‘Very well,’ said Zennor. ‘Probably the first notable thing that happened was that Jeavons left for the railway station very early – about seven o’clock – as he was travelling up to Grantham in Lincolnshire, where his parents live. His father has been ill recently and he was given special permission to take a week’s leave of absence to visit him. You have asked me about the overcoats and whether they ever get muddled up, and, oddly enough, such a mistake did occur yesterday morning, for, about an hour after Jeavons left, I heard Earley saying that he thought Jeavons must have taken his coat, as he couldn’t find it anywhere.
‘At about half past eight, Earley and Wakefield left together for the railway station. The former was going to see someone in Ramsgate, the latter was travelling to Rochester, where he was to be interviewed for a vacant position.’
‘One moment,’ interrupted Holmes. ‘If Jeavons had taken Earley’s coat, then whose coat was Earley wearing?’
Zennor shook his head. ‘I don’t know for certain,’ said he. ‘I didn’t hear him make any further remark on the matter, so I suppose I just assumed he had found Jeavons’s coat and gone off in that.’
‘Are their coats of a similar size?’
‘Yes, they are. As a matter of fact, all the coats are practically identical, except for Wakefield’s, which is a size larger. Shortly after Wakefield and Earley left, I saw Bebington going off into town. I believe he was going to the stationer’s shop, to purchase ink or nibs, or something of the sort, and didn’t intend to be out for very long. A few minutes later, I went to get my own hat and coat, before leaving for the railway station.’
‘Did you verify that the coat you took was your own?’
‘ Not then, although I did later, as I shall explain in a moment. At the time, I was in too much of a hurry and I can’t remember giving the matter any thought. I just assumed the coat was mine. There were only two coats still hanging in the corridor then – it was raining quite heavily yesterday morning and everyone who had gone out had put a coat on – and the other one had a frayed lapel and didn’t look like mine. Anyway, I put my coat on and set off. A couple of minutes later, I was caught up in the street by Stafford Nugent, who informed me he was intending to catch the same train. We walked on together for a few minutes, then he stopped and said he’d just realised that he’d forgotten the book he had intended to take back to the library at Lambeth Palace. “You go on to the station, Zennor,” he said, “and I’ll catch you up later.” With that, he turned and hurried back to the cathedral. I continued to the station, where I caught the 9.05 to London. At that time, Nugent had not reappeared, and I assumed he had been delayed for some reason and would catch the next train.
‘At eleven o’clock, my train reached Victoria. I knew that the person I had to see at Lambeth Palace would not be there until the afternoon, so I went down to Brixton to see my mother and sister, and took lunch with them there. I eventually reached Lambeth Palace at about two o’clock, hung up my hat and coat, and went in to see Canon Seagrave at the appointed time.’
‘Where did you leave your coat?’ interrupted Holmes.
‘I don’t imagine you are familiar with Lambeth Palace,’ responded Zennor, ‘so I will describe the relevant part to you. There is a side-door from the garden, which is the one we always use. On the outside of it, against the wall of the building, is a glass-enclosed verandah, in which there is a row of coat-hooks, hat-stand and so on, and a large bench – like a settle, but with a lower back – on which visitors can sit and wait if they have arrived early for their appointment. I hung my coat up there and proceeded in through the door, to where Canon Seagrave’s secretary has a desk.’
‘One moment,’ said Holmes. ‘Were there any coats already there, when you hung up your own coat?’
‘No, the coat-hooks were empty.’
‘And when you came out?’
‘When I came out,’ responded Zennor, ‘which was at about ten past three, there at first appeared to be no coats there at all and for a moment I was nonplussed as to what had become of my own coat. Then I leaned over and looked behind the bench, and saw that my coat was there, in a heap on the ground. It had obviously slipped from its peg. I picked it up, dusted it off with my hand and put it on. Outside, in the garden, I paused a moment, to neaten myself up a bit, when I felt something in the inside pocket of the coat. I unbuttoned my coat, put my hand in the pocket and pulled out a long envelope. It wasn’t sealed and I was just opening it to see what was in it when someone spoke, just behind me. I turned, to see that it was Canon Seagrave and his secretary.
‘“What is that you have there, Mr Zennor?” asked Canon Seagrave.
