He spoke in awful tones. “I refer, as you have no doubt guessed, to my revered mother. Some-time regent for my estate, committer of the wastage you mentioned, and a woman of whom I have often wondered if she truly bore me. Of commonsense she has little, of veracity, none. She is a spendthrift, a gambler, and my father was deeply lucky that the estate was entailed and the entail could not be broken—as fortunate as I was later on.”
“I take it that you know—everything?” Holmes queried.
“I know far more than I ever wished,” was the reply. “And knowing explained many things I had wondered over the years. But when I was eighteen, I entered into certain rights within the entail, and Melrose, honest man that he was, came to me and informed me of things he had noticed. Yes, he stayed with me several times, usually only a night or two, but he was an excellent rider and observed a great deal.”
“I am surprised your mother allowed you to ride out together,” I said.
Bennington grinned. “She saw my friend as a schoolmaster. What would such a man know of estates? But he knew much, and he counseled that I say nothing, but quietly see to it that further wastage did not occur. I would not want a great scandal, which would occur if I accused my mother openly or went to the estate’s lawyers to complain.
“I managed to cut back some of what she did, and once I was twenty-one, I talked to the lawyers and asked that they keep a closer eye upon the accounts, for I was unsure of their accuracy. They demanded whom I suspected, and I fear that I lied. I said that I had never trusted the bailiff—a man hired by my mother shortly after my father’s death—and the lawyers began then to scrutinize the accounts and the man more stringently. It became almost impossible for my mother to take money unnoticed, and once I was twenty-five and came into my full inheritance, I informed her I had long known what she did.”
His gaze fell. “It was the most unpleasant scene. At some stage while she screamed abuse at me, I foolishly allowed it to slip that I had found out through Melrose.” His gaze met ours. “I swear to you, however, that my mother is a greedy, shallow, stupid woman. It would never occur to her to wait so many years for revenge.”
“Did she attempt that?”
“She said that she had seen my friend at the racetrack and would tell his employer. She would so blacken his reputation that he would be dismissed. I said that I could not imprison her myself, but that if she did so, I would have the lawyers charge her with wastage. I would sue for recovery from her allowance of every penny she had stolen from the estate. She would be penniless and forbidden even the Dower House. She said I did not have the courage to do so. I told her that if she harmed my friend in any way, even the smallest, I should do all that and more.”
“She believed you?”
His jaw set. “She did. A few years ago when my mother became more troublesome, I invited my father’s oldest sister, a childless widow and a pleasant woman whom I have always liked, to reside in the Dower House. She and my mother have never agreed, and my mother now lives in France. So long as she does she receives an additional allowance. She knows that should she return to England without my permission, that additional income will cease, and my lawyers stand ready to charge her, despite any scandal.”
I nodded. “All that proves, my Lord, is that your mother is in France—so far as you are aware. So long as she remains unrecognized she is free to come and go without your acting against her. She has the money to do so and nothing to prevent her. If she chose, she could to travel to some smaller port, and from there have a closed carriage take her to Melrose. While I cannot see your mother doing this, she could have hired someone.”
Holmes nodded. “I agree. It is most unlikely your mother came back to England to commit murder but hiring someone to do the job is not impossible. What can you suggest that would make this prospect unlikely?”
Garrett Bennington snorted. “How much would it cost to hire someone? There is travel to and from this village, food along the way, perhaps even an accomplice to divert attention, and then there is the fee. Considering everything, what would an assassin charge? My mother’s allowance is not great, even with the additional amount I grant her. She spends all her money on herself—when she cannot persuade some gullible older man to do so. Or do you suggest she found one and persuaded him to finance a murder?”
Holmes nodded again. “You make a reasonable point. And no stranger was seen in or about the village. No, I must agree that your mother is an unlikely candidate for murderer. I regret we troubled you, Lord Bennington, but as you say, Melrose was your friend and we wished to be sure—as I am sure you wish us to be.”
