by Ashton, Hugh
“And I take it that the money he paid for the objets d’art that he purchased through your uncles was more than the market value for these things, and that the surplus went to you and your mother?” asked Holmes.
“That is it exactly, Mr Holmes. When I was a child, he ensured that I was instructed in the English language, and when I came of age, he made arrangements for me to come to England and work here. My uncles had a friend who was in business here as a printer, and it was with this friend that my father arranged for me to find work. It is a trade that I enjoy, and I consider myself to be skilled at it.”
“Indeed you are,” smiled Holmes. “I have seen samples of your work.”
The other looked puzzled, and Holmes withdrew several sheets from the portfolio he had brought with him earlier. “_I took the liberty of visiting your employer, Signor Fallini, earlier this morning, and he presented me with these. Here, for example, is a theatre programme where you set the type, printed on some excellent Italian paper from the manufactory of Antodelli e Fratelli. Another excellently produced example of type here, set in Bodoni, this being a restaurant menu. And here is one other example combining the characteristics of the two previous examples – a note from the Paradol Chamber – a proof sheet that I obtained this morning from the pile of waste sheets at Fallini's. It matches this,” pulling out the paper that had been given to us a few days before by our clerical visitor. Our visitor turned pasty white, and I feared he was about to lose consciousness again. However, he recovered himself somewhat, and pointing with a trembling hand to the paper, croaked, “How did you obtain that?”
“I see no reason to withhold that information from you,” replied Holmes. “It was given to me by Father Patrick Donahue of Holy Rood Church, and it was given to him for examination by your father. Rest assured that, to the best of my knowledge, the seal of the confessional has not been broken. Father Donahue was rightly concerned about these notes, and consulted me, bringing this as an example. You are not going to deny that you are responsible for this and the other notes from this supposed source?”
“No, I cannot and will not deny it. I produced all of these, at my father’s request.”
“Your father requested you to produce printed notes that threatened his life?” I began, but Holmes checked my enquiry with a waved hand.
“Yes, he did,” replied Paravinci, answering my question.
“I think I know why he did this,” said Holmes, “and I believe that the subject may be too painful for you to expound. I will, as before, proceed to lay my conclusions before you, and you should confirm or deny the truth of them.” The other nodded his head “A little over a month ago, Mr Faulkes consulted a Harley Street specialist, and received the worst news possible. He had not long to live, and the disease which was slowly consuming him would be hideously painful in its later stages.”
“You are correct.”
“He confided in no-one except his son, and the frequency of your visits to him increased, as a result of your filial devotion to him.” He paused, and the other nodded. “Now we come to the most painful part of the story. Mr Faulkes was reluctant, most understandably, to endure the suffering that accompanies his disease, and accordingly determined to do away with himself. As a good Catholic, though, he knew that this was a sin, but he did not inform his priest directly of his intentions, though he did confide in you. I believe, though, that he may have talked with Father Donahue regarding his fears and his despair.”
“You are correct so far.”
“I believe that one reason why he did not tell Father Donahue of his suicidal intentions was that he intended to leave at least part of his wealth to the Church. Naturally, I am aware that the Church of Rome regards self-murder as a sin. Had he died by his own hand, the Church would not have found it possible to accept his bequest in good faith. Am I correct there?”
“I believe that to be the case, though I hardly consider myself to be an expert in such matters.”
“It was therefore necessary for him, if he were to carry out his intention, of making his suicide appear to be either accidental or murder. I assume that you or he, or possibly the two of you together, decided on the appearance of murder, as a seeming accidental death might well have resulted in a post-mortem examination of the body, revealing traces of poison, or whatever method he had elected to take his life. A supposed murder would point to an obvious cause of death, and divert attention away from the idea of his having taken his own life.”
“That is so. He felt that if the ground was prepared for a supposed murder, by means of hints dropped to others, such as the priest, and seeming evidence such as the ‘Paradol Chamber’ notes, his death, though mysterious in some ways, would not be wholly unexpected.”
“Surely, though, you must have realised that your involvement in the scheme would place you in some jeopardy? As I said earlier, you were close – indeed, you still are close – to being measured for the hangman’s noose.”
“I honestly had no idea that the circumstances would place me under such suspicion. I merely wanted to assist my father, who throughout my life had been the best of fathers, given the strange circumstances. I felt I could do no less for him.”
“Can you remember the nature of the final disagreement that you had with him? Simpkins claims that he heard you and your father in disagreement before you left the house, if you recall. How much of all of this is known to Simpkins, by the way?”
“Simpkins had been informed by my father of the relationship between him and myself. It was never mentioned by him to me, or me to him, though he sometimes gave me some sign through his eyes or his actions that he recognised the fact. As to the disagreement, of course I remember it perfectly. It was the last time I saw my father. He was complaining of the growing pain, which burned inside him. He said it was becoming intolerable and he wished to end it as soon as possible. I attempted to dissuade him from sudden action, but his mind was made up. I wanted him to remain with us a few days longer, but I could not change his mind.” Here the young man began to sob, obviously deeply affected by the recollection of that evening. Through his tears, he continued, “We went outside, and we embraced – for the last time. I knew it was the last time, and my eyes filled with tears, as they do now. How I made my way back to London, I know not. Excuse me.” He pulled out a large handkerchief, and mopped his eyes with it.
