More From the Deed Box of John H. Watson MD

by Ashton, Hugh

  “But what is here?” he asked, pointing to the prostrate figure of Colonel Warburton.

  I noticed Purcell eyeing Holmes curiously and shrugging his shoulders in a sort of puzzlement. “I am sure I have seen the fellow somewhere before,” he whispered to me out of the side of his mouth, “but I’ll be dashed if I can think where it is that I have met him.”

  I turned away to hide my amusement, and went over to Holmes. “The patient you see there is Colonel Warburton, who seems to have suffered a slight accident in the garden. I have just finished attending to his injury, which thankfully appears to be less serious than we had at first feared.”

  “Can he be safely left in the care of his daughter and your friend, do you think?” Holmes asked me. “I would value a few minutes of your time.”

  “Certainly.” I provided Purcell and Alice Warburton with instructions to call me should they observe certain symptoms, and followed Holmes through the French windows into the garden.

  -oOo-

  “First, I must thank you for the excellent report you prepared last night and arranged to have posted to me. It reached me at Baker Street early this morning, and provided me with my ideas of what to expect.” Praise of this kind from Holmes was rare, and as such, always welcome to my ears. “If you will tell me what has happened since then, I can likewise inform you of what I have observed.”

  I informed Holmes of the previous evening’s events, as well as those of the day, as observed by myself. He lounged back on the garden-seat, his unlit pipe in his mouth, occasionally interjecting some question.

  “You have done good work, Watson,” he remarked at the conclusion of my recital. “Your observations certainly provide me with some more definite information on which I may base my deductions. Now I will tell you of my day. I came down from London on an early train, dressed as you see me now, and immediately reserved a room at the local hostelry, where I changed into the character in which you beheld me earlier. Since Colonel Warburton is an ex-military man, I conjectured that he would employ former soldiers as servants, and I accordingly presented myself in the character of one of these when I applied to the gardener for a few coppers in exchange for my services as a labourer. Nor was I disappointed.

  “I observed your return from your morning constitutional, as you may doubt recall – no, my dear fellow, there is no need for an apology, as you were only doing what you considered to be your duty as a guest – and I arranged things so that I had a clear view of the Colonel and his guests during luncheon, during which, as you informed me just now, no untoward incidents occurred.

  “After luncheon, I managed to find work in a position from which I could observe the study into which the Colonel had retired, though my view was less than perfect, owing to the reflection of the sun on the window. I was, however, able to observe the reception of his visitor—”

  I broke into Holmes’ account at this point. “What visitor was this? Miss Warburton informed us that she had not heard the doorbell all afternoon.”

  “I am sure she did not,” he replied. “I would not dream for an instant of doubting her word. The Colonel’s visitor entered by the same back gate that you used this morning, and was let into the house by the Colonel through the French windows. The two men sat talking and drinking – I observed a soda syphon and a decanter – you mentioned whisky, did you not, when you gave your account of the search for the Colonel – and appeared to be examining something together that lay on the desk. This was presumably the account book that you discovered there.

  After about ten minutes the visitor left—”

  “Holmes,” I interrupted. “You keep referring to this man without even having bothered to provide me with any description.”

  “Forgive me, Watson, it had quite slipped my mind to provide you with his identity. The visitor, judging by the description with which you yourself have furnished me, can be none other than your opponent at billiards, Mr Guy Chelmy. As I was saying, he let himself out of the house in the same way that he entered, and entered the drawing-room, again from the garden.”

  “But Miss Warburton was in there. Surely she would have noticed his entrance?”

  “Has she denied his presence? Think, Watson.”

  “True, she only admitted to not having heard the doorbell. That is deucedly subtle, Holmes.”

  “To my mind, the whole affair is deucedly subtle. Chelmy appeared to remain in the drawing-room for about ten minutes. I fancied I heard raised voices, but was in no position to move closer without being observed. After he left the drawing-room via the French windows, Chelmy departed the garden by the route by which he had come. While he was in the drawing-room, I had been observing the Colonel seated at the desk, unmoving, with his head in his hands. At this point, I was unsure of his state of health, and I was on the verge of summoning assistance, when he roused himself, and stood up, and left the room, with a somewhat unsteady gait. Tell me, Watson, did he indulge at luncheon?”

