by John Heywood
“Is there anything in my account you would like to correct?”
Poor Meredith could only answer with a helpless shrug.
“Do not lose heart, I beg you,” said Holmes. “Things look black, but we may yet win the day. I have some hopes that we will be able to apprehend this fellow Brown.”
“But Mr Holmes,” groaned Meredith, “if he is apprehended, I am ruined. Once the police come to hear of this matter my past is discovered, and my life here at Hyde over.”
“Precisely, and that is why it must be we who apprehend him. I do not anticipate any need to alert the police force, and Brown himself is hardly likely to go to the police.”
Meredith hesitated still.
“Come, we have little time. You are in the gravest danger, and the crisis is fast approaching. Brown will not let the grass grow under his feet. Every hour he waits is an hour in which, for all he knows, you may talk to the police, and he find himself arrested on a charge of attempted murder. Only when your silence is ensured will he feel safe. He will act quickly, therefore. It is probable that he will make his third attempt on your life tonight.
“You may choose to decline the help Dr Watson and myself offer you. But understand this: if we are not here to help you, the police will be.”
Meredith started and put up a hand in protest.
“No, no, Mr Meredith. You would give us no choice. A murder is likely to attempted - the attempt may well succeed. Can we stand by in silence while you are murdered?”
Meredith thought the matter over in silence, then slowly nodded his bandaged head.
“Very well, Mr Holmes. You offer me Hobson’s choice. Indeed, I don’t mean to sound ungracious. I do not think I could be in better hands, after all. I had thought my past, and what happened yesterday on the beach, was a secret known to no-one but myself and Brown, but now I find you know everything. I had better have a man like you on my side than against me. I accept your help, Mr Holmes, and gratefully.”
“Very good. Now, tell me this: did Brown come after you here deliberately, or did he come across you by chance?”
“It was pure chance. He was taking a holiday at Whitsea and happened to see me. He asked here and there, and found out where I lived and worked. I had often wondered in the back of my mind if such a thing might happen one day.”
“And what was the reason for his attack? Did he try to try to blackmail you about your past? Was he after some treasure or money from the old days?”
“In part he was after money, yes. He drew his pistol and insisted on coming back with me to the shop, and threatened to expose my past if I did not pay him. But it was not just a question of money. The truth is, he was a brutal, vindictive man, and to see an erstwhile mate who had turned his back on him and the old ways made him furious. He was in a rage, as well as in a lust for gain, and when he pulled out his pistol I feared for my life.”
“I see. You were between the devil and the deep blue sea, and you chose the sea.’
“That’s about it, Mr Holmes. But little good it did me, for the devil came after me anyway. He closed on me in the waves, and struck me such a couple of blows on the head that I blacked out.” With a rueful grin Mr Meredith lightly touched the bandage round his head.
“And you could not expose him, without exposing your own past. By the way, what is his real name?”
“Beasley, Ned Beasley.”
“Thank you. Now, we must prepare for this evening. You came here in a cab, in full public view. Beasley probably knows you are here; that is all the more reason to expect him tonight. We must be ready for him. Can you trust your man Fitt?”
“Absolutely.”
“We will need his help. Tonight Watson and I will wait here for your visitor. Beasley must suspect nothing, for if he once smells a rat, he will be gone. And although it may be days before he returns, return he will. You cannot live with such a threat over your head, Mr Meredith, nor defend yourself against it. Let him come tonight, when we are ready and can prepare for his attack.
“Have you ever known Beasley use a rifle?”
“Never. A pistol was always his weapon.”
“Very well. We will presently ask Mrs Fitt to go home and to send Mr Fitt back here to the shop. He will make what arrangements are necessary outside the premises. Watson and myself, I need hardly tell you, cannot risk being seen. We are the teeth of the trap, Mr Meredith, and you are the bait. You will lure Brown, or Beasley, here. It is a dangerous game we play; are you prepared for it?”
