by David Marcum
I stood up and replied, “Quite alright, dear. It will probably be nothing, but I would rather quieten her fears now than allow any to develop further overnight.”
I moved to the door, but Mary placed a hand upon my chest stopping me short. She glanced over her shoulder then leaned in close to me, whispering, “She’s a formidable lady. If I was to have an opinion, I would think that her problems are all in her mind. But of course, you are the doctor.”
I smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “I’m sure they are, but I’ve never met a patient that could pull the wool over my eyes.”
Mary allowed me to pass and I stepped through into my consulting room. My patient spied me and immediately stood up to greet me.
My wife was right. The lady before me was an astounding specimen. She stood just short of six-foot high and was quite rotund as well. She wore an extremely tight-fitting black tulip skirt and a matching black blouse wrenched over her enormous bosom and brought in tight at the waist. Her hair was pulled back into a high bun, giving her face a fierce expression, even at rest.
She had the look and presence of a private school governess. My only thought was pity for her students.
Her face split into a fierce smile and she said, “Dr. Watson, thank you so much for seeing me at such short notice. I have to apologise, but I didn’t know where else to go.”
I bade her to sit and took my seat behind my desk.
“What is it I can help you with Mrs., ah...?”
“Bell,” she answered, “Mrs. Moira Bell. I live not far from here on the edge of Regents Park with my son.”
It was then that this remarkable woman lost all composure and showed that underneath her gruff exterior was someone full of emotion and love. As soon as she mentioned her son, a torrent of tears poured forth from her eyes and she sobbed uncontrollably into her sleeve.
I jumped up, raced around the desk, pulled a clean kerchief from my breast pocket, and offered it to the distraught woman. She took it, wiped her eyes, and then blew her nose into it. As it was an inexpensive silk kerchief, I decided to let her keep it.
I quickly found Mary and asked her to brew some tea while I attended Mrs. Bell.
The troubled woman finally calmed down once the offer of a cup of hot tea was made. She began to tell me her tale whilst sipping the brew.
She was a local resident who lived in a line of properties that edged onto a lovely part of Regents Park, not far from the London University College. Her family had possessed one of the three-storey Georgian houses for well over a hundred years, and she had inherited the lease on the passing of her father almost thirty years previously.
She lived alone with her grown son, Julius, as her husband had died in the Afghan war. I told her my own war tale and was able to provide a larger level of empathy towards her because of it.
She went on to explain that her son was a Professor of Zoology working at the University College. He possessed a rather large and exotic collection of snakes and reptiles, which he kept in a room on the second floor.
“A herpetologist?” I asked.
“If you insist,” she answered, indicating to me that she had no real interest in her son’s profession. “It was those damnable lizards that caused all this trouble.”
I pushed her for more information and was finally told that her son had been arrested for manslaughter. A man named Hyram Shrubb had forced his way into their home and had died as a result of being bitten by one of her son’s lizards, a Gila Monster from America.
I frowned internally at this revelation. Gila Monsters are venomous, but to my knowledge are they rarely deadly. Most victims are usually left with horrid wounds caused by the strength of the jaws rather than from the venom.
At the remembrance of her son’s current whereabouts, she began to sob all over again without revealing any other pertinent details. I quickly went to her aid to calm her once more and prescribed a relaxant to help her sleep that evening. I also suggested that a friend of mine might be able to shed more light on the facts of the case and help to unearth the true nature of this horrid affair. She then admitted that it was my friendship with Holmes that had led her across town to see me.
Once she was calm again, I helped her out of my rooms after securing her address and said that I would bring Holmes to her home at precisely eleven o’clock the next day.
Through a veil of drying tears she agreed, thanked me for my service, and marched off home.
As I watched her go a small thrill went through me. I know that my good friend Holmes requires constant stimulation of his mind to keep the ennui at bay, but during these quiet times I find myself in such a need as well.
This case also promised the need for a high level of medical knowledge, and there was hope that the depth of my experience would be of use to Holmes.
Sadly, that was not to be.
I arrived at the front door step of Mrs. Bell’s home on Cumberland Terrace at a few minutes of eleven. The day was quite warm and I found that I had underestimated the walk and was awash with perspiration.
I had removed my hat and was mopping my brow with a fresh kerchief when I noticed Holmes walking towards me. He was elegantly dressed as always and tapped along with his cane. He had left his hat at home and showed no sign of being overheated.
“Good morning, Watson, and what a wonderful morning it is!” he said, admiring the building before us. “Poisoning by venomous lizard. Not a regular occurrence in London, one would think.”
“Indeed.”
We both studied the house before us. It was part of a long series of terraces flanking this side of the park.
“I took the liberty of walking around the back of the houses. There’s an alleyway running along the buildings used by the night soil men and a gate through which one can access the park. Very convenient for a quiet evening stroll or for accessing the rear doorway unseen,” he said.
I nodded in agreement, unsure of what he meant.
We turned to mount the steps to the front door but were disturbed by a commotion next door. Two men were struggling to manhandle a settee down the steps and into a large cart parked by the roadway.
