The Lost Radio Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (22 page)

“When a man
brings a quick and painless poison home to a household containing an old and
feeble dog,” Holmes continued, “it’s more than possible that he has obtained
that poison quite legitimately to give the dog a merciful death.”

“To kill
Gladstone,” Alice said in surprise. “No, he wouldn’t!”

“After all,
Alice dear, he is old,” Randolph said, “and he’s almost blind now.”

“But Mr. Holmes,
if you think Gerald brought home the poison to put Gladstone out of the way,
and I admit it sounds perfectly logical, what made you decide to come here
tonight?” asked Edmund.

“Because I dare
not even guess what you may have done by intruding the
thought
of murder in this situation. Where is
your brother Gilly?”

“In his room,
upstairs, asleep.”

“I wonder if we
might go up to him,” Holmes asked, “I should like to talk to him if you don’t
mind. And after that I want a few words with your cousin Gerald Lovelace.”

Holmes stood up,
the others following suit as Randolph Lovelace led the way up a flight of
stairs to the second story rooms. Quietly we entered Gilly’s room where, in the
dim light, I saw the young man sleeping peacefully in his bed. There on the bed
was the dog, Gladstone, his head nestled gently on the pillow, with Gilly’s arm
around him.

“I’m afraid we’ll
have to waken the boy,” Holmes whispered to the others. Alice leaned over,
gently shaking the boy.

“Gilly, Gilly,
wake up,” she said softly. Gladstone began to growl.

“We’re not going
to hurt him,” Alice said to the dog, petting him.

The young man
stirred and looked up, rubbing his eyes.

“Who is it? Oh,
hello, Alice,” he said with a smile. He then noticed the rest of us standing
behind Alice, and sat up quickly, a look of fright crossing his face.

“Who are these
men? They’ve come to take Gladstone away, haven’t they?”

“No, Gilly,” Holmes
said, “we’ve just come to admire him. Your brother has been telling us what a
fine dog he is.”

“Oh, that’s
different,” Gilly said, smiling and petting Gladstone. “Isn’t he beautiful? I
just had a wonderful dream about Gladstone and me.”

“What was it,
Gilly?” Randolph asked as he tucked the young man back under the covers.

“Gladstone was
young again and we ran through a field and we chased some rabbits, then we went
down a rabbit hole. Gladstone was so beautiful. He was young again, you know.
And we sat all ’round a table and had tea with the rabbits. It was so funny.
They all had little green hats on, and with feathers. Then we went to sleep,
just like now. I’m so sleepy. So sleepy. Come on, Gladstone, let’s go back to
the tea party.”

Gilly placed his
arm around the dog again and soon they were asleep. It was a peaceful but sad
sight.

“Poor boy,” I
said, shaking my head.

“His world may
be a great deal more pleasant than ours, Watson,” Holmes said in whispered
tones.

“That’s what I’d
like to think, Mr. Holmes,” Randolph added.

“And now,” Holmes
continued, “I’d like to have a few words with your cousin Gerald.”

We left the room
as quietly as we entered, as Randolph Lovelace led us down to the end of the
hallway where Gerald’s room was located.

“I’m afraid
Gilly wasn’t much help to you, Mr. Holmes,” said Alice before we entered Gerald’s
room.

“On the
contrary, young lady, he told me exactly what I wanted to know.”

“Look, Holmes,” I
said, “there’s no light under the door. He must have gone to sleep.”

“I’m afraid we
must waken him, too,” Holmes said.

Randolph knocked
on the door, and we waited, but there was no answer. Again he knocked, and
still no answer.

“He must be a
heavy sleeper,” I said.

“But he isn’t,” Randolph
said, “he’s a remarkably light one.”

This time
Randolph knocked very hard and loud on the door, and still there was no reply.
I looked at Holmes whose eyes had narrowed, a look of curiosity on his face.

“Come, let’s go
in,” he said, opening the door. “Strike a match, will you, Watson?”

I did so, but
the light of the match was too dim to make out anything but a figure in bed.

“The gas mantle
is at the head of his bed, Dr. Watson,” Alice said.

I moved forward
until I could discern the gas mantle clearly; I lit it and stood back as the
light filled the room.

“Why he’s lying
on the covers,” young Randolph said. “He must be . . . there’s blood on the
pillow!”

“Great Scott,
Holmes!” I exclaimed. “The back of his skull is smashed in! He’s been murdered!”

Alice Harley
backed away, frightened and trembling. Randolph quickly comforted her as Holmes
examined the body.

“Yes, murdered,
Watson, but not by the blows on his head. Look here on the table by his bed,” he
said.

“A hypodermic
syringe and a broken vial!”

“Yes, a broken
vial,” Holmes said, lifting it to his nose, “with the pungent odor of bitter
almond!”

“Poor devil,” Randolph
said. “Though I won’t pretend I liked him, it is a ghastly way to die.”

“ ‘All they that
take the sword, shall perish with the sword,’ so the scriptures say, Mr.
Lovelace. The very suspicion of the killing has brought murder to pass. Well,
it’s too late to prevent it. Our job now is to find the killer and see that he’s
brought to justice!”

Alice Harley and
Edmund Lovelace wanted to immediately call the police, but Holmes prevailed
upon them to give him the opportunity of examining the scene of the crime
carefully before they were sent for. Reluctantly the household agreed to Holmes’
wishes. And so, a few minutes before 1
A.M.
that October night, with the rest of the
household retired to the living room, Holmes and I stood alone in the room of
death.

“Watson, turn
the gas up a little higher and examine the body.”

As I did so,
Holmes made a methodical and very thorough examination of everything within the
room. When I was through examining Gerald Lovelace, I stood watching, as I had
done many times before, constantly amazed at Holmes’ methods as he would pick
up a bit of information here and a bit there from all that he could survey.

