Without My Boswell: Five Early Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (From the Dispatch Box of John H Watson, MD)

by Hugh Ashton

  “ I was in India at the time,” I answered, “ but there were reports of the case in the newspapers, even there. It was indeed a shocking case.”

  Holmes laughed bitterly. “ The newspapers reported only a half of the facts. Are you ready to hear the other half ? Bring the brandy closer. Here, on this table, and set the glasses close by. I feel we will both be in need of a restorative by the time I am through.”

  “ You frighten me,” I told him.

  “ I frighten myself, Watson,” he confessed. “ The only other man who knew the whole truth of the matter was an Inspector of the local police, and Lestrade. The former’s nerves were shattered, and he retired from the police force, and lives, a broken man, in the rural part of Sussex, where he keeps bees for a living. As for Lestrade – well you know the man well enough. It is a shadow that will fall over him and haunt him to the end of his days.”

  “ I am ready, all the same, to hear your story,” I said stoutly.

  “ Good man, Watson. This was at the time when I was living in Montagu-street, and was starting to build up my practice. Some members of the Metropolitan Police force, chiefly our friend Inspector Lestrade, had got into the habit of seeking my advice on occasion. Though I accepted no compensation for these cases, seeing them as a way of honing my skills, I nonetheless managed to keep body and soul from drifting too far apart through my taking on private cases. I had no wish to descend to the usual mundane fare of the profession – that is to say, spying on errant spouses – but there was enough work of other more challenging nature to keep me occupied.

  “ However, it was not a regular business ; by no means as flourishing as the time when I first met you, and we took these rooms here together. I was therefore glad of any interruption that caused me to exercise my mental faculties, and a visit from Lestrade was especially welcome, as I knew it heralded some case which was out of the ordinary, and demanded my particular skills. I had come to value Lestrade as a companion, though not for his intelligence, I assure you.”

  “ For what reason, then ? ” I asked.

  “ Oh, he is not without a certain amount of cleverness, I grant you. But the man is as blind as a mole when it comes to noticing details. He overlooks the most obvious clues. Why, Watson, even you are a perfect Argus with regard to your powers of observation when compared to Lestrade. He completely lacks those powers of imagination and reasoning that are essential to success in the profession. But he is fiercely loyal – to his colleagues, and to his ideas, and to justice, and that bulldog-like tenacity is what has brought him to his current position.

  “ In any event, it was a pleasing break in the daily routine, such as it was, whenever he came to call on me, and so it transpired on this day that I am describing to you. He came into the rooms at a rush, flung his billycock down upon the couch, and sat down, starting to speak even before he was settled in his chair.

  “ ‘ My dear Inspector,’ I said to him. ‘ Please take your time. Surely there is nothing in this world that cannot wait the minute that it will take you to catch your breath.’ For he was breathing heavily, and his face was flushed with excitement.”

  “ I have noticed a tendency to asthma in Lestrade,” I remarked, “ as no doubt have you.”

  “ Indeed so. In any case, he took my advice, and his breathing returned to a more regular state. ‘ It is murder, Mr. Holmes ! ’ he exclaimed. ‘ Murder of the most foul and barbaric nature.’

  “ ‘ I have seen nothing in the newspapers,’ I answered him. ‘ Where is this horror ? ’

  “ ‘ In Lancashire, in the village of Tarleton,’ he told me. ‘ The local constabulary are out of their depth, and have requested the help of the Yard.’

  “ ‘ And you in your turn are out of your depth, and are requesting my help ? ’ I rejoined.

  “ ‘ Precisely, Mr. Holmes. Of course, I have not seen the scene myself, but it appears to me that your notions, fanciful as they appear at times, might serve to provide us with valuable hints.’”

  “ Lestrade is never one to acknowledge your successes with the applause they deserve,” I remarked, smiling.

  “ Nor was he ever,” said Holmes. “ He has mellowed a little with time, but he still seems unwilling to admit that there are smarter men in the business than he. In this case, he passed over a sheet of paper to me. ‘ This arrived by the first post this morning. It is the preliminary report of the officer of the Lancashire Constabulary in charge of the case. Read it, and let me know what you think.’

