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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Sprache: Englisch
This collection of stories, allegedly written by Doctor Watson, includes the tragic tale of Lord Deerswood's unwanted legacy, the account of the jealous contortionist, the affair of the beautiful housekeeper, the deadly doings of the costumed Russian, the Aladdin's Cave episode, and the extraordinary circumstances surrounding the deadly Sumatran rats. The discovery of these Sherlock Holmes cases - one of which reunites Holmes with brother Mycroft - represents a treasure trove for Baker Street devotees.
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Seitenzahl: 354
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014
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THE SECRET CHRONICLES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
June Thomson
(with the assistance of Aubrey B. Watson)
TO
H.R.F. KEATING
FOR GIVING SO GENEROUSLY
OF HIS TIME AND EXPERT ADVICE
My thanks also to John Kennedy Melling and John Berriman for their help and expertise on Victorian Music-Halls and Victorian Pocket-Watches.
I should again like to express my thanks to June Thomson for her help in preparing this second collection of short stories for publication.
Aubrey B. Watson LDS, FDS, D. Orth
Contents
FOREWORD
by Aubrey B. Watson LDS, FDS, D. Orth
In the Foreword to TheSecretFilesofSherlockHolmes,* I described how a certain battered tin dispatch box, with the words ‘John H. Watson, M.D., Late Indian Army’ painted on the lid, together with its contents, came into the possession of my late uncle, also a Dr John Watson. In his case, however, the middle initial was F., not H., and he was a Doctor of Philosophy rather than medicine.
It was sold to him in July 1939 by a Miss Adelina McWhirter, who claimed it was the same box which Dr John H. Watson, Sherlock Holmes’ companion and chronicler, had deposited at his bank Cox and Co. of Charing Cross† and which contained records in Dr John H. Watson’s handwriting of sundry adventures undertaken by the great consulting detective which, for various reasons, had never been published. As a relative of Holmes’ Dr Watson on her mother’s side of the family, Miss McWhirter alleged that she had inherited the dispatch box and its papers which, finding herself in straitened circumstances, she was forced reluctantly to sell.
My late uncle, struck by the similarity of his own name to that of the other illustrious Dr John Watson, had studied widely in the Holmes canon and had made himself an acknowledged expert. On examining the dispatch box and its contents, he was convinced of their authenticity and was planning to publish the papers when international events overtook him with the outbreak of the Second World War.
Anxious about their safety, he made copies of the Watson documents, depositing the originals in their dispatch box in the strong-room of his own bank in Lombard Street, London EC3. Unfortunately, it suffered a direct hit during the bombing of 1942 which reduced the contents of the box to charred fragments and so blistered the paint on its lid that the inscription was indecipherable.
Left with nothing more than his own copies of the papers to prove the existence of the originals and unable to trace Miss McWhirter, my late uncle, fearful of his reputation as a scholar, decided very regretfully not to publish them in his lifetime and, on his death, the whole collection, together with the footnotes he had added, was bequeathed to me under the terms of his will.
As I pointed out in the Foreword to TheSecretFilesofSherlockHolmes, I am by profession an orthodontist and, having no academic reputation to protect and no one to whom I can in turn bequeath the papers, I have decided, after much careful consideration, to offer these documents for publication although I make no claim for their authenticity.
The first account I have chosen for this second collection is the adventure of the Paradol Chamber, referred to in ‘The Five Orange Pips’ and assigned by Dr John H. Watson to 1887. It was one of a long series of cases which engaged Sherlock Holmes’ attention during that year, not all of which were published although Dr John H. Watson states that he ‘kept the records’. The account of the Paradol Chamber case was among those alleged to have been deposited in the dispatch box at Cox and Co.
With regard to the question of dating this particular adventure, readers might be interested in a short monograph which my late uncle wrote on this matter and which is printed in full in the Appendix.
* This first collection of hitherto unpublished adventures, supposedly undertaken by Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr John H. Watson, was first published by Constable and Co. in September 1990. (Aubrey B. Watson)
† Dr John H. Watson refers to this dispatch box in the opening sentence of ‘The Problem of Thor Bridge’. (Aubrey B. Watson)
THE CASE OF THE PARADOL CHAMBER
I
It was not often that Sherlock Holmes called on me at my consulting rooms in Paddington,* preferring to remain in the seclusion of his lodgings at 221B Baker Street which he left only rarely.
