The Secret Files of Sherlock Holmes

by June Thomson

  ‘Now look here, Holmes –!’ I began.

  I was not only about to protest at this suggestion, eager though I was to see the famous Welbourne heirlooms, but also to demand a full explanation. It seemed beyond doubt that Holmes had reached a conclusion regarding the identity of the blackmailer, for he clearly intended to return the earrings the following afternoon to his client.

  But Holmes forestalled me. Placing a finger against his lips to advise silence, he indicated the cab-driver’s back and, seeing the wisdom of his warning, I was forced to contain my impatience.

  Even when we were installed in the privacy of his rooms in Baker Street, Holmes was still not prepared to offer an account.

  Without waiting to remove his disguise, he carried the package over to his desk, selected a small scalpel from among his scientific instruments and, with one dexterous movement, sliced through the wax seal. Unfolding the brown paper, he revealed a small jeweller’s box with the ducal coat of arms stamped in gold on the lid. Inside, nestling in a cocoon of quilted satin lay the Welbourne pearl earrings.

  At the sight of them, my curiosity overcame me and I pressed forward to look over Holmes’ shoulder at the jewels.

  They were exquisite; two perfectly formed, lustrous drops of a delicate rose-pink colour and glowing with such a deep nacreous sheen that they seemed as if they must contain in the hidden heart of them some soft, living radiance of their own.

  ‘Impressed as I am by their beauty,’ Holmes remarked, ‘as a student of chemistry, I can only wonder that a concretion, largely composed of the common inorganic compound calcium carbonate which has been produced by a seawater mollusc in order to isolate an irritant inadvertently introduced into its shell, should be considered such a valuable rarity. And now,’ he added, more briskly, snapping shut the lid of the box, ‘we have more practical matters to attend to. You, Watson, must change out of your clerical disguise. It might tax Mrs Watson’s tolerance too far if you returned home dressed as you are. I, meanwhile, have a letter to write which must catch this afternoon’s post.’

  Even before I had retired to the bedroom to change, he had seated himself at his desk and had commenced writing. By the time I returned, the letter was finished and Holmes was in the act of handing it to Billy, the page-boy, with instructions to run to the nearest postbox in order to catch the five o’clock collection.

  The boy in buttons having departed, Holmes turned his chair about to face me.

  ‘I know what you are waiting for, my old friend, and your patience shall now be rewarded. I propose to reveal to you the identity of the blackmailer and to give you a complete account of how I reached my conclusion.’

  ‘About time, too, Holmes,’ I remarked, taking a seat by the fire and giving him my full attention.

  ‘It was quite evident from the interview with our client that someone among her own staff had gained access to her letters,’ Holmes began. ‘Note that fact, Watson. Her letters; not his. That is crucial to the investigation. The question was – who? There seemed to be several possible candidates but I was able to eliminate all but one on the basis of negative evidence, the importance of which I stressed at the beginning of this inquiry.

  ‘Firstly, it could have been one of the housemaids whose duties took them into both the study and Her Grace’s bedroom where she kept her letters before they were posted. But that seemed unlikely. The letters were securely locked in the bureau and besides, the blackmailer was evidently educated, could spell correctly and could express him or herself with ease. Most ordinary servants have no more than an elementary education.

  ‘Then there was the footman who, under normal circumstances, would have been responsible for collecting any correspondence and seeing that it was posted. Again, he had to be eliminated. The lady’s letters had not been handed to the footman but had been placed in a postbox by her companion and former governess.

  ‘What of the lady-companion then? She had accompanied Her Grace to the concert and no doubt to other social functions and could have witnessed our client in conversation with the gentleman, from which she could have deduced that a relationship was forming. She was also asked to post the letters to him and could have read his name and address on the envelopes. But did she have the opportunity? Our client insisted that she placed these letters inside a bundle of other correspondence and her companion had no time to examine the separate items. Besides, like the housemaids, she had no access to the bureau.

