“Why, the same.”
My friend, seeing that he would get no further there, tried another angle. “Tell me about Melville Warner. Why did your client require a new valet, how did he find and obtain Warner, and under what circumstances did Warner leave once your client was deceased?”
Happy to leave the subject of his client, the lawyer relaxed and expanded on his previous information. “Mr. Fitzrather’s previous valet was an elderly man—Patrick Mulvaney. Mulvaney suffered a fall while out and about and could no longer give service. Warner aided the man when he fell and it seems that Mulvaney was distressed that he could not continue his duties and spoke on that subject. Mulvaney, apparently knowing Warner was looking for a place and having excellent references, wrote a note to recommend him to Mr. Fitzrather, suggesting that Warner could act in a temporary capacity until he was fit to resume his work. Mr. Fitzrather took a liking to the young man, and finding after a trial period that Mulvaney would not ever be fit to resume his work, agreed that Warner should become his new valet.”
Something in the way he spoke of the trial interlude alerted me, and Holmes too had noticed. He spoke. “Tell me, how long was the trial interval?”
“Three months.”
Holmes was onto that like a flash. “Then when you said that Warner had worked for his master just less than five years, did that include this three month trial?”
“No, of course not. Strictly speaking, Warner was not in my client’s employ over that time. It is customary that such a time is not included in official service.”
“But Warner might not have known anything of that,” Holmes said thoughtfully, and looking hard at the lawyer. “He did not know, did he? And when he found that he was to receive nothing he was angry, was he not?”
The lawyer frowned. “He had no cause to be. He should not have known anything of the will’s provisions, for it was none of his business. As for his length of service, that was mine to determine, and I did so. It was not as if my client had not been good to the man, as he had clothing of him, and a suitcase, and I paid his wages up to date and gave him a good reference.” His frown deepened. “Although I had expected to hear almost immediately from a new employer, I did not, and I found that strange.”
“Not so strange,” Holmes said. “Warner, under a new name, appeared in an hotel in central London wearing a suit and overcoat of excellent quality, having several hundred pounds in his pocket, and from that base he joined society, becoming wealthy and a member of at least one gentleman’s club.”
Mr. Boyd sat gaping. At length he found his voice. “What, Warner had hundreds of pounds you say? From where could he have obtained such a sum?”
“Possibly from Mr. Fitzrather,” Holmes said dryly.
“Certainly not. My client would never have given him such an amount.”
“Not even to compensate him? Knowing that he was dying and that Warner would receive nothing under the will, might not your client have given him an amount in cash to compensate him?”
“No, no, nothing would convince me that he would have done so. Mr. Fitzrather was a man who believed in the conventions. Warner was due no bequest and my client would never have given him one without informing me in advance of his intention to do so, nor in any case would he have handed over an amount such as you say. No, no, he’d have given him fifty pounds at most. Where can Warner have obtained such a sum?”
Holmes caught my eye and I spoke. “I am a doctor and I have had experience with such matters, sir. Some older men who live much retired feel that they must have access to cash in case of an emergency. They abhor the possibility that an urgent situation might arise that requires them to pay cash and they are unable to do so, so to prevent this they may take small sums of money from ordinary withdrawals and find a hiding place near to them. They allow the sums to accumulate until they have an amount they deem suitable to cover any unforeseen need. Could not your client have done so?”
The lawyer went to speak, paused, and considered. “Hmmm, yes, well, I see no harm in telling you that my client did do this. Warner showed us a slit in the upholstery of my client’s favorite armchair, and within was a tin containing a roll of notes to the value of one hundred and fifteen pounds. Sufficient to pay most unexpected calls upon his purse should such arise.”
“A small sum for that purpose,” Holmes said neutrally.
Mr. Boyd flushed. “Nothing of the sort.”
“Warner showed you, in other words, he knew where the money was. And had there been a much larger sum he may well have taken most of it before showing you the remainder, so that you would have no suspicions of him.” He fixed the lawyer with a keen gaze.
