The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part II

by David Marcum

“I have further need of this man,” Holmes insisted.

  Turning to acknowledge his employer, the butler seemed intent on ignoring Holmes and letting the matter drop. Whatever else he had endured, it seemed Lord Garnett was not willing to suffer impertinence such as Holmes was displaying.

  “And who, sir, are you?” Lord Garnett asked, his voice a threatening rumble.

  “My name is Sherlock Holmes.” Pulling the butler’s coat until the man was forced to turn and acknowledge him, Holmes pointed to a name on the list. “I require an address for this man.”

  “I regret, sir, that I do not know the address offhand.”

  “Then find someone who does!” Holmes demanded forcefully. “And hurry!”

  Shocked by Holmes’s insistence, the butler turned pleadingly to Lord Garnett. His Lordship seemed quite taken aback by Holmes’s manner and was about to voice his displeasure when Holmes spoke first.

  “Lord Garnett, your son’s life may depend on the speedy resolution of your butler’s errand. If you value your child’s life, I suggest you give him leave to go.”

  “Of course,” Lord Garnett nodded to his servant, who promptly left the room at a pace seeming, for one so dignified, a run. “Now then, Mr. Holmes, is it? I fail to - “

  But Holmes had turned his attention to Detective Constable Cambers. “I will require two of your uniformed officers, those you judge to be most capable, and I require them now.”

  Cambers, his face clouded with displeasure at being addressed so in front of his Lordship, frowned. “Now see here, Mr. Holmes - “

  “Now!” Holmes repeated. “We must act quickly if we are to capture this villain.”

  Cambers opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut when he noticed Lord Garnett’s formidable attention on him. With an uncertain shrug, Cambers hurried from the room, much as the butler had before him.

  “Now then, Mr. Holmes,” Lord Garnett started, but, to the surprise of both his Lordship and myself, Holmes set off down the hallway at a quick run. For a moment Lord Garnett seemed at a complete loss. I had the impression it had been quite a long time since his Lordship had met anyone as insolent as Holmes. His Lordship watched Holmes’s slender figure disappear beyond the doorway, and then he turned to me in a manner reminiscent of heavy artillery.

  “And you are?” Lord Garnett asked me.

  “Doctor John Watson,” I said, offering my hand. Lord Garnett shook it firmly, apparently relieved to be dealing with someone familiar with the concept of courtesy.

  “Are you with the police?”

  “No,” I answered, somewhat embarrassed. “I’m here with Sherlock Holmes.”

  “Ah,” Lord Garnett nodded. “Then perhaps you can tell me: Who is this Sherlock Holmes? Is he a policeman?”

  “No,” I admitted. “He is a detective, a consulting detective. Cambers came to seek his advice last evening and sent word this morning of your misfortune. Naturally, we came to offer what assistance we could.”

  “Assistance?” Lord Garnett repeated in surprise. “Is that what he was doing?”

  “I assure you, Lord Garnett, my friend’s methods may seem odd but he is a remarkable detective.” Yet I had barely finished uttering these words of confidence when Holmes rushed back into the room bearing a large basin of water. Ignoring both Lord Garnett and myself, Holmes hurried to the fireplace and, upturning the heavy basin, doused the burning coals. An enormous plume of smoke and steam spilled from the fireplace and when it cleared Holmes was standing surprisingly close to Lord Garnett.

  “Lord Garnett,” Holmes addressed the missing child’s father directly for the first time. “Can you tell me when this room was last cleaned?”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Lord Garnett sputtered, waving away the last of the steam.

  “It was cleaned before you locked the room, was it not?” Holmes asked, refusing to be distracted by Lord Garnett’s outrage.

  “Of course,” Lord Garnett answered.

  “Naturally.” Holmes turned to me and explained. “It would make little sense to lock the servants out of the drawing room if it had not already been tidied. And as the staff was unaware of the nature of his Lordship’s souvenirs, it follows the skulls were closed up in that trunk. Correct?”

