Sherlock Holmes

by Dick Gillman

  Holmes lent forward towards the Duke, saying, “Forgive me, your grace. I would be grateful if you did not disclose our identities to Mr Stretton."

  The Duke nodded. “As you wish, Mr Holmes."

  Within moments, the footman had dismounted and opened the carriage door. The Duke strode forward purposefully, leading the way for Holmes and myself.

  Charles Stretton’s office was on the first floor and Holmes and I hurried to keep pace with the Duke as he climbed the narrow stairs. At the door to Charles Stretton’s office, the Duke knocked once and immediately entered. We followed close behind.

  The outer office was quite small and dingy. It had that dull appearance that was seemingly common to all legal firms. The room was fairly well lit but it could not shake off its gloomy atmosphere. Dull, dark wood furniture and shelves of files seemed to fill the room and loom oppressively. Piles of documents tied with pink ribbons seemed to litter most of the available surfaces and the smell of dust and old parchment tinged the air.

  As we entered, a young man looked up from his desk, filled with papers. On seeing us, he jumped from his chair as if he had sat on a tin-tack. In truth, I have never seen the colour drain from a man’s face so quickly. He looked indeed pale and I saw him reach out a hand to support himself on his desk.

  “Good morning, your grace” he stammered. His gaze darted from the Duke to us and then back to the Duke.

  The Duke approached the desk, saying, “Good morning, Robert. We wish to speak with your father."

  The young man looked again at Holmes and I and it seemed as though his colour had drained even further. He now looked positively grey.

  I glanced towards Holmes. I could see from his expression and thin smile that he was greatly enjoying the situation, observing every detail. The young man seemed to get a grip of himself and asked if we might wait a moment whilst he ascertained whether his father was available. Robert Stretton turned and hurried away through a large oak door at the rear of the outer office. He reappeared a few moments later, stepping forward to usher us into his father’s office.

  The Duke strode in and we followed. Looking around, I could see that the inner office was a little more elegant, furnished with a variety of quality, mahogany furniture. One of the walls was lined with legal reference books and another bore a large, pastoral picture in a swept gilt frame. The rear wall had a window that faced us and through it could be seen what, presumably, was once the kitchen garden when the building had been a private dwelling. Holmes briefly touched my sleeve and I followed his glance out of the window. In the garden below could be seen the clearly muscular figure of what appeared to be a handyman, digging over the borders to a small lawn. He was dressed in labourer’s work clothes and leather boots. Holmes inclined his head slightly and, as I looked, the handyman took a blue and white sweat cloth from around his neck and wiped his forehead. Holmes’ face again showed a knowing, thin smile.

  Rising to greet us from a large leather chair, behind an imposing mahogany desk, was Charles Stretton. He was a man of about fifty years with iron grey hair, receding at the top and neatly oiled in place. He wore the clothing which, seemingly, all those of the legal profession found most comfortable. This being a dark blue, three piece suit, the waistcoat of which being lightly pinstriped and decorated by a large, gold, watch chain. He was clearly somewhat flustered by our entrance but quickly calmed himself and welcomed us into his office.

  Charles Stretton moved around his desk and stepped forward. “Good morning, your grace” and bowed briefly. He did not proffer his hand to us, but with a nod in our direction, he said, “Gentlemen." Stretton pulled out a chair for the Duke, calling, “Robert? Bring two more chairs for these gentlemen." Robert Stretton appeared briefly in the doorway before he scurried off to reappear with the chairs. The Duke sat down and, now having chairs, we followed suit.

  “We have had more intruders at the Grange, Stretton." announced the Duke.

  Charles Stretton played the part of the innocent well and appeared to be shocked at the news. “Good heavens! Was anything taken?”

  The Duke shook his head. “Thankfully not, but it is so damned un-nerving. I was concerned that the strong-room might have been a target for the thieves. Do you have your key in a place of safety?”

  Charles Stretton reached into his waistcoat pocket and took from it a slender key. He rolled his chair back a little way and then unlocked a drawer in his desk. From the drawer he produced a larger key, which he held out to the Duke. “As you can see, your grace, it bears no label and only I know its true purpose."

