The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories - Part XI

by David Marcum

  “And if I refuse?” our guest asked, quietly but pointedly.

  “Do not confuse my pragmatism with altruism, Miss Barnes,” replied Holmes, coldly. “I want what is best for the city and society in general. This means avoiding a costly and bloody period of anarchy that would surely follow if your brother is allowed to run roughshod through the London underworld.

  “You would do well, also, to bear in mind that in a single day I have discovered the method of your father’s murder, the motive behind it, and identified his killer,” Holmes continued. “Imagine what knowledge I might have after a whole week has passed.”

  This cold and sharp declaration certainly had the effect desired of it. The colour left the face of Miss Barnes in seconds. Her eyes widened in fear as, for the first time, she realised that she was dealing with a man of huge capability and almost infinite faculties.

  “Then I have no choice but to agree to your terms. I shall legitimise as much of the business as I can and leave what little is left to Samuel.”

  All trace of good nature had left Miss Barnes. Her lips were now pencil thin, her jaw tight and her hands gripped her silk handbag with such force that her knuckles were as white as polished ivory. I thought to detect a slight shudder of fear in her shoulders as she rose to leave.

  As she moved towards the door, her shoulders suddenly fell and she turned back to face us.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Holmes. You are quite right. I have acted only selfishly and viciously up to this point. You have presented me not only a chance of redemption, but also a long-term solution to all of my problems. In truth, I should be grateful. Thank you Mr. Holmes, and thank you, Doctor Watson. I shall not forget you.”

  A smile flashed across her once-more pretty, placid face, and Miss Barnes departed. I was not entirely certain whether her last words were truly genuine or, rather, a subtle, passive form of threat.

  V

  Once our visitor had left, we called down for an early supper. After a simple repast, we retired to our armchairs where we filled our respective pipes and settled down for an evening of reflection.

  “What will you tell MacDonald?” I asked, tamping down a bowlful of my latest Cavendish mix.

  “I was rather hoping you might come up with some appropriate fiction that would satisfy the inspector,” mumbled Holmes, as he drew upon his already lit pipe.

  “Very droll, old chap,” I smiled. “We can concentrate on Miss Barnes’ promise to remain and legitimise the family business, stressing that this would avoid an otherwise very nasty period of transition. Then, along with the lack of any real evidence, MacDonald may be satisfied to let the matter drop. Unlike me, of course. Now you must tell me exactly how she committed this impossible murder, and how on earth you managed to solve it.”

  “As I told you, Watson, sometimes one simply has to ask the right people the right questions. In this case, it was the people behind the scenes that held the key to the puzzle. I began at the restaurant where Barnes died, interviewing the serving staff and the chefs. While you and MacDonald sat and enjoyed your coffee, I learned that Barnes had some very specific habits - habits which were later confirmed by visits to the other restaurants that he favoured.”

  “What were they?” I asked, intrigued.

  “I also learned that Barnes’ daughter had a secret fiancé,” continued Holmes, ignoring me completely, “the identity of whom strengthened a theory upon which I was already working.”

  “Do you feel like sharing his identity with me?” I asked, sarcastically.

  “His name is of no importance, Doctor. But his occupation was of the greatest interest. He supplied a large proportion of the wine that was consumed in the restaurants frequented by Barnes.”

  “So he poisoned the wine!” I exclaimed. “But how? Barnes only drank from sealed bottles.”

  “I now had two suspects, Miss Barnes and her fiancé. Either had easy access to the wine, but which one was responsible, and how was the poison administered? Remember, no poison was found in any of the bottles or glasses from which Barnes had drunk that evening.”

  “I am at a complete loss, Holmes,” I admitted.

  “Habits, Watson. When I questioned the serving staff from the restaurants concerned, I insisted that they recount everything, down to the most precise of details. One waiter recalled that Barnes had a rather unusual quirk. At the next restaurant, I made sure to mention this and it was confirmed, and then again at a third venue. By this time I had also discovered that young Samuel Barnes was wholly incapable of running the business and of Barnes’ desire for his daughter to become his successor. From there it was then only a short step to developing a fully functioning theory.”

  “But how did she do it, Holmes?” I begged. “You are taking far too much pleasure in teasing me.”

  “The waiter had noticed that Barnes did indeed have an unusual routine. Whenever he opened a new bottle of wine, after examining it closely for any signs of tampering, he would pour a large glass. This could be for himself or somebody else at the table - there was no particular pattern here to his actions. Nevertheless, what he would do next was the same on every occasion. He would run his finger around the neck of the bottle, collect any drops that had spilled, and lick these from his finger.”

  “That is a pretty uncouth act, but then he was not exactly a cultured man,” I commented, before appreciating the importance of Holmes’s revelation. “Oh, I see,” I stuttered. “That is remarkable, Holmes.”

  “Miss Barnes, either by herself or with the aid of her fiancé, had covered the necks of the wine bottles, and the foil around them, with poison. Every time he ran his finger along the neck and licked it, he would ingest both wine and this evil concoction. They then had simply to wait. A night would soon come where his intake would be fatal,” explained Holmes.

