by Dick Gillman
Grainger sat with his hands in his lap, facing us. "Mr Holmes, from your telegram I understand that you have called with Doctor Watson to pay your condolences and, it seems, to offer your services? In what way, I cannot imagine."
I was about to speak but stopped short as Holmes leant forwards. "Doctor Watson's aunt was deeply attached to your late wife and was greatly moved by her passing. She has asked me to investigate this tragedy." Holmes reached into his waistcoat pocket and, from his card case, he handed Grainger his card.
Grainger's eyebrows rose in puzzlement as he read aloud, "Consulting detective? Are you then attached to the police as they were here several times prior to the inquest?"
Holmes held up his hand, saying, "No, Mr Grainger. I am here at the request solely of Rachel Watson as she is concerned both for your wellbeing and the memory of her dear friend. I would be most grateful if you could tell me what transpired on the day of the 'happening'."
Stephen Grainger sat back and was clearly concerned, rubbing his chin and glancing somewhat nervously at Holmes. "I'm not sure that this is proper, Mr Holmes. Although I loved Elsie dearly, she was an unbeliever and I am of the opinion that she was taken because of this. She had begun to be very outspoken in her criticism of Dr Garton and our séances. She had even threatened to write an article for the newspapers. Other than that, there is little else to tell. All was said in the coroner's court."
Holmes smiled, asking, "All I would like to know is the happenings on that day, if you please? It would help Rachel to understand better."
Grainger's eyes went from one to the other of us. It seemed as though he had made a decision, saying, "Very well. It was the 27th. We had arisen early as Elsie wanted to tend to her small cottage garden at the rear of the house as the weather had been unfavourable for the previous few days. We spent the day doing errands and odd jobs: I had fixed a shelf in the outhouse and Elsie had begun to knit a shawl for our youngest grandchild. We had returned from our usual afternoon stroll and it was after dinner as we sat here, in this room, that we began to feel ill. I had lit the gas lights and started a fire as there was a chill in the air. Elsie was sitting there, beneath the gas light doing her knitting when she complained of a headache and all of a sudden the whole room turned a bright green. I knew what it was immediately...it was the Emerald Spirit... she was here! In our house!"
I sat with my mouth open, hardly daring to breathe. Holmes asked, "Was there any sound at all?"
Grainger shook his head. "No, Mr Holmes, nothing except our wheezing. There was her smell in the room, something almost metallic, just as it is at the séance. I knew it was her, the Spirit, because of the emerald colour but I couldn't see her form as I usually can.” Stephen Grainger paused before continuing, “I know Elsie had vehemently expressed her views of Doctor Garton and I had seen that he was indeed very angry… but I did not think the spirit would take Elsie. I saw her fall, Mr Holmes, but I could do nothing to help her for I then lost consciousness myself and only awoke in hospital."
Holmes sat back, I could see that he was deep in thought. Grainger was silent now but suddenly Holmes bent over and started to cough. I looked at my friend in some astonishment and concern as he suddenly croaked, "Water...a glass of water, if you please?"
Grainger jumped to his feet and hurried out of the room. As soon as Grainger had disappeared, Holmes leapt up and was immediately on all fours, peering up the chimney. Once satisfied, he quickly went to each of the gas lights in turn and examined them and their mantles with his glass. Plunging his hand into his pocket, he took out his handkerchief and he quickly wiped it along the top of the picture rail. Folding it, he replaced it in his pocket. Hearing footsteps in the hallway, Holmes swiftly returned to his seat and again began to cough.
Grainger appeared with the water and proffered the glass to Holmes. Holmes drained it, smiled and nodded in thanks. "I'm sorry for the outburst of coughing, Mr Grainger, a bit of dust, perhaps, I am quite sensitive to it."
Stephen Grainger looked a little shocked and hurt by this remark. “Hardly dust, Mr Holmes, for Elsie was most particular with her cleaning. Although we have a maid, she is far from perfect. Elsie had cleaned this room herself from top to bottom on the day of her passing.”