I was therefore considerably surprised when one morning in November ’87, not long after my marriage,† and my purchase of the practice from Mr Farquhar, the front door bell rang and my old friend was ushered into the room
‘Ah, Watson!’ said he, striding forward to shake me vigorously by the hand. ‘I trust you and Mrs Watson are well?’ On receiving my assurance that we were both in excellent health, he continued, ‘I see that your practice is quiet at present and you are not over-burdened with patients. That being so, could you spare me an hour of your company? It is a case which I think may interest you. I may assume, may I not, that domestic pleasures have not quite blunted the edge of your former interest in our little deductive adventures?’
‘No; indeed not, Holmes,’ I replied warmly. ‘I am delighted to be asked. But how can you be so sure that business is slack enough to allow me to take up the invitation?’
‘Two reasons, my dear fellow. Firstly, the condition of the boot-scraper by your front door. Although it is miry underfoot after last night’s rain, so little mud has been deposited on it that I deduced only one or two patients could have made use of it since it was cleaned earlier this morning. Secondly, I noticed the extreme tidiness of your desk. Only a man with time on his hands would have arranged his papers in such immaculate order.’
‘You are quite right, Holmes!’ I exclaimed, laughing not only at the simplicity of his explanation but with pleasure at his renewed company.
‘Then are you prepared to accompany me to Baker Street? I have a cab waiting.’
‘Certainly. I shall be but a few moments informing my wife and writing a note to my neighbour, also a medical man, who will take over the practice while I am away.* It is a reciprocal agreement. What is the case?’
‘I shall explain once we are in the hansom,’ Holmes replied
Having made these necessary arrangements to cover my absence, I hurriedly put on my topcoat and, seizing my hat and stick, joined him outside in the cab. As soon as it had started off and was rattling on its way to our former lodgings, Holmes produced a letter from his pocket which he handed to me.
‘It arrived only this morning by the first post,’ he explained, ‘hence the necessity of collecting you in person rather than summoning you by telegram as the client requests an interview at eleven o’ clock. Read it, my dear fellow, and tell me what you make of the contents.’
With that he folded his arms and leaned back against the seat, allowing me to peruse the letter in silence.
It bore the previous day’s date and an engraved address: Windicot Villa, Little Bramfield, Surrey, and read:
Dear Mr Holmes,
May I request an interview with you tomorrow morning at eleven o’ clock in order to discuss a matter of extreme delicacy? It concerns a close acquaintance of mine who appears to have returned from the dead. I prefer to give no further details at this stage.
I apologize for the short notice I have given you but the case is of great urgency.
Because of its unusual nature, I shall be accompanied by my solicitor, Mr Frederick Lawson of Bold, Brownjohn and Lawson of Guildford, Surrey.
Yours sincerely etc.
Edith Russell (Miss).
‘A curious case, is it not, Watson?’ Holmes asked when I had folded up the letter and handed it back to him.
‘A return from the dead!’ I cried. ‘Miss Russell must have imagined it.’
‘That may indeed be so. However, I prefer to wait until I have heard Miss Russell’s account before indulging in any speculation, either scientific or metaphysical. It was for this reason that I wanted your presence at the interview. As a medical man, you will no doubt be able to confirm whether or not Miss Russell is of an hysterical or over-imaginative disposition.’
‘Of course, Holmes,’ I assured him, gratified to be asked for my professional opinion.
We arrived at Baker Street only a quarter of an hour before Miss Russell and her solicitor. Even so, I was hard put to it to contain my curiosity and, when they were shown upstairs, I rose to my feet as they entered the sitting-room, eager to study their demeanour, especially that of the young lady.
Miss Russell was tall and graceful, with an air of breeding and quiet intelligence about her features; in no way inclined, I thought, to be of a nervous disposition.
Her solicitor, Mr Frederick Lawson, was also young, distinguished-looking and possessed of a similar sensible, no-nonsense attitude, apparent in his firm handshake and his direct gaze.
They made a handsome couple and, from Lawson’s solicitous manner towards Miss Russell, I suspected at once that his feelings for her were more than those of a legal adviser towards his client.
Once the introductions were over and Holmes had received Miss Russell’s agreement that, as his long-term and trusted colleague, I should be allowed to remain, Mr Russell opened the interview with a short, introductory preamble.
‘Miss Russell has already written to you, Mr Holmes, explaining to you very briefly the background to the situation but not, in her preliminary letter, referring to anyone by name. As the persons involved are distinguished members of the highest society, I know that we may rely entirely on your discretion, as well as that of your colleague, Dr Watson, not to allow any of the facts ever to be made public. That being said, I shall leave my client, Miss Russell, to make her statement to you in her own words, as she has already given it to me.’
