The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories - Part XI

by David Marcum

  “Would you mind,” asked Holmes, “if I were to keep these two bullets for a day or two? They could be instructive for the case.”

  “Of course, sir. Please, sir,” answered the captain. “is there anything else I can do to be of assistance, sir?”

  “Yes,” said Holmes. “You are no doubt a diligent police officer who has served Her Majesty for at least a decade. Am I correct in that assessment?”

  The man smiled briefly and nodded his head sideways in the manner of sub-continent, indicating, “Yes.”

  “Indeed, sir. That is correct, sir. For fifteen years, sir. I have tried to do my duty in a responsible way.”

  “Then kindly tell me what conclusions you have reached concerning these murders.”

  “Oh, sir. It is not a good thing, not a good thing at all, to leap to conclusions when one has not acquired a sufficient amount of evidence.”

  “I could not agree more, but please impart to me such insights as you have. I would be most appreciative.”

  “Yes, sir. It has been like this, sir. The two students were both members of the senior cricket team, and both were fine students, very handsome boys, model students who had already passed their school-leaving certificates and had excellent prospects. At first, we assumed that there might be a connection to cricket, but that would be most unsportsmanlike, sir. Then we looked further into the affairs of the families. Both of the lads have uncles who own large tea gardens south of Trincomalee, and it was known that they were planning to become part of the consortium of plantations assembled by Mr. Thomas Lipton. His taking over the tea production of much of Ceylon has been met with fierce opposition, and perhaps their deaths were a warning to those who had thrown their lot in with Mr. Lipton’s plans. But Mr. Atkinson had been murdered in the same fashion, and he had no connection to the tea plantations that we know of, so we are back to the school, as improbable as that seems. I fear, sir, that we have not been able to make any headway beyond that. Any assistance you are able to provide me would be very very helpful.”

  “I will help in whatever way I can, Captain,” said Holmes. “Kindly permit me a request. I wish to conduct a close investigation of the residence and effects of Mr. George Atkinson. Would you be willing to authorize such an exercise? Perhaps you could join us whilst we do so?”

  Again, the captain nodded his head sideways. “Yes, sir. All those requests will be arranged, sir. For now, sir, I have arranged for you to have a lunch meeting back at the hotel with Mr. Geoffrey Atkinson, his fiancée, Miss Elspeth Lindal, and her friend, Miss Morag Douglass. I interviewed each of them four weeks ago, but I am hoping that perhaps your skills will elicit some additional insights.”

  Holmes nodded his assent, then continued.

  “Another question, if I may, Captain,” said Holmes. “The governor expressed quite positive expectations concerning the plans of Thomas Lipton to expand his interests in the tea plantations. Yet you informed me that there is a strong undercurrent of opposition within the local populace to the prospect. Therefore, I am curious to know why it is that the governor holds one view and you another. Can you offer me any explanation for that, sir?”

  “The governor,” he replied slowly, “places great faith in the insights and wisdom sent to him by Major Robert Garton. Perhaps when you meet him, you should ask that question of him instead of me.”

  On the patio of the hotel, we encountered three young expatriates who had been waiting for us. The one male, a man wearing a short-sleeved white shirt, open at the neck, and white trousers, quickly stood up to greet us. The two young women with him remained seated but looked in our direction and smiled. Both were attired in light cotton dresses with sleeves that reached only their elbows and hems that stopped well above the ankle. One of them was a pleasant if somewhat plain looking girl, the other was strikingly beautiful.

  “Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson,” said the captain. “Allow me to introduce you to Miss Elspeth Linton, Miss Morag Douglass, and Mr. Geoffrey Atkinson.”

  Introductions were followed by chit-chat concerning the climate of Ceylon, and the latest news about the Old Girl, our beloved Queen. The conversation was led by the vivacious efforts of the lovely Miss Douglass, whose lively banter, contagious laugh, and radiant smile could have turned the most tragic funeral procession into a birthday party. Then Holmes abruptly interrupted.