“Well, no, that is, yes. That is, anything is possible,” was the angry retort. “Warner could even have stolen furniture or food, for all I know. But I can only say he showed me his master’s money and appeared honest.”
“And the suit and overcoat?”
“He said the suit was out of fashion and that his master had given it to him; the overcoat was older still and he’d been given that a year previous. My client mentioned having given Warner the coat.”
“And a pair of shoes?”
“I know nothing of any shoes.”
“Underclothes?”
“Underclothes?” Mr. Boyd exploded. “Sir, do you make a game of me? I am a solicitor, what might I be supposed to know of a valet’s underclothing? Do you say they were given to the man, or do you suggest he stole them? In either case I know nothing of that. Warner gave satisfaction to my client. He received his wages, he left once my client had died, and I know nothing further.” He stood. “And I will bid you both a good day.” He stamped to the door and opened it, standing with one hand upon the edge, waiting for our departure.
Holmes stood and walked to the door, indicating that I should precede him. I did so, and as I passed the lawyer I heard Holmes make a final comment.
“You may hear more of this, or you may not. But Warner is known to have murdered one man for money some years after he was valet to your client. They found that body recently.”
I turned and saw Boyd fall back, his mouth open in horror.
“Questions could now be asked on your client’s death. How certain can you be that it was indeed from old age and nothing more?” Holmes’ tone was hard-edged.
“Come back, come back at once.” We halted, waiting. “Do you speak the truth? Warner murdered someone?” It was to me that Boyd appealed.
I nodded. “Yes, the body was dug up on the property in which Warner had lived for two decades. It has been identified as the body of a man to whom seventeen years ago Warner had paid a substantial sum of money—in cash,” I added meaningfully. “It has been shown that within a week or so Warner repaid the same sum into his account again. A man prepared to do murder and for such a motive may not only do so again, he may have done so previously.”
Mr. Boyd looked at us, visibly shaken. “The doctor who attended my client died two years ago,” he said. “I recall the circumstances, however, and what he told me. He said that Mr. Fitzrather died of old age, as might be expected of a man in his eighties. But he also asked if he had had a friend or friends to dinner the night before. I said not to my knowledge and asked why he wished to know this. He said that the old man smelled of alcohol still and that his eyes were bloodshot. I know nothing more.”
Holmes nodded. “Be at peace then.”
We departed while Mr. Boyd stood looking greatly relieved behind us. Once we were outside I turned to my friend. “Smothered,” I said concisely.
“So I think.”
“Either his master drank heavily that evening or Wimbledon persuaded him to drink, and once his employer was sound asleep, he placed a cushion or pillow over the old man’s face. The eyes were not bloodshot, they had the small hemorrhages such as appear when a man is smothered or strangled, and if he had been strangled the doctor would have seen the marks.”
“Exactly so, Watson, I agree.” His tone became amu
sed. “The doctor saw, but he did not observe.”
I snorted. “As you say of me, but I think I would have noticed such signs.”
“So do I, Watson. Now, since we cannot question the doctor in this case, let us seek out one of the other servants. Not the cook-housekeeper and her husband. The maid I think to be more suitable.”
“But we have no address.”
“As you know, Watson, I am able to read a file that is upside-down.”
I understood and smiled. The papers concerning the Fitzrather estate had been open upon the desk during the conversation, close enough for Holmes to read whatever was uppermost, despite what was written being upside-down to him. He must have noted the addresses of all involved. Holmes walked down the street while I followed, a little puzzled as he entered a pawnbrokers. There he purchased a matching silver necklace and bracelet, together with a silver and onyx brooch—each in their case—and had them polished until they shone. They were most attractive, although they cost only a few shillings, but I could not imagine their purpose. We then took a cab to the address he had seen and found that while the maid was no longer there, the lady of the house could give us her current address, and to that we repaired.