Lawson then fell silent and Miss Russell began her account in a clear voice and an unhurried manner which showed few signs of nervousness apart from an occasional clasping and unclasping of her gloved hands as they lay in her lap.
‘First of all, Mr Holmes, I must explain a little of the background to the events which have brought me here to ask for your assistance.
‘My father is a retired City banker, a widower, suffering from a heart complaint. On the advice of his doctor, we moved from London to Surrey where my father bought Windicot Villa, a house situated on the edge of the village of Little Bramfield which is a few miles from Guildford. The nearest residence to ours, a mere half-mile away, is Hartesdene Manor, the home of the young Marquis of Deerswood and his uncle, Lord Hindsdale, the younger brother of the Marquis’s late father who died in a hunting accident. Because Lord Deerswood was left an orphan, his mother having died many years ago in a Swiss clinic – of consumption, I believe – Lord Hindsdale was made the young man’s guardian and continued to live at the Manor after the Marquis came of age and inherited the title.
‘About seven months ago, I made the acquaintance of Lord Deerswood under rather unusual circumstances. Like his mother, the young man suffered from poor health and, for that reason, rarely went into society, nor were visitors encouraged to call. He was, I understand, educated at home and has – or rather had, up to the time of his death – led a life of almost total seclusion. However, although he was seldom seen in public, he was permitted a little light exercise and he would walk his dog, a spaniel called Handel, in the nearby fields and lanes, always accompanied by a groom.
‘It was during one of these excursions last spring that I first met him. I myself was returning from a walk when I saw him and the groom crossing a meadow close to the house. They had reached the stile and the groom, who had safely climbed over it, was holding out a hand as if to steady his master, when Gilbert, as I came to call him, appeared to lose his balance and fell, striking his head against the post.
‘I ran up to give assistance and, as the house was nearby, I suggested that we took the young man there. He seemed dazed, as if suffering from a mild concussion, but was able to walk and, between us, the groom and I supported him back to Windicot Villa where I gave him what medical attention I could. Meanwhile, the groom ran on to Hartsdene Manor to raise the alarm. Shortly afterwards, the uncle, Lord Hindsdale, arrived in the carriage and the young man was taken away.
‘About a week later, the Marquis, in the company of his uncle, called at the villa to thank me formally for my help and when, in the course of conversation, I happened to mention my love of flowers, Lord Deerswood invited my father and myself to the Manor to inspect the hothouses there.
‘It was the first of several visits I was to pay over the subsequent months in which my acquaintanceship with Gilbert deepened into a true friendship. I found him a lonely young man, very much to be pitied; eager for the company and conversation of people of his own age. We shared many interests and the time I spent with him passed most pleasantly. Indeed, I felt as warmly towards him as I might towards a brother.
‘The only drawback to our friendship was the attitude of Lord Hindsdale. He seemed very fond of his nephew – too fond, perhaps, for he was, in my opinion, over-protective towards the young man, although this was understandable considering Gilbert’s poor state of health. Indeed, there were several occasions when my visits to the Manor were cancelled on Lord Hindsdale’s directions because he considered Gilbert too unwell to receive callers. He is a proud, rigid man, Mr Holmes, and I felt he disapproved of my growing friendship with his nephew.
‘I come now to the events of last summer. Gilbert and his uncle had left Hartsdene Manor in order to spend August in another family residence, Drumpitloch Castle, on the Scottish coast. About a week after their departure, I received a letter from Lord Hindsdale – such a terse communication, Mr Holmes! – informing me that his nephew had been drowned in a boating accident. He gave no further details and I had to discover the facts of Gilbert’s death from the reports in the daily newspapers. Perhaps you, too, read them, Mr Holmes?’
Holmes, who had been listening to Miss Russell’s account with keen attention, replied, ‘Indeed I did. Pray continue, Miss Russell. Although the body was never found and it was assumed it had been swept out to sea, there was a memorial service, was there not?’
‘Yes, there was, Mr Holmes. It was a private ceremony, held at St Saviour’s church in Little Bramfield, which only immediate members of the family and the servants attended.’
For the first time, Miss Russell’s calm manner failed her and her voice faltered as if remembering that occasion to which, despite her friendship with the young Marquis, she had not been invited.
I saw Frederick Lawson lean forward anxiously in his chair but, after a few moments’ silence, Miss Russell had sufficiently recovered her composure to continue.