Holmes nodded, saying, “I meant no disrespect Mr Grainger. I read that, at the inquest, you had both been affected by monoxide poisoning but there was nothing amiss with the chimney. Tell me, did the police examine your gas lights?”
Grainger sat and thought for a few moments before replying. “No, not that I am aware… but there can be nothing wrong with them as they were inspected and checked by the gas company the day before we fell ill.”
I saw Holmes straighten, like a Pointer sensing its quarry, asking, “And was all found to be in order?”
Stephen Grainger nodded. “Yes, I believe so. Elsie and I had gone out for our afternoon stroll but, according to the maid, a man from the Imperial Gas Company examined the lamps and then asked if she might show him the gas supply and the gas meter. He said there had been reports of some leakage in the neighbourhood and he was checking all the houses in the street. He even fitted a special device to verify that all was in order.”
Holmes’ face had hardened and he asked, “I wonder if you might show me the device as we have had some similar problems at Baker Street.”
Grainger shook his head, saying, “Unfortunately not, Mr Holmes. I can show you the meter but the maid informs me that the device was removed by the gas company whilst I was in hospital. I saw the device though, it seemed to me to be some kind of mechanical mechanism as there was a hole for a winding key.”
Holmes’ eyes now burned. Stephen Grainger rose and took the lead before standing aside and opening a small door which I took to be the entrance to the cellar head. “Here, Mr Holmes, you can see where it was connected.”
Taking out his glass, Holmes examined both the gas meter and the associated pipework most carefully. From my position, I could see that his face had become most stern but, as he turned to face our host, he smiled. “Thank you, Mr Grainger. I will enquire of the gas company and ask them to verify our supply also. We must delay you no further. Come along, Watson.”
Holmes nodded to a clearly bemused Stephen Grainger before hastily heading towards the front door. I mumbled my goodbye before rushing after my friend.
When I caught up with Holmes, it was clear that he was white with rage. “Murder, Watson! We are dealing here with a man who has killed, with no conscience, in the most evil of ways. We must return to Baker Street to confirm it.”
Chapter 4 – Conjuring the Emerald Spirit!
Holmes would say no more in the cab ride back to our rooms but sat brooding and hunched in the corner of the cab. Once inside 221b, he immediately set about arranging his glassware and chemicals. As I watched, he carefully removed his folded handkerchief from his coat pocket and began an analysis of its contents.
After some ten minutes, there was a cry of triumph from my friend and suddenly our sitting room was filled with an eerie green light.
Looking about me, I cried, “My God, it is the Emerald Spirit!”
Holmes gave a hollow laugh, saying, “Hardly that, Watson… but it is enough to convince those willing to believe, of her presence. Watch whilst I conjure her again!”
I moved closer and, as I did so, Holmes took up a metal spatula and used it to pour a small amount of fine, orange metallic powder into the flame of a Bunsen burner. Immediately, the flame turned bright green and illuminated the room.
Holmes turned towards me, asking, “Think back to your university days, Watson. What metal powder when burned would produce such a colour of flame?”
“Copper!” I immediately cried.
Holmes beamed. “Quite so, but there is more here than a simple illusion. You will recall that I examined the chimney and the gas mantles? The chimney was clear of obstruction, as confirmed by the coroner’s court. So, where might the monoxide have come from?”
I th
ought for a moment, asking, “Surely not the gas mantles?”
Holmes shook his head. “No, not on their own… but I did observe a significant amount of blackening. The sample of material that I took from the picture rail was most enlightening. Elsie Grainger was fastidious in her cleaning regime. We were told that she had cleaned the front room from ‘top to bottom’ and that, no doubt, would have included the picture rail. The sample of dust that I obtained in my handkerchief was fascinating in its composition. It was largely carbon together with a small amount of black copper oxide.”
I was initially confused by this, asking, “So the copper and the carbon were somehow introduced into the flame of the gas lights to produce the green flame and carbon monoxide?”
