‘You realise, of course,’ said he in a quiet voice, ‘that Mr Brown could have left his restaurant at, say, ten to eight, walked back here and murdered Sir Gilbert at five past eight, retraced his steps to the other end of the Strand and picked up a cab there, as he says.’
‘Holmes!’ I cried. ‘You surely cannot be serious!’
‘I merely point out the possibility, Watson. In this fog, much can happen and be observed by no one.’
‘But the empty cash-box? Surely therein lies the motive for this terrible crime?’
‘I think not, Watson. These are deeper waters than was at first apparent.’
Stoddard returned before I could question my companion further, accompanied by a young man of about seven and twenty, introduced to us as Stephen Lewis, junior counsel of the chambers. He was a tall, remarkably thin man, with dark hair and a clean-shaven face, which was as white as paper. It was apparent from the nervousness of his manner and the tremor in his voice as he spoke that he was in a state of some considerable agitation. He took a silver cigarette-case from his pocket as he sat down, extracted a cigarette and lit it.
‘Such a terrible thing to have happened,’ said he after a moment, ‘and to such an eminent and highly respected man.’
‘Indeed,’ responded Holmes in a sympathetic tone. ‘I understand, however, that for all his professional eminence, Sir Gilbert was not an especially popular man.’
‘That can scarcely be denied,’ replied Lewis after a moment’s hesitation, in a cautious tone. ‘He was known by many people, but intimate with none. I know of no one who considered himself a particular friend of his. He conducted his relations with people at arm’s length, so to speak.’
‘Was there, then, anyone who might be considered an enemy?’
‘None that I am aware of. He had occasionally received abuse from criminals whom he had failed to save, but nothing of the sort recently. For several weeks – almost all the Michaelmas term, in fact – we have been appearing for the defence in the Brockwell Heath Case, which finally reached its conclusion on Tuesday, and in which we were completely successful. One might imagine that that would be a cause for celebration, but Sir Gilbert’s mood appeared unaffected. His character was saturnine and dark at the best of times, but recently he had seemed in an even darker mood than usual, and for the past couple of days he had been as limp as a rag and unable to concentrate on the next brief.’
‘Do you know anything of the death of your uncle, Sir John Hawkesworth?’ queried Holmes after a moment.
‘Very little,’ Lewis replied, shaking his head. ‘I was a mere schoolboy when it occurred, away at Rugby. I know no more of it than anyone might who read his newspaper. The accepted theory, I understand, was that Sir John was assaulted by a thief, who had intended to take his door-key and use it to gain entry to these chambers, but who fled upon realising that his attack, intended to incapacitate his victim, had in fact killed him.’
‘And yet, the assault was an exceptionally ferocious one, as I recall,’ remarked Holmes, ‘Sir John being bludgeoned again and again, in a manner suggesting that the assailant intended more than merely to temporarily incapacitate him.’
‘Then it is inexplicable.’
‘You have heard, I take it, that Sir Gilbert’s last words were “It was he – Sir John Hawkesworth”?’
‘Indeed. That, too, is inexplicable.’
‘What, if I may ask, brought you back through the Temple this evening, Mr Lewis? I understand that you were walking back from Brixton, to your lodgings in Bedford Place. But surely a more direct route would have taken you across Waterloo Bridge and up Bow Street?’
‘That is true,’ the other conceded; ‘but, as you correctly perceive, I made a detour. I was disappointed at missing my friend and determined to seek out another, a fellow-barrister, who has chambers in King’s Bench Walk. Alas, he was absent, too. I therefore resigned myself to a solitary evening and set off, finally, for home. But my way from King’s Bench Walk to the Fleet Street gateway brought me past the end of the North Walk, and when I saw the door of our own chambers standing wide open, and the light streaming out of it, I hurried to determine the reason.’
‘You suspected something amiss?’
‘Very definitely. I knew Sir Gilbert to be a most careful man. He would no more leave his front door open at night than he would leave his purse at the foot of Nelson’s Column.’
‘And you can shed no light on what has happened?’
‘None whatever.’
