by Dick Gillman
By the evening of the second day, Holmes could take no more. The inactivity was gnawing at him so and caused him to throw his newspaper angrily across the room. As I watched, he began to pace. A clear sign of his unease. I was becoming gravely concerned for my friend and my only hope now was that there would be news in the following morning's post.
At the breakfast table the next day, Holmes was as a coiled spring. The sound of our front door opening sent him hurtling downstairs at a break-neck pace. Plucking the letters from the grasp of a clearly shocked Mrs Hudson, Holmes raced back to our rooms, eager to inspect the mail.
Tossing two clearly unimportant letters aside, I saw his eyes light up and a wry smile appeared upon his face. “Well, well! What have we here? A letter addressed to a Miss Jane Watson! Hardly imaginative...but I am sure adequate for the purpose. Would you mind if I—?”
From my place at the breakfast table and with my mouth full of toast, I was only able to shake my head and wave a marmalade laden spoon to show my agreement.
Before opening the letter, Holmes went through his usual ritual of examining the envelope with his glass. This he did before turning it over in his hands and holding it up to the light before finally sniffing gently at it. It was at this point that one of his eyebrows arched slightly, a clear indication that he had detected something of interest.
Holmes walked the few paces to his desk and reached for his fine, Italian stiletto, a memento from the Cagliari affair. Returning to the dining table, he carefully slit the envelope and withdrew from it a single sheet of paper and a smaller, sealed white envelope. This he gently opened to reveal five small, round, white pills.
Opening the letter, Holmes again examined it before reading aloud. "Dear Miss Watson, please find enclosed the necessary supply of Lady Cardswell's Female Pills. These are to be taken on five consecutive nights with a glass of water when you retire for the evening. Within a week of taking these miracle pills, your system will be restored to its natural rhythm."
Holmes’ anger on reading this was manifest by his fist striking the table, causing mayhem to the assembled crockery. "Liars!" shouted Holmes, "They peddle false hope and potential harm to both the mother and her unborn child! This cannot be allowed to continue!"
I was greatly concerned by this outburst, saying, "Calm yourself, Holmes! The only way to defeat these vile charlatans is to apply your mind to the analysis of the pills. Added to that, we have the solemn responsibility of reuniting Miss Dixon with those who will, no doubt, be greatly worried by her disappearance."
For a moment, Holmes looked at me with wild eyes but, gradually, as the moments passed, the anger within him receded as logic prevailed.
The next time he spoke, his voice was measured and precise. Nodding towards me, he began, "You are quite correct, Watson. There is important work to be done here. I would be grateful if you could attend to the remainder of the mail whilst I begin my analysis."
As I rose from the table, I patted my friend on the arm, saying, "Of course, Holmes. I am indeed eager to learn the contents of these miracle pills."
Within but a few minutes, Holmes was applying himself enthusiastically to his task and he was soon scribbling wildly in his notebook. Glassware containing various chemicals and reagents spilled out from his workbench onto any available flat surface. As the analysis proceeded, the air in our sitting room acquired that strange, pungent odour that seemingly only a laboratory can attain.
For my part, I picked up the two discarded letters together with another that had been forgotten due to the arrival of the pills. Clutching the letters, I retired to my chair, seeking to be as far away as possible from the vapours emanating from Holmes’ experiments.
The two letters that Holmes had discarded were simply accounts from local tradesmen and I put them to one side for payment. The third, however, was intriguing. Using, as best I could, Holmes’ own methods, I examined the envelope with great care. Taking up my own glass, the envelope appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary save for a small translucent mark at one corner. I noted that it had been posted in Chiswick and it was as I held it to my nose that I detected the faint, though distinctive, odour of turpentine upon it.
I did not wish to disturb Holmes so I took the liberty of using his stiletto to open the envelope. Within it was a single piece of cheap writing paper and from the paint smudged fingerprint at one edge, I knew instantly from whom the letter had come. Opening it fully, I instantly took in the address of the sender as being number 15, Black Lion Lane, Chiswick.
