Sherlock Holmes

by Dick Gillman

Holmes stepped into a small office which was used by the ward sister and pointed to where Inspector Thomas had pinned a map of the city of Truro onto one of the walls. Sticking from the map were coloured pins. The black pins told their own story. The red pins showed the areas where the surviving patients lived and blue pins indicated their places of work.

  “Do you see any patterns, Watson?” Holmes asked.

  Looking at the map, the pins seemed to me to be randomly placed. “I'm sorry Holmes, I cannot. The cases seem randomly spread throughout the city." Holmes had a quizzical look upon his face as though he was beginning to see some pattern emerging but could not quite put his finger on the reason for it.

  “Inspector? Can you give me a list of the patients, their addresses, their places of work and occupations?” asked Holmes.

  “Certainly!” Seemingly to show off the efficiency of the Cornish force, he opened a drawer in the sister's desk and handed Holmes two large sheets of handwritten foolscap.

  “So many!” I gasped.

  Holmes glanced briefly at the sheets and then turned on his heel. Almost over his shoulder he called to the Inspector and Dr Trewin “Thank you, gentlemen. Watson! We have work to do.” and almost ran from the building.

  I muttered a thank you and, leaving two very perplexed gentlemen behind, I followed in Holmes’ wake. As I caught up with Holmes I saw that he had hailed a passing Hansom and had directed the cabbie to return us to our rooms at ‘The Swan’.

  Holmes’ face was indeed serious. “We need somewhere we can smoke and think, Watson. Did you see any common threads in your mornings work?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I saw little commonality amongst the patients other than their symptoms and the fact that there are more women and children than men. Our thoughts on a chemical toxin are, I believe, correct.”

  Holmes looked grim and slapped his hand down hard on his thigh, crying, “There must be a link!”

  Chapter 4 - A common thread.

  Arriving back at ‘The Swan’, we sought out a small sitting room reserved for residents at the inn. Holmes found a comfortable, leather armchair and began to fill his pipe. Settling back he closed his eyes, asking, “Be a good fellow, Watson, and read through the occupations of the patients for me."

  I picked up the two sheets of foolscap and began. “John Trevithick, paymaster's clerk. Sarah Gold, pawnbroker's clerk. Helena Robbins, seamstress. Anthony Trelorn, deceased, telegram messenger boy. Lucy Mead, solicitors clerk...” and so I continued. At the end of the two lists I looked towards Holmes, my heart was heavy.

  “Tell me, Watson. What do you see as being the most common occupation amongst these patients?”

  This was something that I had not considered. I had simply read the names as a list for Holmes. It took me a minute or two to read through them again to myself. After some thought, I replied, “Well, there appear to be quite a few clerks amongst them.”

  “Precisely! I'll wager that the other patients on the list have clerical work amongst their duties too."

  I was puzzled. “Do you think, then, that all the patients came into contact with the toxin through their employment? Surely not. For they come from such a diverse range of trades.”

  “As a starting point, Watson, that is all we have to go on. You have seen for yourself their differing ages and the spread of their lodgings. I cannot conceive that they will all have consumed the same food and drink. The only common feature is the clerical nature of their employment. We must arrange to visit their places of work."

  The morning was at an end and, after a good luncheon, we headed off on foot for the Central Police Station and Inspector Thomas. On arrival, Holmes did not venture to explain his deduction but simply requested transport. Inspector Thomas was good enough to furnish us with the use of a pony and trap and a driver who knew the streets of the city. Armed with the patient list and their employers address, we set off at a good pace.

  Our first port of call was at Gold's pawnbrokers. The shop was in Lemon Street and hanging above the shop was the traditional pawnbroker's sign of three gold balls. We entered the shop and a small spring mounted bell attached to the inside of the door announced our arrival. From the back of the shop appeared a bespectacled, elderly man in shirtsleeves and wearing a striped waistcoat that had clearly seen better days. On his forehead he had a jeweler’s loupe.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen. How may I be of service?” The man had a trace of, perhaps, an Austrian accent and he stood slightly bent, rather, I thought, like a heron.