We stood, and when we would have left, our host halted us with an upraised hand. “One moment. Considering all you have told me, I am uneasy. It is unlikely that my mother was in any way involved, yet, as you say, I would like to be assured of that. She is many things, including vindictive. On one occasion at least, she had her revenge some years after the event.”
He told us the circumstances and there were some similarities. Now I did not know what to think and turned to my friend.
Holmes pondered briefly before speaking. “I, too, would like to be certain. I would need to travel to France and make enquiries …”
Bennington gestured agreement. “A friend of mine has a yacht and leaves for a week in France tomorrow. If you can be ready, I will ask him to give you passage and bring you back when he returns. I will pay you for your time and expenses. Will that suffice?”
“It will.”
We returned to London and once we reached our rooms, Holmes called at once for dinner. He packed a small case while we waited.
Over the meal I expressed my regrets. “As you know, I cannot take so much time from my duties. I am sorry, Holmes.”
He reassured me. “I understand, my dear fellow. As you say, I may be gone a week or more. This is my profession, not yours. When I return we shall take up the chase again.”
And duly reassured, I finished my dinner, read the day’s newspaper, and retired to sleep with a clear conscience.
* * * *
Holmes was gone when I woke, and I was not to hear from him for eight days. During this time I worked like a Trojan, and when Holmes strode through our door mid-morning of the ninth day looking quite bronzed and fit, he was greeted with a hearty handshake—from me—and a fine luncheon produced within the half-hour—by Mrs. Hudson. I allowed him to eat before I asked any questions, but once he was done I pounced.
“What did you discover, Holmes?”
“That the lady, while not normally described as ‘innocent,’ is at least innocent of murder. I arrived back in England yesterday, and travelled from the port to Lord Bennington’s estate. I was able to assure his lordship that while—with his mother as she is—he would likely have things to worry over in future, in this case his mind could be relieved of any anxiety. I remained the night and left this morning with his good wishes.”
I heaved a sigh of relief before curiosity overcame me. “Exactly what do you think will cause future problems, Holmes?”
He related how she had continued her career in lies, wastage, and in the manipulation of livestock. “So far as I could say, she manages to double her allowance by cheating at card games with other ladies, by persuading elderly gentlemen to buy her small but expensive gifts—which she resells as soon as the gentlemen are gone. In one instance—I found this almost unbelievable, Watson, but it was sworn to by a trustworthy person—she succeeded in manipulating the results of a dog show so that her ‘client’ won and could return to London, bearing a large silver trophy and in a blaze of glory, to lord it over her friends whose dogs, she gave them to understand, were inferior to a dog so awarded in France.” His face was without expression as he recounted this, and after one incredulous breath, mine was not.
I howled, I admit it. I roared and shouted with laughter. I could just see the scenes he described, and I would have given much to know how Lady Bennington managed her client’s success; a true epi
c, no doubt, and worthy of Machiavelli.
A frosty smile crept over my friend’s face as he watched my collapse, and at last, as my paroxysms died, he commented.
“Yes, I see that it amuses you, yet how far has nobility fallen, when a lady must resort to such deceptions.”
“But Holmes, if her allowance does not provide well for her, she may need to do such things to manage,” I returned, wishing to be fair.
“On the contrary, she is provided for quite generously, as I ascertained from her son.” Here Holmes named a sum that set me back on my heels. If Bennington’s mother indeed received such a quarterly amount, she was most certainly not in want. Her devices were just that—devices—and immoral, if not precisely illegal.
Holmes nodded. “Yes, the lady is an original in the worst way, but that is for her family to deal with. In the morning I have another trail to pursue.”
“The other letter, Holmes? You have discovered something?”
When I first read it, the letter had conveyed nothing to me. Like Lady Bennington’s, it had been vague. Unsigned and without address, it blamed Melrose for some event unspecified. I could not imagine how Holmes could have even the slightest clue to the writer. But I rarely underestimated him, and if he said there was a trail, then a trail there would be. I watched him and waited.
