Hanae had been so still that she might have been asleep, but in the bar of moonlight which lay across their bedding he saw her eyes blink open. 'No. Quite the reverse, if anything. It seems that several of the men in their circle have tried to start something, but she's never given any of them the least encouragement. And of course, a woman in her position, it would be all over town in five minutes if she did. Even Mrs Hamada's obviously a bit jealous of her looks, so I expect the foreign ladies on the committee are too. They're all older, I believe. So they'd pounce on the least suggestion of scandal.'
Otani didn't quite follow, but rolled on to his back and made himself comfortable. 'Sorry to keep you awake. I'm afraid I'm not a bit sleepy. Want a cup of tea or anything?'
'Not really. I don't mind talking anyway, it's interesting. Surely she must have given Mr Kimura some reason for saying such an extraordinary thing about her husband?'
'Oh, she did, but it doesn't impress me. She said she'd discovered that he recently took out a huge insurance policy on her life. A husband can do that, you know. And that he's let slip that he had collected a substantial sum by way of insurance when his former wife drowned. Putting two and two together, Mrs Bencivenni thinks her death might not in fact have been an accident.'
'What an awful thing to suggest! But. . . but why now?'
'Well, Bencivenni handles investments for a lot of Americans living here. And you know what happened on the New York stock exchange recently. Here too, of course. She told Kimura she thinks he might have over-committed himself financially and be in urgent need of funds to avoid bankruptcy.'
Hanae reflected in silence for a long time. 'I'm so glad we keep our savings in the bank, dear,' she then said thoughtfully. 'What are you going to do?'
Otani sighed. 'Well, I suppose the least we can do is check the local police report on that drowning in Chuzenji years ago. It might help me sort out my ideas.'
The party at the children's home was a great success. Safely concealed behind an enormous white beard and moustache and with his floppy red hat well down on his forehead, Otani rang his bell with gusto and was delighted to discover what he should have realized from the first, that all the children not only spoke Japanese but that nearly all were Japanese.
The extent of the munificence of the Kobe South Rotarians revealed when Otani opened his sack and handed out the presents brought squeals of delight from the children and approving nods from the staff of the home; and afterwards when he had divested himself of his finery Otani was drawn aside by a senior member of his club and gravely thanked for his outstanding contribution to the festivities.
'Such a pity Mrs Bencivenni couldn't be here after all, though. I know she would have wished to thank you personally, but I understand she was unavoidably detained.'
'I can't follow your reasoning, Chief,' Kimura said for the second time. 'All right, so central immigration records indicate that she was in Japan as a tourist at the time the first Mrs Bencivenni was drowned, and the only so-called witness the local police managed to find did have a vague recollection that there had been one other woman swimming in that part of the lake before Arlene Bencivenni went under. But he was a long way away and it proves nothing, even granted that Judy Nakano was an all-round athlete at school. Surely the husband remains the obvious suspect if she really was murdered. . .and that isn't by any means established.'
'I'm not looking forward to it, but I'm going to talk to the poor woman myself,' Otani said. 'I think that with careful handling she'll confess that she accused her husband of planning her murder because she intended to kill him . . . so that when she eventually did so she could claim it was in self-defence. Why otherwise come to the Japanese police with such a tale? What were we supposed to do? Why not simply leave him? She'd proved beyond question that she could earn her own living both in Japan and in America.'
'But there's still no reason for it. Remember, he insured her life, not the other way round.'
'Oh, there's a reason. She hates him, you see. With a deep, consistent, murderous hatred that at first sustained her, then fed on itself and brought her to crisis point. When you first described Mrs Bencivenni to me you said she wasn't off her head. Not obviously, perhaps, but in my opinion hopelessly unhinged. More to the point, hopelessly obsessed.'
Otani paused, rubbed his eyes and blinked. 'A victim of circumstance, some would say. I don't know. Anyway, I propose to suggest to her that her years of—not dedicated exactly, calculated perhaps—her years of service to the orphanage where she'd been brought up gave her such a position of trust there that the time came when she could delve into their confidential records more or less at will and turn up a name or names. Have you got a cigarette on you?'