Elijah Smith, the chief clerk, was next shown in. He was a medium-sized man of about fifty, with a pale, clean-shaven face and a nervous manner. He informed us that there were just two keys to the cash-box, one kept by him and the other on Sir Gilbert Cheshire’s watch-chain. He also confirmed that the amount of money missing was as stated in the ledger which Stoddard had shown us.
‘Is there any reason why Sir Gilbert should have been looking in the cash-box this evening?’ enquired Holmes.
‘None whatever, sir. He always left all such matters to me. Every Friday morning I take round to the bank any cheques received during the week and any cash which is surplus to our immediate requirements.’
‘At what time did you last speak to your employer?’
‘Just as I was leaving, sir; shortly after half past five. His manner was exactly as usual.’
‘And you have not seen him since?’
‘No, sir. I ate at home with the family, then went round about seven o’clock to see my brother, who lives a short distance away, in Clerkenwell, and was there until the police-constable called.’
After Smith and Stoddard had left us, Holmes sat a while in silent thought. Then he stood up abruptly, as if having reached a decision, and took a few sheets of blank foolscap from the desk.
‘Come,’ said he. ‘Let us see if we cannot make more definite progress.’
‘Do you see any likelihood of ever apprehending the criminal?’ I asked.
‘I have hopes,’ said he. ‘It rather depends on the statements I shall now take, in the other office.’
In the hallway we met Inspector Stoddard who had just come in through the front door of the chambers.
‘I have had another word with Mason, the gate-keeper,’ said he. ‘He says he remembers now that he saw someone he did not recognise, loitering in King’s Bench Walk at about half past four, just as it was getting dark; but as that way through the Temple is used by all manner of people simply as a short-cut from the Strand to Blackfriars Bridge, he did not think it worth mentioning before.’
‘That is interesting,’ said Holmes. ‘Would you be so good as to ask Mason to step across here, Stoddard?’
The junior barristers’ office was similar in size to Sir Gilbert Cheshire’s, but of a somewhat more cluttered appearance. The fire had been banked up and blazed fiercely in the grate, so that the room was free of the dank, chill atmosphere that pervaded the rest of the chambers. Oliver Brown sat at his desk, a brandy glass in his hand, staring gloomily across the room, and did not look up as we entered. Stephen Lewis was sitting beside the hearth, his head in his hands. The chief clerk, Elijah Smith, was perched on the edge of a chair beside the window, a nervous expression on his face.
‘Do you think that we might be permitted to leave soon?’ Brown enquired of us. ‘It’s getting very late and I can’t think that there is anything more we can tell you.’
‘Very shortly,’ returned my companion. ‘If you would just be so good as to sign a formal statement, as to when you last saw Sir Gilbert Cheshire alive and your subsequent whereabouts this evening.’
Stoddard had entered as he spoke, accompanied by the ginger-haired gate-keeper.
‘There is no need—’ began the policeman, but Holmes interrupted him.
‘As you say, Inspector, there is no need to wait until tomorrow. We may as well get it over with now and then we shall not need to trouble anyone further. You say you left these chambers at half past six,’ he continued, addressing
Brown, ‘at which time Sir Gilbert was alive and well, walked to Rule’s, where you passed an hour, and then took a cab home.’
‘That is correct,’ the other replied.
‘Would you mind signing this paper to that effect, then?’ said Holmes, who had scribbled a few lines on one of his sheets of foolscap.
Brown took the sheet from him with a suspicious narrowing of the eyes. ‘I do not understand the purpose of this,’ said he, glancing at what Holmes had written, and making no move to pick up a pen, ‘nor what you suppose its legal status might be.’
‘Its legal status,’ returned Holmes, ‘is simply that it is a statement of the facts, according to you and, as such, you can scarcely object to signing it.’
The other man grunted and, with a show of reluctance, took a pen and signed the paper with a flourish. Holmes then repeated his questions to Lewis, who also signed the paper. He then turned to the chief clerk, scribbled down a couple of lines and passed across the sheet, which Elijah Smith signed slowly and carefully.