‘“I don’t know,” I replied. “I have just found it in my pocket.”
‘“You had better let me have a look at it, then,” said the canon, holding out his hand.
‘I handed him the envelope, he opened it, and the two of them said, almost together, “It is Sir Anthony Ingoldsby’s cheque!” Apparently, news had reached them just moments earlier that the cheque had disappeared from the cathedral office at Canterbury. “How do you come to have this cheque in your pocket, Zennor?” asked the canon in a grave tone. I told them I had no idea, that I had not even been aware that the envelope was in my pocket until a moment before. This was the gospel truth, but I realise it must have sounded highly improbable. “I think,” said Canon Seagrave, “that we will hold on to this now. It can be deposited in the bank in London just as well as in Canterbury. As for you, Zennor,” he continued, “I think you had best return at once to the cathedral and explain all the circumstances to your superiors there.” In other words, as was obvious, he didn’t believe a word of what I had told him, but he was washing his hands of the matter and consigning me to the mercies of the cathedral authorities.
‘It was as I was walking from Lambeth Palace to the railway station that it suddenly occurred to me that the coat I was wearing was perhaps not my own. With an uprush of hope at the thought that I might have found the explanation for this baffling puzzle, I stopped in the street and pulled out the lining of this right-hand pocket. Alas! my hopes were dashed. The coat was undeniably my own.’ As he spoke, he had suited the action to the word and had pulled out the lining of the pocket to show us. There, written quite clearly in indelible pencil, were the initials ‘M.Z.’.
‘I therefore returned to Kent,’ continued our companion, ‘in a state of complete gloom and mystification. I have since been quizzed repeatedly on the matter, but have been unable to throw any light on it. I think they find the whole business astounding, and cannot entirely bring themselves to believe that one of the canons could be guilty of such a deceitful act, but can see no other explanation. Nor, I admit, can I. But for the fact that I know for certain that I did not take that envelope, and had never even seen it before that moment in the garden of Lambeth Palace, I, too, should be inclined to think I must be guilty! And if that admission sounds slightly insane, then it is no more than a true reflection of my mental state!’
Sherlock Holmes sat in silence for some time, his brow furrowed with thought. ‘It is always a curious thing,’ said he at last, ‘when all the evidence in a case points to one specific conclusion and yet, at the same time, you know for certain that that conclusion is false. It is enough to make anyone feel unhinged, Mr Zennor. However, my dear sir, you must not despair. Let us forget about conclusions for a moment and consider some of the details. It is interesting, for instance, that you did not notice that there was anything in your pocket until that moment in the garden of Lambeth Palace.’
‘I think,’ said Zennor, ‘that when my coat slipped from the peg and fell to the floor, the envelope must have become slightly twisted in the pocket and that that is why I noticed it. It was, after all, only a very slim envelope and if lying flat was probably undetectable.’
‘That is possible,’ said Holmes. ‘What of the other papers and letters you had brought up to London? How had you carried them?’
‘In a small leathe
r case. I don’t generally use the coat pockets for anything, except sometimes for my gloves.’
‘I see. Before you proceed with your account, can you remember the last time you, or any of the others, saw Sir Anthony Ingoldsby’s cheque before it disappeared?’
Zennor thought for a moment. ‘It was certainly on the shelf in the office at twenty past eight in the morning, when the office and the corridor outside it were busy with people coming and going, for Wakefield made some little joke about its being left lying about. A couple of the others laughed and Dr Glimper ticked them all off for what he described as “inappropriate and unseemly levity”. After that, I have no further knowledge of it.’
‘Very well. Let us return once more to Lambeth Palace, then. I am interested in the hat-stand in the verandah. You said that when you arrived, there were no coats hanging on the pegs there; but can you recall if there were any hats on the hat-stand?’
Our companion closed his eyes and frowned, and remained in silent concentration for several minutes. ‘Yes,’ said he at last, ‘there was another hat there. I remember now that I nearly knocked it off as I was hanging up my own.’
Holmes nodded and scribbled something in his note-book. Then, for several minutes, he sat in silence studying his notes and I saw that he had drawn a complex-looking diagram, consisting of dots, arrows, connecting lines and, here and there, little stick-men. For some time he stared at what he had drawn, then he looked up.
