The Last Notes From the Dispatch Box of John H Watson, MD

by Hugh Ashton

  “ I would not put up with this sort of thing from anyone else, you realise, Holmes.  Indeed, if it were not for your brother, Mycroft ...” He let his voice trail off.

  “ It is very good of you to spare the time, sir,” replied Sherlock Holmes, in as humble a voice as I had ever heard him employ.

  “ Nonsense, Holmes.  I know enough of you and your methods to know that you would not waste my time on trivialities.” He picked up a piece of paper.  “ Now what are the names on the graves for which you wish the exhumation order ? ”

  “ I am unsure of the exact names on the graves, sir, but the names of those supposedly in them are Thomas Grafton and Francis Kimble.”

  “ Those two, eh ?  They gave us enough trouble when they were alive, and they continue to do the same after their death.  Very well, I am sure you have your reasons.” He took a pen and wrote the names in the appropriate place on the paper, and signed it with a flourish.  “ There you are, Holmes.  I trust that this is worth my stay in London.”

  “ Once again, I apologise, sir.”

  “ By the way,” called the Home Secretary, as we turned to leave.  “ I would remind you that tomorrow is a Sunday, Holmes.”

  “ Sir ? ”

  “ I think that the local vicar may well have an objection to an exhumation carried out on a Sunday.  I know that you prefer to work fast, but a little decorum in these matters may ensure better cooperation, eh ? ”

  “ Of course, sir.  Thank you for the reminder.”

  Once outside the front door, Sherlock Holmes began to laugh.  “ I suppose that he has a valid point regarding its being a Sunday tomorrow.  Given that fact, I suggest that we, too, regard it as a day of rest.  We must ensure, though, that Mathews is out of the way before we start the digging.  I think it is necessary for Mr.  Smith to invite him up to London to discuss the retrieval of those letters that we discussed earlier.  Come, to Baker-street, and then for a touch of the exotic at an excellent little French restaurant that was recommended to me by a man whose judgement in such matters is to be trusted.  What say you ? ”

  I readily agreed, and on our arrival at Mrs.  Hudson’s, Holmes composed and dispatched his reply-paid telegram to Warwickshire.  We enjoyed our meal in Soho, and discovered a reply when we came back.

  “ Very good,” said Holmes.  “ I will meet and deal with Mathews here in London on Monday. I have arranged to meet him in the waiting-room at Charing-cross station at 11 in the morning.  You, Watson, will take this,” handing the exhumation order to me, “ up to Warwickshire tomorrow night, and arrange with the police that it be carried out some time after nine the next morning, when Mathews may be assumed to be on his way to London.”

  “ And Soames ? ” I asked.

  Holmes waved his hand negligently.  “ Soames is of little importance in this matter.  You may, however, ask the police to arrest him once the exhumation has been performed.”

  “ On what charge ? ”

  “ Whatever seems best to the police,” was the reply.  “ Whatever seems most appropriate for a grave-robber and falsifier of official documents.”

  “ You are sure that you do not want to perform all this yourself ? ” I asked.

  “ I would not have asked you if that were the case,” he answered me with a little asperity.  “ It is a perfectly simple matter, and you can handle it with ease.”

  “ Very well,” I replied.

  As requested, the Sunday evening saw me taking the well-remembered route from Euston, and I visited the police-station as Holmes had requested.

  The name of Sherlock Holmes appeared to mean little to the sergeant on duty behind the desk, but the inspector to whom he referred me was all smiles as he came to meet me, his hand extended.

  “ Doctor Watson, indeed, a pleasure,” he said to me.  “ Is Mr.  Holmes not with you ? ”

  “ I fear not,” I replied, “ but I bring a message and a request from him.” I briefly explained Holmes’ request, and set the exhumation order in front of him.

  “ These burials were only carried out on Saturday, were they not ? ” said the good Inspector Jeavons, a look of puzzlement creasing his honest face.

