Sherlock Holmes in Montague Street Volume 1

by David Marcum

  “ ‘No,’ I replied, ‘I didn’t know you lived here. I am after somebody else just now. Aren’t you well?’

  “He looked at me rather doubtfully, and said he was not very well.

  “I met him twice or thrice after that, and on each occasion his manner grew more friendly, in a servile, flattering, and mean sort of way - a thing unpleasant enough in anybody, but doubly so in the intercourse of a man with another young enough to be his own son. Still, of course, I treated the man civilly enough. On one occasion he asked me into his rooms to look at a rather fine picture he had lately bought, and observed casually, lifting a large revolver from the mantel-piece:

  “ ‘You see, I am prepared for any unwelcome visitors to my little den! He! He!’ Conceiving him, of course, to refer to burglars, I could not help wondering at the forced and hollow character of his laugh. As we went down the stairs he said: ‘I think we know one another pretty well now, Mr. Mason, eh? And if I could do anything to advance your professional prospects, I should be glad of the chance, of course. I understand the struggles of a young professional man - he! he!’ It was the forced laugh again, and the man spoke nervously. ‘I think,’ he added, ‘that if you will drop in to-morrow evening, perhaps I may have a little proposal to make. Will you?’

  “I assented, wondering what this proposal could be. Perhaps this eccentric old gentleman was a good fellow, after all, anxious to do me a good turn, and his awkwardness was nothing but a natural delicacy in breaking the ice. I was not so flush of good friends as to be willing to lose one. He might be desirous of putting business in my way.

  “I went, and was received with cordiality that even then seemed a little over-effusive. We sat and talked of one thing and another for a long while, and I began to wonder when Mr. Foggatt was coming to the point that most interested me. Several times he invited me to drink and smoke, but long usage to athletic training has given me a distaste for both practices, and I declined. At last he began to talk about myself. He was afraid that my professional prospects in this country were not great, but he had heard that in some of the colonies - South Africa, for example - young lawyers had brilliant opportunities.

  “ ‘If you’d like to go there,’ he said, ‘I’ve no doubt, with a little capital, a clever man like you could get a grand practice together very soon. Or you might buy a share in some good established practice. I should be glad to let you have £500, or even a little more, if that wouldn’t satisfy you, and - ’

  “I stood aghast. Why should this man, almost a stranger, offer me £500, or even more, ‘if that wouldn’t satisfy’ me? What claim had I on him? It was very generous of him, of course, but out of the question. I was, at least, a gentleman, and had a gentleman’s self-respect. Meanwhile, he had gone maundering on, in a halting sort of way, and presently let slip a sentence that struck me like a blow between the eyes.

  “ ‘I shouldn’t like you to bear ill-will because of what has happened in the past,’ he said. ‘Your late - your late lamented mother - I’m afraid - she had unworthy suspicions - I’m sure - it was best for all parties - your father always appreciated - ’

  “I set back my chair and stood erect before him. This groveling wretch, forcing the words through his dry lips, was the thief who had made another of my father and had brought to miserable ends the lives of both my parents! Everything was clear. The creature went in fear of me, never imagining that I did not know him, and sought to buy me off - to buy me from the remembrance of my dead mother’s broken heart for £500 - £500 that he had made my father steal for him! I said not a word. But the memory of all my mother’s bitter years, and a savage sense of this crowning insult to myself, took a hold upon me, and I was a tiger. Even then I verily believe that one word of repentance, one tone of honest remorse, would have saved him. But he drooped his eyes, snuffled excuses, and stammered of ‘unworthy suspicions’ and ‘no ill-will.’ I let him stammer. Presently he looked up and saw my face; and fell back in his chair, sick with terror. I snatched the pistol from the mantel-piece, and, thrusting it in his face, shot him where he sat.

  “My subsequent coolness and quietness surprise me now. I took my hat and stepped toward the door. But there were voices on the stairs. The door was locked on the inside, and I left it so. I went back and quietly opened a window. Below was a clear drop into darkness, and above was plain wall; but away to one side, where the slope of the gable sprang from the roof, an iron gutter ended, supported by a strong bracket. It was the only way. I got upon the sill and carefully shut the window behind me, for people were already knocking at the door. From the end of the sill, holding on by the reveal of the window with one hand, leaning and stretching my utmost, I caught the gutter, swung myself clear, and scrambled on the roof. I climbed over many roofs before I found, in an adjoining street, a ladder lashed perpendicularly against the front of a house in course of repair. This, to me, was an easy opportunity of descent, notwithstanding the boards fastened over the face of the ladder, and I availed myself of it.

  “I have taken some time and trouble in order that you (so far as I am aware the only human being beside myself who knows me to be the author of Foggatt’s death) shall have at least the means of appraising my crime at its just value of culpability. How much you already know of what I have told you I can not guess. I am wrong, hardened, and flagitious, I make no doubt, but I speak of the facts as they are. You see the thing, of course, from your own point of view - I from mine. And I remember my mother!

