The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part II

by David Marcum

  “I have been told that I am an omnivorous reader with an immense knowledge of sensational literature. You, sir, are not so far behind, it seems.”

  Lomax blushed at the compliment. “I have listened to Edmund talk about the ancient history of Egypt many times. It was one of his passions.”

  Holmes handed the knife back to Lestrade and walked over to the door of the room. He bent to his knees and, with his lens, examined the lock and the hinges. Finally, with his lens close to his eye, he picked up the key from the carpet and examined it in minute detail.

  “This key fell to the floor when the door was forced, no doubt,” said he.

  “I suppose it must have done,” said the doctor.

  Holmes rose to his feet. “I believe, Doctor, that you attempted to look through the key hole but were unable to see into the room.”

  “The key was in the lock. We had tried the door several times.”

  “Quite so. Did anybody else look through the hole?”

  “No, I decided it was best to get the door down as soon as possible.”

  “You acted wisely,” said Holmes. “When you rushed into the room, did you ascertain at once that Mr. Wyke was dead?”

  “It was perfectly obvious in any event,” said Lomax. “Sebastian said, ‘My God, he is dead,’ and I went over to confirm it.”

  “You had remained by the door until that moment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, that is very clear.”

  “It is a terrible thing, a son murdering his father in this fashion,” said Lomax with some sadness.

  “You are sure of the young man’s guilt?”

  Lomax looked at my companion with the expression of a confused man. “Do I take it you are not?”

  “I form no biased judgment, Dr. Lomax. I walk where the facts lead me and draw only those conclusions which the facts allow. Now, Lestrade, perhaps I might be permitted to speak to the widow.”

  In spite of her obvious grief, Agatha Wyke was a stoic and proud woman of perhaps sixty years of age. At Holmes’s request, he and I interviewed her alone. Lestrade offered no objection, for he had already spoken with the lady and he had other matters to which he had to attend. When we entered the drawing room, Mrs. Wyke greeted us with dignity and a demure elegance which only seemed to increase my empathy for her. Her features were blanched with sadness, but they retained a delicacy of expression which must once have been captivating, but which the passing of time had slowly sought to eradicate. She took my friend’s hand in hers and spoke to him in a voice which was soured by tragedy.

  “Can any woman say she has suffered more than me, Mr. Holmes,” said she, “to discover that my husband is dead and my son thought to be responsible for it?”

  “Might I ask whether you believe that he is truly guilty?”

  A flash of colour rose to her sallow cheeks. “Bless you for giving me hope! Do I take it from that question that you believe in his innocence?”

  “I have reason to believe so.”

  “Might I enquire what those reasons are?”

  Holmes shook his head. “If I am to be of service to you, you must possess your soul in patience and allow me to act as I see fit, including permitting me to disclose my thoughts when I consider it appropriate.”

  “I am at your service, Mr. Holmes. I wish only to have justice for my husband and vindication for my son.”

  “I hope I shall be able to bring you both, madam. You have told Inspector Lestrade of these strange verses which you husband received. I believe they mean nothing to you?”

  “I cannot explain them.”

  “Were they delivered by hand?”

  “No; they came through the post.”

  “Did your husband keep the envelopes?”

  “I am sorry, he did not.”

  “That is unfortunate. An envelope can tell many secrets to the trained observer.” Holmes paused for a moment. “I believe no one else knew about these verses.”

  “No one.”

  “Not your son?”

  “Certainly not. Edmund was at pains to keep them secret from Sebastian.”

  “How long has your husband known Dr. Lomax?”

  The lady thought for a moment. “Perhaps five years.”

  “How did they meet?”

  “A mutual friend introduced them. I am not aware of the details, alas.”

  Holmes nodded and sat for a moment in serious thought. “I have one final question, Mrs. Wyke, and then I may leave you in peace. Did your husband ever mention a woman by the name of Violet Usher to you?”