  Lord Garnett’s complexion changed to an unhealthy ruddy colour as he replied to Holmes. “Who the devil do you think you are, coming into my house and - “

  “Oh, I am sorry,” Holmes apologised, much to Lord Garnett’s surprise. “I thought I had introduced myself. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and your son’s life depends on me.”

  Holmes’s reply had a profound effect on Lord Garnett. The man’s bluster seemed to disappear, his ruddy complexion paled in horror, and he reached for a nearby chair to steady himself.

  “The skulls were closed up in that trunk, correct?” Holmes repeated his question.

  “Yes,” Lord Garnett answered meekly.

  “I see no evidence of the trunk having been locked,” Holmes mused. “Yet it seems likely the skulls were not simply laid inside. There must have been something more.”

  “There was,” Lord Garnett agreed. “A bag, I purchased it from a sailor. It was - “

  “Forgive me, your Lordship,” Holmes interrupted Lord Garnett dismissively. “I hear your man approaching.”

  Just as Holmes predicted, the butler appeared in the room, a slip of paper in his hand.

  “You have the address I requested?” Holmes asked.

  “I do, sir.”

  Detective Cambers, with two of his constables in tow, followed on the butler’s heels. The expression on Cambers’ open face made it clear he intended to regain control of the situation. Holmes, however, completely ignored the detective.

  “Give the address to the constables here,” Holmes instructed the butler. “Gentlemen, you are to go to this address and search the premises for Lord Garnett’s missing skulls. Take note of all you see there, with a special eye towards any children you might observe. Find the man and ask to see his certificate. I doubt he has one, despite the law concerning his trade. Regardless of what excuse he provides, take him to Scotland Yard for questioning. If he has the temerity to ask what he is to be charged with, inform him the charge is murder.”

  “Murder?” Lord Garnett whispered, his face paling even more. His Lordship staggered against a seat and fell into it.

  “Courage, Lord Garnett,” Holmes instructed the missing child’s father. “There is still hope. You were about to describe the bag you purchased from the sailor, the one you used to store your net of skulls. If you would be so kind as to share your description with the constables?”

  “What?” For a moment Lord Garnett looked confused, and I feared the events of the dreadful day had overtaken his reason. After a moment however, sensing the rapt attention of the constables, Lord Garnett managed to speak in a curiously disconnected, uncharacteristically soft voice.

  “The bag? Oh yes, I purchased it from a sailor. It fit quite neatly into the trunk and was made of sealskin. Waterproof, you see, very handy. It opened at one end and I threaded a chain through the grommets so I could lock it with a padlock. I didn’t want anyone to look inside. It could give someone quite a fright and I was planning to write a paper. I didn’t want to give any of my rivals a chance to examine them. Of course, I lined the inside of the bag with wool. You cannot allow the skulls to get cold, you know, or else the souls of their owners will come back and haunt you.”

  Lord Garnett’s eyes had grown quite wide as he uttered the last part of this speech, weaving a macabre spell which held the constables, Cambers, the butler, and myself captivated.

  Breaking the spell, Holmes proved himself immune to the fascination gripping us. “How charming. Constables, you know your duty. See to it!”

  The constables started off, completely oblivious
to the hand Detective Constable Cambers’ raised to stop them. Or perhaps the constables merely reacted to the more forceful nature of Holmes’s authority.

  Cambers was, by this time, glaring at Holmes, and I feared a confrontation between the two men was imminent. Holmes must have sensed the Detective Constable’s hostility as he suddenly spoke. “Watson, why don’t you show the Detective Constable what you discovered at the window?”

  Suddenly I found myself the focus of Cambers and Lord Garnett. “Of course, Holmes,” I replied, remembering how Holmes had dismissed the apparent clues as trivial. “I was over here when I noticed - “

  “A footprint!” Cambers exclaimed.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “And you see there, some dark threads tangled among the rose bushes.

  “They certainly weren’t there yesterday,” Cambers proclaimed. “Obviously, the footprint was made by the kidnappers.”

  “Whoever made the footprint didn’t gain entrance into the drawing room,” I observed. “The windows were still secure, and there’s no trace of mud in here.”

