The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

by Denis O. Smith

  Holmes did not reply at once, but regarded the dead man and his desk in silence for a minute, as if picturing to himself what had occurred earlier. Then he came round to the front of the desk. ‘And yet,’ said he, ‘the desk is a broad one, from front to back. I am not convinced that an average man could reach across it sufficiently to inflict the wound.’ He picked up a pencil from a tray on top of the desk, then leaned across the desk-top and attempted to touch the side of the dead man’s head with it, but fell short by a good nine inches. ‘Unless you are prepared to put out the description of a seven-foot giant, or a man whose arms are four feet long,’ he remarked, ‘I think we must reject the theory.’

  ‘But the dead man’s chair is now pushed back a little from the desk,’ Stoddard persisted. ‘It is also the sort of chair which turns on its base and he has turned it so that he is sideways on to the desk. If it were tight up to the desk, and facing forwards, you might be able to reach him.’

  ‘The chair may have swivelled round as he was attacked,’ Holmes returned, ‘but it was not pushed back then, or since, for there is blood all around the foot of the chair legs, but none beneath them. The base of the chair has not moved since before the attack took place.’

  ‘What do you suggest, then?’

  ‘That the assailant was on the same side of the desk as his victim.

  What is this cash-box, I wonder? Hum! Two or three drops of blood inside, so it was open before the attack took place. Nothing in it now but a few cheques, made out to Sir Gilbert Cheshire.’

  ‘All the money has gone,’ said Stoddard. ‘That is evidently the motive for the crime. This is the account-book which relates to the cash-box,’ he continued, lifting a ledger from the desk. ‘I found it in the clerks’ office.’

  ‘The last entry in the book indicates a credit balance of eighteen pounds, twelve and seven,’ said Holmes, ‘so that is the amount which should be in the box. Hum! It does not seem a very large sum for which to commit murder.’

  ‘I have known murder committed for less.’

  ‘That is true. Let us now examine the corridor outside.’

  We followed Holmes out into the hallway, where he crouched down and examined the floor closely. A long strip of coconut matting was laid along the length of the corridor. After a moment, he took out his lens and examined a dark smudge more closely.

  ‘It is blood,’ said he; ‘no doubt left by the passage of Mr Ormerod’s shoe. There is little else visible on this coarse matting. Halloa! What is this?’ Carefully, he picked up a small object which had lain on the bare floor, just to the left of the matting, almost tucked under the edge. He held it out on the palm of his hand and I saw that it was the charred stump of a match.

  Stoddard had bent down with interest as Holmes had spoken, but now he straightened up, an expression of disappointment on his features. ‘Someone has used it to light the gas,’ said he in a dismissive tone.

  ‘But there is no gas-jet near this spot,’ returned Holmes, his eyes darting round the walls of the corridor. ‘There is one near the front door and one at the very back, just outside the door to the clerks’ office, but not just here.’ He turned his attention to the floor once more, his nose scarcely an inch above the matting, as he moved from side to side, like a dog casting about for a scent. In a moment he uttered a low cry of triumph.

  ‘What is it, Holmes?’ I queried, leaning forward to see what had aroused his interest.

  In answer, he pointed with his long thin forefinger to a small, circular greasy mark on the matting, perhaps three-quarters of an inch across.

  ‘Oh, it’s just an old smear of tallow, dropped from a candle,’ said Stoddard dismissively.

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Holmes in a severe tone; ‘it is a very fresh smear. See how it shines in the light!’ He took out his lens again and bent very low to the floor. ‘There is not the slightest trace of dust upon its surface. In this foul weather and with the fires smoking away all day,’ he continued, gently passing his finger over the surface of the tallow, ‘this splash could not remain in this state for more than a couple of hours.’

  ‘You may be right,’ said Stoddard without interest. ‘I think I shall see how my men are getting on.’

  Holmes did not reply, but continued his careful examination of the corridor, for all the world like some gaunt bloodhound on the trail. A few feet further on, he stopped once more, his brow furrowed with intense concentration and called me over.

