by David Marcum
Milly moved to the nearest cage and opened the top. She dropped some scraps inside and the resident lizard wandered over to eat. She replaced the lid and repeated the exercise with the next few tanks.
Holmes watched with interest.
“Milly,” he asked.
The young maid almost dropped the tray in shock. She turned sheepishly to face the detective.
“Yes, sir?”
“I assume that Professor Bell usually feeds the reptiles.”
She nodded.
“Since he’s indisposed you’ve taken up the challenge.”
Again she nodded.
“I noticed that you only feed them through the top of the enclosure. Do you ever need to open the front?”
“Oh, no, sir. Julius, er, the professor always uses the top. ‘E would only open the front if ‘e was moving the animal to another enclosure, and then ‘e would use those.”
She pointed at a pair of thick leather gloves hanging from a peg on the wall.
Holmes studied the gloves, looked back at the Gila Monster sitting on its rock, and then turned to me.
“Watson, it’s time to visit Dr. Brown.”
We were shown into Dr. Brown’s room just as his last patient before lunch left.
Behind the desk sat a man of about sixty years of age with a ramrod-straight posture. He was quite bald but possessing of a luxuriant grey moustache and a monocle held in with his right eyebrow.
A quick look around his room showed the standard paraphernalia of a modern doctor. A full sized human skeleton hung from a frame in one corner. A gurney sat against one wall with a curtained area for undressing next to it. On the wall behind the desk was a small but marvellous collection of artefacts from the east.
A Ghurkha knife stood on a stand in the middle of a mantle-piece that framed the grate of a small fireplace. On the wall to either side were framed copies of the doctor’s professional certificates and a letter with the seal of Her Majesty. I strained to read the letter, but only made out a comment about service to the Crown. It looked very similar to the one that I had received.
“Let me introduce ourselves, Dr. Brown. I am Dr. John Watson, and this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” I said. I pointed to the Ghurka knife and asked, “You served in India?”
He looked around for a moment and turned back with a smile of fond remembrance, “Yes,” he said, “I was an officer in the Indian Army for more than twenty years.” He studied me for a moment, “And yourself? You have the air of a military man as well.”
I nodded with a slight bow. “In Afghanistan, until I was injured.”
He looked at Holmes, taking in my tall companion’s presence for a moment before directing his enquiry at the detective.
“Sherlock Holmes. I have heard of you, sir, but never believed I would find myself in any need of your services, so forgive me if I am surprised to find the reverse.”
A small smile crossed Holmes’s face. “Let us not take up too much of your time,” he said, “A couple of days ago, you received an emergency patient by the name of Hyram Shrubb.”
The doctor nodded, “Yes. Lizard bite. Very strange and nasty.”
“I know it may constitute a breach of privacy, but could I enquire as to how you treated the bite?”
“Well, I don’t wish to let out my secrets, as it wasn’t something well known among British doctors.”
“Could it have been with the administration of a weak mix of strychnine?”
The doctor looked aghast. “How in the blazes would you have known that?” he asked.
I was just as shocked. “Yes, Holmes. How?”
Holmes’s face possessed that smile generally reserved for me when I’ve been surprised by one of his deductions. He took a deep breath and enlightened us.
“Dr. Brown, before you even spoke, your Ghurka knife told me that you lived in India. I presumed that you would have served as a doctor for most of that time.”
“Yes,” said Brown.
“Mr. Shrubb presented to you with a bite from a Gila Monster. He may not have known the actual species, but you would have seen fang marks and much damage caused by the bite. I expect that you would have treated him as if he had been bitten by a venomous animal.”
“Well, yes. Once I treated any infection, I naturally took the precaution to treat for poison.”
“And coming from India, where the standard procedure for cobra bite is to use strychnine, a treatment developed in Australia in the 1850’s to care for bites from their local snake population, as it contains species far deadlier than the cobra of India.”
“Yes. Correct again. Amazing. You got all that from a Ghurka knife?”
“You would be amazed what information Holmes can gather from the smallest of sources,” I said.
“Thank you, Watson,” Holmes said. “By the way, Dr. Brown. Do you know that your patient, Mr. Shrubb, died the very next day?”
Brown’s face dropped in complete shock.
“What? That’s impossible. Once I administered the strychnine and settled him down here for a little while, he was right as rain. I loaded him into a hansom and sent him home. I’m flabbergasted.”
“Quite so, but I would have experienced the same reaction if I were in your place. I do give you my promise that we will return and explain what happened when I have solved it myself, which will be quite soon,” said Holmes, “I thank you for your time, Doctor.”
He spun on his heal and spoke to me.
“Watson, if you will, I think we should take a visit to Scotland Yard. We need to see the unfortunate Mr. Shrubb.”
Martin, the young mortician, looked up as Holmes and I entered. He was just finishing his lunch and had probably expected a little peace and quiet. He stood up quickly and addressed us.
“Dr. Watson, Mr. ‘Olmes. I wasn’t expecting anybody today. What can I do for-”
He was cut off by the arrival of Inspector Lestrade, who seemed a bit flustered. He carried the small note from Holmes that had been passed to him by the desk Sergeant on the floor above.
