The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part II

by David Marcum

  “Best anywhere. Recipe passed down for several generations,” he said smiling.

  “Excellent,” Holmes said. “I was hoping you could tell me the last time you saw Mr. Collier. His shop is closed, and I can’t seem to locate him.”

  Stevens rubbed his chin. “Always odd for someone to up and leave without tellin’ no one. Can’t say, though, if that’s the case for Jacob. Been a customer of mine since ’e bought ’is shop. Nervous little man. Likes to live the peaceful life. Tends a small farm. Supplies the ’ogs for the sausage, ’e does. Just did some dealin’ with ’im a couple days ago. Monday, it was.”

  “Can you tell me what time you saw him that day?” Holmes asked.

  “Oh, ‘e sent a runner with a note. Does that sometimes. I’ll ‘ave the time in me ledger.” He stepped into a side door and back out a moment later. “Well, ‘ere it is. Just as I told you,” he proclaimed, pointing to his ledger. “I wrote it in me book at a quarter to ten. ‘Ere’s the note ‘e ‘ad brought in,” he said as he thrust the paper toward us.

  Holmes took the paper and studied it carefully. “Does he ever send one of his workers?”

  “’E only ‘as the one, Mr. ‘Olmes. Young boy. Pushes a cart for ‘im.”

  “When was the last time you actually saw Mr. Collier?”

  “Oh, it’s been since the week prior. Often comes in ‘imself. Once a week. Really loves me sausages. Must eat them and nothin’ else. Orders enough for two people.”

  Holmes placed a half-crown in the butcher’s hand. “I would like to thank you for your time and bid you a good day.”

  “Well, sure, if that’s all you be needin’.”

  Holmes tipped his hat and started out the door. We stepped out into the sunlight of the day and stood silent for a moment at the edge of the street.

  “Holmes, Collier was dead an hour before that. How can this be?”

  “There is something most foul here, Watson. Nothing is at it seems. That note had Collier’s handwriting on it. He must have sent it.”

  “A forgery, perhaps.”

  “But about sausage? To what end? No, there is something deeper here. Something we haven’t seen.” Holmes tapped his cane impatiently on the ground.

  “Perhaps we should take a look at his home in Harrow,” I said.

  “I do not believe there is anything more to be learned there. Chamberlain’s notes were extensive enough. Also, there is no doubt that the place has been carelessly searched and the grounds tromped over.

  “There are a number of things about this case that make it quite unique, my friend. I suspect that we will find out more about Jacob Collier than he ever wanted known.”

  “So what now?”

  “Back to Baker Street. I am expecting a telegram - a response to one I sent this morning before you rose. It will confirm an idea I had this morning concerning a case in Greater Manchester.”

  Upon our arrival Mrs. Hudson met us in the hall.

  “Mr. Holmes? There’s a gentleman waiting to see you. Been here about twenty minutes.”

  “Thank you. Could you send up some tea, please?”

  We entered our sitting room and found a gentleman standing before our fireplace. He was dressed in a worsted suit with high black boots, and on the table lay his top hat and yellow leather gloves. He turned to look at us, clutching his lapels. One of his hands was bandaged, and the wrapping had loosened.

  Holmes hesitated for a barely perceptible moment and then walked over to the man. “My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is Dr. Watson. Who do we have the pleasure of meeting?”

  “My name is not important,” the man said curtly. “I am not one to mince words so I shall get to the point. I understand you have some interest in the murder of a bookshop owner named Jacob Collier.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss the matter. Perhaps you should approach Scotland Yard with your concerns,” Holmes said.

  “Then you are looking at it.”

  “Without making an admittance of any kind, I will ask how it is that you believe I am familiar with this murder at all?”

  “Everyone has a price, Mr. Holmes, including a constable ordered to guard the door of his bookshop.”

  “Sir, whatever I may or may not know about the situation, I will not be discussing anything with you or anyone else save the Inspector who has been assigned to the case.”

  The man’s jaw tightened and his fists balled.

  “Your bandage is tattered,” Holmes said. “Watson, would you be so good as to change the dressing for him?”

