The Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes (16 page)

‘I do not understand,’ I said. ‘Surely Captain Johnson was with you earlier. Why should you require him to present himself here, now, at this ungodly hour?’

‘Oh Watson, you still do not understand the precept that I have long preached of the dangers of forming false assumptions. Captain Johnson, to whom I have promised an unhindered retreat from Leigh, by the way, was only Garside’s confederate in the attempt to defraud the insurers. The true and far more sinister motive for the sinking of the
Alicia
was known to only one other and it is that individual’s arrival that I am now expecting here shortly.’ As he spoke, Holmes finally achieved success in removing the last piece of false whisker from the side of his face. With a sigh of grateful relief he lit a cigarette and sat back in his chair so that he could study our expressions with an air of amused anticipation.

‘I am not certain that you have the authority to grant such immunity.’ Fowler sternly commented, echoing my own thoughts, although I had been witness on many occasions to Holmes dispensing his own brand of justice.

‘Very likely not, Inspector, however, I am sure that once I set before you the true nature of the crime, and the part that Captain Johnson has played in bringing about the apprehension of the worst of its perpetrators, you will not judge me too harshly!’

Suddenly, Holmes leant forward, pressing his bony
elbows down into his equally bony knees. ‘Perhaps,’ he went on mischievously, ‘it would be best if I fill in the missing pieces of this most tortuous puzzle, once our eminent caller has said his piece.’ However, upon observing the look of indignation upon our faces, he partly relented.

‘Very well then, although I am inhibited by lack of time from providing you with a full discourse, let me then lay before you certain significant points that you have not, so far, been privy to, but which should allow you to reach the same conclusion as I have arrived at. Despite their apparent lack of relevance, I entreat you both to refrain from comment until you have been able to digest them all.’

Fowler took advantage of the brief pause while Holmes lit up his pipe, to sharpen his pencil and light a cigarette of his own.

‘You are aware, of course that Nathaniel Garside is responsible for the upkeep and maintenance of the local highways, but not, perhaps of the fact that many of his labourers are drafted in from the ranks of prisoners sentenced to hard labour. I learnt from my friends in the coastguard office that a man as callous as Garside thought nothing of removing these men from their highway duties and drafting them in to his small army of cocklers. His attitude towards their safety was nothing less than cavalier and on the afternoon prior to the
Alicia
’s final voyage, the coastguards observed Garside collect the men from the creek, long after the tide had begun its slow journey towards land. When you bear in mind the fact that the mudflats of Two Tree Island are notoriously liable to sudden flooding and that these unfortunate men are required to remove the cockles by rake from the sand right up to the moment before Garside arrives with his boat and
nets, you can well understand the coastguards’ concern for the men’s safety. However they took no action because when Garside eventually returned to shore, all appeared to be well with the men on board his boat. They thought no more of it, because they had not noticed a small report in the local news sheet that told of two members of the highway work party escaping from their guards, on the very day in question.’

Holmes was clearly warming to his theme and all thoughts of his mysterious guest’s arrival seemed to have been dispelled for the moment. He paused to light his pipe once more, staring strangely at Fowler and myself as he did so. ‘Ha! so the light of realization is at last illuminating your grasp of matters, I observe!’ Holmes suddenly exclaimed.

Fowler and I exchanged glances, then nodded our affirmation emphatically. For my own part, the disjointed facts that Holmes had just volleyed towards us had built up a picture of a most dreadful and inhumane crime. But I was still at a loss as to the identity of our eagerly awaited visitor.

‘I am certain, therefore, that when I tell you that Captain Johnson confirmed to me that he had personally scuppered the
Alicia
to help his employer ease his financial difficulties by way of the coffers of his insurers, you will not be particularly surprised. More interestingly, however, was his assertion that the hold of the vessel, which he personally inspects thoroughly before any voyage, contained two large barrels that had not been present the night before. These Garside must have loaded in the dead of night and, because of their size and weight, with the help of one other—’

‘Holmes,’ I interrupted, ‘you are so certain that this
“other” could not have been Captain Johnson, that you allowed him freedom to go on his way?’

‘Watson, he would hardly have mentioned the barrels at all were he not innocent of the act. I would have had no other means of knowing of their existence, seeing that they now rest on the bottom of the Channel.’

‘No, no, of course not,’ I hurriedly and abashedly admitted. ‘Then who else would have aided Garside in his awful deception? Another member of the crew?’

‘I think not; they were unreservedly loyal to Johnson, to the last man. No, the person we are looking for is someone as ruthlessly ambitious as his master and one who would stop at nothing to preserve his job and career—’

‘Even if it meant seeing his own father unjustly incarcerated to further his ambition?’ Another voice callously asked this question from the entrance to the saloon. After all I had just heard and understood; even I was not surprised to see the sneering figure of Edward Lomas standing there.