Holmes nodded, saying, “Precisely, Watson! It is the method of delivery that is both deadly but, at the same time, intriguing. When I examined the gas meter and the pipework, I found traces of both copper powder and powdered charcoal. There was also evidence of the device being attached at the point where the gas company uses a manometer to ascertain the gas pressure.” Holmes’ lips were a thin line as he reflected on this. “I am indeed anxious to find and examine this device. In the meantime, I think that this Doctor Daniel Garton requires our closest attention.”
Nothing further was said at dinner that evening. Aunt Rachel had joined us and I believe that Holmes avoided the subject of Elsie Grainger deliberately in order to spare her feelings. Aunt, it appeared, had passed a very pleasant day with Mrs Hudson. They had walked and taken coffee in Baker Street, followed by an afternoon in the kitchen, sharing and exchanging recipes.
The following morning I arose a little later than usual to find an empty breakfast table. Holmes, I could see, had already eaten. A plethora of toast crumbs surrounded his place at the table. His damask napkin had been tossed carelessly across his plate, covering, for the most part, the blade of a knife which was coated with both butter and smears of marmalade. I rang the bell for my breakfast and it was as I was tucking in to a plate of scrambled eggs with freshly toasted bread that I heard a familiar tread upon the stairs.
The door to our rooms burst open and a clearly delighted Holmes bounded in and flung himself into his leather armchair. I paused, my fork half way to my mouth, commenting, “You seem to be in an unusually fine mood, Holmes. What have you been up to?”
Holmes beamed across the room at me. “A little research, Watson… a little research. Something, I think, that might help ensure that our friend ‘Doctor’ Garton ends his days at the end of a rope!”
I put down my cutlery and dabbed my face with my napkin, eager to hear more. “I take it, Holmes, that Doctor Garton is not, in fact, a doctor?”
Holmes cried out, “Hah! No more so than am I, Watson! I took it upon myself to pay a visit to the premises of The Imperial Gas Company, posing as an inspector from the Board of Trade. I wished to see their designs for automated methods of gas lighting. Clearly, the device used to deceive and poison the Grainger’s was some derivative form of clockwork mechanism that introduced the copper powder and carbon into their gas supply.”
Holmes sat back and began to fill his pipe before continuing, “Under the auspices of the Board of Trade, I was shown the plans for a device powered by a clockwork mechanism. In essence, it would open and close the gas valve of a street lamp at a set time and so provide automated illumination during the hours of darkness. From these plans, I noticed that the engineer responsible for the design, was a Mr D. Garton, employed by a manufacturer located in Bath. I took a note of their address and have sent a telegram of enquiry to them. In the meantime, I have a small task for you, Watson.”
Holmes sat back and, with a wicked twinkle in his eye, he asked, innocently, “Tell me, Watson. What is your opinion of these ‘practitioners’ who claim to be able to pass on messages from the Spirit World? ”
I thought for a moment before replying, “It is probably similar to your own, in that there are those whose intent is to criminally deceive for monetary gain whilst others truly believe they have such a gift. I have an open mind regarding the latter.”
Holmes slapped his hand on the arm of his leather armchair, crying, “Splendid! Just as I had hoped. You will then, no doubt, enjoy this evening’s séance.”
I sat back in my chair in wonderment, asking, somewhat warily, “I am unsure of your intentions, Holmes, as I was not aware that we had an engagement?”
Holmes was smiling as he said, “We have not. You, however, are to be my eyes and ears at a séance held by Dr Garton this evening at his home in St. John’s Wood. I took the liberty of reserving you a place at the table as John Watson.”
I blinked, saying, “Me? Alone? Why will you not be there as I am sure that you would be far more observant than I?”
Holmes waved aside my reticence, crying, “Nonsense! I have several errands to complete this evening but I will be home by supper time and shall expect a full and detailed report of the evening’s events.”
Holding up his hand, he would hear no more of my protests and I resigned myself to the task. The séance was to commence at 7 o’clock precisely and I readied myself for the journey. Holmes had provided me with the address and, donning my hat and overcoat, I made my way downstairs to the street below. A cab was hailed and soon taking me towards St. John’s Wood… and a meeting with a suspected murderer! It was an encounter that I did not relish but, if it would provide evidence of his deception, I felt it my duty to oblige Holmes.