  “Likely they tried the windows and found some other way in,” Cambers judged. “We’ll need a closer look.”

  Cambers left the room, presumably to go out to the garden and examine the footprint. I turned and was surprised to discover I was once again alone in the room with Lord Garnett. Holmes and the butler had disappeared while I was distracted by Cambers.

  “They’ve gone upstairs,” Lord Garnett informed me. “Your friend said he urgently needed to examine the roof.”

  “Whatever for?” I asked.

  Lord Garnett simply shrugged. He seemed utterly drained by the experiences of the day. I suspected Holmes’s use of the word murder had deeply frightened the man. Wishing I had some comfort to offer, I stood and said simply, “I think I’ll join them.”

  “Yes,” Lord Garnett agreed. “Perhaps I’ll come as well.”

  “It might be best if you were to rest.” It was, I reflected, not a very helpful suggestion, but the urge to prescribe rest is deeply ingrained in all physicians.

  Lord Garnett shook his head. “I know you mean well,” he said, “but I couldn’t rest. What if they found something and I was asleep? No, it would be best if I went somewhere in case I was needed.”

  “Then perhaps, before we go, you’ll join me for a brandy?” It was all I could think to offer.

  “Yes,” Lord Garnett agreed. He stood and went to fetch the drinks from one of the cabinets along the wall. Returning, he passed me a glass with a generous measure of amber liquid in it.

  “And to think yesterday my most pressing concern was the missing skulls.” Lord Garnett shook his head and grimaced. “And now your friend seems to think he has found them.”

  “Likely he has,” I said. “As I said, he is an extraordinary detective.”

  “Do you believe he can find my son?” Lord Garnett asked, unable to look me in the eye as he voiced his deepest wish.

  “He will find him,” I assured the man. “Of that I have no doubt.”

  Lord Garnett nodded sadly, hearing the unspoken fear in my voice. In truth I had no doubt at all regarding Holmes’s ability to locate the child but there was no way of knowing what condition in which we would find the boy.

  “Henry is often a difficult child,” Lord Garnett confessed. “Headstrong and quite independent, despite his young age. We’ve often quarrelled, but I am extremely proud of him. Do you think I will have the chance to tell him so?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know,” I admitted. “But if anyone can find the boy, it’s Sherlock Holmes.”

  Nodding, Lord Garnett drained his brandy and set the empty glass on a nearby table. Though I had barely tasted mine, I set my glass next to his. The brandy had done Lord Garnett a world of good, returning some colour to his complexion and easing some of the strain in his determined features.

  “Let’s find Holmes, shall we?” I suggested.

  “Yes,” Lord Garnett agreed, leading the way out of the room. I caught a glimpse of Cambers and his remaining constables through the windows as we passed.

  Apparently Lord Garnett saw them as well. “Your friend tricked them. He saw Cambers was spoiling for a fight so he had you point out the footprint in the garden. He only did it to keep them out of his way, didn’t he?”

  “I believe so,” I admitted, following Lord Garnett up the stairs. “When I first noticed the footprint in the garden, Holmes told me it meant nothing. He seems to be in a dreadful hurry, but I don’t understand why.”

  “Well,” Lord Garnett said, “I suppose that’s a hopeful sign.”

  We found the butler on the uppermost floor of the house, standing on a small balcony and clutching a precariously perched ladder which Holmes climbed down with a fearlessness that bordered on the reckless.

  “Watson! I trust Cambers is occupied in the garden?”

  “He is,” I agreed. “But Holmes, why - “

  “Sorry Watson, time is short,” Holmes forestalled my question. “Lord Garnett, could you show me to your son’s room?”

  “Of course,” Lord Garnett nodded. “This way.”

  “Lord Garnett,” Holmes asked as he followed his Lordship out to the stairs. “Your son came to see you late last night.”

  “How on Earth did you know that?” Lord Garnett asked.

  “He must have had some complaint,” Holmes observed. “What did he say?”

  Lord Garnett led the way down the flight of stairs. “It sounded so childish at the time, but it chills me to think of it now. He claimed he’d heard a ghost Mr. Holmes, a ghost moaning in agony.”

