“Enough, Holmes. Explain.”
He immediately stopped his hurried pace and turned to me, forcing a smile.
“Forgive me, my dear chap. My manners hare been terrible. I will explain. Among the young officers who were part of the battalion that occupied Metz, there were the five who are already murdered. The only other one I have identified is a fellow named Maurice Kellerman. He moved to England immediately after leaving the Prussian army and changed his name to Morris Cunningham. He is living near Reigate in Surrey and I fully expect that he is next on the list to be assassinated. Our assassin is likely already on her way there. We need to get there as soon as possible. Our taking our time to come to Strasbourg has meant that we were not able to stop the murder of Friedal. I do not plan to make that same mistake again.”
He turned and resumed his forced march back to the hotel.
“But,” I protested, “you told the Commissar that you would report to him tomorrow morning.”
Holmes slowed his pace. “Yes … I suppose I did. Would you mind terribly sending him a note explaining that we were called away suddenly and that we will wire a full report from London.”
“What reason can I give?”
“Good heavens, Watson. Use your imagination. Make something up. And while you are at it, please send a telegram to Mr. Cunningham in Reigate warning him to take precautions for his life and advising him that we are on our way as quickly as possible.”
He resumed his near run until we reached the hotel.
Chapter Four
Return to Surrey to
Stop a Murder
WE DEPARTED from the hotel in full view of the desk and any spies that might have been watching us and rushed to the train station. Travel from Alsace, across France, and then back to England took two full days. This time it was Holmes who paced back and forth on the deck of the ferry whilst I scribbled away in the cabin. Upon arrival in Dover we spent the night in a local hotel and first thing the next morning we boarded a train to Surrey. By early afternoon we had arrived at the station in Reigate.
“Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson,” spoke a voice from behind us as we entered the station. We turned to face a tall, gaunt man who was formally dressed. His face, elongated and jaundiced, was a mask of impassivity.
“Yes,” replied Holmes, “and who might you be?”
“My name, sir, is William Kirwan. I am in service to the Squires Cunningham. I have been sent by him to bring you to the manor. Kindly follow me please, gentleman.”
He said nothing more but reached for our valises and, taking one in each hand, turned and walked toward to roadway in front of the station. There was an elegant closed carriage standing there, attended to by a uniformed driver and a gleaming brace of black horses. Mr. Kirwan passed the luggage to the driver and then opened the carriage door.
We stepped up and inside and he followed, placing himself on the comfortable bench seat opposite Holmes and me. I heard the driver give a shout to the horses and we were underway.
“The drive,” said Kirwan, “to the manor will take some twenty minutes. Since time is limited, you will forgive me if I make the most of it. I know who you are, Mr. Holmes, having read all about you in The Strand, and in the accounts in the press of your exceptional accomplishments.”
Holmes offered a perfunctory smile and began a reply.
“Thank you …”
“It would be,” interrupted Kirwan, “a more efficient use of our time if you would not speak but listen and respond to my questions. Thank you.”
Holmes stopped speaking and this time gave a nod and a genuine smile.
“I am listening.”
“I assume, sir, that you are aware that over the past few years, because of the decline in the value of the pound sterling against several of the European currencies, a distressing number of fine English estates have been purchased by opportunistic foreigners.”
“I am aware of that trend,” replied Holmes. “It has been particularly widespread in Surrey. I was not aware, however, of its having become a bone of contention amongst the local populace. The tone of your voice leads me to suspect that it has.”
“We’re all fair-minded English men and women,” said Kirwan. “We respect the French and the Germans and the Dutch and the rest of them, but we are perhaps a little more fond of them when they stay on their side of the Channel than on ours. And we are not at all fond of them when they come over here and take advantage of our good English families, who may have fallen on hard times.”
“Are you attempting, Mr. Kirwan,” said Holmes, “to allude to some aspects of your employer’s undertaking. If you are, then I suggest that you come right out and say so. As you have noted, time is limited. So, if you are trying to say something, sir, then say it or quit wasting my time.”