“Ah, Inspector,” said Holmes, “I believe you will find the following of interest.”
“Why did you drag me away from my luncheon to come down to this God-awful place?” Lestrade asked.
Holmes ignored the question and instead addressed Martin.
“If you would be so kind to please direct us to the corpse of the unfortunate Mr. Hyram Shrubb, Martin.”
Martin put his sandwich down and pulled the napkin from his collar before skirting a few gurneys and stopping before one covering a large bloated body.
“’E’s a big ’un,” he said, before pulling back the sheet to reveal the corpse below.
“Thank you,” said Holmes. He bent forward and looked at the man’s face, studying the mouth and nose while making small humming noises to himself - something to which I have long become accustomed when Holmes investigates. He pulled out his glass and had a closer look at the man’s nose. I did find this particularly odd, as I could see the bite mark on the man’s left forearm quite clearly.
Finally, Holmes moved away from the man’s face and studied the bite. From where I stood, I could see that the flesh on the arm had been ravaged by multiple teeth marks. The lizard had latched on with considerable force and thrashed about before being pulled off. There were two larger holes on opposite sides of the bite which were deeper and more pronounced. I took these to be the venom-bearing teeth.
Holmes’s examination of the bite was remarkably short as he moved away from the area and fixated on the man’s upper forearm. I could see more puncture marks, which I presumed were from the injections administered by Dr. Brown.
Holmes rose and stood staring at Shrubb’s corpse for a moment before turning back to Martin.
“The Coroner hasn
’t performed an autopsy,” he said.
It was more a statement than a question.
Martin replied, “No. No, ‘e ‘asn’t. ‘E said that we know ‘ow the man died, so no need to mess ‘im up any more.”
Holmes’s face screwed up. I knew that he viewed such actions and sloppy, as they restricted the amount of information that could be gleaned.
“Why do you think that would be important?” Lestrade asked, “We know it was the lizard, and we know that this professor was the lizard’s owner. Case closed.”
A short flash of fury leapt to Holmes’s face before he replaced it with calm. I believe that Lestrade barely missed a thorough lecture.
“Because, Inspector, this man is extremely obese. I dare say a good shock of any sort could have caused him to keel over. Also, do you not think it would be a good idea to ascertain the amount of venom in his system? I’ve seen the lizard in question. Unless it had friends working with it, then it wouldn’t have been able to generate enough venom to kill a man of this size.”
With that, he placed his lens back in his pocket and abruptly departed, speaking over his shoulder as he did.
“Thank you, Martin. Your help has been admirable. Inspector, I think you should meet Watson and me at the house of Mr. Hyram Shrubb and his brother in two hours. I will announce my findings there forthwith. Please bring Professor Bell, for he has nothing at all to do with this unfortunate event and you can release him afterwards.”
I gave thanks and said my goodbyes before following after Holmes.
We took luncheon in The Rag nearby in Pall Mall. My status as an ex-serviceman held me good stead amongst the military folk that inhabited the place, and Holmes was always welcome once his identity was known, even though he’d never served Her Majesty in the armed services.
Throughout the meal, I kept prodding him about the solution to the case. His only answer was to smile, nod, and say, “All will become clear.” A most infuriating affair it was. He seemed more intent on studying the diners at several other tables, most of whom wore very high-ranking insignia on their jackets.
“My word, this is a very prominent gathering for this time of day,” I remarked.
“Yes,” said Holmes, “One would almost imagine that we are centralising some of our garrisons in preparation for another campaign.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing to do with war, Holmes. Just a gathering of officers.”
Holmes simply smiled.
At a little after two, we were the first to arrive. Holmes went straight to the door and knocked. It was opened by a pasty-faced doorman, who eyed us with slight suspicion.
“I am Sherlock Holmes and this is Dr. John Watson. We should be expected.”
The doorman nodded and replied, “Yes, sirs. Mr. Shrubb was informed of your imminent arrival. He has seen fit to meet with you in the parlour.”
He stepped back and allowed us to enter. The foyer was quite luxuriant with deep-grained woods and leather. The doorman led us down a short corridor and into a spectacular room lined along every wall with book cases, each crammed with leather-bound volumes in nearly perfect condition, and a small number of display cases holding an assortment of bric-a-brac.
Both Holmes and I were quite taken aback by this room. Neither of us has any expectations of such a place in a house occupied by a pair of bachelor property developers.
It was then I noticed a man sitting in a high backed chair towards the far end of the room. He was the spitting image of his brother, but lacking most of the weight. For a split second, I imagined the Holmes brothers, with Mycroft lying in the Scotland Yard morgue and Sherlock sitting before me.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “Welcome to my home.”
He rose and stood a good two inches higher than Holmes. He made his way towards us and held out his hand to me first.
“I am Aubrey Shrubb,” he said and took my hand.
“John Watson,” I replied.
He turned to Holmes and repeated the action, remarking, “And you would be the famous Sherlock Holmes.”