‘That looks very complicated,’ I ventured.
‘It may appear so at present,’ he responded; ‘but it will no doubt become clearer when we have spoken to some of those involved. Tell me,’ he continued, turning to Zennor, ‘were you able to see if there was anything beside the cheque in the envelope you found in your pocket – a letter, for instance?’
‘No, there was nothing in it but the cheque itself.’
‘Was anything written on the envelope?’
‘No, it was perfectly blank. I did later find a scrap of paper with a note on it in my pocket,’ added Zennor after a moment. ‘I’d never seen it before and only noticed it when I was travelling back to Canterbury on the train.’
‘Why did you not mention it before?’ asked Holmes in surprise.
‘It did not seem of any importance,’ replied the other. ‘The issue was whether I had stolen Sir Anthony Ingoldsby’s cheque or not. My head was in a whirl from that, so the fact that there was a scrap of paper in my pocket seemed of little consequence. As I mentioned to you earlier, the minor canons are in the habit of borrowing each other’s coats and one does sometimes find odd things left in one’s pocket.’
‘Do you have it with you?’ asked Holmes.
‘Yes, it is here,’ said Zennor. He put his hand in his inside pocket and produced a small square piece of paper, which had clearly been torn from a larger sheet, and passed it over to us. Upon this little sheet was written the following brief message:
London, Thursday, 22nd
St Mark’s, Ham. X.
Four o’clock
‘It appears to be an appointment of some kind,’ said Holmes. ‘Does it mean anything to you, Mr Zennor?’
‘Nothing whatever. Off-hand, I don’t think I even know any church dedicated to St Mark. Nor have I ever been to Ham.’
‘Do you know Ham, Watson?’ Holmes asked me.
I shook my head. ‘As far as I’m aware it lies somewhere on the Thames between Richmond and Kingston, but I don’t think I’ve ever been there.’
‘Of course, this note may not be connected to the disappearance of the cheque,’ said Holmes, ‘but, if not, its appearance in your pocket at the same time as the cheque is something of an odd coincidence. The Thursday it refers to is tomorrow, so if we don’t succeed in getting to the bottom of the matter while we’re in Kent, it may provide us with another line of inquiry.’
The rain was falling in a fine drizzle as we left the station at Canterbury and made our way to the cathedral through the narrow streets of the old town. As we turned a corner, we almost bumped into a stout young man in clerical garb, hurrying in the opposite direction.
‘Hello, Wakefield!’ said Zennor.
‘Hello,’ returned the other, but seemed disinclined to stop.
‘This is Mr Sherlock Holmes,’ said Zennor. ‘He is looking into the matter of Sir Anthony Ingoldsby’s cheque.’
‘Oh, is he?’ said Wakefield in a sarcastic tone. ‘Best of luck with that!’ he continued, turning to Holmes. ‘As I understand it, there’s not much to look into about it! Now,’ he said, pushing past us, ‘I really must be off!’
‘I am sorry he was rude to you,’ said Zennor, as we continued on our way. ‘He can sometimes be a little short in his manner.’
‘No matter,’ said Holmes. ‘I could see all that I wished to know.’
We reached the cathedral precincts in a few minutes, and our guide conducted us through an ancient gateway, round a corner and through a low-arched doorway into a short corridor, along the side of which hung three black raincoats.
‘This is where we generally leave our coats,’ said Zennor.
‘Can you tell to whom these coats belong?’ asked Holmes.
‘They will all be marked somewhere,’ replied Zennor, turning back the cuffs and looking in the pockets. ‘Yes, this one is Nugent’s,’ said he at length, ‘this next one is Bebington’s and this third one is Dr Glimper’s.’
‘You are wearing yours at the moment, as is Wakefield,’ said Holmes in a thoughtful voice. ‘Jeavons has gone off to Grantham wearing Earley’s coat, according to the account you gave us earlier, so where is Jeavons’s own coat?’
Zennor shook his head. ‘Perhaps Earley is wearing it,’ he suggested.
‘No, he isn’t,’ came a voice from an open doorway, a little further along the corridor, and a moment later, a bespectacled young man thrust his head out of the doorway and regarded us for a moment.