  The question took the lady by surprise and for a moment she could find no words of response. Finally, with her hand to her cheek in surprise, she gave her answer. “Do you suggest that there was another woman in my husband’s life, Mr. Holmes? How did you come by this information?”

  Holmes held out a hand of calming gentleness. “Have no fear, madam, I am suggesting no infidelity of that nature.”

  “Then who is this woman of whom you speak?”

  “A woman of great sadness, like you, madam.”

  “I have never heard the name.”

  “The fact that you have not may well have kept you alive, Mrs. Wyke,” said Sherlock Holmes. With those cryptic words, he ushered me out of the room and we left the lady to her sorrow.

  “Come, my dear Watson,” said he in hushed tones when we were in the hallway once more. “Let us find a quiet corner and consider the position.”

  We spent half an hour in each other’s company, strolling around the beautiful stretches of lawn which surrounded the house in which these dark deeds had occurred. Holmes walked in silence, and I did not dare to break it for I knew that his mind was turning over all the facts of this strange business into which we had walked. Instead, I allowed the soothing song of the birds and the gentle balm of the breeze to seep into my soul. So peaceful did those gardens seem when contrasted with the dark mystery inside the house that I was startled when Holmes’s voice invaded my reverie.

  “Your gift of silence is invaluable to me, Watson,” said he, “and your presence by my side is always a comfort as well as an aid.”

  “I did not like to interrupt your thoughts.”

  “It is well you did not. My mind is now quite made up on the matter.”

  “You have solved it?”

  “The identity of the murderer was never in question. It was the verses which piqued my interest, for in their solution we hold the key to this crime and a serious error of justice.”

  “I am afraid I do not follow you.”

  “That is understandable, my dear fellow, and no cause for shame. Come, we must find Lestrade at once. It is time to bring this matter to a close.”

  We made our way back to the house. Holmes sent at once for Jacobs and requested that the butler find Dr. Lomax and bring him to the study. The request made, Holmes made his way to that very room, where we found Lestrade, collating his reports of his investigation. Holmes sat on the corner of the desk and peered at his professional colleague. “I wonder, Lestrade, whether you may wish to amend those reports in due course. I must advise you that Sebastian Wyke is innocent.”

  “Why do you say so, Mr. Holmes?”

  “The watch charm is a clear indication of his innocence.”

  Lestrade scoffed. “It is the clearest indication of his guilt!”

  Holmes shook his head. “And yet, you gave me the proof that the charm cleared the son yourself.”

  “How so?”

  “In your statement to us in Baker Street, you said that Sebastian Wyke asked Dr. Lomax for the hour as he wished to go to bed. Now, why should he need to ask the time if he was wearing his own watch with the very same ruby watch charm attached to it? Furthermore, is it not inconceivable that he
would put his watch on before he stepped out to murder his father? Why on earth should he do such a thing?”

  “But the charm was found in the dead man’s grasp,” protested Lestrade.

  Holmes waved aside the objection with an impatient gesture. “Then it was placed there. That much is also evident by the lack of damage to it. If it had been wrenched off, as you claim, the link attaching it to the watch chain would surely be bent out of shape. No, Lestrade, the charm was removed from the chain and purposefully put in the dead man’s hand. “

  “But who could have placed it there?”

  “Someone who wished to implicate Sebastian Wyke, naturally. Someone who saw in the argument between father and son a possible motive for murder and a means of diverting suspicion.”

  “But the only other person present during that argument was...”

  There was a knock at the door at that instant and Holmes leapt to his feet to answer it. He threw open the door with a flourish and ushered in the visitor. “Come in, Dr. Lomax. We should very much value your assistance.”

  “If I can be of service, Mr. Holmes, I am eager to help.”

  “Pray, sit in this chair before the inspector, then.” Holmes indicated one of the chairs at the desk and guided Lomax into it. “Now, the best way for you to assist us, Dr. Lomax, is to explain to us why it was that you murdered Edmund Wyke.”