  Holmes stepped forward, saying, “Good afternoon, Mr Gold. I have come from the hospital."

  Immediately, the colour drained from the man's face and I thought he was about to faint before us. The man staggered, saying, “My God! Not my Sarah!”

  Holmes moved quickly to support the man's elbow, saying, “No, no... Sarah is recovering well and is in safe hands. I'm sorry if I startled you, Mr Gold. "

  Holmes guided him to a chair in the body of the shop and, once seated, Holmes proffered his card.

  Mr Gold peered at it over his spectacles. His eyes grew wide as he read it. “A detective?”

  Holmes smiled and patted Mr Gold's arm. “Have no fear, I am here at the request of the authorities to investigate the illness that has affected your daughter and others. Tell me about Sarah's work. Is she employed here in the shop?”

  Mr Gold now seemed a little calmer as he answered Holmes. “Why yes. She usually serves here, behind the counter." Holmes moved round behind the counter where there were several ledgers, an ink well and pen and a small pile of envelopes. To one side was a jeweler’s loupe and a small pair of weighing scales to weigh gold.

  Mr Gold continued, “It is a small but busy business. There is just she and I now after the death of my wife, Miriam, last year. Sarah sells unredeemed pledges and also takes in items against which money is lent. All the items taken in she enters in these ledgers and then she places the item in an envelope, seals it, and then writes the ledger entry number on the outside." Mr Gold opened a drawer and inside were trays of envelopes containing pledges, all neatly numbered.

  Holmes picked up the ink well and sniffed the contents. He then picked up one of the envelopes used for the pledges, examined it and then sniffed that also. “Tell me, Mr Gold. Do you smoke or take snuff?”

  “Why no, Mr Holmes.”

  Holmes frowned slightly before asking, “Does your daughter?”

  “Certainly not!” replied Mr Gold, in voice of one who had been asked an impertinent question.

  Holmes held up his hand. “Please do not take offence, I have a good reason for asking. Thank you Mr Gold, you have been immensely helpful." With a nod, Holmes and I left the shop.

  Climbing back into the waiting trap, we set off for the next address on the list.

  “Well, Holmes, that seemed a perfectly ordinary sort of job. I could see no way that the girl could have been exposed to a toxin other than she had been handed something sharp and she had pricked her finger with it."

  Holmes laughed, he seemed quite amused by the thought. “A pledge of a diamond hat pin, dipped in curare, perhaps?” asked Holmes with a raised eyebrow and twinkle in his eye.

  “Exactly!” I cried. Holmes’ only response was a broad smile.

  Our next stop was at the Telegraph Office. Holmes wanted to see if there was any news from Mycroft but also to enquire about young Trelorn, the telegram boy who had sadly died. Holmes asked at the desk if there had been a telegram for him and, after but a few moments, he was passed an envelope. Holmes quickly opened it and read the contents. With a grim look on his face he passed it to me.

  The telegram was indeed from Mycroft and read “PM received second letter with details for payment. Says will affect major city in three days if not paid immediately. Mycroft.”

  Holmes’ face was now like granite. “We must make haste and solve this, Watson." Holmes turned once more to the Telegraph counter, asking, “Please give my card to the Head Clerk and ask him if
he would be so kind as to come to the counter." The clerk took the card, nodded and disappeared.

  Within a few moments, a rather rotund gentleman with grey hair, a fine handlebar moustache and dressed in a smart, three piece suit appeared. “Mr Holmes? I am George Shaw, Head Clerk.”

  Holmes touched his hat, saying, “Good morning, Mr Shaw. I am working with Inspector Thomas and would like some information regarding the tragic death of Master Anthony Trelorn."

  Shaw nodded. “Come this way, gentlemen.” leading us through the gap in the public counter, then through frosted glass swing doors and into a small office. “Please, take a seat."

  Holmes smiled, but refused. “Thank you, but no. We seek knowledge of the boy and his duties.”

  Shaw rubbed his cheek. “Well, he was a good lad, always on time for work. He used to be our delivery boy for telegrams and such." Shaw shook his head saying, “A great shame, he fell ill here, you know. We haven't been able to replace him and his bench is just as he left it. One of the more senior boys has had to take on his duties temporarily.”