  “ Indeed so,” I answered him, and went to to explain how Holmes had recognised and arranged for the arrest of the two men who had visited the Devereux house on Friday.  I said nothing of the icehouse and what we had seen there.  “ There is a very good reason to believe that these men are intimately connected with the exhumation.”

  After a little further discussion, the officer was convinced of the necessity of the operation and the need to perform it the next morning, and agreed to provide the men and make the necessary arrangements.

  “ Very good, Doctor.  After nine o’clock, you say ?  And you are staying at the King’s Arms ?  I will make sure that my men call upon you before that hour.”

  I took myself to the inn, where the landlord welcomed me as an old friend.  “ Your friend isn’t with you ? ” he asked.

  “ No, I am alone,” I answered him.  “ Why ? ”

  “ The lady at the vicarage left this for him,” he said, and handed me an envelope, inscribed in a female hand, “ For the Attention of Mr.  Sherlock Holmes”.

  “ I will make sure it reaches him,” I said, and took the envelope up to my room.

  Following an early breakfast the next morning, I was visited by a police sergeant and a constable, bringing some concern to the landlord of the inn, who was obviously under the impression that I was about to be arrested.  I calmed his fears, and went with them to the churchyard, where Inspector Jeavons was waiting with two sextons equipped with spades.

  “ Which one first, sir ? ” asked one of the workmen.

  “ I think it is immaterial,” I said.  “ This one,” pointing to the nearest, which happened to be that of Francis Kimble.

  The two men set to work.  The soil was still loose, and it was a simple matter for them to reach the coffin.  “ Shall we open it down here, sir ? ” one of them called from the pit in which they now found themselves.

  “ Yes,” shouted down the inspector.

  The two set to work with their tools, and soon removed the lid to reveal a coffin that was empty other than for a mass of sodden straw.

  “ What’s all this ? ” asked Jeavons.  “ You men were among the pallbearers on Saturday, were you not ?  Surely you can tell the difference between an empty and a full coffin ? ”

  “ Begging your pardon, sir,” one replied, “ but the coffin we buried here on Saturday was full.”

  “ Well, get on with the other one,” exclaimed the police officer impatiently, and turned to me.  “ What do you make of this, then, Doctor ? ”

  “ Let us wait until the second coffin has been opened before I make a pronouncement,” I said, “ but I have a pretty shrewd idea what has been happening here.”

  After a short time, it became clear that the second coffin was in the same state as the first; that is to say it was empty, save for some wet straw.  “ A funny thing here, sir,” called up the workman.  “ I’ve never seen holes like this in the bottom of a coffin.” He moved the straw aside, and we could see a pattern of holes, each about half an inch in diameter, which had been bored into the base.

  “ What was buried here, then ? ” the inspector asked me, having received assurances from the workmen that the coffins had indeed appeared to be full when they were buried.

  “ Ice packed with straw,” I told him.  “ The ice has melted, and the water has run off through the holes in the base of the coffin.”

  “ Of course, it seems elementary now that you mention it,” said Jeavons.  “ But it leaves an unanswered question.  Where are the bodies ? ”

  “ I can tell you something about that,” I said
, “ but I would sooner tell you back at the station, in privacy.”

  “ Very good.  I will require you as a witness to my statement in any case.  Very good, men,” he called to the workmen.  “ I suggest you remove the coffins from the graves and leave the graves open.  Inform the vicar of what has happened, and then I want you at the station to put your names to the statement that I will prepare.”

  We set off for the police station, and once there, I recounted the macabre events that Holmes and I had witnessed a few nights previously.  At the end of my recitation, the inspector called in the sergeant who had brought me from the hotel.  “ Take two or three constables with you, go to the Devereux house, and bring in Soames and his man Mathews,” he ordered.  “ Also, you will enter the icehouse.  If you see a bucket containing salt and ... other things, then bring that here.  Resist the temptation to look inside the salt to see what is there.”

  “ If all is well, Mathews will be in London, dealing with Sherlock Holmes,” I informed them.

