by John Hall
Holmes consulted his watch. ‘I would not wish to be churlish, Lestrade, nor yet to hold up the due workings of the law, MacDonald, but there was that other little matter I mentioned.’
Lestrade and MacDonald both looked puzzled.
Holmes sighed. ‘In your very natural excitement at possible developments in the Clayton case, Lestrade, you have apparently forgotten that I promised you something that might have a bearing on the problem of Sir Octavius. You can come along too, MacDonald, for I think you will find it of interest. If you are quite ready, gentlemen?’
EIGHT
Lestrade and I followed Holmes up the stairs to our rooms in Baker Street. In his usual infuriating way, Holmes had refused to respond to any of our questions on the walk from Trafalgar Square. MacDonald was still merely puzzled, but Lestrade and I were growing increasingly restive. I could not say exactly what Lestrade was thinking, although his face spoke volumes, but I knew that if I were kept in the dark much longer, I would not answer for Holmes’s continued safe existence.
On the landing, we encountered Billy, who told us, ‘A visitor, Mr ’Olmes. A — lady,’ and there was a definite pause before the last word.
Holmes patted the boy on the head, and told him to fetch some tea. Billy did not respond at once, but stayed outside the room and regarded us curiously until we had gone through the door, so that I wondered just who our visitor might be.
The lady who sat in the armchair before the fire was certainly striking in appearance. Her long chestnut hair framed a face that fell just short of classical beauty, and which attracted at first sight less because of her features than because of the merry, albeit rather cynical, twinkle in her eye. She half rose as we entered, but Holmes waved her back to her chair, saying, ‘Do not trouble, I beg you.’ Without pausing to remove his coat, he went on, ‘You have seen him?’
‘As close as I am to you.’ The voice was low and musical, but there was a slight accent of the East End which accounted for Billy’s hesitation in his description. Still, I thought her far more attractive than many a ‘lady’ with formal claim to the title.
‘And?’ asked Holmes.
She shook her head, causing the hair to swirl around. ‘Never. It was very like him, but it wasn’t him. And he never recognized me.’
‘Well,’ said Holmes, ‘I am sure he could never have mistaken you for another!’ He rang the bell, and Billy appeared so fast that I suspected he had been lurking on the very threshold. ‘Never mind the tea, Billy,’ said Holmes, scribbling on a piece of paper. ‘Now, you know where my brother, Mr Mycroft Holmes, lodges? Good. You are to take this lady there, at once. If my brother is not there, and he will almost certainly not be there, you are to stay with her until he arrives, and then give him this note. Do you understand that?’ And he bowed low over the lady’s hand, and ushered her out after the puzzled Billy.
When the door had closed after them, Holmes threw his coat on a peg, and said, ‘I am sure she will be safe with Mycroft. Despite his appearance, he is a better boxer than I, and a heavier weight at that; moreover, he is an expert in the Japanese art of sumo, and has given lessons to the famous Mr Barton-Wright, who has, I see, lately invented his own system of self-defence under some fancy name.’ He threw back his head and laughed aloud. ‘For all that, I should like to see Mycroft’s face when he reads my note! I have asked him to keep the lady at his lodgings for a while. It will all be proper enough, for he has a spare room and an aged and respectable landlady, but I guarantee he will never dare to close his eyes as long as she stays there.’ He added, inconsequentially, ‘Mrs Hudson will bring the tea in a moment, I am sure,’ and wandered to the mantelshelf.
I picked up my heaviest walking stick. ‘Holmes,’ said I, ‘this is intolerable!’
Lestrade laughed. ‘Come, Mr Holmes, you go too far.’
Holmes picked up an old Dublin briar, and sat down. ‘That lady,’ said he, ‘and we need not bandy her name about, has a rather curious profession, a profession which the convoluted divorce laws have brought into existence. She provides “evidence” in cases where a couple wish to separate, but have no grounds.’ He looked at us, a smile on his face. ‘No? Well then, I asked her to be at a certain place today, a place where I knew that Sir Octavius would also be. I asked her to see if she recognized him, or he her. As you heard, there was no recognition in either direction.’
‘What the devil has that to do with the murder of Sir Octavius’ wife?’ asked Lestrade bluntly.
