Sherlock Holmes and the Disgraced Inspector

by John Hall

  ‘But some of them ‘ad a — a motto, kind of thing,’ said Coombes, taking a grubby scrap of paper from his pocket, ‘and I drew it, best as I could.’

  He laid the paper down on the table, and we saw a rough sketch of what was clearly intended to be a crest of some sort. I confess it meant nothing to me, and Lestrade too shook his head. But Holmes took a pencil from his pocket, altered a line here, and added another there, then sat back.

  ‘Why,’ said I, ‘it is the sign of one of the private banks in Lombard Street.’

  Holmes nodded. ‘You have really done very well,’ he told Coombes. ‘Yes, Watson, it is one of the private banks in Lombard Street. Very small, very exclusive. And, more to our purpose, it has only the one branch in the City, the other I believe is in Harrow.’

  ‘And what the devil is someone like Clayton doing with a small, exclusive private bank?’ Lestrade wanted to know.

  ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ said Coombes. When we looked blank, he added, ‘That’s where he’s hid it. And this other bloke, he’s the manager, like as not. I said he was a toff, didn’t I?’

  ‘“It”?’ said Holmes.

  ‘Yes, “it”, what I was telling you about. Whatever “it” is that he’s hidden. The clue, like.’

  ‘Whatever “it” may be, we can surely not afford to neglect this opportunity,’ said Holmes. ‘Noon, tomorrow, you say? Well, we shall be there, I think. Lestrade?’

  The detective nodded. ‘Hang on, though, what if it’s the other branch, Harrow, did you say?’

  ‘H’mm. I think it unlikely,’ said Holmes, ‘but we must stop all the earths, I agree. Look here, MacDonald knows Clayton by sight, so he can cover the Harrow branch.’

  ‘And what is he to do?’ asked Lestrade.

  ‘Why, just what we will do. Use his eyes, and his imagination, and act accordingly. We can give him no other advice, for I freely confess I have no idea as to what may happen tomorrow.’

  NINE

  We were in Lombard Street and across the road from the bank at eleven next morning. Lestrade had insisted upon our being early, and Holmes had not demurred, saying that it was better safe than sorry. I ventured to make some mild protest, saying that Clayton and his new friend had arranged a time, that their meeting was fixed for when the bank was at its busiest and they would thus attract no attention, and thus they would be unlikely to vary it, but I had been unable to resist the combined efforts of the other two.

  That they were right and I was wrong, that the precaution was justified was proved when, at half past eleven, a carriage swept up to the entrance to the bank, and Clayton and another man, whom I recognized only as the ‘stout, tubby’ personage of Coombes’s description, alighted.

  ‘Cunning devil!’ said Lestrade, digging me in the ribs by way of reproach.

  ‘Have you got your forces in place?’ asked Holmes, as the two men went through the great double door of the bank, the uniformed commissionaire snapping to attention as they passed him.

  ‘A half dozen constables round the corner, sir,’ answered Lestrade, holding up a police whistle. ‘Though I can’t see as these two will give us much trouble,’ he added scornfully.

  ‘What exactly do you intend?’ I asked him curiously.

  ‘Why, to see what he’s up to.’

  ‘And if it proves to be all above board? If this is all some further grotesque misunderstanding? What then, Lestrade?’

  Lestrade gave a defensive shrug of the shoulders. ‘What is it you racing men say, Doctor, “double or quits”, is it?’

  ‘More like “make or break”, I should think,’ said I.

  Lestrade looked hard at me, then grinned, nodded, and shook my hand. ‘Make or break it is, gents,’ said he, moving to cross the road as Clayton and the other man emerged from the bank.

  The other man was making as if to get back into the carriage, and since he had no means of knowing us he took no notice as we approached. But Clayton stopped dead in his tracks, and if ever I saw naked fear and guilt on a man’s face, I saw it then. He was holding a bulky package in his hands, and he strove unsuccessfully to conceal it as Lestrade reached him.