  “Leave it be,” the man barked, hiding his hand behind his back. “Jacob Collier was a friend of mine,” he continued. “He disappeared, and I’ve only recently found him. I hear, however, that he has been murdered. As I am still acquainted with his family, I am interested in conveying any news I can. I can make it worth your while to tell me what I want to know.”

  “I am terribly sorry, sir, but I cannot help you. I am certain that Mr. Collier’s family appreciates your concern, and I ask you to give them my condolences. Thank you for stopping in,” Holmes said with an insincere smile.

  The gentleman scowled and breathed deeply through flared nostrils. Without another word he grabbed his hat and gloves and hurried through the door. His steps checked, and he slowly descended the stairs. The front door slammed closed.

  “Well, that was unsettling. What do you make of him?” I asked.

  “What I make of him is that whomever we were just addressing is not who he says he is. Also, he was wearing lifts in his shoes to make himself appear taller. His high-heeled boots added to that deception. Did you notice how slowly he descended the stairs? He is not comfortable wearing the lifts.”

  “Incredible.”

  “His moustache was real enough, but it and his hair were dyed darker.”

  “So, who were we talking to?”

  Holmes peered out the window. “I have a suspicion, but I cannot commit at the moment.”

  “Should we follow him?”

  “No. I saw the unmistakable shape of a revolver in his right-hand pocket, and any man who is brazen enough to pay off a policeman and then bribe others for data regarding a murder is not a man to be taken lightly.

  “Watson, I need to step out for a few moments. I shall return shortly.” Holmes grabbed his hat and was downstairs in seconds.

  Mrs. Hudson appeared with a tray. “I apologize for the delay, Doctor. Where is Mr. Holmes going?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. He’ll be back soon. I’ll keep the pot warm for him until he gets back.”

  No more than fifteen minutes passed before Holmes reappeared. “I think we should have this little problem unknotted by tonight, at least if my sources don’t fail me.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “When one wishes to know what happens on the streets of London, one has to go to those streets.”

  “Ah. You’ve been to see the Irregulars, haven’t you?”

  “They are the most valuable institution for information, next to the press. As you know, they have been helpful on a number of occasions. I have Wiggins and his friends gathering some data for me, and if my suspicions are correct, we should have an answer to my query in no more than a couple hours.”

  “And until then?”

  “I have sent for Inspector Chamberlain. I would prefer having an official member of the Force with us. Unless I am very much mistaken, he will have learned nothing about the murder of Jacob Collier. Ah! I see you’ve kept the tea warm. Excellent.”

  As the clock on the mantel sounded four, we heard heavy footsteps climbing our stairs. The Inspector appeared at the door.

  “What’s this all about, Mr. Holmes?”

  “I was hoping you might bring us up to date on what you know concerning th
e murder of Mr. Collier,” Holmes said.

  “I’m afraid there isn’t much to tell.” Chamberlain sat. “Since we have no witnesses to give us a description of the killer, no usable evidence left at the crime scene, and no way to know what happened at the bookshop, my men have come up with nothing.”

  “Any theories?” Holmes asked as he rose and stood at the window.

  “I still believe the man in the shop who signed for the package was the murderer. It all went so. Collier left for work that morning and arrived at his usual time - probably about seven, as I understand it. Sometime around eight he realized he had forgotten something important at home and returned to retrieve it. In doing so he unintentionally left the shop door unlocked. When he arrived home he must have interrupted a robbery and was stabbed while running away. The killer then went to his shop to rob the place, and was nearly unmasked when the postman arrived. After that he disappeared. I’ve yet to find him, but I will.”

  “Excellent, Inspector. However, I believe there is more to this story than you may have realized,” Holmes said as he gazed down at the busy street. Suddenly a slight smile crossed his lips and he started across the room. “And unless I am mistaken part of the answer should be coming through our door in seconds.”

  Holmes opened the door just in time for a young page to enter.

  “I have a message for you, Mr. Holmes,” the boy said, holding out a folded sheet of paper, and trying to catch his breath.

  Holmes took the paper and opened it. His smile grew and he dug into his pocket. He handed the lad a coin. “Thank you. Your expedience is very much appreciated.”

