The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part II

by David Marcum

  Lomax looked up at his with eyes of granite. “I ask for none of your mercy, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I neither want nor need it. I go to my death with my own conscience salved. I am ready, inspector, for whatever punishment your frail system of justice sees fit to bestow upon me.”

  It is not necessary to prolong my narrative by telling how we explained the true facts of her husband’s death to Mrs. Wyke. Nor do I need to dwell on the details of the release of Sebastian Wyke and his reconciliation with his mother. How we told them of Edmund Wyke’s dark past is a matter which I feel must remain private, for I cannot help but think that mother and son have suffered enough for the old man’s sins. Justice did not fail them, however, and Dr. James Lomax was sent to his death in accordance with his crime. When I read the announcement in the newspaper to Sherlock Holmes, he turned his face towards the fire and shook his head.

  “Our system of justice is a fair and honourable one, my dear Watson,” said he. “But it is not infallible. If it were, it would not be the law of mere men such as us. Instead, it would be the unfailing Court of a far greater power than ours.”

  Lord Garnett’s Skulls

  by J.R. Campbell

  At the urgent command of the cab’s occupant, the horse skidded to a stop in the busy London street. A familiar voice called my name in an impatient tone I had learned to endure. My morning walk interrupted, I turned to see my good friend, Sherlock Holmes, holding the cab door open and beckoning me to join him. It was, as Holmes correctly anticipated, an invitation my somewhat latent sense of adventure compelled me to accept. My well-intentioned schedule for the day forgotten, I leapt aboard the cab and fell into my seat as the driver urged his horse onwards.

  “Holmes?”

  Recognising the intent of my barely uttered question, Holmes explained the urgency of our trip. “We are bound for Lord Garnett’s.”

  “Young Cambers’ case?” I asked, remembering the youthful, thin-faced Detective Constable who had visited Baker Street last evening. Cambers had struck me as rather slight for the rough and tumble of police work, and every thought, every emotion, experienced by the earnest young detective seemed to parade across the thin, handsome features of his open face. Perhaps it was simply the contrast to Holmes’s aquiline but often stoic face which misinformed my first impression of the Detective Constable, for it soon emerged that young Cambers had already made quite a name for himself. He’d solved a difficult and gruesome matter in Bedford and, as a result, Scotland Yard offered him an opportunity to practise his trade in London. Having caught the attention of his superiors, the young man was anxious to advance his career - however, a difficult theft blocked his upward path. Having heard his new colleagues at the Yard speaking of the Baker Street consulting detective, Cambers ventured forth to request Holmes’s insight into a rather macabre theft from Lord Garnett’s London stately home.

  “Apparently there has been a new and disturbing development,” Holmes informed me. “How much of Cambers’ investigation do you recall?”

  “To be honest Holmes, I did not consider the matter important,” I admitted. “Certainly the nature of the theft was unusual but, really, it seemed of no great consequence. I understand Cambers’ desire to impress his Lordship - he is an ambitious young man - but I’m surprised to see you in such a hurry over so trifling a matter.”

  Holmes, amused by some private thought, looked out the window. Turning to me, he said, “Indulge me.”

  “Very well.” I proceeded to recite the facts of the case. Lord Garnett had recently returned from an inspection of his North Borneo holdings and, fancying himself a man of science, hosted a dinner party to which several prominent patrons and scientists had been invited. The highlight of the evening was the unveiling of artifacts Lord Garnett had brought back from the steamy, far-off jungle. Specifically, a net containing four smoke-blackened skulls collected from a Borneo long-house, trophies of that distant land’s savage headhunters. Apparently, Lord Garnett intended to author a paper concerning the display and could not resist the opportunity to announce his upcoming publication to those who would envy such an achievement. The following day, Lord Garnett locked the drawing room containing the bones, assuring the grisly artifacts were safe from those who might covet his gruesome souvenirs. When Lord Garnett returned four days later and unlocked the drawing room, he discovered his net of skulls missing.

  “According to Cambers, the room had not been tampered with,” I completed my recitation. “The doors had been locked and the windows securely fastened from the inside.”

  “Quite true,” Holmes agreed. “It was, after all, for that very reason Cambers sought my assistance.”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “So why are we rushing to Lord Garnett’s? You provided Cambers a written list of questions to ask, and you seemed quite confident it was all the detective would need to solve the matter.”

  “This morning I received a message from Cambers,” Holmes explained. “It seems another of the skulls in Lord Garnett’s possession was taken.”

  “Another one? Good heavens! How many skulls did Lord Garnett bring back from the jungle?”

  “It’s worse than you know, Watson,” Holmes assured me. “This particular skull was still in use by Lord Garnett’s son.”

  “What?” I exclaimed. “You mean the boy was kidnapped?”

  “It is too early to make that assessment,” Holmes insisted. “All we know for certain is that the boy disappeared sometime last night. Cambers returned to Lord Garnett’s residence early this morning with the intention of putting answers to my list of questions. He was present when the child’s absence was discovered.”

  “Well, Cambers seems a talented detective,” I offered my opinion.

  “You think so?” Holmes asked.