  “Trusting that you will forgive the odd freak of a man - a criminal, let us say - who makes a confidant of the man set to hunt him down, I beg leave to be, sir, your obedient servant,

  “SIDNEY MASON.”

  I read the singular document through and handed it back to Holmes.

  “How does it strike you?” Holmes asked.

  “Mason would seem to be a man of very marked character,” I said. “Certainly no fool. And, if his tale is true, Foggatt is no great loss to the world.”

  “Just so - if the tale is true. Personally I am disposed to believe it is.”

  “Where was the letter posted?”

  “It wasn’t posted. It was handed in with the others from the front-door letter-box this morning in an unstamped envelope. He must have dropped it in himself during the night. Paper,” Holmes proceeded, holding it up to the light, “Turkey mill, ruled foolscap. Envelope, blue, official shape, Pirie’s watermark. Both quite ordinary and no special marks.”

  “Where do you suppose he’s gone?”

  “Impossible to guess. Some might think he meant suicide by the expression ‘beyond the reach even of your abilities of search,’ but I scarcely think he is the sort of man to do that. No, there is no telling. Something may be got by inquiring at his late address, of course; but, when such a man tells you he doesn’t think you will find him, you may count upon its being a difficult job. His opinion is not to be despised.”

  “What shall you do?”

  “Put the letter in the box with the casts for the police. Fiat justitia, you know, without any question of sentiment. As to the apple, I really think, if the police will let me, I’ll make you a present of it. Keep it somewhere as a souvenir of your absolute deficiency in reflective observation in this case, and look at it whenever you feel yourself growing dangerously conceited. It should cure you.”

  This is the history of the withered and almost petrified half apple that stands in my cabinet among a number of flint implements and one or two rather fine old Roman vessels. Of Mr. Sidney Mason we never heard another word. The police did their best, but he had left not a track behind him. His rooms were left almost undisturbed, and he had gone without anything in the way of elaborate preparation for his journey, and without leaving a trace of his intentions.

  The Case of the Dixon Torpedo

  Holmes was very apt, in conversation, to dwell upon the many curious chances and coincidences that he
had observed, not only in connection with his own cases, but also in matters dealt with by the official police, with whom he was on terms of pretty regular, and, indeed, friendly, acquaintanceship. He has told me many an anecdote of singular happenings to Scotland Yard officials with whom he has exchanged experiences. Of Inspector Gregson, for instance, who spent many weary months in a search for a man wanted by the American Government, and in the end found, by the merest accident (a misdirected call), that the man had been lodging next door to himself the whole of the time; just as ignorant, of course, as was the inspector himself as to the enemy at the other side of the party-wall. Also of another inspector, whose name I can not recall, who, having been given rather meager and insufficient details of a man whom he anticipated having great difficulty in finding, went straight down the stairs of the office where he had received instructions, and actually fell over the man near the door, where he had stooped down to tie his shoe-lace! There were cases, too, in which, when a great and notorious crime had been committed, and various persons had been arrested on suspicion, some were found among them who had long been badly wanted for some other crime altogether. Many criminals had met their deserts by venturing out of their own particular line of crime into another; often a man who got into trouble over something comparatively small found himself in for a startlingly larger trouble, the result of some previous misdeed that otherwise would have gone unpunished. The ruble note-forger Mirsky might never have been handed over to the Russian authorities had he confined his genius to forgery alone. It was generally supposed at the time of his extradition that he had communicated with the Russian Embassy, with a view to giving himself up - a foolish proceeding on his part, it would seem, since his whereabouts, indeed even his identity as the forger, had not been suspected. He had communicated with the Russian Embassy, it is true, but for quite a different purpose, as Sherlock Holmes well understood at the time. What that purpose was is now for the first time published.

  The time was half-past one in the afternoon, and Holmes sat in his rooms examining and comparing the handwriting of two letters by the aid of a large lens. He put down the lens and glanced at the clock on the mantel-piece with a premonition of lunch; and as he did so his housekeeper quietly entered the room with a slip which contained the announcement of an unknown visitor. It was filled up in a hasty and almost illegible hand, thus:

  F. Graham Dixon.

  Chancery Lane.

  Business: Private and urgent.

  “Show Mr. Dixon in,” said Sherlock Holmes.

  Mr. Dixon was a gaunt, worn-looking man of fifty or so, well, although rather carelessly, dressed, and carrying in his strong, though drawn, face and dullish eyes the look that characterizes the life-long strenuous brain-worker. He leaned forward anxiously in the chair which Holmes offered him, and told his story with a great deal of very natural agitation.

  “You may possibly have heard, Mr. Holmes - I know there are rumors - of the new locomotive torpedo which the government is about adopting; it is, in fact, the Dixon torpedo, my own invention, and in every respect - not merely in my own opinion, but in that of the government experts - by far the most efficient and certain yet produced. It will travel at least four hundred yards farther than any torpedo now made, with perfect accuracy of aim (a very great desideratum, let me tell you), and will carry an unprecedentedly heavy charge. There are other advantages - speed, simple discharge, and so forth - that I needn’t bother you about. The machine is the result of many years of work and disappointment, and its design has only been arrived at by a careful balancing of principles and means, which are expressed on the only four existing sets of drawings. The whole thing, I need hardly tell you, is a profound secret, and you may judge of my present state of mind when I tell you that one set of drawings has been stolen.”

