I nodded to the little man still seated on the sofa. “Take care of each other, Miss Tennant. Simply take care of each other.”
She closed the door and Dr. Van Helsing and I started walking down the street looking for a cab. She slipped her arm through mine and smiling said, “You old softy.”
I did my best to ignore her. Honestly, she will be the end of me some day.
The Adventure of the Slaughter Stone
Rafe McGregor
I
On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have, during the last eight years, studied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic. Of all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which presented more singular features than that which was associated with the well-known Wiltshire family of the Rosses of Salisbury Plain. The events in question occurred in the early days of my association with Holmes, when we shared rooms in Baker Street as bachelor and widower. It was early in April in the year eighty-three that I woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in some surprise, and no small amount of resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.
“Very sorry to knock you up, Doctor,” said he, “but it’s the common lot this morning. Mrs Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and I on you.”
“What in God’s name is it, then, a fire?”
“No, a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She is waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is something very pressing which they have to communicate. Should it prove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should call you and give you the chance.”
“Seeing as I am already awake, there seems little point in missing it.”
“Quite so.”
I had only one pleasure keener than following Holmes in his professional investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basis, with which he unravelled the problems which were submitted to him. I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A young lady dressed in green, wearing a velvet hat adorned with an ostrich feather, who had been sitting in the window, rose as we entered.
“Good-morning, madam,” said Holmes cheerily. “My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr Grimesby Roylott of Baker Street.”
II
The lady was small and slender, with fair hair, blue eyes, and ruby lips. A beautiful creature and rare too—unlike most pretty young things she held my gaze when I feasted my eyes upon her form.
“Ha! I am glad to see that Mrs Hudson has had the good sense to light the fire. Pray draw up to it.”
“I am quite comfortable where I am, Mr Holmes.”
Sherlock Holmes gave her one of his quick, all-comprehensive glances. “You have come in by train this morning, I see.”
“You know me, then?”
“No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm of your left glove. You must have started early, and yet you had a good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached the station.”
The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my companion.
“There is no mystery, my dear madam,” said he. “The left arm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven places. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when you sit on the left-hand side of the driver.”
“Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct,” said she. “I started from home before six, reached Wilton at twenty past, and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I have need of your assistance. At present it is out of my power to reward you for your services, but in four weeks I shall be married, with the control of a large income, and then you shall not find me ungrateful.”
“My professional charges are upon a fixed scale,” said Holmes. “I do not vary them, save when I remit them altogether and leave matters in Dr Roylott’s hands. Now I beg that you will lay before us everything that may help us in forming an opinion upon the matter.”
“My name is Flower Dalrymple. I spent my early days on the Continent, travelling about from place to place learning much of Bohemian life and Bohemian ways. When I was eighteen years of age my father got an appointment in London. We came to live here—my father, my mother, two brothers, a sister, and myself. Before I was twenty I was engaged to David Ross. David is a landed proprietor. He has very good means, and is a most suitable match. His father died when he was a baby and he has spent all the intervening years, except when at school and the University, with his mother. His mother’s name is Lady Sarah Ross. On her own mother’s side she is of Spanish extraction, but she is the daughter of Earl Reighley. She is a great recluse, and David gave me to understand that her character and ways of life were peculiar.
“Unfortunately, she is rather more than eccentric and the relationship between mother and son is very strange and very deep. Lady Sarah is entirely opposed to David’s engagement and it was only with some difficulty that I was able to persuade him to set a date for our union. Two weeks ago I received an invitation to their place, Longmore, for Easter, and I remain a guest until the end of this week. Longmore is a rambling old estate situated on Salisbury Plain. The house is built in the form of a cross, with a turreted roof, and a tower at one end. The centre of the cross, which forms the body of the house, is very old, but modern and well-appointed. I look forward to making it my own. Lady Sarah keeps a curious house, which includes a native butler, an Aboriginal from Australia whom she prefers to dress as if he was an Indian. Her taste in pets is even more bizarre, and she has a horrible collection of reptiles which she keeps in a specially-fitted greenhouse across the yard. She has some two or three dozen snakes collected from all over the world in this menagerie. She feeds them live pigeons and rabbits, calls them her beauties, and has given each a pet name. The woman is not in her right senses.”
Sarah Ross sounded like a lady after my own heart. If I’d had enough loot I’d have taken my animals with me when I left India.
“On the first morning of my stay I was awoken by the lady’s-maid pouring hot water into a bath for me. She came quite close and said, ‘I am very glad you are going to marry Mr Ross, and I am very glad that you will be mistress here, for if there was not a change soon, I could not stay.’
“‘What do you mean?’ I said.
