Sherlock Holmes and the Four Corners of Hell

by Seamas Duffy

  ‘Very good, Watson! But, you see, the killer has left his mark with what would appear to be symbols of ritual murder and so, even if the message is intended to mislead, where is his need for an amanuensis? Whatever is behind the campaign, we are forced to ask why he began with these three. You recall the scientific kernel of your medical training.’

  ‘Analyse, explain, predict.’

  ‘Exactly. I think I may have been able to do that to some extent, for the pattern of these murders, had we only known it, seems to have been quite straightforward.’

  I looked up sharply in astonishment. ‘Straightforward! Come, Holmes, you cannot be serious.’

  ‘I said the pattern of the murders, not the motive, which, as I suggested, calls for a mind capable of quite extraordinary sagacity and invention. My discoveries thus far have rather led me to think that there is some greater design behind this campaign than the ravings of a fanatic.’

  ‘You implied that there was some clue in the letters,’ I went on. At this point our discussion was interrupted by the appearance of Inspector Lestrade, looking dishevelled. His grave countenance did not portend well.

  ‘Dear me,’ said Holmes to our visitor, shaking his head, ‘so soon?’

  ‘Yes, I am afraid so. Your prediction of last night was correct,’ the Inspector replied grimly. ‘There has been a fourth murder.’

  ‘At Bunhill Fields, I suppose?’ asked Holmes.

  Lestrade looked dumbfounded. ‘Why, right beside it,’ he stammered in incomprehension, ‘just across the road from there in a place called Cromwell’s Yard.’

  ‘Hmm, that is irritating; my calculations must have been out by a few yards,’ Holmes muttered enigmatically.

  ‘Calculations!’ repeated Lestrade in astonishment. ‘What on earth. …’

  ‘Just before you arrived, I was giving Doctor Watson a demonstration of my chain of reasoning—’

  ‘And you told him the exact place where the murder was committed?’ Lestrade asked incredulously.

  ‘I had not got quite that far with my explanation, but I had already deduced it from the evidence of the three previous murders.’

  ‘Deduced it!’ the Inspector said.

  ‘My theory also leads me to the supposition that the dead girl would have been found clutching five ears of corn as well. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes,’ he stammered, ‘that is absolutely correct, a five-shilling piece on the ground and five ears of corn in her hand. Come, Mr Holmes, you could not possibly have worked all that out by theorizing alone. Someone must have given you the tip-off.’

  ‘I assure you, Lestrade, that until you walked through the door, I had no idea that any crime had been committed, although as I told you yesterday, I had begun to entertain a strong suspicion as to what was to come.’

  ‘If I didn’t know you so well, I’m not sure you wouldn’t fall under suspicion of having committing the murder yourself! But why did you not warn me?’

  ‘I said I had worked out the place, not the time. In fact, as you can probably see, I had only just arrived at my conclusions this morning. I made a detailed analysis of the evidence of the previous murders, then I perused a map of London, and concluded with a most instructive lesson in the more esoteric points of seventeenth-century church building history.’

  Lestrade reeled in bafflement, though I confess I was no less astounded than he was at my friend’s words. ‘Now really, Sir, I know you enjoy your little jokes, but this is hardly the time or the place. You are surely taking a rise out of me now.’

  ‘Am I? Well, we shall see. The explanation had better wait until I have visited the scene of this latest outrage.’

  ‘If you would come with me immediately, I should be greatly obliged.’

  Once we had settled in the cab, Lestrade described what had happened. ‘I have left Mr Gregson in charge at the scene of the murder. I must apologize for the few hours’ delay in reaching you, but I was obliged to seek the guv’nor’s express permission to bring you along in this case.’

  ‘Were you indeed? That is most interesting in the light of the direction which my inquiries have taken. Pray continue.’

