The New Mysteries of Sherlock Holmes (15 page)

I nodded to the trophy that I had found in the cupboard. ‘A handsome piece of craftsmanship, but hardly within the means of an orphaned maid.’

‘Precisely. Leith was embarrassed, as well as amazed, that the girl had presented him with something of such value. Yet what could he do? To insist upon returning the watch would have seemed churlish in the extreme. It was one more cause for bewilderment.’     

‘At least he enjoyed the good fortune to encounter the one man in London capable of unravelling the tangled skein.’

‘You are excessively generous in your praise, Watson. Suffice it to say that his story held my interest. Without doubt it boasted pleasingly eccentric features, although even as he spoke, the faint outlines of a possible solution presented themselves to me. I asked Leith what Miss Vyse had said when he first offered to take a room in her house. He told me that she was very particular, and insisted upon knowing how he earned his living. Fortunately, his answers passed muster and she agreed that he could move in that very day. I wondered aloud if she might already be seeking a new tenant and he directed my attention to a small advertisement for a room to let in Henrietta Street that would suit a respectable business gentleman.’

‘And what occurred to you as the explanation for the vanishing room?’

‘All in good time, Watson. I said the same to young Leith, when he pressed me for an opinion. You of all men know that I am unwilling to theorise in the absence of data and I needed to know more about the Henrietta Street house before I formed a definitive view. Leith, needless to say, found my calm reply infuriating. He wanted to know if I thought he was mad or if, alternatively, he ought to start believing in ghosts. Was the scene he had observed in the first floor room a figment of his imagination, was the person on the chaise-longue a poltergeist? He might have been a Scot, he told me, but he was a modern man with a robust disbelief in the supernatural. Yet his experiences at Henrietta Street had left him doubting his senses. All I could do was to observe that I had met few men who seemed saner, but that he would need to exercise patience if he wanted me to uncover the secret of the disappearing room. Within half an hour, he had recognised the futility of further argument. Grinning ruefully, he said, “Well, Holmes, if you insist on having the last word, so be it. I’m still not sure whether I believe you’re capable of making head or tail of this infernal business. But if you do, make no mistake, the pocket watch is yours. It would be a fitting reward should you prove that my mind has not turned and the room I saw actually existed. When I replied that I expected to have an answer for him within the week, I believe he thought I was indulging in bravado. But after combing through the newspapers of the previous fortnight, I found enough circumstantial support for my little idea to believe that it held water. The following day was a Saturday and shortly after lunch-time, I presented myself at the house in Henrietta Street.’

‘You sought to rent a room for yourself?’

‘Precisely, Watson. I could conceive of no better plan. Miss Ottilie Vyse interviewed me in the presence of her young niece. Both corresponded in appearance with the description that Leith had given, but my impression was that they were much more troubled creatures than he had appreciated. As Miss Vyse opened her front door, she cast a quick glance up and down the street, as if dreading what she might see, before ushering me inside with almost unseemly haste. As she introduced me to Thalia, I observed from the girl’s frayed skirt, as well as from half a dozen other indications, that the pair were, if not paupers, scarcely affluent. The house was well cared for, but shabby and it seemed inconceivable that any room in it could be furnished in the luxurious manner that Leith had described. Before I could investigate further, however, I needed to convince the landlady that I was a fit person to have under her roof. Miss Vyse was unwilling even to show me the room to let until I had answered a series of searching questions designed to elicit my background and
bona fides.
’

‘You told her you were a detective?’

‘My dear Watson, you will recall from our shared adventures that, regrettably, occasions arise where it is not possible to comply with the strict letter of the law, never mind the truth. This was such an instance. I had composed a fictitious
curriculum vitae
and adopted the identity of one Edwin Grout, a clerk employed since leaving school at the Capital and Counties Bank in Oxford Street. When I flourished references which left Miss Vyse in no doubt as to my character and solvency, she became positively eager to show me to the room. As we passed the first landing, I gave a cry of disappointment. “Is that a spare room as well, or is it occupied?” I asked, pointing to the door that, if Leith were to be believed, led to the vanishing room. “I have no head for heights and I should much prefer to live on this floor rather than up a further flight of stairs.”