  “ I perused the document, which gave the details of the scene of the crime. As Lestrade had told me, it did indeed appear to be a hideous crime. A Mr. Percy Grimshaw, his wife, Helen, and their two children, Mildred and Peter, aged twelve and eight respectively, had been found dead in the drawing-room by the maid early in the morning. All were in night attire, and all had been horribly cut about the neck, presumably with an axe, the head of which was found in the fireplace. The charred remains of the handle were still attached.”

  I shuddered. “ Indeed, a horrible crime. And the maid discovered them ? Did she live in the house ? One would assume that such a slaughter as you describe would have attracted her attention, and that of any other servants living in the house.”

  “ An excellent question, Watson. Excellent indeed. She did indeed live in the house, as did the cook and another maid. A groom slept over the stables. None of these had heard anything untoward. The most mysterious part of the whole affair was that the door to the room was locked, and the key was later discovered to be in the lock of the door, on the inside.”

  “ Were the windows also locked ? ” I asked.

  “ This was a serious omission from the document. Even Lestrade had noticed this, and he roundly cursed the local force for this oversight. When I had finished reading the report – and there really was very little of value in it other than what I have just told you – I looked up at Lestrade.

  “ ‘ Well ? ’ said he. ‘ A train leaves from Euston in forty minutes. We can arrive in Tartleton with changes at Liverpool and Southport, and I have taken the liberty of sending a telegram to the local force and asking them to reserve two rooms for us at a local inn.’

  “ ‘ Allow me five minutes to collect some items for travel, and I am your man,’ I told him. I threw the necessities of daily existence into my Gladstone bag, and picked up the bag I always kept packed with the tools of my trade ; the lenses and so on that you have seen me use on many occasions.

  “ It was a source of some frustration to me that Lestrade knew as little as did I regarding the nature of the victims. Naturally, we could assume that the family was well-to-do, from the number of servants mentioned, but it is always the human touch that makes the difference in these cases. Was the late Mr. Grimshaw a drunkard ? A harsh taskmaster ? An employer whose employees might bear a grudge against him ? In cases like this there is almost always a tempting range of opportunities, but we had no knowledge at this point.

  “ ‘ Some maniac escaped from an asylum,’ said Lestrade, when I asked him for his opinion on the identity of the murderer as we sped towards our destination.

  “ ‘ There is an asylum nearby ? ’ I asked. ‘ And reports of an escaped lunatic ? ’

  “ ‘ We can make enquiries,’ replied Lestrade. ‘ Surely you must agree that this appears to be the work of a madman ? ’

  “ ‘ I agree with nothing of the sort,’ I retorted. ‘ Consider the following. The family was all gathered together in the one room, and they were all reportedly in their nightclothes. This would argue that they had all previously retired for the night. A lunatic such as you describe would have gone from room to room slaughtering his victims in their beds, and he would almost certainly not have spared the servants. I can hardly conceive of your madman assembling his victims in one room in this way. Secondly, the room is described as being locked from the inside. We must ascribe a good deal of cunning to your madman – more than I think is likely. And lastly, the supposed murder weapon, the axe, was thrust in
to the fire to destroy at least the handle, and presumably to remove any traces of blood, thereby making it harder for you, the police, to present it as evidence in a court case. No, Inspector, I fear that your lunatic will not pass muster.’

  “ Lestrade considered my words in silence for a few minutes. ‘ There may well be some truth in your theories, Mr. Holmes,’ he admitted. ‘ But you must admit that it would be remiss if we did not at least consider the possibility and make appropriate enquiries.’

  “ ‘ By all means do so,’ I told him. ‘ But I fear it will be a sad waste of your time and energy.’

  “ ‘ Do you have any ideas of your own, then ? ’ he asked me, seemingly nettled at my dismissal of his theory.

  “ ‘ I have too many theories, and not enough data on which to make a decision. For example, we may take the idea of a suicide as being a possibility, albeit a remote one. The husband finds a pretext to summon the family to one room after they and the servants have retired for the night. He murders them all with an axe, before taking the axe to himself – a difficult, but not impossible contortion – and as his last act thrusts the weapon into the fire.’