  ‘We had to search the place immediately in the unlikely event that the assailant may have still been hiding there, but aside from that, my colleague has strict orders to ensure that nothing is moved until you have had an opportunity to inspect the area. There is a builders’ depot just off the City Road, called Cromwell’s Yard, located behind a working men’s club and a public house, the Trafalgar, both of which were practically full last night. The yard is owned by Jones & Wragge, a respectable firm of coach and van builders. The manager, Arthur Tilson, hires it out to general collectors and rag-and-bone men who use it for the safe keeping of their vans and carts at night. The yard can also be entered from both the rear of the club and the tavern, for there is an outside privy there for the use of the clientele of both establishments by arrangement with Tilson. The place is unlit at night and at about 1.30 in the morning, one of the club’s customers, a George Woods, went outside to use the privy and in the dark he practically stumbled over the body, which he thought might be a drunk. It was lying face down just inside the doorway from the street. He says that he thought at first the woman was so inebriated that she was unable to stand up, so he then went back into the club to get some help, and when he returned with two of the customers, they realized she was dead. Woods and his cronies say they were too frightened to touch her, and by the time they raised the alarm and went to look for a policeman, there might have been as much as an hour’s delay. The body was stone cold by the time the first constable arrived on the scene. What with the noise going on inside the club, a shout or a scream from the victim may not have been heard in this case. I know your theory, Mr Holmes, about this killer moving the bodies about, but it occurs to me that Woods going back into the club to seek help may possibly have given the man the chance to escape,’ said Lestrade.

  ‘Until we are able to examine the evidence in greater detail, we should be unable to say with any certainty,’ replied Holmes. ‘No witnesses, as usual?’

  ‘None. I know it’s a case of shutting the stable door and all that, but when I spoke to the Commissioner last night, he mentioned something about a reward of one hundred pounds.’

  At the City Road, a couple of uniformed constables were attempting without much success to disperse the knots of neighbours and onlookers who had gathered at the street corner. Lestrade’s colleague, Inspector Gregson, hailed us as we alighted from the cab and introduced Dr Knowles, the police surgeon.

  ‘It is comforting to see that Scotland Yard is pulling out all the stops,’ remarked Holmes to Gregson.

  Gregson smiled bleakly, ‘We are waiting for an identification to be made. That can’t be done until the body has been removed to the mortuary, and we were waiting for your arrival before we did that. Here’s where it happened.’

  The yard itself bore a most bleak aspect: it was situated in the middle of a terraced row of mean-looking, cramped, two-storied houses between a pawnbroker’s and a cats’ meat shop. From the pavement, we went through a narrow wooden doorway which was set into a larger door built to slide on casters to permit entry to wheeled traffic. Gregson pointed out in turn the rear exits from the club and the dingy tavern, which led to the unlit yard, and added that the doorway from the street was never locked. The corpse had been covered with a sheet which Knowles now pulled back: it revealed the figure of a young woman, respectably dressed. The bruising around the neck was evident; a silver coin lay on the ground beside the body, and in the victim’s hand could be seen five ears of corn.

  ‘Strangulation; no other injuries from what I can tell; no smell of poison or strong drink,’ said Knowles. ‘The time of death is difficult to state accurately: the body is quite stiff although it has not attained maximum rigidity, and as the temperature had dropped sharply during the night, this would slow the process down to a considerable degree. I should say death occurred between eig
ht to ten hours ago, which would put it at between eleven o’clock last night and one o’clock this morning.’

  ‘The question of whether the murders have been committed in situ is one we have been turning over in our minds since yesterday,’ I said in reply to the doctor. ‘In the three previous cases, it was too late to determine this with any degree of certainty, as my friend and I had not been called upon. Inspector Lestrade, you said, did you not, that Woods had deposed that he found the girl face down?’

  ‘Yes, Woods signed a statement to that effect. He certainly sobered up pretty quick after what happened! The other two fellows who were with him at the time said the same. What difference does it make?’

  ‘It may make all the difference in the world, for I believe we may now have an opportunity to test my friend’s theory in the present instance,’ I said turning to my medical colleague. ‘It is sometimes possible to tell whether a body has been moved after death by the pattern and extent of livor mortis.’