  “From your house?”

  “From my office, in Chancery Lane, this morning. The four sets of drawings were distributed thus: Two were at the Admiralty Office, one being a finished set on thick paper, and the other a set of tracings there from; and the other two were at my own office, one being a penciled set, uncolored - a sort of finished draft, you understand - and the other a set of tracings similar to those at the Admiralty. It is this last set that has gone. The two sets were kept together in one drawer in my room. Both were there at ten this morning; of that I am sure, for I had to go to that very drawer for something else when I first arrived. But at twelve the tracings had vanished.”

  “You suspect somebody, probably?”

  “I can not. It is a most extraordinary thing. Nobody has left the office (except myself, and then only to come to you) since ten this morning, and there has been no visitor. And yet the drawings are gone!”

  “But have you searched the place?”

  “Of course I have! It was twelve o’clock when I first discovered my loss, and I have been turning the place upside down ever since - I and my assistants. Every drawer has been emptied, every desk and table turned over, the very carpet and linoleum have been taken up, but there is not a sign of the drawings. My men even insisted on turning all their pockets inside out, although I never for a moment suspected either of them, and it would take a pretty big pocket to hold the drawings, doubled up as small as they might be.”

  “You say your men - there are two, I understand - had neither left the office?”

  “Neither; and they are both staying in now. Worsfold suggested that it would be more satisfactory if they did not leave till something was done toward clearing the mystery up, and, although, as I have said, I don’t suspect either in the least, I acquiesced.”

  “Just so. Now - I am assuming that you wish me to undertake the recovery of these drawings?”

  The engineer nodded hastily.

  “Very good; I will go round to your office. But first perhaps you can tell me something about your assistants - something it might be awkward to tell me in their presence, you know. Mr. Worsfold, for instance?”

  “He is my draughtsman - a very excellent and intelligent man, a very smart man, indeed, and, I feel sure, quite beyond suspicion. He has prepared many important drawings for me (he has been with me nearly ten years now), and I have always found him trustworthy. But, of course, the temptation in this case would be enormous. Still, I can not suspect Worsfold. Indeed, how can I suspect anybody in the circumstances?”

  “The other, now?”

  “His name’s Ritter. He is merely a tracer, not a fully skilled draughtsman. He is quite a decent young fellow, and I have had him two years. I don’t consider him particularly smart, or he would have learned a little more of his business by this time. But I don’t see the least reason to suspect him. As I said before, I can’t reasonably suspect anybody.”

  “Very well; we will get to Chancery Lane now, if you please, and you can tell me more as we go.”

  “I have a cab waiting. What else can I tell you?”

  “I understand the position to be succinctly this: The drawings were in the office when you arrived. Nobody came out, and nobody went in; and yet they vanished. Is that so?”

  “That is so. When I say that absolutely nobody came in, of course I except the postman. He brought a couple of letters during the morning. I mean that absolutely nobody came past the barrier in the outer office - the usual thing, you know, like a counter, with a frame of ground glass over it.”

  “I quite understand that. But I think you said that the drawings were in a drawer in your own room - not the outer office, where the draughtsmen are, I presume?”

  “That is the case. It is an inner room, or, rather, a room parallel with the other, and communicating with it; just as your own room is, which we have just left.”

  “But, then, you say you never left your office, and yet the drawings vanished - apparently by some unseen agency - while you were there in the room?”

  “Let me explain more clearly.” The cab was bowling sm
oothly along the street, and the engineer took out a pocket-book and pencil. “I fear,” he proceeded, “that I am a little confused in my explanation - I am naturally rather agitated. As you will see presently, my offices consist of three rooms, two at one side of a corridor, and the other opposite - thus.” He made a rapid pencil sketch.

  “In the outer office my men usually work. In the inner office I work myself. These rooms communicate, as you see, by a door. Our ordinary way in and out of the place is by the door of the outer office leading into the corridor, and we first pass through the usual lifting flap in the barrier. The door leading from the inner office to the corridor is always kept locked on the inside, and I don’t suppose I unlock it once in three months. It has not been unlocked all the morning. The drawer in which the missing drawings were kept, and in which I saw them at ten o’clock this morning, is at the place marked D; it is a large chest of shallow drawers in which the plans lie flat.”

  “I quite understand. Then there is the private room opposite. What of that?”

  “That is a sort of private sitting-room that I rarely use, except for business interviews of a very private nature. When I said I never left my office, I did not mean that I never stirred out of the inner office. I was about in one room and another, both the outer and the inner offices, and once I went into the private room for five minutes, but nobody came either in or out of any of the rooms at that time, for the door of the private room was wide open, and I was standing at the book-case (I had gone to consult a book), just inside the door, with a full view of the doors opposite. Indeed, Worsfold was at the door of the outer office most of the short time. He came to ask me a question.”