The fellow appeared to be a bit taken aback by the bluntness of Holmes’s statement and for a few seconds did not respond. Then he gave a nod and continued.
“You have come here because Squire Cunningham pere and Squire Cunningham fils have engaged your services. Is that correct?”
“No, that is not correct. One: I was not aware that there were two squires, a father and a son. And two: they have not yet requested my services nor have I agreed to have them as my clients.”
“That is good news, Mr. Holmes. It is my understanding that you are an honorable man and I can assure you that there are no more dishonorable men in all of Surrey that Messrs. Cunningham and Cunningham.”
“That, sir,” replied Holmes, “is a surprising comment coming from a man who has been in their service for a long time. The fact that you are you still here leaves me highly skeptical of your probity and your motives.”
“As you should be, sir. I assure you that both are above reproach and my comments are for your sake, sir, and not mine. I entered service in the manor twenty years ago. It was owned at that time by Sir Oswald Acton and a more decent man has never walked the face of this earth. It was an honor beyond words for me to be of service to him. Five years ago, he entered into a promising business venture that ended up in failure, and he suffered enormous financial losses. The strain on him was so great that his heart failed. He passed away and his saintly wife was forced to sell the manor for a pittance but she needed the funds immediately to pay off debts and she took the first offer made to her. It came from a German named Kellerman. At the last minute, he demanded that, as part of the agreement, I and the rest of the staff sign contracts to serve for a minimum of five more years. We were all so devoted to Mrs. Acton, and so desirous to see her relieved of her misery, that we did not hesitate to agree to his terms. Our doing so was a terrible mistake. Should you wish me to disclose matters that are normally kept in confidence, I would agree to do so. I understand from reading Dr. Watson’s stories that you are a master at getting staff to reveal confidences about their employers.”
“Am I indeed?” said Holmes. “That may be true, and I recall numerous times when I had to coax and persuade the household help to take me into their confidence. I do not recall a time when it was volunteered so readily. So please proceed and do try to be as exact as possible.”
The fellow began to speak in measured tones, but with each sentence his face became progressively redder and his speech more animated.
“Quite so, sir. Both father and son are vile monsters, utterly lacking in shame, civility, or any normal degree of decency. They are, as I assume you are aware, not even Englishmen. They are immigrants from somewhere on the Continent—Germans, likely—we are not sure. They are most certainly not squires. They falsely appropriated that honorable title in order to give themselves airs. We, the staff of the manor, to a man and a maid, have put an end to that pretense. We have bruited it about the town that they are frauds and to be treated as such.”
“I suspect,” said Holmes, “that they were not particularly grateful to you for doing so.”
“It was done in secret, sir. Were they to know the source, they would seek harsh retribution, and
they are capable of exacting the same.”
“Are they? How might that be so?”
“If anyone in the town dares to cross either of them, they take that person to court on completely false accusations. They use their wealth to hire some unscrupulous lawyers from London and invariably either win their cases or grind their opponents down with ruinous legal costs. They are merciless. The neighboring estate was recently sold to a chap from Leeds, another outsider with money to spare, and no sooner had the ink dried on the deeds than the Cunninghams had launched a suit claiming that they owned a prize section of pasture. They will do anything, anything, to have their way and line their pockets.”
“They would not be the first wealthy landowners to do so. I can think of several, all Englishmen to the core, who act in the same manner, even to their own English neighbors.”
“That is only the beginning of it, Mr. Holmes. Both of them are immoral, lecherous womanizers. The son has already charmed and seduced several of the young maidens in the town, promised them that they would become the lady of the manor, then tossed them aside, ruined for life. The father has acted in a similar manner with three of the widows, each of whom had been left in a financially secure position by a loving husband. But that evil man convinced them that he would be their Lord Protector, had them sign over to him authority for their affairs, drained their accounts, and tossed them aside, utterly heart-broken and impoverished.”