  ‘Yes, indeed. Now that you mention it, I was slightly puzzled when the Inspector had said the deceased was found lying face down, for I discovered during my examination that the dead woman’s blood had pooled on the back – my apologies for talking in what must seem like jargon to the rest of you, but this would show that the body was in a supine rather than a prone position for a period immediately following death. There was an unexpected absence of discoloration in the areas adjacent to the spine of the corpse. That is a most likely indication that parts of the deceased’s back had been in contact with the ground, or some other hard object, for a period immediately following death. That would be unlikely if the murder had been committed here and the body left in the position in which the man found it.’

  ‘Which would accord with my theory of the murder having been committed elsewhere, and the body having been brought here in a cab?’ asked Holmes.

  Knowles nodded, ‘That is one possible explanation, providing the body were laid on its back during the journey. Of course, Woods could have moved the body and then later denied it.’

  Holmes nodded appreciatively. ‘I believe that is unlikely. Now, if you give me ten minutes, gentlemen,’ he continued, ‘I will look over the yard.’

  My friend tiptoed back and forwards a number of times, with concentration upon his features. Then he knelt by the corpse with his back to us, and scribbled something in his notebook. He returned to us within half the time stated.

  ‘I have seen nothing to conflict with Woods’s account of what happened,’ my friend remarked. ‘He seems to have lingered for a short while before going back into the club and probably stopped to light this.’ Holmes passed a muddy vesta to Gregson. ‘It is natural that he would seek to throw a light upon his discovery. You had better add it to your collection, just in case. Now, as to the five-shilling piece and the corn, there is nothing very remarkable about either. The coin is dated “1892”, and I should imagine the corn – it is barley, in fact – was probably very easily obtained from any of the corn chandlers in the immediate district who supply the breweries. Let us have a closer look at the roadway. It is simple enough from the marks of the horse’s hoofs to determine that a cab has come down the road from the direction of Old Street. It stopped here briefly – you can see where the hoof marks indicate this, and it was a four-wheeler, for here is the track of the second set of wheels in the dust. There are the abrasions where a wheel has grated against the edge of the kerb. Then the cab went on down the hill towards the City. The trail will now have been lost in the traffic which has long since passed over it. However the murderer, or at least his accomplice, has left his spoor. Now look here, what do you see?’ he asked, pointing to vague footmarks at the edge of the pavement.

  ‘Very little,’ Lestrade replied; Gregson likewise shook his head.

  ‘You can just about make out the footprints on the flagstones going from the edge of the pavement to the opening of the yard, and then those returning. What is the difference between those two sets of prints? Look again very closely.’

  ‘Why, the ones going towards the yard are more closely spaced than those coming back,’ I replied.

  ‘But the first set is more distinct,’ said Lestrade.

  ‘He seems to have dragged his feet here and there,’ added Gregson.

  ‘Inference, possibly, that whoever it was may have been carrying a heavy load,’ said Holmes. ‘The shorter stride corresponds to extra weight the man had to carry, and once he had dumped the body, he then reverted to his normal stride, which was quite lengthy going by this.’

  ‘Big feet, too,’ Lestrade said.

  ‘As large as my own, I should say,’ Holmes agreed, putting his foot in the indentation left in the gutter, ‘only narrower. Yes, size ten.’

  Holmes took out and applied his tape measure. ‘Going by the gauge of the wheels, it was almost certainly a four-wheeled public cab. The horse’s shoes are well-worn too, which you wouldn’t find on any gentleman’s coach. It strengthens all the points of my supposition.’ My colleague, Knowles, had been standing watching and listening to my friend’s performance, nodding appreciatively at each point made as though he were seated at a lecture.

  ‘No one actually saw a carriage, I suppose?’ my friend continued.

