“Not here, gentlemen,” was all that he said as he left the building, encouraging us to follow.
Once back inside the waiting four-wheeler, Holmes finally broke his silence.
“Inspector, I thank you for your time. Your very presence was, just as requested. I ask that you be at Scotland Yard tomorrow afternoon, where I hope to be able to put our final case to Shiner.”
He then turned to Fauwkes. “Colonel, we will drop you off at your hotel and I ask that you are also present tomorrow. We will call for you on our way to Scotland Yard.”
Despite the perfectly understandable protestations from Gregson and the Colonel, Holmes refused to elaborate and the journey soon descended into silence.
Chapter Sixteen - Discussions and Truths
It was late in the afternoon by the time we had delivered Fauwkes to his hotel in Mayfair, having earlier dropped off Gregson at Scotland Yard. We paused briefly at a post office, where Holmes sent off yet another of his mysterious telegrams, before we finally arrived back home at Baker Street.
We took an early supper, during which Holmes signally refused to answer any of my questions, insisting that he would be more forthcoming once we had settled down to smoke. With impatience growing inside me, I carelessly overfilled my briar and failed to light it with a taper, before finally giving in to frustration.
“For heaven’s sake, Holmes,” I snapped. “We have aided and accompanied you wherever and whenever called upon, surely the least you can do is share with us what you have discovered.”
“You are quite right, old friend. I shall tell you what I have learned today,” Holmes replied unexpectedly.
“One should never interview a witness or suspect in the presence of the official forces. I thought Gregson’s presence might convince Williams to reveal what he knew, but it proved the exact opposite and almost cost us everything.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I thought that your bluff was successful only because Gregson was there to back it up.”
“Far from it, the bluff would have worked far better without Gregson’s physical presence. It was only when I made to speak with Williams in confidence that he finally felt he could safely reveal all that he knew. I have been a fool, Watson. I should have realised that I was asking Williams to risk his very livelihood if he admitted, in front of a police officer, what I suspected to be true.”
“Of course, we had backed him into a corner and he was in an impossible position,” I agreed. “But one thing still bothers me, Holmes. What made him so reluctant to share the truth with us, why was he so loyal to Harrison? It seems rather strange considering that he claimed to have only met him on two occasions.”
“Williams put himself at great risk in acting as he did. This I could deduce without knowing the exact reasons behind his actions. There are but few circumstances where one might be expected to act in such a way.”
“The first is fear. Was Williams being coerced? This theory, once thoroughly investigated, proved to be without merit. There is absolutely no evidence that Williams has been swayed by any outside influence.”
“The second, and far more likely answer, is loyalty. But this would surely necessitate a pre-existing connection between Harrison and his lawyer. As you say, Watson, Williams claims to have met Harrison only twice.”
“So, Williams lied then, they knew each other far better than he had claimed?” I suggested.
“Maybe, or maybe not,” Holmes countered. “There is one possibility that allows both theories to be true. We saw it in Harrison’s possessions and again upon Williams’ very person today.”
“But Harrison had nothing upon him, just some coins and rings...” I stopped for a moment as realisation set in. “Rings! I will wager that at least one was Masonic!” I declared.
“Just as was the badge upon the lapel, and the engraving on the pocket watch of Williams,” nodded Holmes, drawing deeply upon his pipe.
“Masons. Well that would certainly explain his reluctance to share with us what he knew. It could also explain how a mere two meetings could lead to such a level of loyalty.”
I was beginning to feel a little less excluded from Holmes’ reasoning and hoped that he would now be more predisposed to share with me more information on a regular basis. It was terribly frustrating when he chose, as was often the case, not to share what he had divined until the absolute last possible moment. I rose and poured two brandies before sitting back, emptying, then repacking, my pipe and lighting it, this time with far greater success.
Holmes took a sip of brandy. “Thank you, Watson,” he said before leaning back into his seat. His slight frame, with his knees pulled up, seemed to make the back of his chair loom ominously over him like a large and dark tombstone.
“Williams is indeed a loyal man, but also honest and moral to such an extent that he was almost mentally torn in two by the task he had been asked to perform. You remember when I stated that the will was a fake?” Holmes asked.
“Yes, but I still cannot fathom how you came to know this to be the case, or why a fake will could still contain Harrison’s exact wishes? What would be the point? Why would someone create a fake will that does exactly what the testator intended all along?”
“It may make more sense, Watson, if you knew that the author of the real will and the fake were actually one and the same,” declared Holmes, a little theatrically.
“Harrison? You mean to say that he wrote both wills? But why? Wait a moment, I do have an idea.” A theory was slowly forming in my mind, but coming in and out of focus, failing to settle clearly. “What if he wanted to hide the destination of some of his estate?” I speculated.
“Watson, bravo, you are so very close to the answer. Let me help you from this point onwards,” Holmes offered, supportively.
“You are quite right in what you suggested. Harrison did wish to leave some of his estate to a person whose name he did not wish to be publicly known. If this beneficiary were to be revealed, it would have placed them both at very great risk. Knowing what I do now, I can certainly state that this person’s very life would be in peril if their name were to have been discovered.”
