The Secret Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

by June Thomson

  I was, I confess, not only bewildered by this sudden and unexpected turn of events but also somewhat annoyed and it was with considerable impatience that, after arriving at Baker Street, I waited for Holmes to return and explain his extraordinary behaviour.

  It was more than an hour later, however, before he came bursting into the sitting-room to fling a large brown paper parcel down on to the table.

  ‘There, Watson!’ said he with a triumphant air. ‘Our problem is solved! We shall return to Maplewood Avenue this afternoon where we shall not only see inside the house but, if I am not mistaken, also make the acquaintance of Mr Josiah Wetherby.’

  ‘How shall we contrive that?’ I asked, my curiosity quite overcoming my earlier exasperation.

  ‘By the simple method of disguising ourselves as window-cleaners.’

  ‘Window-cleaners, Holmes?’ I protested. ‘But I can hardly pass as a window-cleaner dressed as I am. I shall need clothes …’

  ‘They are here,’ he replied, laying a hand on the parcel.

  ‘… not to mention special equipment such as buckets and ladders. How shall we acquire those?’

  ‘They are already spoken for,’ he replied. ‘As we walked down Heath Street, I noticed the entrance to a small yard with a sign advertising a window-cleaning firm. I thought it might arouse the owner’s suspicions if the two of us approached him. That is why I so rudely hustled you into the hansom, for which I apologize most sincerely, my dear fellow. He is a certain Joseph Smallwood who runs the business with the assistance of his son, young Dorian. In consideration of a fee, two guineas to be exact, Mr Smallwood senior agreed to lend me his hand-cart, his window-cleaning equipment and also a set of his working clothes, Mr Smallwood being of approximately the same height and figure as yourself. Oh, I can assure you, Watson,’ Holmes continued, seeing my dubious expression, ‘that although Mr Smallwood may be a tradesman in a very minor capacity, he is quite clean in his person and a thoroughly respectable citizen, being, as I understand from my conversation with him, a sidesman at St John’s in Church Row. As for my own disguise, I have plenty of clothes in my wardrobe amongst which I have no doubt I shall find something suitable for the occasion.

  ‘I also visited the house agents in the area and discovered the very one, Nichols and Allison’s, which handled the lease of twenty-three Maple wood Avenue. On the pretext that I had heard this particular property had been on the market and that I was most anxious to rent it myself, should it ever fall vacant, I learned some very pertinent information from the junior partner, Mr Allison.

  ‘It appears, Watson, that the present occupant has taken it on a very short lease, one month to be exact, and that he is due to move out at the beginning of October, in one week’s time. I think we may deduce from this fact that, whatever nefarious business Mr Wetherby may be engaged on, he expects to have it completed by that date. It also means that time is short and that we have not long before our bird flies the coop. Hence my anxiety to return to Hampstead this afternoon without delay.’

  As soon as luncheon was over, we put on our disguises. Mine consisted of a flannel shirt, a waistcoat, a pair of corduroy trousers, very worn about the knees, and an old jacket, also showing signs of wear on the elbows and cuffs. Despite Holmes’ assurance that Mr Smallwood was approximately my size, he must have been considerably stouter than I about the waist for the trousers had to be held up by means of a strong leather belt which Holmes produced from his collection of suitable accessories. As for the boots, they were several sizes too large and, although crumpled paper stuffed into the toes made them an adequate fit, they were far from comfortable.

  It is extraordinary what a change of clothes will do to a man’s apparent social standing. Dressed in this attire and with Mr Smallwood’s cap upon my head, I saw, when I looked in the long glass in Holmes’ bedroom, that my appearance was completely altered from that of a respectable member of the professional classes to that of a workman of the lower orders; not a comfortable experience when one considers that mere outward appurtenances such as one’s boots or the cut of one’s coat can bring about so fundamental a change.

  Holmes appeared to suffer no such qualms. From his extensive wardrobe of disguises, he had selected garments very similar to mine with the addition of a red-spotted kerchief which he knotted casually about his neck.