‘Hello, Earley,’ said our companion.
‘Hello, Zennor. What’s all this about?’
Zennor introduced us. ‘These gentlemen are trying to help me solve the riddle of how Sir Anthony’s cheque ended up in my pocket. I think Mr Holmes feels that the muddle over the raincoats may have contributed to it.’
‘I never thought of that,’ said Earley in a thoughtful tone, stepping out into the corridor. ‘I don’t know if it could really have affected anything, but the coats certainly got in a muddle yesterday, there’s no denying that!’
‘You went to Ramsgate, I believe,’ said Holmes.
‘That’s right,’ returned the other. ‘I left about half past eight in the morning. I was going to walk to the station with Wakefield, but I couldn’t find my coat. Wakefield got a little impatient and said he couldn’t wait, so he set off without me. I realised at length that Jeavons must have mistakenly taken my coat – he’s done that before – so I took what I thought was his and dashed off to catch Wakefield up. I didn’t come back until about four o’clock in the afternoon and heard then what had happened. Don’t worry, Zennor,’ he added. ‘I’m sure it will all get sorted out. It must just be some silly sort of mix-up.’
‘When you returned,’ said Holmes, ‘you presumably hung your coat up here?’
‘Yes.’
‘But Jeavons’s coat is certainly not here now, so I think you must have been wearing someone else’s coat yesterday.’
‘Yes, I think perhaps I was,’ agreed Earley, looking a little embarrassed. ‘It fitted me well enough, anyway,’ he added with a chuckle.
‘Is there anywhere else that Jeavons might have left his coat?’ Holmes asked.
‘It might be in his room.’
‘Might we see?’
‘Yes; I will show you,’ said Earley. ‘He has the room immediately above my own. It will not be locked and I don’t think he would mind us looking in.’
He turned, led the way further along the corridor and up two flights of a steep stone staircase, until we found ourselves in a narrow corridor with a steeply s
loping ceiling.
‘This is Jeavons’s room,’ said Earley, opening one of several doors in the corridor, and we followed him into a small bedroom. In a moment there came a murmur of satisfaction from Holmes, as he found a black raincoat thrown over the back of a chair, and almost hidden under a dressing-gown. For a moment, he searched the coat for some sign of ownership, then pointed to a clear ‘H.J.’ printed on the inside of the left cuff. Again he took out his note-book and made a brief note in it.
We were just leaving Jeavons’s bedroom when we heard rapid footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later a pleasant-faced, dark-haired young man appeared on the landing.
‘Ah, Zennor,’ said he. ‘There you are! Dr Glimper has been looking for you! But who are these gentlemen?’
Zennor introduced the newcomer to us as Stafford Nugent and explained to him our purpose in being there, at which Nugent nodded his head. ‘I’m sure if you wish to ask me any questions about yesterday, I will do my best to answer them,’ he said, addressing us.
‘If you could just give us a brief account of your day,’ said Holmes, ‘from about half past eight in the morning until you arrived back here in the afternoon.’
‘It is soon told,’ said Nugent. ‘I left here about a quarter to nine and got back about five o’clock in the afternoon, and nothing of any significance happened all day.’
‘That’s not quite right, Nugent,’ said Zennor. ‘You walked halfway to the railway station with me, but then came back here for that book and I didn’t see you again.’
‘Oh, of course,’ said the other. ‘I was forgetting that. Besides, I didn’t realise you wanted every little detail. Very well, then. I left here in a hurry, just after quarter to nine, caught Zennor up in the street and we walked on together for a few minutes. Then I remembered that I’d forgotten a book I’d borrowed from the library at Lambeth Palace, which I had intended to take back, so I came back here to get it.’
‘What time was that?’ asked Holmes.
‘About nine o’clock. I got the book from my room, which only took a few moments, and was leaving once more, when I noticed as I passed the coat-pegs downstairs that there was a raincoat hanging there which looked somewhat more like mine than the one I was wearing, which didn’t seem to fit me properly, so I took that one off and put the other on, and dashed off to the station. I was too late to catch the train, however, which had gone at five past nine, so I spent about forty minutes drinking tea and reading, until the next London train came in, at about ten to ten.
The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes Page 46
