Sherlock Holmes--A Betrayal in Blood

by Mark A. Latham

  “But there is a third possibility, and although it sounds incredible, it is my preferred theory. That the intruder was Count Dracula himself.”

  Bradstreet caught his breath. “You mean to say, after everything, you now believe in vampires?”

  “Don’t be absurd,” Holmes sniped. “Vampires are not real, but Count Dracula is—or, rather, was. His existence has never been in question, only his nature. I believe he was lured to the asylum that night by some clever ruse on Van Helsing’s part. It is easy to think that he may have been directed to Mina Harker’s room unwittingly, to find her and her husband in a terrible state. He would have assumed—as would anyone upon seeing Jonathan and Mina Harker covered in blood—that a fight had taken place between man and wife, and perhaps a murder committed. Harker then attacked him—we know that Dracula’s clothes were in disarray. Dracula was a large and powerful man, and fought Harker off, as no doubt he was meant to. Harker crumpled to the floor and acted as though in a stupor. Dracula then stooped over Mrs Harker to inspect the body, and she at once grabbed him, as though in her death throes perhaps, covering him in her blood.”

  “But why was she bleeding?” Bradstreet asked.

  Holmes suppressed a flicker of annoyance at the interruption.

  “The Harkers would have made a good scene of this before Dracula arrived, especially knowing that Mina would be examined later. I first thought they would use animal blood—or even the blood of an asylum patient—in order to complete the ruse. But they needed Mina Harker to be weak and pallid for the benefit of Holmwood and Morris. Therefore, I imagine Mina’s blood was extracted using Van Helsing’s instruments, and then dashed upon her clothes and around the bed. Puncture-marks would have been made in her neck, just as the bloofer lady inflicted them upon those poor babes on Hampstead Heath.

  “At this point, Dracula would surely have understood what was happening, and that he was falling into a trap—doubly so if he recognised Harker, for the solicitor’s presence there would have been too much of a coincidence.

  “At that moment, the door opened, and there was the professor, along with the rest of the Crew of Light. Dracula must have believed that he had been framed for assault, if not murder—he had no way of knowing if Mina Harker was simply wounded or dying. He was like a trapped animal, caught in two minds of which way to escape. He first ran at his foes, and then checked himself, deciding instead to make for the window and climb out onto the quad. At this moment the Harkers’ plan was completed. Whilst all eyes were on Dracula, Jonathan Harker set off a small smoke-bomb, of the type used for a sudden flash and puff of smoke in the theatre, and threw it under the bed so it would not be found later. Already making for the window, and deciding not to look a gift-horse in the mouth, Dracula dove from the window, climbing down the dense ivy that clings to the old part of the asylum.”

  “Too far-fetched, Mr Holmes,” Bradstreet said. “Why not kill the man there and then, and have done with it?”

  “Because Van Helsing needed to convince his followers that Dracula was an Un-Dead. Any enquiry would have found that Mrs Harker’s injuries had not been inflicted in a struggle with the Count. Even if Van Helsing could have come up with a suitable story, there were at least two members of his own group who would have opposed him. No, he needed to have Morris and Holmwood on side, body and soul, and this charade was the way he did it. When Dracula eventually died, it was after being hunted by the Crew of Light, for everyone in that group either believed wholeheartedly that they pursued a vampire, or else were part of the conspiracy.”

  Holmes grinned triumphantly at his own cleverness. Bradstreet lit another cigarette.

  “Now,” Holmes said, after his summation had sunk in, “shall we finally see what’s on this cylinder?”

  Dr Seward’s Diary, 21 September 1893

  Something has been troubling me—a good many things, actually—but in particular something that transpired today.

  Professor Van Helsing has been in the strangest of moods, which initially I put down to his great sorrow at failing to save Lucy. He speaks in riddles, and has several times taken me aside and impressed upon me in the most guarded terms a need for secrecy, for a great evil, he says, pits itself against us.

  After the funeral, we were overheard talking by Quincey Morris, whose noble bearing dissipated in an instant, to be replaced by a fierce presence. The American is a fellow as strong in moral fortitude as he is in body, and his eyes blazed as if with the righteous fire of the peculiar preachers they have in the Americas. As he towered over the professor, I saw in his eyes the determination that has led to the United States fulfilling its “manifest destiny”, and knew at once that Quincey P. Morris was not a man with whom to trifle.