“Are the inhabitants of Reigate complete imbeciles?” asked Holmes. “How is it that they have let this go on time after time?”
“The monsters have been brought to a complete halt, sir. But it took time. Young women and widows are alike in the susceptibility to the false charms of a wealthy man. But now their evil deeds are known throughout, and no one in the entire town will give them the time of day. Those of us on the staff are counting the days until our years under contract have expired, and we can seek positions that afford us some degree of pride and dignity.”
The man’s fists had clenched as he spoke and he was near apoplectic with anger as he struggled to get the words out. Holmes remained as cool as steel.
“Very well, sir. I take your information under advisement and will govern myself accordingly. I have come to Reigate, however, because it appears that the lives of the squires might be in danger.”
“That, sir,” Kirwan exploded, “would be most welcomed by all and sundry. I can think of nothing more honorable for a person to do that to cut their throats. Were it not that I have a wife and children to think of, I would gladly do it myself.”
With this utterance, the man suddenly seemed to realize that he might have said more than he intended to. He took a deep breath, folded his arms across his chest, and said no more. We continued in silence until we reached our destination.
The entry gate was large and stately, although not particularly fancy. The arch above the drive bore the name Hills of Lorraine and the grounds surrounding it were immaculate and well-groomed. The roadway to the manor house was as straight as an arrow, lined with shrubs and trees that were all planted in neat, formal rows. The house itself was large, with three full stories of near featureless walls, except for rows of unadorned windows and a central door.
William Kirwan stepped out of the carriage as soon as it stopped and reached up so that the driver could hand him our valises.
“Follow me, gentlemen,” he said to us, turning and walking toward the door of the house as he spoke.
A maid opened the door and gave a slight bow and forced smile to us as we entered. She was youngish and, like so many country girls of England, rather plain, with a moon face and eyes that bulged slightly. She was not underfed.
“Maggie,” said Kirwan, “please show these gentlemen to the library. The squires are expecting them. I will let them know they have arrived.”
Then, turning to us, he continued, “You will most likely be made to wait for half an hour simply as a matter of arrogance on behalf of the Germans. However, the chairs are comfortable, and there are a few decent books to read. Kindly now, excuse me gentlemen, and I trust you will govern yourselves accordingly.”
He gave a stiff bow and disappeared down a hallway that was lined with heads of various species of hunted animals. Holmes and I waited in silence in the library. I passed the time by scribbling in my notebook whilst Holmes perused the volumes and photographs on the shelves.
“Anything of interest?” I asked him, to alleviate the boredom.
“Interestingly,” he replied without turning away from the shelves, “there is nothing of interest.”
“Holmes,” I said.
He gave a low chuckle. “Every single book is in English, and all appear to have been left behind by the widow who sold the house to these fellows. There is even a set of Pope’s Homer, complete except for the fifth volume. There is not a single volume in either French or German or whatever native tongue these fellows speak. Most former soldiers have at least a few volumes of military history that they insist on taking with them as if they were their favorite pets, but these chaps are bereft of such works. There is a small framed photograph of men in uniform, but that’s all. Their military experience has been all but erased.”
I returned to my notebook and he to the next wall of shelves. It was a full forty-five minutes before the door opened and two men entered. Both were very casually dressed in riding clothes and bore a distinct family resemblance to each other. The older man, the father, was well into his seventies, and the younger closer to my age. Both were tall and thin, with short, cropped blond hair and neat military mustaches. Had I not been told that they were former officers in Bismarck’s army, I might well have guessed.
“Good afternoon,” said the younger chap. “We welcome the esteemed Messrs. Holmes and Watson to the Hills of Lorraine. I trust your journey was a comfortable one.”