The contents read thus, 'Dear Mr Holmes, I am replying to your advertisement in the Evening Standard regarding the whereabouts of Miss Violet Dixon. I have been unable to meet with her or elicit any correspondence for almost two weeks and I am becoming increasingly concerned. Should you discover any information, I would be much obliged if you could convey it to me at the above address. Yours sincerely, Robert Talbot.'
I stood for a few moments, taking in what I had just read before locating the map of London that Holmes had used and annotated. Unfolding it, I quickly saw that Black Lion Lane, Chiswick, lay within the circle he had drawn and was, perhaps, a little less than a mile from the boarding house in Hammersmith where the body of Violet Dixon had been found.
Looking towards Holmes, it seemed that his analysis was now complete. He was sitting back in thought, drawing slowly upon his pipe as he watched the bubbles in his retorts slowly cease.
I was eager both to learn his findings and also to inform him of the contents of Robert Talbot's letter. Clearing my throat of the cloying chemical smells that filled the room, I asked, "What...what is your verdict on the miraculous pills, Holmes?"
Holmes slowly withdrew his pipe from his mouth and wagged the stem in my direction, saying, "It was a simple analysis. Tell me what you think they contain, Watson." With that, he tossed a small, round, white object towards me. I caught it and immediately recognised it as one of the five pills. Using his pipe stem as a pointer, he swept his arm in an arc in the direction of the assembled apparatus, saying, "All this was, for the most part, unnecessary. I used it merely to confirm my suspicions after my first taste."
I took a step back and looked down in horror at the small, white pearl, nestled in the palm of my hand. "You tasted one these, Holmes?" I asked, incredulously.
Holmes’ face bore a grim smile as he said, "The senses are everything, Watson. Will you not try one?"
I looked again at my hand before replying, "Thank you, but no. I will rely on your judgement and analysis, Holmes. I am sure that your senses are much more acute than mine!"
Holmes laughed and slapped the arm of his chair. In truth, it was the first time I had seen his spirits lifted for many days.
With a twinkle in his eye, Holmes began thus, "Well, there is nothing magical about these pills, Watson. Putting one to the nose reveals little except a suggestion of mint oil. The touch to the tongue provides a slight tingle, a fizz which I suspect to be from a mixture of citric acid and calcium carbonate. This and the mint flavour tend to hide the slight bitterness of Laudanum, the presence of which is supported by the purple colour in my retort."
I was still reeling from the thought of Holmes tasting one of these foul objects as I asked, "And, therefore, there is little efficacy in the ingredients?"
Holmes snorted. "I am of the opinion that the mint flavour may provide a pleasant taste. The fizzing in the mouth caused by the reaction of the acid with the carbonate may, perhaps, suggest to a gullible purchaser that some medical benefit is occurring. The Laudanum is there simply as a soporific, a relaxant, if you will, hence the instruction to take the pills just before retiring. They are as harmless as they are ineffectual!"
Chapter 4 – A visit to Robert Talbot
Whilst I was relieved by the results of Holmes’ analysis, I felt somewhat in a cleft stick. I was, on the one hand, pleased that the pills were not toxic but, on the other, I was still greatly concerned that they were giving false hope to desperate women.
Holmes now turned to me and asked, "Was there also a reply to my advertisement, Watson?"
For a moment I had quite forgotten the letter and I fumbled to produce it. I had replaced the letter in the envelope and now handed it to Holmes.
Holmes I could see was immediately interested and he reached for his glass. "Ah, a Chiswick postmark... and the distinctive smell of an artist!" Opening the letter, I saw his brows furrow as he read the contents. "We must journey to Chiswick, Watson, and, whilst painful, impart our knowledge of Miss Dixon to Mr Talbot."
Holmes rose and headed towards the hat-stand. I sat for a moment, unmoving, before asking, "Will you tell him the whole truth... about the unborn child?"