  As Stretton held out the key to show the Duke, Holmes lent forward and asked if he might examine it. Stretton pulled back the key, out of Holmes’ reach and looked toward the Duke. The Duke nodded and Stretton, still a little unsure, passed the key to Holmes.

  Pulling out his magnifying glass, Holmes studied the key intently. Satisfied, he passed the key back to Charles Stretton who duly replaced it and locked it firmly away in his desk.

  Holmes smiled and addressed the solicitor. “I apologise for not introducing myself to you, Mr Stretton. I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my companion, Doctor John Watson. We are here at the Duke’s request to be of some small service to him regarding the intruders at the Grange. His grace has told me of his concerns regarding the family strong-room. We opened it this morning and all is well. It’s clear that you keep your key securely. Have you ever had need to use it?”

  Charles Stretton had plainly heard of Sherlock Holmes and his demeanour became a little agitated. “No, Mr Holmes. It has remained here in my drawer from the time his grace’s father gave it to me for safe keeping.”

  Holmes smiled again. “Excellent!"

  At this, Charles Stretton visibly relaxed and was now becoming more confident. “Would you care to take some tea, your grace?” asked Stretton.

  Before the Duke could respond, Holmes replied, “That would be splendid! Thank you.” and beamed at Stretton.

  The Duke looked a little bemused but said nothing, letting Holmes take the lead in the conversation. Charles Stretton lent forward and put the palm of his hand on a small brass circular bell of the type found on a hotel reception desk. A few moments later, Robert Stretton appeared between us, facing his father.

  “Robert, please prepare tea for his grace and his guests."

  Robert Stretton nodded but as he turned to leave, Holmes caught his sleeve. From his jacket, Holmes had taken a slim, cigar case and had pulled from it a thin cheroot. Looking up at Robert Stretton, he asked, “I wonder, could I trouble you for a light?”

  Robert Stretton reached into his jacket pocket and pulled from it a box of matches. Striking one, he held it out for Holmes. Holmes lent forward and held Robert Stretton’s arm and for several seconds as he drew on the cheroot. At the same time, he asked me what the time was. I thought this a very strange request as a clock was in plain view on the wall. I fumbled for my watch and as I consulted it, there was a small cry from Robert Stretton. He dropped the match as the flame had become too close to his fingers.

  Holmes immediately released his grip and apologised, saying, “I am so sorry! How careless of me, I was distracted.” Robert Stretton forced a smile and left to prepare the tea.

  Holmes stood up, and drew on his cheroot. Looking towards the window he casually remarked, “You have a fine view of the garden, Mr Stretton and a strapping gardener, I see. He must be all of six foot."

  Charles Stretton turned in his chair and stood to follow Holmes’ gaze. As he turned, Holmes swiftly bent down and retrieved the match stub from the floor, placing it in his waistcoat pocket.

  Stretton nodded. “Ah yes, Sykes. He’s a fit enough fellow. He has been our gardener for a good few years and is also the grave digger at the local church."

  Holmes sat down and took another draw on his cheroot before saying, calmly, “You must have been very concerned when Robert and Sykes returned this morning empty handed."

  Charles Stretton’s jaw dropped.
“What…Whatever do you mean?” stammered Stretton.

  “Come, Stretton, don’t play games. I know it all." Holmes leaned forward. “When you became the family solicitor for his grace, along with all the title deeds for the Grange there came a sealed letter. You already knew the Burley family history and had very probably heard the story of the ‘Star of Bithur’, first hand, from your father. Clearly there was no treasure lodged with the deeds but on the 50th anniversary of the death of his grace’s grandfather, the 4th Duke of Salcombe, the letter now had significant importance. Perhaps the letter would reveal its location.” Holmes now pointed directly at Stretton. “You carefully opened the letter, taking care not to break the seal, read it and re-sealed it using a little gum Arabic."