  “I have no interest in whatever it is we are now talking about. We are here to ask questions about the murder of Mr. George Atkinson. As time is pressing, allow me to end the pleasant frivolity and proceed to the matter at hand.”

  “Oh, very well, if we must, Mr. Holmes,” said Miss Douglass, accompanying her words with an exaggerated pout. “But as one who knew George and loved him dearly, I can assure you that he was full of the love of life, and were his ghost here with us and found us gloomy over his departure, he would terrorize us until we promised to laugh and enjoy our lives to the hilt as he did.”

  She laughed merrily again and took a large swallow of the mango juice that had been provided for her, and that was, I suspected, seriously adulterated with gin. She did not at all fit my image of a young Scottish Methodist missionary.

  “As neither he nor his ghost is present,” replied Holmes, “I shall continue.”

  “Oh, Mr. Holmes, please,” came the plea, this time from Miss Linton. “You mustn’t be harsh with Morag. These past weeks have been so hard on us, and I do not know what we would have done without Morag’s indomitable spirit. My fiancé lost his brother, and I lost a dear friend. Morag has been our pillar of strength during these terrible times. And Morag, my dear,” she spoke now to her friend, reaching over and touching her hand, “you must try to be serious.”

  Holmes harrumphed and for the next half-hour asked and received answers about the events leading up to and following the death of George Atkinson. Geoffrey had visited the tavern briefly that evening and had been notified around eleven o’clock by a local police officer when George’s body had been discovered on the Kandy Road beside the Yard Cove. He had run to the site and identified the body for the police. Then he had gone to the residence of Misses Douglass and Linton, arriving sometime just after midnight, and told them the tragic news. The three of them had remained together until the early morning, when they took a rickshaw to the police station. Miss Linton at first said that she thought she had been awakened somewhat later than midnight, but admitted that she had been in a deep sleep and could not precisely remember the exact times and conversations that had taken place.

  None of the three had anything to offer concerning the deaths of the two students except to repeat the story we had already heard concerning the connection of their families to rival interests in the tea industry.

  Holmes thanked them for their time and cooperation. We had finished lunch and now had an opportunity to talk between ourselves and the police captain.

  “Captain, would you mind taking us over to the St. Joseph’s School. I should like to have an opportunity to chat with this Major Garton fellow.”

  “Most certainly, sir. The school is not far from the hotel. We can be there very soon, sir.”

  As we traveled, Holmes turned to me and asked, “Watson, during your time with the B.E.F., did you ever meet Major Garton?”

  “Never directly,” I said. “I did hear about him and his reputation. Very highly respected, not just for his exceptional bravery, but he was one of the rare breed of officers who sincerely cared for the well-being of his men. Not that any officer does not have a responsibility to do so, but Garton went beyond that. Those serving under him did not just admire him, they loved him.”

  “How then did he end up as a school teacher in Ceylon?” asked Holmes.

  “I cannot say. He was well on his way to general. Last I heard, he was posted in Somaliland and then he up and quit. I can only guess that during his posting here in Trinco, he fell in love wi
th the tropics and decided it was a much finer life than the army. Perhaps he became enamored with a local woman. You know, Holmes, cherchez la femme, as they say.”

  “Ah, yes. One of the oldest and most certain motivations known to man. I must look into what happened.”

  The St. Joseph School occupied a full block adjacent to the beach and harbor and was nestled amidst a grove of palm and milkwood trees. I could see several long, three-story buildings, behind which lay a well-worn sports field. Our guide led us to the office of the headmaster and requested that a message be sent to Major Garton.

  A tall, lean gentleman - somewhat taller even than Holmes - soon descended from the upper floor. He had a striking bearing and appearance. His posture was unmistakably stiffened by years of service in Her Majesty’s armed forces. His face, tanned but now showing a few signs of age, was handsome to the point of aristocratic. His hair was wavy and still mostly brown, with some edges of white beginning to assert themselves. He was distinctly attired in a blue blazer, white shirt and tie, and spotless white trousers.