  “ Am I to arrest them, sir ?  If so, on what charge ? ”

  “ No, I simply want them here to answer some questions.  And if Mathews is indeed in London, bring Soames alone.”

  “ Very good, sir.”

  The sergeant left, and the inspector leaned back in his chair and looked at me.  “ You seem to be a clever man, Doctor.  What is your impression of what is happening ? ”

  “ I am as puzzled as are you,” I admitted.  “ I can make little sense of this.  Why would these men take the bodies of two executed criminals, remove their hands, and then keep the hands in salt ? ”

  As we were puzzling over this conundrum, a constable knocked on the door.

  “ Excuse me, sir, but the Reverend Scythorpe wishes to see you,” he said.

  “ This will be a complaint about our digging in the churchyard, no doubt,” Jeavons said to me.  “ Perhaps you would be good enough to explain the whole situation regarding the Home Secretary to him, Doctor.”

  But when the Reverend Scythorpe entered the room, it was obvious that he had more on his mind than excavations in his graveyard.  His face was pale and haggard, and he entered the room wringing his hands.

  “ My daughter, Lydia,” he positively wailed as he came in.  “ You must find her ! ”

  “ She is missing, then,” said Jeavons.  “ When did you notice she was gone ? ”

  “ She did not appear at the breakfast-table this morning.  There is nothing unduly alarming about that.  Sometimes she sleeps late, and I have not the heart to insist that she rise at a regular hour for breakfast.  But it is now past eleven o’clock, and at half-past ten she had not appeared.  I went to her room and knocked on her door, but there was no answer.  The door was unlocked, so I went in, but it was clear that her bed had not been slept in the previous night.”

  “ I see,” said the inspector, who had been making notes as the distraught father told us his story.  “ When did you see her last ? ”

  “ Yesterday afternoon,” said Scythorpe.  “ I had a meeting of the parish council, and then I took Evensong, and when I returned home, I assumed that she had gone to bed.  I did not see her at the service in church, but sadly, that is not an unusual occurrence.  I am now reluctantly accustomed to her absences from Divine Service.”

  “ Have you any idea where she might be found ? ”

  The other spread his hands wide in a gesture of despair.  “ None, none.  I confess that since her mother died some years back, Lydia has been self-willed and has gone her own way.  I am unable to form any definite opinion of where she might be now.”

  “ Well, of course we will do everything in our power to find your daughter, Mr.  Scythorpe, but she is an adult and responsible for her own actions.  I am sure that no harm has come to her, but rest assured that we will do what we can.  Come ! ” he called, as there was another knock, and the sergeant who had been dispatched earlier appeared in the doorway.

  “ Mr.  Soames is ready to see you, sir,” he told us.  “ There was no bucket such as you describe in the icehouse.”

  “ Soames, eh ? ” said the vicar.  “ I am not one to speak ill of others, but ...” his voice trailed off.  “ I suppose I must leave you, but I do trust, Inspector, that you will do what you can to find my Lydia.  She is my only child, you know.”

  The vicar left us, and Jeavons instructed the sergeant to inform all the constables on duty of the missing girl.  “ Almost certainly, she will turn up safe and sound,” he said to me, “ but we should put the Vicar’s mind at rest.”

  When this had been done, Soames was sent in.  He started when he saw me.  “ I was under the impression that the police wanted to talk to me,” he said, somewhat truculently.  “ What is this man doing here ? ”

  “ He is working with the police,” said the inspector in a firm tone that brooked no argument.  “ Anything you can say before me you can say before him.  Now, what has happened to the bodies of the two men who were supposed to be buried in the churchyard on Saturday ?  It’s no use your trying to deny the matter. We have received and acted on an exhumation order signed by the Home Secretary himself, and opened the graves.  We know that you packed the coffins with ice and straw.” He leaned forward, and spoke in a menacing tone.  “ Where are those bodies ? ”

  “ You’ll never find them,” said Soames in a weak voice.  “ They’ll have gone by now.”

