Sherlock Holmes

by Lyn McConchie

  I did not altogether approve of their behavior, but it was understandable. Holmes continued.

  “I daresay that neither Boyd nor Fitzrather had had any occasion to see Mulvaney’s writing, and would not realize that the letters were not in his hand. I believe Warner had planned the events. He had looked for and found an elderly man of reclusive habits who had a valet, few servants, and no close relatives. He then watched for a suitable opportunity and pushed Mulvaney under that dray. All could have gone wrong at a number of stages. Mulvaney could have lived, remembered that he had been pushed, and pointed at his attacker, or his family might have rejected Warner’s suggestions. Mr. Fitzrather could have refused Warner as a replacement valet, or the family could have become greedy in the course of the five years and demanded more than Warner could pay. Fortunately for him, none of these things occurred.”

  “He smothered his master, stole most of the money that the old man had hidden, and was ready to be given a reference and leave as just another servant,” I said.

  “Yes. Then, with stolen cash and clothing, a new name and background, he moved into society and became Gerald Barnes Wimbledon of Mayfair.”

  “Do you think he conceived the entire plot at that point?” I asked.

  “I think he began planning as a boy,” Holmes said. “Mrs. Trelan said that from his youth he thought himself to be superior. He wanted good food, expensive clothing, a nice house, and to be thought a gentleman. He achieved these things.”

  “So we know how Benjamin Jarvis became Warner the valet, then Wimbledon the gentleman. There are a number of people during his rise who could have cause to expose him, yet none fully understood what he did, and those who suspected were too afraid to act. Why, even now there is no proof he thrust that man under the dray, or that he murdered Fitzrather. Where do we go from here?”

  “I have someone making inquiries. Let us wait to see what they can tell us, for there may be something there,” Holmes replied, and I settled back, content to wait.

  In the event, my friend’s inquiries gave us small assistance. No one from Patrick Mulvaney’s family appeared to have known or suspected that Warner was involved in the accident, beyond being a man taking advantage of circumstances and wishing to obtain a good job. In fact they were grateful to him, as he had sent them the promised portion of his wages for three months without fail, and on being given the post permanently he had acquired for them the lump sum that had been the foundation of a new and still improving prosperity.

  The other servants had not been responsible for Mulvaney’s death, for the maid had an alibi, as did the elderly couple who had retired some distance away. Nor, after one of Holmes’s men was sent to fall into conversation with them, was there any suggestion that they had suspected what Warner might be doing.

  Irene Jarvis may or may not have known her brother to be either Warner or Wimbledon, but Holmes’s enquirers placed her firmly at her place of work all of that day. In any case, Holmes thought it unlikely that she was involved.

  “Fitzrather’s servants say they never saw anyone of her description to visit. It is vanishing rare for a servant to receive a visitor in his master’s house, and had the lady called she would have been noticed. As to Wimbledon, she was not one of his mistresses, so why should he smuggle her into or out of the house as he did those others? If she came and went often enough to become familiar with his home, so much so that she could find his gun, how is it that she was never seen? Of course she may have met him elsewhere, yet that would not allow her to discover his hiding place. Moreover, reports of her do not suggest her capable of murder. She is a quiet, gentle woman, kind-hearted and hard-working, and it is almost certain that she was elsewhere at the time of Wimbledon’s death.”

  “Such women have been known before this to break out into rage. She could have discovered her brother to be living in undeserved affluence and desired to share it,” I offered.

  “It is not utterly impossible, but I do not think it likely,” was my friend’s reply, and from reports of the lady, I could only agree.

  6

  I must admit that I saw our investigations at a standstill. We knew Ben Jarvis to be a murderer, a liar, a cheat, and a thief, but we could prove little of the latter indictments, and one by one we were eliminating those who would have wished to harm him. It was asked of us that we find a way, moreover, to see his sister into her inheritance under such circumstances as would allow her to accept that with a clear conscience. I sighed. That would not be easy. I turned to my friend and said so.