“You know,
Holmes,” I couldn’t help saying, “I think you should have sent for the police
straight away.”

“In a case like
this, Watson, I prefer to be my own police. When I have spun the web, they may
take the flies, but not before. What are the results of your medical
examination, old chap?”

“From what I can
tell, he was first beaten on the head with that poker lying on the floor, then
he had the full vial of cyanide injected into his left wrist.”

“Can you
estimate the time of death at all accurately, Watson?”

“No. This room’s
confoundedly hot which makes an accurate placement of time difficult, Holmes.
He might have died anytime from one to five hours ago.”

Holmes began to
pace slowly about the room giving the problem much thought as I patiently
waited for him to speak. He halted before the incriminating vial, raised it and
looked at it once more, then turned to me.

“It is now one o’clock,”
Holmes said, “and we know that he was alive at eight. Mr. Edmund Lovelace saw
him leave for his room at that hour.”

“Yes,
if
he
was telling the truth,” I added.

“One thing we do
know for a fact, Watson, is that this man was murdered at the exact moment he
was going to bed. He’s wearing his nightgown and nightcap but his bed has not
been slept in.”

“Is it possible
the murderer might have killed him shortly after eight, then dressed him in his
nightclothes to confuse us?”

“No, my dear
chap,” he said, “you will notice that the hypodermic needle passed through the
sleeve of his nightshirt, here. Also the nightcap is crushed and bloodstained
from the blows of the poker. No, Gerald Lovelace had prepared for bed.”

“It seems that
way, Holmes. Look at the glass of water on the night table, the prayer book,
and the watch.”

“Signs of a
prosperous and meticulous man,” he mused. “Very fine gold watch, and in
excellent condition.” Holmes picked the watch up and, turning it about in his
hands, made note of the fine engraving on the case. Casually he laid his
fingers on the stem and began to wind the watch. I could hear its mechanism
clicking.

“Ah ha!” Holmes
said excitedly, “there’s the answer, Watson!”

“What do you
mean ‘There’s the answer, Watson?’ ” I said somewhat cynically.

“I just wound
this watch one turn and then it was fully wound. That provides us with the time
schedule for our murder. Come on, Watson. We’ll send the servant for the police
and, while they are on the way, I should like to put a few more questions to
this family.”

In short order
everything was done as Holmes asked and we were once again gathered in the
living room with Edmund Lovelace and his cousins.

“Before the
police arrive,” Holmes said, “I should like to hear your statements again very
carefully. Mr. Edmund Lovelace, what were your exact movements tonight?”

“I left here
shortly before ten. From ten o’clock until the time I came to Baker Street I was
with my client.”

“His name and
address, please.”

“Derrick
Waterlow. 39 Onslow Square, South Kensington.”

“Thank you. Make
a note of these, Watson. Now, you, Miss Harley, and you, Mr. Randolph Lovelace,
went to the theatre together. Can any independent witness testify as to your
movements?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes,”
Alice Harley said, “we went with friends; the Grant Morseby’s. They live at the
Clarington Hotel off Charing Cross.”

“What time did
you leave this house?” Holmes pressed on.

“Well, it was
about a quarter to eight, wasn’t it Alice?” Randolph added.

“Yes, and after
the play we went to the Cafe Royal for a little refreshment with our friends,
and then came back here.”

“I see. And what
time did you arrive back at this house?”

“Just a few
minutes before midnight,” Randolph said, “I remember the grandfather clock in
the hall striking just as we went into the drawing room.”

“And your
brother Gilly, sir. I hate to waken him again. Have you any idea of his
movements tonight?”

“He never goes
out after dark, Mr. Holmes. But I spoke to the cook as we came in tonight and
she said he played cards with her until just after ten o’clock.”

“He was fast
asleep when I looked in on him shortly after midnight,” Alice said.

“Thank you both.
You’ve made a note of all these facts, Watson?”

“Yes, I’ve
written them down.”

“Good, then let’s
be on our way to Baker Street.”

“But the police,
Mr. Holmes, they will be here soon!” Edmund said in surprise.

“I know,” Holmes
said with a restrained smile. “Please give them my regards, will you? Apologize
for my informality and tell them that I shall have the answer to this matter
probably in a little over 24 hours. Good night to you all.”

With that, a
bemused Sherlock Holmes grabbed his coat and hat and, with me close on his
heel, left the Lovelace family to ponder at what appeared my friend’s quick and
moody action.

Wearily I
climbed the stairs to our lodgings, threw my coat and hat down and fell into
a
chair near the fireplace. I was cold, wet and
quite tired by now and the fire had dwindled to
a
mere glow, throwing off little heat to comfort
me. Holmes had followed me up and, after hanging his coat and hat up, went and
stoked the fire.

“Thank you,
Holmes.”

“That should
warm us a bit.”

Holmes crossed
to me and, pulling Gerald Lovelace’s watch from his pocket, held it aloft where
I could see it glistening in the light of the fire.

“Watson, dear
chap, I place the watch thus on the table beside your chair. Don’t touch it or
move it. Just keep an eye on it, will you? I shall be in my room for a while
working on some notes for a monograph.”

Holmes left me
there in my state of exhaustion, but I did as he told me, periodically checking
to see if it was still running. I shook off the tiredness I felt by checking
the alibis of the Lovelace household against each other. They seemed correct.

Before I knew
it, night had turned into day and then again night. Holmes occasionally came
out of his room and, fiddling with his chemical bottles or his microscope,
would take notes on some exotic and unusual experiments he was involved in,
then as quickly return to his room. I placed my dispatch box to one side and,
glancing at the watch, slowly closed my eyelids, for they were now quite heavy
with sleep. Suddenly I was startled by Holmes’ figure standing before me.