  “Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson,” he said in a clear, authoritative voice. “I have been expecting you. Follow me, please. We can chat in the tea room.”

  He turned without waiting for us to respond and began back up the stairs. We followed him to the area of the school reserved for the staff and then out onto a pleasant terrace, where a young woman appeared almost immediately with a tray of tea and biscuits. The cups were filled to the brim and, fearing that I would dribble, I leaned forward to reduce the distance from the saucer to my mouth. I could not help but notice that Major Garton sat ramrod straight and lifted his cup fearlessly all the way from the table to his lips without the least sign of a tremble.

  “The governor sent a note that you chaps were coming here. Whitehall seems to be stirring the pot over the death of George Atkinson. A terrible tragedy, I say. Now, I have half-an-hour before I have to get back to teaching my boys their maths. How may I be of assistance to you, gentleman?”

  “The governor,” said Holmes, “spoke highly of you, Major. He places great trust in the intelligence you forward to him.”

  “I am flattered, Mr. Holmes. It is no credit, however, to me. All that is required to command respect in that function is to send in the unvarnished truth and avoid ever playing favorites. My years in the services taught me that.”

  He then looked directly at me and smiled. “You also served, if I am not mistaken, Dr. Watson. Northumberland Fusiliers, was it not?”

  “It was indeed,” I replied, pleased that he remembered.

  “Had a bit of a rough go at the end, did you not?”

  “Very rough, yes. But that is now all behind me.”

  “And obviously doing well. I hear you went and got married to a Beauty. Well done, old chap. There are so many lads who go back home in pieces and never recover. It does my heart good when I meet one who has made a go of it.”

  “Kind of you to say so, Major,” I said. Sensing the opportunity, I moved ahead to ask the questions that I knew Holmes was waiting to have answered.

  “Do tell, though, Major,” I said, “how is it that such a decorated soldier decided to leave the B.E.F. and toil for the good Lord in this forgotten corner of the Empire? I trust you will not take offense at my asking.”

  “Not at all. I did my duty shooting Ashantis in the Gold Coast, Zulus in the Cape, and no end of angry young natives in every post in which I served. One day, I looked down at the body of a lad I had shot dead outside the fort near Berbera. He was no more than fourteen years old. I had killed him. His dead eyes seemed to look into my soul and tell me that some day I would have to stand before Almighty God and account for what I had done. I have never been overly given to religion, but I had my own humble version of the road to Damascus, and decided there and then that I had had it with military life. I had spent some time at the garrison here in lovely Trinco and came back. The school was in need of a maths teacher and were kind enough to accept me. I have been living in paradise ever since.”

  “Yet you remain unmarried,” said Holmes.”

  “As do you, Mr. Holmes,” came the immediate reply. “I do not know about you, but there are some of us who are forever married to our calling.”

  “I am familiar with the predicament,” said Holmes.

  “I am sure you are. But come now, Mr. Holmes. You did not come all the way to Ceylon to inquire as to my marital situation. You wish to me to tell you what I know about the death of George Atkinson. Perhaps we should move on to that topic now before I rhapsodize endlessly about the beauty of Ceylon and the native Ceylonese.”

  “I concur,” said Holmes. “So, let us begin by your telling me about the fellow who was killed, Mr. George Atkinson. What was he like? What was the nature of your acquaintance with him?”

  “George was an excellent fellow. Every day he would quit his office by three o’clock and make a beeline over here to the school so he could direct the senior boys’ football team. I had the task of doing the same for the junior boys’ cricket team. We would see each other almost every day out on the pitch, sharing what is left of the grass. In past years, we had seen a bit of each other at one of the pubs near the harbor where the soldiers and seamen socialize, but of late he had been spending his spare time with his fiancée. Quite besotted with her, I gathered.”

  “Yes, and which one was she?” asked Holmes.

  “George had fallen for Miss Morag. His brother, Geoffrey, was stuck with Miss Elspeth.”

  “Stuck with?” asked Holmes.