“This letter says that Melrose went against something the writer did, that it—ah, the term is cant and vulgar—but I found it indicative. It suggests not only that Melrose betrayed the writer, but that he did so to authorities. I have analyzed the paper, ink, and pen used. Those, together with the language and cant terms, led me to have a few words with Detective Inspector Harrison, and also with certain of his quarry.”
I grinned. “You’ve been talking to Alf Arbuthnot, I suppose.”
“I have. I hope you do not mind, Watson.”
I shook my head, still smiling. Alf is the son of one of my elderly patients. His father is an honest man, but Alf moved early into the criminal classes and in his own way he has done well there. He felt he owed me for my care of his father, and he owed Holmes for his beneficial intervention in some of Alf’s affairs. As long as nothing would come back to Alf, he was willing to speak a word in season, as the saying is.
“Yes, Alf was prepared to look at the letter and give an opinion, as was Harrison. In consequence, I sought out a man they suggested. He was not the writer, but we believed he could tell me who was. I sat down with him, Watson, and as it seems he, too, has a grudge against that man. He was ready to tell me of him and did so with a remarkable fluency.”
“Excellent,” I said. “Who is he? What is his name? Did you get any indication of the grudge against Melrose?”
Holmes settled back. “All of that, Watson. The man’s name is—or rather, was—Jeff Thompson. For some time he resided in apparent respectability with his wife in one of our city’s outer suburbs. He was also a skilled blackmailer.”
I stared. “What would such a man have had to do with Melrose? I can understand Melrose betraying such a man to authorities, but in what way did he meet the man, and how did he come to know sufficient to lay information against him?”
Holmes paused. “I hear the teacups, Watson. Let us allow Mrs. Hudson to enter.”
I opened the door, ushered our good landlady in, made room for her tray on the table, and shut the door behind her when she was done. I poured us tea and regained my seat.
Holmes prolonged the moment by taking up his cup and drinking a few sips before he placed it back on the table. “I say that Jeff Thompson was a blackmailer, and so he was, but in an unusual way. He had found a method which rendered him almost invulnerable to the law, and it was this upon which Melrose stumbled.”
I suddenly understood some of the story. “Melrose had many contacts in racing stables. You mean this man was blackmailing staff?”
“I mean precisely that. Think of it, Watson. No money changed hands. No unexplained sums would be deposited in the bank. He could show very clearly that his money was legitimately obtained. The horse he arranged to be stopped would not win. Knowing that, Thompson could bet on the horse that would otherwise have come second. That is legal. If the police look at him, all they see is a successful professional gambler, and that is acceptable so far as they are concerned. However, some years ago he made an error of judgment twice over. He attempted to blackmail a lad known to Melrose, and in addition, the boy was not guilty of the deed with which Thompson threatened him.”
“Which was?” I was all agog.
Holmes drank more of his tea. “The boy was secretly meeting his trainer’s daughter. It seems that Thompson discovered the meetings and threatened the lad with the wrath of a father should the boy not give the horse, for which he cared, a certain potion. There was but one trouble. The lad was spending time with the girl with her parents’ good wishes. It was by his own desire that they were keeping their trysts private, he not wanting his fellow stable lads to know of it until he had risen a little further in his profession. He intended marriage at that point.
“Thompson threatened him. The boy went to Melrose, his old teacher, whom he trusted. Melrose, in turn, went to the lad’s employer and together they hatched a plan. The boy met Thompson, saying he no longer cared for that horse. Instead, he would be riding in a small race on an obscure course next month. He was to take the horse there early, ride him on the course several times to accustom him to the fact that it was a left-hand course. Once accustomed to the difference, the trainer was certain the horse would win. So certain was he, that he had let in a few of his owners, who were betting heavily.
