Sherlock Holmes and the Disgraced Inspector

by John Hall

‘Ah. I know them by reputation, of course.’

  ‘They are assisting us in this matter,’ said Lestrade.

  ‘In what capacity, pray?’

  Lestrade was thrown by this. ‘Well, as — ’

  The lawyer broke in, ‘Mr Holmes’s reputation is, of course, excellent. And we have all heard of Doctor Watson. But they are none the less merely private citizens. If anyone is to be summarily ejected from the proceedings, I suggest it should be Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson.’

  ‘Look here, Mr — ’ Lestrade’s memory was evidently as faulty as my own, for he had to consult the card in his hand before going on, ‘Mr Wickham-Montrose, I must tell you that Mr Holmes — ’

  Clayton, who thus far had neither spoken nor stood up, now tugged at Wickham-Montrose’s arm, and said, ‘Leave it, Gussie. I don’t care how many of them there are. I’ve nothing to hide, as you know. In fact, I’d rather these others stayed. They can act as witnesses.’ He leered at Holmes and me, and went on, ‘And I assure you, gentlemen, that you will be needed as such.’

  ‘Enough of that!’ Lestrade told him.

  Wickham-Montrose raised a hand. ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, please. I am certain this could all be resolved amicably.’

  ‘You are right, sir,’ added Holmes.

  Lestrade subsided. ‘Very well,’ said he. He looked at Clayton. ‘Where were you yesterday evening?’ he demanded.

  ‘And why should — ’ Clayton broke off at a look from Wickham-Montrose. ‘Should I answer?’ he asked the solicitor.

  ‘By all means.’

  ‘Very well, then. Yesterday afternoon I was with some friends, including Gussie, that is, Mr Wickham-Montrose here. We had dinner at seven or so, and broke up at around ten in the evening.’ Is that right?’ he asked Wickham-Montrose.

  ‘Quite right. I can swear to that, Inspector, and so can half a dozen others.’

  Lestrade was momentarily at a loss, then he asked, ‘Have you ever heard of a boy called Alfred Bates?’

  Clayton looked at the solicitor. Wickham-Montrose lifted one shoulder slightly, nothing so uncouth as a shrug, and said, ‘You may answer.’

  ‘Never heard of him,’ said Clayton. ‘Why do you ask? Oh, I see.’ He sneered at Lestrade. ‘This lad gone missing, has he? And so naturally your first thought was of me. How sweet!’

  ‘Enough of your lip,’ said Lestrade, holding himself in with an obvious effort. He looked at Holmes, an odd light in his eyes. ‘Well, unless you have any questions, Mr Holmes?’

  Holmes shook his head.

  ‘In that case,’ Lestrade told Clayton, ‘you can clear off. I’ve finished with you.’

  ‘Oh? But I haven’t finished with you, you may be sure of that.’

  Wickham-Montrose laid a restraining arm on Clayton’s sleeve. ‘What my client means,’ said he carefully, ‘is that we shall be lodging a formal protest at this unwarranted persecution, which will, I assure you, do considerable damage to your already weak situation.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Lestrade tried to brazen it out, but it sounded hollow. Clayton and his solicitor rose and marched out without further comment. Lestrade mopped his brow. ‘Well,’ said he without any real conviction, ‘there’s always Tatton. Let’s hope that he proves more helpful.’

  ‘Let us hope so,’ murmured Holmes.

  ‘Aye,’ added MacDonald heavily. ‘I’ll check just now, see if there’s any sign of the man.’ He left without further remark.

  Lestrade, evidently feeling the urge to talk, said, ‘MacDonald seems to think I’m not handling this very well. And I have to say he’s probably right.’

  Holmes made no answer, and I could think of none, so the three of us sat there in silence for what seemed an age. I was relieved when MacDonald eventually put his head round the door and announced, ‘Tatton is in the other room, Inspector.’

  ‘Quick work,’ said I.

  ‘Oh, we know him quite well,’ said MacDonald. ‘The constable tried his place of work first off, and he was there. He’s a traveller for a firm of wine and spirit merchants, and the office is just down the road.’ He ushered us into a room almost identical to the one we had just left.

  A middle aged man was sitting at a deal table. He had an anxious expression on his face, which deepened as he saw Lestrade. ‘Inspector?’ said he. ‘What’s all this about, then?’