“Harrison came up with a quite brilliant plan,” continued Holmes. “Simple, but ingenious. What he needed most was a solicitor of unswerving loyalty with an unyielding sense of justice. In Williams, he found both qualities. He had to convince the solicitor that it was morally correct, and in the true spirit of justice, to produce these two wills which hid the mysterious inheritor and then to act upon each one in turn in the event of Harrison’s death.”
“Once he heard about Harrison’s untimely demise, Williams quickly acted upon the original will. He transferred ownership of the shares and bonds over to the secret beneficiary before destroying this first will and heading to Bedhurst Hall bearing the second will. By definition, in every legal sense, this subsequent will has to be considered a fake, a forgery. This explains why Williams could not admit the truth before an official agent of the law.”
“This also explains,” I added, enthusiastically, “why there was no copy of the will up at the Hall, it had to be kept in London with Williams or the plan would not work.”
“Exactly, Watson. Williams produced the second will, signed, dated and witnessed. No one suspected anything was amiss, and they never would have if Fauwkes had not noticed that the bonds and shares had recently been removed from Harrison’s safe. This was, of course, because they also had to be in London with Williams for the plan to succeed.”
“But we are not yet finished, there are still questions, Watson. Some, I already have the answers to but others, I fear, may never be fully explained without the direct cooperation of Shiner himself. That cooperation may be gained or lost depending on how we proceed.”
“One question I do have is this, how on earth did he convince Williams to act in what is, by any defi
nition, a criminal manner? Harrison must have sold him a compelling tale, indeed. I understand how the Masonic connection might have secured Williams’ loyalty once he had agreed to this scheme, but what could have possibly made him consent to risk his career, and indeed liberty, for a virtual stranger?”
“This, my dear friend, is where, sadly, I have to end our discussion, for now. I have certain facts now at my disposal, but I cannot share these with you, or anyone else, until at least tomorrow.”
Holmes saw my face fall and quickly added, “Watson, please do not be disappointed. If I cannot share what I have discovered, then I can at least try to explain the reasons why.” Holmes scraped out the detritus from his pipe into the fireplace and laid it down.
“You are certainly familiar with the term ‘the element of surprise’. It is widely known and yet its legitimacy and effectiveness does not diminish, no matter how widely it is disseminated. But I have made a deeper study of its effectiveness, specifically when used during the process of interrogation, and have made several salient observations.”
“Firstly,” continued Holmes, “the effect is much greater if the subject is taken completely unawares. There should be no build-up, no knowing glances from the interrogator, no little hints that ‘we’ know something that ‘he’ does not. Secondly, the sense of surprise must be complete and genuine. I have made a small study of reactions in both face and body to different situations and stimulations. It surprised me how much a hardened criminal can divine from the faces and demeanour of those questioning him. Therefore, it is essential that nobody in that room is aware of what I intend to reveal. Even if it gives us but a single additional percentage of advantage, that might be just enough to make the difference between Shiner talking or remaining forever silent.”
“Another question yet to be answered is, of course, what made Shiner act now, suddenly after thirty years?” Holmes added. “This is a question, I believe, that only Shiner himself can answer. I have some theories in mind but can, so far, find little data to support them.”
“I take it that you have a plan for tomorrow. It is, after all, the last day that Shiner can be kept incarcerated without charge,” I reminded Holmes.
“Tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock, we shall meet up back at Scotland Yard. Our old friend Lestrade will escort Fauwkes, yourself, and I to a final interview with Thomas Shiner. He will subsequently be either charged with murder, or set free. Which outcome it is will depend entirely on us.”
“And what about Gregson?” I asked. “Surely he will want to be there at the dénouement.”
“The good Inspector will be there in good time. He is, even now, engaged upon a mission of vital importance to our cause. If he succeeds, we have a chance, if he does not then we will almost certainly fail. It is that simple, old friend.”
The evening dragged slowly on. Holmes removed to the writing desk and sat scribbling for hours, although he seemed to cross out, angrily, at least as much as he actually put down upon the paper. The evening was warm, so I opened the bay windows to let in some much needed air. I smoked cigars and tried to read, but I could not take my mind from the case and tomorrow’s meeting, upon which so much weighed. My head was full of questions. Uppermost of these was one, which I had stupidly neglected to ask Holmes, ‘who was the mysterious beneficiary of Harrison’s will?’ It had slowly become clear to me that this was the key to this entire sorry tale. However, Holmes was unwilling now to add anything to what he had already revealed or answer any more questions until the next day. I reluctantly gave up on gleaning any more information out of him that night and instead spent a couple of hours working on my own notes before finally retiring to bed.
Chapter Seventeen - A Taste of the East
Wednesday 25th June 1884
I spent a fitful night and dawn could not arrive soon enough for me. I rose, washed, shaved and was delighted to find that Mrs Hudson had already risen, so I was soon enjoying a wonderful hot breakfast. It was only then that I heard an unexpected sound and I stood up and looked towards the sitting room.
