More From the Deed Box of John H. Watson MD

by Ashton, Hugh

  “If that were all,” replied my friend, “I would not be so concerned, but events of a similar bizarre nature have continued to occur since then. For example, only three weeks ago while I was staying at the house, an event occurred that almost caused me to quit the spot immediately. Indeed, now that I come to reflect on it, I am amazed that I remained as a guest there.”

  “Pray continue.”

  “You should understand that the household retires to bed at an early hour – at about 10 o’clock. This is much earlier than my usual time for bed, and accordingly I usually remain awake in my room for several hours, reading, or otherwise occupying my time until I fall asleep. No doubt you, as a fellow old campaigner, pursue similar habits. In any event, it must have been about midnight, and I was wide awake, when I heard an extraordinary noise outside my bed-room door. It sounded like a kind of irregular shuffling, as if someone were dancing or skipping. Naturally, I opened the door and looked out. Imagine my surprise, not to mention my horror, when I beheld the Colonel in his night attire, positively skipping up and down the corridor with a fixed grin on his face. The smile was not one of pleasure, but appeared to me to be that of a maniac. I confess, Watson, I was completely at a loss as to what to do. I had heard something of the strength possessed by lunatics, among whose number I had now no choice but to regard the Colonel, and since I was the only able-bodied man in the house, it did not seem wise to me to involve myself in a physical struggle with him.”

  “Was he aware that you were observing him?” I asked.

  “Most certainly he was. His eyes were actually fixed on mine while he was performing these extraordinary movements. For about a minute, I suppose, I was mesmerised by the sight, and I was unable to move from the spot. Eventually, I was able to tear myself away from the horrid spectacle and returned to my room, where I locked the door. I must admit that I was actually worried for the safety of the others in the house, not to mention my own, and I seriously considered raising the alarm and attempting to apprehend and restrain the Colonel. Again, given that I was the only man in the house, this course of action did not seem a wise one to me. I cast around the room for some object I could use as a weapon in self-defence should the Colonel decide to enter the room and attack me.”

  “You believed that to be a genuine possibility, then?”

  “At the time I did. I was also, as you can readily imagine, afraid for Alice. I stood by the locked door, poker in hand, listening to the strange shuffling sounds as the Colonel continued his exertions. At length, the sounds ceased, and I unlocked my door and stepped out. The Colonel was walking along the corridor back to his own room, seemingly unaware of my presence. Suddenly he appeared to notice me and he turned.

  “‘Hallo,’ he said to me. ‘What on earth are you doing with that in your hand?’, pointing to the poker that I was gripping. ‘Come to that, young man, what are you doing out of bed at this time of night?’ You may well believe that there was no answer that I could give him, especially considering that his face showed absolutely no trace of the exertion that his actions of only a few minutes before must have caused him. I stammered out some reply of having heard a noise that I believed might have been burglars, upon which he patted me on the shoulder in the most friendly fashion and wished me a good night.”

  “Is there more?”

  “I am sorry to say that there is. Though the incident of the egg has yet to be repeated, the nocturnal skipping has occurred, to the best of my knowledge, at least twice more.”

  “To the best of your knowledge? You cannot be sure?”

  “I felt after the previous occasion that it would not be wise to confront the Colonel while he was in one of these states of mind. Even so, I can positively assert that I have heard the noise of the skipping twice more – both times at midnight.”

  I pondered this for a few seconds. “And that is all?”

