by Dick Gillman
On seeing us, he tossed the lighted taper into the grate and almost bounded forward to greet us, shaking our hands energetically. It was clear that he was relieved to see us, saying, “Gentlemen! Welcome to the Grange. Please sit down."
As I sat, my stomach rumbled rather loudly and I immediately apologised. The odour of the beef had gotten the better of my digestive system.
“Surely you have eaten?” enquired the Duke, greatly concerned.
Holmes answered, “I fear not, your grace. We have been either engaged in this matter or travelling for most of the time since you left us in Baker Street."
“Great heavens! What kind of host am I?” He cried and reached for the silken bell cord. A few moments later a footman appeared and the Duke instructed him to go to the kitchen and ask the cook to prepare two plates of cold beef. “Will you stay here this evening?” he asked, “You would be most welcome?”
Holmes smiled, "Thank you, your grace, but no. I have reserved rooms at ‘The Grapes’ in town. I would, however, like to see the painting before we eat."
“Of course. This way, gentleman.”
The Duke walked across the room and pulled aside a heavily embroidered curtain. He led the way down a short stone staircase to a small chamber that was directly below the study. Within the chamber was a stout, oak door with sturdy iron fittings and a great iron lock. Reaching into his pocket, the Duke withdrew a large, ornate key. He unlocked the oak door which, I could see, was several inches thick. The inside of the small strong-room was in darkness. The Duke lit a small candle which was on a shelf in the chamber and entered the strong-room. After but a few moments, he returned bearing a painting measuring some two feet square in a swept, gilded frame.
An easel had been erected in the corner of the chamber in readiness for the painting and the Duke carefully placed it upon it. Holmes pulled out his magnifying glass and began to examine the painted surface minutely. Once completed, he turned the painting over and repeated the process, examining every inch of the canvas.
Whilst Holmes was examining the minutia, I was looking rather more at the composition of the picture and its subject. The view was of the front of the house, showing the façade and the formal gardens. The painting was of the trompe l'oeil style, almost like a photograph. The building itself was depicted in fine detail, the ornate, gilt clock was painted to show a time of 4 o’clock. The stonework of the façade depicting the Grecian figures, the box hedging and even the different plantings in the garden were portrayed flawlessly.
It was clear that the Brigadier had had a fine memory and had spent many weeks on the painting during his voyage back to England. A small brass plaque had been fixed to the bottom of the frame and was engraved, ‘Salcombe Grange, June 1858.’
Holmes replaced his magnifying glass, saying, “Thank you, your grace. It is a very interesting picture. Perhaps tomorrow you will be so kind as to show us round the house and gardens?”
“Certainly, Mr Holmes, but now you need to eat!”
The three of us ascended the staircase and on the study table we found that there had been placed two plates and cutlery and napkins. In the centre were slices of cold beef, fresh bread and butter, a large stilton cheese and an array of pickles. Two fine crystal glasses had been provided together with an opened bottle of Chateau Balzac, 1882. Holmes and I pulled up our chairs and, together, we made great inroads into the meal.
Chapter 5 - A helpful Landlord and intruders!
After we had eaten and feeling replete, we thanked our host. We bade him farewell and, on instructing the driver, we were taken by his grace’s carriage to ‘The Grapes’ in Salcombe.
The Grapes was an old coaching inn with a wide archway to accommodate the mail coach and its rooftop luggage. We entered and found ourselves in a pleasant bar with smaller rooms off to each side. The landlord was behind the counter and we found him to be a jolly fellow. Having introduced ourselves, he made us most welcome. In the bar were a variety of characters, farm labourers, clerks and the odd family man, perhaps seeking some refuge from the demands of domesticity.
We sat to one side in one of the smaller rooms and ordered two large whiskies as a nightcap. The room was plainly furnished with wheel back chairs and a much used and stained, mahogany table. The ceiling was oak beamed and the once white walls were ochre from long exposure to tobacco smoke. Upon the walls were hung some sporting watercolours and hand drawn caricatures of the locals that frequented the inn.