  ‘And what have we here, then, Algernon?’ asked Lestrade, indicating the package.

  The other man had now realized that all was not well. ‘What is this?’ he asked in a pompous manner. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Police,’ said Lestrade shortly. ‘And I’ll thank you to hand over that package,’ he told Clayton.

  They blustered, but to no avail, although in the end Lestrade had pretty well to snatch the package from Clayton. He broke the wax seal, and took out a sheaf of photographs. He glanced at one or two with a look of horror, before handing them to me.

  I looked at the pictures in my turn. I will not dwell on their subject matter, other than to say that it was a manifestation of some perverted intellect. Murder is one thing, gratuitous mutilation another, but to photograph the end result is yet a third. Perhaps some of my modern German alienist colleagues will find the right words, but I cannot. I can only say that I have seldom seen such vileness, such clear evidence of evil, in all my life. I gave a grimace, and was about to return the photographs to Lestrade, when something struck me. I looked again at the pictures.

  ‘You mentioned five boys, Lestrade?’ said I.

  ‘Well, Doctor?’

  ‘There are six here.’

  He fairly tore the photographs from my extended arm, and went through them, muttering under his breath. At the third picture, he stopped, and something like triumph shone in his eye. ‘This is the first one,’ he told us. ‘The one we thought was different, the one that Algernon here was never tried for.’

  Clayton’s face turned a sickly green — I use the description literally — and he slumped against the wall of the bank for support.

  ‘Yes, you —!’ said Lestrade, and the epithet, foul as it was, seemed to me to be entirely justified, ‘yes, you swine, you’ll hang for that one, even if I can’t touch you for the rest. And you, too,’ he added to the stout man.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ asked the stout man. He waved a hand to indicate the bank behind him. ‘I am the chairman of — ’

  ‘I don’t care who you are,’ Lestrade told him, ‘you’re involved with this creature here, and that’s good enough for me.’

  Clayton had by this time recovered some of his composure, and he waved a hand feebly. ‘Nothing to do with him,’ he told Lestrade. ‘Just kept my package safe. Never knew what was in it.’

  The stout man nodded agreement to this. Lestrade looked baffled. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I have the man I set out to get, if nothing else. That’ll do to be going on with.’

  ‘You may have more,’ said Holmes calmly. He touched the edge of the top photograph. ‘The surface is highly glazed, you see. It will take finger marks of almost textbook perfection.’

  Lestrade looked a question at him.

  ‘The package was sealed,’ Holmes went on. ‘There will naturally be the finger marks of yourself, Inspector, and Doctor Watson here, and presumably Mr Clayton. If there are also the marks of our other friend here — ’

  The fact that the stout man slid to the ground in a dead faint told its own story at this point. Lestrade blew his police whistle.

  ‘This, I think, must be the third man of whom a witness spoke,’ said Holmes, regarding the inert form upon the pavement with some interest. ‘It seems there was honour among thieves, of a sort, for none of them would implicate the others, unless it were out of their hands. Even in the worst specimens of humanity, the lowest of the low, there may yet be something approaching a spark of decency, you see.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Lestrade. ‘But it won’t cut much ice with a judge and jury. And none at all with the hangman!’

  In the event, he was right.

  TEN

  ‘A nasty business, Holmes,’ I ventured.

  Holmes, who had scarcely spoken to me all morning, nodded. ‘It was certainly that, Watson. I have had some dis
mal cases, but this must go down as one of the worst. A salutary reminder that our chosen profession is not always wholesome, not always a matter of helping a beautiful young duchess find a missing silver spoon. There were not even any of those scintillations of humour which so enliven some of your accounts, my boy.’

  ‘As you say, it is in the nature of our business. Why, any young bobby on his first day alone on the beat might run into murder of the most sordid kind, vice of the foulest description. How much more likely is it then that two old hounds like us must occasionally encounter unpleasantness? It was not a total failure, Holmes. At least you caught the villains.’

  ‘That is true enough. A success, of sorts. But at what cost? Two men’s lives. Two more lives to add to the tally. And will their deaths accomplish anything? I wonder.’