‘I apologize for the lateness of my arrival, but from the moment that I received your note, I knew that the game was up. If the all-powerful Nathaniel Garside had found it impossible to escape from you, Mr Holmes, what chance, then had I, his underling? Besides I have heard enough from behind the door to know that any defence or resistance now would be futile.’ Despite these words of bravado, beads of perspiration on his brow and a tremor in his right hand indicated that Lomas was surely affected by the situation. As though to confirm this he made for the bar and drank hungrily from a large glass of cognac.

Then he sank wearily into an armchair opposite ours and acknowledged the presence of both Fowler and myself with the briefest of nods. Upon hearing the metallic sound of
Fowler rummaging in his pockets for a set of handcuffs, Lomas said, ‘I can assure you, Inspector, that there will be no need for those. If nothing else, I am a man who knows when he has been bettered.’

Fowler, however, ignored his words and applied the cuffs with a rapid certainty.

‘Very well, Inspector, but before you drag me off to your cell, I beseech you all not to judge me too harshly,’ Lomas said, his tone of voice mellowing somewhat.

‘Really sir!’ I reproached him. ‘It is hard not to do so!’

‘Perhaps, but consider; it is not easy for an ambitious young man to make a life for himself in a village like Leigh-on-Sea. With a young sister to support and a father with a pronounced leaning to drink, it was not easy to stay out of the clutches of a man such as Nathaniel Garside. Besides the men in the barrels were only convicted prisoners,’ Lomas concluded.

‘Perhaps they were,’ Holmes rejoined. ‘Yet they were still entitled to a better fate than falling victim to avariciousness and greed. It hurts me to know that despite all my efforts at bringing the full weight of British justice down upon you, your fate should prove to be less unhappy than theirs!’ Acting upon an indication from Holmes, Fowler began to remove his chained prisoner from the room, only to be confronted by the tearful Miss Lomas leaning on the doorframe.

‘Oh, Edward!’ she screamed. ‘How could you, your own father?’

Before Lomas could reply, Fowler finished hauling him out of the room and I raced to the girl’s side to guide her over to a chair, for she could now hardly stand.

Then, to my great surprise, Holmes crouched down before
her and took her by the hand.

‘My dear young lady, I assure you that I take no satisfaction from the conclusion of this case. My great regret is that on the very night that I have been able to restore your father to you, I have been compelled to remove your brother.’ As the girl’s tears began to fall on Holmes’s hand, he became momentarily embarrassed and, inevitably, it was left for me to comfort her.

An interesting postscript to the events just described was our discovery of the fate of Captain Johnson’s crew. Apparently they had been sufficiently rewarded by Garside to have been able to buy a small fishing vessel of their own, which they operate successfully out of Grimsby. Their escape from the
Alicia
was achieved by virtue of a small dinghy, attached to the larger craft. Its towline had been severed by a knife … with a serrated edge!

T
HE
A
DVENTURE OF THE
R
ED
L
EECH

‘W
ell, well, friend Watson, I perceive that a matrimonial fracas, at “Castle Watson” has brought you to my door this morning.’ Holmes mischievously observed one bright spring morning, during the years of my marriage to my beloved Mary.

As a result of my long association with Sherlock Holmes I had been witness to many examples of my friend’s extraordinary powers and yet he had still not lost the ability to surprise me. I had just taken to my old familiar chair by the fireside and was slowly unfolding my unread morning paper as Holmes greeted me with this amazing statement. My paper fell from my grasp, for I knew from past experience that this was neither guesswork nor conjecture on his part.

My mood and disposition were such that on this occasion I had no great desire to express my amazement. ‘Evidently I have not been altogether successful at concealing my
frame of mind this morning!’ I snapped whilst reclaiming my paper from the floor.

‘On the contrary, my dear fellow, I merely reached my conclusion from the fact that the redoubtable Mrs Watson would not, under normal circumstances, allow you to leave the house wearing unpolished shoes and both a brown and black stocking,’ Holmes remarked with some amusement.

I glanced down to confirm that I was, indeed, wearing a different colour on each foot.

Ignoring my embarrassment, Holmes continued: ‘On the only other occasion that I have observed such a sartorial calamity, Mrs Watson had taken herself away for a few weeks to visit her people. I recall your lamenting such a visit barely a month ago, so she is patently not due for another for some time to come. Therefore there must be another reason for her apathy towards your appearance this morning. Your early arrival and your undoubtedly grouchy demeanour merely confirm my simple deduction!’ With a dramatic, self-congratulatory wave of his arms Holmes sank back into his chair once more.