  “You said he’d done well with that matter back in - where was it? - Bedford?” I reminded Holmes. “He seems quite an ambitious fellow.”

  “In my experience, the mere presence of ambition is not indicative of talent,” Holmes argued. “I should also point out that crimes occurring in Bedford are markedly different than the crimes of London.”

  “Surely crime is crime, wherever it happens,” I suggested, earning a long-suffering look from my friend.

  “Not so, Watson,” Holmes argued. “Regrettably, we do not have time to debate the point. There is Lord Garnett’s. Ah, and here comes your rising star.” Holmes leaned forward and, in a conspiratorial whisper, added, “I will admit this detective shows some promise.”

  “Oh?” I said, somewhat surprised.

  “He knows enough to call for me,” Holmes explained.

  Cambers waited anxiously as the cabbie brought his horse to a stop. Detective Cambers’ open face was twisted into an expression of calamity. His eyes darted to and fro, reminding me of a frightened rabbit. Holmes dismissed the cabbie and turned to the Scotland Yard man.

  “You’ve completed a search of the grounds?”

  “I have Mr. Holmes,” Cambers answered. “We’ve found nothing, nothing at all. I was just on my way in to inform Lord Garnett.”

  “How many constables are with you?” Holmes asked.

  “Four,” Cambers reported. “They’re good men.”

  “And my list?” Holmes asked pointedly. “Have you managed to gain the answers I instructed you to seek?”

  Cambers looked surprised by the question, but, seeing Holmes’s unfaltering expression, the young man grimaced and confessed, “I’d just begun, Mr. Holmes, when the kidnapping - “

  “Kidnapping?” Holmes interrupted the Scotland Yard detective. “Has that been determined?”

  “Well,” Cambers prevaricated. “The boy is only seven years of age. It seems unlikely he’d just wander off alone in the night.”

  “Seems unlikely?” Holmes shook his head. “I trust we’re able to do better than that, Mr. Cambers.”

&nb
sp; The young detective’s expression rearranged itself into a guarded look. “Of course, Mr. Holmes, any help you can provide will be appreciated.”

  Holmes nodded, indifferent to whether his assistance would be appreciated or not. “How many of my questions were you able to answer before abandoning them?”

  “I’d been speaking to the chief cook, Mr. Holmes,” Cambers explained. “She’d just completed the questions on your list when the alarm went up. As you might imagine, Lady Garnett is hysterical. Her physician has visited, and I believe her Ladyship has been sedated.”

  “Have you the cook’s answers?” Holmes asked.

  Cambers dug in his pocket and removed the sheet of questions Holmes had written out for him the previous evening, and another sheet of paper, presumably from the chief cook.

  “Very well.” Holmes examined the cook’s list. “And the other question you were to ask her?”

  “She says she had no idea as to the nature of his Lordship’s stolen foreign treasure,” Cambers said.

  “Was that the phrase she used?” Holmes asked. “Foreign treasure?”

  “I think it was, yes,” Cambers answered. Shuffling his feet impatiently, he added, “I should really report to Lord Garnett. He’s most insistent that he be kept informed.”

  “You must proceed as you think best,” Holmes declared. “Watson and I shall make some inquiries of our own. I assume the head butler waits inside?”

  “I believe so,” Cambers said without conviction.

  “Then we shall gather answers for your neglected list.” Holmes gestured for the Detective Constable to lead the way into the house.

  “If you discover anything - “

  “I will keep you informed,” Holmes assured the detective. We hurried up the stairs and into Lord Garnett’s grand house. Detective Cambers, anxious to make his report, waved us towards the kitchens where the household staff might be found before hurrying away in search of Lord Garnett. In short order, Holmes was questioning the head butler, a white-haired elderly gentleman with a timid but impeccable appearance.

  “I wish you to write a list naming everyone who visited this house during the two days before Lord Garnett’s dinner party,” Holmes requested.

  “Of course, sir,” the butler replied. “Anything to assist the young master’s return.”

  “You are aware of the other matter?” Holmes asked the butler.

  “The theft?” The butler shook his head. “I’m afraid his Lordship has not seen fit to inform me of it.”

  “Even so, you know of it. Surely the police spoke to you? Asked you if you’d seen anything suspicious?”

  “No, sir, they did not.” The butler’s formal demeanour and neutral expression still managed to quietly express his disapproval.

  Holmes scowled in a manner that, to my eyes, seemed somewhat theatrical. The detective complained, “I was hoping you could tell me what was stolen.”

  “Well, sir.” The butler looked left and right before leaning forward and conspiratorially lowering his voice. “I believe it was some object he brought back from his Borneo holdings. Although I don’t know the item’s exact nature, I did see the trunk in which it arrived. If you care to examine the trunk, I believe it is still in the drawing room.”

  “Indeed,” Holmes said. “The drawing room is down this hallway?”

  “By the stairs, sir,” the butler agreed.

  “Once you’ve completed your list, please bring it to us there.”

  The drawing room fitted Cambers’ description perfectly. A large, elegant space filled with an assortment of seats scattered around a small fireplace. Two doors opened to the interior of the room and four large windows looked outside. Holmes inspected the lock on the door through which we entered.

