Sherlock Holmes

by Lyn McConchie

  “Rather more,” Holmes said dryly. “It would enable you to be certain if the apparent murder weapon was in fact so. It also seems to me that you may be right about a hiding place having been made in the house. Why does a man create such a thing? He could put in an ordinary safe should he wish to hold secure large sums of money or jewelry. No, a secret hide suggests a greater secret. Find that cache and you may discover things about Mr. Wimbledon that could be useful in your case. Possibly it may contain papers that reveal his true name.”

  “His true name, Mr. Holmes?”

  “You do not think it to have been Gerald Barnes Wimbledon, surely?”

  “Well, no, sir,” Harrison said half-apologetically. “I remarked that there is both a Barnes Common and a Wimbledon Common, and that despite all our inquiries we were unable to find any records for a man of that name. It did seem possible that the name was false, but I gained no clearer insight.”

  “Describe the man to me. Be precise.”

  Harrison began obediently. “So far as we know he was about forty-five at the time of his death. However, as that age is based on his own claims, he could have been some years older or younger. His companions at the club say he stated himself to be twenty-five when he first appeared in the city and that is just on twenty years ago. He was neither fat nor thin, rather he was lean but not excessively so, and his friends say that he was quite strong. He was always well dressed, even when he first arrived. In fact, the suit he wore when first he registered at the Downlea Hotel was of excellent quality.”

  “You found the hotel,” Holmes said sharply. “Did they remember him? If so, could the chambermaid recall what other clothes he had?”

  Harrison nodded. “They remembered him. He stayed a week, for it’s in their register, and he came back a couple of times to stay in that first year. The chambermaid is sister to the proprietor, and as well as his suit, coat, and underclothes being of excellent quality, she did say one other thing about his clothes.”

  “That the coat and suit were the only outer wear he had,” Holmes said.

  “Why, yes, how did you guess?”

  “I did not guess,” Holmes said austerely. “I knew. You say he had expensive underclothes of good quality, but not as many as most gentlemen expecting to stay a week perhaps? Nor did he have any handkerchiefs. The first thing that he replaced was his footwear, of which, again, he had only one pair and they matched his suit. Nor did he have with him any personal jewelry.”

  Harrison stared. “By heavens, Mr. Holmes. That’s uncanny. You are right in every particular.”

  Holmes nodded. “Go on describing the man,” was all that he said.

  “The chambermaid said that he had a slight limp when he arrived; he said he’d twisted his ankle the day before, and that may have been true for it had passed off by the time he left the hotel. In figure, as I have said, he was lean and wiry, in height he was around five feet and nine or ten inches. His hair was of a medium dark brown, his eyes of a greenish hazel, and he had small hands and feet.”

  “In a word,” Holmes added, “nondescript.”

  “Why, yes, I suppose so, if you take away his fine clothing and his distinguished air.” Harrison laughed abruptly. “And so are many of us. I am of that height myself, and while my hair is fairer and my eyes blue, and I daresay I could be described as lean and wiry. If I were to be described to anyone who had not met me we could sound somewhat alike.”

  “Exactly,” Holmes commented. “And consider this—you are known to be a policeman. Should you be found dead, shall we say on a beach, dressed in fisherman’s garb, having been recently living in a hut rented by the month to fisherman, and with papers saying that you were John Depford, how long would it take, if your mere description were circulated, to discover that you were in fact, Detective James Harrison?”

  Harrison stared. “Why, my family would never cease looking for me and my superiors would know there had been foul play had I disappeared.” He considered. “However, it’s true. It could take a long time before they found that the man with false papers and such an occupation was me. I’m known as a policemen, so no one would expect me to be a fisherman.” He mulled it over briefly and abruptly his face lit up.

  “You mean, Mr. Holmes, that no one recognized Wimbledon because they knew him to be someone else. But who?”