  ‘This left the secretary, Miss Gordon …’

  ‘Now, wait a moment, Holmes!’ I protested. ‘She, too, can surely be eliminated on the basis of negative evidence? She had no access to the bureau either and I cannot see how she knew that the correspondence had continued.’

  Holmes leaned back in his chair, his expression indulgent.

  ‘Go on, Watson. Pray explain your theory.’

  ‘Well,’ I began a little hesitantly, struggling to put my argument into a cogent form. ‘The Duchess of Welbourne specifically stated that, apart from the first two letters which Miss Gordon produced on the typewriting machine and which were merely formal, all subsequent correspondence with the gentleman was conducted in private, after Miss Gordon had left the house, and was written in Her Grace’s own hand. The letters were then locked up in the bureau in the bedroom and were subsequently posted by the companion under the Duchess’s supervision. As far as Miss Gordon was concerned, all contact with the gentleman had ceased after the exchange of those first two letters.’

  ‘A valid objection on the basis of negative evidence and well argued, my dear fellow. My congratulations! But you have failed to take one important factor into account.’

  ‘And what is that, Holmes?’

  ‘The fact that the gentleman’s letters were delivered to the house and would have been handled by Miss Gordon in the course of her normal duties. As they were marked “Private”, she would not, of course, have opened them but she would have recognised the handwriting from her previous acquaintance with the first two letters. By that means, she was perfectly well aware that the correspondence had continued.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I see,’ I said, considerably dashed by this simple explanation. ‘But how could Miss Gordon have known about the contents?’

  ‘She had no knowledge of the contents of the gentleman’s letters. Remember, Watson, I stressed that point from the beginning. I also stressed that the blackmailer was cognizant of certain words and phrases only from our client’s correspondence. That, too, is vital. Can you offer an explanation for this fact?’

  ‘I am afraid not, Holmes,’ I confessed. ‘It is quite beyond me.’

  ‘Then permit me to do so. You may have noticed that, during our interview this afternoon with Miss Gordon, I took care to advance into the room, well beyond the doorway where her desk was placed. This was done with a purpose. I wished to examine the contents of the Duchess of Welbourne’s desk, which was placed by the window and where she had sat in private to write her letters to the gentleman. What I saw laid out on its surface was most revealing. Apart from a solid silver desk-set of rare workmanship and a tray of stationery of the same quality as that on which she wrote her letter to me, there was a large leather-backed blotting-pad of the type which contains several sheets, the topmost of which can be easily removed once it has been used and which it would be Miss Gordon’s duty to replace each morning before Her Grace arrived. All Miss Gordon had to do was to hold up an ordinary looking glass in front of the discarded sheet and any words or phrases which had been written the evening before and had been absorbed into the blotter because the ink on them was still wet, could be easily read.’

  ‘By Jove, Holmes! The answer is so obvious that I cannot for the life of me think why it didn’t occur to me.’

  ‘I believe I have remarked to you before that the most puzzling of mysteries usually has the simplest explanation. For that reason, it is often overlooked.’

  ‘But I still fail to understand the motive. As you yourself pointed out, it cannot hav
e been pecuniary. The sums asked for were too small and, besides, she made no attempt to collect the money. And why demand the earrings? She could not hope to make any money by selling them. They were too easily recognizable as part of the Welbourne family jewels.’

  ‘Miss Gordon may have started off her blackmailing career with the intention of making money out of it but, when the time came, it is my belief that she was too frightened to go to the hotel to collect it. However, money was not her primary consideration. I think her main motivation arose out of malicious jealousy. That is why she demanded the earrings. They would be missed by the Duke when he returned to town and our client would have had an extremely difficult time explaining what had happened to them, a distress which Miss Gordon would have the pleasure of witnessing. The Germans have a word for it – Schadenfreude, which translated means “pleasure in the misfortune of others”.