  “No,” Holmes agreed. “Yet I am rarely beaten, Watson. We still have to investigate his acquaintances from the time he was Wimbledon of Mayfair.”

  “Then,” I said resolutely, “despite Harrison’s superior saying sleeping dogs should be allowed to lie—as Harrison expected—let us go and see some of those defamed in the diaries. It may be that they can shed some light either on events or the man’s character.”

  We chose first to see the four men—the fourth having just returned from France—who had been the true foundation of Wimbledon’s fortune; those who had forced his sale of the apartment building. We chose to see them one by one.

  Holmes explained to me. “Let us see what each has to say, and after that we can balance their tales each against the other.”

  They were from good families; none titled but related to those who were. Those families had spoken with Purdon so that he was reluctant to make accusations or to even question the men too severely. I wondered how Holmes would approach this, for while he dealt with all without fear or favor, he could not force them to speak. I was to find out.

  On our meeting with the first, a Major Tilden, we found him at his rooms—in a pleasant location, on a tree-lined avenue, and within the rooms all was well-furnished in a masculine manner, with dark brown carpets, and solid furniture of a generation or two ago. His surroundings were not lavish, but such as emphasized his background as a man of good family and comfortably off. Holmes spoke quietly to the man, but in a way that left no doubt he had all the facts of the matter.

  “Major, I accepted this case with reluctance, but I must tell you I have been retained by a lady related to the man who sold the apartment block to you and your friends. The previous owner of this building was found buried in Wimbledon’s garden.” From the man’s changing expressions I could see that while he knew of the body, he knew nothing of an heir. “Yes,” my friend continued. “The lady is a third cousin of the victim and she is entitled to the money Wimbledon stole. If I fail to recover that, she plans to apply to the courts for leave to bring a claim against you.”

  Here Major Tilden started from his seat. “Against me? Why? We purchased the building from Wimbledon, but we had nothing to do with a murder, nor did we do anything but pay for the building. Indeed, it cost us a large sum to put it into order again. We sold it but we made little profit. Why should she believe us guilty, in what way, and of what?”

  “When I said ‘you’, sir, I was speaking generally, indicating the five of you—four now that your fifth colleague is deceased. As to why she thinks you involved, that is easily explained. She managed to see a portion of Wimbledon’s diary.”

  At this Major Tilden appeared so genuinely puzzled that both Holmes and I could see Purdon had been derelict in his duty. He had not shown the diaries to the men or even read them the relevant portions, so that they had not known there was real cause for concern. Holmes took from his pocket the copy he had acquired, and fixing the major with a hard look, he explained.

  “I fear that you have not been told the entire truth. I do not say that you have been lied to, but that perhaps because of your station in life certain items have not been put to you as they should have been. These are the facts. Wimbledon purchased an apartment building from an elderly man who wished to be rid of the responsibility and intended to use the money to travel. This man was not subsequently heard from until twenty years later when, acting on information, the police found the old man’
s body buried in Wimbledon’s garden. Investigations at the bank have showed that while Wimbledon had withdrawn sufficient monies to buy the building, in the ten days or so after the payment, he deposited again three sums of money which together made up the amount originally paid out.”

  Major Tilden stared. “You are saying that he killed the man and took back the money paid?”

  “It has that appearance. Furthermore, the information that led the police to find the body was provided by Wimbledon himself. After his death, five diaries were discovered in a hiding place within his house, in which he set out the events surrounding that death. He wrote that he did indeed murder this man, but he says that you and your friends were aware of what he did. He claimed that when you threatened to reveal the murder he re-sold the building to you, and that he lived in fear you would return to demand more money when you discovered that the property was not in as good or profitable condition as you had supposed.”