  The doctor made a move to rise from the chair in protest but Holmes had his grip on the man’s shoulder and any attempt to move from the chair was futile. “Do not be noisy, Dr. Lomax. You have no chance at all.”

  For a moment or two, Lomax considered his options, but he must have seen that the three of us were not about to allow him to escape. The snared rat glowered at my companion. “What right do you have to accuse me?”

  “I suspected you from the first, my dear doctor,” declared Sherlock Holmes. “I stated at the outset of this case that any apparently impossible crime has a solution somewhere. It is my experience that the solutions to such mysteries are invariably very simple. The answer to this particular problem lay in your own statement of your conduct, Doctor. You told us that when the door was broken down, Sebastian ran to his father and stated that he had been murdered.”

  “Yes, I recall saying that.”

  “Very good. Then you will also remember saying that it was at that moment that you walked over to the body.”

  “I see no importance in either remark.”

  “Very likely not. But the significance of those comments struck me at once. I was forced to ask myself why you remained at the bedroom door when you had previously appointed yourself commander of the situation outside. What was the reason behind your sudden passivity? It was surely natural that you would approach the body with Sebastian, especially in your capacity as a medical man.”

  The sneer on the man’s face intensified. “And what conclusion did you draw, Mr. Holmes?”

  My friend smiled but there was no humour in it. “All in good time. My next consideration was the key in the door. You had stated that you, and only you, looked through the key hole before the door was forced.”

  “So I did.”

  “And do you maintain that position?”

  Lomax nodded. “I do.”

  “And there is the point. The fact that only you looked through the keyhole means that we only have your word for it that the key was in the lock at all. In fact, it was not, because it was in your pocket. You were admitted to the bedroom by Wyke, where you murdered him, took the key from the door, and locked it behind you. The following morning, when the alarm was raised, you made sure that you were the man who was in control of the situation. It was imperative that it be you who checked the lock and no one else. You declared that the key was in the lock and no one had any reason to doubt your word. When the door was forced, everybody but you rushed into the room and attention was focused on Wyke’s body. Thus, no one noticed you drop the key on the inner side of the door at the approximate place it would have fallen, had it been in the lock when the door was broken down. You had to remain close by the door in order to drop the key, of course, which is why you held back whilst everyone else entered the chamber and why you did not approach the corpse immediately.”

  Lestrade had listened to this exchange with increasing interest. Now, he leaned forward and clasped his hands on the desk. “Is this true, Dr. Lomax? I should warn you that what you say may be used against you.”

  “I see no reason to deny it,” replied the prisoner. “Perhaps Mr. Holmes can explain why I did what I did.”

  Sherlock Holmes reached into his pocket and drew out the two threatening verses which had been the commencement of this dark investigation. “I would not have known your motive were it not for these. You wanted Wyke to know that vengeance had come upon him. Whether he knew from where or whether he interpreted these messages as you intended, we shall never know.”

  “I will always know. The look on his face showed he had glimpsed the truth behind those poems,” said Lomax.

  “What is the truth?” asked Lestrade.

  Holmes pointed to the verses. “There is a hidden message in those two poems of death. In the first, you will note that the end of the second line and the beginning of the third line form a name. So too do the end of the fourth line and the beginning of the fifth line. The same pattern in the second verse also spells a name. The message is completed by the final word of each poem. Read concurrently, you will see amid these verses the messages ‘Finlay Meade innocent’ and ‘Vincent Usher guilty’.”

  Lomax raved in the air. “And guilty he was, the villain!”