‘Oh, nothing whatever. But it has everything to do with the murder of his brother, some ten years ago.’
‘Oh!’ cried Lestrade. ‘The Brighton alibi.’
Holmes nodded, a smile of satisfaction on his face. ‘The lady had been told that Sir Octavius wanted a divorce, you see, and she agreed to provide the evidence. She met Sir Octavius at Brighton, they spent the night at some hotel, doubtless playing cards, which is, so I am given to understand, the invariable custom in these cases, and in the morning she pocketed her fee and went on her way. In response to the enquiries made by the police, she replied, truthfully enough, that she had spent the night with Sir Octavius. She was asked to describe him, and she did so. They had ensured that there was sufficient likeness to pass, of course.’
‘Only it wasn’t him,’ said Lestrade.
‘Only it wasn’t him. Now, I do not know how you plan to act in the matter of the wife’s death, but perhaps you could bring in the lawyer who provided the alibi in that instance, tell him that Sir Octavius is certainly guilty of murdering his brother, and ask if the lawyer would like to change any small details of his testimony? And again, if you were to tell Sir Octavius that someone, and of course you need not specify just who it was, has betrayed him, perhaps he would draw the wrong conclusion, and then you would also solve the little puzzle of the lawyer’s wife’s death? Will that serve to — ’ But Lestrade was already on his way out, with MacDonald close on his heels.
‘Well done, Holmes!’ I told him. I reached for the decanter. ‘I feel disinclined to wait for the tea. Will you join me?’
‘I think perhaps I shall. A modest celebration might be indicated, as you say.’ Holmes took the glass I offered, then frowned. ‘Of course, none of this will help with the Clayton business, but it will reduce the amount of work Lestrade must do to clear his name. And now we will be able to concentrate all our efforts on the one problem.’
‘By the way, Holmes, I did not like to say as much before him, but do you think this Coombes chap will be quite safe? Whatever the rights and wrongs of the Clayton case, his friends are a fast set, and little Coombes is so very guileless.’
Holmes’s grip tightened on the stem of his pipe. ‘He is under my orders,’ said he, ‘and consequently under my protection. If any harm comes to him — ’ and he started as the pipe stem suddenly snapped in his fingers. ‘Damnation!’ He put the pieces carefully on a tray. ‘Never mind, I can get it repaired.’
‘You might ask them to clean it at the same time,’ said I. ‘That is, unless removing all the cake will cause what pathetic remnants are left of the bowl to disintegrate entirely.’
Holmes regarded the wreckage ruefully. ‘It is past its best, I allow,’ said he, ‘but I shall instruct them to take special care. It is an old friend, and I value my old friends, such as this, yourself, and Lestrade. For that reason, I would wish to help him if it were at all possible.’ He stood up and chose another pipe before going on, ‘For the moment, though, we must wait in patience until Lestrade concludes this matter of Sir Octavius.’
We had not long to wait, as events turned out. Lestrade was back around six o’clock, with a slight roll in his gait, and a hint of whisky and cigar smoke about his person, all of which to my keen eye hinted at some modest and well deserved celebration.
‘Well?’ said I.
Lestrade nodded with some satisfaction, and handed me a cigar. ‘Very well, Doctor! Done up like a kipper,’ he told us. ‘All thanks to you, Mr Holmes. They’re singing louder than o
ld Wilson’s canaries, and that’s saying something. Calling each other all the names under the sun, the pair of them.’ He threw his coat in the general direction of a peg, and sank into an armchair with a grateful sigh.
‘And your superiors, how have they taken it?’ Holmes wanted to know.
Lestrade’s brow clouded slightly. ‘The superintendent, he was all right. In fact, if it was up to him, I think the other business would’ve been all forgotten. The assistant commissioner, though, he’s another kettle of fish altogether. Plays by the rules, he does.’ He extended his hand, palm vertical, and shook it from side to side. ‘Just like this, he is. First one way, then the other. “A good job, Lestrade”, says he. But then, “There’s still the other matter”, he goes on.’ He paused.
‘Are you back on duty, though?’ I asked.