  “I see you, Professor,” he said. “I see you takin’ all these papers, and wrappin’ up that little girl’s affairs in your legal bindings and double-talk. I see that it benefits Art, and that’s the only reason I keep my peace, be assured of that. Be equally assured that, should this arrangement change, and Art is made to suffer by your dealin’s, I shall rain down holy hell upon whatever dark confederacy the two of you have going on here. Do I speak plain enough for you, Professor?”

  The professor, though small of stature compared to the American, stared back at him with an utterly fearless resolve. I had seen Van Helsing rattled these past days, by mysterious illnesses and talk of the supernatural, but I had never once seen him cowed by a mortal man, and that clearly was not about to change.

  “You speak plain enough, friend Morris,” Van Helsing said. “I see you are a man most cautious, and not a trusting one, eh? That may stand you well in the days and weeks to follow. But you are misplace in your suspicion; I am not your enemy.”

  “No?”

  “I see the way you look at me, friend Morris, and at John here, also. You give me that same look when first we meet. But was it not you who spoke of the terrible things you saw out on the Pampas—those things that remind you so well of Lucy’s suffering. Was it not you who alone understood the signs of the vampire?”

  Van Helsing referred to the conversation we had had on the night of Lucy’s passing, when Morris had told us of his experience of gigantic vampire bats out on the great plains of Argentina, and how the animals upon which they preyed bore symptoms strikingly similar to Lucy’s.

  “It was me who said it, and I saw your eyes fair light up when I did. But I don’t suppose for one minute that you suspected a damn vampire at work up to that point. I think I gave you the idea, Professor. I saw a change come over you in that moment. You remember how that night I patrolled the house the whole evening through, with my six-shooter ready? Do you think I was lookin’ out for vampire bats, here in England? No, sir. I was makin’ certain that none of you fellas called in on Lucy during the night. Maybe if I’d been here earlier, and done the same for these last few weeks, there’d be less garlic hangin’ in that girl’s bedroom window, and life yet in her sweet body.”

  At this, I became indignant. I had known Morris, on and off, for some considerable time, though I fancy he had never truly liked me the way he had Arthur. But to accuse me of having any hand in the death of Lucy, whom we both loved, was beyond the pale.

  “Look here, Quincey,” I said. “Lucy’s ailment is beyond anything I have ever encountered in my years as a doctor, and Professor Van Helsing here is one of the foremost specialists in these matters. If he could not save her, then no one could have, and that is the truth of it. If the professor seeks to keep the details of this terrible incident from the public eye, or even from the hands of the authorities, then I am certain it is with good reason.”

  “And what reason might that be?”

  The professor spoke again, his words full of authority and steel. “The world, friend Morris, it is not ready for the knowledge that I could bestow. It is not ready to know that true evil walk amongst us. You know it; you have seen it—I see that in your eyes. And before our time is done, you will come to understand that I was right, and
I did everything in my power to help that so-dear girl. You loved her, yes? We all did, to me she was like a daughter, and you three men loved her as truly as any men ever loved a woman. It is grief that drives you now to anger. But what we need, friend Morris, is for that anger to change its direction. I swear to you by God that we give you an enemy soon enough, who will be the true and righteous target for your rage. We give to you the enemy who take dear Lucy from you, for it was not sickness that took her. You think you give to me the idea of ‘vampire’? No, you merely were the first to give voice to that which other men think impossible. If you have vengeance in your heart, I ask only that you stay it for now. Go with Arthur, be a good friend to him in his time of need, and if when all this is done you still doubt the word of Professor Van Helsing, then you may take up your ‘six-shooter’ as you say, or that big knife you carry always, and strike me down. Gott im Himmel is my witness.”

  “Upon my oath, Professor Abraham Van Helsing, I shall hold you to that,” Morris said. “If you can back up your claims, and show me Lucy’s killer, then faith, you’ll find no truer ally than me. I will leave you be for now, and as you rightly say it’s because Arthur has need of me, and he seems to trust you. But woe betide you—both o’ you—if it turns out that trust is misplaced.”

  “I take that as fair warning,” the professor answered, with a wry smile. “For my sake, we hope I give you no cause to mistrust.”

  With that the American took his leave. That in itself would have been enough to trouble me, but the professor’s reaction after Quincey had gone was peculiar indeed. He turned to me and said:

  “This could be a business most unfortunate, yes, if we do not provide the proof that Mr Morris so seeks. He is a man of principle, John—the kind of man who cannot be bargained with if he feel wronged. If we cannot satisfy him, we shall have to take other means to keep him quiet.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, worried at once by the ominous tone the professor had taken.

