“I felt my life had reached its zenith when King Duncan came to my castle. Little did I think that this would be the prelude to the most crushing misfortune for all that this misfortune also led to my becoming king. Duncan had just bestowed the title Thane of Cawdor on me. He came the evening after our victory over the Norwegian invader, accompanied by his two sons and by Banquo and his son. After much revelling, we retired to bed at midnight. It was a tempestuous night and I felt restless so I walked around the castle to try and soothe my nerves. I encountered Banquo and his son, Fleance, on my walk. Banquo gave me this diamond ring, which he said the king wanted me to pass on to my wife.” The present king drew a ring with a brilliant stone out of his pocket. “I curse the day I took this because my valet found it in my pocket the next day and people thought I had either stolen it from the king after a struggle or robbed it when we discovered his body. Banquo, Fleance and I talked for a spell and then I went back to bed. In the morning, Captain MacDuff, a hero from the battle, arrived and went into the room where Duncan lay asleep. He found a scene as if the chamber were a flesher’s, with the king lying in his own blood in his bed.”
So can you tell me who was in the castle on the night of the murder?”
“I have here a plan of the erstwhile castle and its grounds.”
“Erstwhile?”
“Yes, erstwhile. Soon after the death of King Duncan, the Norwegians sought to take advantage of the political void created by the sudden vacancy on the throne and launched another invasion. We beat them back, but not before Dunsinane Castle and its grounds were largely ruined.”
“Pray continue.”
The king pointed to the plan. “The castle had ramparts, an inner courtyard and a heavily fortified central keep in which all the most senior people slept. Access to the keep was controlled by a porter. Apart from a few servants, the only people in the keep were the king, his sons Donalbain and Malcolm, Banquo and his son Fleance, and my wife and I. Everyone else associated with the estate slept in rooms built into the ramparts. Outside the ramparts were a moat crossed by a drawbridge and, leading to the drawbridge, an avenue of beech trees.”
“Can you tell me who the servants were?”
“I don’t take much account of them, but there was the Porter, who was a long established servant at Dunsinane and the two page boys the King travelled with, Billy Wagstaffe and Frank Flitch.”
“So you are saying that unless an intruder got into the tower and escaped undetected, the killer must be from among these nine people?”
“I know or knew all of them well and they are all people I would trust. Yet what you say is true. It would indeed have been a difficult task for an outsider to penetrate the keep as the Porter guarded the only door to it and the ground-level floors were used for storage of food reserves and hence only had slits as apertures to the outside.”
“You say you knew the people who slept in the central keep well. Do you not know where any of them are now?”
“My wife is no longer with us while Banquo, Fleance and the sons of the king, Donalbain and Malcolm, have all gone into exile.”
“Tell me about them.”
“Banquo is or was the same age as me. He was a brave warrior and a noble soul. Fleance was about fourteen and a bright, charming lad. Donalbain and Malcolm were in their early twenties, sturdy souls though not yet bloodied in battle.”
“So what is there for me to investigate? You have been on the throne for ten years while your rivals and possible perpetrators of the crime have all fled without trace or have died. Your castle and its environs – which might have afforded me some clues to the crime – no longer exist.”
A proud look came into the King’s eye. “For my people I need the affirmation of His Holiness and to receive his affirmation, I need to be declared innocent by my nobles, who will only be convinced of my innocence if there is a proper investigation by someone who commands respect. I have resolved I will do all that a man can do to clear my name. He who dares do more is none.”
“You make yourself very clear. I will have to think about the best way to proceed. How long are you staying in London for?”
“I am at the Langham Hotel under the name of Mr Basil Scott and will not leave until I hear from you.”
“Could I ask you to give me the ring that you received from Banquo as it may furnish me with some clues to this case?”
“But I have had this ring in my keeping for ten years. How can it still provide you with clues?” asked the king.
“Your Majesty is clearly aware of the small reputation I have been able to establish as an investigator,” said Holmes in a voice that invited no debate. There was a pause and the king waited for him to continue, but Holmes would not be drawn any further. Eventually the king handed Holmes the ring and left our room after giving a low bow. We listened to him walk down the staircase to the front door of the house. As soon as we heard the front door open, Holmes sprang from his seat and out of the room. Within a minute he was back, nestling in his chair. I waited for Holmes to say something as I knew that he would not want any interjection from me to break his train of thought.
Finally he went to his desk and pulled out a document.
“His Majesty is clearly not the only person for whom the issue of who killed his predecessor is of concern. I did wonder whether to tax His Majesty with this accusatory document this evening, but thought I might find out more from him if I did not mention it. Do you read out to me the section I have marked in red, good Doctor.”
I turned to the page directed and read:
WIFE OF THANE OF CAWDOR
Alack, I am afraid they have awaked,
And ’tis not done. The attempt and not the deed
Confounds us. Hark! I laid their daggers ready;
He could not miss ’em. Had he not resembled
My father as he slept, I had done’t.
Enter THANE OF CAWDOR
My husband!