Once assured that the woman did indeed work and live there we asked to see her, Holmes saying that it was a matter of a minor legacy. The lady of the house seated us in the parlor, and in minutes a middle-aged woman entered the room and stood waiting to be acknowledged. Holmes spoke kindly.
“You are Mary Fell?” She nodded. “Please be seated. We have come to bring you a small legacy from one who remembered you.” The woman sat. “Twenty years ago you worked for a Mr. Fitzrather. You were a good maid and he esteemed you. A lady who was a distant relation of his died last month, and having heard of you in his letters she chose to leave you a small gift of jewelry. We were asked both to bring you these and also to ask what you remember of that household.” Here he lowered his voice. “I am sorry to tell you that Warner has since got into serious trouble and there is some suggestion that he may not have been entirely honest for some time before this.”
The woman’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “I can tell you of him, gentlemen.”
“Good! But first, here is your legacy.” He handed her the cases, which the pawnbroker had wrapped neatly, adding sealing wax over the string’s knots. The woman undid the knots with care, coiling the string in the way of a servant accustomed to wasting nothing. She opened the cases, revealing the softly glowing jewelry, and her face broke into a smile of such happiness that I was delighted at the result of Holmes’s ruse.
“Oh, how kind of her. I remember he wrote to a lady in Scotland; he said once that she was a cousin he had known when they were young. How generous, that after all this time she should remember he spoke of me and she would leave me such beautiful things.” She turned her face to Holmes. “How kind of you too, sirs, to bring them to me. I am so deeply grateful. I shall cherish them always, and when I die my niece shall have them.” There were tears in her eyes. “I have long wished I could leave her something, for she is a good girl, and now I can.”
I saw that Holmes was a little embarrassed, as well he should be, and I intervened. “We were happy to assist in this matter. Now, if you would aid us in turn?” She indicated her entire willingness to do so and we began our questions.
Feeling herself indebted to us, she spoke frankly. She had known Warner, not as an intimate, but as a fellow servant in the same house. Yes, he felt himself a cut above his fellows, and he claimed his family had come down in the world and that one day he would rise again. She knew he had read his master’s newspapers, no, for himself as well, but also he read them aloud to his master some evenings when the master was tired, likewise a book now and again, and sometimes magazines.
“He could read and write well then?” I asked.
“’Deed he could, sir. I’ve seen him write down a list for the master, dashing it off like a scholar born. He was a clever man.”
“But for all that,” Holmes said, “you did not like him. Why?”
“He looked down on us, sir. He didn’t say so, but times I saw him looking and it was as if he saw us as servants to him and not that he was one of us. He spied, and more than once I saw him looking through master’s papers when the master was out of his rooms. One time he saw me and threatened me.” Holmes looked a question and she blushed. “Sir, I don’t like to say.”
I leaned forward. “Mary, we need to know all you can tell us.”
Her fingers twisted against each other. “He said that if I talked of his business he’d get me turned out—he said he’d say he saw me with a man, or he’d say I stole.” Her hands writhed. “It wasn’t true. I had no man, and I never touched anything. But I was only a maid while he was a valet, and they’d have believed him. What’s more, I’d not have put it past him to take some valuable or coin and hide it about my room to get me into trouble did I go against him.”
Holmes nodded. “I’m sorry to say you are probably right. But we believe you. We know Warner for a liar, a thief, and a scoundrel, even a murderer, and recently he died, so that the police are investigating his affairs.” With that she gasped, and I explained some of the circumstances. The tale rendered her even more willing to be completely frank with us.
“A thief, yes, sir. So I think. It was only in the last six years that the master began to stay up in his rooms, and before then he’d been all around the house. Then the valet he had fell and was injured. No, sir, he fell in the street, went under a dray, and the wheel broke his leg badly. It was said he wouldn’t be fit to return for some months, and Mr. Warner came to let the master know. He brought a letter from poor Mr. Mulvaney saying that he knew Mr. Warner for a good valet temporarily free, and asked if the master would like to have him until he could be about again.”