  ‘I was coming to that. I don’t think it bears any relation to the case,’ said Gregson, ‘but PC Hewlett, who was called to the scene by Woods and his friends, came on at midnight. He was on the Finsbury Square beat, and just after one o’clock he was detained briefly by some trifling incident relating to a cab. It was nothing of any import; the cabman had some trouble with a loose fastening on one of the doors, so Hewlett stopped to ask the driver if he needed any assistance. Had he not delayed thus at the corner of Chiswell Street, it is possible that he may have been here in time to catch the culprit red-handed. He did, however, discover a bloodied knife in the doorstep of a shop nearby and became suspicious, as there had been several murders–’

  ‘Dash it, man, the victims had all been strangled – what can a knife have had to do with it?’

  ‘But this has been the biggest manhunt for years, and the beat men had all been sternly warned to keep a look out for anything unusual; when he saw that the blood on the knife was still wet, he hardly knew what to think.’

  ‘Still wet?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hmm, that was very clever.’

  ‘Clever?’ repeated Gregson, looking puzzled.

  ‘Yes. Where is Hewlett now?’

  ‘Over there with Constable Lamb, trying to keep that crowd at bay.’

  ‘Ask him to step this way, tactfully, now; do not suggest to him that he is any kind of trouble.’

  The Constable was sent for and Holmes continued the interrogation.

  ‘Can you describe the coach which you saw during the night?’ he asked the young, eager-looking Constable.

  ‘It was just your standard London growler, Sir,’ replied Hewlett.

  ‘You’re certain that it was not a private coach or a hansom?’

  ‘Absolutely sure.’

  ‘Did you get the number?’

  ‘Of course I did, Sir,’ Hewlett bristled indignantly in front of his superior, ‘we are required to pay special attention to the plates and report anything amiss. It was 9435.’

  ‘I sent a man down immediately to the Public Carriage Office to attempt to trace the owner of the cab,’ interrupted Gregson.

  ‘My attention was then distracted by the cabman,’ Hewlett continued, ‘who pointed out that there was a knife lying in the shop doorway.’

  ‘Did you not think it a most implausible coincidence that the cab had stopped exactly where the knife had been left?’ said Holmes drily.

  ‘Not at the time. Soon after that I was called here, and when I discovered that the girl had been strangled, I could find no explanation for the knife. I asked the Inspector if there had been any other incident during the night involving a knife, and there wasn’t. By the time I’d gone over to pick up the knife an
d examine it, the cab had started away.’

  ‘Yes – to take the killer home from the City.’

  ‘You don’t think that was the killer—’

  ‘No, that was his accomplice; the killer was inside. Dear me, Constable Hewlett, to think that you fell for a schoolboy trick like this. There can be little doubt that the knife was placed there as a ruse to distract your attention and make a getaway. By the time the alarm was raised and the body was found, that cab would have been half a mile away or more. With some little presence of mind you might have earned your share of the reward.’

  Lestrade grimaced, ‘Our public reputation was bad enough before this, Mr Holmes: if the papers found out, we should have a riot on our hands… .’

  ‘They shall hear nothing from me, Inspector, it is not my game to embarrass the official force – you can usually achieve that yourselves without my assistance,’ he added acerbically. ‘Still, at least we have the cab number. Now, Hewlett, what about this cabman’s appearance?’

  ‘He was a fairly young chap, well built, around medium height, blond hair sticking out from under his cap and a beard, though I didn’t pay any particular notice to him.’

  ‘Recognize him again?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘Good. Anything else?’

  ‘Nothing I can think of.’

  ‘Come, Hewlett, you are a trained policeman; was there no trifling detail that you noticed?’

  ‘Well there was one thing: I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but now that I think about it, he seemed rather very well-dressed for a jarvey. That’s all I can say.’

  ‘There was an occupant in the cab, was there not?’

  ‘Yes, he was as drunk as a lord, Sir. I saw him lying in the corner of the cab snoring his head off. The jarvey said he was bringing the gentleman back home from his club in Shoreditch.’

  ‘Can you remember anything about him?’

  ‘Not much: dark hair, sallow complexion, foreign looking.’

  ‘How tall?’

  ‘Hard to say, Sir, as he was reclining at the time. He was not small, though.’