“There is nothing to excuse,” said Holmes, in a kindly tone of voice. “Your display of filial affection is commendable, and I do not see that you could have done anything other than what you did, under the circumstances. Did you know the method by which your father planned to make away with himself?”
The other nodded. “To my shame, I confess that it was of my devising.”
“The ventilator cord looped around the arm of one of the statues and swung as a pendulum, with the result that when the stone base hit a solid object, the arm would break away and the statue would slip out of the noose, leaving the impression that the statue had been used as a weapon by the murderer, and had broken on impact. I observed that the statue that actually killed your father was not the first one on which he, or you, had made the experiment.”
“How did you deduce all this?” I asked, unable to contain myself.
“It was obvious, Watson,” replied Holmes, a little testily. “The arm had detached from the statue. There was no doubt in my mind that the base of the statue inflicted the wound that led to Faulkes’ death. From the bloodstains, it was obvious that the arm had become detached following the impact with the body and not before. Forgive the graphic nature of the description, Signor Paravinci, but it was obvious that blood had immediately spurted from the wound with some force, and the arm had landed over some of the blood on the floor. There were only two ways for the arm to have become detached in that way. First, the blow could have been delivered with the arm, but this was obviously not the case. All the signs pointed to the heavy stone base of the statue as being the cause of death. The other way the arm could
have been broken off the body would have been if it had been used as the handle of the weapon. You saw me pick up one of those statues. It would have been folly for me to grasp it by the arm. The only logical way to grasp it would have been by the torso.”
“I am astounded,” said our visitor. “How did you come to the conclusion that you did?”
“Once I had worked out that the arm had broken following the blow administered to your father, it was a matter of calculating out the relative angles of the arm and the rest of the statue, when compared to those of the body and the ventilator cord. My deduction is that the statue was set swinging as a pendulum and pushed to increase the amplitude of the swing, and hence the force with which the statue would strike. When your father judged that the statue was ready to do its work, he could then determine the position where he should stand to await the fatal blow.”
I shuddered. “That must have demanded a high degree of courage.” I could see in my mind’s eye the dying man standing calmly, willing himself not to flinch as the deadly angel swung inexorably towards his head. I noticed Paravinci making the sign of the Cross, his eyes closed, and his lips moving as if in silent prayer.
“Hence the ether,” explained Holmes. “I believe, Signor Paravinci, that your father inhaled some ether from a cotton-wool pad before committing himself to his final course of action. This would act as an anaesthetic and help to deaden any pain, as well as dulling his sensibilities. If it is of any comfort to you, I am sure that he felt little or no pain, and we know that his death followed very soon after he had been struck down, and while he was unconscious. I do not believe he suffered. The position and angle of the wound indicate that your father seemed to deliberately position himself to achieve that effect.”
“It is some comfort,” replied the other. “Do you believe I committed a sin by aiding him? It is I, after all, who was responsible for setting up the whole business. We tested the idea using some of the other statues, and I fear we broke some of them in our experiments, as you noticed. I cannot help feeling that I have committed a mortal sin in helping my father escape his torment, and that I must be tormented in my turn after my own death.”
“These matters are outside my province, I fear,” said Holmes gravely. “You must seek that answer elsewhere. As to whether you have committed a crime, I fear the answer to that is in the affirmative. The exact charge would be a matter for the police, but it would not be murder. As to whether you should be tried and convicted for what you did, I cannot, having heard your story, believe that you should suffer the rigours of the law.”
“Thank you, Mr Holmes,” replied the other.
“Do not be too hasty, however,” replied my friend. “I am a private citizen – I am not the representative of the law, and I have no power to bind or loose. Inspector Gregson will be here shortly, and I promise you that I will do what I can to assist you by putting your case before him.”
“Why, I thank you, Mr Holmes,” replied the other.
“You strike me as a well-mannered and well-meaning young man. I think your conscience will have more effect on your future life and conduct than any legal proceedings could ever do. I have no wish to see you imprisoned for what, in many ways, may be regarded as an act of mercy. I have one more question before Gregson arrives. Where did the name of the Paradol Chamber come from? Was this your doing?”
“My father allowed me to choose the wording and the signatory of the supposed threatening notes. I selected the name myself – with the first part of the name being the first part of my own name, but also meaning ‘against’ or ‘preventative’, as in the word ‘parasol’ and so on. The second part I concocted myself, from the Latin for pain or grief or suffering, ‘dolor’. And the Chamber referred to the underground vault. I felt that there was some sort of mysterious sound there that would impress and baffle.”
“You were perfectly right,” said Holmes. “And here, on cue, is Inspector Gregson.”
The policeman entered the room. “Antonio Paravinci,” he intoned, on sighting our visitor. “I must ask you to accompany me to the station to answer further questions regarding the death of Mr Francis Faulkes of Watford.”
“Are you arresting my client?” Holmes asked.
“At this stage, I am not,” replied Gregson.