  “ ‘ Impossible ! ’ snorted Lestrade.

  “ ‘ Highly improbable,’ I said, ‘ but within the bounds of possibility, especially if the arrangement of the bodies and so on supports it.’

  “ ‘ You have more ideas ? ’

  “ ‘ Of course. Who is to say that one of the servants is not responsible, for a reason of which we are currently unaware ? ’

  “ Lestrade considered this, and grudgingly admitted that such might be the case.

  “ ‘ But as yet, I believe it to be impossible for me to make any pronouncement,’ I told him, ‘ since we have yet to visit the scene of the crime. There is, however, one circumstance that particularly intrigues me.”

  “ ‘ And what might that be, Mr. Holmes ? ’

  “ ‘ You have the same facts in your possession as do I,’ I reminded him. ‘ There is one point there, in plain view, which should give you pause for thought.’”

  I had been following Holmes’ narrative with attention, and I broke in at this point. “ I believe I know to what you were referring,” I exclaimed.

  “ It is quite possible that you do,” Holmes said to me, a faint smile curving his thin lips. “ Have the patience to hear me out, and you may then tell me if your deduction was correct or not.”

  “ Very well,” I answered him.

  “ On arrival at the small town of Tarleton, which in truth is little more than a village, we made straight for the small police station, where an Inspector Ruddle, a senior officer of the local force, was waiting for us. Lestrade introduced me as a consultant with some experience in criminal affairs. You must recall that I had no Boswell to sing my praises, and my name was virtually unknown at that time, other than in a rather restricted circle of police and their prey. Though I had dismissed Lestrade’s idea of an escaped lunatic, I must credit him with tackling that line of enquiry in a very competent and business-like way. He quickly established that there was a County Lunatic Asylum at Whittingham, on the other side of Preston, not too far away.

  “ ‘ And have any lunatics escaped ? ’ he asked. Ruddle appeared to be ignorant of any such event, but one of the constables timidly raised his hand.

  “ ‘ It was in the newspaper two or three days ago that one of the inmates had escaped,’ he told us in his thick Lancashire accent. ‘ One of the most brutal maniacs in the whole of the asylum.’ He repeated the details with what appeared to be a certain relish. ‘ Killed three men with an axe, he did, before they locked him up. The only reason he didn’t swing was because he had some doctor who said he was mad, and didn’t know what he was doing at the time. Load of blooming rubbish, if you ask me.’

  “ ‘ Nobody asked you, Stubbings,’ replied his superior tartly.

  “ However, Lestrade thanked him for the information, and turned to me with a gleam of triumph in his eyes. ‘ You see, Mr. Holmes, that there is no need for you to spin your fantastic theories. I think we now have the answer to our case. All we have to do is to recapture the madman, and put him back where he belongs.’

  “ The local officer seemed taken aback by the speed with which Lestrade had disposed of the problem, and blurted an apology to him and to me for having brought us up here on a wild goose chase, as he put it. I, on the other hand, was far from convinced of the truth of Lestrade’s supposed solution of the mystery, and expressed my opinion, perhaps with a little more emphasis than was altogether tactful under the circumstances.”

  I chuckled. “ It would not be the first time that you have found yourself in such a position. You and Lestrade are often at odds in your interpretation of events, I have observed.”

  “ Nor have you encountered the last such little fracas, I am sure,” Holmes answered me. “ In any event, Lestrade seemed more than a little put out by my words, which, as I say, were perhaps expressed with the over-confidence of youth, but assented to my suggestion that we visit the scene of the crime.

  “ ‘ All has been left as it was originally discovered,’ we were assured by Chief Inspector Ruddle. I thanked him for the information, and he and Lestrade and I set off for the scene of the crime, a handsome modern brick villa located a few hundred yards from the police station. On arrival at the house, the front door of which was guarded by a police constable, I stopped and enquired which window was that of the room in which the bodies had been discovered. On being informed of its identity, I approached with my usual caution that I employ on such occasions, and made a minute examination of the ground outside the window, before proceeding to the window itself.