  “You did not believe him?” Holmes asked with perfect sincerity.

  “No, I didn’t,” Lord Garnett admitted.

  “That is your son’s room there?” Holmes asked, not waiting for Lord Garnett’s direction.

  “It is,” Lord Garnett confirmed, again startled by Holmes seemingly supernatural abilities.

  Holmes turned and addressed Lord Garnett and the butler, who had followed us downstairs.

  “Go to the garden shed.” Holmes instructed them. “Bring me a pick, a pry bar, a lantern, some rope, whatever you can lay hands on. Quickly! Bring them to me here!”

  To my surprise, both the butler and Lord Garnett hurried away to fulfil Holmes’s command. Holmes turned and looked at me with weary eyes. “I will say this for the headhunters of Borneo, they are honest enough to display their sins in plain view. It is an example we could learn from.”

  “Holmes, whatever do you mean?” I asked.

  “Bones, Watson,” Holmes admitted, walking into the missing child’s room and pulling out a pocketknife. “My knowledge of the subject is not as extensive as Lord Garnett’s, but it is enough to confirm my observation. Headhunters display the fruits of their savagery proudly, rather than hiding them inside walls. You didn’t, by any chance, bring your stethoscope with you?”

  “No.” Holmes had stopped me on the street, between home and my Paddington practice, before I’d reached the tools of my profession.

  “Pity,” Holmes observed as he unfolded his pocketknife and inserted the blade into the wall.

  “Holmes?” I asked, watching in mute horror as Holmes dragged the blade through the wall. He was making a dreadful mess but, after carving a gouge more than two feet long in the wall, he seemed to find what he was searching for. He withdrew the blade, folded it and put it back in his pocket.

  From outside came the sounds of men running up the stairs. Lord Garnett rushed into the room, a large pick in his hand. The butler had found a pry-bar, a hammer and a lantern, which he dropped onto the child’s unmade bed with obvious relief.

  “Some water would not go amiss,” Holmes observed as he took hold of the pick Lord Garnett had brought. The butler, his refinement stretched somewhat thin, o
bserved Holmes with a cool look but left to fulfil the detective’s request.

  “This must be done with some care,” Holmes told me as I picked up the pry bar. “The trick is to pull the bricks outward, not to let them fall inside.”

  “Bricks?” I asked.

  In answer, Holmes swung his pick into the wall and, in a shower of lath and plaster, uncovered a section of chimney. Such destruction caused me a measure of surprise, but Lord Garnett, sitting on the edge of his son’s bed, simply watched without expression.

  “Hurry, Watson,” Holmes swung the axe again, knocking one of the chimney bricks inward at an angle. Hurrying to help, though not at all certain the purpose behind this extravagant destruction, I reached in with my pry bar and attempted to pull the brick outwards.

  “Back in the hallway, you were going to ask about Cambers and the footprint in the garden,” Holmes explained as I worked. When the brick fell out, he swung the pick once more, loosening more bricks. “No doubt by now you’ve reached the obvious conclusion. The footprint and remnant of cloth were left by one of the police constables as they searched the grounds this morning.”

  Hearing this, Lord Garnett was unable to contain a bleak chuckle.

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

  “Of course,” Holmes said as he swung the pick again. “You saw the footprint, the distinctive pattern of a hobnail boot. And the colour of the threads match the police constable’s uniform precisely. While I do not wish to mention the constable’s name, I have matched the evidence to the subject. If his name was mentioned, I fear the poor man would suffer Cambers’ displeasure. It is a peculiar conceit of Scotland Yard investigators, they seem convinced all the footprints in the world belong to someone else.”

  “And the skulls?” I asked. “What makes you believe you know where they are?”

  “Believe?” Holmes swung the pick again. “Watson, your lack of confidence is astounding. The man whose address the butler found is the chimneysweep who finished tending to Lord Garnett’s chimneys the morning of the party.”

  “A chimneysweep?” I shook my head. “Holmes, there’s no possible way a grown man could fit down that chimney.”