  Major Tilden was opening and shutting his mouth throughout this while his eyes bulged in outrage. For myself, I thought it to be the first time he had heard of the diaries or Wimbledon’s accusations, but then I am a simple doctor; it could also be that he was stunned and horrified to hear his plots exposed.

  Holmes’s face was impassive. “Gerald Wimbledon clearly wrote that the five of you, if you did not know what he had done, at least suspected and used the threat of taking that to the authorities to force the building’s sale to you. Listen, this is what he wrote.” And with that he smoothed out the copy he had received from the police only that morning and began to read.

  “I gave the old man the money, giving him a drink while he counted the notes, and jesting with him that he would now be rich and able to travel anywhere he wished. I watched while he completed his counting, declared himself satisfied, and signed a receipt, which I had prepared. I allowed him to be seen departing his building, but I had made an appointment with him to meet at my own home after dark, saying that I wished to gift him with a set of expensive luggage and wish him safe journeying. Having made myself agreeable and he wanting the suitcases and trunk promised, he arrived at my home at eight that evening.

  “I made him greatly welcome, showed him the luggage and he, finding it expensive beyond his previous means, was delighted, and after talking of his plans for some considerable time he readily agreed to toast his future journeys and happy life. I had placed a drug in the bottom of the glass so that he would see only that I poured from the same bottle for us both, and unsuspecting, he raised his glass and drank off the wine, saying that it was of the finest quality he had ever tasted. In minutes he became insensible, as I thought. I had planned to smother him, knowing that for an easy method that left few traces. However, on my attempting this he roused and fought back, so that I was forced to strike him on the head.

  “Once I was assured of his death, I carried him out to a portion of my garden that is surrounded by shrubbery and where earlier I had dug a grave. I placed him in this, using only moonlight to guide my way so that no one should see any light and later recall the event. Once it was daylight I returned, filled in the grave, and over the following week I built over it a rockery. That has flourished exceedingly—and has been much admired—possibly because of the fertilizer I provided the plants.

  “I had thought all to be well, but then Tilden, Pembroke, Nanton, Elseworth, and Canlon approached me, saying they had heard of my purchase, and that I must by some guile have heard what they planned and preempted their intent. I protested that was not so, but they were adamant. Tilden and Conlon spoke of the strange disappearance of the previous owner, saying that it was odd that he should vanish so. Elseworth talked of disturbed earth, and Pembroke added that much could be concealed by plants and soil. He then talked of my garden and how many had admired my new rockery. At which point they all ceased talking and stood looking at me sternly. Elseworth finally said that I should sell the building to them, since I should not profit by my wickedness.

  “I was fearful that they would expose me since I had no wish to hang, therefore I agreed to re-sell the property, taking the precaution of asking a small profit so that none should wonder. However the five demanded that while on paper I was permitted to make a profit, I must in secret return the additional amount to them and this I did, having no other choice. Indeed, I have always feared that they might return and demand additional monies of me on penalty of exposing what lies under the rockery. I hope that one day I may uncover the body again and dispose of it in some other place so that I can cease to fear this prospect and the five may be discomforted should they attempt to reveal my crime.”

  Holmes ceased reading and Tilden, purple in the face by now, spoke briefly but fluently, ending with a clear statement. “None of that is true! I had no idea what Wimbledon had done, nor to my knowledge had any of my friends. We never threatened him in that way, and we did not receive from him the profit he made.”

  “You did threaten him to obtain the sale, however.”

  Tilden scowled. “That is true. We believed he obtained the information from Canlon, who was the oldest of us. He had gone to Wimbledon’s house some days earlier, and there they played cards. An attractive woman, a friend of Wimbledon’s, plied poor Canlon with drink. He did not think he had revealed our plans, but he admitted it to be possible. We told Wimbledon that did he not sell the building to us we would see him blackballed from the club, and we would set it about that he was not to be trusted. We permitted him a small profit, and we later found that the building had not been at all a good buy.”

  “No, it was in poor condition and required a large sum to repair,” Holmes said, to confirm that we knew all.

