Holmes spoke quietly. “We wish to take it away with us. It will be returned by the end of the day, but Mr. Johnson wishes to show it to the witnesses whose signatures appear on the document.”
Wright fussed but agreed. We departed bearing the will to seek out Dr. James Farrell, and then Mr. Giles Hampton.
The doctor was in his surgery, and upon Holmes producing the paper he pursed his lips, considered it and nodded slowly.
“Yes, I have no doubt that is my signature. I recall being asked by Johnson if I would stand his witness and I agreed. Do you have doubts about the signatures?”
He picked up a piece of paper from his desk, dipped a pen into the inkwell and signed his name, turning the paper to show us. To my eye the signatures matched and, from Holmes’s gesture of agreement, to his eyes also.
“Thank you, Doctor.” We showed ourselves out and took a cab to the home of Giles Hampton, who agreed to see us.
Hampton stared at the sheet of paper bearing the witnesses’ names and nodded. “That is my signature. I have no doubt,” he said decisively. His eyes narrowed as he looked more closely, picking up the paper and scrutinizing it with a sudden smile. “Yes, I can say categorically that is my signature. What is more, I can swear that is the very page that I signed.”
“Ah,” Holmes commented. “You recognize that small water-stain on the bottom left-hand corner.”
“I do. The day I signed the will I spoke with my manservant of my intention to obtain a new dog. I was indecisive, but when I saw that mark I decided to go at once to see an acquaintance whose bitch recently had puppies. I did so and chose one. I have him still.”
“And the stain looks like a dog’s head,” Holmes said. “You remember it because of the circumstances.”
“That is so. And as a result, I can swear to you, sir, that this is the very will I signed as witness.”
I looked at the mark of which they spoke and inwardly shrugged. I suppose it could appear to be a dog’s head to someone who wanted to see it so. To me it looked like a slightly irregular smudge. Yet Hampton remembered it. There could be no doubt that was his signature, and this was the very will he had signed.
We returned the will to Paul Wright, who received it as might a shepherd receive a long-lost sheep. He returned it to the large, polished wooden deed-box—one of a bank of such, each with a name lettered in gilt—from which it had been taken, and with it safely replaced he turned to survey our small company.
“Is that all, gentlemen?”
“Not entirely,” Kyle Johnson said. “There is one other thing I would like you to clarify for me, if you will. On the afternoon of my brother’s funeral, you paid Mrs. Klimpton her wages to date and gave her two days to gather her possession and be gone. Why did you say it was my instruction to give her only two days?”
The subsequent conversation made it plain Wright had, as Holmes suspected, taken Johnson’s words literally. Mr. Wright appeared quite distressed at the misunderstanding, and still more bothered when the problem of Lily’s furniture was explained.
“Oh, dear me, dear me. I really had no idea. Why did she not say so? I’m sure if I had known, if she had mentioned that, I would have spoken to Mr. Johnson here and asked if he could give the woman more time. But she said nothing, nothing at all, gentlemen, and how should I know?”
Kyle Johnson soothed the agitated lawyer. “You could not. It was not your fault.” He glanced at Holmes. “That is a fair question. If her problem was that she had heavy furniture to move, why did she not tell Mr. Wright? Why did she not ask for an extension? I would not have objected, and it costs nothing to ask.”
To that question we could give no answer. Perhaps, I thought, she believed that as one brother had deceived her, the other would be obdurate. Maybe she had not the desire to ask a favor, or it could be that her complaint about the difficulty did not reflect an impossibility, rather it was a cry about the injustice of her situation.
We left the lawyer’s premises and after we departed from Johnson and were walking back to our rented cottage, I said as much to Holmes. He agreed.
“That is well-reasoned, Watson, and it may be so. What is of use, however, is that both witnesses are certain that the signatures on the will are theirs. Hampton, in particular, identifies the actual portion of the will he signed.”