Lestrade nodded. ‘But with orders not to rock the boat, so to speak. I’m to keep out of the way as much as may be. Well, that suits me, just at the moment.’
‘So, you have the credit for the arrest of Sir Octavius,’ said Holmes, ‘and you have recovered some stolen property, although there has been no arrest there. All that remains, then, is to wait until Mr Coombes should make his report.’
Now, I may say that this was easier said than done. The two of them were in excellent spirits for the rest of that evening, and indeed we had our own modest celebration, the three of us. But by next morning a kind of nervous reaction had set in, and both Holmes and Lestrade began to fret, wondering aloud if Coombes had made contact, and if so what the outcome might have been. In vain I protested that it was far too soon to expect any results; I added that even if Coombes had become bosom friends with Clayton on sight the previous evening, still Clayton might never say anything that would be of use. Lestrade regarded me venomously as I made this point.
‘It’s no good your looking like that,’ I told him. ‘The fact remains that Clayton might be innocent, and thus not have any guilty secrets to reveal.’
I will spare you Lestrade’s reply; but I caught the look in Holmes’s eye, and I knew that the same thought had occurred to him.
I put up with it as long as I decently could, then went off to my club where I spent the rest of the day. The evening was no better. Both men picked morosely at perfectly good food, and went off to bed at a ridiculously early hour, leaving me to my own thoughts, which were none too charitable.
The next day they were both still in very low spirits, and I found that I simply could not face them. I could have visited the club again, but I had recalled what the reader will by this time perhaps have forgotten, namely that I had intended to pursue some small enquiries of my own. Accordingly, I got Lestrade on his own, and asked him for the address of the refreshment rooms run by his old friend, Bessie. He looked rather askance at my question, for I suspect he feared some joke in poor taste on my part, but I convinced him to answer, and then bade him good day, leaving him looking after me with a mystified look upon his face.
The little cafe was on the Embankment, at no great distance from Scotland Yard, and I could see that Lestrade, and indeed his professional colleagues, might find it handy after the day’s work. It was mid-morning when I looked in, and the place was quiet. A lady who corresponded to Lestrade’s rather coarse description was dusting the zinc counter, and looked up as I entered.
I removed my hat. ‘Ah! Have I the honour of addressing Mrs, or Miss, ah — Bessie?’ said I.
She regarded me with some degree of suspicion. ‘Maybe. And who might you be, then?’
‘I am a good friend of Inspector Lestrade,’ I told her.
Her face cleared at once. ‘Oh, that’s different.’ Her brow clouded again. ‘’Ere, ‘e’s not in no trouble, is ‘e?’
‘The fact is, madam, that he is,’ I said. ‘The Clayton case of twenty years back. You will perhaps have seen some account in the newspapers?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not much of a reader. But I did hear something about it.’
‘Yes, Inspector Lestrade has come in for a good deal of criticism for his handling of the matter,’ I went on. ‘I, and some of his other friends, are naturally anxious to do what we can to help him. And I am sure that you yourself would wish to help, if at all possible?’
‘Yes, of course. But what could I do, sir?’
‘Do you recall the original case, at all?’
She nodded. ‘Not in any detail, so to say. But I recall he was in a tizzy over it, him and his pals at the Yard.’
‘He did not discuss it with you, though?’
Bessie shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t, would he?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘I know he had a bit of bother at the time,’ added Bessie, with every sign of wanting to help. ‘Him and his wife — well, I won’t tell tales, but there was a bit of trouble there. You’ll know what I mean, sir? And that upset him, never mind the murders and all.’
‘Yes. Well,’ said I, putting my hat back on my head, ‘I’m sorry to have taken up your time. I did think it was a remote possibility, but the poor chap is in such a pickle that anything was worth a try.’
‘You tell him I was asking after him, would you, sir? And tell him not to be a stranger.’
‘I will indeed.’
‘And if you are ever this way yourself, and fancy a cup of tea and a chat, please drop in.’
‘I will remember,’ I promised.
I went on then to my club, and spent an hour or so there, taking luncheon and playing billiards with some acquaintances. I had arranged with Mrs Hudson to be back at Baker Street for afternoon tea, so that it did not look as if I were avoiding Holmes and Lestrade altogether, and I set off back at about three o’clock. I had just turned the corner into Baker Street when I spotted Coombes, lounging along like any common idler. He looked directly at me, but gave no sign of recognizing me, so I understood that I was to pretend indifference, and did so.