“She shrugged her shoulders and replied, ‘This is a queer house. There are queer people in it, and there are queer things done in it, and—there are the reptiles! There are the reptiles,’ she repeated, ‘and Lady Sarah plays tricks with them at times. Samuel has a stuff which drives them nearly mad. When Lady Sarah is at her wildest she uses it. I have watched them when they didn’t know I was looking: half a dozen of the snakes following Samuel as if they were demented, and Lady Sarah looking on and laughing! He puts the thing on his boots. I do not know what it is. They never hurt him. He flings the boots at them and they are quiet. Yes, it is a queer house and I am afraid of the reptiles. By the way, miss, would you not like me to clean your boots for you?”
“‘Why so?’ I asked.
“‘I will, if you like,’ she said. ‘Samuel will not have th
em.’ Then, with a ‘Now, miss, I think you have everything you want,’ she left me.
“Samuel is the Aboriginal butler and I could think of only one reason why he would be cleaning my boots. Later that day I asked the maid if any of the snakes were ever allowed in the house, but she seemed aghast at the idea. Nonetheless, I have been on my guard ever since and been especially careful to check my boots before putting them on.”
Sherlock Holmes had been leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed and his head sunk in a cushion, but he half opened his lids now and glanced across at me.
Miss Dalrymple continued. “On Monday David was called away to London on urgent legal business. I did not see Lady Sarah until dinner, which was taken in complete silence. Samuel stood behind his mistress glaring at me throughout and although I had no appetite, I ate as quickly as courtesy would allow. Lady Sarah disappeared before the last plates were removed and I was about to escape to the sanctuary of my bedroom when Samuel escorted me to the morning-room. It is a somewhat dismal apartment and Lady Sarah was waiting for me.
“‘Come here,’ she said, ‘I want to speak to you. So, you are David’s choice! Now listen. The aim and object of my life ever since I lost my husband has been to keep David single.’
“‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
“‘What I say. I love my son with a passion which you, you little white creature, cannot comprehend. I want him for myself entirely. You have dared to step in—you have dared to take him from me. But listen: even if you do marry him, you won’t keep him long. You would like to know why? I will tell you. Because his love for you is only the passion which a man may experience for a pair of blue eyes, and a white skin, and childish figure. It is as water unto wine compared to the love he feels for me. Be warned in time. Give him up.’
“‘I cannot,” I said.
“‘You won’t be happy here. This life is not your life. My fortune is not yours to take. My son is not the right sort of man for you. In some ways he is half a savage. He has been much in wild countries, in lands uninhabited by civilised people. He is not the man for you, nor I the mother-in-law. Give him up. Here is cheque for one thousand pounds. Here is paper and here is pen. Write him a letter. Write it now. The carriage is at the door to take you to Wilton. From there you can get the train to London, and you will be safe, little girl, quite safe. A small fortune is better than no fortune at all, which is what you will have if you stay.’
“‘You ask the impossible,’ I replied, ‘I love your son.’
“She had spoken with earnestness, the colour flaming into her cheeks, her eyes bright. Now her face grew cold and leaden in hue. ‘I have given you a way of escape,’ she said. ‘If you do not accept the offer, it is not my fault.’ Once again, she rose and left without a word.
“Yesterday, I did not see Lady Sarah until lunch, when she was smiling and agreeable, as if the conversation of the previous evening had not occurred. Samuel was absent and my worries eased until Lady Sarah spoke.
“‘I have had a busy morning,’ she said. ‘Little Blackie is ill.’
“‘Little Blackie?’ I asked.
“‘My beloved Pseudechis Porphyriacus. Blackie is the biggest in my collection and his bite can kill a man in six minutes. Samuel and I have been giving him some medicine.’ I made no remark. ‘I’m afraid you must amuse yourself as best you can this afternoon,’ she continued, ‘for Samuel and I will be engaged with the snake.’
“I thanked Lady Sarah for her concern, somewhat relieved that I would not have to endure her company, but my spirits sank again when I received a telegram from David saying that he would not be back until Thursday—tomorrow. Lady Sarah made only a brief appearance at dinner, and has invited me for an evening stroll tonight. She said that Stonehenge is particularly pleasant under a sickle moon and that she wants to show me the Slaughter Stone. David has already given me a tour of the stones and the one to which Lady Sarah referred is where the Druids used to conduct their human sacrifices. I have absolutely no wish to be there at night, let alone with Lady Sarah, but I cannot refuse. When I retired last night, I was informed by the maid-of-all-work that the lady’s-maid has been granted a leave of absence to visit an ailing relative. The scene has been set for a tragedy I wish to avoid, which is why I have returned to London with the one object of seeing you and seeking your assistance.”
“You have done wisely,” said Holmes. There was a long silence, during which he leaned his chin upon his hands and stared into the crackling fire. “Lady Sarah is still in possession of the Rayleigh tiara?”