  “Not at all. Water was the only drink served at the meal, and I will swear he was not in liquor at that time. Indeed, he has become markedly more abstemious since I knew him in India.”

  “Indeed? Since I saw the Colonel take only the one glass of whisky and soda, we must search elsewhere for the cause of his unsteadiness. After he had left the room, I saw him appear at that window there,” pointing, “and shortly afterwards at that one there,” pointing to the next window. We will examine the lie of the land up there in a little while, but for now, can you recall the location of those windows?”

  “Yes indeed. The first is of the corridor connecting all the bedrooms on this side of the house, and the other is either Colonel Warburton’s bed-room or dressing-room – at least the room forms part of his private apartments.”

  “He passed out of view for about twenty minutes, and I returned to my work among the lupins, while still keeping a watch on the house as best I could. He appeared at the two upstairs windows again, and passed out of sight until he re-appeared in the study. He bent over the desk, and looked at the account-book (or so I suppose) again. Having done that, he passed a hand over his face, and stepped out into the garden with a look of what appeared to be extreme anguish or sorrow. I followed him as unobtrusively as possible, when I observed him stumble and fall. I rushed to his aid, and was then discovered by you and your friend as I was attempting to dispose him in a more comfortable and decorous attitude.”

  “You also appeared to be searching his pockets when we came across you. What were you hoping to find?”

  In response, Holmes pulled a small blue glass bottle from his pocket, holding it with his handkerchief.

  “Poison?” I asked, with a thrill of horror.

  “Nothing so dramatic,” Holmes smiled at me in return. “I had observed this on the desk after the Colonel had made his way upstairs, and it was not there when he came into the garden. The conclusion, therefore, was that he had picked it up on his return to the study, and it was therefore on his person. I felt it might provide a clue.”

  “And does it?” Holmes unstoppered the bottle and held it out to me to examine. I sniffed judiciously. “Chloral,” I confirmed.

  “Exactly,” replied my friend. “Just as he told you. See here.” He once again held out the bottle for my inspection, and I perceived a label, from which I read the name of Colonel Warburton over the name of a Guildford chemist’s, with directions for its use.

  “So you feel that the Colonel dosed himself with chloral, and this unaccustomed drug produced a feeling of fatigue, causing him to rest upstairs on his bed, thereby causing the disarray that Miss Warburton discovered. Following this, he felt the need for fresh air, and made his way downstairs, and came out into the garden?” I asked.

  “Excellent, Watson. I suspect you have made only one error in your analysis.”

  “That being?”

  “That Colonel Warburton did not dose himself with chloral.”

  “I am puzzled,” I admitted.

  “And so am I,�
� he replied. “But not about that aspect of the affair. Come, I wish you to show me the spot where you observed the Colonel’s eccentric behaviour for yourself last night. Let us enter by the study. That will also provide us with an opportunity to examine the room before some over-officious servant arrives to clear away the débris, and will also allow the young couple to continue their conversation undisturbed.”

  “I had not thought you such a proponent of romance, Holmes.”

  He said nothing, but smiled enigmatically in reply, leading the way through the French windows to the study, where his first action was to bend over the two whisky glasses on the table. “Ha!” he exclaimed. “As I suspected. See – or rather, smell for yourself, Doctor. Have the goodness to avoid touching the glasses.”

  I bent over. “Yes,” I confirmed. “One of these contained chloral, without a doubt.”