“So we know the will is as it should be, and it remained unchanged. That calls into question Lily’s statement to her family. She told her daughter every time she read the will, it left everything to her initially, and the revised will left the library to Kyle Johnson, a minor sum to the gardener, items to Arlen, and a further sum to the local publican so that friends might drink to the deceased.” I stopped in the street, looking at my friend.
“How could she have been mistaken? She could only have been lying, but why? Why, Holmes?”
“Mr. Wright,” Holmes said neutrally, “suggested to Mr. Kyle Johnson that there may have been two copies of the will. One was false, made by Alistair Johnson to deceive his mistress as to his true intentions. A woman, believing she is to inherit a considerable amount, is unlikely to leave her situation. She is also likely to remain compliant and cooperative.”
I shook my head. “I do not think it was in Lily Klimpton’s character to be docilely compliant for money and property. She was not in desperate need. And we have heard a lot about Alistair Johnson. Everyone agrees it was not in him to deceive her There must be some other explanation. Johnson still believes she was dishonest with his brother and this was found out.”
Holmes nodded but said nothing. We walked on in silence, my mind turning over the dichotomy.
Lily was woman of basic education, who would not know the library’s monetary value, nor would she care even if she had. If she inherited the library and Kyle Johnson came asking for it, she would very likely have simply given it to him without protest.
Upon our return, I sat drinking my tea, mulling that over. If true, Kyle Johnson would know he would be able to cheaply buy the library. In any case, the library was left to him in the second will, so there was no need for Lily to die at Kyle Johnson’s hands. The gardener would obtain no additional benefit from her death, and nor would old Arly.
Could Kyle Johnson have known that the will left everything to him? But then, he was not in want, unless…. Could he have been lured into gambling and now owe large sums to one who was pressing him with threats? I shook my head. Johnson did not strike me as the sort of man who gambled foolishly, nor, and more importantly, did he seem to be the kind of person who would allow himself to be threatened. I could, with a stretch of my imagination, see him killing a woman, but he would be likely to do so only if he believed some great danger to his country would thereby be averted. He was the type of man who would commit any action for his country, but not for himself.
“I agree, Watson,” my friend said quietly, his voice fitting so well into my thoughts that I was at first unaware of more than the agreement.
“Yes,” I said. “You say he was a spy, or rather, a listener. And he loves books, but I do not think he would kill for money.”
“If he killed, it would be for books?”
“Yes, but she knew he was to inherit them. She said as much to her daughter, and she did not mind. I think she may not have known their true value.”
“Very likely.”
“So she would not care they did not come to her. And the brother knew he would inherit them, so he had no need to act to ensure they did.”
“Quite so.”
I came to myself and stared. “Holmes? How on earth did you know what I was thinking?”
“I often know what you are thinking, Watson. In this case it was relatively simple. When we ceased our discussion, your mind was on the character of Alistair Johnson, from that it was inevitable that you would turn to considering his brother. You pondered the likelihood of the brother having debts and that if he knew or believed that he, and not Lily, would inherit his brother’s wealth, might he not have kil
led her to inherit? But you could not see it, you reflected that he might kill for his country, but not merely to steal an inheritance.”
“How…?”
“You glanced at the calendar, Watson. This month’s picture, a reproduction of an Old Master, shows several men playing cards. You shook your head, then you looked at the local map on the wall. Now you nodded, yes, Kyle Johnson could kill for duty, then as absently you turned over coins in your pocket—they clinked together, Watson—you shook your head again, but he would not, you believe, kill for money.”
I burst into laughter. “I should not be surprised, Holmes, but you are right! You are always right. Yes, but even if you do agree, it gets us no further.”
“It serves to eliminate Kyle Johnson. That is progress.”
“And the gardener, and Arlen? I do not think them involved.”
“Nor I.”
“I don’t suppose it could have been her son-in-law?” I said doubtfully. “They thought they would inherit in turn, and perhaps they believed if she died after her employer the inheritance would come straight to them? What if they were in some danger or trouble, Holmes, from which that money would save them? Perhaps Robin Simes was inveigled into gambling, or one of the children committed some act of folly?”