The landlord appeared with a tray, a bottle of whisky and two glasses. He poured out two good measures and placed them on our table. “Oh, Mr Holmes. This telegram arrived for you this afternoon.” The landlord rummaged in the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out the crumpled envelope. He placed it on the table and tried running a large hand over it to remove the creases. “Sorry about that, sir." Holmes smiled and nodded, picking up the telegram. Opening it, he scanned the contents. A slight smile now played on Holmes’ thin lips.
“Something of interest from Mycroft?” I asked.
Holmes shook his head, replying, “Not really, Watson. It simply confirms what I already suspected."
Holmes sat back, picked up his glass of whisky and, looking over the top of it, he let his eyes rove around the room. As I watched, Holmes suddenly froze, saying, “Hello, what’s this?” He stood up, put down his glass and picked up a clearly very old photograph, mounted in a cardboard frame, from the mantle above the fire.
In the photograph was a somewhat faded group of soldiers. The front row were sitting on benches at attention with a further row standing to attention behind them. An officer could be seen, standing to one side, with a swagger stick under his arm. In the foreground was burnt earth with the odd patch of grass and, in the background, there could be seen native troops. On the back of the photograph, written in fine, purple ink was, ‘Allahabad, 1857’.
Holmes reached for his magnifying glass and was closely examining the photograph when the landlord reappeared. He was flushed and dampened from changing a barrel in the cellar and was wiping his hands on his apron as he approached.
Holmes looked up, remarking, “A fine body of men, landlord."
The landlord grinned proudly. “Yes, Mr Holmes. That’s a picture of my Dad and his chums when they were out in India in ’57. It's a print made from one of the very earliest photographs ever taken in India." The landlord thrust out a stubby finger and pointed to a large soldier in the standing group. “That’s my Dad. They were a good bunch of lads, I met one or two of ‘em when I was a nipper. Quite a few of the men from hereabout joined the army all at the same time. There was little enough work so they upped and joined the army."
Holmes smiled, asking, “…and the officer?”
The landlord’s expression changed. “He was a bad lot, he was. Lieutenant Stretton. My Dad said he never had a good word for the lads. Dad’s troop was always the one to get the dirty jobs. They were some of the ones who had to go and try and find that Nana Sahib after Cawnpore. River patrols, night patrols up into them hills near the border." The landlord shook his head and sat down opposite us, saying, “My Dad’s health was never the same when he got back."
“This Lieutenant Stretton... was he from around here also?” asked Holmes, in a casual way.
“Why yes, sir. His son is the local solicitor, Charles Stretton. I think bad blood runs in that family for nobody round here has a good word for him either… and as for young Robert Stretton. It’s a miracle he hasn’t been up before the assizes!”
“Really?” asked Holmes.
The Landlord nodded. “Yes, sir. He’s been on a sticky wicket a couple of times and I think only a word from his father has got him off!”
Holmes returned the photograph to the mantle. “Well, thank you for your hospitality landlord. I think after our journey we should go to our rooms."
The landlord wiped his hands again, saying, “Yes, right sir. What time would you like your breakfast?”
Holmes thought for a moment and replied,
“I think 8 o’clock sharp would be excellent!”
The Landlord smiled. “Very good sir, I’ll tell my wife and I bid you goodnight."
We climbed the stairs, wished each other a goodnight and retired to our rooms. I slept soundly but was rudely awakened by a loud commotion outside the door of my room. I reached for my pocket watch on the night stand and saw that it was barely 7 a.m.
Suddenly, I heard Holmes call my name. “Watson! Get dressed quickly. There are developments at the Grange!”
I dived into my clothes and opened the door to find Holmes fully dressed and heading rapidly towards the stairs. At the front door of the inn was a liveried footman and, behind him, the Duke’s carriage with two greys which were wet with sweat. They had been driven hard from the Grange to collect us. We climbed into the carriage and were immediately thrown backwards as the carriage set off at a fearsome pace.
“What’s afoot, Holmes?” I asked.