  On hearing this, Holmes expression changed and he was immediately alert. “Nobody has touched his work area you say?” questioned Holmes.

  “Nobody wants to, Mr Holmes! The lad said he felt ill, grabbed the table and keeled over. He was deathly pale, sweating and racked with stomach pains. A doctor was immediately called, of course, and the lad was taken to the hospital but was dead within two hours."

  “Please, show me his work place. This is vitally important.” urged Holmes.

  Mr Shaw escorted us from his office to a small room off the main sorting office. “Here we are, sir.” said Shaw, pointing to an empty bench.

  Holmes took in the area with a series of swift, enquiring looks, almost like a garden bird on the look-out for a cat. He followed this by a slow examination of the area, pausing to pick up items, examining them minutely before replacing them exactly from where they had come.

  After some ten minutes he had finished and, turning to Shaw, asked, “Tell me, Mr Shaw, from where do you get your supplies of materials for the telegrams?”

  Shaw rubbed his chin. “Well, they mostly come from Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, the telegram forms and such. We sometimes have to buy in materials when we run short, things like the odd ball of string. Of course, we do sometimes have special commemorative telegram envelopes which come directly from the manufacturers. This is the latest one which came in last week.” Shaw picked up an envelope which had on the front a picture of a steam locomotive emerging from a tunnel. “It celebrates the opening of the world's first underground railway by The City and South London Railway Company on the fourth of November. Here's some the lad was using.” Shaw bent down and pulled out a part used box from under the work bench.

  Holmes bent down and carefully removed one. “Would you mind if I took one of these?” asked Holmes, with a slight smile.

  “Not at all, Mr Holmes.” replied Shaw.

  Holmes slipped the envelope into his coat pocket, saying, “Well, we won't take up any more of your valuable time, Mr Shaw. You have been most helpful."

  Chapter 5 - The solution

  Bidding Mr. Shaw farewell, we left the telegraph office. As we mounted the trap I asked Holmes about the envelope. “Have you been on the new underground railway, Holmes? It’s wonderful! The line runs all the way from The City to Stockwell.”

  Holmes appeared to be completely unimpressed, replying, “Really? It is neither the route of the railway nor the commemorative aspect of the envelope that interests me, Watson. Driver! Take us back to Inspector Thomas."

  In minutes we had returned and I watched from the trap as Holmes had the briefest of conversations with the Inspector. Thomas saluted and hurried back into the police station. We, in turn, were taken back to ‘The Swan’.

  Once inside, we again settled into the small sitting room. Holmes now had the look of a man inspired. He pulled from his pocket the telegram envelope and also an envelope which I had not seen before.

  “Where is the second envelope from, Holmes?” I asked.

  Holmes smiled grimly. “I took the liberty of acquiring one from Mr Gold's shop. I thought it may be of some importance.” Holmes now sat back with his right forefinger against his lips. Turning to me he asked, “Tell me, Watson. What do you know of nicotine poisoning?"

  I thought for a moment before replying, “Well, I know very little really, only what I have read. Strangely enough, there is a submission regarding nicotine poisoning in the August edition of 'The Lancet' that I was reading on the train.”

  “Be a good fellow and fetch it will you?” With that, I hurried upstairs to retrieve it from my Gladstone.

  Flicking through the pages, I found the article and proffered it to Holmes. “Here you are, Holmes, page 337. It is entitled, 'On a case of poisoning by nicotine' submitted by Dr G. Stillingfleet Johnson."

  “Capital! Watson." Holmes took the journal and was silent for several minutes as he reviewed the article. His face was now as granite. “It is as I thought. Examine the two envelopes, Watson. See what you can discover."

  I picked up each one in turn. “Well, they are of similar size but not of similar paper. They are both gummed and unused."

  “Smell them man! Smell them!” yelled Holmes.

  Feeling more than a little hard done by, I offered each one up to my nose. “Hmm, they both smell of new paper and there is a faint smell of tobacco from the gum...good lord! Nicotine!”