‘I heard nothing from the new Marquis of Deerswood, as Lord Hindsdale became on his nephew’s death, and my connection with Hartsdene Manor appeared to have been severed. However, three nights ago, at about half-past ten, my father and I were driving back from Guildford where we had dined with Mr Lawson who, over the years has acted as my father’s solicitor, and has become a close family friend. The road passes Hartsdene Manor and, as we drew opposite the gates, I glanced across at the house, thinking I confess, of Gilbert’s tragic death. I was seated on the right-hand side of the carriage and, the blind being up, I had a clear view of the garden which fronts the Manor. There was a full moon so there is no question that I was mistaken in what I saw.’
‘And what was that, pray?’ Holmes inquired. He seemed impressed, as I was, too, by the concise nature of her account although a tremor in her voice spoke of deeper feelings.
‘I saw Gilbert walking across the lawn. He was facing towards me and his features were quite distinct although thinner and more haggard than I remembered them.’
‘Was he alone?’
‘No; he was accompanied by two men, one of whom I recognised as Macey, the butler. The other I had never seen before. He was a tall man, exceptionally broad across the shoulders. There is one other fact which I must acquaint you with, Mr Holmes,’ and again her voice trembled with emotion. ‘Macey and the other man were grasping Gilbert by the arms as if trying to force him back inside the house. And his poor face! It held an expression of such terror that I shudder even now to recall it!’
‘What did you do?’ Holmes asked gently.
‘I called on the coachman to stop but, by the time the carriage had halted and I had jumped out and run back to the gates of Hartsdene Manor, the garden was empty and there was no sign of Gilbert or the other two men. It was, of course, too late to make inquiries. Besides, I was greatly distressed by what I had seen and needed time to consider calmly what action I should take. After discussing the matter with my father, I consulted Mr Lawson the following day and, on his advice, I drew up a letter to Lord Deerswood, asking for an urgent interview, but without giving any details, merely stating that it was a personal and delicate matter which could involve legal complications. For this reason, I requested that Mr Lawson, as the family solicitor, should be present.’
‘A most wise decision,’ Holmes murmured. ‘I understand that, on his nephew’s apparent death, his uncle inherited not only the title but also the estates, which are considerable.’
‘Yes, indeed, Mr Holmes. After Gilbert, his uncle was the next direct heir. Because of this legal aspect to the affair, I felt I could not undertake the interview alone and my father’s heart condition does not permit him any undue anxiety or emotion. The interview with the new Lord Deerswood took place yesterday morning.’
Miss Russell turned to address Frederick Lawson.
‘As it was held under your direction, I think you should describe exactly what took place. I still find it most painful to recall.’
As she sat back in her chair, evidently relieved that her part of the statement was now over, Frederick Lawson took over the account, his handsome features grave.
‘It was indeed a most uncomfortable occasion, Mr Holmes. As Miss Russell has already explained, Lord Deerswood is a very proud, rigid man, exceedingly cold in his manner. He listened in silence as I repeated Miss Russell’s account of what she had seen and then he categorically refuted any suggestion that his nephew was still alive. Miss Russell was mistaken, he insisted, although he did not deny that an incident had taken place in the garden two nights earlier. However, the man she had seen was not Gilbert but the groom, Harris, who had been taken suddenly ill and whom Macey and another servant had walked about the lawn in order that the fresh air might revive him. As Harris bore a resemblance to his nephew, this was how the mistake must have arisen.’
‘Is that possible, Miss Russell?’ Holmes asked.
‘Certainly not!’ she exclaimed, a flush of indignation colouring her cheeks. ‘I know Harris very well by sight and, although he bears a superficial likeness to Gilbert, both being dark-haired and slight of build, there is no question that I could have confused one with the other.’
‘And what of the third man, the one whom Miss Russell did not recognise? Did Lord Deerswood give any explanation for his presence?’
Lawson looked a little abashed.
‘I fear, Mr Holmes, that, in the embarrassment of the occasion, I failed to press Lord Deerswood for an account of the man. When Miss Russell declined to accept Lord Deerswood’s explanation, he became quite angry, in a cold, controlled manner, and challenged us to bring anyone we cared to nominate to Hartsdene Manor in order to search the house and to prove to our satisfaction that his nephew was nowhere on the premises. With that, he brought the interview abruptly to a close and we were shown out. Later that morning, after consulting Miss Russell, it was decided that we must, on principle, take up the challenge. Miss Russell felt that she could not let the situation rest there. Having heard of your reputation as a consulting detective, Mr Holmes, as well as your discretion in handling such confidential matters, I advised Miss Russell to write to you.’
‘I shall be delighted to inquire into the affair,’ Holmes replied with alacrity. ‘The case has many singular features. However, there are two provisos which I must make.’