I turned and watched their antics just as the lead man slipped off a step and tumbled to the pavement below, bellowing in pain. By the time I reached him, he was sitting up and holding his right ankle.
“I’m a doctor. I can help if you like,” I said.
“Ow! It’s my ankle! I nearly broke it!” he cried.
I gently pulled his hands away from his foot and straightened his leg out. The ankle was certainly swollen. I moved the foot about, which elicited more howls of pain. To stop his moaning, I lowered his foot and spoke to him.
“I don’t think it’s broken,” I said as I reached into my pocket for a card, “but you certainly won’t be doing any more furniture moving today. I suggest you make your way home, rest, and put some ice on it to take away the swelling,”
He took the card and I continued. “Come and see me tomorrow - or better yet, the next day. I’ll be able to tell how badly damaged it is by then. Meanwhile, stay off it.”
“I’ll ’elp ’im get ’ome,” his friend offered.
Another man emerged from the doorway with an angry expression on his face.
“Here, what’s all this laying about then?” he asked.
I stood up and addressed him.
“I’m afraid your man has had a rather nasty tumble. He’s sprained his ankle or worse. I’m a doctor, and I’ve told him to rest up for a couple of days before coming to see me about it.”
The man was indignant.
“I can’t wait up for him to get better. I need this place emptied today,” he said.
He pointed to the man on the ground, “Get up, Harry, or you’re fired!”
Harry’s eyes lit up in fea
r. He tried to pull himself up, but screamed in pain as he put weight on his leg and collapsed again.
“I think that answers that question, then,” said Holmes.
The angry man turned to face the detective.
“And what do you care?” he asked.
“Nothing, really. I’m just a casual observer, but anyone can see that if this man is not fit to work, then the work will not get done.”
The angry man turned back to Harry, ready to blast him again.
“And why are you in such a hurry?” asked Holmes.
The angry man turned once more, “What’s it to you?” he said.
“Just a casual observer,” repeated Holmes evenly.
“Well, if you have to know, this whole place,” he indicated the line of terraced houses, “Is going to be pulled down and replaced by nice, new, modern houses.”
I was horrified.
“Why destroy these wonderful buildings? Who would do such a thing?” I asked.
“I think the answer to that, Watson, is pretty much under your nose,” said Holmes.
I looked at him and saw that he was staring at the wagon behind me. I turned and read the side board of the cart. Shrubb Brothers.
“I’ve never heard of them,” I said.
Holmes smiled at me, that smile I had seen far too often for my own liking. I’d missed something again.
“I think you’ll find, Watson, that one of those brothers is exactly why we are here.”
I once again urged the injured man to rest, much to the annoyance of his employer, and then joined Holmes on the neighbouring door step. Holmes smiled at me and indicated the door.
“Well, it’s your case so far, Doctor,” he said.
I stepped up and lifted the heavy knocker. I rapped only once before the door was unlocked and opened. It revealed a sallow-faced young maid. She looked at us wide-eyed through the crack in the door.
“Can I ‘elp you, sirs?” she asked.
“Yes. Dr. Watson and Mr. Sherlock Holmes, to see Mrs. Bell. We are expected,” I said.
“Oh, yes, sirs. Please come in,” she said as she backed away and opened the door for us to enter.
We stepped into a small entry hall that proved a little too tight for both Holmes and I together. The maid squeezed past us, locked the door, and withdrew the heavy iron key. She moved to a nearby wall stand and hung the key on a hook next to its twin. A third hook remained empty, so I placed my hat upon it. The maid once again moved past and motioned for us to follow her into a room off to the right.
“Does that key unlock the rear door as well?” Holmes asked.
The maid was surprised by the question and shrank back slightly. “Yes. Yes, it does,” she said.
Holmes simply nodded.
We entered the small reception room and found Mrs. Bell sitting by the window, reading the day’s newspapers. She looked up and brightened when she saw me, and then eyed Holmes with a curious lift of her eyebrow.
“Mrs. Bell, I’d like to introduce my good friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I’ve described the scant details of your son’s case to him, and he is very interested in hearing more to see if he can indeed provide help.”
Mrs. Bell began to rise from her seat. Holmes gallantly tried to stop her with a gesture, but was too slow. He was taken aback when she rose to full height and met him almost eye-to-eye, something that happens rarely for Holmes, especially with women.
Mrs. Bell held out her hand and said, “Mr. Holmes, I am very pleased to meet you. I am Moira, but I do prefer Mrs. Bell in deference to my late husband.”
A small grin came to Holmes’s mouth as he shook hands with the dominating presence that was Mrs. Moira Bell.
“Please tell me all about your son’s troubles, Mrs. Bell,” he said, indicating her chair. Holmes and I took seats on the small settee nearby. My friend sat back and steepled his hands before his face, his standard pose when absorbing facts provided to him.
Mrs. Bell began her tale.
“My son has been charged with the manslaughter of a very nasty man, Mr. Hyram Shrubb. My son, Julius, lives here with me and is a Professor of Zoology at the University College, just down the road. He specialises in the study of lizards and snakes.”
