More From the Deed Box of John H. Watson MD

by Ashton, Hugh

  “Is anything wrong, Papa?” she asked, with a note of tender concern.

  “By no means, my dear. It is merely that I have had a little trouble sleeping recently, and it occurs to me that chloral drops might be of benefit to me.” He turned to me and winked deliberately, but in such a way that I was the only one to observe the gesture.

  “Very good, Papa. I shall go to the kitchen now, and give Cook her orders for luncheon?”

  “Yes, yes, my dear. Please do that.”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen.” And with a charming smile bestowed on all of us, Alice Warburton left the room.

  “Doctor,” the Colonel addressed me. “It is not my place to tell you what to do with your time while you are visiting, but I would strongly recommend that you walk to the top of the rise and admire the view of the town from there. It is very fine. I am sure that young Purcell will be happy to set you on the right path.”

  “I will do more than that,” Purcell readily assented. “I am in the mood for some exercise myself, and I will be happy to walk all the way with you.”

  “Very good,” beamed the Colonel. “Please ensure you return in time for luncheon. I am afraid our cook becomes a trifle autocratic at times, and she tends to exercise her dictatorial nature if we are late for our meals.”

  About thirty minutes later, Purcell and I were walking through the woods at the back of the house. It was a splendid autumn morning, of the kind only experienced in England. I swung my stick with abandon as I strode along the path, glad to be free of the confines of London for a few days.

  Purcell burst upon my peaceful musings with, “I heard the old man again last night.”

  “So did I. I confronted him, and caused him to return to his bed. He explained that he had been suffering from bad dreams, and was sleepwalking. I advised him to seek the advice of his doctor, and told him that I would prescribe chloral in such a case.”

  “Hence the visit to the doctor this morning?” asked Purcell. I nodded in reply. “And do you believe that he is indeed suffering from these bad dreams?”

  “I confess I have my doubts, but this did not appear as derangement or insanity to me.”

  My companion let out a sigh of relief. “That is good news,” he exclaimed. “But there is still the matter of the egg that I described to you, and also of the parade-ground antics.”

  “I had not forgotten those, and of course, they would hardly be connected with the dreams. As matters stand, I am unable to form any opinion on those incidents.”

  We walked on a little further, and Purcell asked me abruptly, “I wonder when your friend Holmes is going to arrive? I rather fear for his reception when he makes himself known.”

  “He can be a master of tact, never fear.”

  The view from the top of the rise, when we reached it, was indeed magnificent. Surrey does not contain the most dramatic landscapes of our isles, but it has its own charms. We admired the vista in silence for a few minutes, and then by common accord turned to retrace our steps.

  We entered the grounds of Colonel Warburton’s house through the back entrance. As we were closing the gate, Purcell gave a cry.

  “Hey there! Who’s that? Stop there, my man!”

  I caught a glimpse of a ragged grey coat disappearing behind a herbaceous border. “Stop!” I echoed, brandishing my stick.

  We caught up with the tramp without over-much exertion. He proved to be a tall man, but put up no resistance as Purcell and I laid hold of him.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, sirs, but I was told to be here.”

  “Told? By whom?” I asked, relaxing my grip on the rogue’s collar.

  “By the gardener, sir. I’m just an old soldier workin’ my passage, as you might put it, doing odd jobs here and there to earn a few coppers.”

  “And Colonel Warburton’s gardener said you could work here?”

  “That’s right, sir. He told me to be weeding this flower-bed here.” And indeed, the flower-bed to which he pointed did seem to have been attended to recently, and there was a gardening-basket with weeds in it.

  “Very good, my man,” said Purcell sternly. “But you may be certain that I will be checking your story with the gardener. If I find that you have not been telling us the truth, be sure that I will come back and have you put in charge.”

  “I have no fear of that, sir,” replied the other, touching his greasy cap. “You may ask all you want, and you’ll find that I’m in the clear.”