‘What are those?’
‘That my colleague, Dr Watson, should accompany me. You would wish to do so, would you not, my dear fellow?’
‘Indeed I would, Holmes,’ I agreed.
‘I am sure that can be arranged,’ Lawson said. ‘Lord Deerswood made no stipulation as to the number of persons who would be allowed to examine Hartsdene Manor. And your second proviso?’
‘That we undertake the investigation with the minimum delay before there is a change in the conditions regarding the weather and the fullness of the moon.’ Turning to Miss Russell, Holmes continued, ‘I wish to examine the scene of the curious incident you described under circumstances as similar as possible to those in which you yourself witnessed it. You understand, Miss Russell, that I am not for a moment doubting the veracity of your evidence? But I should prefer, in such a case, to make my own observations.’
‘Of course, Mr Holmes,’ Miss Russell readily agreed. ‘Would tomorrow evening be convenient for you? You may stay at Windicot Villa overnight and the carriage will be placed at your disposal to drive past Hartsdene Manor at exactly the same hour at which I saw the events I have described.’
‘Excellent!’ Holmes exclaimed.
‘Then if you care to catch the 4.17 train from Waterloo, I shall see that the carriage meets it at Guildford.’
‘The arrangements will suit you, Watson?’ Holmes inquired when, having taken leave of Miss Russell and Mr Lawson and escorted them to the door, he returned to his seat by the fire. ‘Mrs Watson will not object to your spending a night away from home?’
‘I am sure not, Holmes.’
‘A most estimable woman! And your neighbour will, no doubt, take care of your practice in your absence? So, that being settled, what did you think of Miss Russell, my dear fellow?’
‘I thought her a most sensible young lady.’
‘Not the type with an over-warm imagination, given to hallucinations or to seeing ghosts?’
‘Not in my opinion.’
‘My estimation exactly.’
‘Who, or what, do you suppose she saw, then? She was altogether convinced that she had not mistaken the former Marquis of Deerswood, apparently dead these four months, for the groom.’
‘Never speculate until you are in possession of all the facts, Watson. It is quite the wrong way in which to begin any investigation. Facts first; theory last. Now, my old friend, if you care to make a long arm and reach down from the shelves beside you my book of newspaper cuttings together with volume ‘D’ in my encyclopaedia of reference, we shall begin some preliminary research into those facts, you into the circumstances of Lord Deerswood’s death, while I shall refresh my memory of the young nobleman’s family background. May I recommend TheTimes cutting for the account of the accident? The date, by the way, is 5th August.’
We read in silence for several minutes, Holmes engrossed in his encyclopaedia, while I, having found the relevant page in his cuttings-book, perused the following account.
It had the headline TRAGIC DEATH OF YOUNG MARQUIS, and read:
Last Thursday afternoon, the Marquis of Deerswood was tragically drowned in a boating accident off the north-west coast of Scotland.
The young nobleman, who was staying with his uncle, Lord Hindsdale, at Drumpitloch Castle, a family residence, had taken a boat out alone in order to examine the caves at the foot of a nearby cliff when it is believed a sudden squall overturned the craft. The weather at the time was unsettled.
When the Marquis failed to return, his uncle raised the alarm and a search was carried out. However, no body was found and, as the tide was on the turn, it is assumed that the deceased was swept out to sea.
A Fatal Accident Inquiry is to be held by the Procurator Fiscal at Glasgow.
When I had finished reading, I looked up to see Holmes regarding me quizzically.
‘Well, Watson, have you any comment to make so far?’
‘Only that the Deerswood family seems remarkably ill-starred.’
‘A fate which appears to have pursued them throughout the course of their history,’ Holmes remarked, tapping a long finger on the cover of the encyclopaedia. ‘The second Lord Deerswood was beheaded by Richard III; another was arrested for his part in the Babington Plot of 1586 and died in the Tower of London of gaol fever before he could be similarly executed; a third was killed in a duel; and that is not to take into account the death of the apparently late young Marquis’s father on the hunting field. Under the circumstances, their family motto, “FortunaeProgenies”,* has an ironic ring to it. So you made nothing of Gilbert Deerswood’s demise?’
‘No, Holmes, I must confess that it seemed straightforward enough.’
‘You surprise me. Do you not recall Miss Russell’s account of her first meeting with Gilbert Deerswood? She said that he was out walking his dog, the only physical exercise he indulged in, and was accompanied by the groom – mark that, Watson! – when he stumbled and fell while climbing over a stile. And yet we are supposed to believe that he was allowed to take a boat out alone on the sea, in adverse weather conditions.’