  “A man who is able to pass as a gentleman is either one, or has been in close association with one for some time and studied the mannerisms of a gentleman. A gentleman whose clothing he was able to obtain, and who may have had money hidden that one constantly about him might discover. Consider a man with few friends or family, astute, eager to pass as a man of a higher class, of nondescript looks that could be altered easily, and who, should his name be different, would be unlikely to be recognized by even those who had previously known him.”

  “A valet!” I said triumphantly.

  “Bravo, Watson. Yes, I think it likely that Mr. Wimbledon was valet to a reclusive gentleman. That on the man’s death, his valet took sufficient of his clothing, the money he knew to be hidden in the house, gave notice with all due ceremony, and departed to seek his fortune.”

  “But, Mr. Holmes, how…”

  “There were suggestions in your discourse, Harrison. First, this man arrived in a hotel—not a major hotel, but a small one catering to the upper-middle-class—a longstanding business with a reputation for staff who are discreet. The place is comfortable but not luxurious nor unduly expensive. This person arrived with one suit, a single pair of shoes that matched the suit, an overcoat, no personal jewelry—or your chambermaid would have mentioned it—no handkerchiefs, a small supply of underclothes only, and he limped. The limp suggests to me that the shoes were not his, and it therefore follows that the clothing too may have belonged to his employer.”

  “He stole the shoes and they did not fit well, so he limped until he obtained others, but the clothing fitted well,” Harrison commented.

  “Therefore look for a deceased gentleman, a recluse, of the same height and build as Wimbledon,” Holmes told him. “A man who, while a recluse, yet had a good lawyer, and who died in the month before Wimbledon appeared in the city. One of his names may be Gerald, and look for him in the vicinity of Barnes Common.”

  “Why there?”

  “Gerald Barnes Wimbledon,” Homes expanded. “I think that the name commemorates its owner’s progression. One of his employer’s names may be Gerald, he lived near Barnes Common, and the Wimbledon was an explanation he used for others. I think you will find that if the name were commented upon, as you mentioned concerning his discussion with Miss Alice’s father, that your victim suggested the common had been named after some distant relative. It would not surprise me if you discover that if anyone asked further, he was able to give some chapter and verse of the family—just not sufficient for a fond father.”

  “Why a good lawyer?”

  “Because, while Wimbledon felt safe enough stealing several sets of underclothing—what lawyer would know precisely how many of those a client would have—he took only a single good suit and matching pair of shoes. I think you will find that the coat may be described as having been of good quality but older, and could be passed off as having been given away, or otherwise disposed of if its absence were noted. The lawyer, as part of the estate clearance, could even have genuinely given them to Wimbledon. However, he took no handkerchiefs, for they would be monogrammed, and none of the personal jewelry—of which the lawyer most probably had a list and would raise a commotion should any be found missing. It will be interesting once you find the lawyer to see what the will said, and to hear the circumstances of the man’s death.”

  “You think Wimbledon could have killed him?”

  “It is possible. In any case, I think he took service with an elderly man in poor health and hoped to benefit—as in fact, he did.”

  Harrison left soon after with the look of a bloodhound on a strong trail. Before he departed he wrung our hands. “It’s be
en good of you to listen to my woes, and I shall certainly look for this employer, but that’s all twenty years in the past. It’s not likely that someone from that time is Wimbledon’s killer, for surely the motive would be of recent origin. Well, I’ll set my men to looking for this hidey-hole, and hope that will tell us something.”

  And with that he was gone, while Holmes glanced across at me. “A good man. A little limited perhaps, but he may yet solve this case.”

  “But this Wimbledon, what a villain!” I exclaimed. “To rob his employer as the man lay dead, to steal his savings and clothing.”