‘Merely a trifle,’ I responded quietly. ‘Just a trifle. However I observe that there may be a means for you to put your powers to more productive use and an explanation for your own light mood.’ I remarked whilst pointing towards a small piece of paper on the arm of Holmes’s chair.

‘Well then, pour your nervous energy into providing me with your conclusions regarding this!’ Holmes leapt up from his chair and tossed the note into my lap on his way to the mantelpiece, where he filled his pipe from the Persian slipper.

My newspaper now forgotten, I hurriedly unfolded what was, potentially, the road to a new adventure.

‘Why, there is nothing here at all!’ I exclaimed with much disappointment.

The note was a simple one:

‘Watson! After all that you have observed and chronicled of my methods over the years you seem to have learnt nothing. Do not merely read the words of the note. Deduce!’

Somewhat put out, I filled a pipe of my own, while formulating my observations. ‘Evidently the matter is of some importance, for today is surely the 14th, besides which, the brief, untidy nature of the writing seems also to indicate urgency. It is almost as if the note was written off the cuff because the paper used has surely been torn from a larger sheet and the tool used was a most blunt pencil. Other than these points, I can deduce nothing.’

Holmes clapped his hands together gleefully. ‘Excellent Watson! Evidently your domestic dramas have sharpened your faculties. However, valid as your observations undoubtedly are, your conclusions are somewhat wide of the mark. For example, if Mr Crosby’s situation was as dire as you presume it to be why does he request an evening consultation? I would have been more persuaded of its urgency had he arrived here before you! Furthermore, I am convinced that the ragged state of his writing materials is due more to his impoverished position than to any lack of thought. See here the black thumbmark on the bottom right-hand corner. Of course none of this means that there is no urgency involved, but there are certainly other factors to be taken into consideration.’

I nodded gravely. ‘Why should he be so insistent on arriving after sunset? It is a most unusual turn of phrase.’

‘For the answer to that we shall have to await the evening,’ Holmes replied.

‘We?’ I queried his assumption.

‘I had hoped that you would be prepared to spend the day in my company. I am certain that Mrs Hudson is well able to double the rations of supper, and perhaps you might aid me in my interview of the nocturnal Randell Crosby. Unless, of course, you have some more pressing matters elsewhere?’

‘Not at all.’ I smiled. ‘I should be delighted!’

‘Ha! That is more like the Watson of old.’ Holmes laughed.

As it turned out, Mrs Hudson was well able to accommodate me for both luncheon and supper and to my great surprise Holmes was only too willing to help me collate the notes of our most recently completed case. Normally he took little interest in my ‘humble scratchings’, however the
Adventure of the Aspiring Architect
had proved to be such a personal triumph for Holmes and his seldom reported ability of transposing himself into the place of the criminal by way of meditation, that he wished to ensure that the story was laid out correctly.

Although I was subsequently duty bound to embellish the story with sufficient dramatic content to satisfy my public, by the time the supper things had been removed and the sun had gone down, we were both reasonably satisfied with the results of our labour. It had soon become quite dark outside and we now prepared ourselves for the visit of Randell Crosby.

Alas, even upon our first glance at the poor fellow, Holmes’s assessment of Crosby’s impecunious circumstances was confirmed. Holmes, of course, thought nothing
of such things, but I was certain that Mrs Hudson, had she been present, would have taken pains to cover her chair before allowing Crosby access to it.

Crosby shuffled slowly into the room, his gait that of a man twenty years his senior, although, as we learned later he was only thirty-five years of age. He was of average height, although his stoop rendered him shorter. He wore an old greatcoat, two sizes too large for him and caked in grime, a dusty bowler, and a long scarf that covered most of his pale unshaven face. When he spoke it was in a surprisingly modulated tone, albeit at a volume so soft that he was barely audible.

‘I must apologize both for my appearance and the lateness of the hour, gentlemen, and yet I am certain that once I have explained my situation you will surely bear me forgiveness.’

Holmes smiled sympathetically towards him and waved him towards a spare seat.

‘Mr Crosby, please explain to me in precise detail the true nature of your predicament and how you consider that I might be of assistance to you,’ Holmes requested quietly.

Clearly uncomfortable in these surroundings and incommoded by his personal circumstances and attire, Crosby repeatedly shifted nervously on the edge of his seat.

‘Calm yourself, Mr Crosby,’ Holmes kindly reassured him. ‘Perhaps a glass of Cognac and a Dutch panatella might go some way towards easing your nerves,’ he suggested, indicating to me that I should supply these aids.

Crosby gratefully received both the drink and cigar. He bowed his head. ‘Both very fine indeed, gentlemen.’