  ‘I should put that in the credit, and not the debit, column, Holmes!’ I told him. ‘You and I did not commit those horrific crimes, after all, nor did Lestrade. And neither did we incite or encourage the rogues who did. If nothing else, many a wretched woman in the East End will sleep easier knowing that her child is safe. To say nothing of having saved Lestrade’s good name. I see it as nothing less than a triumph. And I am certain that Lestrade will tell you the selfsame thing. Indeed, I fancy you will not have to wait long to hear him say it, for that, unless I am much mistaken, is Lestrade ringing the bell of the street door.’

  ‘Amazing!’ said Holmes, recovering some of his usual good humour and gazing at me with open admiration. ‘Even I would not venture to identify a visitor from the ringing of the bell.’

  ‘Oh, it is nothing,’ I answered modestly. ‘Lestrade’s ring is unmistakable. And besides,’ I added truthfully, ‘I ran into him in Oxford Street earlier this morning, and he said he would call.’

  Before Holmes could work out a reply, Lestrade had entered the room with all his usual breezy cheerfulness. He carried a great sheaf of newspapers, which he threw onto the table, before shaking Holmes’s hand warmly. ‘I really cannot thank you enough, Mr Holmes,’ said he. ‘I thought I was a goner, for sure.’

  ‘Ah, well, it all ended in a satisfactory enough fashion, I suppose,’ said Holmes. He gestured at the newspapers. ‘They carry the report of the arrest, or rather, “the reports of the arrests”, I should say, for you have had a busy few days just lately?’

  Lestrade nodded. ‘They have changed their tune somewhat,’ he said rather bitterly. ‘But that was to be expected.’

  ‘I should be grateful if you could leave the papers,’ said Holmes. ‘There are some details I would wish to record in my scrapbooks.’

  Lestrade winked at me.

  ‘No,’ said Holmes, ‘I am not that vain! I merely wished to take a note of the names of those misguided people who had supported Clayton initially.’

  ‘And why that?’ asked Lestrade, puzzled.

  ‘It did not occur to you that the claims as to his innocence, and likewise the vilification of yourself, might have been organized?’

  ‘Well, we know he had friends — a peer of the realm with egalitarian notions, a clergyman who is always quick to forgive villains, provided their villainy is directed against some third party and not himself, of course. Others, too, misguided, as you say, but nothing more, surely?’’

  Holmes shook his head impatiently. ‘More than that, I fancy, Inspector. There was some organizing genius behind it, mark my words!’

  ‘Oh!’ said Lestrade, ‘this is not about Professor Moriarty again, surely? Why, the man’s been dead this ten years.’

  ‘No man is more aware of that than I myself,’ said Holmes calmly. ‘But there were others. And there are still others. By striking at you, Lestrade, they hoped to strike at the whole of Scotland Yard, at the whole system of justice, perhaps even — indirectly — at me. So, with your permission, I shall just note their names, for future reference.’

  Lestrade looked at me and winked again. ‘He has his methods, Doctor! And, Lord knows, I have enough reason to be grateful, aye, and more than grateful for that. Make your notes, Mr Holmes, and if ever you decide the time is right to act, you know who to call upon.’ He took the glass I offered him, and wiped his brow. ‘Never was I more glad to see the end of a case, gents, and that’s a fact. Still, it all came right in the end.’

  ‘A sordid business, though, Inspector, I fear,’ said Holmes, glancing up from his note-taking.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t the cleanest case I’ve ever known, and that’s a fact,’ said Lestrade. ‘But remember, Mr Holmes, that it was none of my making, nor yours either, come to that. We simply cleared up the mess those villains had left.’

  ‘Just what I said,’ I told him.

  ‘You are right, of course,’ said Holmes.

  ‘And the beauty of it is,’ Lestrade went on, ‘that now everything’s back to normal, you and I will be able to work together on many a new case!’

  ‘Brandy, Holmes?’ said I.