  It was on my insistence that we wore our topcoats over this shabby apparel. As a respectable doctor, I was sensitive about appearing in public in Baker Street, where neighbours might recognise me, dressed as I was. Holmes, who is quite oblivious to the opinions of others, had no such misgivings. Indeed, I have known him come and go from our lodgings dressed in all manner of disguises from a Nonconformist clergyman to an old woman.

  However, he acquiesced in my demand and, with our working men’s attire decently covered, at least as far as our lower legs and feet, we took a cab to Mr Smallwood’s yard in Hampstead where the proprietor of the window-cleaning business, Mr Smallwood himself, a cheerful, rotund man, was waiting for us, together with the equipment of his trade.

  It was piled on to a hand-cart and consisted of two lengths of ladder which could be assembled together to form one long one, a collection of various polishing-rags and wash-leathers, and two buckets, half-full of water, swinging from hooks on the back. As if the cart were not conspicuous enough, along both sides were painted the words Jo Smallwood & Son, Potter’s Yard, Heath Street in large, white letters.

  Leaving our topcoats in the care of Mr Smallwood and watched by both Smallwoods, father and son, who appeared to find much to their amusement in the situation, Holmes and I trundled the cart out of the yard and up the hill towards Maplewood Avenue.

  I cannot say, in all honesty, that I enjoyed the experience, unlike Holmes who entered into the spirit of the occasion with great gusto, to the extent of tipping his cap at a rakish angle and whistling the tune of a rather vulgar music-hall song, made popular among the lower classes by Marie Lloyd.*

  By the time we reached Maplewood Avenue not only was I in considerable discomfort from Mr Smallwood’s boots but my arms were aching so much with the effort of pushing the loaded cart up the steep incline that I was twice forced to ask Holmes to slow down his pace.

  It had been arranged between us that I should hold the ladder while Holmes mounted the rungs to look in at the rooms while he wiped the windows and, recalling Dr Moore Agar’s statement, that the bed-chamber where he had examined the young lady was in the front of the house and to the left of the door, it was at this window that Holmes chose to start his activities.

  However, even as we placed the ladder in position, I could see that our efforts had been in vain. The blind to that particular window was drawn firmly down, excluding any possible glimpse of the interior.

  I was about to point this out to Holmes but he had already climbed the ladder, bucket in hand, with great nimbleness and dexterity, as if quite used to this employment, and had begun to wash over the panes.

  Hardly had he finished the upper portion of the window when the front door flew open and a man appeared in the porch.

  There was no doubt in my mind that he was Josiah Wetherby for, with his full, dark beard and coarse complexion, he closely resembled the description which Dr Moore Agar had given to us. It was also clear that he was extremely angry.

  ‘What the devil are you doing?’ he demanded in a strong American accent, coming out on to the door-step and addressing Holmes on the top of the ladder.

  ‘What does it look like, guvn’r?’ Holmes riposted, continuing to wipe over the glass with his wash-leather.

  ‘Come down at once!’ Wetherby demanded, his face scarlet with rage. ‘I gave no orders for the windows to be cleaned.’

  Holmes gave a last polish to the pane before descending the ladder.

  ‘This is number twenty-three, ain’t it?’ he asked, his face expressing bewilderment. ‘Mr h’Atkinson’s ’ouse? I ’ave a standin’ h’arrangement with Mr h’Atkinson to clean ’is winders back
and front every last Friday of the month and that’s today.’

  ‘Mr Atkinson must have been the previous tenant,’ Wetherby said, still angry but mollified a little by this explanation. ‘I had no idea of such an arrangement or I would certainly have cancelled it.’

  ‘Then you don’t want your winders cleaned, guvn’r?’ Holmes asked.

  ‘No, I do not, either now or in the future! Leave immediately!’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ Holmes said, assuming an aggrieved air, ‘but when we’ve gone to the trouble of pushin’ this ’ere cart all the way up from Potter’s Yard, it don’t seem right we’re to be sent away h’empty-’anded.’

  Anxious to be rid of us, Wetherby took a florin from his pocket which he handed to Holmes with the command, ‘Now clear off and take your d – d ladder with you.’