  He sighed. “I would that it were all that I had to say in this regard, but there is more. Yesterday afternoon, I was staying at the Colonel’s house. Alice had gone up to Town on some feminine errand, it was the parlour-maid’s afternoon off, and the cook had gone to the local shops to order the provisions for that evening’s meal. The Colonel and I were alone in the house, and I proposed to write some letters – I am a deucedly poor correspondent, so I felt that this would be an excellent opportunity for me to make amends. The Colonel, for his part, announced that he would take a nap after luncheon, as is his usual habit. I had finished the first letter and had barely started the second, when I heard a noise from the garden, and the sound somehow reminded me of the parade-ground. I may add that the room I occupy while I am a guest there overlooks their garden. Looking out of the window, I observed the Colonel, carrying a broomstick as though it were a rifle, barking out parade-ground drill commands and executing them himself – with some skill, I have to admit. Naturally, I found this disturbing, particularly given the fatuous smile on his face, which gave him an appearance of crude vacancy, a rather different expression from the one which I had observed during his skipping exercises. This last was more maniacal in nature, while on this occasion, the smile had more of idiocy to it. The parade-ground performance must have lasted for somewhere in the region of ten minutes, when the front doorbell rang. I remembered that the servants were absent, and was prepared to let the door go unanswered, lest the caller discover the Colonel in his present condition, when the Colonel himself appeared to hear the sound, and his whole demeanour changed. The rifle on his shoulder reverted to being a broomstick once more, and the vacancy on his face vanished, to be replaced by the usual alert look of intelligence that I am sure you remember well.”

  “Extraordinary!” I exclaimed.

  “I watched him hurry into the house, and heard the sound of the front door being opened, and the caller admitted. In a minute or so, I heard the Colonel’s voice bidding me descend to meet the caller, Chelmy.”

  “Why would the Colonel desire you to meet this person?” I inquired.

  “Maybe I should have explained to you earlier that this Guy Chelmy is a friend of the family. He has always, as far as I can judge, lived in the area, and is therefore a neighbour of the Colonel. Some time ago, I gather, he was of assistance to the Colonel in some matters concerning his financial affairs – I do not know the details, and I have never asked for them – in such a way that he acquired and has retained the friendship of the Colonel, and also of Alice. He is in some ways a pleasant enough fellow, if a little strange at times, but is a frequent visitor to the Warburtons and appears to be always welcome there. He and I generally get along well enough, and often play a frame or two of billiards together, at which I confess I almost always lose. He is a player of considerable skill, whatever else he may be.”

  “Would you regard him as your rival for Alice’s hand?”

  Purcell laughed, somewhat unpleasantly. “Hardly a rival, old man. If you had seen the chap, you would not bother asking that question. He is a little shrimp of a fellow. He must be about fifty years old, and looks every minute of it. Without wishing to boast, Watson, I think that if you were laying odds on the matter, I would be an odds-on favourite, and he would be an outsider.”

  It pained me a little to hear him talk of the state of holy matrimony as if it were a horse race, but determined to hold my peace on that score.

  “But there is more,” he continued. “I love Alice, and as I told you, I am sure – nay, I am certain – that she loves me. Yet just two days ago, I asked her to marry me.”

  “And her response?”

  “She told me that she loves me with all her heart, but that she could not marry me. These were her very words on the subject, ‘I cannot marry you’. That, and no more.”

  “You fear that she likewise doubts the mental stability of her father, and wishes to dissuade you from marriage?”

  “It is the only conclusion open to me,” he replied. “There was no hint of unfriendliness towards me at the time or afterwards. Her refusal, I am convinced, is not the r
esult of anything I am or that I have done.”

  “To summarise what you have told me, then.” I said, “you have observed Colonel Warburton behaving oddly on at least one occasion, and you fear this behaviour may be the symptom of some kind of derangement. This derangement you fear to be hereditary, and you therefore have concerns – valid ones, I would say at this stage, judging by your account – about marriage to his daughter. His daughter shares these concerns, and has therefore refused your offer of marriage. Does that form an adequate account of the facts?”

  “It would seem to be so. Do you suppose your friend Mr Holmes will take the case?”

  “I can but ask him,” I replied. “Let me have an address where I can reach you, and I will let you know the answer in a few days.”