“In which case, may I suggest, my dear Inspector, that you make yourself comfortable in that chair there, and listen to the story I have to tell you. I take it you have some time to spare?”
“Since it is you, Mr Holmes, I will listen.”
“Thank you. A cigar?” Gregson accepted the proffered article, and settled back in the chair while Holmes outlined the facts as he had deduced them and as they had been confirmed by Antonio Paravinci. Occasionally Gregson interjected to confirm the truth of Holmes’ narrative with Paravinci.
At the end of this speech, the police inspector sat in silence, finishing the cigar, and obviously lost in thought. Neither Holmes nor I moved a muscle to disturb him, and Paravinci for his part was on the edge of his seat, biting his lower lip, with his body tensed.
After about five minutes of this, Gregson rose to his feet, and clapped the flinching Paravinci on the shoulder. “Look here, my lad,” he said. “You’ve not been in trouble with the law before this, I know that. We’ve talked to your employers, and they say you’re a good worker. You’ve been a good son, too, to both your mother, and in your way you’ve been a good son to your father as well. Mr Holmes doesn’t make many mistakes, and if he says this is what has happened, and you back him up on this, I believe him, and you. Now listen carefully to me. There’s something very interesting going on on the other side of the road, and I’m going to look out of the window at it. It looks so interesting that if you were to slip downstairs, and catch the next boat train to take you out of this country as quickly as possible, I probably wouldn’t even notice you leaving. Do you take my meaning?” Paravinci nodded silently. Gregson turned to Holmes and me. “Dr Watson, Mr Holmes, could you give me your opinions, please?” He pointed out of the window at some unsuspecting coal-heaver. As Holmes and I rose to our feet to join him, I saw Holmes mouth the words “Go now” to our visitor.
The three of us stood side by side, our backs to the room. Not until a full minute had passed after we had heard the door opening and closing did Gregson turn round.
He let out a deep breath. “It would have gone hard on him had I arrested him. He deserves better,” he said simply and without emotion.
“Amen to that,” I replied.
“Never fear,” chuckled Holmes. “I warrant that Watson will never tell this tale to the public, and that Inspector Tobias Gregson will retain his fearless stony-hearted reputation among London criminals. Another cigar, Inspector, before you return to Scotland Yard and tell the sad tale of how the criminal slipped through the net before your arrival here?”
>>>---<<<
The Giant R
at of Sumatra
Editor’s Notes
This tale is another of those that Watson chose to bury in the obscurity of the deed box for reasons of discretion. It appears, furthermore, that he also banished much of it from his memory, as his reference to it in The Sussex Vampire has Holmes reminding him that “Matilda Briggs was not the name of a young woman, Watson ... It was a ship which is associated with the giant rat of Sumatra”.
The reference to HMS Daring as the fastest ship afloat places the timing of the story at 1895 or thereabouts. This would coincide with the term of The Earl Spencer as the First Lord of the Admiralty who served in that capacity until 1895, replaced by George Goschen. However, it would be foolish to speculate too closely as to the identity of the character referred to as “Lord Haughton”, which is an obvious pseudonym, and it is quite likely that Watson deliberately threw sand in the eyes of the readers of this tale as regards the location of “Haughton”’s ancestral seat, etc. We can only guess at the true nature of the other actors in this drama: Captain Frederick Glover, and Senior Lieutenant Ramsay-Moffat. T
hough HMS Bellorophon and HMS Colossus were indeed capital ships in the Royal Navy in the periods mentioned, no officers of the names given here are present in the Navy List of that time associated with these ships, and reports of incidents such as those described are to be found in no official records.
-oOo-
Sherlock Holmes was far from being a modest man, and was proud, with some justification, it must be admitted, of his successes. Even given this, there were several cases where his powerful intellect and energy achieved a solution to a problem that was denied to the official forces, but which he resolutely refused to make known to the public.
In many instances this was the result of what he termed “trivia” – though the case had presented apparently insurmountable problems to our friends at Scotland Yard, Holmes’ keen brain had cut through the Gordian knot in an instant, and had presented the police detectives with the answer to the conundrum that had been baffling them, often for weeks. These cases he deemed of insufficient interest to excite readers, though to me these exhibited his extraordinary powers to the fullest.
Other cases demanded discretion as regards their publicity. Several of these have been published, albeit using pseudonyms. Those, for example, who seek the monarch of Bohemia, or even the name of the fair adventuress to whom the King of that fictional realm (fictional, that is, at the time of the events described), Irene Adler, will seek in vain. I have drawn the veil of decency over the true identity of the European ruler to whom Holmes rendered his services. Nonetheless, the essential facts of the matter are as I have described them, as they are in other such cases.
A third class of case where Holmes desired my reticence concerns those matters relating to the safety and security of the realm. Though he refused any honours such as a knighthood or other rank, Sherlock Holmes was well deserving of such recognition, owing to the numerous occasions on which he served his country, usually for no reward. In a number of these, he worked as a direct agent of the rulers of this nation, and in others, his brother Mycroft acted as the conduit between the detective and those holding high office. It was one of these latter that formed the events that I shall refer to as the case of the “Giant Rat of Sumatra”.