‘Yes, of course, Holmes. I see your point. What, then, are you suggesting? That it was not an accident? In that case, could it have been murder?’
Holmes leaned back in his chair, his expression indulgent.
‘Go on, my dear Watson. Pray expound your theory.’
‘Well,’ said I, warming to the idea, ‘the present Lord Deerswood may have murdered his nephew in order to inherit the title and estates. He then threw the body into the sea, overturning the boat to make it appear that the young man had been drowned.’
‘No doubt also weighing the body down with stones so that it was never found?’
‘That is certainly a possibility.’
To my discomfiture, Holmes gave a chuckle.
‘An interesting theory, my dear fellow, but one that does not take into account Miss Russell’s evidence. Despite my earlier warning, in your eagerness to speculate about the case, you have forgotten that she saw, or thought she saw, the young Lord Deerswood alive only three nights ago in the grounds of Hartsdene Manor. If that is so, it was a remarkably corporeal ghost which had returned from the dead and which needed two grown men to restrain it!’
‘Then could he have survived the murder attempt and swum ashore, reappearing later at Hartsdene Manor to confront his uncle? Under those circumstances, the new Marquis of Deerswood could very well find the need to keep him under restraint.’
‘With the collusion of the servants, no doubt? If your theory is correct, then why did his uncle not make a second attempt on his nephew’s life and bury the body in the grounds if his purpose was to eliminate the heir and inherit the title? In addition, why should the present Marquis challenge Miss Russell and Mr Lawson to invite anyone they wished to search the Manor? Do you not consider that a curious response under the circumstances?’
‘I do not quite follow you.’
‘Then place yourself in the present Lord Deerswood’s shoes. You have been accused in so many words, although no doubt Miss Russell and Mr Lawson expressed themselves more delicately, of falsely inheriting the title and the Deerswood estates, the true heir still being alive, a charge you most strongly deny. What would your response have been under the circumstances?’
‘Why, to put my lawyer in touch with them, of course, and threaten legal action should they persist with their slander. So would any reasonable man.’
‘Exactly! And yet Lord Deerswood failed to do so. Bear that in mind, Watson, when we undertake the investigation. May I suggest that you also consider two other facts which could be relevant?’
‘What are those, Holmes?’
‘Firstly that Hartsdene Manor was, according to my encyclopaedia of reference, built in the reign of Elizabeth I and, although it was considerably altered in the eighteenth century, a wing of that original Tudor building still stands. Secondly, that the seventh Lord Deerswood was accused of taking part in the Babington Plot.’
‘The Babington Plot? You refer to the conspiracy to assassinate Queen Elizabeth and replace her on the throne with Mary Queen of Scots? But what possible connection can that have with the present case?’
But Holmes refused to be drawn.
All he would say in answer was, ‘Think about it, my dear fellow. It will make a useful study between now and tomorrow afternoon when I shall expect to see you here again in good time to catch the 4.17 to Guildford.’
I did as Holmes recommended and turned the matter over in my mind but I was no nearer solving the mystery when, the following afternoon, Holmes and I set off for Waterloo.
II
We were met at Guildford station by Frederick Lawson who explained that he was staying, like us, at Windicot Villa in case his professional services should be needed during our inquiries.
It was a five-mile drive to Little Bramfield near where Miss Russell and her father resided, and the route took us across a track of open heathland. In the fading light, it looked sombre indeed, its only vegetation rough heather and low clumps of furze with a few stunted trees which stood out against the darkening sky like crippled sentinels, standing guard over the desolate landscape.
The journey was almost complete, apart from the last half-mile, when Frederick Lawson drew our attention to the right-hand side of the road where we had our first sight of Hartsdene Manor.
It stood a little back from the verge, a square, severe-looking house, its grey-stone façade in the Palladian style unrelieved by any softening benefit of shrubbery or climbing plants. A formal rose-garden and a stretch of lawn fronted the house while a gravelled drive led from a pair of wrought-iron gates up to a plain pillared portico.
In a few seconds we had passed it, but Holmes appeared content with that first fleeting glimpse for he settled back against the upholstered cushions with every sign of satisfaction.
Shortly afterwards, we arrived at Windicot Villa, a commodious, red-brick residence. Here we alighted and were welcomed by Miss Russell who conducted us into a comfortable, well-furnished drawing-room where a cheerful log-fire was burning on the hearth.
Seated by the fire was an elderly, white-haired gentleman whom Miss Russell introduced as her father; a courtly personage of the old school whose frailty of appearance confirmed his poor state of health.