Holmes paused for a moment before replying, “It would appear from the message that vandals have been at work in the gardens at the Grange."
“Vandals? Surely not Holmes."
Holmes now had a grim smile on his face. “No, I think not... more like plunderers than vandals."
In but a few minutes we had arrived at the Grange. The Duke, I could see, was beside himself and Holmes asked to be taken to the gardens immediately. We were led to the formal garden at the front of the house. Here, by an ornate metal sundial, a hole had been dug about two feet square by two feet deep.
Holmes looked about him, asking, “Has anyone been near the sundial?"
The Duke replied, “Only the night watchman. He was completing his rounds when he found the ground disturbed."
Holmes nodded. “Excellent. If you would be so good as to take Doctor Watson into the house and give him breakfast, your grace, I will join you shortly.”
Looking a little bemused, but being an excellent host, the Duke invited me to follow him to the dining room. Looking over my shoulder I saw that Holmes had immediately dropped onto all fours and was beginning an inch-by-inch examination of the area.
It was some thirty minutes later that Holmes joined us. I had enjoyed a superb breakfast of kedgeree, devilled kidneys, bacon and sausage followed by hot toast and some excellent Seville orange marmalade. The soil on the knees of Holmes’ trousers and on the elbows of his jacket bore witness to his activities. Holmes then sat down and was served the same fare as myself.
The Duke was keen to question my friend but, being a gentleman, he waited until Holmes had finished his breakfast. “Well, Mr Holmes. What do you make of this?”
Holmes dabbed his mouth with a rather fine, damask napkin. “This, your grace, is another attempted burglary… and this time the thieves were after the prize itself."
The Duke was plainly shocked, asking, “Good Lord! Have they succeeded?”
Holmes shook his head. “Thankfully not. I can see no marks in the bottom of the pit they have dug to indicate that anything that was buried there had been removed. There were two men. The first was a large, fit, well-built man about 6 feet in height with well-worn size ten boots with metal cleats. He is a manual worker, used to hard digging. He had used a frayed towel, possibly a neck cloth, to wipe away his sweat as he dug. There were blue and white fibres on the edge of the hole where he had thrown it down whilst he dug."
His grace listened intently. “How can you be so sure of his occupation or his height and build, Mr Holmes?”
Holmes sat back. “It’s simple your grace. There is a direct relationship between shoe size and stride length plus information about his weight distribution from the depth of the imprint in the soil. Only a man used to manual labour would have been able to dig a hole of that size swiftly enough to avoid detection." The Duke nodded and Holmes continued, “The other man had done none of the digging, he had simply stood and watched. This second man was much lighter but about the same height. He wore expensive, size ten shoes and he had paced nervously around whilst the other dug.”
Holmes paused and took a sip of a rather excellent Darjeeling tea. “The second man’s footprints were confused and showed where he had paced backwards and forward on the same spot. I also found a round depression in the grass where they had placed a lamp. It must have been shielded so that nobody in the house would observe them."
“Could you follow them further, Mr Holmes?” asked the Duke.
“Certainly. They crossed the gardens and left by climbing the wall by the kitchen and then on into the road to Salcombe. I observed that there were marks on the wall and numerous lichens growing on the wall had been disturbed as they scrambled up."
On hearing the news that the thieves had not found the prize, the Duke looked genuinely relieved.
Holmes rose, asking, “With your permission, your grace, I would like to examine the picture again.”
The Duke nodded, saying, “Of course" and led us once again to his study.
Holmes was walking beside the Duke but as the Duke pulled back the heavy curtain to reveal the steps to the lower chamber, Holmes threw out a cautionary arm preventing the Duke from going further. “Stay there, your grace!" commanded Holmes as once again he went onto all fours. “You have had visitors in here last night too. See here…” and pointed to some tiny scratches on the stone steps. “These were made by the metal cleats in our friend's boots. Come, let us continue."
The Duke was becoming quite agitated, crying, “Mr Holmes! The picture!”