  ‘Servants always know about such family tensions, however exalted the household and however careful the attempts may be to keep such disagreements concealed. And that, I believe, was the real reason behind the blackmail. Miss Gordon is a poor, unattractive spinster; our client a popular society hostess, famous for her beauty and philanthropy and married to a rich and powerful husband. We should perhaps pity the Miss Gordons of this world rather than condemn them. No doubt Miss Gordon considers that Fate has dealt her a very poor hand, as she would describe it. I prefer to regard it as the accident of birth. Perhaps, in all charity, we should consider her action as a protest against the prevailing social inequalities.’

  ‘But what are you going to do about her, Holmes? Despite what you say, she has broken the law. You can hardly allow her to continue in the Duchess’s employ.’

  ‘The letter I wrote was to Miss Gordon. She will receive it tomorrow morning by the first delivery. In it, I have laid out the case against her and advised her to retire immediately from her post otherwise I shall be forced to name her as the blackmailer. I have left it to her own good sense to supply an excuse for her resignation. I do not believe that she will ever try blackmail again. She is not by nature a criminal. One has to have some faith in the goodness of mankind, or at least, most members of it, or one would become a mere misanthrope. For the same reasons, I shall leave the decision as to her ultimate future in the hands of our client. It will be interesting to see tomorrow afternoon when the Duchess of Welbourne again calls here exactly what she proposes to do about the sudden departure of her secretary. You will be present, will you not, Watson? I cannot imagine that you would want to miss the opportunity of witnessing the return of the Welbourne pearls and the final act of our little drama?’

  ‘No, indeed not, Holmes,’ I said warmly.

  The appointment was for three o’clock and I returned to Baker Street in good time, well before the arrival of the Duchess.

  As on the first occasion our client, heavily cloaked and veiled, arrived in a four-wheeler and was shown upstairs to where Holmes and I were waiting and where the packages were laid out in readiness on the desk, the one containing the pearls so skilfully rewrapped and sealed by Holmes that it was impossible to tell that it had ever been opened.

  Holmes handed the three packets to her with a small bow, assuring her as he did so that there would be no further attempts at blackmail.

  ‘You have my word for that, madame.’

  ‘I do not know how to express my thanks, Mr Holmes,’ the lady replied. ‘I shall leave here with a happy heart. We did not, by the way, discuss your fees.’

  ‘Your happiness is sufficient reward,’ Holmes told her with a touch of Gallic gallantry.

  ‘You are most kind. I shall make sure that the money you have returned to me is donated to some worthwhile charity. Would you agree that the Society for Distressed Gentlewomen might be suitable? Or would you recommend the Committee for the Relief of Anglican Clergymen’s Orphans and Widows?’

  The last question took Holmes completely aback and, unusually for him, he was at a loss for words.

  ‘Perhaps the Society for Distressed Gentlewomen might be more worthy,’ the lady continued, holding out a black-gloved hand to each of us in turn. ‘And speaking of gentlewomen, Mr Holmes, you may be interested to know that my secretary, Miss Gordon, gave in her notice this morning. It appears she received a letter informing her that her mother has suddenly been taken ill. Consequently, she has had to leave my service in order to take care of her. I have arranged for a yearly annuity to be paid to Miss Gordon so that she will not be in any financial hardship and will not therefore be forced to seek a secretarial post elsewhere. On that understanding, I have not given her a reference.’

  ‘A most generous decision,’ Holmes murmured as he escorted her to the door. ‘And, if I may be allowed to say so, also a wise one under the circumstances.’

  A few minutes later, we heard her cab drive away.

  There was, however, a small denouement to the case, or drama, as Holmes had described it. To expand on his metaphor, it was in the nature of a curtain call in which he received the well-deserved acclaim for his undoubted skills.

  A few days after the Duchess of Welbourne’s final visit, my professional duties took me into the Baker Street area and I called in on my old friend to find him in the act of opening a small parcel which had not long been delivered by the afternoon post.