For his sake, the conversation was general although, after dinner, when Mr Russell had retired to his room, we turned to discussing the subject uppermost in all our minds, Holmes confirming the arrangements with Miss Russell for that evening’s excursion. The carriage would take us along the same road we had already travelled, turning at the crossroads before driving back past the gates of Hartsdene Manor at half-past ten, the same hour at which, four nights before, Miss Russell had witnessed the incident in the garden.
The weather had remained clear and the moon was still relatively full. The conditions should therefore be similar to those which she herself had encountered.
‘And after that,’ Holmes concluded, ‘I suggest that the carriage return here. As Dr Watson and I shall have further inquiries to make in the immediate vicinity of Hartsdene Manor, we shall make our own way back on foot. It is a mere half-mile walk and there is no need for the coachman to be kept from his bed. May I also request that two carriage rugs be placed for our use inside the brougham?’
‘What inquiries, Holmes?’ I asked when, the time for our departure having approached, we retired to our bedroom to put on our topcoats in readiness for the drive.
But Holmes declined to be drawn.
‘Wait and see, my dear fellow,’ he said, adding teasingly as we descended the stairs, ‘Remember the Babington Plot!’
I could still make nothing of the connection and continued to puzzle over it as the carriage set off along the Guildford road, turning as agreed at the crossroads to begin the return journey.
It was a cold night with a touch of frost in the air and the trees, their branches denuded of foliage, stood very still and stark against a pale sky in which a great, white moon hung, so very bright and close that I could make out quite clearly the mysterious dark continents which marked its lunar surface.
Although Holmes had taken the right-hand seat, the one which Miss Russell had occupied during that earlier journey, I myself was able, by leaning well forward, to obtain a good view through the carriage window as we approached Hartsdene Manor.
On this occasion, it was not the house which engaged my attention but the garden. Through the open tracery of the wrought-iron gates, I could see the lawn quite clearly, the grass blanched by the moonlight and by the covering of thick dew which was rapidly turning into a crisp, white frost. There were no trees nearby to cast any shadows and those which lined the drive presented in their leafless state no barrier to observation.
The lawn, and anyone walking on it, would have been instantly visible to an observer travelling along the road in a carriage, a point which Holmes made when, having drawn level with the gates, we passed beyond them.
‘I am convinced, Watson, that Miss Russell was not mistaken.’
A few minutes later, he rapped on the panel, a signal to the coachman to halt. We climbed down and the empty brougham proceeded on its return journey, leaving us standing by the roadside, the carriage rugs over our arms.
I had expected Holmes to walk back to the entrance to Hartsdene Manor. Instead, he followed the road a little distance in the opposite direction until, finding a gap in the thick hedge, he scrambled through.
Beyond lay a wood which must have formed part of the boundary to that side of the estate for, as we crossed it, I could see ahead of us through the trees the massive bulk of the Manor; or, rather, of a wing which, judging by its steep gables and irregular roof, formed the old Tudor part of the building of which Holmes had already spoken.
At the edge of the wood, from which point we had a clear view of this part of the house, Holmes halted and seated himself upon a fallen tree-trunk.
‘And now, my dear fellow, we must wait upon events,’ he announced in a low voice.
His manner dissuaded me from asking to which events he was referring and I sat down beside him in silence.
It was a long and bitterly cold vigil even though the carriage rugs kept out some of the night chill.
Eleven o’ clock passed and then half-past, signalled by the tolling of a bell from the stable-block.
It was nearly midnight before any sign of life appeared in the darkened wing of Hartsdene Manor.
And then, just as I had begun to think that our watch had been wasted, a yellow glow appeared in one of the mullioned windows, wavering at first and then steadying as if someone had carried a lamp into the room and had set it down. Shortly afterwards a similar glow shone out through the panes of the adjoining window and a figure appeared against the glass, even at that distance distinctive in its broad-shouldered silhouette.
The next instant, both windows were darkened in turn as if heavy curtains or shutters were closed across them, and the façade was once more left in darkness.
‘Come, Watson,’ Holmes said softly. ‘I have seen enough.’
The long wait, it appeared, was over.
We walked the half-mile to Windicot Villa at a brisk rate to get the blood moving again in our frozen limbs, Holmes striding out one pace in front of me, his long black shadow projected ahead of him in the moonlight.
He was silent and, knowing him in this abstracted mood, I made no attempt to interrupt his train of thought.
It was only when we reached the gates of Windicot Villa that he ventured any remark.