  ‘I’ll ask the questions, if you please,’ Lestrade told him. He nodded at the man. ‘Gentlemen, this is Tatton, of whom I’ve spoken. This,’ he told the frightened man, ‘is Mr Sherlock Holmes, and this is Doctor Watson. You’ll have heard of them, I’m sure?’

  Tatton nodded nervously. ‘But why have I been brought here?’

  ‘Where were you last night, around six o’clock?’ asked Lestrade without further ado.

  ‘Last night? I was out, working. Out Esher way.’

  ‘And can anyone bear that out?’

  Tatton shook his head.

  ‘Well, then, what about your customers?’ asked Lestrade. ‘I assume you talked to someone?’

  ‘I had a couple of shops to visit,’ said Tatton defensively.

  ‘And when was your last appointment?’

  ‘Half past eleven.’

  ‘What, in the morning?’

  Tatton nodded.

  ‘And what time did you get home, then?’

  Tatton hesitated. ‘Let me see. It would be around nine.’

  ‘It doesn’t take ten hours to get back from Esher,’ Lestrade pointed out. ‘Did you go anywhere for a meal?’

  Tatton shook his head. ‘I had a bit of bread and cheese,’ said he. ‘I took it along with me, and ate it sitting under a hedge somewhere on the outskirts of the town.’ He paused. ‘The firm give a daily allowance for meals, see? A fixed allowance.’

  ‘So you claim the allowance, but don’t spend anything?’

  Tatton nodded. ‘All the fellows do it,’ he said.

  ‘And what then?’

  ‘Well, I had the addresses of a couple of prospective clients, so I went along to try to track them down.’

  ‘Can they speak as to that?’

  ‘No. One of the shops was closed, a half day. The other had shut down altogether.’

  ‘And nobody saw you hanging around these places?’ Lestrade’s voice was sceptical.

  Tatton shook his head. ‘It was quiet,’ said he.

  ‘Very well. I give you an hour to take your luncheon, another to find that your prospective customers were no more. What then?’

  Tatton said nothing.

  ‘I say, what then?’

  ‘Well, then, if you must know, I took a walk.’

  ‘It must have been a damned long walk!’

  ‘And what if it was, then?’

  Holmes put in gently, ‘Mr Tatton, there is a serious reason for these questions. If you have any witnesses who can vouch for your whereabouts, it would be as well to let Inspector Lestrade know their names.’

  Tatton, clearly impressed by Holmes’s demeanour, answered, ‘I can see that, sir. But I really did take a long walk. I was feeling a bit down, what with the two shops being shut and what have you. Inspector Lestrade will have told you how matters stand with me, I’m sure, gentlemen? I get a bit down, sometimes, and need to be alone.’

  Holmes nodded. ‘I sympathize there,’ said he.

  ‘And then I missed the train,’ added Tatton with something of an anti-climax. ‘I had intended to be back home earlier, but — ’ and he shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Well, Inspector?’ asked Holmes of Lestrade.

  Lestrade shrugged in his turn.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Tatton wanted to know. ‘If you told me, perhaps I could help.’

  Holmes looked at Lestrade, who nodded, and said, ‘Well, then, my lad, it’s this way. A young lad has disappeared, in the East End.’

  Tatton groaned. ‘And that fellow Clayton just released from clink!’ said he. ‘I told you no good would come of it. Said it over and over, I have, and who listens?’ He paused. ‘But wh
y did you want to see me? Here, you didn’t think I had anything to do with it, did you?’

  ‘Never you mind,’ said Lestrade. ‘Sorry to have troubled you. You can go.’

  And Tatton, after some grumbling, did go. Scarcely had he left than there was a rattle at the door, and the assistant commissioner, his moustache bristling in an aggressive way, burst in.

  ‘A pretty kettle of fish, this, Lestrade!’ said he angrily.

  ‘That it is, sir — ’

  ‘Clayton and his solicitor have lodged a complaint as to your high-handed action. And I am bound to say I cannot entirely blame them. Have you progressed in the slightest since last I spoke to you?’

  ‘No, sir, I have not.’

  ‘In that event,’ said the assistant commissioner, ‘I shall release the news to the press, and ask them to appeal for information as to the lad’s whereabouts.’