  -oOo-

  Purcell’s visit reminded me that I had not called upon Sherlock Holmes in some weeks, and I determined to remedy this omission. Accordingly, the following day saw me mounting the well-known staircase at 221B Baker Street to the rooms formerly shared by Holmes and myself, and now occupied solely by the detective. Mrs Hudson had given me to understand that Holmes was in residence, but had added that he was “very busy these days”.

  I was confident, however, that Holmes would welcome my interruption, and my confidence was not misplaced. Holmes opened the door in answer to my knock, and waved me wordlessly to my accustomed armchair.

  “Have the goodness, Watson, not to speak a word for a few minutes while I work out the details of this case,” he said, but there was that in his face that bespoke some sort of pleasure at the prospect of my company which belied the seeming coldness of his tone.

  I silently took my place. After about ten minutes, Holmes made a request of me to verify a biographical detail in “Who’s Who”, without even deigning to glance in my direction. From any other person, I would have taken this as the height of rudeness, but in the case of Sherlock Holmes I accepted it as a matter of trust in my ability, and I was glad that he continued to regard my assistance to be of value to him in his work.

  At length he ceased making notes in his book, and sat back.

  “If you would pass me the Persian slipper upon the mantel, I would be grateful.” I reached up and handed him the article in question, which was the accustomed, if decidedly eccentric, receptacle for his tobacco. He thanked me and filled his pipe with the coarse shag that he affected, before regarding me quizzically.

  “I am delighted for your sake to see that both your marriage and your practice are flourishing,” he remarked on an off-hand manner. “Though I must confess to a selfish side of me that regrets the loss of my Watson as a confidant and aide.”

  “How do you know these things?” I asked.

  “Come, Watson, these are simple matters. Your hat and boots are immaculately maintained, as are all your garments. They are in much better condition, if I may say so, than when you and I shared these rooms. I am sure you have not yet attained the luxury of a personal valet, hence I conclude your wife is ensuring that you are turned out in such splendid style. This, to me, argues a happy marriage.”

  “I follow you so far. What of the medical practice?”

  “Though your garments are cared for splendidly, they are not in a condition that suggests you sit and wait idly for custom to present itself to you. They bespeak a man of active habits, and given your profession, that would seem to argue a successful practice. There are, of course, other little pointers, such as the stains of iodine on your fingers where you have no injury, and the tell-tale bulge in your hat where you secrete your stethoscope, as I have remarked previously.”

  I laughed. “I must agree with you on both points regarding my happiness, and congratulate you once again on your perspicacity.”

  “Quite so, quite so,” he replied, and busied himself in lighting his pipe. “And you are here to consult me on some matter on behalf of a friend?”

  “Since I obviously have no troubles of my own, you mean?” I laughed. “Naturally, you are correct.”

  “Naturally,” he repeated, with a slight smile.

  I explained the position of my friend Purcell. During my recounting of the facts, Holmes said nothing, but gazed out of the window, while puffing at his pipe. To those who did not know him, it would appear that he was uninterested in my account, but I knew from experience that he was often at his most attentive under such circumstances. At length I concluded the tale of Colonel Warburton.

  “An excellent summary, Watson. You have a gift on these occasions for presenting the necessary information in an order that makes it easy for me to examine the facts. Would that you exercised the same restraint when chronicling my cases for the benefit of the public,” he sighed. “This Colonel Warburton was also your commanding officer in India? How would you characterise him?”

  “A fair man, well-liked by those he commanded. He had a gift for keeping the regiment contented.”

  “Any weaknesses that you observed?” asked Holmes sharply.

  “Other than the fact that he drank to excess at times, which was a fault to which the whole regiment, indeed, the whole of the Army at that time in that place, was prone, there is little, except perhaps a fondness for cards.”

  “Did he play for high stakes?”

  “I was not in those circles,” I replied, a little stiffly. “I never heard so, in any event.”

  “And the daughter?” asked Holmes.

  “She was a mere girl when I left India. She was extraordinarily beautiful as a child, and the pet of the regiment. Other than that, I really cannot furnish any information.”