Miss Dalrymple’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, yes, Mr Holmes, David is going to have the jewels re-set for me once we are married.”
“The tiara will be my fee. Or a cheque for the equivalent. I have no preference.”
Our visitor nodded. “You will have the cheque when I am married.”
“Protection is not my usual line, but given the financial incentive which you have so graciously provided, I have several most able agents whom I should be glad to oversee. If you would prefer someone to accompany you back to Longmore today, I am sure Dr Roylott will oblige. Otherwise, I shall have an agent in place on Salisbury Plain this evening. As to the term of engagement, will you be requiring the service for the duration of your stay at Longmore or until the happy day of your union?”
“Mr Holmes, I am disappointed.”
“I can assure you that I select my agents with great care. It is not for nothing that I am the last and highest court of appeal in crime.”
“Then I fear I have not made myself clear. I do not seek your assistance as a bodyguard.”
“No? Pray be precise as to the details.”
“I want you to kill Lady Sarah.”
III
“What do you think of it all, Roylott?” asked Sherlock Holmes once Miss Dalrymple had glided from our sitting-room.
“That I should like to acquire whatever it is the Aboriginal puts in—or on—his boots. It could be most useful in future.”
“Exotic animals are your department. What game do you propose that Lady Sarah intends to play at the Slaughter Stone this evening?”
“She will see that this mysterious substance is applied to our client’s boots. I have never been to the stones, but I have seen a photograph. There are places aplenty to hide. Lady Sarah will have the Aboriginal set an ambuscade with the snake. All she need do is draw Miss Dalrymple close enough for the snake to smell her and it will be yet another unfortunate accident of the type you are so fond of creating. A pukka death by misadventure.”
“I see many objections your theory, but they may not be fatal. But what in the name of the devil!”
The ejaculation had been drawn from my companion by the fact that our door had been suddenly dashed open, and that a tall and stately woman had framed herself in the aperture. Her costume consisted of black velvet and the finest Brussels lace, with diamonds glittering on her fingers. She had almond-shaped eyes and an unnaturally swarthy complexion. Her hair was abundant and white as snow, and her very black eyes, narrow-arched brows, and dark skin were brought into sharper contrast by this wealth of silvery hair. There was something wild about her and she must have been a fine figure of a woman before her youth faded and withered.
“Which of you is Holmes?” she demanded.
“My name, madam; but you have the advantage of me,” my companion replied quietly, without rising.
“I am Lady Sarah Ross.”
“Indeed,” said Holmes. “Pray take a seat.”
“I will do nothing of the kind. Flower Dalrymple has been here. I have followed her. What has she been saying to you?”
“It is a little cold for the time of the year,” said Holmes.
“What has she been saying to you?” screamed the old woman.
“But I have heard that the crocuses promise well,” continued my companion.
&n
bsp; “Ha! You put me off, do you?” Our new visitor entered the room. “I know you, you scoundrel! I have heard of you before. You are Holmes, the pilferer.”
My friend smiled.
“Holmes, the blackmailer!”
His smile broadened.
“Holmes, the common criminal!”
Holmes chuckled heartily. “Your conversation is most entertaining,” said he. “When you go out; close the door, for there is a decided draught.”
“I will go when I have said my say. Don’t you dare to meddle in my affairs. I know that Miss Dalrymple has been here. I followed her! I am a dangerous woman to cross! See here.” She stepped swiftly forward, reached into her reticule, and hurled a snake onto the floor.
Holmes leapt to his feet and seized the poker.
“Leave it, Holmes,” I said. “It is a carpet snake, harmless, like this old crone.” I leant forward and rubbed my thumb back and forth over my fingertips to attract the snake, which slithered towards me.
Lady Sarah snarled and strode from the room.
“She seems a very amiable person,” said Holmes, laughing. “Fancy her having the insolence to confound me with a common criminal! This incident gives zest to our investigation, however, and I only trust that our client will not suffer from her imprudence in allowing this harridan to follow her. And now, Roylott, I was speaking of fatal objections—or, more to the point, fatal snakes. Is Pseudechis Porphyriacus as dangerous as our client has been led to believe?”
I picked up the carpet snake, which curled around my cuff. “To Miss Dalrymple, no.”
Holmes put his fingertips together. “Pray explain.”
“The Red-Bellied Black Snake is fatal to small mammals, but not humans and certainly not quickly. Its bite would be a most unreliable manner in which to remove a prospective daughter-in-law. I suspect that the good lady intends to frighten her to death. The snake can grow to more than six feet in length and would make a fearful predator if it could be induced to chase her among the standing stones. But Miss Dalrymple is quite obviously made of sterner stuff, so perhaps Lady Ross is doolally tap.”
Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Was Not Page 21