Holmes negated that at once. “Their distress and determination to refute the belief that Mrs. Klimpton committed suicide is at variance with that possibility, Watson. They had only to remain silent if they were responsible for her death. Unless you think that one of them is a skilled forger, knowledgeable about drugs, and murdered Lily Klimpton in cold blood, who then suggested she was murdered, scandalized the Isle with that rumor, and imported me—to prove it against them?”
I snorted. “No, and how did you know?”
“Because, my dear fellow, the remote possibility occurred to me as soon as I was aware of all the circumstances. I did not think them responsible, but it is always well to have evidence to hand. So I investigated the Simeses’ finances and reputation. The latter is of the highest, and as to their finances, I discovered that they do well, are paying off the house in which they live, and have savings, none of which have been drawn against in the past ten years.”
“But,” I broke in, “how can they buy a house? Surely no bank would loan to them without ample security?”
“On the contrary, they do have security. Robin Simes’s father owned his own boatyard and carpentry business, and on his death, the son inherited. He obtained a loan against that from the bank and purchased the house in which they now live. Together, the two properties would more than repay the bank should a compulsory sale be required. I went through the papers with the police and we are agreed that the Simeses are managing well. In another ten years they will own their house, and as I have stated, there is no evidence they live or spend monies beyond their means.”
I leaned back and drank the last of my tea. “Then they can be ruled out.” Holmes nodded. “What of Kyle Johnson? He could have resented his brother’s leaving everything to a woman who was not even his wife.”
“That is possible, save that both Farrell and Hampton are certain the signatures are their own, and Hampton, in addition, identifies the page on which he signed. That will was enacted five years ago.”
“Yes, and that one does not, according to what she said, match the one Lily Klimpton read regularly,” I reminded him.
“Kyle Johnson had money left to him by his parents,” Holmes noted. “He holds a good position with the government, makes money as an agent, and is in a position to—shall we put it—make other monies, as well. He does not live in such a way as to suggest that he has expensive vices, nor does the government department that employs him think him to be hiding any dark secrets.”
“Oh, well, if they are sure,” I muttered ungraciously. “Then who is left? The will is genuine, and no one has a motive. There must be someone in particular, Holmes. Unlike the police, I, and I am sure you also, do not suspect the wandering and homicidal tramp, let alone one who is a skilled forger, knows how to distill laudanum, and then—for no reason at all—lays elaborate plans to murder a complete stranger. I cannot believe in such a figure!”
“Nor can I,” was all the answer I received. An hour later I caught the ferry back to London, and then took a bus home before going to bed, unsatisfied of any answers.
8
I contemplated Mr. Kyle Johnson the next morning while I consumed breakfast. Was it possible Holmes was wrong? He knew many people who worked in the kind of department that employed Johnson; could he rely too much on their veracity?
Now in his early seventies, Johnson was regularly abroad; could he have committed nefarious deeds while away? He lived alone and never married—was there something odd about that? And he not only lived alone, he had no pet. I admit I never understand a man who doesn’t have a dog when he owns a large house and land. I remembered the casual way in which he said, “he did not dislike dogs.” Was that true?
I was still thinking about that when I was ushered into Mrs. Tremain’s presence. She was feeling much better, and once my examination was completed, I accepted her offer of tea. I cunningly mentioned one of the books which lay in sight. From that I moved on to the topic of Kyle Johnson.
“Married? No, Dr. Watson. I believe he was once engaged, but she died. No, I know nothing more. I heard it from another of his clients who was a friend of my husband’s. Pets? I asked about that once; he said a man who is constantly from home should not have pets, for it is unfair to them.”
I could not argue with that, but the man was no longer much from home and still had none. I said so.