  Holmes touched his cap but before he could reply, Wetherby had gone inside the house, slamming the front door after him although I could see him standing at the bay window, glaring out at us as we loaded up the cart and pushed it up the path.

  I waited until we had reached the pavement before voicing my disappointment.

  ‘What a waste of time and effort, Holmes! With the blind down over the window, you cannot have seen anything.’

  Holmes laughed out loud.

  ‘On the contrary, my dear Watson, I had an excellent if limited view through a small slit in the fabric which I had expected to find from Dr Moore Agar’s description of the room. He said it was shabby. I have observed before that, when furnishings have been neglected, it is invariably the blinds, which are in daily use, that are the first to suffer from wear and tear.’

  ‘What did you see?’ I asked eagerly.

  ‘Enough to convince me that Dr Moore Agar was correct in his fear that some illegitimate business is being conducted on those premises. I saw a bed on which was lying a young, fair-haired woman who answered the doctor’s description and who appeared to be asleep. Seated on a chair beside the bed was a middle-aged, stout woman, the housekeeper without a doubt, who seemed to be keeping guard over her. But whether it will be enough to satisfy Lestrade is another matter.’

  ‘But surely, Holmes, if it is a case, as you suspect, of abduction, Lestrade will not hesitate to apply for a search warrant?’

  ‘Lestrade is a man of little imagination and excessive caution, a combination of qualities which does not readily lend itself to swift and decisive action. He will, I am sure, raise all manner of objections. To him, the situation may appear perfectly innocent – a case of a respectable American citizen with a sick daughter who, for reasons of her health, has to be kept in a darkened room with a woman servant in attendance.’

  ‘What can be done then?’

  ‘Leave it to me, my dear fellow. I know a bait which will persuade Lestrade to swallow our hook.’

  He would say no more on the subject and, as soon as we had left the hand-cart at Small wood’s, we returned by cab to Baker Street where, having changed into his own attire, he immediately left again to call on Dr Moore Agar at Harley Street, his intention being to proceed from there, accompanied by the doctor, to Scotland Yard to lay the case before Inspector Lestrade.

  After I also had changed into my own clothes, I waited impatiently for my old friend’s return, anxious to know if he had persuaded the Inspector to act positively in the affair.

  He was gone for more than two hours but I could tell by the manner in which he banged the front door behind him and came running jubilantly up the stairs that his efforts had been successful.

  ‘The hook has been taken!’ cried he, striding into the room. ‘Lestrade has agreed to apply for a warrant which will be signed by a magistrate later this evening. He has also agreed that you and I, Watson, shall be present when the premises are searched and that Dr Moore Agar shall be on hand as well in case the young lady needs further medical attention.’

  ‘What was the bait you used, Holmes?’ I asked.

  ‘Wait and see, my dear fellow!’ said he, his deep-set eyes sparkling with mischief.

  It was ten o’ clock that evening when, for the third time that day, we returned to Hampstead, on this occasion attired in our own clothes, stopping briefly on the way at Potter’s Yard to return the parcel containing Mr Small wood’s garments before proceeding to Maplewood Avenue.

  On Holmes’ instructions, the cab halted a little distance from number twenty-three to join a small group of other vehicles already drawn up including a four-wheeler containing Lestrade, a sergeant and two constables, and a brougham in which was seated Dr Moore Agar, accompanied by a nurse.

  Leaving the doctor to wait, Holmes, the police officers and I approached the house on foot, the sergeant and one of the constables making their way to the back of the building to cover any rear entrance should an attempt be made by Wetherby and his female accomplice to make their escape.

  At the time I thought this an unnecessary precaution as I did also the heavy walking-stick with which Holmes had armed himself.

  There were a few lights burning in the house, one in the hall, one in the ground-floor room through the window of which Wetherby had watched Holmes and I depart with the cart, the last behind the drawn blind of the upstairs room where Holmes had seen the young woman lying in the bed.