Kimura gave him one and lit it for him. Otani looked tired, but soon began to speak again. 'I'll point out that either when she was working in the Consulate-General here in Kobe or when she went to the United States she was able to check US Army records or hire an enquiry agent to do it for her. I'll suggest that these confirmed—as we can find out for ourselves easily enough—that a certain young GI was serving with the Occupation forces in Japan in 1949 and 1950. And I shall explain that we think her next step was to discover his current whereabouts and circumstances and use her beauty and intelligence to entrap him. Ah, I see it's beginning to dawn on you too, Kimura.'
'I don't believe it, Chief!'
'I don't want to myself, but I do, and I can't help feeling sorry for her. It's a terrible burden she's borne for most of her life, Kimura. Bottling up all that dark hatred from childhood onwards so successfully . . . then living with the knowledge that she seduced her own father, murdered his wife and married him with the intention of one day killing him too. A man who still probably has no idea he even has a daughter, much less who she is.'
Back to Table of Contents
4 - Herlock Sholmes's Christmas Case by PETER TODD
‘PETER TODD' was just one of the twenty-five or more pseudonyms employed by Charles Hamilton (1876-1961) in a writing career that spanned nearly seven decades, during which he banged out (mostly on a 1900s' Remington) upwards of an awesome 70 million words. That's roughly 950 average-length novels. Or, to put it another way, fourteen books a year, every year, for nearly seventy years. Except Hamilton didn't much write books.
His forte was schoolboy fiction for weekly papers such as Pluck, Boys' Friend, Boys' Realm, Boys' Herald, Popular, Modern Boy, Gem and, especially, Magnet. There were 1,683 issues of the Magnet-, Hamilton, under his best-known pen-name Frank Richards—the name he used when writing about his most famous creation Billy Bunter, the Fat Owl of Greyfriars School—wrote nearly 1,400 of them. At the peak of his creative powers (roughly, the 1920s) he was producing two 20,000-word stories a week as well as an assortment of shorter material. He once wrote an 18,000-word story in a single day. At a time when the average income was £180 a year, Hamilton was earning well over £3,000. One could, if asked, continue to pile up Ripley-esque one-liners about Charles Harold St John Hamilton till the cows come home.
But perhaps the most striking fact of all is that he was a very good writer. To be sure, when reading his stories belief must to a great extent be suspended (Hamilton wrote of great public schools, but had never been to one); even so he had a fine grasp of character and an unusual understanding of the darker, less agreeable side of a boy's nature; his dialogue was generally excellent (read it aloud and it works), and he had the natural yarn-spinner's priceless gift of being thumpingly readable. Too, having a short way with humbug and a sharp eye for the absurdities of adult life he could at times be an inspired comic writer (and only a man with a highly developed sense of humour, after all, could have translated 'Won't You Come Home, Bill Bailey' into Latin). His school stories are full of mordant asides on politicians, retired military men, elderly pedagogues, faddists, pettifogging bureaucrats, tax inspectors (especially tax inspectors).
Hamilton used the 'Peter Todd' pseudonym mainly for his Sherlock Holmes parodies, of which (here
's another It's-A-Fact) he wrote well over sixty, all—with their pawky jokes, nimble puns, satirical stings—uniformly delightful. In 1975 the Mysterious Press published a selection in The Adventures of Herlock Sholmes —highly recommended. Here's one that's never made it between hard covers before. . .
CHRISTMAS tomorrow!' Herlock Sholmes remarked thoughtfully.
I started.
'My dear Sholmes!' I murmured.
Herlock Sholmes smiled.
'You are surprised, Jotson, to hear me make that statement with such positiveness,' he remarked. 'Yet, I assure you that such is the case.'
'I acknowledge, Sholmes, that I ought no longer to be surprised at anything you may say or do. But from what grounds do you infer—'
'Quite simple, my dear Jotson. Look from the window upon the slushy streets and the hurrying crowds, all indicative of the approach of Christmas!'