I had expected to hear a German accent, but there was not a trace. Using what limited skills I had acquired in my years with Holmes, I deduced that he must have had an English governess. The Germans are rather fond of their connection to our Queen and enjoy indulging in spinsters from Oxfordshire along with shortbread and Harris tweed.
Holmes did not answer the question but spoke bluntly to the man.
“Herr Kellerman, I assume you received and read the telegram we sent you.”
“Yes.”
“You are aware, then, that several of your fellow officers from your time in the war have been murdered.”
“Yes. We know that.”
“I have good reason to believe that the murderer will soon come here and attempt to murder you in the same manner. I advise both of you to vacate this place immediately and move to a safer location. I have notified Scotland Yard of my concerns, and they have agreed to provide a guarded residence in London until the murderer is apprehended.”
“Really, Mister Holmes,” interrupted the younger man. “You cannot expect us to go fleeing from our home every time someone tells us that there might be someone somewhere who does not like us. Really, sir, this is hardly the first time we have received threats and warnings and, I assure you, we are not cowards. Both my father and I have served with distinction in the Prussian army, where turning and running away were not options. We appreciate your apparent efforts on our behalf. However, other perspectives have come from officials in our embassy who, I assure you, have access to information far beyond that of an amateur detective.”
Holmes stiffened on that one but retained his cool composure.
“I regret that I do not have the same privileged data that your embassy officials do. All I know is that five men, your former fellow officers, are now dead and I have good reason to believe that you are next on the list. I came only to apprise you of what I know and urge you to take precautions.”
The younger would-be squire relaxed his expression and responded.
“We appreciate your concern for us, Mr. Holmes. It is not that we refuse to acknowledge the threat. Obviously, there is danger. But we will
not run away. We have, you will be pleased to know, hired a dozen excellent men, all veterans of the Prussian army, to serve as our bodyguards and to patrol the property. They will continue to look after us until you and your friends at Scotland Yard, and all those clowns in the gendarmes de Paris solve this spate of crimes and catch the villain.
“Now then, gentlemen,” he continued, “you have come here in good faith, and we welcome you as our guests for dinner and the evening. We will not need your offers of advice after breakfast tomorrow, and you will be free to return to London and your detective practice. Is that quite correct, father?”
“Ja.”
The old fellow gave a shallow bow toward us and turned and departed from the room. His son followed. Once they had gone, Holmes and I found ourselves standing alone in the library looking quizzically at each other. The situation was relieved by the entrance of Kirwan who stood straight and announced, “Dinner will be served at half-past seven o’clock in the dining room. If you will follow me, I will show you to your rooms. You are free to enjoy the gardens until dinner time. This way, please gentlemen.”
The rooms were clean and furnished in a modern fashion, albeit Spartan. The mattresses were thin and firm, and the chairs were all upright. In a way, this was satisfying to me as it confirmed my prejudices about Germans’ abhorrence of creature comforts. I had hardly sat down to add to my notes than Holmes tapped on my door.
“From my window,” he said, “I can see the next house along the road. I am guessing that the owner is the one referred to by Mister Kirwan.”
“The chap at odds with the Cunninghams over property?” I said.
“Exactly. And as we have two and a half hours until supper is served, I suggest that we pay him a visit and have a bit of a chat. Are you up to a stiff walk?”
“I am,” I said and we walked out of the manor house and along the manicured paths, through the geometric gardens and over to the neighbor’s house.
This home, while of similar size and construction to the one in which we were staying, looked somewhat different. Every wall of the house was bordered by a garden bed in which were planted a limited assortment small ornamental trees. The grounds and gardens adjacent to the drive that lead up to the door were similar in their orderliness and neat geometric design to the estate in which we were staying. The walls were painted white, and the windows were unadorned with shutters, and above the front door an overly large Union Jack had been hung on a protruding flag pole. If this house could speak, I thought, it would be shouting ‘Rule Britannia.’
Sherlock Holmes Never Dies - Collection Five: New Sherlock Holmes Mysteries - Second Edition Page 28