There, curled upon his chair and still wrapped in his mouse coloured robe, was Holmes.
“A coffee please, Watson, if you don’t mind,” he asked, casually.
“Please do not tell me you have been here all night,” I sighed. “Holmes, this is not healthy behaviour. One day it will start to affect your mind, you know. You are abusing your greatest gift.”
“Stop nannying, Watson, there is work to do. I need to visit Lestrade to make final arrangements for this afternoon’s gathering. You can join me or remain here until I return,” muttered Holmes.
“Of course I will accompany you, I think I will go mad if I am stuck here for much longer. This adventure has recently seen its pace rather slowed,” I smiled.
We left as soon as I had finished my breakfast. Holmes had taken nothing other than strong, sweet coffee, but I had given up trying to convince him to eat. The case would be over by this evening, one way or another. After that, my concern for his health could once again become a priority.
We travelled to Scotland Yard in an open cab, the morning was already warm and bright, making the trip comfortable, despite my stubbornly silent companion. We met Lestrade at ten and he seemed less than convinced by Holmes’ very basic instructions.
“So you want to talk to Shiner, I understand that, but I was hoping that there was a little more to your plan than just that,” he sighed. “Just yourself, Doctor Watson, myself and a constable?”
“Your most stoic constable, Inspector, it is essential that he is as inscrutable as he is sturdy,” corrected Holmes.
“Very well,” Lestrade agreed, without enthusiasm. “Constable Barnes will be ideal. He has no discernible facial expressions and he is as strong as an ox.”
“You also insist that Colonel Fauwkes should wait in my office, under no circumstances can we allow him to be observed by Shiner. What about Gregson? What have you done with my man, Holmes?”
“The good Inspector should be back with us, just in time. When he does, please arrange for him to be shown to the meeting room. There he will wait outside and be joined by Colonel Fauwkes. This is where we must have an agreed signal to inform those of us inside the room that Gregson has returned and that all is well. I have arranged with Gregson that he feign a commotion outside, similar to a prisoner shouting loudly in complaint. The key words are to be ‘I never drank the communion wine’.”
Lestrade laughed. “Well that, at least, I agree, is a good plan. I think we can be fairly confident that no one else will shout those exact words in the corridor while we are interrogating Shiner.”
“Indeed. Nevertheless, this will be my cue to begin my final assault and one last attempt to break Shiner. I just hope it will be enough.”
I was not used to Holmes sounding so apprehensive, it was becoming apparent how finely balanced this case had become.
Holmes declared that all was now prepared and that we should retreat for an early lunch. Surprisingly, he also asked Inspector Lestrade to join us, as our guest. We left Scotland Yard and headed north. We walked for a good half an hour before turning down a decidedly unwelcoming looking alleyway. Hanging outside an anonymous looking grey fronted building was a Chinese lantern. Holmes rapped upon the windowless door and after half a minute it was opened by a young Chinese lady.
“Mr Holmes, please come in,” she said with a broad smile. “We have your favourite today, roasted duck.”
We passed through the door and into a beautifully decorated restaurant. We were led to a table and sat surrounded by paintings and statues that were completely alien to me, but seemed to fit perfectly within these surroundings.
We were happy to let Holmes order the food and were soon thoroughly enjoying our meal, even if we were not always entirely sure what it was that we were eating. I was simply happy to see Holmes eat anything, even i
f he was, for the most part, just picking idly at his food.
“So, what brings you here, Holmes, not that I mind?” asked Lestrade.
“I helped the family a few years ago and acquired a taste for the food at the same time. I find it relaxing here,” replied Holmes.
The other clientele, of which there were few at this early hour, were all oriental except for one man sitting in a dark corner, hunched up, seemingly in an attempt to hide his large physique. I could not make out much detail, but he had light hair and an impressive moustache. Although he never mentioned him during our visit, I am certain that Holmes had chosen this specific place to eat in order to observe this man rather than to share its cuisine with Lestrade and myself.
We left an hour later with Lestrade singing the praises of this newfound eatery. It had proved a pleasant diversion but we were now heading back towards Scotland Yard and the final chapter of this story.
Chapter Eighteen - The Small White Room
Lestrade and Holmes had ensured that Shiner was the first to arrive. He sat in a simple chair before a plain wooden desk. Constable Barnes was seated to his right, Shiner well within grasping reach of the burly policeman’s oversized arms. They had been left alone for around half an hour, hoping that this may disconcert Shiner.
We entered in the order that Holmes had dictated. First Lestrade, then myself and finally, a few steps back, Holmes. The interrogation room was simple, about fifteen to twenty feet square with plain, whitewashed walls. Apart from the ones occupied by Shiner and Constable Barnes, there were three sturdy wooden chairs set a few feet from the desk.
“Why, Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson. It is a genuine pleasure to see you both again,” grinned Shiner, seemingly unperturbed by both the location and our attempts to unsettle him.
Holmes took the central seat, directly opposite Shiner. I sat to Holmes’ right, Lestrade on his left.
Sherlock Holmes and The Adventure of The Pigtail Twist Page 19