  “And I am certain that the one containing the drug was Colonel Warburton’s. Let us confirm this. Be so kind as to assist me in this.” He pulled from his pocket a small insufflator containing a fine powder, with which he proceeded to coat the whisky decanter. “Only the Colonel touched this while I was observing the two men, I will swear to the fact. Take it up by the neck using this cloth and hold it to the light, Doctor, while I examine it closely,” he commanded. He whipped one of his high-powered jeweller’s lenses from his pocket, and screwed it into his eye. “Good, good,” he murmured to himself. “Now for the glasses.” The process was repeated, Holmes making small sounds of satisfaction as he proceeded. “And now,” he said, “for the pièce de résistance.” He removed the chloral bottle from his pocket with the aid of his handkerchief, and let out a sound of satisfaction as he examined its dusted surface. “We have him, Watson, we have him!” His eyes shone with the thrill of the chase.

  “Let me see if I can follow your reasoning, Holmes. You know that the Colonel was the only one to handle the decanter, so you are sure of the pattern of his fingerprints. You are sure that only one glass contained chloral, and that was the Colonel’s, so the fingerprints on the other are those of Chelmy. You have discovered Chelmy’s fingerprints on the chloral bottle, as well as those of the Colonel, no doubt, so you have good reason to believe that Chelmy administered the chloral to Warburton.”

  “You have followed my reasoning on these points perfectly, Watson. Bravo, indeed.”

  “And hence when I said earlier that Colonel Warburton had dosed himself with chloral, you corrected me. I take your meaning now.”

  “Tell me,” said Holmes. “Chelmy has never been in India, you say?”

  “That is what Purcell told me, and Chelmy never mentioned India at dinner last night when we three old campaigners were swapping yarns of old times.”

  “And have you observed the Colonel’s taste in tobacco?”

  “A cigar after dinner last night. That is all.”

  “So he would be unlikely to smoke one of these?” He held up the end of a cigarette I instantly recognized as a beedi, a native Indian form of cigarette.

  “Most unlikely,” I replied. “And besides, it would be impossible for the Colonel to have smoked this.”

  “Why?” enquired Holmes, his eyes fairly twinkling.

  I perceived that this was some sort of test, which I was determined to pass. “The Colonel has a full moustache, as you no doubt observed, and Chelmy is clean-shaven. No man with a moustache could have smoked this cigarette down to this length.”

  “Excellent, Watson, truly excellent! And added to the fact that no such cigarettes were to found in the Colonel’s pockets, and I see none here in this room, we may conclude that the smoker of this peculiarly Indian form of tobacco is the mysterious Chelmy. He relished the Indian food last night, you said, and he smokes Indian cigarettes. Do you think we can ascribe an Indian background to the man? I think so,” answering his own question, “no matter how much he would have us believe otherwise.”

  “But to what end?”

  “Indeed, Watson. To what end? Come, let us upstairs.” As we left the room, he picked up the account book

  I led the way, and at his request, indicated the position where I had first remarked the Colonel in his unusual nocturnal exercise.

  “Facing this way?” he asked, standing on the spot I indicated.

  “Just so.”

  “And you were standing where?” he enquired. I placed myself outside my bed-room door. “What were you wearing?” was his next rather unexpected question.

  “My dressing gown,” I replied. “Maybe you would like me to wear it now?” I enquired in a spirit of facetiousness. Holmes, however, seemed to take the request seriously.

  “If you would be so kind.”

  Though it seemed to me that I was making a fool of myself, I entered my room and slipped on the gaudy garment. Holmes continued standing with his back to me, however. “Thank you, that answers my question perfectly,” he replied without turning. “Now if you will revert to more modest attire, I think the time has come for me to go back to London. I will return here tomorrow. Pray excuse me to our charming hostess, and I would strongly recommend that Chelmy not be admitted to the house before my return.”

  -oOo-

  After Holmes had left the house, I made my way to the drawing-room, where Colonel Warburton was beginning to stir a little.

  “Where is your friend?” asked Purcell.

  I explained the situation, and repeated Holmes’ request that Chelmy not be admitted.

  “We cannot do that!” exclaimed Miss Warburton. “Why, he—” and broke off suddenly, clapping her hand over her mouth as if to prevent any further words from escaping.