With his hand on the latch, he turned to me, his face sombre.
‘This case will end tragically, I fear, Watson. I must warn Miss Russell and Mr Lawson. But not tonight. I should not wish to give them an uneasy rest, the young lady in particular.’
Miss Russell and Mr Lawson, together with the housekeeper, a Mrs Henty, were waiting up for us in the drawing-room where a bright fire was still burning on the hearth and where hot soup and game pie were soon served.
Holmes said little about our night’s investigations, merely remarking that they had been satisfactory, before asking Miss Russell a question of which, at the time, I could not see the purpose.
‘Tell me,’ said he, ‘had the young Marquis of Deerswood ever travelled abroad to your knowledge?’
Her answer was quite positive.
‘No, Mr Holmes, he had not. He told me once that he had never been outside the country. Why do you ask?’
‘I am merely curious,’ Holmes replied with a dismissive air and said no more on the subject.
True to his resolve, he made no reference to his fears about the tragic outcome to the case until the following morning at breakfast when he finally raised the matter. Only the four of us were present, old Mr Russell preferring to breakfast in bed.
His expression grave, Holmes addressed Miss Russell and Mr Lawson across the table, expressing in the same words the anxiety he had already voiced to me the previous night.
‘I can give you no more detailed explanation,’ he concluded. ‘However, in view of my apprehension regarding the inquiry I can proceed no further with the case without your permission. Even then, unless the present Marquis of Deerswood agrees, I fear that the full facts may still never be revealed.’
Miss Russell listened with bowed head and then, raising her eyes, looked him directly in the face.
‘I should prefer to know the truth, Mr Holmes, however terrible it might be,’ she said quietly. ‘As far, that is, as Lord Deerswood permits it.’
‘A most remarkable young lady,’ Holmes commented when we set off once more for Hartsdene Manor, my old friend carrying in his pocket a letter of introduction from Miss Russell, countersigned by Frederick Lawson.
Coming from Holmes, it was a rare accolade indeed. There were no women he cared for and only one whom he had ever truly admired.*
The rest of the journey was completed in silence, I preoccupied with turning over in my mind what tragedy Holmes had referred to and how he had reached his conclusion, while Holmes was sunk deep in his own thoughts.
On our arrival at Hartsdene Manor, he seemed to recover some of his spirits, jumping down from the carriage and running up the steps to ring energetically at the bell.
The door was opened by a butler – Macey, I assumed – a solemn, portly individual who, on our presenting our cards and Miss Russell’s letter, showed us into the hall where he requested we should wait.
While we did so, I looked curiously about me.
The hall was large and sumptuously furnished but neither the portraits hanging on the walls nor the rich oriental rugs spread across the marble floor could quite dispel the air of chilly gloom which permeated the place. It seemed joyless, as if the sound of human laughter had been banished long ago.
In front of us, a broad, heavily carved staircase led to an upper gallery and, as we waited below, a white and liver-coloured spaniel came suddenly bounding down the steps to sniff eagerly at our legs.
‘Gilbert Deerswood’s dog looking for its master, I dare say,’ Holmes remarked.
His surmise seemed correct, for, having examined us and found us wanting, the dog slunk away disappointed to a far corner where it curled up on one of the rugs and went to sleep.
At this point, the butler returned to announce that Lord Deerswood would see us and we were conducted down a corridor to a pair of double doors.
They led into a library, also splendidly furnished although it was not the book-lined walls nor the gilt and leather chairs which caught my attention but the tall figure of Lord Deerswood who had risen from behind a desk at the far side of the room.
He was a thin, dark pillar of a man, very erect and rigid, dressed entirely in black with the exception of a high, white, starched collar above which his high-nosed, aristocratic face regarded us disdainfully as a well-bred racehorse might inspect creatures of a lower pedigree from across a five-barred gate.
‘I see,’ said he, tapping with one finger on Miss Russell’s letter which lay open on the desk in front of him, ‘that Miss Russell and her solicitor continue with their ridiculous assertion that my nephew is still alive. Very well, Mr Holmes. The truth of the matter shall be put to the test. You and your companion,’ and here he made a slight bow in my direction, for the first time acknowledging my presence, ‘are at liberty to search the house from attic to cellar although I can assure you that you will be wasting your time. You will find no one in residence apart from myself and the servants.’
With that, he turned his back on us and jerked on a bell-rope beside the fireplace.
We waited in silence for the butler to reappear, a deeply embarrassing few moments in which I sympathised with Miss Russell’s and Mr Lawson’s ordeal when they had faced this man at their initial interview.