  “And any earlier symptoms of poisoning would be simply be put down to the effects of the alcohol. Fiendish and utterly ruthless. I am now not entirely sure that you have done the right thing by letting them go.”

  “What was the alternative, Watson? We have no actual physical evidence of their involvement. All of the bottles have been disposed of, the glasses washed clean. If the police did choose to interview Miss Barnes as a suspect, then she would surely disappear at the first opportunity, leaving us with chaos and potential anarchy as the family business tears itself apart.”

  “The lesser of two evils. I understand that now, but I am far from satisfied,” I admitted, gruffly.

  “Nor should you be, Doctor. For it is only when people like yourself stop caring, that the criminals have truly won,” replied Sherlock Holmes, a dark cloud of pipe smoke teasing its way around his fine angular features.

  Twice already in his career had Holmes helped [Inspector MacDonald] to attain success, his own sole reward being the intellectual joy of the problem.

  The Valley of Fear

  The Grosvenor Square Furniture Van

  by David Ruffle

  “Grosvenor Square, Watson!”

  “What of it, Holmes? I know it to be a rather pleasant square, not two minutes’ walk from the eastern edge of Hyde Park. I daresay I could give you a potted history if required, but of what significance is it? To you that is?”

  “Really, my dear fellow, your lack of recall often amazes me. I am sure your potential readers would profess themselves equally amazed at the jumble of dates and times you accredit to our cases. For a man of words, I sometimes wonder if you have ever looked up the meaning of the word chronology.”

  “Be that as it may, you well know why certain dates and times have had to be changed, and names if it comes down to it. I have a duty to certain innocent parties to protect them from the glare of public scrutiny. Even the guilty have sometimes had their identities protected to accord their innocent families the same privilege. None of which explains your emphatic, ‘Grosve
nor Square’.”

  “Watson, Watson. It was only two weeks ago when I mentioned the case of the Grosvenor Square furniture van, and you evinced a certain curiosity about the affair and you were eager to hear the details. Perhaps you are not as eager as you appeared to be.”

  “I cannot recall the conversation at all, Holmes. Perhaps it may have been Mrs. Hudson who was suitably enthusiastic regarding the case!”

  “Hah! Your pawky humour rises to the surface once more. I have never quite fully guarded myself against it. Allow me to prompt your faulty memory. The affair itself came to my notice three weeks ago. Indeed, a week before I broached the subject with you, Watson, in the course of a conversation that was apparently not memorable in the slightest. If you recall - Ah, no you don’t. I received a message from Lestrade which expressed a desire for my assistance with a mystery regarding-”

  “The Grosvenor Square furniture van, perchance?”

  “Ah, it comes back to you now, does it”?

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “From the outset, it promised to be a mystery like no other.”

  “How could you possibly deduce that, Holmes? Surely you had no data to go on at that stage?”

  “Elementary, Watson. Lestrade’s note to me stated it was a mystery like no other.”

  “Coming from Lestrade, surely that was no guarantee of any great mystery shrouded in impenetrable gloom. The inspector has been baffled on many occasions, and it is us who have been able to get to the heart of things.”

  “Us?”

  “You can hardly deny the great help I have been to you, Holmes. My intellectual capacity may be below that of yours...”

  “You will find no arguments in this quarter, Watson!”

  “... but even so, I can sometimes point the way as to the solving of a case.”

  “You certainly do. I readily admit that your errors of deduction can often guide me to the correct solution. For that I am of course grateful.”

  “That is rather akin to being damned with faint praise, I believe.”

  “It may have to suffice, my dear fellow. I hold you in high esteem for your willingness to assist me at any hour of the day and night. Your bravery is a constant reminder to me as to how fortunate I am to have you as a friend and comrade. But we digress from the point.”

  “Which point?”

  “The Grosvenor Square point!”

  “Where was I that day?”

  “You spent that week ensconced at Lords, watching the Test match,. Australia being the foes. You did mention in great detail each day’s play when you returned each evening, although oddly enough I cannot now recall any of those details.”

  “Ah, so the problem of memory and recall is not exclusively my own then.”

  “There is a difference. I chose to forget because I find it abhorrent to clutter my brain with details that are never going to be of the slightest use to me. A cricket Test match falls firmly into that category.”

  “Perhaps I chose to forget about Grosvenor Square, too.”

  “Then again, perhaps your faculties are failing through too much cricket-watching. Your impending nuptials may play a part in your absent-mindedness also.”

  “My faculties are perfectly in order, thank you. I really must correct you especially since I can do so on too few occasions: I did not spend the week at Lords. The match was over in two days, England suffering an ignominious defeat.”

  “Only two days? I stand corrected, it seemed so much longer with your re-telling.”

  “In the four completed innings, Australia was the only team who managed a score in excess of one-hundred. It was a very low-scoring affair. Even W.G. Grace...”