  “Thank you, sir. Good day,” the runner said. He turned on his heel and left.

  “Well, gentlemen, one half of the mystery has been cleared up. Now we only have to wait for the answer to the second half. I suspect it will be here very soon.”

  “Out with it, Mr. Holmes,” Chamberlain scowled. “We are talking about a murder here, you know.”

  Holmes handed the paper to Chamberlain. As he read it his brow furrowed. “What’s the meaning of this? We already know this,” he exclaimed.

  “Read it aloud for the good Doctor, if you please.”

  “‘JACOB COLLIER IS DEAD.’ If this is some kind of joke, Mr. Holmes, I’ll have you spend a night looking through bars.”

  “I assure you it is nothing of the kind. What the note doesn’t say is confirmation of a clue you didn’t even know you had, Inspector.”

  “You little rascal, you!” Mrs. Hudson’s voice was shrill. “I’ll take my broom to your breeches to teach you some manners!”

  Seconds later a scruffy ragamuffin burst through the door.

  “We found him, Mr. Holmes. We found him,” the boy said with excitement. “Here’s the address.”

  Holmes glanced at the message.

  “Good work, my boy.” Holmes scribbled on a new sheet of paper and handed it to the boy. “Please take this to the man.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Here is your promised sixpence. Make sure to have each of your associates who aided you stop by for theirs tomorrow, will you?”

  The boy smiled, gave a quick salute, and left.

  Holmes turned to Chamberlain. “Inspector, if you would care to accompany Dr. Watson and me to Southall, your name should appear in the papers once again by tomorrow.”

  “This best work out, Holmes,” grumbled Chamberlain as we descended the stair. “Valuable time has already been wasted.”

  In Southall, our brougham pulled up to the curb. We climbed down. Before us rose a fashionable, narrow-windowed building of five stories.

  Chamberlain frowned at Holmes. “All right, Mr. Holmes. What are we doing here?”

  “Isn’t that Collier’s bookshop across the street?” I asked.

  “It is,” Holmes said, “and it’s under observation.”

  “By the murderer?” Chamberlain asked.

  “Patience, my good man. Note that we are standing just down from The Grand Garden Hotel? Inside is a man with whom you will need to speak. If my calculations are correct, he should be in the lobby very soon. I would ask that you have your revolver ready, as he may not go easily.”

  We entered the doors of the hotel and found a quiet spot in the corner on a pair of Chesterfields. After several minutes Holmes quietly pointed to the stairs at the far end of the room. We stood and followed closely behind him along the wall and columns, getting to within about ten feet of the man.

  “Jack,” Holmes said in a low tone.

  The man - the same one we had spoken to a short time ago at Baker Street - spun around with a look of sheer horror on his face, his hand already slipping into his waistcoat pocket.

  “That’ll do you no good, sir,” said Chamberlain, pulling his pistol and pointing it at the man.

  Holmes walked over and stared hard at the man. “Gentlemen, I would like for you both to meet Mr. Jack Collier - brother to Jacob Collier.”

  “What?” cried Chamberlain. I shared his confusion.

  “Let us find someplace more private, shall we?” Holmes asked. “We need not put this man in any more danger.”

  Chamberlain took Collier by the arm. “Don’t do anything stupid, Mr. Collier. I’m a quick shot, I can assure you of that. In fact, I’ll have the piece in your pocket,” he said as he gently pulled the gun out. Once we were ensconced in a private room, courtesy of the hotel proprietor, the Inspector shoved Collier into a seat and turned to Holmes. “Now, Mr. Holmes, what is the meaning of all of this?”

  “Gentlemen, let me start by saying that Jacob is the poor soul who was murdered in Harrow,” Holmes began. “He was mistaken for his brother Jack here and lost his life as a result. This killer had discovered the whereabouts of Jack and went to his home to exact revenge for a past crime. He mistakenly killed the brother. Jack was at work and was not aware of the situation until the mysterious package arrived at his shop. That package was a signal that something was amiss.”

  Collier shifted in his seat and glared up at Holmes. Chamberlain’s grip tightened on the man’s shoulder.