THANE OF CAWDOR
I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?
“What an extraordinary document!” I exclaimed. “Whoever wrote this is making a direct accusation of murder against the present king of Nova Alba. Where did you get this?”
“I found it rammed through the letterbox marked for my attention this morning after you had left. I have no more knowledge about it other than that it was delivered by hand and not by post, as there was no stamp or postmark on the envelope.”
“So assuming the sender was also the writer, there must be somebody else intimately connected with the Nova Alba court who is here in London and who has tracked the king to our door?”
“That is so. The document is a play about the death of Duncan. It is written in a melodramatic style shot through with so many evil portents and shrieking harpies that it is rather a shame that Richard Wagner is no longer with us to write an opera on the subject, although the turbulent style and wild subject matter may perhaps suit the Italian temperament better. It covers precisely the events that the king of Nova Alba has described to us: the thane’s victory over the Norwegian king, Duncan’s visit to the thane’s castle for the party after the battle, the thane’s encounter with Banquo and his son after midnight and, finally, the discovery of Duncan’s body in the morning. But, where it differs from the present king’s account, is that it portrays him, in spite of manifold misgivings, as being goaded into killing Duncan by his wife, who has since passed away. It then goes on to portray further events that depart from the king’s account: here Banquo is slain by agents of the king rather than escaping, and – departing from the implausible to the impossible – this version recounts the escape of Fleance, who apparently takes to the skies to flee.” I would add at this point that the time that the events I describe took place was before the recent invention of powered flight by the Wright Brothers. “Whoever wrote this work,” continued Holmes, “is a person of high intelligence who can predict the motives and courses of actions of the main players in a complex drama. I am n
ot yet clear that the writer of this play is my foeman but the pursuit of him is certainly something worthy of my mettle.”
“So which version of the events do you believe?”
Holmes paused and then said thoughtfully “The king is putting his throne at risk by seeking to convene a gathering of nobles to declare his innocence. Anything less than a whole-hearted endorsement of him will make his continued presence on the Nova Alban throne difficult, whereas he could simply have allowed the suspicion of guilt to hang over him and carried on regardless.”
“So what motivates the person who wrote this drama accusing the king of murdering his predecessor?”
“For whatever reason, someone wants to discredit the king and it appears to be worth their while to follow him to London and trail him while he is here to do so. That is why I went out just now to see if the king was being followed as he was obviously followed here this morning when he came to check our address. Whoever followed him this morning must have been the person who pushed this manuscript through our door, but when the king left us just now he went out onto an empty street and stepped into a cab that he had left waiting outside our door when he arrived.”
“So what do you make of this second person?”
“His presence in London must be unknown to the king as he had to follow the king here to find out whom he wanted to see in London – that was why I confirmed that the king had been here this morning to check the address. The king had not told anyone he was coming here; therefore, he must have been followed by someone who knew where he was staying so that that second person could post his play through our door. The latter must be an educated person to be writing in the extravagant style of the play and he must have a reason to wish the king ill.”
“And what is your next move to be?”
“I must consider how I might find out more about the second person.”
“Although the street is now empty, might this second person have followed the cab that brought the king here this evening, or might the cab driver have seen something?”
“I had of course thought of both those possibilities and, armed with the cab number that I took when I went downstairs, I shall speak to the cab driver tomorrow, although I doubt that I shall be able to see him before the evening.”
I had a number of tasks to perform the next day and it was early evening before I returned to Baker Street. As I arrived, a cab drew up and its driver stepped out. We went up the stairs together to the quarters that Holmes and I share.
I opened the door to our lodgings and Holmes rose from his seat. The room was cold and I looked for the poker which was normally beside my chair as my war wound made it imperative that our living room had a comfortable temperature, whereas Holmes was largely impervious to heat or cold. The poker, rather to my surprise, was by Holmes’s seat, even though it was obvious he had not used it to tend the fire. I asked Holmes to pass over the poker so that I could put some life into the glowing embers. Holmes appeared dissatisfied with my efforts and took the poker back. He added some further logs before using the poker and the bellows to produce a hearty blaze.
I could see that the cab-man was somewhat taken aback by all the domestic effort, but he introduced himself in a gruff East-End voice. “I’m John Turpey from Clayton Street and the Yard asked me to come here. What do you want with me? I am a poor man and could do without being called off the street.”
“I wanted to ask you about the fare you brought here to Baker Street last night. There is half a sovereign here for you if you answer my questions,” said Holmes in the engaging manner he could adopt so easily when he chose as he straightened himself up and hanged the poker from its hook by the fire.
“I did bring a fare here last night, sir,” said the cabbie brightening up. “I was hailed by the doorman of the Langham Hotel and I brought my passenger to this street. He asked me to wait while he came in here and returned after about a quarter of an hour and we went back to the Langham Hotel.”
“Anything else about the evening?”