'True! But why tomorrow precisely?'
'Ah, there we go a little deeper, Jotson. I deduce that Christmas occurs tomorrow from a study of the calendar!'
'The calendar!' I exclaimed, in astonishment.
'Exactly!'
'As you know, Sholmes, I have endeavoured to study your methods, in my humbler way, yet I confess that I do not see the connection—'
'Probably not, Jotson. But to the trained, professional mind it presents no difficulties. Christmas, you are aware, falls upon the twenty-fifth day of the month!'
'True!'
'Look at the calendar, Jotson!'
I obeyed.
'It tells you nothing?'
'Nothing!' I confessed.
Sholmes smiled again, a somewhat bored smile.
'My dear fellow, the calendar indicates that today is the twenty-fourth!'
'Quite so. But—’
'And as Christmas falls upon the twenty-fifth, it follows—to an acute mind accustomed to rapid deductions—that tomorrow is Christmas!'
I could only gaze at my amazing friend in silent admiration.
'But there will be no holiday for us tomorrow, my dear Jotson,' resumed Herlock Sholmes. 'I have received a wire from the Duke of Hookeywalker, who—
Ah, his Grace has arrived!'
Even as Sholmes spoke the Duke of Hookeywalker was shown into our sitting-room.
Herlock Sholmes removed his feet from the mantelpiece with the graceful courtesy so natural to him.
'Pray be seated,' said Sholmes. 'You may speak quite freely before my friend, Dr Jotson!'
'Mr Sholmes, I have sustained a terrible loss!'
Sholmes smiled.
'Your Grace has lost the pawn ticket?' he inquired.
'Mr Sholmes, you must be a wizard! How did you guess?'
'I never guess,' said Herlock Sholmes quietly. 'My business is to deal with facts. Pray let me have some details.'
'It is true, Mr Sholmes, that the pawn ticket is missing,' said the duke in an agitated voice. 'You are aware that the house of Hookeywalker has a great reputation for hospitality, which must be kept up even in these days of stress. It was necessary for me to give a large Christmas party at Hookey Castle, and, to obtain the necessary funds, the family jewels were pledged with Mr Ikey Solomons, of Houndsditch. The ticket was in my own keeping—it never left me. I kept it in my own card-case. The card-case never left my person. Yet now, Mr Sholmes, the ticket is missing!'
'And the card-case?'
'Still in my pocket!'
'When were the Hookeywalker jewels placed with Mr Solomons?'
'Yesterday morning!'
'And the ticket was missing—'
'Last night,' faltered the duke. 'I looked in my card-case to make sure that it was still safe, and it was gone. How it had been purloined, Mr Sholmes, is a mystery—an unfathomable mystery!'
'No mystery is unfathomable to a trained mind' said Sholmes calmly. 'I have every hope of recovering the missing pawn ticket.'
'Mr Sholmes, you give me new life. But how—’
Sholmes interrupted.
'After leaving Mr Solomons' establishment, where did your Grace go?'
'I had to make a call at the Chinwag Department of the War Office, and from there I returned to Hookey Castle.'
'You made no other call?'
'None.'
'You may leave the case in my hands,' said Herlock Sholmes carelessly. 'I may call at Hookey Castle with news for you tomorrow.'
'Bless you, Mr Sholmes!'
And the duke took his leave.
'It is scarcely possible that a skilled pickpocket is to be found in the Chinwag Department,' said Sholmes thoughtfully.
'Impossible, Mr Sholmes! Every official of that great Department is far above suspicion of being skilled in any manner whatsoever!'
'True!'
'There is no clue!' said the duke in despairing tones. 'But unless the missing ticket is recovered, Mr Sholmes, the famous Hookeywalker jewels are lost!'
Herlock Sholmes lighted a couple of pipes, a habit of his when a particularly knotty problem required great concentration of thought. I did not venture to interrupt the meditations of that mighty intellect.