“I daresay he has got into the habit of being without an animal, Doctor. As one gets older one is less inclined to tolerate fuss and small irritations.” She sighed. “Yet I could not do without Daisy.” The spaniel stirred at her name. “She grows old, but when she is gone I’ll get another dog. The house would not be the same without one. However, if Kyle never got into the habit, perhaps it didn’t occur to him that he could have a dog now.”
I had said as much to Johnson and been fobbed off. I, myself, cannot have a dog because it would be impractical. But should my circumstances change, it would be one of the first changes I would consider.
* * * *
I made the opportunity two days later to see Haswill again, and I put that question to him.
“I know little of the brother. It was Alistair Johnson whom I knew well.”
“Did Alistair not mention his brother?”
“Now and again.”
“But he said nothing of Kyle’s fiancée who died, and nothing of his like or dislike for animals?”
“Oh, the fiancée! Yes, he said something once. Now what was it? Oh, yes, he mentioned that his brother had been engaged, but she died from tuberculosis.” He brightened. “And she had a dog.”
“Did he like it?”
“I cannot say. I am sorry, Doctor. It was all a long time ago and the merest mention. But surely, if you wish to know these things you have only to ask Kyle Johnson?”
I took my departure. I could ask certainly, but it was as Shakespeare said, more or less: Anyone can call, but that doesn’t mean a spirit will come. Or in this case, asking isn’t the same as getting an answer. Kyle Johnson would want to know why I asked, and he would not answer anyhow, deeming it to be none of my business. To be fair, it was not. Although I could raise the subject with Holmes and see if he could obtain the information.
I did mention it and Holmes listened politely, but once I was done he shook his head.
“I agree with your Mrs. Tremain,” I was told. “Johnson may not take active steps to obtain an animal because he is comfortable as he is. As you say, not disliking a dog is not the same as liking one, but that is not to say he doesn’t like the animals. Has it occurred to you, Watson, that it may be his housekeeper who does not like them, and that he may be reluctant to risk her departure?”
It had not. Perhaps I was unfair to the man. Fro
m what I knew, the same lady had been his housekeeper for a number of years, and if she disliked or even feared dogs, he would know. And he might well wish her to remain, so unless he desired a dog greatly, he might accept the lack.
On the other hand, it was possible the decision was his. Perhaps he was in need of money for some reason as yet uncovered, and that in short, he was the villain of the piece. After all, a man in his line of work would be able to forge handwriting, distill a drug, come and go without being noticed, and keep a calm demeanor when asked questions about his personal affairs. I decided to ask more of those: not of Kyle Johnson, but of the housekeeper. Holmes had overlooked this possibility, and it would be pleasant to tell him my findings.
The housekeeper was Mrs. Kathleen McVey. Holmes was away for the night, and I could free my afternoon, so I quietly took the ferry back to the Isle of Sheppey. I had three hours before I must depart to catch the last ferry. In the course of conversations with Johnson, he mentioned that Mrs. McVey often spent Friday afternoon shopping, taking afternoon tea in a certain café before returning to the house. I hoped to catch the lady there.
When I arrived on Sheppey, I made at once for the café. The lady was there, and I introduced myself. She knew of me from her employer and offered me a seat at her table. As we chatted, I gradually shifted the conversation to her work.
“A tidy gentleman, is Mr. Johnson. A good employer and always considerate, tells me in advance when he will be leaving and returning. When he knows, that is. Sometimes he is called and has no time. He leaves a note on the kitchen table when that happens, or if he’ll be back unexpectedly he sends a telegram.” She bridled. “Not that I wouldn’t be prepared whenever he might return, it’s his thoughtfulness, that’s all.”
“And he never married,” I said. “I suppose he never found anyone whom he cared for. Still, many in that position have a pet. Does he not like animals?”
Mrs. McVey shook her head. “Why, he likes them well enough. One of his clients is Mrs. Tremain. She and her husband stayed a time or two and she always had her spaniel with her. Never seemed to mind, he didn’t. Dog liked him anyways, always at his heels if it got the chance.”
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