Holmes paused and turned slightly towards me, saying, "I am unsure; I will make the decision once we have met this gentleman. His disposition might be such that he could not cope with such knowledge."
I rose and, on collecting my coat, I followed Holmes down the stairs. A Hansom was hailed and we set off towards Chiswick. Holmes was silent for most of the journey but as the cab entered Black Lion Lane and began to slow down as the cabbie searched for number fifteen, Holmes held up a finger in caution. Looking directly at me, he said, "We must have a care as to what we say here, Watson. We do not know whether Miss Dixon had struck up this relationship with Talbot after the break-up of her engagement. We must tread most carefully."
I nodded and then raised my arm and pointed. "There! Number fifteen!" The cab drew to a stop and Holmes stepped down. Tossing the cabbie a florin, he asked him to wait for our return.
The house before us was one of a terrace, all built from a pleasant, sandy coloured brick and benefitting from Portland stone lintels. It appeared to have three or, perhaps four floors as there were roof windows. From the name plate by the front door, it was apparent that the property had been divided into separate dwellings. Small pieces of card displayed the names of the residents and a brief glance told us that Mr Robert Talbot resided on the top floor.
Holmes pressed the small bell-push beside Talbot’s name and we waited. After a minute or so there had been no response. Holmes tried again and this time we were rewarded with attic sash window being raised. Looking up we saw a young man in a paint spattered shirt holding the sash whilst gripping a paint brush between his teeth. Removing this, he shouted down, "Yes? If it's about the rent, I will pay you on Friday!"
He half turned and was about to close the window when Holmes called up to the man, "Mr Talbot? You answered my advertisement about Miss Dixon."
The man stopped, looked at Holmes and quickly vanished from our sight, leaving the window half closed. Seemingly within moments, the front door was opened and a panting figure stood before us.
"Mr Holmes? You have news?" asked the young man, plainly eager for any information.
Holmes nodded. "Yes, but I think it better if we were to talk in your rooms."
The young man's face clouded and he stepped back into the hallway, saying, "Why yes, but it is something of a climb, I fear."
Talbot led the way up the three flights of stairs to the top of the house. By the time we had reached his room, I was panting and leaning against the wall for support. Talbot saw my exhaustion and enquired, "Are you distressed, sir?"
I waved him away, thanking him for his concern whilst gasping, "No... no, I will be restored after a few moments, thank you."
Talbot did not seem convinced and ushered us into his rooms.
Holmes introduced us both and we stood whilst Talbot hurriedly removed clothing and other items from a pair or rather tired-looking armchairs. I looked around the lodgings and saw that it seemed to consist of two rooms. The room we were in was clearly the young man's studio. In one corner, near one of the two roof windows, was set up an artist's easel. This stood on a tarpaulin which, I presume, protected the floor. Upon the easel was a part painted canvas. To one side was a table that was covered in crumpled and creased metal tubes containing oil paint. Sprouting from a large jam jar were a great variety of up ended-brushes and beside which was a palette and other sundry artist’s supplies.
Through an open doorway, I could see an unmade bed with a tousle of clothes strewn upon it and across the floor. It was as I surveyed the studio that I noticed several completed canvases propped against the wall in one corner. The first one was of a partly draped female figure in a classical pose. I moved a little closer to get a better view and instinctively, my hand went to my mouth as I recognised the artist's model.
Talbot noticed my interest and held up the canvas, asking, "Is it to your liking, Doctor..." but his voice trailed away as he saw my expression which, I fear, conveyed my anguish on seeing the image of Violet Dixon.
Reaching out towards me, he questioned, "There is something wrong. Something has happened to Violet? You must tell me, sir, for pity's sake!"
Holmes gently guided Robert Talbot to one of the chairs whilst he sat in the other. "I am afraid it is the gravest of news, Mr Talbot. Your friend, Miss Dixon, was found dead at a boarding house in Hammersmith some days ago."