  “What a villainous-looking rogue,” I exclaimed to Purcell as we made our way in search of the gardener.

  “Indeed he is. I’ll wager he hasn’t seen a bath this year, and criminality is written all over his face. It’s not my place to interfere with another man’s servants, but I am strongly tempted to question the judgement displayed here. Ah, here we are.”

  I addressed the gardener. “My good man,” I began, “we recently encountered some sort of tramp in the garden who is currently employed in weeding the flower-bed by the walled garden. He told us that you had hired him. Would you care to confirm his story?”

  The countryman smiled at me. “Why, bless you, sir, that’s the truth. He came to me this morning and said he was an old soldier willing to do an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay, so my back being not as young as it was, and the weeds coming up as they do, I thought it was to both our advantage, if you take my meaning, sir.”

  “Do you often do this sort of thing?” asked Purcell.

  “Many a time,” replied the gardener. “The Colonel’s a good master and pays me well enough that I can spare a few coppers now and then. I used to serve under him in India, you know, and he’s good to us who used to be in the Regiment. And when I see these younger fellows like the one over there who’d also taken the Queen’s shilling in his time, and can’t get no steady work, I says to myself ‘Edward Soxworth, that could have been you, if the Colonel hadn’t given you this job’. So yes, I helps those who’s willing to help themselves like the one over there. How was he getting on?”

  “I’m no expert in these matters,” I replied, “but he appeared to be doing an adequate job.”

  “Well, that’s all right then, isn’t it, sir? No harm done, no bones broken. And now, sirs, if you’ll excuse me, I have a line of beets to be thinning out.” He picked up the handles of his wheelbarrow and moved in the direction of the vegetable garden.

  “He may be a poor judge of character,” I remarked to Purcell, “but his heart is certainly in the right place.”

  -oOo-

  The rest of the day passed without incident until about four o’clock, when Purcell and I returned to the house, and joined Miss Warburton for tea in the drawing-room. The Colonel had failed to join us in another walk around the district, though we had enjoyed luncheon together, and he had afterwards told us that he proposed to take a post-prandial nap in his study.

  “Maybe I should go and fetch him?” I suggested.

  “If you would be so kind, Doctor,” Miss Warburton replied. “In the meantime, I will pour your tea.”

  I knocked on the study door, but there was no answer. I gingerly opened the door, but the Colonel was nowhere to be seen. An account-book lay on the desk, together with a whisky decanter, a soda syphon, and two glasses, both of which appeared to have been used. A search of the other downstairs rooms failed to discover any trace of the Colonel. I returned to the drawing-room to inform the others of my fruitless quest.

  “Maybe you should see if he is in one of the upstairs rooms, Miss Warburton,” I suggested. “And in the meantime, maybe Mr Purcell and I should search the garden. If he is not upstairs, your father has probably fallen asleep in the arbour, and needs to be woken.”

  Purcell and I left our tea and went outside. As we rounded the yew hedge, we saw the yokel who had been hired by the gardener stooping over the Colonel, who was sitting slumped on the garden-seat in the arbour.

  “How the devil did you know he would be here?” Purcell asked me, as we started forward to the s
cene.

  “It was pure supposition on my part,” I replied. “Stop where you are!” I called to the vagabond. “Do not move, or I fire.”

  “Do you carry a pistol?” asked Purcell.

  “No,” I replied in a low voice, “but it will be better if he believes that I do.”

  The tramp made no attempt to move away, but stood up, and slowly raised his arms, showing that he was unarmed.

  “Do not move,” I repeated, “or it will be the worse for you.” I moved behind the tramp and jabbed my forefinger into the small of his back. Purcell bent over the supine body of the Colonel.

  “There’s blood here,” he exclaimed, looking at the Colonel’s head. “This ruffian has obviously made a murderous assault upon our host and was presumably in the act of looting his pockets when we came upon him. I am going to the house to alert the servants and will return directly.”

  “Is he dead?” I asked. “I cannot see from here.”

