read you as easily as you read your paper. You are not a deceitful man, a most noble quality, but one which severely hampers your abilities as an actor. Should you ever wish to take up the stage, I could instruct you, for I have some theatrical background. But in your natural state, you are the bane of my existence - an honest man.

  “No, my friend. While you no doubt enjoyed your visit, there is an underlying disappointment within you.”

  I pushed off my knees and stood, looking down at him and shaking my head, then walked over to the sideboard and poured myself a small whisky.

  “I am loathe to admit you are correct, Holmes. While I was satisfied just seeing my old comrade and meeting his friends and fiancée, I am sorry for his disappointment. As unlikely as the odds were, I believe he had allowed hope to get the better of him.”

  “Ah, a man in love,” replied Holmes in that analytical tone of his. “That would certainly add to his eagerness to believe in something against more reasoned judgement. Tell me, Doctor, what was this high hope of his, if you are able to reveal it now?”

  I paused momentarily then answered, “Since it didn’t materialise I suppose there can be no harm done sharing it now, although I doubt he would want his dashed dream made public.”

  “My word that your story shall not leave this room,” replied the detective. “I am merely curious at what motivated him to his action. Motivation is always instructive to someone in my line of work.”

  I went to my room, retrieved my notes and rejoined Holmes at the dining table, where Mrs. Hudson was now laying out our supper. After she left us, I began my story as I was buttering bread and cutting meat. Holmes merely soaked it all in as he sipped at his wine, deigning not to interrupt his concentration with something so mundane as eating.

  When I had finished, he asked to see the translation of the instructions to the treasury left by Roderick. I handed it over and he studied it carefully, then returned it to me.

  “A most interesting tale, Doctor,” he offered as he handed it back, then reached for the bread and butter. “I trust you will be keeping your notes to inspire your aspirations to become a writer?”

  “Why, yes Holmes,” I replied. “That is my intention.”

  “I believe you will find your little puzzle there to be a key to your story. Keep it in a safe place. By the way, when is your friend getting married?”

  This abrupt change of subject caught me off guard momentarily, but then Holmes does this quite often and I recovered to answer, “The Saturday before Easter is their intention. They are to be married in the chapel of the famous Gretna Green Blacksmith Shop, since the church will not allow a wedding on that date in the sanctuary.�
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  Holmes stood and walked over to the writing desk to gaze upon the calendar, murmuring to himself in tones I could not make out. Finally he said “That would make it April the eighth, an excellent date.”

  As he sat back down I asked, “Why is that such an excellent date?”

  He smiled enigmatically and offered, “It is numerically pleasing, old chum. All those even numbers divisible by each other. It will also be an easy anniversary date to remember through their years of wedded bliss.”

  He raised his glass as he said this and gave a toast to the happy couple, “I should be honored to attend such an event if your friend wouldn’t mind.”

  I was a bit taken aback by his attitude, which I at first thought to be sarcastic, but now seemed quite genteel. I told him I would request Alex’s permission to bring him along when the date grew closer, and we left it at that as we pursued our meal and he told me of his latest assistance offered to Inspector Lestrade.

  Chapter VI

  The months passed slowly, winter eventually giving way to spring. I was beginning to make some headway in establishing a small list of private patients and picking up an occasional shift at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. Holmes managed to keep busy enough to refrain from stimulating his mind with narcotics. As I recall, he assisted Scotland Yard in solving two significant burglaries, helped a widow find her missing adult son, and solved the problem of the purloined Panatelas from his tobacconist’s shop.

  Alex and I had corresponded occasionally during this time, and in one of my letters I had requested the company of Sherlock Holmes when I came up for the wedding. My old army comrade readily agreed, saying he was anxious to meet the man who could astound others with the powers I had ascribed to him.

  Thus it was we traveled to Falgreen on Monday, the third of April. As per the same train schedule which had brought me up in December, we arrived late in the afternoon, but this time were treated to a warm spring afternoon’s ride, and were better able to take in the lush greenery of the landscape.

  Alex greeted us with open arms and, after we were shown to our rooms and dispensed with our luggage, we reassembled in the library for cigars and drinks as we awaited dinner.

  My army friend and my civilian friend seemed to hit it off quite well. Their conversation covered many topics of local interest. I was surprised and impressed by Holmes knowledge of the history of the Dumfries and Galloway region, and said as much.

  “I must confess, Holmes, that I am astonished at your historical knowledge. All this time I’ve been under the impression that your brain was reserved for those items which related to your chosen profession.”

  Holmes smiled indulgently and replied, “And you would not be wrong, dear Watson. I must admit that I have spent some few hours researching this locality at the British Museum in preparation of our visit.”

  Alex chimed in, “I appreciate yer efforts, Mr. Holmes, for our conversation has been delightful. But what prompted ye to go to such lengths?”

  Holmes leaned back in his chair, puffing contentedly on his cigar and blowing a smoke ring toward the ceiling before he spoke. “As Watson has told you, I have invented my profession as a consulting private detective. Whereas many of my cases involve the solving of crimes, my raison d’être is the solving of puzzles. Intellectual exercise is what stimulates me, and this treasury of your ancestor has piqued my interest. Mind, I am seeking no compensation. The work is its own reward.”

  He leaned forward and entreated earnestly, “With your permission, I would like to spend the day tomorrow exploring the grounds and perhaps ride into town to gather more local information. I am sure you have many plans to finalize for your wedding day, and this endeavor shall relieve you of any obligation you may feel to entertain my presence.”