  ‘Sir?’ Lestrade’s voice was pleading. ‘If I might have just another day or so?’

  ‘Not another hour. Not another minute.’ The assistant commissioner looked at Holmes, and added more calmly, ‘We have kept the story quiet until now, Mr Holmes, not wanting everyone to jump to the same silly conclusions as — that is to say, not wanting people to jump to silly conclusions as to Clayton, and so forth. But the house to house search of the area has proved fruitless. I have just returned from there, and nothing has turned up. And consequently I have no choice but to ask the press for help.’

  ‘I am sure you are right,’ said Holmes.

  ‘As for you, Lestrade,’ the assistant commissioner continued, ‘you are still in charge of the case, for the time being. When once it is over, we shall have a long chat as to your immediate future.’

  There was nothing that Holmes and I could do, so we left discreetly, and returned to Baker Street. Lestrade, looking very abashed, turned up on our doorstep later that evening with a shabby suitcase, and we furnished him with a makeshift bed in a corner of the sitting room.

  The story of young Alfred Bates’ disappearance, along with his description, appeared prominently in the evening papers. Lestrade read these, shook his head without any remark, and went off, I suspected to visit the local public house. He had not returned by the time I went to bed, and he had gone before I came down to breakfast next day.

  The story of young Bates’ disappearance figured again in the morning’s editions, and Lestrade looked in at ten o’clock to say that there was still no news. I suggested to Holmes that he enlist the help of what he called his irregulars, the ragamuffins and street urchins who had proved so useful in the past, and he agreed. Then, like Lestrade, he disappeared, I assumed to seek the help of these unofficial forces, or otherwise to pursue the investigation, for I did not think that Holmes had anything else in hand at the moment.

  Lestrade called upon me again once or twice in the course of the day, still without anything to report, but I saw nothing of Holmes until the early evening, when he appeared, looking exhausted, and gave monosyllabic and unsatisfactory answers to any questions as to his doings.

  The story appeared again in the papers that evening, but with less prominence than previously. Holmes read the reports in silence, then eventually said, ‘There is one possibility that I scarcely like to think about, of course.’

  ‘And what’s that?’ asked Lestrade.

  ‘If the boy has not run away, or got lost, and further if neither Clayton nor this Tatton had anything to do with it, then there may be some unknown assailant at large. Perhaps someone else of weak intellect has seen the accounts of the old case, and decided to work independently?’

  ‘Don’t, Mr Holmes!’ said Lestrade. ‘It makes my blood run cold just to think of it.’

  By the following morning, the story had been ousted from the front page, and Holmes looked at Lestrade and me and shook his head sadly. But he was wrong in his unspoken surmise, for at nine o’clock that same morning, a young labourer named Albert Sanderson marched into H division police station in Whitechapel carrying in his arms little Alfred Bates, very tired, very dirty, and very frightened; but very much alive.

  SEVEN

  ‘Well, Doctor Watson?’ asked Lestrade.

  ‘The boy is in excellent health, although he could do with a good wash,’ said I. ‘No injuries of any sort. He is very upset and frightened by all the fuss, just as one might have expected, of course, and I doubt if you’ll get anything out of him until his mother arrives to comfort him.’

  ‘I told you he was fine,’ said Sanderson, with a touch of truculence. He was some eighteen or nineteen years of age, sturdily built and with a generally confident air about him, but just at the moment he looked as if he were a little apprehensive at the publicity he had attracted to himself, and he tried to offset this with a devil-may-care attitude. He sat in the Whitechapel police station, a mug of tea on front of him, while Lestrade, MacDonald, who had brought us the news of the boy’s being found that morning, and Sherlock Holmes all sat on the other side of the table and regarded him curiously. I had just examined young Alfred Bates, who was now being cared for by one of the police matrons, and as I have just said, I found that the boy was none the worse for his adventures. I sat down next to Holmes and the others.

  ‘We have to be certain of these things,’ said Lestrade. ‘Now then, Sanderson, what can you tell us about this business?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Sanderson frankly. ‘I found the boy, like I told the sergeant when I come into the station. And again to the inspector here,’ with a nod at MacDonald.

  ‘Well, now you can tell me,’ said Lestrade.