‘Mr Crosby, you have evidently been both raised and educated as a gentleman. Perhaps you might find it easier
to begin by explaining how you have come to your present circumstance.’ Holmes proposed.

‘That will prove to be easier than you might think. Whilst it is true that my upbringing was very much as you have suggested, it was also obvious, from a very early age, that it would not always be so.’ Crosby drew upon his cigar and sipped from his glass before continuing.

‘In order that you might not preconceive any judgement upon my family, I should immediately point out that they had experienced much anguish and no little expense in determining both my condition and how best to cope with its consequences.’

Observing my own quizzical glance at the mention of the word ‘condition’ Crosby directed his next words in my direction. ‘Even allowing for your vast knowledge and experience, Dr Watson, I am certain that not even you will have heard of “Solar Urticaria”.’

‘Upon my word, I have not!’ I exclaimed, whilst making my way towards the small remnant of my medical library that still remained in Baker Street.

Crosby called me to a halt. ‘Do not trouble yourself, Doctor, for I can assure you that my own experience has given me a knowledge of the condition that will far exceed anything that your learned volume might provide. As its very name suggests, “Solar Utricaria” is aggravated by exposure to direct sunlight. Even bright daylight might produce an effect on the skin.’

Having sensed Crosby’s hesitation Holmes prompted: ‘And what effect is this, Mr Crosby?’

‘Monstrous large red welts, the size of leeches, immediately form on every unprotected surface of my skin the very instant that it is exposed to natural light. The effect that
this apparition had on any observer soon made it obvious to my parents that it would be impossible for me to leave the confines of our home during the hours of daylight.’

‘Good Lord, how awful!’ I exclaimed. ‘Of course, that would explain your unusually pale complexion.’

‘Indeed.’ Crosby gravely acknowledged my comment with a slow nodding of his head, ‘Due to the fact that these welts are slow to disappear, socializing, of every description was impossible. I was even educated at home! My beloved parents employed the very best private tutors who taught me well in every subject. However as I grew older I came to realize that the strain of the burden upon my parents, both emotionally and financially, was proving too great to bear. This despite the fact that they took great pains to conceal it.’ Crosby then paused for a moment to draw gratefully upon his cigar and to sip at his brandy.

‘Their love and compassion knew no bounds. So I then resolved to spare them further heartbreak by taking my leave of the family home. My brother, Nathaniel, was proving a great success at his chosen career of banking and I was certain that he would prove to be a great comfort to them as they mourned my departure.

‘Therefore, at the age of thirty-two, with but a few possessions and a little allowance money that I had managed to save, I found myself in an outside world of which I had very little knowledge and experience. In order to avoid the attentions of those whom my parents might set to finding me, I resolved to travel. I managed to ingratiate myself with the owners of a small travelling carnival that was, fortuitously, heading towards the West Country. I kept my head covered during the day and worked with the keeper at feeding and cleaning out the various creatures that formed part of the
show. The owners, Mr and Mrs Josiah Smythe of Blackheath, were most kind to me and gave me board and a small allowance for my efforts. However there were two caravan drivers, with a leaning towards drink, whose curiosity as to my covered head was becoming increasingly difficult to ward off.

‘I had two friends among the workers with the carnival. A young lad called Tom, who had an unusually small head; he was one of the sideshow attractions under the moniker of “Pin Head”. The other was the animal keeper, “Old Ben”, an elderly fellow, from the East End of London who was half-blind. These two tried to shelter me from the attentions of the two unsavouries. However, I found myself alone one morning with the horses, and during the course of a violent scuffle with the drivers I found my head covering removed and my awful secret was exposed.

‘The drivers took great pains to reveal my appearance to all in the camp and I was resolved upon making a hasty departure, when the Smythes made me an unusual proposal.

‘Business had become quite slack of late, so they suggested that I should share his enclosure with Tom and appear as the “Red Leech”. In this way I should become one of the sideshow attractions. The idea of becoming a fairground freak appalled me at first, as you might well imagine.’

He paused for a moment, scanning our faces for signs of understanding and, perhaps, a little sympathy. I looked across at Holmes and was amazed to observe how intently my friend was gazing into the eyes of our tragic client. The man’s obvious pain was mirrored in the eyes of the habitually ice-cold Sherlock Holmes.

Then, as if remembering himself, he suddenly straightened up and remarked: ‘Although your story has a certain
poignancy about it I would now appreciate it if you could proceed to the crux of the matter, Mr Crosby. You might begin by explaining why you agreed to become the “Red Leech”.’

Understandably taken aback by Holmes’s biting outburst, Crosby apologetically cleared his throat and stumbled over his first few words.