Sholmes spoke at last, with a smile.
'A very interesting little problem, Jotson. I can see that you are puzzled by my deduction that the pawn ticket was lost before his Grace had mentioned it.'
'I am astounded, Sholmes.'
'Yet it was simple. I had heard of the great social gathering at Hookey Castle,' explained Sholmes. 'I deduced that his Grace could only meet the bills by hypothecating the family jewels. His hurried visit to me and his agitation could have had but one meaning—I deduced that the pawn ticket was lost or stolen. Quite elementary my dear Jotson! But the recovery of the missing ticket—’
'That will not be so simple, Sholmes.'
'Who knows, Jotson?' Sholmes rose to his feet and drew his celebrated dressing-gown about him. 'I must leave you for a short time, Jotson. You may go and see your patients, my dear fellow.'
'One question, Sholmes. You are going—‘
'To the Chinwag Department.'
'But—‘
But Herlock Sholmes was gone.
II
I confess that Sholmes' behaviour perplexed me. He had declared that the pickpocket could not be found in the Chinwag Department, yet he had gone there to commence his investigations. When he returned to Shaker Street, he made no remark upon the case, and I did not venture to question him. The next morning he greeted me with a smile as I came down into the sitting-room.
'You are ready for a little run this morning, Jotson?' he asked.
'I am always at your service, Sholmes.'
'Good! Then call a taxi.'
A few minutes later a taxicab was bearing us away. Sholmes had given the direction to the driver—'Hookey Castle.'
'We are going to see the duke, Sholmes?' I asked.
He nodded.
'But the missing pawn ticket?'
'Wait and see!'
This reply, worthy of a great statesman, was all I could elicit from Sholmes on the journey.
The taxi drove up the stately approach to Hookey Castle. A gorgeous footman admitted us to the great mansion, and we were shown into the presence of the duke.
His Grace had left his guests to see us.
There was a slight impatience in his manner.
'My clear Mr Sholmes,' he said, 'I supposed I had given you the fullest particulars yesterday. You have called me away from a shove-ha'penny party.'
'I am sorry,' said Sholmes calmly. 'Return to the shove-ha'penny party, by all means your Grace, and I will call another time with the pawn ticket.'
The duke bounded to his feet.
'Mr Sholmes! You have recovered it?'
Sholmes smiled. He delighted in these dramatic surprises.
The duke gazed with startled eyes at the slip of pasteboard my amazing friend presented to him.
'The missing pawn ticket!' he ejaculated.
'The same!' said Sholmes.
'Sholmes!' I murmured. I could say no
more.
The Duke of Hookeywalker took the ticket with trembling fingers.
'Mr Sholmes' he said in tones of deep emotion, 'you have saved the honour of the name of Hookeywalker! You will stay to dinner, Mr Sholmes. Come, I insist—there will be tripe and onions!' he added.
'I cannot resist the tripe and onions,' said Sholmes, with a smile.
And we stayed.
Ill
It was not till the taxi was whirling us homeward to Shaker Street that Herlock Sholmes relieved my curiosity.
'Sholmes!' I exclaimed as the taxi rolled out of the stately gates of Hookey Castle. 'How, in the name of wonder—’
Sholmes laughed.
'You are astounded, as usual, Jotson?'
'As usual, Sholmes.'
'Yet it is very simple. The duke carried the pawn ticket in his card-case,' said Sholmes. 'He called only at the Chinwag Department of the War Office before returning home. Only a particularly clever pickpocket could have extracted the ticket without the card case, and, as his Grace himself remarked, it was useless to assume the existence of any particularly clever individual in a Government department. That theory, therefore, was excluded—the ticket had not been taken.'
'Sholmes!'
'It had not been taken, Jotson' said Sholmes calmly. 'Yet it had left the duke's possession. The question was—how?'
'I confess it is quite dark to me, Sholmes.'
'Naturally,' said Sholmes drily. 'But my mental powers, my dear Jotson, are of quite a different calibre.'
Crime at Christmas Page 5