“Indeed I am, Mr Holmes. I will not be bullied by that villain.”
“Excellent! Now, the success of our plan hinges upon Beasley’s being persuaded that you are quite unconscious of danger. Only then will he attempt to strike; and when he does, we will have him. This is how we will proceed. While daylight continues, you may make yourself conspicuous in the house. Do not venture too close to the windows, for if you present a clear target he may take a shot at you. Further from the windows you will be safe, for he will not fire with a pistol at an uncertain target. He has failed twice in his attempts on your life, and was doubly lucky to escape arrest; he knows he cannot risk failure again.
“It will be a warm night; we may credibly allow ourselves to leave open a window. I believe I smell cigars, Mr Meredith - Cuban, if I am not mistaken. You are a smoker?”
“You are right, Mr Holmes, I am, but in my present state of health ...”
“I dare say Watson or myself could be persuaded to be your substitute in the matter of smoking a cigar,” smiled Holmes, “if I do not presume too far on your generosity. I do not know how well Beasley is acquainted with your smoking habits, but in any event, the aroma of cigar smoke floating out into the night air will surely suggest to him that his prey is lying within, at ease and unaware of danger.”
Mr Meredith smiled in return. “Of course, Mr Holmes and Dr Watson. The box is over there behind the counter. The fourth shelf down.”
“You are very kind. To return to our plan: what rooms are there upstairs?”
“There are three rooms: my bedroom, on one side of the landing, and on the other side two smaller rooms.”
“No other room on the same side as yours? No bath-room, or dressing-room, perhaps?”
“There is a kind of lumber-room or annexe off my own room.”
“Does it have a door on the landing?”
“No, it can only be reached through my own room.”
“Then it is safe, and you will sleep there tonight. This is the plan: when the sun sets, Fitt will close the shutters and leave for his own house. In your bedroom the lamps will be lit and the curtains closed. At ten o’clock we will turn out the lamps down here and move upstairs, you to sleep in the lumber-room, and Dr Watson and I to lie in wait for Beasley.”
There was little for us to do then but to lie low and wait for darkness to fall. I watched the seagulls circling slowly over the sea crying, or settling on the roofs of Hyde. As the sun began to set, Fitt came back to do what was necessary outside the house. He worked alone, as Holmes and I durst not risk being seen. All but one of the shutters on the downstairs windows he closed, and that remaining one he left not properly fastened from within; a blade slipped between the two shutters would lift the bar, and the shutters would be open. Meredith assured us that to Beasley, this was as good as to find the front door wide open. (Neither of us needed to press Meredith further on the nature of Beasley’s criminal past; as Holmes somewhat acerbically remarked to me later, to guess it was within even my deductive powers.) While I locked the upstairs windows thoroughly, Fitt dragged the ladder that lay in the yard into the shop, laying it on its side along a wall. Once he had locked the back door, preparations on the outside of the building were complete. He locked the front door, and with a loud “Goodnight, Mr Meredith,” spoken for the sake of any ears that might be listening in
the dark, he walked off to his house.
Inside, we went upstairs to Meredith’s bedroom and arranged bolster and pillow to resemble a figure in the bed. We then checked on the lumber room where Meredith was to pass the night. It was a windowless room, more secure than comfortable, equipped with a camp-bed that brought back to me memories of my Afghan campaign. All was now ready upstairs. We closed the curtains and went back down to the shop, where we lit the lamps and settled down to smoke and wait.