Holmes was quite calm. “Have no fear, your grace. The thieves did not want to take the picture away, they simply wanted to consult it."
Once in the lower chamber we stopped outside the huge, oak door of the strong-room. The Duke tried the door and, finding that it was secure, he was clearly relieved.
Holmes smiled thinly, asking, “If you would be good enough to unlock the door, your grace?"
The Duke stepped forward, used his key and pulled the door open.
As he did so, Holmes reached forwards, asking, “Hello, what’s this?” Kneeling, he took from the strong-room floor a match stalk.
Looking at it with him I asked, “Surely it’s just a spent match, Holmes?"
“Be so kind as to pass me the box from the shelf, Watson." I reached over and passed the matches to him. Holmes held out the box to us. “You will see that these are wooden. The match stalk that I retrieved was a wax Vesta. Do you use wax Vestas at the Grange, your grace?”
The Duke thought for a moment. “No, Mr Holmes. The household uses wooden matches from the kitchen store."
With a thin smile, Holmes pocketed the spent match. He then stooped to examine the lock on the door and the corresponding recess in the doorframe. “Nothing has been forced so our visitors had a key."
The Duke blinked hard, saying, “That’s impossible! My key stays with me day and night and I know for certain that there are but two keys to this room...” The Duke’s voice trailed away as the implication of what he had just said struck home.
Holmes spoke grimly. “We were not meant to have discovered the fact that this room had been entered. I am sure that if we looked around the house, we would find their point of entry. I suspect it is the same place as the last time they broke in. To the unpractised eye, any new marks would be hard to distinguish from those made from their previous incursion."
Holmes now entered the strong-room and returned carrying the picture. “As you can see, the picture is intact. Let us look again at it. If you would allow me to carry it upstairs, your grace, there is now no reason why it cannot be re-hung in the Great Hall. The intruders believe it has served its purpose. Watson? Be a good fellow and bring the easel.”
Holmes carried the picture and I followed with the easel. Once in the study, Holmes propped the picture upon it.
Holmes stood back, asking, “What difference might we notice when we compare this picture with the house and gardens as we see them today?” The Duke and I looked hard at the picture and, finally, the Duke cried out, “The s
undial!”
Holmes nodded. “Quite, your grace. This picture does not show the sundial yet it is clear that the sundial had been part of the gardens well before your grandfather painted the picture."
The Duke looked puzzled. “Why would grandfather leave out the sundial from his picture? It is inconceivable that his memory failed him when he knew the Grange so well."
Holmes smiled. “It was a deliberate omission, your grace. It was not so much what was in the picture that was important, it was more what had been omitted. Let us look again at this sundial."
Holmes led us back out into the garden. I have to say that the sundial was quite magnificent. It had been fashioned from a large bronze statue of Mercury, his outstretched arm and hand being the ‘index’ or pointer, which casts the shadow.
As we stood in front of the sundial, Holmes continued. “Now, your grace, we can see that the shadow from the index falls onto a half circle of stone tablets. Each one is inscribed with a roman numeral to indicate the hour of the day." Holmes stood next to the small excavation and turned to the Duke. “There is intelligence behind this, your grace. At least one of the people responsible for this had used the information from the picture to locate the area where he thought the prize would be located.” Holmes paused for a moment before asking, “Can you recall the time shown on the clock in your grandfather’s painting?”
The Duke thought for a moment. “Why, yes! Four o’clock!"
Holmes smiled grimly. “So, logically, the prize should be exactly where these intruders have dug… but clearly it is not. We are missing a piece of the puzzle. I think, your grace, that it is time that we visited your solicitor."
Chapter 6 - Charles Stretton, Solicitor.
The Duke summoned his carriage and some twenty minutes later we were hurrying along the country lanes towards the town of Salcombe. The journey was uneventful and before long the carriage stopped in the centre of the town outside a rather plain, stone building that contained the offices of several professions. From the carriage I could see a small brass plaque beside the front door which identified the occupants, one of them was solicitor, Charles Stretton.