“I’m sorry about what happened to your brother,” said Holmes, shaking and finally releasing Shrubb’s hand.
“Yes, damnable strange way to die, that. Who would have thought such an intelligent man would allow his creatures to run free and attack any innocent person who happened upon them? Very negligent, it would seem.”
“That is partly why we are here. Mrs. Bell has asked me to investigate a little further and determine just how your brother came into contact with the lizard, and what happened afterwards.”
“I think the police have worked all that out, haven’t they? He was bitten by a venomous lizard and it killed him. Case closed.”
“Forgive my cynicism, but the police are likely to take the most obvious answer when investigating a strange case such as this. I much prefer to look at all the facts and evidence before jumping to conclusions.”
The sound of the door knocker filtered in as the second group of guests arrived at the Shrubb residence.
“Ah, speaking of the police,” said Holmes.
Moments later, the doorman showed a slightly aggrieved Lestrade and a very perplexed and dour looking man, who I assumed was Professor Bell, into the parlour.
Shrubb took one look at Bell and asked, “What is he doing here?”
“I thought it best to have the professor here to provide any expert information concerning the Gila Monster, and to be on hand to defend himself if required,” said Holmes.
“Hmm. I only agreed to this because your note said that you had new information that would shed light on Hyram’s death. I was hoping that you would find something to convict this man with murder rather than manslaughter,” Aubrey said, his contempt for Bell on show as he spat out the word man.
“Well, it could go either way,” said Holmes, “To move things along, would it be possible to see your brother’s rooms? My understanding is that he had a suite of apartments on the second floor, and that he was found in his own drawing room.”
“Yes. The rooms are as he left them. I haven’t had the heart to let the help tidy up yet.”
The second floor was a large and sumptuous collection of rooms styled in a more minimalistic way than the parlour below. I assumed that they reflected the less austere tastes of the younger and larger of the Shrubb brothers.
The climb up the stairs also left me a little breathless and I wondered how a man of Hyram Shrubb’s girth would have found the journey. It was later that I discovered there was a lift, which explained quite a lot.
Aubrey Shrubb led us down a short corridor and into a large but modestly decorated drawing room. There was a sizeable wooden desk at one end, with a small collection of leather bound volumes on a set of shelves behind it. I pulled a book down and looked closer. They were mostly books relating to the history of London’s property transactions. It seemed this room doubled as Hyram Shrubb’s office, or else his work was also his hobby.
I turned back from the shelf and found Aubrey directing Holmes to a large chair in the far corner. The elder Shrubb brother pointed to a stain on the carpet and spoke.
“My poor unfortunate brother was found face down here. His last act was to expel his luncheon - hence the stain. I did allow the maid to clean the results after the police allowed it.”
Holmes turned to Lestrade and said, “Did your men take samples for examination?”
“Why?” Lestrade asked.
Holmes closed his eyes for a second, pursed his lips, and said, “Because it would have been a trivial exercise to determine the contents of his stomach, revealing how much venom was in his system, and also what else may have been ingested.”
“Right,” said Lestrade.
Holmes turned back to the scene and moved to a small table next to the sitting chair. Opening the drawer, he pu
lled out a bottle of white powder and a half-full syringe containing a clear liquid. Holmes picked up the bottle, uncorked it, and dabbed a small amount of the powder on his finger. He tasted it, nodded, and smiled. I questioned him as he put the bottle down.
“What is that?”
“My old friend - though a lot more concentrated than my favoured seven-per-cent solution,” he said.
“Cocaine?” I remarked.
Aubrey piped up with a hint of offence. “What my brother did in his own house is none of your business!”
“Indeed,” said Holmes. “But it must be taken into consideration with all the other evidence.”
He turned and scanned the room, seeking out minutiae. His eyes fell on me, and then the desk. He strode over and stood behind it, opening the top drawers and rifling through them.
“Hello, what the blazes do you think you are doing?” yelled Aubrey, “That’s Hyram’s private business!”
He started to move towards Holmes but Lestrade placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.
“I’d let Mr. Holmes finish, sir. If there’s something that we’ve missed, then he is most likely to find it. I’m sure he’s not interested in any private affairs of your brother’s.”
With that, Holmes finished looking through one of the bottom drawers and stood up with holding his prize - a large iron key.
Professor Julius Bell yelled out in surprise, “That’s our missing key! We thought that Milly had lost it. She got a right dressing down from Mother. No wonder she cried so much. I had to console her for hours.”
Lestrade turned to look at the professor, who suddenly realised he’d said too much. A sheepish look came across his face.
“Well, she was very upset,” he added.
All eyes slowly returned to Holmes, who placed the key in the middle of the vacant leather desk pad. He looked around all of the faces full of anticipation and smiled. “This, gentlemen, is the vital clew for which I have been searching.”
“But what does it mean?” I asked.
He ignored me and turned towards Shrubb.
“Mr. Shrubb. You and your brother are highly successful property developers, a new occupation that takes the city’s old and derelict districts and renews them for the next generation and in turn attracts a tidy profit. Is that not right?”