As I reached him, he touched his greasy cap and waved an old clay pipe under my nose, as if begging a light. I handed him a vesta, and as he lit his pipe he muttered, not the usual thanks, but the cryptic message, ‘Meet the grim reaper, eight tonight,’ then with another tug at his cap he was gone.
Lestrade confirmed that The Grim Reaper was a low public house in the East End, and both he and Holmes cheered up very considerably at my news. I did not bother to report my morning’s fruitless investigations, although I resolved to pass Bessie’s good wishes on to Lestrade when the moment should be more opportune.
At half past seven we entered the public house, all suitably dressed in our oldest clothes, for Lestrade had told us that this was ‘no place to go looking like a toff,’ a sentiment which I echoed as I walked through the door to be met by a sort of tidal wave of noise, stale beer, perspiration, rank tobacco smoke and even less pleasant odours. We attracted no special attention, though, and promptly at eight the spare figure of Coombes slid into a seat next to us.
‘Brought us a long way from home, Frankie,’ complained Lestrade.
‘Sorry, Mr Lestrade, but I thought it safer.’
‘Quite right,’ said Holmes. ‘I gather you have some news for us?’
Coombes nodded, almost too excited to speak.
‘That’s quick work,’ I said. ‘You had no difficulty making Clayton’s acquaintance, obviously?’
‘Went like clockwork,’ said Coombes. ‘Bumped into him, accidental like, in the pub, and Bob’s your uncle. Asked me back to his place, ‘e did. Though it’s not his, really, some of his friends are putting him up, but I met ’em, and they asked me to stay as well. My own room, and everythink.’
Lestrade looked sceptical. ‘Get on all right with them, then, Frankie?’
‘I knew one or two of ’em, as you might say,’ said Coombes unexpectedly. He mentioned one or two names, Lady This, Sir Charles That.
‘I wouldn’t have thought they was friends of yours,’ said Lestrade, even more sceptical.
‘Oh, not friends, Mr Lestrade. Not as such. Friends of
friends, you might say.’ Coombes flushed.
‘Oh, I get it. Your old pals have turned over some of their gaffs, that it, Frankie?’
‘Mr Lestrade!’
‘Interesting though these social notes are,’ said Holmes, ‘we might perhaps get to the real business of the evening?’
Coombes nodded assent. ‘He’s meeting a bloke tomorrow,’ he told us. ‘What sort of bloke?’ asked Lestrade.
‘A toff. Short, tubby. Well-dressed. Looks as if he might be the Lord Mayor or somethink,’ said Coombes.
‘I know the Lord Mayor, and it is not he,’ said Holmes.
‘Well, an Alderman or somethink of that, then. A toff.’
‘You did not catch his name?’
Coombes shook his head. ‘I wasn’t supposed to see him, I don’t think. I just caught the tail-end of what they was saying. “Tomorrow, at the bank, at noon”, Clayton was saying. This other bloke, he wasn’t too happy about it, but Clayton insisted.’
‘H’mm. It could not have been “The Bank”, I suppose, as in Bank of England?’ asked Holmes.
Coombes shrugged.
‘It is a pity you did not get his name,’ said Lestrade.
‘Oh, I forgot. He’d left his bag on the table outside in the ‘all, a dispatch case, d’you call it? I took a look in there.’
‘Old habits die hard, eh?’ said Lestrade.
‘You did well,’ said Holmes, looking at the detective severely. ‘It was a grave risk, but you did not flinch from it.’
Coombes looked pleased at this.
‘What was in the bag?’ Holmes went on.
‘Just some papers.’
‘Any names on them, then?’
Coombes shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.
Lestrade lowered his voice. ‘It’s this way, Mr Holmes,’ said he, ‘Frankie here — well, he don’t read any too well.’
‘Ah. Forgive my obtuseness, Mr Coombes. I intended no offence.’ Holmes’s voice was bland, but his eye showed a suppressed anger at being so easily frustrated.