  “A poor choice of words. Forgive me. Most ungentlemanly of me. However, any man can see straight away that Morag Douglass is as stunningly attractive a lass as a man could ever hope to meet. Dear Elspeth Linton is more on the plain side. Mind you, she is as sweet and kind a girl as can be imagined. Her heart must be made of honey, and perhaps that is why Geoffrey found her so good a prospect for a wife. Who can say?”

  “And what about Geoffrey?” asked Holmes. “You continue to be on good terms with him as well?”

  “As well as can be expected. I have seen very little of him since the death of George. The brothers were exceptionally close, and Geoffrey has taken George’s death very hard. He still comes to the school to direct the senior cricket team, but I fear his heart is no longer in it.”

  “That is entirely understandable,” said Holmes. “Perhaps we can now move to the night when George was shot. What can you tell me about that night? Do you remember how you spent the evening?”

  “Quite so, Mr. Holmes. That is a small tavern on Orr Hill Road, not far from the Army base. I was there for an hour in the evening chatting with some of our boys. Geoffrey was also there, and we chatted briefly. We left at the same time, about ten o’clock. I took a rickshaw back to my home on this side of the harbor and he to his home on the other side. I did not see George at all that evening, and it was the following morning when I heard the terrible news. All I can say is that George must have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. This is a harbor city, Mr. Holmes. It is not safe, and he was in the foolish habit of traveling about the town unarmed.”

  “Thank you, Major,” said Holmes. “Might you have any insights into the deaths of the two boys from your school?”

  “You are referring to Selvarasa and Chandran? A terrible tragedy, indeed, Mr. Holmes. The police looked into that matter and concluded that it was connected to the rivalry within the tea planters’ families. I am not privy to any news about the progress of their investigation. You will have to ask them.”

  “You knew these boys?”

  “Of course, I knew them. They were members of the senior cricket team. Before moving up to that level, they had been members of my junior cricket team. Wonderful boys. Good natured. Splendid athletes. As I said, a terrible tragedy. But you must speak to the police if you wish to know more.”

 
“Thank you, Major. There is just one thing that puzzles me, if you will permit my asking you.”

  “Carry on, Mr. Holmes.”

  “It concerns the plans of the Lipton firm to expand their activities here. The police captain has informed me that there exists considerable conflict amongst the local people. Yet you have reported to the governor that the expansion by Lipton would be a boon and welcomed by all. Would you mind telling me why you hold to your opinion?”

  “Oh, come, come, Mr. Holmes. These native folks are beautiful in their own way, remarkably attractive. As much as I love them, you have to understand that the vast majority of them still bow down to wood and stone. They are a simple lot but exceptionally jealous of any success by those who are not of their particular tribe. I assure you, Mr. Holmes, the minute they see their pay-packet start to swell when Mr. Lipton beings to remunerate them, they will suddenly forget whatever objections they might once have held and band together as one people, even if it is to demand more pay. It is just how these people are, Mr. Holmes.”

  “Ah, yes. An interesting observation. Again, thank you, Major Garton. We have kept you from your boys for far too long. Allow us to wish you a good day.”

  “And to you too, sir. I trust you will enjoy your time in our rather idyllic corner of the Empire.”

  Captain Devasenapathy was waiting for us with his police carriage. Holmes imparted to him the gist of the conversation we had with Major Garton, tactfully omitting any colonialist references to the simplicity of the natives.

  “Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” said the captain. “This is very very helpful. Now, if you will come with me, I will take you to the residence of Mr. George Atkinson. If we move smartly, you shall have most of the afternoon to investigate his rooms before his brother returns. Come, come.”

  The two Atkinson brothers shared a spacious house a few blocks north of the China Bay sector of the harbor. The house was a neat as a pin, thanks in part to the diligent maid, but also reflecting a couple of young men who gave the immediate impression of being exceptionally fastidious. There was a large common area in the central front of the building, adjacent to a front porch that afforded a pleasant view of the harbor.