“I was told that on hearing this, Thompson was all but drooling like a hound. He informed the lad that he would ride, the horse would lose, and Thompson, having bet on the second favorite, would make vast sums. He boasted to the boy that he would make sufficient to retire and buy a small business.”
I spoke dryly. “Blackmailers do not retire, as we both know.”
“Quite so, Watson, and nor did this one. But the events have a twist of which you are unaware. The plan was carried out. The boy went to the obscure course a week early, galloped the horse and Thompson, who had travelled there also, saw that the trainer was right—the horse, unstopped, would win. He saw, too, that several of the trainer’s owners attended the training gallops and were greatly excited. The day before the race, the boy sent a note to Thompson saying he feared his employer was suspicious and he would not stop the horse.”
I winced. “Thompson would not accept that.”
“You are right. He sent a note back, supposedly from some acquaintance of the lad, asking to meet that evening at a certain restaurant. Melrose notified the police and they set a trap. Upon Thompson taking the lad into a half-hidden corner-booth and uttering threats, the police emerged and charged him with a number of offences. Melrose gave evidence which linked the boy’s statement with the meeting and the threats. I am told that, as a number of powerful people were involved who conceived that they had been cheated as a result of Thompson’s actions, they therefore influenced the judge, not so much for a conviction, but that should Thompson be convicted, his sentence be heavy. Thompson was convicted and, as other lads had also come forward to give evidence, and as there was pressure as I have said, Thompson received a long sentence. Longer than such a crime would normally receive.”
“And it was then he wrote to Melrose, I imagine?”
“So my examination of the letter suggests. It was some twenty-three years old, but Thompson at the time was barely thirty, and even a long sentence would see him freed by now. In fact, he was freed far earlier…”
“Earlier? Then it must have been he who murdered poor Melrose, Holmes! You’ve done it. Miss Bibi will be delighted to hear you have arrived at the solution.”
“Not so fast, Watson. I fear that my choice of words misled you. I said that Thompson was freed much earlier, and so he was, but from life, not from his sentence. In his eighth year in prison he fell into an argument w
ith another inmate, they came to blows, and Thompson died.”
I looked blank. “That is the twist you said I should hear. But if Thompson could not have been Melrose’s killer, where do we go next?”
“To Thompson’s kin. I said that he resided respectably with a wife. What I did not say was that he also had twin sons. They were born after Thompson was sentenced, after he wrote that letter, and long before he died. It seems that his wife was devoted to him, and even during his imprisonment she continued devoted. She had been heard to say, more than once, that what her husband did was not so very bad. He had harmed no one, had been a good husband to her, and that had those he blackmailed not committed grievous acts, they could not have been threatened by any disclosure.”
I blew out a breath of disgust. “I see. So blackmail is acceptable if the person threatened has done something merely immoral, or socially improper. Cheating people of large sums is acceptable—since they should not gamble, I presume? Tell me the rest, Holmes.”
“That is easily told. Once the sons were old enough, she regularly brought them to see their father. You understand that as there was no proof as to where much of Thompson’s money had come from, his wife retained all property and the monies he possessed. She continually dinned into her sons that their father had been unjustly convicted. It had been a conspiracy by powerful people, and Melrose was the arch-fiend who orchestrated events. She suggested that in all probability the stable-lad was his catamite, and that Melrose ruined her husband because he would have disclosed that to the boy’s employer!”
I protested. “There is nothing at all to say Melrose was anything of the sort. Everything we have heard or discovered of him says that he was a good, decent, honest, and upright man, as well as a fine teacher.”
“I imagine that the woman seized on anything she could think of as an explanation. She was hardly likely to tell her sons that their father was a blackmailer, responsible for at least one suicide, who orchestrated several severe beatings of those who initially refused to cooperate. One unfortunate boy was left permanently crippled, probably pour encouragement les autres. When her husband died, the tales she told intensified. She now claimed that Melrose had arranged her husband’s killing to silence him and suggested that he was hand-in-glove with sinister noblemen of the same propensity.”
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