  “Precisely!” cried Holmes. “We have it, Watson! We know how this fiend has murdered and know a way to foil him.” Holmes slapped his palm down hard on the arm of his chair, shouting, “Lord! I was so blind! I should have seized upon this when I first examined that letter of Mycroft's. Look again at the list of patients and their workplaces. You will see that each of the victims will, in some way, have used envelopes."

  I looked at the list and I could immediately see the truth in what Holmes had said... although there did seem to be some exceptions. “Yes, I see, but they don't all seem to fit, Holmes. What about Helena Robbins, the seamstress and John Trevithick, the paymaster's clerk?”

  Holmes had clearly considered this. “Tell me, Watson. If you were to go into a haberdasher's for half a dozen small shirt buttons, how do you think they may be wrapped for you to carry them home?”

  “Why, in an envelope!” I cried. “But what of the paymaster's clerk?”

  Holmes held up his forefinger and smiled. “Ah! Since the closure of the mines extracting metals in the '70's, the largest employers in this region have been the mines producing china clay. Consider, Watson. How will those workers be paid?” asked Holmes with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Why, with coin and banknotes...Of course! Contained in a wages envelope!”

  Holmes nodded grimly. “Exactly! All these poor souls have been poisoned by licking gummed envelopes where the gum has been laced with a strong solution of nicotine. Perhaps exposure to one or two a day may have caused some illness but sealing many would also, I fear, seal their fate. I have instructed Thomas to visit all the workplaces on the list and to seize any stocks of envelopes that have been received during the last two weeks. We must make haste, Watson, and try and track this poison back to its source." Holmes rose from his chair and we were once again off to a meeting with Inspector Thomas to glean what information we could from his seizure of envelopes.

  Arriving at the police station we were immediately taken to a yard at the rear where constables were unloading boxes from a four wheeled cart. Holmes, I could see, was clearly pleased. “Ah, Inspector. You have a fine haul… and one that has, no doubt, saved lives.”

  The inspector nodded, saying, “Yes, thanks to you, Mr Holmes.” Bending down he picked up one of the boxes, saying, “Many of them appear to have come from this company in London." He turned the box he was holding towards us. Upon it was displayed the name, ‘Arthur Birchwood & Sons, Chiswick, London.’

  “Chiswick!” I cried, “That’s whe
re…” I stopped as I was silenced by a glance and a raised finger from Holmes.

  Holmes nodded. “Indeed, Watson. That’s where we must search further."

  Holmes thanked the inspector and then enquired the time of the next train back to London. The inspector consulted his watch and told us that we could catch the half past two express. This then gave us sufficient time to partake of a light luncheon, pack our bags and catch the train.

  Holmes, I could see, was appreciative when Inspector Thomas himself collected us from ‘The Swan’ and drove us to the station. Shaking hands, we bade him farewell and promised to send word of the results of our enquiries.

  Chapter 6 - The motive

  The train journey back to London was uneventful except, perhaps, when Holmes, who had been propped in a corner, seemingly asleep, suddenly addressed me. “Watson, in the light of what we discovered in Truro. What can we now deduce from the communications we have received from this villain? I am seeking any further information that we might garner, now that our minds are not clouded by the imperative of finding his modus operandi.”

  I sat for a few moments, thinking back to the letter we had both seen at Baker Street. “Well, I can see the reason why the gum on the envelope remained unused and why it was sealed with wax. Clearly he did not want to fall foul of his own poison."

  “Yes, quite so... but sending a poisoned envelope was clearly a mistake on his part. I think he may also have made a further error by revealing more about himself than he would like.” Holmes now paused for a moment before asking, “Do you recall the wording for the insertion into ‘The Times’ personal column?”

  I thought for a moment before replying, “Yes. I thought it a little contrived.”

  Holmes smiled and nodded. “Let us look closely at this sentence. 'Mr J. Bull agrees and wishes to settle his debt.' I think it conveys more than a simple message”.

  Holmes leaned forwards slightly, saying, “J. Bull obviously refers to Great Britain… but why does he see this attempt at extortion as a repayment of a debt? Reparation, perhaps? It is as though he feels he has been cheated and, is indeed, rightfully owed this money by the government.”