  When the wrapping was removed, a solid silver cigar box was revealed, engraved with his initials on the lid and with a short inscription on the inside.

  It read simply:

  ‘To Mr Sherlock Holmes, Famous Consulting Detective, From a Grateful Client, Mary Woods.’

  * Dr John H. Watson refers to Mr Sherlock Holmes’ refusal to allow the publication of cases involving ‘the secrets of private families’ in ‘exalted quarters’ in the opening paragraph of ‘The Problem of Thor Bridge’. (Dr John F. Watson)

  * Mr Sherlock Holmes is doubtless referring to Charles Augustus Milverton, ‘the king of all blackmailers’, whose death at the hands of one of his high-born victims is chronicled in ‘The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton’. (Dr John F. Watson)

  THE CASE OF THE NOTORIOUS CANARY-TRAINER

  In ‘The Adventure of Black Peter’ I referred in passing to the other cases which engaged Holmes’ attention in the year ’95,* among them that of Wilson, the notorious canary-trainer whose arrest ‘removed a plague-spot from the East End of London’.

  In the same account, I also remarked on my old friend’s capriciousness in refusing to help the powerful and wealthy where a problem failed to engage his sympathies, preferring to devote his time and effort to the affairs of some more humble client whose case appealed to his imagination and challenged his ingenuity.

  Although these two references may appear to be unconnected except in the most general way, there is, in fact, a direct link between them which will be apparent only to those who were involved in the investigation.

  As for the case itself, Holmes and I have spent many hours discussing the merits and demerits of publishing a full account of the facts.

  On the one hand, it would bring to public attention a most unsavoury aspect of life in the great metropolis of London – and no doubt other cities, too – as well as serving as an awful warning to the young and gullible on whom such abominable creatures as Wilson and his accomplices have preyed.

  On the other, we are most anxious not to offend the sensibilities of our readers, most particularly the fair sex and those gentlemen of a refined and sheltered upbringing to whom such revelations would be an all too shocking exposure of some of the worst aspects of our society.

  After much earnest debate, Holmes and I have concluded that the present-day moral climate is not yet ready for the publication of the truth. However, I have my old friend’s permission to make a record of the case which I shall preserve among my papers in the hope that, at some future date, a more robust readership will be prepared to accept in print the full and unexpurgated account of the case of Wilson, the notorious canary-trainer.

  The
adventure began prosaically enough one evening in January of ’95 with the arrival at Holmes’ rooms at 221B Baker Street of Mrs Annie Hare. I use the word ‘prosaically’ quite deliberately for there was nothing about either Mrs Hare herself or her story which suggested that the case she laid before us was anything more than a commonplace affair concerning a missing daughter, a misfortune which had, no doubt, happened to many other mothers in Mrs Hare’s position.

  In appearance, Mrs Hare herself was unremarkable. She was a small, slight woman, with worn features, shabbily dressed in black and with nothing more than an old red shawl over her shoulders, an inadequate covering for such a bleak winter’s evening. Even as Mrs Hudson showed her into the sitting-room, Holmes and I, seated on either side of a blazing fire, could hear the wind rattling the window-frame and flinging handfuls of hard raindrops, like scatterings of gravel, against the panes.

  I shall summarise her story as she was too much intimidated by Holmes’ reputation and too inarticulate to relate it in a consecutive and coherent form. Indeed, it took much patient questioning on my friend’s part to elicit all the facts of the case, which amounted to this.

  She was the widow of a hansom-cab driver who, succumbing to pneumonia, one of the hazards for anyone following that particular profession, had died several years before, leaving her with a daughter to support, which Mrs Hare had done by taking in washing and acting as charwoman to those of her neighbours in Bow, in the East End of London, who could afford the pitifully small charge she asked for her services.

  But – and she was most anxious to stress this point – she had always kept herself decent and had brought up her daughter in a respectable manner. Indeed, the words ‘decent’ and ‘respectable’ figured largely in her account.