Chapter 5 – A séance with Dr Garton
By a quarter to seven I was outside the front door of quite a large example of a red, London brick terraced house. Beside the front door was a shiny, new, brass name plate which read ‘Dr Daniel Garton.’ Rather reluctantly, I rapped upon the door and within a few moments, I was invited in by the maid. After taking my card, she led me through to a rather drab sitting room. The room itself was quite gloomy as the windows were covered, for the most part, with gold edged, green velvet curtains. It was lit by four gaslights, one on each wall and, in the centre of the room, stood a circular table covered with a heavy, dark velvet cloth and with six chairs arranged around it.
It was clear that I was not the first arrival as there were already four other gentlemen sitting around the table. One of them looked up, rose and came towards me, holding out his hand and saying, “Dr Watson! I am surprised to see you here. Is Mr Holmes with you?”
I must admit that I too was a little taken aback as I had not expected to come face to face with Stephen Grainger. Thinking on my feet, I shook my head and in reply said, “Unfortunately not. He has asked me to observe on his behalf. I believe that I may be, perhaps, a little more open-minded to matters spiritual than he.”
Stephen Grainger pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “Come and sit by me, Doctor Watson. Doctor Garton will join us presently. The séance always starts precisely at seven o’clock.”
Grainger led the way back to the table. I could see now that one chair was larger than the others and I presumed that was for Dr Garton. As we pulled in our chairs, I touched Grainger’s sleeve, saying, “I would be grateful if you would address me this evening simply as Mr Watson rather than Doctor Watson. I wish to observe in a private capacity and not in a professional one. I do not wish to influence the séance in any way, you understand.”
Grainger nodded, saying, “Of course… Mr Watson.” As he said this, a tall, slender figure in a flowing, long sleeved midnight blue robe seemed to almost float into the room. He was a man aged around fifty years with fiercely blue eyes, a long, almost rodent-like face which was topped with a mass of straggly grey hair, swept back behind his ears.
Doctor Garton nodded to each of his guests in turn, pausing briefly as Stephen Grainger introduced me. Once seated, he took several deep breaths before saying, “Let us begin…”
As I watched, Garton spread out both his hands so that the little finger of each hand touched the little finger of the two men either side of him and this was repeated around the table. Gar
ton closed his eyes and began to chant softly, “Emerald Spirit… come amongst us.”
The chant was now taken up by all the others and I found myself being carried along. As I sat, I suddenly felt an ice cold draught of air over my knees and as I looked down, I saw waves of vapour, almost like small banks of cloud, rolling across the floor. They seemed to be flowing out in all directions from around our feet.
“She is coming!” cried Garton and as he said this, the edge of the table nearest to him started to rise. I looked closely at his hands to make sure that he was not using them to lift it but clearly he was not. His fingers still touched his partner’s on either side. Again he cried, “She is coming….” A few moments later, the lights in the room flickered slightly and then turned a vivid emerald green and a now familiar metallic smell filled the room.
Seemingly from nowhere, a figure appeared before us. The figure was clearly female and naked except a sheer, emerald green, muslin sheet that covered her from head to toe. I would say that she was, perhaps, a little less than twenty years and seemed to float around the room in classical movements that one might expect of a Grecian muse. The figure passed closely by each person in turn and each one reached out and touched the form. I was indeed shocked as some of the men, to my eyes, touched her quite inappropriately.
As she drew near, I heard Grainger whisper to me, “Touch her, for the spirit is not an illusion, she is truly real!” I reached out and put my hand on her forearm and, indeed, the figure was solid and warm to the touch. I turned and nodded slightly to Grainger in agreement.
This dance, if you will, lasted several minutes and, in truth, I was becoming more and more uncomfortable with the behaviour of the other participants. Finally the lights began to change from green back to their familiar yellow lamp light and, as they did so, the figure slid from our view.