  Sanderson sighed. ‘Well, I’d been out last night, on the — that is, out with some friends. The pub, you know? We kept it up pretty late, I’m afraid, but you know how it is, Inspector? And when I get back home, I’m a bit hazy, you follow? Went straight to bed and off to sleep at once, without even taking my boots off, as you might say. Well, I had to work this morning, the new Underground line, it is, that we’re building now, and I was up around half past five, with a head on me like nobody’s business. Anyway, that’s beside the point. I puts the kettle on, and goes for a loaf a bread out of my little pantry, and there’s this noise, see?’

  ‘Noise?’

  ‘A scurrying, scuttling sort of noise. A bit like a rat or a mouse, only this wasn’t no rat or mouse. Well, I say I’d a bad head, and I says, “Whoever might be hiding in there had better get the — ”, that is to say, I told them to come out of it. And the little chap crawls out from behind the peggy-tub.’

  ‘You knew who he was, then?’

  ‘Not a bit of it. Not then, at any rate. I hadn’t seen the newspapers, see? But I could see he was scared, and hungry. He’d gnawed the crust off my loaf while he’d been in there, and eaten most of the cheese, so I gave him some grub, bacon and a cup of tea, and he settled down a bit, and so I was able to ask about him. It appears he’d run away from home, had some sort of quarrel with his old man, his father I mean, and been scared of what would happen when his dad got home. So he’d run away. Well, I could see what he meant. I’ve done the selfsame thing myself, more than once, and for the same reason.’

  ‘How came he to be lurking in your pantry?’ asked Holmes.

  ‘He said he’d spent one night in the street, dozing in a doorway. The next day he felt hungry and scared, too scared to go back home, so he’d looked round, seen my pantry window ajar and crawled in. Helped himself to some bread, and fallen asleep until the evening, when he heard me moving about, getting ready to go out, I expect, and been too scared to move. Had another night’s sleep of sorts, and that’s when I found him.’ He looked anxiously at Lestrade. ‘I did the right thing, though, didn’t I, Inspector?’

  ‘You did, my lad. And he told you who he was, did he? His name and so forth?’

  ‘Said his name was Alfie. Well, I didn’t know what to do for the best. Like I say, I hadn’t seen the newspapers, so I didn’t know there was all this fuss. Anyway, I took him next door, to see the old dear who lives there,
ask her what I should do. She’s seen the newspapers, and flew into a tizzy, tells me the police are after him, so I bring him here. And I’m sure I don’t know what the foreman will say when I do get to work. Irish, he is, and a real temper with him.’

  ‘If there’s any nonsense of that kind,’ said Lestrade majestically, ‘you just refer him to me, my lad. Well, thank you for your help, and we won’t keep you from your work any longer.’

  Sanderson nodded, and left, looking none too displeased at being able to leave the atmosphere of officialdom behind him. There followed a long silence, which MacDonald finally broke. ‘Well,’ said he, looking at Lestrade, ‘will you tell the assistant commissioner the good news, or shall I?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘The boy’s mother is being brought here just now to look after him, so we ought to get back to the Yard.’

  Lestrade was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘If you would be so kind, Inspector, I’d esteem it a great kindness if you could tell the chief. I’m not sure I can face him just at the moment.’

  MacDonald nodded sympathetically. ‘I quite understand.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘But he’ll be sure to ask to see you.’

  ‘I know that only too well,’ said Lestrade. ‘And I’ll see him, and face the music, all in good time. But not just now.’ His voice was almost pleading as he added the last sentence.

  MacDonald nodded sympathetically. ‘I’ll tell him you’re pursuing another line of inquiry,’ said he.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Lestrade. ‘Of course, if he asks any awkward questions — ’

  MacDonald coughed to hide his embarrassment. ‘In that case, of course, I’ll have no option.’ And he stood up and retrieved his hat, and nodded a farewell to us.

  ‘Well, gents,’ said Lestrade as the door closed after MacDonald, ‘I know it’s a bit early in the day, and what have you, but I’m ready for a drink. Doctor? Mr Holmes?’

  ‘We shall gladly accompany you,’ said Holmes.

  ‘I know a little place just off Trafalgar Square,’ said Lestrade as we climbed into a cab and set off. ‘Only a small place, and nothing fancy, but it’s quiet, and they do a very decent pint of mild. It suits me, and I go there often — occasionally, that is to say. When I want to drown my sorrows,’ he added with a hint of bitterness in his tone.