  “Yes, thank you, Watson. I do not see we have any need to dwell on the cricket any longer. For whatever reason, you were not available to accompany me to Grosvenor Square on the day in question. My first inkling as to the severity of the crime was the view of stationary traffic as I walked hurriedly down North Audley Street...”

  “I used to play billiards in a club on North Audley Street. Thurston was a member and I used to sign in as a guest. It was said the billiard tables were the finest in London - not that they ever noticeably improved my game. What was the name of it? Oh yes, The Cathedral Club. Why it was so called, I never did find out. Sorry, Holmes, I interrupted you. Please continue.”

  “I will endeavour to. As I arrived at the entrance to the Square itself, all I could see was a veritable of jumble of hansoms, carts, growlers, and the like along with many bystanders craning their necks for a view of the proceedings-”

  “Of course, in the early days of Grosvenor Square, there would have been no such access. The whole square was originally surrounded by gates and railings with only the local residents having keys. They also were expected to finance the upkeep of the gardens and square. You may be aware of that, Holmes.”

  “I am aware of that fact, Watson. I am also aware of the fact that it would pay dividends if I were to recount the details of this case without drawing breath. It is apparent to me that this may be the only way to divulge the singular events in the Square that day. If I may be allowed to continue?”

  “Certainly, Holmes. Forgive my interruptions; I will sit here quietly and give you my fullest attention.”

  “I threaded my way into the square and spotted Lestrade, who nodded to me and then shook his head solemnly as if to emphasise the nature of what had taken place. There were four ambulances in attendance, and at least thirty uniformed constables. Lestrade expressed a fervent desire that I could unravel the mystery before us. He was quite out of his depth-”

  “As he often is, Holmes. A nice enough fellow of course, but I often wonder if he was cut out for police work.”

  “He suffers chiefly from a chronic lack of imagination. I never doubt his tenacity, for he is the epitome of a British bulldog who will hang on to his man, come what may. But I have always advocated that Scotland Yard detectives should spend such time as they have free in reading up old cases and learning from each one. After all, there is nothing new under the sun, it has all been done before.”

  “So I understand from your many statements to that effect. The problem as I see it, if indeed it be a problem, is that Scotland Yard detectives and presumably their provincial counterparts have very little time to be delving into the annals of crime. For the most part, they will have families to care for and food to put on the table and as such, their time will be taken up in earning their wages. I don’t doubt, Holmes, that you are correct in your views, but not everyone has the time to spend on such researches or indeed are as single-minded as you are.”

  “Perhaps then, they should educate themselves as to their chosen profession before the acquisition of wives and children. Now, where the deuce was I? Ah, yes. Lestrade appeared to be more hot and bothered than usual...”

  “It was the second day of the test match then. It was a very hot day indeed. If you recall, I wore my new blazer which showed off the M.C.C. colours.”

  “I do recall, Watson and you may remember my surprise at you wearing something quite so garish. I believed it was in hardly in step with your personality.”

  “You believe my personality to be sombre? Or grey and uninteresting perhaps?”

  “I merely remarked on it being unusually garish, it was no reflection on your disposition or temperament, my dear fellow. If I may continue without further interruption?”

  “By all means, Holmes. Although something has just come back to me about that day at Lords. Many people that day - well a few anyway - on seeing my blazer immediately inquired as to the name of my tailor.”

  “No doubt with a view to avoiding him. The first thing Lestrade pointed out to me was that the van was empty.”

  “Empty?”

  “Yes, entirely.”

  “Devoi
d of furniture?”

  “That is the impression I am attempting to convey to you, yes.”

  “How did that come about?”

  “That is what I will come to if I am ever allowed to complete my narrative. The driver and his mate were both being treated for wounds - one appearing to be much more seriously hurt than the other. The mate, who exhibited far less marks of violence on his person, had been telling his story to Lestrade, and I managed to persuade him to recount the events of the day to me also from the beginning.”

  “Leaving out no detail, however small, no doubt.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, I do know your methods.”

  “Even if you fail to apply them. The van belonged to the firm of Williams and Sons in Cheapside-”

  “That takes me back.”

  “To where or what?”

  “To my school days. When I first arrived in London, I was installed by my uncle at St Paul’s School. The school was housed in a grand old building in Cheapside. I may have mentioned that fact before, of course.”

  “Many times. Watson. When you said just a few moments ago that you would sit quietly and give me your fullest attention, was that a statement of intent, or merely a remark intended to punctuate the conversation with no real meaning behind it?”

  “Almost certainly the former, but your narrative so far does tend to invite interruptions. It is, if I may say so, not the most riveting account I have heard from you.”

  “That is hardly surprising, as I am only allowed to utter one sentence at a time before your interventions come along at regular intervals. The driver, a Henry Morton, was taken to the infirmary as a matter of urgency, and his mate, James Hallam, was taken into custody by Lestrade-”

  “He was obviously-”

  “Yes, Watson?”

  “Nothing, Holmes, please continue.”

  “I searched through what papers there were in the van, pertaining to delivery schedules. It was clear to me that the first delivery point had not been reached.”