  Charles Stretton rose to protest but before he could speak, Holmes commanded, “Sit down Stretton! On reading the letter you realised that the key to the location of the treasure was in the painting. At this point you involved your son and Sykes. They entered the Grange and were in the process of removing the picture when the night watchman discovered them. They were indeed lucky to escape.”

  “It's not true!” screamed Stretton.

  “Hold your tongue man! You will be lucky to escape the gallows given that the Duke died as a direct result of the actions of your accomplices!” thundered Holmes.

  Holmes leaned even further forwards towards Stretton, saying, “News of the burglary spread, you knew the Duke would now place the picture in the strong-room. All was not lost for you had a key. You gave the key to your son and despatched him and Sykes again, using the same route as before so that there would be no fresh marks showing entry into the Grange. This time they were not detected. They studied the picture and brought back the intelligence you needed.”

  Holmes sat back. “You are a clever man, Stretton. You realised the significance of the missing sundial, the time on the clock and the date on the painting. You thought you had all the clues and now a third visit was needed. To avoid detection, Robert and Sykes used a shielded lantern to help them dig at the spot you had calculated from the picture. It was an easy task for Sykes, for he is, as you say, a gravedigger, used to heavy digging… but they found nothing.”

  Stretton was enraged. “You can’t prove any of this!”

  Holmes’ face was grim. “Can’t I? Let us see. You are the only person who had access to the 4th Duke’s sealed letter and it was plain that it had been opened before the Duke broke the seal. Besides his Grace’s key, the only other key to the strong-room was in your keeping. You stated that it had never been used and, indeed, you were the only person who knew its purpose. When I examined it, it was clear that it had been used recently. In the strong-room I found a wax Vesta match stub. My little charade today with the cheroot allowed me to obtain a similar stub. Warm wax is particularly useful for recording fingerprints and the two wax match stubs will both bear fingerprints that belong to your son."

  It was clear that Stretton was becoming more and more alarmed but Holmes pressed on. "Sykes wears leather work boots. He no doubt has metal cleats set in them that will match the scratches on the stone steps that run down to the strong-room. In the garden of the Grange I found fibres from Sykes’ neck cloth in the grass beside the sundial. Also, whilst I was lighting my cheroot, I noticed that your son’s shoes had scuffed toecaps. An examination will reveal that there are traces of Lichens, identical to those growing on the kitchen wall of the Grange where he and Sykes made their escape.” Holmes sat back, saying firmly, “The game is up Stretton! I can prove every word!”

  Stretton’s face convulsed and he let out a strangled cry. He tried to rise but fell forward onto his desk. I leapt up and felt for a pulse on Stratton’s neck… but there was none. I turned to Holmes and shook my head.

  The sound of his father’s cry had brought Robert Stretton to his father’s office. Crying, “No!” Robert Stretton ran around the desk and placed his hands on his father’s shoulders as if to try and wake him.

  “He’s gone, Robert.” said the Duke, in a quiet voice.

  Chapter 7 - A little Trigonometry and Horticulture.

  We turned and left, leaving Robert Stretton to mourn his father. The footman opened the door of the waiting carriage and we rode in silence for some little way before anyone spoke.

  “What happens now, Mr Holmes?” asked the Duke.

  “I shall inform the authorities of the facts and let the judicial process take its course. However, we are still one piece of the puzzle missing."

  Holmes sat silently, fingers steepled together against his lips, almost in a silent prayer as we drove on towards Salcombe Grange. I thought I might lighten the mood somewhat by raising a different matter. “Your grace, your grandfather was something of a horticulturist, I believe.”

  “Why yes, Doctor Watson. He was indeed knowledgeable, he decided on all the plantings in the gardens and made sure there was always colour whatever the season."

  I smiled. “I’m something of a gardener myself, though not, perhaps, on such a grand scale. I must admit that I was surprised when I saw in your grandfather's painting that he had painted what appear to be Michaelmas daisies, Azaleas, and Asters in flower in the month of July as these species mainly flower towards October.”