  ‘Look at this, Watson,’ said he. ‘The candle has dripped again. See how the shape is different.’

  ‘It is more oval than the previous mark,’ I observed, crouching down.

  ‘Precisely. What does that tell us?’

  ‘That the candle from which it fell was moving,’ I suggested.

  ‘Precisely, the long axis of the splash giving the direction of travel. At the first mark, the candle had just been lit and was stationary. At this point, however, whoever was holding it was moving along the corridor, towards the rear of the chambers.’ He crawled a little further along the corridor, to the point at which a carpeted flight of stairs led off to the left. ‘See if you can find any tallow on the staircase,’ said he; ‘I shall carry on to the end of the corridor.’

  I did as he asked and examined each step carefully. The stair-carpet was dark, with an intricate pattern upon it, which made my task the more difficult, but in a few moments, I had discovered a very small blob upon the fourth stair, near the right-hand edge of the carpet. I called to my companion.

  ‘There is nothing more to be seen in the corridor,’ said he, as he examined with his lens the drip I had found. ‘Another oval,’ he remarked after a moment, ‘but this time, there is also a tiny pin-head of the same substance towards the back of the step. Here, take a look, Watson! The extra drop indicates that the splash occurred when the candle was being carried up the stair rather than down it, and suggests that it was moving at a slightly faster rate than before. Evidently our friend with the candle went upstairs, so let us follow in his footsteps!’

  At the top of the staircase was a narrow, dark landing. Holmes struck a match. Immediately ahead of us was a blank wall, on which hung a large painting depicting a full-rigged man-of-war of Nelson’s day. To left and right were doors, both closed. Beside the left-hand door was a gas-jet, which Holmes lit and turned up. The door to the right was locked, but that on the left opened easily and, as it did so, I saw that the wood of the door-jamb was splintered. Holmes bent down and examined this and the edge of the door.

  ‘Forced open with a flat metal rod,’ he murmured, ‘the end of which was about an inch across. Another drop of tallow on the floor,’ he continued, pointing to a spot slightly to the right of the doorway. ‘Circular this time, indicating that the candle was motionless.’

  ‘No doubt the candle was placed upon the floor while the door was being forced open,’ I suggested, but my companion shook his head.

  ‘It is an isolated little gout and perfectly circular,’ said he, ‘which indicates that it dripped from some height. The candle was still being held.’

  We pushed the door wide open and entered.

  ‘This chamber is evidently the private study to which Stoddard referred,’ Holmes observed, as he struck another match and lit the gas which was immediately behind the door. It was a large room, perhaps fifteen feet across from the doorway to the wall opposite, but nearer twenty-five feet from right to left. To the right, by the fireplace, stood tall bookcases and, to the left, a number of tables, cupboards and bureaux. Holmes lit a lamp which stood upon a small writing-table and made a circuit of the chamber with the lamp in his hand, eventually stopping before a large, double-fronted cupboard.

  ‘These doors have been forced, too,’ said he, ‘with the same implement as before; and on the floor to the right is another little gout of tallow.’ Carefully, he opened the cupboard-doors. The interior consisted entirely of narrow shelves, all stuffed tight with papers. ‘There does not appear to be anything of value in here
,’ he remarked, ‘and yet our intruder has directed all his energies to this one cupboard – none of the other bureaux shows any sign of his attentions.’

  ‘There is no obvious sign that anything has been removed,’ I observed. ‘Perhaps the damage to the doors was done some time ago.’

  Holmes shook his head. ‘Where the wood by the lock is splintered, the exposed surfaces are pale and freshly revealed. This cupboard was certainly the focus of the intruder’s interest.’ He pulled a few papers from the shelves at random and examined them. ‘Personal documents,’ said he at length; ‘old receipts and accounts, private correspondence, letters from Hoare and Co, the bankers in Fleet Street, all jumbled together. It does not appear that the precise habits of mind for which Sir Gilbert Cheshire’s professional life was noted were applied with such rigour to his personal affairs. These documents are in a very disordered state!’