  “No, but he is obviously the victim of a vicious assault,” replied Purcell. So saying, he started back to the house.

  My Hippocratic instincts overcame me. “I am going to attend to the injured man,” I told my prisoner. “I would strongly advise you not to escape, or to make any movement.” I bent over Colonel Warburton’s unconscious body.

  “You need have no fear that I will attack you, Watson.” Sherlock Holmes’ voice came from behind me, and I spun round. The vagabond was standing tall, and I now recognised my friend under the grime and the shabby rags. He smiled broadly.

  “Holmes! How long have you been here?” Though by this time I should have become accustomed to Holmes’ mastery in the art of disguise, it was still a matter of astonishment to me that he could so completely throw off his true character and assume a new one so perfectly as this.

  “Since this morning, as I explained to you and your friend earlier when you asked me, not knowing that you were addressing me. I must confess,” he chuckled, “the two of you appeared to be adequately menacing in your attitudes towards any ne’er-do-well who crossed your path. I quite feared for my safety until I recalled that your Army revolver was safely lodged with me at Baker Street.”

  “And what are you doing here?” I asked, now having somewhat recovered from my surprise in seeing my friend in this unfamiliar garb.

  “The same as you, Watson. Investigating the causes of Colonel Warburton’s supposed madness. I merely chose a different path to follow.”

  “Indeed you did,” I replied, smiling. “But what of the Colonel? I find it hard to believe that it was you who attacked him and struck him down in this way.”

  “Naturally I did nothing of the kind. No-one attacked him. See here.” He pointed to a stone by the side of the path with fresh blood staining it. “I call you to witness that this stone is in its original position, and has not been moved recently.”

  I bent down and examined the stone and the surrounding mould. “I agree with you. But in that case, how—?”

  “He was walking and fell, striking his head against the stone. It is as simple as that. I had almost completed my honest labours of the day,” he smiled, “and was passing when I observed the accident. My first instinct was to render assistance, and I was just helping the Colonel to a more seemly and comfortable position on the seat, when you and your friend appeared on the scene.”

  “It appeared to me,” I said, “that you were also examining the contents of the Colonel’s pockets.”

  Holmes shrugged in reply. “Maybe that was the case,” he admitted. “Today has been an interesting day, and I have learned many things. But maybe you had better attend to your patient?”

  “I had almost forgotten.” I bent to the prostrate figure and listened to the breathing and heartbeat. “He is unconscious, and breathing steadily. I anticipate no danger, though he should be moved inside the house. But what am I to do with you, Holmes?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I was left in charge of a dangerous ruffian who has attempted to murder the master of the house. Purcell will arrive to find me in conversation with my colleague and friend. How am I to explain this?”

  “That is easy. You simply point out the stone and the facts of the matter as I have laid them out to you. That should be sufficient to convince even him of my innocence. I, naturally, will remain mute, as befits one of my class, and I will assist in bearing the patient to his house. Then, having received my wages for my day’s toil from the good Soxworth, I will depart and make my way to the inn where I will revert to being the more familiar Sherlock Holmes of old.”

  “That seems to be the wisest move,” I replied. On Purcell’s return, I explained matters in the manner that Holmes had suggested, and Purcell accepted this account of events readily, as indeed any rational man was bound to do. Holmes and Purcell carried the unconscious Warburton into the house, where Holmes, touching his forelock in the manner of the yokel whose character he had assumed, left us.

  Miss Warburton shrieked a little at the sight of her father, whom we had deposited in an armchair, but I sent her out of the room in search of hot water and bandages.

  “A bad business,” said Purcell. “Do you think he had a queer turn, perhaps not unconnected with those strange fits of behaviour that have been observed in the past?”

  “He may simply have slipped or tripped,” I pointed out. “I noticed that part of the path is a little uneven, and the ground is a little muddy at that particular point.”