  “ Lestrade watched me with a certain interest. ‘ Do you consider the lunatic to have entered through the window, then ? ’ he asked me.

  “ ‘ Whoever entered the room through the window was no lunatic, especially not of the type we have heard described,’ I told him. ‘ See here.’ I pointed to the soft ground, in which it was still possible to discern the prints of feet. ‘ These, my dear Lestrade, are the prints of hob-nailed boots. I do not believe that the inmates of asylums are provided with such footwear. The boots come to the ground under the window, leaving excellent imprints in the soft soil, and it is obvious that the wearer of the boots entered the room through the window. He then exited the room a little later and made his way onto the lawn, where the prints are lost. This much, at least is obvious from even a cursory examination of the evidence.’

  “ ‘ He might have stolen the boots,’ Lestrade remonstrated, but it was obvious that his confidence was somewhat shaken. ‘ However, I agree with you regarding the direction of the footprints and the fact that the intruder seems to have gained access through the window. Not suicide, then, Mr. Holmes ? ’ he smiled.

  “ ‘ Suicide would seem to be unlikely, indeed. With regard to your other point, I admit that it is possible for the boots to have been stolen,’ I replied. ‘ However, let us also consider this.’ I pointed to a spot on the window-frame where the paint appeared to have been worn away. ‘ To me, this is clear evidence that the internal catch of the casement was slipped, using some long thin tool, such as this.’ I bent in my bag, and retrieved a sliver of steel that I carry for just such purposes. ‘ See here, as I operate on the next casement, which is identical.’ I used the tool on the window, and within ten seconds, I was able to swing it wide. There was a low whistle of surprise from Ruddle behind me.

  “ ‘ I am glad that you are working with us and not against us, Mr. Holmes,’ he said. ‘ That is as neat a piece of housebreaking as I have encountered in a long while.’

  “ ‘ My point is not to demonstrate my skills in that area,’ I told him. ‘ Rather, I wish you to examine the mark I have just left on the frame, and the mark we have previously noted on the casement next to it.’

  “ ‘ Why, they are nearly identical ! ’ exclaimed Lestrade, after a brief inspection.

  “ ‘ Bless my soul, so they are,’ added Ruddle.
‘ Very good, Mr. Holmes. I think you have proved your point regarding the way in which the room was entered.’

  “ ‘ More than that, though,’ I pointed out. ‘ I believe this also demonstrates that the intruder was no lunatic. A madman would almost certainly lack the patience or the skill to perform this operation.’

  “ Lestrade appeared crestfallen at this statement, but rallied with, ‘ In that case, Mr. Holmes, perhaps you would be good enough to inform us of the identity of the murderer.’

  “ ‘ That is precisely why you invited me to accompany you, was it not ? I propose to fulfil my obligation after we have made a thorough investigation of the scene of the crime.’

  “ ‘ Very well,’ said Ruddle. ‘ Follow me, please, gentlemen.’ He led the way to the front door of the house, and opened a door to a room leading off the hallway. The door- frame had been splintered, and to my eyes, it seemed that the locked door had been forced open. Ruddle followed my gaze.

  “ ‘ It was the groom, Deegan, who forced open the door, after the kitchen-maid was unable to enter that morning,’ he told me.

  “ It was a horrible sight that met my eyes. There were four corpses, sprawled on the floor, each in a welter of blood. As Lestrade had told me, the neck of each of the victims had been hacked about by some sharp instrument. I looked closer at the bodies, and was horrified by what I beheld. The night attire of each was in a state of disarray, and the man and his son had been hideously mutilated. I will spare you the full details, Watson, but I am sure your Afghan experiences have made you aware of the reported practices of Afghan women when they capture an enemy.”

  “ Not merely reported,” I informed him with a shudder. “ I have seen the results of the women’s attentions with my own eyes. A private of the Berkshires had been captured by the Pathans, and had escaped after suffering the most unimaginably filthy tortures and deprivations. It fell to me to dress his wounds as best I could, and to console him for the loss of those parts which had been removed. You cannot mean that the same sort of abomination had occurred in this case ? ”