  “I’ll make sure he does not show his face in here tonight, Alice,” Purcell said. “You should remain with your father in any case, and will be in no condition to receive visitors.”

  Miss Warburton grudgingly agreed to this, and Purcell and I together determined to lift Colonel Warburton into his own bed. He was a large man, but between Purcell’s youth and strength, and my experience in dealing with the sick, we managed tolerably well, and were able to transport him to his room without overmuch trouble.

  Dinner was a sombre affair. Miss Warburton sat upstairs with her father, dining off a tray, and Purcell and I ate our meal in near silence. After dessert, we heard the doorbell ring followed by the raised voice of Chelmy, and that of the parlour-maid. The blood rose to Purcell’s face, and he half-rose in his chair, his fists balled, but as he did so, the noise of the altercation ceased, and we heard the front door close.

  “I don’t want the brute skulking round the house peering in at us, in any event,” exclaimed Purcell, standing up and drawing the curtains. “I’ll just do the same in the drawing-room,” as he slipped out. The next I heard was his raised voice from the next room, presumably shouting at Chelmy, telling him in the crudest terms to remove himself from the premises.

  “All done,” he said, returning to the table a few minutes later. “By Jove, I would horsewhip that bounder in a trice were it not for the fact that he is a friend to Alice’s father.”

  I held my peace regarding this last observation, and we moved onto coffee and port. By unspoken mutual consent, we retired early, after first knocking on Colonel Warburton’s door, and enquiring after him.

  “He is much better,” replied Alice. “He is speaking and just seems a little weak. But if you would examine him one more time, Doctor Watson, before you go to bed, I would feel easier in my mind.”

  I entered the sick-room, and inspected the wound, which was in truth much less serious than we had previously feared. The Colonel, though his voice was faint, appeared to be in perfect possession of his faculties, and I saw no cause for alarm, informing his daughter of the fact.

  “Though if there is any change in the night,” I added, “you must not hesitate to wake me up and call for assistance.”

  “I thank you, Doctor, and I also thank you for bringing your friend to this house.” She smiled as I had yet to see her smile. It was an expression that sh
owed the beauty of spirit of which Purcell had spoken, and had up to that time remained hidden from me.

  The night passed peacefully enough, and I was delighted to see Colonel Warburton seated at the breakfast table when I made my way downstairs.

  “You gave us a nasty turn yesterday, sir,” I remarked to him. “I am glad to see you so well this morning.”

  “Thanks to your skill and Alice’s nursing, I feel like a new man,” he replied. “Dashed silly of me to trip and stumble like that. I remember it, you know, as if it were part of a dream.”

  I made some comment, and applied myself to buttered eggs and kidneys. I had just poured myself a second cup of coffee, when the maid announced the arrival of Sherlock Holmes.

  “Show the fellow in,” said the Colonel. “I shall be delighted to make your friend’s acquaintance. Ah, sir,” rising to meet Holmes, “I am pleased to see the celebrated friend of Doctor Watson. Have you broken your fast?” waving a hospitable hand at the breakfast table and sideboard.

  “I have already eaten, thank you, sir,” replied Holmes, “and I would like to congratulate you on your speedy recovery. May I borrow my friend for a while? It is time, I think, that he and I paid a visit to Mr Chelmy.”

  There was a look of puzzlement, and maybe once again a trace of fear, on the Colonel’s face, but he voiced no objection. His daughter, on the other hand, briefly flashed that smile that had lit up her face on the previous evening.

  “Come, Watson,” commanded Holmes. “Your coffee can wait.”

  I was somewhat perplexed as we made our way through the suburban lanes to Chelmy’s house, the whereabouts of which we had ascertained from Colonel Warburton’s parlourmaid. From his demeanour, Holmes seemed to have discovered the answers to all the questions which remained, to me at least, as mysteries.

  We walked up the pine-lined driveway to a somewhat ugly red-brick house, set about on all sides by thick evergreens.

  “Some men’s houses are like their souls,” remarked Holmes, but he had no time to elaborate on this observation, as the door was opened by a sour-faced servant.