‘Now, Mr Mason,’ Holmes continued, turning to the gate-keeper: ‘You last saw Sir Gilbert Cheshire alive at about twenty to seven, I understand.’
‘That’s right; when I brought in some coal and raked the grates out.’
‘And you did not see him again?’
‘No, sir, I didn’t. I met a friend of mine in the Cock, just afore seven, and was there till twenty to eight, when I came home.’
‘Very well. If you will just sign this?’
Mason appended his signature to the few lines which Holmes had written and returned the paper to him. Brown drained his glass, set it down on the desk-top and wiped his moustache.
‘Will that be all?’ said he in a weary voice.
‘We have finished here now,’ said Stoddard. ‘My men can find no clue, so we may as well lock up, Mr Holmes, and let these gentlemen get off home. We can do no more tonight.’
‘I would wish to give you my view of the matter first,’ said Holmes, in a tone which commanded attention.
‘Very well,’ responded the policeman. The others, who had stood up and begun to put on their coats, sat back down again, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and resignation.
‘This brutal and shocking crime,’ began Holmes, ‘appeared at first to be the work of an unknown assailant, someone to whom Sir Gilbert Cheshire had probably opened the door himself and who had then, at the point of his knife, forced Sir Gilbert to open the cash-box, and had, in the course of a struggle, inflicted the wound which killed him.’
‘That must be so,’ observed Brown, nodding.
‘However,’ Holmes continued, ‘our investigation of the premises has revealed a number of features which cast doubt on such an interpretation. In the first place, there is no evidence of a struggle having taken place. In the second, it is apparent that the intruder lit a candle in the hallway and passed upstairs with it, where he forced entry to Sir Gilbert’s private study and broke open a cupboard there, containing personal documents and records.’
There was a murmur of interest at this information and then a silence fell upon the chamber once more, as Holmes continued:
‘Once Sir Gilbert had returned from the dining-hall, all the gas would be lit – as indeed was the case when Mr Ormerod passed and saw the open door – and it would therefore have been perfectly pointless for anyone to have lit a candle. Nor, once the downstairs gas was lit, need the intruder have feared that lighting the upstairs gas-jets would increase the chances of his being detected. It seems clear, then, that the intruder lit his candle when there was no other illumination in the chambers, that is to say, before Sir Gilbert returned from dinner. No doubt he lit a candle in order to keep the light to a minimum and hoped to have finished what he was doing before Sir Gilbert returned. But it follows from this, that he was not admitted to the premises by Sir Gilbert, but admitted himself, there being no one else here at the time. It further follows from this that the intruder had his own key, for the door would certainly have been locked.’
There was an odd stillness in the chamber, as those present absorbed this information. Each must have realised, as did I, that the four men who possessed a key to the North Walk Chambers were all together in the room at that moment.
‘Now,’ continued Holmes, ‘we know that Sir Gilbert left the dining-hall a little earlier than was his habit, in order to return here to work. We may suppose, then, that the intruder, believing himself to have time in hand, was surprised when he heard the unlocking of the front door. He must have extinguished his candle, descended to the ground floor and, in his turn, surprised Sir Gilbert in his office. We do not know what Sir Gilbert’s reaction was, but it is clear that he knew the intruder, for a second chair was moved behind the desk and placed beside his own: it does not seem likely that a stranger, threatening Sir Gilbert with a knife, would have troubled to procure a chair for himself. The two men evidently sat in discussion for some time. The fact that the cash-box was open before the attack took place suggests that money came into this discussion. What happened next we cannot say for certain, but it seems likely that there was a disagreement, as a result of which the intruder inflicted the fatal wound upon Sir Gilbert.
‘The evidence of the wound itself is in my view inconclusive as to whether the assailant was right-handed or left-handed, although I incline to the latter. The evidence of the tallow which dripped from the candle, however, indicates clearly that the man who held it is left-handed. A man may generally carry a candle in the right or left hand with indifference, but if he has work to do – especially work which involves the application of force, such as the bursting open of a door, or a cupboard – he will always pass the candle to his weaker hand. For most people, who are right-handed, this will be the left hand, but tonight’s intruder held the candle in his right hand, while forcing the locks with a metal rod held in his left. He is therefore, beyond a shadow of a doubt, left-handed. Having conducted a little handwriting experiment, I am now in a position to state that there is only one man who both possesses a key to these chambers and who is left-handed.’