  “Jack is the identical twin of Jacob,” Holmes continued. “Thus the mistaken identity. The only true way to tell them apart quickly was the scar on Jacob’s cheek. The painting in the house in Harrow was of your brother. Is that correct, Jack?” Holmes looked down at the man. Collier stared straight ahead and said nothing.

  “I first began to suspect the existence of a twin when I spoke to your butcher, Mr. Stevens. I made a passing mention of the scar, but he had no knowledge of one. It was also impossible for someone to send a runner with an order an hour after he was dead. The thought of a twin had not occurred to me before then, but it seemed a plausible theory after that. By using this possibility, I was able to construct a timeline of events. At ten a.m. the postman entered your shop with the package. You recognized it immediately, cut your hand forcing it open, removed the contents, and were so shaken that you left the shop without even locking the door. From there you put into motion a plan already conceived.”

  “What was in the box, Mr. Holmes?” asked Chamberlain.

  “Money, Inspector. Enough to disappear again if necessary. It had been stolen from Jack’s old boss, Mr. Benjamin Tower.”

  Collier looked at Holmes, his mouth hanging slightly open.

  “Jack here found it necessary to use Jacob’s name in place of his own because he had declared, just before they disappeared into London, that Jacob had died. There was even a funeral. All this was necessary to fool the Tower family into believing they no longer needed to hunt Jacob. If they saw that name they wouldn’t think twice about it. Jack was the name they would be looking for.”

  “My gracious, Holmes. Why?” I asked in astonishment.

  “Mr. Tower is a well-known criminal. His power and money have maddeni
ngly allowed him to slip the bonds of justice. Politicians and judges may be swayed, you see, and as a result of some of his more monstrous crimes. I have kept a file on him. A number of things associated with this case seemed familiar, so I sent a message to a colleague in Manchester, asking him to look into the facts of a three-year-old case.”

  Collier’s shoulders sagged.

  “Your brother killed one of Tower’s sons in a heated exchange - an exchange about missing money that you were suspected of taking. It got out of control and Jacob stepped in and beat the man to death. For his protection, you faked his death, and then you both disappeared into London. When you arrived, you changed your name to your brother’s. Shortly thereafter, you bought a bookshop. Meanwhile, Jacob led a hidden life in Harrow. No one knew he existed anymore.”

  “I’ll ask you not to think ill of my brother, Mr. Holmes. He did what he did out of loyalty. He was merely protecting me. The only sin he ever committed was being born a little slow in the mind, and without the ability to stop when he was angered. He was all I had in this world. Our mother died when we were very young. I took care of him, and vowed to always do so. Jacob was the reason for the money being taken. I had emptied our reserves. Our father died from consumption, leaving us nothing. It drove him mad that neither of his sons would follow in his footsteps as a Navy man.”

  I looked at Holmes and saw a slight grin on his face.

  “I used Jacob’s name out of my love for him,” Collier continued. “Tower’s people thought he was dead, and we had moved over two hundred miles away. I even went so far as to purchase passage on three different ships to three different countries under my actual name to throw them off my trail. For three years I never suspected a problem. I was certain we were safe and would never be found.”

  “How did you come to be discovered then?” Chamberlain asked.

  “A simple slip of the tongue, sir. Nothing more. A customer in town on business was looking at a book about Manchester, talking about being from there, and I made a few careless references to my past. He must have put things together once he knew that I was from the area and saw the name on the business cards on the counter. I have talked to so many people, but never once made a mistake in talking about myself. Overconfidence or stupidity, I suppose. That devil, damn the fortunes, must have been one of a thousand men in Tower’s network. He alerted them, and by that night they had probably found out all they needed to know. They came to the house early thinking I wouldn’t have left for the shop yet. Found poor Jacob out back feeding his hens. Mistook him from behind for me. Had they seen the scar, which the Tower boy created with his knife during their struggle, they would have known. But, they didn’t.” Collier let out a deep sigh and lowered his head. “Jacob made that box for me, and I filled it with all the money I could afford. I had to wrap and tie it, though. I saw it at your flat, Mr. Holmes, and even though I wanted it back, I thought it best to leave, as I didn’t want to give you any clues as to my true identity.