  In this cold-blooded, detached and business-like manner, my companion sifted carefully through the documents for some time. For my own part, I could not but think of the man so recently and hideously murdered in the room below us, and feel a distinct sense of unease at rifling so freely through his private papers.

  ‘There is nothing of interest here,’ said Holmes at length, ‘and no obvious reason why anyone should be so keen to gain access to this cupboard.’

  He pushed back the last bundle of papers and stood in thoughtful silence for several minutes, until there came the sound of a footstep on the stair and a moment later Inspector Stoddard entered the room.

  ‘Ah! There you are, gentlemen!’ said he. ‘I thought you would wish to know that Mr Oliver Brown, the deputy head of chambers, has now arrived, as has Elijah Smith, the chief clerk. The junior clerk, Peter Russell, will not be coming. He has been ill all week and has spent the past four days in bed, attended by a doctor.’ Stoddard paused a moment, then added in a lower tone: ‘I must also tell you that there has been another odd development. Mr Justice Nellington has just called in with some surprising information.’

  ‘Nellington the High Court judge?’

  ‘Indeed, Mr Holmes. He says that he was passing these chambers at about five past eight and heard raised voices. He paused for a moment and as he did so he heard a loud voice say “I have returned!”’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘He says he is a little hard of hearing and, besides, he did not linger, as he was already late for an appointment at Lord Justice Beningfield’s lodgings, in Mitre Court. He has been there all evening and heard only a short while ago of the tragedy which has occurred here.’

  ‘How very curious!’ said I, as my friend shook his head, his brow furrowed with thought.

  ‘Yes – if one can credit it,’ remarked the policeman, in a doubtful tone. ‘Might I enquire what has brought you up here, gentlemen?’

  Holmes described briefly the trail of tallow, and the forced doors to which it had led us, and Stoddard nodded his head.

  ‘That’s one for you, Mr Holmes!’ said he. ‘I had had a glance up the staircase of course, but did not notice the damaged door, and so did not believe that the intruder had ever been up here. Still, the fact that someone has been rooting around for anything he might find accords with what I had already decided about the matter.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That the assault was made by some low ruffian on the prowl in the fog, who just chanced to pick on these chambers, perhaps because he saw Sir Gilbert entering. No doubt Sir Gilbert offered resistance and received the fatal wound in the struggle. Between you and me, gentlemen, unless we’re fortunate enough to light upon some tell-tale clue, which I doubt, or hear something from one of our informers, I don’t think we have much chance of ever bringing the crime home. These random burglaries are the very devil to solve!’

  ‘My view of the matter is somewhat different,’ Holmes interrupted in a serious tone. ‘You say that the evidence of the intruder’s presence in this room accords with the view you had already formed. I should have thought it would alter it.’

  ‘A little, perhaps,’ Stoddard conceded.

  ‘I should say it alters matters entirely,’ Holmes persisted.

  ‘The intruder was obviously a cool hand,’ Stoddard began, in a hesitant voice, evidently unsure what the other was driving at, ‘to come up here, ransacking the place, when his victim was lying downstairs!’

  Holmes shook his head vehemently.

  ‘It will not do, Stoddard!’ said he in an emphatic tone. ‘How does your theory explain Sir Gilbert’s dying words, to which you drew my attention, and the words overheard by Mr Justice Nellington?’

  ‘I mentioned Sir Gilbert’s words to you because they were curious, Mr Holmes, but it is obvious that his mind was wandering in delirium and the words are probably of no significance whatever. As to what Mr Justice Nellington says he overheard, I think it very likely that he was simply mistaken. He himself admitted that his hearing is poor. But what, then, may I ask, is your own view of the matter?’

  ‘I should prefer to reserve my opinion for a few more minutes,’ replied Holmes. ‘It is an interesting case, Stoddard, with some features which may be unique, and I am grateful that you called us in. It is well worth leaving one’s fireside for! Let us now go down and hear what the other members of the chambers have to say, and then perhaps we can shed some light upon this most unusual mystery.’