‘The landlady’s answer was unequivocal. “I am afraid that is impossible, Mr Grout. It is only a small room, but it was once occupied by my dear niece’s late father. I could not dream of letting it to a stranger.” Excessively sentimental as this seemed twelve months after the man’s demise, Miss Vyse was beyond persuasion. The final staircase was not steep, she emphasised, and I should not place myself at risk of suffering vertigo by reason of the additional climb. She insisted that the top floor room would suit a young bachelor ideally, as well as making only minimal demands upon my pocket. The figure for rent that she mentioned was indeed modest. After a cursory inspection, I expressed my contentment and paid Miss Vyse for a month in advance. Once my new landlady and Thalia left, I took the opportunity to study from all angles and afterwards I went into the street outside, where I surveyed the building from a couple of vantage points on the other side of the road. Satisfied with my observations, I returned to Montague Street for a valise, as well as a singlestick. My belief was that affairs in Miss Vyse’s household were approaching a crisis and I intended to be prepared for any eventuality.

‘As it happened, events moved even more rapidly than I had anticipated. I suspected that any incidents of interest would occur during the hours of darkness. The room had but a solitary window, which overlooked the street and, as night fell, I kept a lonely vigil, sheltered by the curtain. I was watching for a man, not a ghost. Nor was I disappointed. That very evening, shortly after eleven o’clock, I heard a noise outside. It was a faint yet determined scuffling, as though someone was trying to climb into the house from a ledge that, from the street, I had noticed on the first floor of the adjoining building. Looking down through the murk, I thought that I detected a human shape and a glint of metal – a knife, as I presumed. This was as I had expected. The secret that Ottolie and Thalia Vyse had striven so hard to keep had been uncovered.’

‘You had foreseen a burglary?’

‘Let us say that I had formulated a working hypothesis that fitted the known facts. At all events, I recognised that I had not a moment to lose. Seizing my singlestick, I quit the room, taking the utmost care not to make a sound as I inched down the stairs. As I reached the half-way point, however, a commotion broke out below me. A man’s voice was roaring and I heard Thalia cry out in terror. Abandoning caution, I raced down the remaining steps. The door of the first floor room had been thrown open and, on looking in, I could see a parody of the vision that had greeted Campbell Leith when he returned to the house the worse for drink.

‘Half a dozen heavy paintings were propped against the wall facing the door. The candelabra that Leith had seen lay on the floor. Miss Vyse was cowering in a corner and on the chaise-longue sat an elderly man in a dressing gown. His breathing was laboured but he was clutching a pistol.’

‘Good Lord!’

‘You may recall, Watson, that I have studied firearms extensively since my earliest days as a consulting detective. This was a brass barrel flintlock and I recognised the handiwork of Henry Nock. Curious to choose a weapon a century old, perhaps, but Nock made guns for the Board of Ordnance and knew his business well. The old man’s hand was unsteady and the pistol wavered as he pointed at the intruder, a burly man with cruel eyes and a misshapen nose. The blackguard had a beefy arm wrapped around Thalia Vyse and was holding a wicked blade to her throat. As I took in the scene, the old man attempted to get to his feet, only to slump back on the chaise-longue. The intruder swore in triumph and tightened his grip on the girl. There was not a second to lose, yet I dared not risk the girl’s life.

‘“Jethro Bicknell, I presume?” I enquired, with all the suavity at my command. “I suppose you have come to reclaim what you believe to be rightfully yours.” I tell you, Watson, the ruffian’s eyes almost sprang out of his head. A few seconds passed before astonishment turned to blind rage. He released the girl and lurched towards me, knife in hand. Even as I lifted the singlestick, a shot rang out and my assailant slumped on to the floor. The girl screamed and I crouched by his body, checking for vital signs, but in vain. The old pistol had done its terrible work well. The girl sobbed as she said, “Father, father, what have you done?”’

‘Extraordinary!’ I exclaimed. ‘Then Vyse had not drowned?’

‘Frankly, my dear fellow, that was an elementary deduction. If Leith was to be believed, the seemingly impoverished landlady had something to conceal. In such a household, I was driven to suppose that the mystery concerned the true fate of Thalia’s father.’ 