  “That is so, but then such is the nature of business. We did make some profit, but not nearly so much as we had hoped.”

  “And you maintain that you knew nothing of the murder, you did not receive a return of Wimbledon’s profits, and that you had no suspicions of him, save that he had in some way heard of your plans and struck ahead of you?”

  Tilden held up his hand. “I will swear upon the Bible, should you ask it,” he said quietly. “Wimbledon lied in whatever he wrote, for he says clearly that we all threatened him with the exposure of his murder. Since I did not know of it, and I was present at that meeting, I can swear that he lied, for the conversation he describes did not take place.”

  So earnest was his mien that I believed him, and Holmes stood. “I do not think,” he said, “that you lie. I ask only that you do not go at once to your friends and tell them what was said here. I would meet each of them and hear what they have to say, but without prejudice, and without their knowing what Wimbledon wrote. Will you promise me this?” He held out his hand and Tilden took it.

  “I promise I shall say nothing to anyone of this meeting or what was said here. Tell me your findings on this once you have questioned my friends, so that we may then discuss this together.”

  Holmes inclined his head in agreement, and Tilden showed us out. Once back in the street I queried my friend, keeping my voice low so that none in the bustling street should hear my words.

  “I believe him, Holmes. What do you think?”

  “Oh, I believe him, but we need proof.”

  “Why?” I asked, honestly perplexed as to why that should matter.

  “People talk. Suppose what you have here are five decent and innocent men. Yet Wimbledon has stated in writing that all five knew him to be a murderer. Did they send for the police, did they denounce him? No, they used it to force a sale of property to their benefit. They allowed the body of a murdered man to lie hidden and his murderer to go unpunished. And if that becomes known, Watson, what will be said of them even if there is no proof, even if, in fact, they are as guiltless as Major Tilden swears?”

  I understood now. “Why, their names will be shouted from the rooftops, and they will be proclaimed as men who put money before the life of an inoffensive and elderly man. Their families would be disgraced, and they themselves would be forc
ed from their clubs and ruined both financially and in reputation.” I took a breath. “Holmes, if they are indeed guiltless this must not happen.”

  Holmes laid a hand reassuringly on my shoulder. “Nor shall it, Watson. Now, let us see the next man on our list as soon as may be.” He strode off and I followed. He hailed a cab, and in less than half an hour we were at the residence of Edmund Pembroke, a vastly different home from that of the Major. Pembroke, on the other hand, had a commodious house in the pleasant suburb of Kingsbury. It boasted a garden with trees, and I guessed him to have as many as four servants. However, it was the man himself who answered the door, staring when Holmes announced who he was, but inviting us in.

  “I have heard a little about you, sir. I have no idea what you want of me, but if I can aid you in some way, then I am willing.”

  “You do not live alone?” Holmes asked once we were seated, not in a parlor, but around a wooden table in a large, comfortable kitchen, Pembroke having been boiling a kettle when we called. He offered tea, we accepted, and it was while we sat about the table that he explained his apparent bachelordom.

  “The children are away in Brighton, visiting an old friend of my wife’s who lives in Queens Park Rise there. She is godmother to our eldest, and they have gone to spend a week with her to enjoy the seaside while the weather is so warm. My wife is outside at the far end of the property. But how can I help you, Mr. Holmes?”

  “Tell me of your dealings with Gerald Wimbledon, if you will.”

  He was quite willing, and all that he said matched the tale his friend had told. Holmes then took out the relevant diary again and, without comment, read the same passage as Major Tilden had heard. The result was similar, save that this time I thought Pembroke likely to explode from internal pressure. He damned Wimbledon for some time, described him in the most opprobrious terms, and wound down with the statement that if he had but known half of this there would have been a murder, indeed there would, and not of an elderly man but of that cunning snake who had infested London society for far too long. He halted, breathing heavily, and still red in the face.