  “His clothing, certainly, but I doubt that the money was his savings. Think, Watson; the man could employ a valet and probably other servants as well. He had a lawyer sufficiently able that Wimbledon took no chances in stealing anything that might be missed or could be proven to have belonged to his employer. From some of our friend Harrison’s discourse, I would venture to say that Wimbledon came to the city with perhaps four or five hundred pounds, but not a great deal more. That is the sort of sum a recluse might have under his hand. It would not be a fraction, however, of his wealth. It is not impossible that on knowing himself to be dying, the employer gave Wimbledon the money, perhaps since the valet was the last hired and not included in an older will.”

  “Then why did Wimbledon not tell the truth?”

  “He wished to leave the valet behind. He wished to be a gentleman, and as such, he could hardly tell his new companions that he had been given money by a dying employer.”

  “I suppose not,” I agreed. “He could have said that it was a recent legacy.”

  “True, but that means he must then create a relative and a will, and what if some busybody looked up the name and found there to have been no one by that name who had recently died? Never tell a complicated lie, Watson. You will notice Wimbledon didn’t. When the young woman’s father asked for details of his family, he told him nothing that could be verified. Even if he were wildly in love with the girl, he remained prudent. Indeed, he had no other choice, for if he told lies the old man would have discovered them, and if he told the truth the old man would have shouted it to all around him in outrage that a former valet courted the daughter.”

  “Then why did he court her?” I asked practically. “He had to have known what would happen.”

  “Yes, which makes me think his courtship was genuine, if ill-considered. He desired her despite knowing there was no way her father would agree to a marriage. Wimbledon had money, the family had little, but they had an old name and would never have agreed without knowing more about him. He knew this, and yet he tried.”

  “An obsession, perhaps?”

  “Perhaps. No doubt we shall hear more on the case should Harrison require further assistance.”

  We did. Harrison appeared on the doorstep two days later, with news of a will. “His lawyer found us. He says it took him time to discover that his client was dead since he saw the man only three times in twenty years. But it was Wimbledon, no doubt about it, and he made two earlier wills. One when first he came to the city, a second five years ago, and the third only last year—a bare six months ago. I’m told a lawyer should dispose of older and superseded wills, however it’s something more honored in the breach than the observance, and this one hadn’t. So when we asked, he was able to produce the earlier two. You’ll find them interesting, Mr. Holmes.” He proffered three unsealed envelopes.

  “The first would leave all he possessed to someone obscure,” Holmes said quietly, before opening the wills. “The second left everything to Alice Leighton in expectation of their marriage, and it is probable that this last one reverted to the original person, with other minor beneficiaries.”

  Harrison looked resigned. “You have it, Mr. Holmes.” He brightened. “But you do not know who that person is. She is a Miss Irene Jarvis. We looked for her at the address given in the will, and there is no one there by that name.”

  “How long had the current occupants been there?”

  “A matter of eight years, and they say that those before them were not named Jarvis, nor do they know anyone local of that name.”

  “Yet two wills made nearly twenty years apart name the beneficiary as a Miss Irene Jarvis of the same address. Consider this; the most likely explanation is that she is a member of his family. However, once he became Wimbledon he cut all ties, as no one must know who he was or where he now is. So when he makes that last will all he can say is that his estate is to go to that relative, and by the name she had and the address at which she lived when last he knew her. Return and ask for someone who has lived there for many years and remembers other neighbors. They should be able to tell you who the lady was and where she may currently be found.”

  “Thank you.” Harrison flushed. “I should have thought of that explanation myself.”

  “When you have had more experience, you will,” Holmes assured him kindly. “Much of a detective’s reputation is made up of experiences that he may draw upon in later cases. The longer he serves, the more he experiences, and the more knowledge on which he may draw.”

  Harrison looked down at the wills. “Before I go, would it please you to look over these and tell me if anything further occurs to you?”

  Holmes sat and picked up the first will. He read it and passed it to me while taking up the second. We read all three wills in silence for some time before I looked up.

  “Harrison, what of the other beneficiaries of this last will? I see that it names the Merrins and grants them one thousand pounds should they be still in his employ at the time of his death, but who are the others?”