A look of horror crossed the young man's face which he instantly covered with paint spattered hands. "No! It cannot be!” After a few moments, Talbot slowly removed his hands and looked pleadingly at Holmes, perhaps hoping that he was mistaken. Seeing that Holmes was sincere, Talbot asked, meekly, "How? Was it an accident? Was she taken ill?"
Holmes slowly shook his head.
Talbot's eyes widened. "You mean she was attacked?"
Holmes said nothing and again shook his head and held Talbot's gaze. As I watched, Talbot slowly realised the implication of Holmes’ silence.
With a strangled cry, he fell to the floor. I rushed forwards and raised the unconscious figure until he was seated and leaning against the chair. Loosening his collar, I sought, as gently as I could, to rouse the fallen figure. Once his eyes had fully opened, I took from my coat pocket my hip flask and poured a good measure of brandy into the silver cup. Now awake, I was able to force a little of the spirit between his lips. Immediately he coughed and stared around wildly as he swallowed some of the brandy. I placed a restraining hand upon his shoulder until I was sure that he had regained his senses.
With a hand held beneath his armpit, I helped raise him once more to sit in the chair. The news of Miss Dixon’s death had overwhelmed him. Talbot sat there, asking himself the same questions over and over. “How could she? Why?”
Holmes sat on the other chair beside Talbot and asked, “You were at one time engaged to Miss Dixon?”
Talbot seemed almost like a man in a dream. He shook his head to clear it before answering, “Yes, we had been engaged for some twelve months but she broke it off almost a month ago. She returned the ring to me… but I pleaded with her not to leave me and we have remained friends. The last time I saw her was a little over a week ago. She posed for me for that picture.” Talbot pointed towards the canvas of the classical figure that had taken my attention.
Holmes raised an eyebrow in my direction before asking further, “I presume that you know her parents?”
Talbot simply nodded, saying, “Yes, they live but a few streets away. They are fine people but very strict and ardent church goers. Violet adored them but I felt that they kept her in something of a straight-jacket. She only seemed able to be free when she was here, with me.”
Again his hands went to his head and he began to sob. Holmes took from his waistcoat his notebook and silver pencil. “The police will need to call upon Violet’s parents, Mr Talbot. I will pass on their address, if you would be so kind….”
Talbot stirred and looked up. “Yes…yes, of course. They too will be gravely worried by her disappearance. They live in Netheravon Road… number twenty five.”
Holmes swiftly wrote this down and then tucked his notebook and pencil away. Standing, he briefly rested a hand on Talbot’s shoulder, saying, “I am sorry for your loss. As her former fiancé, you need to be aware that the police may wish to speak to you.”
Tal
bot slowly nodded. He remained seated and did not look up as Holmes and I left his rooms and returned to our waiting cab.
Once inside the cab, Holmes shouted up to the cabbie and directed him to return to Baker Street. Holmes sat silent and withdrawn as we began our journey. I, too, had been touched by the young man’s distress and looked straight ahead whilst saying, “I feel that you were correct not to reveal Miss Dixon’s pregnancy, Holmes. I fear it would have pushed Talbot over the edge of reason.”
Holmes shuffled slightly in his seat before replying, “Yes. I must convey this to Lestrade so that he might also keep this fact hidden from her parents. Whilst it may be concealing the truth of the matter, there is no reason to bring further shame to an already heartbroken family.” Upon our return, Holmes was true to his word and duly sent an explanatory telegram to Lestrade.
Chapter 5 – The second letter
We heard nothing further for almost a week when, suddenly, there was a most strange occurrence. It was mid-morning and Holmes had been sitting close to our front window, enjoying a pipe of tobacco in the warmth of an unseasonably pleasant autumn sun. A gentle tap at the door to our rooms announced Mrs Hudson together with our tea tray. We were in the habit of taking a cup of Darjeeling at 10 am, and, if fortunate, one of Mrs Hudson’s freshly baked biscuits.
I joined my friend and had just begun to pour the tea when Holmes’ hand darted out and plucked an envelope from the corner of the tea tray.
“Have a care, Holmes!” I chided, “You were almost scalded!”