We thought it safer to pass the evening in silence, conversing, where necessary, in signs, for outside in the dark Beasley might be circling the house, listening, or trying to peep in through the windows. We had noted the lines of sight offered to a prowler by the peep-holes in the shutters, and calculated which parts of the shop were safe for us to use, not being visible from outside. The restrictions on our speech and freedom of movement became extremely irksome, and even when we did move, we must needs take unnatural paths in order to avoid the forbidden parts of the shop and its little back parlour. It was most strange to see Holmes shuffling around the room sideways to escape being seen, his back to the wall, or ducking low, below the line of sight, swinging along with bent knees like a great ape in the gaslight. I dare say I presented as risible a figure as he. As for Meredith, it would have been no disadvantage for him to be visible from without, but being too weak from his ordeal to move about much, he was content to lie stretched out on a bale of sailcloth behind the shop counter. So we sat or lay there, unable to converse, limited as to our movements, each of us alone with his thoughts.
When the time came, Meredith signalled goodnight and went upstairs to his cabin-room.
Holmes and I remained downstairs a little longer. In whispers we rehearsed our plan. We were to lie in wait in the bedroom, Holmes’s station being by the door, on the hinge side, so that when opened it would hide him, and mine behind the wardrobe that stood on the other side of the doorway.
If Beasley did come, we would hear his entry and be ready for him. We would allow him time enough to approach the bed, but not to realise that the bed was empty, for once apprised that something was wrong, he would immediately be on his guard. We would strike first, before he could take alarm. Surprise, speed and darkness would be our allies.
It was an hour since Meredith had gone upstairs. We stood in absolute silence for a full minute, straining our ears for the least sound. We could hear nothing. Creeping low, we extinguished the lights and went upstairs to adopt our positions.
“Ready, Watson?” Holmes whispered.
“Ready.”
“Good luck!”
I felt my way round to the other side of the wardrobe, and put my cocked revolver upon its top. As the minutes passed, my eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness, and the room took form about me. The dressing-table seemed slowly to materialise, and upon it a wash-bowl and ewer. Then a small chair became visible, and over the bed the dark rectangle of a picture. Once I leaned forward from behind the wardrobe to see if I could make out my friend. I could just distinguish his upright figure.
The hours crawled by. Who knows what are the strange noises in a house at night? I had time enough to wonder what they were. There were creaks that made me freeze and listen for another step, little scratchings and taps, and once human-sounding groans from close by - Meredith, no doubt, in some fearful dream, perhaps a dream of drowning. All of a sudden from outside the house a cackle broke out. Was it Beasley who had disturbed the sea-gulls? In a few minutes their squabble died down and silence returned. Twice, approaching steps from the street made me hold my breath, and twice they passed by and away into silence.
It seemed to me increasingly likely that we had misjudged the situation, and that Beasley was not going to come to the chandlery that night. Why should he? Surely, having failed to kill Meredith, he would go back home and ponder his next moves in safety. If he was really as black as Holmes painted him, that is; perhaps indeed Holmes had been entirely wrong, and the whole affair was merely what it had appeared to be, a tragic near-drowning. But no, for Meredith had confirmed Holmes’s account. My mind was beginning to wander. I was tired, I realised, and needed to keep my wits about me. To that end I decided to recite silently to myself the names of the muscles of the human body I had learnt as a medical student, starting with the head: occipitofrontalis, occipitalis, frontalis, I remembered, orbicularis oculi, corrugator supercilli, depressor supercilli ...
There was a noise downstairs. An even, gently rasping noise, as of something sliding. The shutter bar! Then followed a long silence. I was wondering if perhaps I had imagined the sound when it was repeated. It was followed this time by a click, then, after another pause, by the sound of two surfaces rubbing together. I silently leaned forward to see the dark shape of Holmes. We exchanged a sign. He had heard too.
Footsteps crossed the wooden floor below us, and an occasional creak marked their passage up the stairs. When they reached the top I could hear the rustle of clothes as somebody moved stealthily along the landing. The steps stopped outside the door. I held my breath. The door opened a few inches, and stopped. Then, slowly, it opened wide into the room. A figure glided in. It stood facing the bed for some seconds, then moved forward. At that point Holmes with a shout of ‘Now!’ leapt from behind the door, lashing downwards. I seized the arm and neck, and between us we forced the struggling figure to the floor. He continued to writhe and thrash on the boards until he felt my revolver pressed to his ear. He froze in fear and lay still, panting.