  “One is a next door neighbor, an elderly lady who assisted him with the laying out of his garden when he first purchased his house. She gave him cuttings of her own plants, and I am told that they were on good, although casual, terms.” Harrison grinned. “You see that he left her two hundred pounds to buy whatever plant she wished and could not afford. The lady says that she wanted a rare tree, and she had mentioned it to Wimbledon a year earlier. She is delighted that she may now own one, but she is sorry it is by such means. I questioned her and she could account for her movements since she had guests. Although she was home she heard nothing, and I do not consider her a suspect. I think that Wimbledon honestly liked her and merely wanted to give her something she desired.”

  “And the others?”

  “Suspicious,” Harrison said promptly. Holmes raised his head to listen. “One is a local shopkeeper who is listed to receive one hundred pounds. He appears stunned to receive a bequest and says that he knows no reason why this should be so. He admits that Wimbledon was a good customer, but can only think the money some caprice since Wimbledon rarely appeared in the shop, the buying being done by Mrs. Merrin. The local station, however, suspects him to be a receiver of stolen goods on the side.

  “The next is the local chimney-sweep. His reputation is good enough and he has no charges against his name, but he too cannot explain why he should receive one hundred pounds from Wimbledon. He readily admits that he cleaned the man’s chimneys for some years, but to the best of his recollection he never met the property’s owner, dealing, whenever it was necessary, with the butler.

  “The last is a woman in her late thirties, although she is doing her best not to appear so. She was of a good family but now has no close living relatives. Her husband was something of a wastrel, and he died and left her penniless eleven years ago. Since that time it is suspected she scrapes a living by dubious means, although probably not illegal ones.”

  I looked at the will, which left her five thousand pounds, all or any of the furniture or any other portable household goods that she wanted, including an automobile if she chooses, and something listed as Senator Brutus Cassius.

  “What is this item?” I laid a finger on it and Harrison laughed.

  “The dog. Fancy name, isn’t it? I’m told the animal has a long pedigree and would have cost the buyer a good sum. The Merrins said that it’s normally
called Cass. It’s four years old, and apparently Wimbledon was fond of it. Not a doting man, but it was well-fed and treated, and often went with him on his travels.”

  “Was the animal present where Wimbledon died?” Holmes asked.

  “Yes. It seemed to have perhaps been trying to wake its master, for there was blood tracked all down the hall, and the dog’s muzzle too was bloody.”

  “Was it indeed,” was my friend’s comment, after which he sat in silence.

  Harrison added, “Good watchdogs they are, those Manchesters, and at least he’s made sure it’ll have a home.”

  “If the lady likes dogs,” I said.

  “She does. We’ve spoken to all the beneficiaries. She wouldn’t be drawn on why she should get such an amount—although we can guess—but she was willing enough to talk about the dog. She said that, now and again, if Wimbledon was going to be away for more than a day and it couldn’t go with him, she looked after it. She said that it’s a good dog, well-trained and normally friendly, but a fine watchdog at night. It is protective of her, and she has said that she is fond of it and will be happy to give it a home. In fact it has already gone to her, for the Merrins have found another place and went there yesterday, and the animal could not be left behind in an empty house.”

  “Who took it to her?” Holmes asked.

  “Why, I did, sir. It’s true she knows the dog. As soon as we entered the house she called it and it went running to her, wagging its tail and making a great fuss of her. She looked happy too, sir, and I think that genuine. She told it to lie down and it did so right at her feet all the time we talked, and I gave her the animal’s papers, bowl, collar and chain, and a leash. It’s a nice beast, and well-trained, as she said.”

  “Well-trained,” Holmes said, “Yes, that well may be.”

  I waited, but that was all he contributed, so I returned to my other question. “So this lady who was the original heir in the first will now receives again almost all he had. Of what does this consist? You said that ten years after he appeared he had twenty thousand pounds in the bank, a property in Mayfair, shops in Soho, an apartment building, racehorses, and automobiles.”