  “I wish your friend Holmes were with us now,” exclaimed Purcell. “From your accounts, he would be able to take one look at the scene and tell us at a glance what had happened.”

  “He is not a magician,” I laughed. “But he certainly has an amazing faculty for deducing the truth from the most mundane and commonplace of details.”

  Alice Warburton re-entered the room, together with one of the maids, bearing a tray on which was a basin of hot water, and some cloths to be employed as bandages. I attended to the Colonel, and was relieved to see that his wound was not at all serious, though it had bled profusely. “Do you have some iodine in the house?” I asked Miss Warburton. “I was not expecting to be acting in my medical capacity, and I have no supplies to hand.”

  “He will recover?” she asked me anxiously.

  “I have every confidence he will do so. He has suffered a fall, and has lost consciousness as a result, but his wound, though it has bled freely, as is the nature of such injuries, is superficial.” As I spoke, my patient stirred slightly and groaned a little. “See, he is not so badly injured after all,” I smiled at her.

  “I will help you find the iodine,” Purcell offered. “I seem to remember seeing it on a high shelf and I am sure I can reach it easily.” They left the room together, and I continued to examine my patient. I was, perhaps, not quite as sanguine as I had appeared in front of Miss Warburton, being aware that injuries of the type suffered by Colonel Warburton can sometimes result in temporary, or in the worst case, permanent impairment of the patient’s mental faculties, but in this case I was reasonably certain that the injury was not so severe as to produce such a result.

  In a few minutes, the iodine was brought in by Miss Warburton, and the wound now having been thoroughly cleaned, I applied the iodine and bandaged the Colonel’s head.

  “I would suggest leaving him on this couch,” I suggested, “and moving him as little as possible for the next few hours before transporting him to his bed upstairs.”

  “I will instruct Mary to make up his bed, in that case, to be ready for him,” said Alice Warburton.

  I looked at her in some surprise. “Surely the bed has been made up already?” I asked. “Mine was, at any rate, when I went to my room after lunch.”

  “For some reason Papa’s bed appeared to be unmade, or at least in disarray, when I went upstairs to search for him. Mary is positive that she made all the beds this morning, though.”

  “He told us that he was going to take a nap after lunch,” Purcell reminded us.


  “So he did, but he said he would rest in the study,” I pointed out. “Did he make a habit of sleeping upstairs in the daytime?” I asked Miss Warburton.

  “No, he never did so,” she replied.

  I pondered this. After luncheon, the Colonel had obviously enjoyed a somewhat varied afternoon. If the evidence of the glasses on his desk was to be believed, he had also entertained a visitor in his study, as well as sleeping upstairs and walking in the garden. “Were there any visitors to the house this afternoon?” I asked her.

  “I did not hear the doorbell,” she answered. “And I was in this room almost the whole afternoon.” She looked away as she said this, almost as if she had made a confession, but I was unable to fix any reason of this in my mind.

  However, even as she spoke, we heard the sound of the doorbell, almost as if to prove to us that if the bell had indeed rung, Alice Warburton would have heard it clearly.

  The parlourmaid entered, and announced, “A Mr Sherlock Holmes, madam. Will you be at home to him?” I confess I started to breathe a little easier on learning that my friend’s powers of reasoning would be brought to bear on the case.

  “Why yes, of course, Mary.”

  The maid remained in the doorway.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  “I was wondering, madam, if you wanted me to show him into this room, what with the master laid out there like that?”

  “Please show him in here.” Her face was set, and a red spot appeared on each cheek as she displayed as much animation as I had hereto seen in her.

  “Very good, madam.” After about half a minute, Sherlock Holmes was ushered in, clad in his usual London attire. At times like this, Holmes displayed the most exquisite manners, and observing him, one would have thought him to be one of the wealthy idlers-about-town that have so recently been prevalent in the fashionable districts of the metropolis. He introduced himself to Alice Warburton as if she were a princess, taking her hand and kissing it in a fashion that I had never seen him display before.