  “ What do you mean by that ? ”

  “ I will tell you no more,” said Soames.  “ I am under no obligation to do so.  I am a free man, am I not ? ”

  “ At present you are,” said the police officer.  “ And at that, you are more fortunate than your friends Dowell and Haddon, who are now under arrest in the cells in Tamworth police station.” Soames looked shaken.  “ How …?  What …? ” he stammered.

  “ And the items that they stole from the Duke of Northampton’s London house are safely recovered,” I added.

  Soames’ face had turned a deathly white.  “ You’ve no evidence that I had anything to do with that,” he exclaimed, and then suddenly fell silent.

  “ Why, Mr.  Soames,” said Jeavons pleasantly.  “ Why on earth would you ever believe that you would ever be suspected of such a thing ?  A fine upstanding citizen like you ? ” His voice positively dripped irony, which was not lost on Soames.  “ Perhaps you would prefer us to arrest you, so that you can clear your name in court ? ”

  “ Yes, or rather, no.  I don’t know what I mean,” wailed Soames.  “ None of this is my doing.  It’s all Mathews’ work, I tell you.”

  “ Perhaps you would care to dictate a statement ? ” suggested the inspector.  “ I think it may go some way to persuading the judge to giving you a lighter sentence when you are sent for trial.  You are not under arrest, but I think it is my duty to warn you that anything you say may be used in evidence against you.  You will remain here at the station.”

  “ I should never have listened to her,” Soames sobbed.  “ It has all been a ghastly mistake.”

  “ Take him out and sit him at a table in the room next door to wait for me,” Jeavons told the constable standing outside the door.

  The inspector and I looked at each other.  “ Did he mean Mrs.  Devereux just now ? ” asked the inspector.

  “ I have no idea who was meant,” I answered him.

  “ Telegram for Doctor Watson,” interrupted one of the constables, holding out an envelope to me.

  “ It is from Holmes,” I announced when I had read it.  “ Arrest Soames immediately stop Will arrive by special train stop Mathews arrested stop Holmes end”

  “ On what charge does he say we should arrest Soames ? ” asked the inspector.

  I shrugged.  “
 He does not say.  Let us wait for his arrival, and we will hear all.  I am sure you can detain Soames until then.  The telegram was dispatched less than an hour ago.  We may expect him soon.”

  In the event, it was less than two hours before Sherlock Holmes strode into the police station.  I was somewhat shocked by his appearance, however.  A cut lip and a bruised cheekbone formed striking additions to his appearance.

  “ How did you come by those ? ” I asked, taken aback.

  “ All in good time.  The coffins were empty, of course ? ” I nodded.  “ Where is Soames ? ”

  “ In that room,” said Jeavons, pointing to a closed door.

  “ Excellent.  He is under arrest ? ”

  “ On what charge was I supposed to arrest him ? ” asked the policeman.

  “ Why, as an accessory before and after the fact of the robbery at the Duke of Northampton’s London house, of course.  Had you not made that elementary deduction, Watson ? ” Ignoring my protests, he went on, “ It would also seem wise to question Miss Lydia Scythorpe regarding her part in this affair.”

  “ I think, sir,” said Inspector Jeavons heavily, “ that you owe us some explanations.  As to Miss Scythorpe, she has gone missing since at least yesterday evening, so your suggestion that we question her is somewhat impractical at present.”

  I suddenly remembered the letter I had been given the previous day by the landlord at the inn, and presented it to Holmes, who tore open the envelope.  He appeared to have read only a few sentences before he raised his eyes from the paper, and stared at the inspector with something as close to panic as I had ever seen him display.

  “ Where was Gerald Devereux’ body found ? ” he asked.

  “ By the river, in the woods.  In the deep pool.  Why in the name of the Devil are you asking this now ? ”

  “ Because that is where you will find the body of Miss Lydia Devereux, if I am not mistaken.  Come ! ” He swept out of the room, the inspector and I following helplessly in his wake.  “ Can you swim ?  Good.  Come !  Bring ropes and hooks ! ” he shouted to two constables in the passageway, and they joined the party, following a nod from their superior officer.