  While the rest of us waited in the porch, Lestrade knocked on the door, three heavy, officious-sounding thumps, which must have echoed throughout the house. There were a few moments of silence, followed soon afterwards by a rattle of bolts being drawn and keys being turned before the door opened a scant few inches on its chain and Wetherby’s dark, bearded face appeared in the aperture.

  ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ he demanded.

  I fear that in several of my published accounts of investigations with which the official police have been associated, I may have given the impression that the officers concerned were incompetent, Lestrade in particular. In comparison with Holmes’ quick intelligence and scientific deductive methods, they have indeed at times appeared slow-witted.

  However, when it is a matter of a formal arrest or, as on that occasion, the presentation of a search warrant, I doubt if even Holmes, consummate actor though he is, could have produced quite that combination of a dignified, not to say pompous, manner and the officially polite form of address.

  ‘I have a warrant to search these premises,’ Lestrade announced, ‘so you will oblige me, Mr Wetherby, by removing the chain from the door and allowing entry to myself and my colleagues. And I should warn you, sir, that I have two other officers posted at the rear of the building.’

  Wetherby appeared to acquiesce for, without any protest, he withdrew his head, removed the chain and opened back the door to allow us to enter.

  I was therefore astonished when Holmes, pushing Lestrade to one side, rushed ahead of him into the hall and brought down his walking-stick with considerable force on Wetherby’s right arm.

  ‘Now, Mr Holmes!’ Lestrade protested. ‘There’s no need for any violence …’

  He broke off, his mouth agape, as a Colt revolver fell from Wetherby’s hand on to the tiled floor.

  ‘You said nothing about Wetherby being armed,’ Lestrade continued in an aggrieved voice when the man had been finally overcome and was led away in handcuffs by the two constables, still struggling wildly, his face distorted with rage.

  ‘I suspected it from the bulge in his right-hand pocket when he came to the door this afternoon,’ Holmes explained. ‘However, a stick is as good a weapon as a firearm if used at the right moment. And now, Lestrade, pray let us proceed upstairs.’

  Holmes led the way, making straight for the room where the young lady was incarcerated and where we found her still lying in a drugged state upon the bed. The housekeeper, who had been alerted to our presence by the noise of Wetherby’s arrest, was cowering behind the door. She, too, was taken away for questioning and a constable dispatched to fetch Dr Moore Agar and the nurse.

  In the mean time, Holmes and I wrapped the patient in
blankets after I had taken her pulse and pronounced her in no immediate danger.

  Even in her comatose state, she was a most attractive young woman, with an abundance of fair hair and features of a refined nature, made even more delicate by the extreme pallor of her complexion.

  When she had been carried downstairs to the waiting brougham to be driven to Dr Moore Agar’s consulting-rooms in Harley Street, Lestrade, who had been examining the room with great suspicion, turned to address my old friend.

  ‘And where, Mr Holmes, might I ask, is the forging press you said you saw when you looked through the window?’

  Holmes’ expression was most apologetic.

  ‘I fear, Inspector,’ said he, ‘that I was mistaken. As I explained to you this afternoon, I only glimpsed the interior of the room through a tear in the blind. I am afraid that I took that wash-hand stand against the far wall for the printing press. You must agree that, with the jug and basin standing upon it, it would look remarkably like forging equipment if seen in the half-light. I do most heartily apologize for the mistake although your time has not been entirely wasted. You have made an arrest in a most serious case involving abduction and unlawful imprisonment.’

  From the expression of heavy suspicion on Lestrade’s face I deduced that he was not entirely convinced by this explanation although there was nothing he could do for Holmes was careful to preserve his look of genuine regret.

  It was not until we were inside the cab and on our way back to Baker Street that he burst out laughing.

  ‘You see now, Watson, what my bait consisted of?’ he asked.

  ‘Indeed I do but I fear Lestrade suspected you had deceived him and did not take kindly to it.’

  ‘Oh, he will come round eventually. Even if he has lost a forger, he has gained an abductor, for which he will, of course, win all the credit. There is no doubt in my mind that, as in the case we investigated a few months ago in Surrey,* the young lady is the heiress to a considerable fortune which Wetherby was attempting to seize into his own hands.’