  Holmes turned to me. “You will recall, Watson, that I asked Mrs. Wyke whether she had ever heard the name of Violet Usher. Mrs. Usher was the wife of Vincent Usher, a cruel and violent blackguard. When he discovered that his wife was seeing a man by the name of Finlay Meade behind his back, Usher went berserk. In a violent rage fuelled by jealousy, he beat the woman to death. He escaped justice by placing the blame on her lover, Meade. After the trial, Usher disappeared and was never heard of again. No doubt fearful that his crime would overtake him, he changed his name to Wyke, as we now know, and began a new life as a different person. “

  Lestrade nodded his comprehension. “I remember the case, Mr. Holmes. The evidence against Meade was conclusive. There was never any suspicion that it was fabricated and the verdict was obvious.”

  Holmes’s cold eyes were on Lomax. “It was a cruel miscarriage of justice. It must have struck you as a poetic justice when Sebastian and his father argued, Lomax. What more fitting revenge than to kill the villain and put the blame on his son, just as Wyke had done to Meade.”

  Lomax nodded sombrely. “It was a temptation I could not resist. My mother’s maiden name was Meade. Finlay was her brother. I never knew my parents, Mr. Holmes, but my uncle was a great influence in my life. His death was a crushing blow to me and I could never believe the charges against him. For years, I dreamed of seeking out the truth about what really happened. My researches led me nowhere, however, and my frustrations began to pollute my mind.

  “I had not known Usher, but his name was with me every day of my life. When I met Edmund Wyke in Egypt, I could have no way of knowing that the man who had taken my dear uncle from me was gradually becoming one of my best friends. The irony punishes me even now. Naturally, Wyke was unaware of my identity, and there was no reason for either of us to think what a cruel twist of fate our friendship was.

  “One day, I met an old family acquaintance quite by chance. I had not seen him for many years and I barely recognized him at first, but as he spoke I began to remember him as a friend of both Usher and my uncle. His name was Harry Coombes, and what he told me shook me to my core. He said that he had witnessed the attack on Violet Usher and he knew that Finlay was innocent. Naturally, I asked him why he had not gone to the police at the time,
but he had set sail for the new world soon after the murder and was not in the country for the trial. Besides, he said, he knew what Vincent Usher was capable of and he dared not cross him, even to save another’s life.

  “This was shattering news to me, as you can imagine, but Coombes had still more to tell me. He had seen me in Wyke’s company on a number of occasions, and he had assumed I was unaware of who my friend was. He could not understand why I would be in close company with a man who had so wronged me otherwise. You can appreciate what a devastating blow it was to me to learn that my dear friend was my sworn enemy. It was only when he showed me a likeness of Usher that I was forced to accept it. My soul cried out for justice and my mind raged at the cruelty of truth.

  “I urged Coombes to come with me to the police but he refused. At last, I convinced him but, again, fate was against me for the old man died that very night. It is easy to suspect foul play in those circumstances, but it was not. His life had been long and his heart gave out, unburdened at last from the weight it had borne all those years.

  “Of course, now I had no proof of Usher’s guilt and Finlay’s innocence, but my thirst for justice had not been quenched either. I cannot say what made me do it. Perhaps it was the years of frustration and anger poisoning my mind, or perhaps it was that my faith in justice had long ago evaporated. Whatever the cause, I would have vengeance for Finlay Meade, but the law would only fail him again whereas my own breed of revenge surely would not. I wanted him to know that death was upon him. I did not want to be a dagger in the shadows. I wanted to be cruel justice revealed, shining brightly in the sun. Those messages were my advertisement of death. If Wyke, or Usher as he was, saw through them, then he would know why his end was close. If he did not, I cared little, for I would know what those portents of death represented, but I know that he did see through them.”

  Holmes had listened to this statement with a keen interest. Now, he paced around the room with a troubled expression on his gaunt face.

  “I have been known to empathize with criminals before now,” said he. “There are times when I have battled with my conscience at the conclusion of a case. I fear I cannot do so now. Your vision is blurred so much by this private retribution of yours that you fail to see that your plan to murder the guilty and incriminate the innocent makes you no better and no different to Usher himself. That is why I cannot show you any mercy.”