  “Well, Watson,” Holmes mused as he examined the door. “Does it seem strange to you that neither the chief cook nor the butler are aware of the nature of Lord Garnett’s stolen items?”

  “It is a large home,” I reasoned. “Likely the kitchen staff does not normally have access to the drawing room.”

  “And the butler?” Holmes asked, shifting his attention to the first of the windows.

  Frowning, I considered the problem. “No doubt a busy man - “

  “No doubt,” Holmes agreed, moving to the next window. “However, that explains nothing. If the head of staff was not aware of the skulls’ presence, it follows that none of the staff knew of them.”

  “Can you be certain of that?” I asked.

  “Gossip, Watson, is as much a force of nature as sunlight or sea tides,” Holmes explained. “If any of the staff had seen the skulls, they would have spoken of it and, once uttered, word surely would have reached the ears of one of the household chiefs. Imagine if I placed a skull on my mantle in Baker Street. How long do you think it would be before Mrs. Hudson informed you of the addition?”

  Chuckling, I conceded the point. “But what does it mean, Holmes?”

  “Only that Detective Cambers has been shockingly misled as to the nature of the thefts. He believes a net of skulls has been taken, when in fact a mysterious foreign treasure has gone missing.” Holmes finished his examination of the last window and turned his attention to the remaining door. I moved to follow when something outside the window caught my eye. A branch of one of the rose bushes had been recently broken, a few dark threads were tangled in its thorns, and at the edge of the garden a partial footprint was visible in the soft soil.

  “Well-spotted, Watson,” Holmes commented as he examined the door. I continued to look out the window.

  “You saw it too.” It wasn’t a question, I knew Holmes’s methods too well to believe he had missed such evidence. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because it is meaningless,” Holmes declared. “It has nothing to do with the theft of the skulls or the missing child. As I’m sure you’ll agree, the matter of the missing boy is too urgent to allow us to loiter over such trivia. However else he was misled, Cambers was correct when he stated the doors and windows had not been tampered with. Meaning the thief had a key or found another way in and out this room.”

  Turning his attention upward, Holmes surveyed the high ceilings. “Now Watson, never having visited a Borneo long-house, I must confess to a degree of uncertainty regarding how best to display a net full of skulls. However I suspect that hook in the ceiling would serve, don’t you agree?”

  “It seems secure enough,” I answered.

  “And it is a recent addition. You can see a hand print where the workman braced himself as he put it in. And yet-” Holmes turned around, his eager eyes searching for something by the fireplace. “Ah! There it is!” Striding over to the small fireplace, Holmes recovered a long, slender pole with a metal catch on the end. Holding the pole aloft, he retraced his steps to the ceiling hook. The pole easily reached the hook, leaving no doubt it had been constructed for just that purpose.

  “And here is the trunk the butler mentioned,” Holmes observed, resting the pole between the mantle and a green trunk lying open on the floor. Holmes bent to examine the trunk with his lens. For a moment Holmes was silent. Then he stood suddenly upright with an alarmed expression on his normally reserved features.

  Holmes turned to me, putting away his lens, and began to speak. “Watson, I fear - “

  Fate deemed I would have to wait to discover what had wrought so sudden a change in my friend’s demeanour, as the butler chose that moment to enter the room. He announced his presence with a deferential, “Sir?”

  “Quickly man, quickly!” Holmes exclaimed, rushing towards the servant. “You have the list?”

  “Yes, sir,” the butler replied, holding a folded sheet of paper in his gloved hand. “I only just completed it. I thought, perhaps, you - “

  But Holmes snatched the list from the servant’s hand and unfolde
d it quickly. As he did so, I saw Detective Cambers approaching, no doubt reacting to the urgency in Holmes’s loud voice.

  Behind Cambers came another figure. From the stout man’s harried expression, I knew it must be Lord Garnett. The strain of his situation showed clearly on the strong features of his face. Beneath dark brows, his Lordship’s brown eyes seemed wary, as if cringing in anticipation of the morning’s next blow. Yet even in the midst of these troubles, a ghost of the old adventurer remained. Thick, dark hair and a moustache he had not yet attended to, a tan darkening his face and the back of his strong hands. There was doggedness to his movements, as if his every step was an act of determination, and anyone who dared hamper his way had best be prepared to pay a steep cost for their insolence. Yet, even as he approached, my reaction towards his Lordship was not one of intimidation or respect, but was, rather, one of sympathy. It was plain to my senses Lord Garnett was very close to being overwhelmed by the unexplained disappearance of his son.

  Such were my impressions of Lord Garnett. Holmes seemed to take no notice of his Lordship’s approach. Holmes’s formidable powers of concentration were focussed on the butler’s list and, in his other hand, the chief cook’s list he’d pulled from his pocket.

  Detective Cambers and Lord Garnett entered the room together. His Lordship, seeing his butler waiting, raised his hand and started to give instructions to his servant. “Ah, I wonder if you might see to - “

  “I have not yet finished with this man.” Holmes interrupted firmly, though he did not look up from the lists he was examining.

  “I beg your pardon?” Lord Garnett asked, blinking in surprise. Apparently his Lordship was not accustomed to being interrupted while addressing his servants.