  Alex looked at me and I merely nodded to ensure my friend’s sincerity. Pointing at Holmes with his cigar he replied, “If ye can find Roderick’s treasure, I would be in your debt, Mr. Holmes. I’ll instruct the groom to have a horse at yer disposal, and anything else ye desire, for ye are correct, there are actions yet to take in preparation for Saturday. Watson, as one of the wedding party, will be an asset to me in that regard. But if ye are content to entertain yerself in this fashion, I shall be happy to leave ye to it.”

  “Just what are you planning, Holmes?” I enquired. “Have you a new interpretation of the clues left behind?”

  He merely waved his cigar in an offhand fashion and stated, “I merely wish to test a few hypotheses. I also believe there is more to consider than just the document’s instructions. If I am wrong, no harm done, and I will have at least exercised my brain cells.”

  “And if ye are right, ye wish no reward?” asked Alex. “It hardly seems fair, Mr. Holmes.”

  “Several days of free room and board in the fresh country air and a chance to work a pretty little puzzle are sufficient for me, sir. Any compensation you would have bestowed, you may keep as a wedding present,” replied the detective.

  He would say no more on the subject, and so the conversation steered toward the upcoming nuptials until dinner was announced.

  * * *

  The next morning, I arose around seven, dressed, and descended to the kitchen, where I was given coffee by the seemingly ever-present Mrs. Sheffield. She informed me that, “Your friend is an early riser, Doctor. He was in here at six, had coffee from the first pot of the day, and was off with nary a crumb to eat. I hope he will return in time for breakfast, for I’ve much to do the next few days and can’t be changing my schedule to accommodate everyone’s whims.”

  I assured her that Holmes eating habits were quite irregular and if he missed breakfast it would certainly not be the first time. “He often goes a full day without a meal when he is hot in pursuit of an intellectual problem. He says digestion takes energy away from the thought process,” I said with wink and a smile.

  She was mollified by that and returned to preparing breakfast, which she informed me would be served precisely at eight o’clock. I chose to visit Alex’s library and peruse a book as I awaited the start of the day’s activities.

  Soon I was joined by Alex, and we spoke of the day’s schedule, which would begin with a ride into town to see to the preparations for the wedding feast. After breakfast, for which Holmes did not return, we went to the stables. It was a lovely spring day and we chose to ride instead of taking Alex’s coach. The groom informed us that Holmes had taken out a gentle old mare just after six, stating that he would be riding the countryside and then on into Gretna Green, where he would give the old girl a good feed, water, and rest before returning in the afternoon.

  Having met with bakers, caterers, and the local drum major regarding music that the pipers would play during various stages before, during, and after the ceremony, we found it was nearly lunchtime, and so stopped into a local café.

  To our great surprise, we found Holmes seated by himself at a table in a far corner and went over to join him. He was in an effusive mood and welcomed us warmly. We ordered, and as we awaited our food, our host posed a question to the detective. “Have you had a productive morning, Mr. Holmes, or have ye been content to enjoy our spring weather and a brisk ride?”

  Holmes leaned his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers beneath his chin before answering. “I am happy to answer in the affirmative to both your questions, Mr. Sinclair,” he said. “Angelus is a fine animal and well suited to my riding acumen, which has its limits. I was able to examine your estate fairly quickly, and have spent some time in your local library, and a good hour speaking with the Reverend Duncan.”

  “I cannot imagine he would have revealed anything to ye, Mr. Holmes,” declared Alex. “He was sworn to secrecy, and I haven’t had time to tell him of yer willingness to help my...” he looked around to be sure we weren’t overheard “... cause.”

  Holmes followed suit with his voice low, “He has
kept your confidence, sir. But he was of immense help when I questioned him about the old kirk near the castle. He was able to show me records that go a long way toward confirming my hypothesis.”

  The waitress brought the food at that point and our conversation ceased until she left. I then asked, “Just what is this hypothesis of yours, Holmes? What did we miss?”

  Holmes tucked his napkin into his collar and took up his utensils. The fact that he was about to eat a square meal told me he had reached a breakthrough of some sort, but he merely said, “This is neither the time nor place to discuss the matter, gentlemen. Let me just remind you of one salient fact to ponder until we can return to the privacy of Falgreen. Are either of you aware of the origin of the term ‘April Fool’?”

  My old comrade shook his head, but I said, “Something about a calendar change centuries ago... Oh my God! We went looking on the wrong date!”

  “Precisely, Doctor,” replied my friend. “At the time Roderick’s instructions were written, New Year’s was celebrated by a weeklong celebration that began on New Year’s Day, March twenty-fifth. After King James aligned the Scottish calendar with the Pope’s decree of January first, people who were unaware of the change and celebrated on April first were known as April Fools because of their ignorance.”

  Alex slapped his forehead in frustration, “And March twenty-fifth was last week, so we have to wait another year to try again! Tis I who am the fool!”

  Holmes finished the bite of food he had just taken and washed it down with a swallow of the local ale before replying with a smile on his face.

  “My dear Sinclair, I should not have waited to tell you this news were that so. There is one other bit of calendar adjustment to take into account. In 1752, by act of parliament, eleven days were omitted from the calendar year in order to make up for all the leap years which had previously been unaccounted for. When you add those eleven days back in to get the day that aligns with New Years of 1542 you get...?”