‘So Miss Vyse and the girl were liars?’

‘Watson, I beg you, temper your sense of outrage. Mendacity is not the prerogative of our sex. Besides, I sympathised with their predicament. The true culprit was Stanley Vyse, whose greed had exposed his sister and daughter to mortal danger.’

‘And the vanishing room?’

‘On Leith’s account, the room he saw during the night not only contained an assortment of items of considerable value, but was also significantly larger than the room he was shown by Miss Vyse the next morning. I wondered if some form of partition or false wall had been employed to create a second, hidden chamber and my suspicion was confirmed when I studied the lay-out of the first floor from within the house and without. It was plain that there was more accommodation there than Miss Vyse was willing to admit. Who was the figure on the chaise-longue? If not a lodger, then someone whose existence needed to be hidden from the world. The existence of a man believed to be dead, for instance. Vyse was said to be a collector of curios and an incompetent amateur artist. Evidently he was not a wealthy man, but many collectors have lavish tastes. Perhaps that explained the paintings, the candelabra and the other opulent furnishings. Each night, I believe, he insisted on surrounding himself with his trophies, for the sole purpose of gloating over them. But if he had obtained their possession lawfully, why would they be stowed away out of sight during the day, and why did he need to hide? I inferred that he was a participant in a criminal conspiracy. He had become involved in a theft, or perhaps a series of thefts and in consequence obtained possession of many valuable items. He might be hiding from the police, but I thought it more likely that he had pretended to be dead in order to escape the clutches of one or more confederates. I recalled the recent conviction of Jethro Bicknell and a couple of associates, men responsible for a sequence of thefts from the great country houses of Kent and Essex. The police had failed to recover the stolen goods and no clue as to their whereabouts had been yielded by Bicknell and his cronies. What is more, I had read a few days earlier of a convict’s escape from Wormwood Scrubs. That man was Jethro Bicknell.’

‘Small wonder Miss Vyse and her niece were nervous,’ I said.

‘They were becoming increasingly desperate. I was struck by the landlady’s interest in Leith’s occupation and guessed that she contemplated making use of his assistance in secreting the valuables. No doubt, her brother was unwilling to part with his ill-gotten gains, but when I called at the house in Henrietta Street, I thought it prudent to identify myself as an employee of a bank. And so it proved. Miss Vyse was interested in anyone who might be able to offer help and guidance with the storage of stolen paintings and other assets. When I confronted them with my deductions, the Vyses admitted that they were planning to flee to the Continent. Stanley Vyse was a sick man. His sister explained that he suffered from emphysema and was reluctant to travel. Nevertheless, the two women had persuaded him that it was essential for them to find a new home abroad that Bicknell would be unable to trace. In the event, he moved too quickly for them, although he paid the ultimate price for his determination to retrieve his share of the booty.’

‘Presumably the pistol was also stolen?’

‘As was the pocket-watch that Thalia had given to Leith.’ Holmes contemplated his time-piece with a quiet smile. ‘The question, as you will understand, was how to see justice done in such circumstances. The stolen property had to be returned to its rightful owner, and Vyse deserved to be punished for his crimes. But I wanted to safeguard the two women. They would still be at risk if Bicknell’s associates became aware of the part they had played in the little drama. Accordingly, I put a proposition to them. I offered to negotiate on their behalf with the emissaries of Scotland Yard with a view to achieving an equitable solution to the dilemma, provided that they accepted the outcome without demur, whatever it might be.’

‘And they agreed?’

‘In truth, they had little choice,’ Holmes said calmly. ‘At all events, I talked at length with Gregson and reluctantly he agreed to everything that I proposed. The alternative was for him to lose the chance of portraying the recovery of the stolen goods as a triumph for his methods. As for myself, the scion of one of the distinguished families that had lost a great deal to the burglars insisted that I should keep the pocket watch as a token of his gratitude. Thalia and her father set sail the following night from Dover, while Miss Vyse remained in London. The gentlemen of the fourth estate were informed that Jethro Bicknell had been found shot dead in the East End, possibly as a result of a feud between thugs. Leith was reassured that his sanity was not in question and within a few weeks he determined to return to Scotland and be reunited with his sweetheart.’