  “And your friend Purcell?”

  “A somewhat impetuous young man when I knew him. He seems to have settled down a little since then, but I confess that he was more than a little disrespectful when it came to the subject of marriage.”

  “And your opinion of Colonel Warburton’s madness, if we may term it thus?”

  “‘Madness’ may be too strong a term. It is certainly eccentric, to say the least.”

  “It is very odd,” agreed Holmes. “There are several very queer points about it, to me as a layman in these matters, at least.”

  “Will you help Purcell?” I asked.

  “I will be delighted to give the matter my attention in a few days,” he replied. “At the minute, I am engaged in a rather delicate case which involves the Earl of Lincoln and his gamekeeper. Although the case itself is simple, the matter of keeping it confidential is not. After a few days, I am hopeful that I will be able to turn to something more interesting.”

  “You consider this interesting, then?”

  “Indeed I do. I am of the opinion that there is much more to this case than either you or your friend believe.”

  “And as for—”

  “Ah, the question of money? I think your friend need lose no sleep on that score. This promises to be one of those cases that brings its own reward.”

  I refrained from asking questions. The problem, which at first sight had appeared to be one that had a solution that could be easily determined, seemed to Holmes to have depths unsuspected by me.

  “Can your practice and your wife spare you for a few days?” he inquired of me.

  “I can always hand over my practice to Jackson for two or three days, and Mary is able to take care of herself for the same period. Why do you ask?”

  “I am wondering whether you can manage to renew your acquaintance with Colonel Warburton, and arrange to have yourself invited as a guest for a short period, preferably together with Purcell. Regular reports of your observations, addressed to me here at Baker Street, would be most valuable. If you can start today, so much the better.”

  “That could probably be arranged without too much difficulty. And what of you?”

  “I will make my own plans, and you will be made aware of them, never fear,” he replied.

  -oOo-

  On leaving Baker Street, I hailed a cab and made my way to the address Purcell had given me – a lodging-house in Bloomsbury.
He greeted me in the parlour used by the lodgers, and listened to what I had to say.

  “I must thank you for this,” he said, when I had explained the outcome of my conversation with Holmes. “I feel we can send a wire to the old chap letting him know you are coming and travel down to Guildford without waiting for an answer. He’s a perfectly decent old buffer, when he is not suffering from these queer fits. And I remember once how you pulled him through a bout of dysentery when he’d almost given himself up for lost. He’ll be delighted to see you again, Doctor, and you would surely like to renew his acquaintance?” He spoke with the animation I have observed to be common to those of less ripe years when contemplating the meeting of old colleagues.

  “Maybe under slightly strained circumstances,” I gently reminded him, “after what you have described to me.”

  “Quite so, but let us send that telegram, and we can be on our way. I feel that I can speak for the Colonel when I say that you will be welcome in his house.”

  Nor, in the event, was Purcell’s confidence in Colonel Warburton’s hospitality misplaced. Having been forewarned of my arrival by the telegram we had dispatched prior to our departure, his welcome was as warm as one could wish for. As he shook my hand with every evidence of friendship, I scanned his face as unobtrusively as possible for signs of the illness that Purcell had described, but was unable to discern any trace of abnormality in his features. He remained a fine figure of a man, tall and powerfully built, and still carried himself with a military bearing. It was not hard to imagine his past as a successful and popular leader of men.

  On entering the drawing-room, we were greeted by Alice Warburton, who was acting as our hostess. As Purcell had told me, she had matured into an extraordinarily beautiful young woman, with china-blue eyes set in a face framed by golden hair. I was hardly surprised that Purcell was so strongly attracted to her, based on her appearance, but her conversation seemed to me to be somewhat lacking in vitality and character. I ascribed this, however, to the fact that I was a stranger to her (remembering that she had been a mere girl when I saw her last in India) and her tongue was therefore somewhat constrained by my presence.