“The game’s up,” said Holmes clearly. “Do you have him safe, Watson?”
“I do.”
Holmes rose and lit the lamp. “Take a chair, Beasley,” said he.
I motioned our captive to his feet and over to the chair. As he moved into the gaslight he was revealed as a well-knit man of some thirty summers, his handsome features disfigured by a sneering expression. Holmes kneeled and reached under the dressing-table to bring out Beasley’s pistol from where it had fallen in the struggle. “Loaded, I take it?” asked Holmes, cocking the hammer, and Beasley’s involuntary start informed us that indeed it was.
The lumber-room door opened and Meredith entered the room in a dressing-gown. He and Beasley glared at each other, but exchanged not a word.
“Good morning, Mr Meredith,” said Holmes. “I apologise if we disturbed your sleep. Please be seated.
“Now, Ned Beasley,” he continued, “I am undecided as to what to do with you. I have grave doubts about the wisdom of allowing you to remain at large. However, your old friend Mr Meredith has reasons of his own for not wishing to call in the police. Before I decide which course of action to take, I shall let me lay some of the facts before you, so that you may understand your own position.
“Myself and my colleague here are aware of your past association with Mr Meredith, and of your attempts on his life, first on the Blore Sands, and then this morning in the church hall. We are witnesses to your third attempt just now.”
“As to that, it’s your word against mine,” came the surly response.
“Indeed. And whose word will the judge and jury believe?”
Beasley shuffled his feet and made no answer.
“I continue. The three of us here have enough information against you to send you to gaol for a long term. Mr & Mrs Fitt will be provided with sealed letters to take to the police should any unfortunate accident befall Mr Meredith, and in that unhappy event Mr Meredith’s executors will find a similar letter. Even a man of your limited understanding will think twice before committing any more murderous attacks, I think.
“Of course, you may think fit to take the fight to me,” said my friend, and he tucked a card into Beasley’s breast-pocket:
SHERLOCK HOLMES
221b Baker Street
London WC
“I shall always be pleased to receive you.”
Dawn was br
eaking as Holmes and I walked back to Whitsea across Blore Bay. The tide was out, revealing acres of gleaming sand. Pools and rivulets of tidal water glittered in the early sun, and fainter in the distance glittered the ocean itself. Over our heads gulls floated and called, occasionally flapping down to the sand to peck at some stranded creature of the deep.
“I still cannot understand how you puzzled it all out, Holmes. You promised me an account of how you did so.”
“Did I, indeed? How rash of me. Well, if I wish to be considered a man of my word, I had better oblige.
“As you know, the circumstance that immediately aroused my suspicion was that it was a local man who had drowned, or, as it turned out, nearly drowned. The newspaper correspondent seemed think that, as drownings were lamentably common at this spot, another was not suspicious.”
“I must confess that I thought so too.”
“Whereas in reality,” continued Holmes, “the more notoriously dangerous the place was, the more unlikely that a local man would willingly go bathing there. What induced him to go into the water, I did not then know, but I already suspected that something was wrong.
“I then considered the rescue attempt. How did we know that that Brown tried to rescue Meredith? I asked myself.”
“But that was public knowledge, Holmes. It was reported in the paper. There were people on the beach that morning, who all saw what happened. How did you ever come to doubt it?”
“You know my methods, Watson; I make no assumptions, and consider every possibility. The little crowd on the beach; did they really see what happened? At a distance of perhaps one or two hundred feet, the words and faces of two men struggling in the sea would be unidentifiable. How could a bystander know who had been doing what to whom? Brown came out of the sea saying he had tried to save a drowning man, and the crowd believed him. They accepted that an attempted rescue was what they had just seen. But that ‘rescue’ was a mere unsupported claim made by one of the two men, and one that fitted the facts less and less well as they came to light.