As Sherlock Holmes spoke these last words, he turned to Thomas Mason, the gate-keeper, whose face had assumed the colour of putty.
‘It’s a lie!’ cried he in a hoarse voice, springing unsteadily to his feet. ‘I was never in here!’
‘In that case,’ said Holmes, ‘you can have no objection to a search being made of your quarters.’
‘You’ve no right to do that!’ retorted Mason, in a loud, strident voice.
‘We’ll see about that!’ Stoddard interrupted. ‘Thomas Mason: I am arresting you on suspicion of having been involved in the death of Sir Gilbert Cheshire. You will accompany me to your lodgings where a search will be undertaken for evidence.’
The inspector and two constables escorted their prisoner from the chambers, leaving the three others in a dazed state, their features displaying the shock and amazement they clearly felt. Sherlock Holmes lit his pipe and sat smoking in silence for several minutes, his brow furrowed with thought.
‘It may be that the right man has been arrested,’ said Brown at length; ‘but the whole affair is still dark to me. I have a feeling that we do not yet know all that there is to know of the matter. Can you enlighten us any further, Mr Holmes? Do you believe there was any meaning in Sir Gilbert’s dying words, or was the poor fellow simply raving?’
‘Sir Gilbert’s words,’ Holmes replied, ‘as reported by Mr Ormerod, began, if you recall, “It was he”, and ended with “Sir John Hawkesworth”, with a gap of a few moments in between, during which he struggled for breath. I suspect that in those words Sir Gilbert was attempting to name his murderer.’
‘But that is madness!’ cried Brown. ‘Sir John was himself murdered ten years ago.’
‘Quite so. I therefore suggest that a phrase is missing from the sentence, which Sir Gilbert was unable to articulate. The likeliest candidate is something such as “the man that murdered”, so that the whole senten
ce would be “It was he: the man that murdered Sir John Hawkesworth”.’
‘Good Lord!’ cried Lewis.
‘However,’ continued Holmes, ‘if it was Sir Gilbert’s intention to identify his assailant in this way, it follows that he himself was aware of who had murdered his predecessor. This raises the question as to how he knew this with such certainty and, if he did, why he had never made public his knowledge.’
‘It could be that Mason informed him this very evening that he was the murderer of Sir John,’ I suggested.
‘Yes, that is possible, Watson, but on the whole I incline to the view that Sir Gilbert already knew the truth behind Sir John’s death, had known about it, in fact, for ten years.’
‘I find that suggestion quite incredible,’ said Brown in a tone of disbelief.
‘No doubt,’ said Holmes. ‘Nevertheless, the indications are there. In the first place,’ he continued, in his precise, methodical manner, like a specialist delivering a lecture, ‘it is well known that fifteen years ago, Sir Gilbert secured Mason’s acquittal on a charge of murder. Presumably Mason felt some gratitude for this. But then we hear that, about eight years ago, Sir Gilbert, actuated by sympathy at Mason’s plight, secured him a distinctly undemanding post as gate-keeper here. There seems something wrong with this: Sir Gilbert was not known for any great degree of sympathy; and the favour seems the wrong way about. It is as if there is some link missing from the chain of cause and effect, as we have it at present.’
‘Just what are you suggesting?’ said Brown sharply.
Before Holmes could reply, the door opened and Inspector Stoddard entered. He informed us that the search of Mason’s quarters had revealed a large sharp knife, its blade caked in blood, and a long thin chisel, both wrapped in a blood-stained shirt, and hidden under a sink. An amount of money exactly matching that missing from the cash-box had also been found, in a canvas bag inside a coal-scuttle. Mason had offered no resistance to the search and had shown no surprise when the above articles had been discovered, but had made one surprising request, that he be allowed to make a statement to the gentlemen awaiting his return in the North Walk Chambers.
The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes Page 35