  The clerks’ office, at the rear of the chambers, contained one large desk in the middle of the room, and a smaller one to the side, with a great number of cupboards and cabinets stacked tightly round the walls. In this room, Holmes and I seated ourselves and a moment later Stoddard entered, accompanied by a tall, portly man, about forty years of age, with thinning hair and a small moustache, whom he introduced as Mr Oliver Brown.

  He had left the chambers at about half past six, he informed us, at which time nothing was amiss and there was nothing to indicate that the evening would prove to be at all out of the ordinary. Sir Gilbert Cheshire had been sitting at his desk, reading through a brief, when he bade him good night. No visitors had been expected in the evening, so far as he was aware. After leaving the Temple, he had walked along the Strand to Rule’s restaurant, in Maiden Lane, where he had dined alone, leaving shortly before eight o’clock. He had then walked on towards Charing Cross, where he had picked up a cab in the street and driven directly home to his house in Half Moon Street, off Piccadilly.

  Holmes then asked him if Sir Gilbert Cheshire had shown any apprehension of danger recently, but he shook his head at this suggestion.

  ‘Not at all,’ said he, ‘although any such apprehension might not have been apparent, for Sir Gilbert was not one to display emotion at any time. He was a very close man. I have never known him appear either happy or unhappy. He simply pursued his own unswerving course through life.’

  ‘You and he were not on terms of personal friendship?’ enquired Holmes after a moment.

  ‘Our relations were purely professional,’ the other replied, with a shake of the head. ‘I do not believe that Sir Gilbert was ever on terms of personal friendship, as you put it, with anyone. There were a couple of men with whom he would sometimes smoke a cigar after dinner, but that, to the best of my knowledge, was the extent of his social recreation. It was not popularity he desired, but professional success and his desire for that was unbounded. It was for that reason that I was confident, when he assumed the headship of these chambers, ten years ago, that our practice would quickly recover from the tragedy of Sir John Hawkesworth’s death. Sir Gilbert was very highly regarded at that time, professionally speaking, and had always had very great ambitions. It had been apparent to me for years that he greatly desired the headship and also to become a bencher of the Temple. He and Sir John had quarrelled frequently, for it was his opinion, often forcibly expressed, that Sir John was deliberately holding him back, by reserving all the most attractive briefs for himself.’

  ‘And your opinion?’ queried Holmes.

  ‘I did not agree, but I
kept my thoughts to myself, for I was the junior at the time and my opinion would not have been welcomed. Sir John Hawkesworth was a fine man, as highly regarded for his personal qualities as for his professional excellence. He was always extremely kind and encouraging to me and I cannot believe he would ever have acted meanly to a subordinate. His whole character forbade such a thought. Since his death, however, our chambers have acquired a reputation for grim efficiency. “North Walk Chambers will win your case for you”, people say, “but do not expect to be much cheered by the experience”.’

  ‘Presumably, you will now become leading counsel in these chambers,’ observed Holmes.

  The barrister hesitated a moment before replying. ‘I am not at all sure that I want the position,’ said he at length. ‘There seems a curse upon the place. No man, surely, would be eager to remain upon the scene of such terrible and inexplicable bloodshed?’

  ‘Did such thoughts ever trouble Sir Gilbert Cheshire?’ queried Holmes.

  ‘He never once spoke of Sir John’s murder to me,’ replied Brown, ‘and I cannot therefore say what his thoughts upon the matter may have been. As he was such a cold and unemotional man, it may be that he was quite unmoved by thoughts which would have troubled other men.’

  Stoddard accompanied Brown back to his office, to fetch the junior barrister, and we sat in silence for some minutes. My friend’s brow was furrowed with thought, and it was clear from the fleeting expressions which chased each other across his features that his swift and agile brain was sifting and re-sifting the evidence, and weighing and re-weighing the facts, to find an arrangement which would balance the scales of probability to his satisfaction.

  For myself, I confess that the dark events which had occurred seemed like something from an evil dream and I was still shocked by the horror of the scene in Sir Gilbert Cheshire’s chamber. For such a tragedy to have befallen the North Walk chambers once was a most terrible misfortune, but for such a thing to have occurred a second time seemed incomprehensible. My thoughts were interrupted by a remark from my companion.