  On hearing this, Holmes jolted upright crying, “Watson! Old fellow, you never cease to amaze me! Your grace, your grandfather’s painting was in the trompe l’oeil style, almost photographic and yet, many are great masterpieces of deception and illusion.” Holmes now leant forwards towards the Duke, his eyes bright. “Your grandfather had one more great deception to play. He dated his picture July 1858 whilst painting flowers that would be in bloom in October!"

  I was puzzled. “How does that help us find the 'Star of Bithur'?” I asked.

  “You will see, Watson.” said Holmes, rubbing his hands with glee.

  When we arrived at the Grange, Holmes sprang from the carriage and raced into the great house. He stood impatiently in front of the Duke’s study and once we had caught up with him, he was desperate to ask the Duke a question. “Your grace, your grandfather was in a regiment which, I believe, included artillery?”

  The Duke beamed, saying, “Why yes, he was very much a keen artilleryman. He had even studied the ‘Concepts of Siege Artillery’ by Leonardo da Vinci, at Cambridge, before obtaining his commission."

  Holmes’ eyes sparkled as he cried, “Splendid! Do you, perhaps, have some mathematical tables?”

  The Duke nodded. “Of course.” The Duke then led Holmes to a section of his bookcase where he pulled out a well-thumbed copy of Charles Babbage’s tables. Holmes then asked for an atlas and flicking through the maps, quickly found Salcombe. Taking out his notebook and pencil, he noted down its longitude and latitude. Slipping the mathematical tables into his pocket, he sprinted out into the garden towards the sundial. Looking on, rather bemused, we followed at a pace. Some moments later we approached the sundial and found my friend busily making calculations in his notebook.

  “Holmes!” I gasped, “Please have pity and tell us what you have discovered.”

  Holmes looked triumphant. “Your grace, Watson, I think I have solved the mystery of the 'Star of Bithur'! From its given date, we thought the painting to be of the Grange in summer. Stretton had relied on this being the case and had used the time shown on the clock face to determine the position of the shadow from Mercury’s arm. At that position, the treasure was sure to be... but no! Your grandfather had created one more puzzle to be solved. He had painted the picture showing the blooms of autumn, not summer."

  His grace and I looked at each other, unsure of the significance of this new information.

  Holmes sighed. “The sun is much lower in the sky in autumn... hence the shadow cast by Mercury’s arm will be much longer!"

  “Of course!” cried the Duke and me, with one voice.

  Holmes referred to his notebook. “The height of the statue is a little over 6 feet. I used the atlas to determine our position on the Earth’s surfa
ce and I estimate that at 4 o’clock, the sun in the autumn is around 25° above the horizon. Now we must use some trigonometry. This is what your grandfather would have done, given his mathematical background in the artillery."

  Referring back to the book of tables, Holmes began to do more calculations in his notebook. “The tangent of 25° would give us a length of shadow of….14 feet." Holmes almost ran to the statue of Mercury and paced the distance from the statue to the semi-circle of stones showing the hours of the day. “Nine feet, the autumn shadow is approximately 5 feet longer than the shadow at the same time in the summer!”

  Turning to address the Duke, and in spite of his previous excitement in solving the puzzle, Holmes now spoke in a quiet, serious voice. “Your grace, I am almost certain that the ‘Star of Bithur’ is buried here. Do you wish to exhume it?”

  The Duke did not hesitate. “Yes, Mr Holmes. I must do what I feel is right and honourable."

  Holmes smiled. “Very well. If you would be kind enough to summon one of your gardeners, we will begin." The Duke motioned to one of his footmen who seemed to be ever attentive, standing a discreet distance away. He instructed him to fetch one of the gardeners and to tell him to bring with him a spade.

  Within a few minutes, a young man appeared wearing stout boots, working clothes and an apron that looked fresh from the potting shed. “Good morning, your grace” said the lad, touching his cap with one hand whilst in the other he carried a garden spade.

  Looking down at the manicured lawn, there was little trace of the recently dug hole, close by the sundial. The Grange gardeners had been meticulous, filling it in and covering it with fresh turf.

  Holmes paced out the five extra feet and pointed to a point in the lawn. “Dig there, if you please, but have a care if your spade strikes something."