“There was nothing special. It was quite difficult turning into Portland Place because a column of demonstrators was marching along it. Very irregular crew. Got right in the way, they did, though I couldn’t hear if they were shouting out protests or anything. There’s always some new model of people parading through the street, so you get used to it. I was right grateful to the doorman for picking me out among all the cabs on the street though I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man in work so much the worse for drink. He was quite open about it too – babbling on about what the drink was doing to him, though he was so far gone and his accent so strange, I couldn’t understand everything he was saying. The fare didn’t say anything other than to ask to come here, though he was very generous with his tip and I was glad of the fare as business has been thin recently.”
I thought Holmes would get impatient at Turpey’s rambling and inconsequential description of the events, but instead he said: “You interest me exceedingly. So the doorman was in drink?”
“Yes, sir. He was hard put to open the door to my fare. My passenger looked outraged that someone in that condition could be on the staff of such a prestigious hotel though I saw he tipped him generously as well.”
“Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of, sir.”
“Well, here’s your half-sovereign and there’s another if you can think of anything else.”
When Turpey had gone, Holmes sat back and lit his pipe.
“It is strange,” he said thoughtfully as the smoke swirled upwards, “to have a case that presents so many features that make identifying the criminal so easy and yet where material evidence is so lacking.”
He fell silent and, after a long pause, continued.
“It’s like this, Watson,” he pronounced with much more of his normal mastery. “The killer of Duncan is in London. He must be one of the people who was in the central part of the present king’s castle ten years ago. He knows that the Nova Alban king has been here and that he is consulting with me. But we do not know who it is or what he looks like. I was therefore very circumspect with Turpey and made sure that the poker was always in easy reach until I heard his strong London accent, which ruled the possibility out that he might have been the person who followed the king.”
I waited for him to continue, but that was the end of what he had to say and he would not be drawn any further. After another hour, I retired to my room.
I was just waking up the following morning when I heard a commotion which seemed to be coming from the street. I grabbed my pistol and took the stairs two at a time as I ran down.
The front door was open and framed in the doorway was Holmes, fighting desperately with an unknown assailant, who had him in his grip. Left to themselves, it was by no means clear who would win the struggle, but I crashed the butt of my pistol down onto the head of Holmes’s attacker. He gasped at my blow and let Holmes go long enough for us to bring him to the floor. I pressed the barrel of my gun to his head while Holmes twisted his arms behind his back and between us we brought him upstairs struggling all the way. It was only when fettered hand and foot with my gun pressed to his temple that he realised the futility of further resistance. Holmes’s attacker was in his mid-forties, but strong and fearless.
“Who are you?” asked Holmes, but got no response.
“Are you Lord Banquo?” Holmes then asked.
A look of astonishment crossed his face.
“How do you know that?”
“I am Sherlock Holmes. It is my job to know what other men do not.”
“What do you want with me?” asked Banquo at length.
“I was going to ask you the same question.”
“I came here to tell you to keep you away from my son.”
“Fleance?”
“I am unsurprised you know his name.”
“Only because I realised you are Banquo.”
“I followed Fleance here, so I know that you know him.”
> “Sir, I have not met your son. I know that you have a son, but I do not know where he is or what he looks like. Perhaps you would like to explain why you think I should know him.”
“My son has always had a taste for irregular company which I abominate.” Banquo ground out, his voice hissing through clenched teeth. His gaze wondered from Holmes to me and back. “He has been behaving very strangely over the last few days. I followed him to your door yesterday and saw him put something through the letter box. Shortly afterwards, I saw you at your door as you extracted my son’s missive from the letter box and went back into your house before going out. So I know that you know my son.”
“I received an anonymous document containing an incendiary play through my door yesterday. But I did not know it was from your son of whom, I repeat, I know nothing. Indeed I had no idea from whom it was. Now tell me what you know about the death of King Duncan of Nova Alba.”
Again a look of astonishment crossed Banquo’s face.
“How do you know about that? No one has mentioned that to me for ten years. What is your connection with this?”
“Sir, it is normally the prisoner who answers the questions.”
“Very well. There is not all that much to tell. I am from Nova Alba. Ten years ago we defeated the Norwegian invaders and I visited Dunsinane castle as guest of the hero of the battle, the Thane of Cawdor, to celebrate our victory with him and his wife. I went with my son, Fleance. King Duncan did us the honour of attending with his two sons, Malcolm and Donelbain. It was a very happy evening to mark our triumph and we retired late to the central fortified part of the castle to which only we and a few select servants had access. During the night, I walked round the castle and encountered my son Fleance who was disturbed, as I was, by a violent storm that was blowing. We then crossed the path of the thane. The next morning King Duncan was found in his bed dead from a stab wound.”
“And what did you do?”
“I did not know what to do. The likeliest candidates to have carried out the crime were Cawdor and the sons of Duncan. The sons of Duncan fled straight after the crime was discovered. Fleance and I fled in a hot air balloon shortly afterwards, as I was sure that Cawdor, who had seized the throne, was going to have me arrested and put on trial. I have lived in and around London these ten years trying to keep myself afloat from money that I was able to bring here from Nova Alba.”
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