I said nothing, but it sounded peculiar to me and to Holmes also, I had no doubt. Conspiracy within conspiracy.
Holmes looked at the woman. “Tell me, did Mulvaney ever return?”
“Why, no, sir. Master had another letter after three months saying that he was left lame and had decided to retire.”
Holmes led her back to the earlier discussion and she continued. “Yes, sir, I know the master took money and hid it. We all knew. Sometimes he gambled with a friend after dinner: nothing great to him, whist at a penny a point, or some such. He used the cash to pay, did he lose. So any money he had hid came and went, but sometimes it could be quite a sum had he not had friends in for a while.”
“You knew where he hid the money. Did Warner?” She nodded. “Did your master count it?”
“I never saw him to do so, sir.”
My attention sharpened. So Wimbledon could have been stealing small sums from the old man’s cache for years, and that could be the source of the money with which he had come to London after Fitzrather’s death.
Holmes nodded. “But you do think he stole?”
“I said nothing, sir. I was afraid. But we all knew the master to have had money hidden there. That night he died the master went off to bed early. Once I had done all my other chores and before I went to bed, I thought it a good time to clear the ashes from the fire in master’s study and lay the fire again. As I came in I saw Mr. Warner rising from being stooped over the chair. He thrust his hands into his pockets and his look at me, sir! It was the look of a wild beast about to spring. I stepped back and he leapt at me, took me by the arm and said if I ever spoke of this, his friends would see to it I was silenced. I should remember that I saw nothing, I knew nothing, and most especially I should say nothing.
“I said I did not know why he would say such to me, that he knew me for no talker, and that since I knew nothing, had seen nothing, what could I say? He said that was well, and I should keep things so.” Her gaze met ours. “I was afraid to speak after that, but now he is dead. I cannot swear to what I saw, but it looked to be a number of banknotes folded over in one hand, and I caught a glimpse of gold in the other before h
e pushed them deep into his pockets. I also heard the clink of coins. Perhaps I should have told the lawyer that came, but he was so stiff with us, and I feared in case Mr. Warner lied to him about me, or his friends harmed me, as he said.”
Holmes soothed her, added a sovereign to her legacy, and we left her smiling. We told Mary’s employer, on our way out, that she had an excellent servant and leaving her, too, smiling.
Upon our departure Holmes hailed a cab and we set off for home, where, once we had arrived, he called in an associate and gave orders. These culminated in a return of the man late the following day. I was out, but upon my return Holmes shared the report he had received.
“I saw that you, too, Watson, wondered if Mulvaney had been done away with. He may well have been, but there will be no proof. He was severely injured in the fall under that dray and died a week later.” I blinked at him. If that were so, how had he written a later letter to his master? Holmes nodded acknowledgement of my confusion.
“Warner was there when the accident occurred. He took charge, had the man carried to an inn, informed the family, arranged a carriage when they arrived, and had them and the injured man conveyed to their home. He called for and paid a doctor, and stayed with Mulvaney. During the next few days he pointed out to the man’s family the plight they were in. There would be no more wages and no pension, since the man was dying. He persuaded them to conceal the death, while he wrote a letter supposedly from Mulvaney introducing Warner, and saying he could take Mulvaney’s place.
“For this he promised to pay the family a portion of his wages for a period. He waited the three months, and having ingratiated himself with Mr. Fitzrather and knowing he could stay if Mulvaney did not return, he then wrote that letter saying that Mulvaney had decided not to return, being no longer fit to work. Boyd should have investigated this and made certain that he saw the valet, but he did not bother. Instead, Mr. Fitzrather sent the family a lump sum in lieu of a pension. This they took with rejoicing and went to live in Ireland, where they purchased a small farm and where Mulvaney’s son now prospers.”
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