“Herpetology,” Holmes said, “Yes, Dr. Watson informed me. To be honest, that was probably what piqued my interest the most. I have heard a lot about your son and would dearly love to meet him. I can assure you that I will do all I can to clear this little matter up for him.”
Mrs. Bell continued, “Oh, thank you. Well, this Mr. Shrubb turned up on our door step one day and barged past my poor Milly uninvited.”
“Your maid, I presume?” asked Holmes.
“Why, yes. I’m sorry. He stormed into this room and blurted out his introductions, and then laid out an offer to buy the lease on my house. I was far too perplexed at his gruff manner to even consider such a request unannounced. I sent him away without another word, but he didn’t leave it there. He turned up several days in a row, but Milly, God bless her, held her ground and wouldn’t let him in. After the seventh time, he arrived when Julius was home, so I agreed to meet him again and hear him out.”
She took a deep breath before returning to her story.
“We met in here with tea and biscuits to present an amiable setting. Mr. Shrubb called himself a ‘property developer’. He is purchasing all the houses along this street with the idea of demolishing them and building a new set of larger terraces to serve the officers of the nearby Regents Park barracks. Julius became very nervous at this talk. Our house has been in my family for over a hundred years. Julius was born here. He’s never known another home. He’s a good boy and would never hurt a fly. He needs this house, as it’s near to the University which is his life, and he needs the space to store his collection.”
Holmes sat forward, a slight glint in his eye, “I take that to be his collection of reptiles,” he said.
“Yes,” she continued, “My Julius has a large collection of reptiles upstairs, with some very rare breeds that even the London Zoo doesn’t possess.” She made a slightly disgusted face. “I never go in there myself. Dreadful things,” she finished.
“And that’s where the Gila Monster is housed,” asked Holmes, sitting back and resuming his contemplative pose.
“Oh, yes. That’s also where everything went wrong.”
“Go on.”
“Well, I told Mr. Shrubb that there was no way that I would even contemplate selling. Julius was much relieved. Mr. Shrubb tried to offer more money to persuade us, but my mind was made up. I don’t need any money, as my poor unfortunate father, God bless him, was well invested. I shan’t be in need for the rest of my life and neither will Julius. Mr. Shrubb left in quite an angry mood and I hoped that would be the last we saw of him.”
“But it wasn’t,” I said.
“No. Not at all. That meeting was a fortnight ago. Earlier this week, I was at my bridge club, Milly was out at the grocer, and Julius came home early to feed his collection. He stepped in through the front door and heard screams coming from the second floor. He ran upstairs and found Mr. Shrubb lying on the floor with Julius’ favourite - his Gila Monster - clinging to his arm. Julius went to his aid and managed to pry the lizard away from Mr. Shrubb’s arm. He then put the reptile away, latched up the case, and then attended to Mr. Shrubb. My dear boy managed to bring the man down to this room just as Milly returned. They both helped to tend his wound and call him a hansom. He kept blubbing that he found the door unlocked and was looking for me. He stumbled into the reptile room and was attacked by the lizard. The last they saw was his slumped form in the seat of a hansom, taking him to Dr. Brown’s surgery around the corner in Robert Street. Frankly, no one thought any more of it until the police came two days ago and took my poor boy away. Manslaughter, they said
, caused by the lizard bite. They blamed Julius for leaving the cage open.”
“Hmm,” said Holmes, “I think I’d like to see this reptile room and then, Watson, I think we should pay a visit to Dr. Brown.”
The reptile room was more crowded than I had presumed. It was located in what was a rather large second floor bedroom, but it seemed to shrink when filled with a dozen or so large wooden framed enclosures with glass sides. Each had a glass lid and held a single specimen.
Holmes moved around the room, a look of delight on his face as he stared into each of the reptile tanks. He stopped by one and studied it.
“Ah,” he said, “Vipera berus. The common adder. The kingdom’s only venomous snake, but really quite shy and harmless.”
He moved on to another that contained a brown snake lying on a flat rock.
“Naja haje, the Egyptian Cobra, also known as the Asp. It was this snake that was thought to have been used by Cleopatra to commit suicide. Very good, very good.”
He moved on and stopped by another enclosure.
“Ah, and here is our little mischief maker himself.”
Inside the glass cage was a fat, squat lizard with a pink and brown mottled body and black face.
“Heloderma suspectum, the Gila Monster. Native to the southwestern United States and northern Mexico. I’m not sure if I’m more impressed in seeing it, or the fact that Professor Bell managed to find one and keep it alive.”
He studied the cage and unlatched two slide bolts near the top which caused the front to fold down. The lizard hardly moved with the door open and simply looked at Holmes for a moment before falling back to sleep.
“Hardly the vicious killer of legend, hey, Watson?”
“Is it still alive?” I asked.
Holmes chuckled and relatched the door.
Just then the room’s door opened and Milly walked in with a tray of food scraps. She saw the two of us and a slight shocked look came to her face.
“Oh, I’m sorry gentlemen. I can come back and feed these beasts later.”
“Never mind that, Milly. Please ignore us, will you. Go about your chore,” said Holmes.