  “Oh, mind me not, John. It is just a turning of the phrase. We shall show Morris the truth he seek, but first I still must convince you, eh?”

  The professor would be drawn no further, and moved on to other matters. Foremost in his mind seemed to be the subject of Mr and Mrs Harker. Professor Van Helsing has mentioned them several times today, and has made a great show of sending a telegram to them, to inform Mrs Harker of Lucy’s death. It is strange that of the great pile of correspondence that the professor has confiscated, only the Harkers have been selected for a personal missive, and an invitation to come and join us in London. He speaks of the woman, Mina, most highly, although he insists that they have never met, and he only knows what a fine woman she is from Lucy’s own journals. He will not let me read those journals, though he himself has pored over every word several times. I cannot help but wonder if she wrote of me; if she wrote of why she passed me over for Arthur.

  But I have again let melancholy and sleeplessness bring me to a bitter state. Best I end this recording now.

  I make this recording on a separate cylinder. The professor has already intimated that my phonograph diary may be required in the near future, as a record of the grim business upon which we have embarked. These strange misgivings are not for his ears, for I would hate him to think less of me for any dark thoughts that cross my mind as a consequence of my unutterable sorrow.

  Bradstreet leaned back in his chair so far I thought he might topple over, and once again blew out his cheeks.

  “There’s your man’s motive for killing Morris,” he said.

  “It’s almost like you already knew what would be on that recording,” I said, slightly disgruntled that the evidence I had procured at great risk had not provided a new avenue of thought for Holmes.

  “Not for certain, Watson, although the problem of Quincey P. Morris has occurred to me frequently. It stood to reason that the funeral would be the one time that tempers would boil over between men who all claimed to love Lucy Westenra. Do not fear, Watson—your efforts have not been in vain. You were clever to select this cylinder in particular, for it confirms my suspicions.”

  “It’s a fine thing we have here,” Bradstreet said. “Yet I must caution both of you not to get ahead of yourselves. This cylinder was stolen by the good doctor here, after all. Oh, do not look at me so, I do not plan on arresting you, Dr Watson. Only know that if we mount any case that relies heavily on this evidence, either Van Helsing or Jonathan Harker will see that it is never heard in court. They will have the judge’s ear, I am certain, and this recording will be inadmissible because of the dubious means by which it was acquired.”

  “Then we shall have to ensure our case is watertight,” Holmes said. “A pity, though, for the cylinder also quite clearly points the finger at Morris’s killer.”

  “You mean Van Helsing did the deed himself?” Bradstreet asked.

  “Preposterous,” Holmes said, and Bradstreet cast his eyes downwards at the rebuke. “No, when Watson and I visited Jonathan Harker in Exeter, he had Mr Morris’s bowie knife hanging on his office wall, alongside the kukri knife with which he murdered Dracula. At that time, I thought that Harker truly believed Dracula was a vampire, and was thus innocent of premeditated murder. I assumed that he displayed the bowie knife as a sentimental reminder of his great friend, honouring the man who laid down his life for his wife. As things now stand, there is another reason that he would keep that weapon in so prominent a place. And it is the more probable reason. He is displaying the weapons as trophies.”

  “What could Harker possibly have against Quincey Morris?” I asked.

  “Nothing at all, at first,” Holmes said. “But consider the recording we just heard. Immediately after being threatened by Morris, Van Helsing brings up the subject of the Harkers. At that time I believe he was already blackmailing Mina Harker, and it suddenly became forefront in his mind just how he would use the murderous, ambitious young couple. He knew perhaps that Seward would not kill for him—this is why he dealt with Renfield himself. Holmwood certainly would not have the fortitude for the task, being a bosom friend of Morris. Van Helsing, as we can tell from the recording, was physically outmatched by Morris, and was already under suspicion—it would be tricky to get the drop on such a man. So who better than the newcomer to the group, an unassuming solicitor—in fact a smiling assassin, who would purport to come as a friend, but who would kill if so commanded?”

  “It is feasible, but it is all conjecture, Mr Holmes.”

  “It is, but it is the best theory I have for now. I shall either prove or disprove it as we go on.”

  “Well, if it’s true, then this is a dark business, Mr Holmes, and it draws darker with each revelation.” Bradstreet rubbed his hand across his shadowed face.

  “And yet I cannot help but think that there is still more to the story of Quincey P. Morris. Perhaps the forgotten hunters will be able to shed some light on the matter.” Holmes’s mouth twitched as he forced down the semblance of a knowing smile. It was his most infuriating habit—I knew immediately that he had been holding back some knowledge until such time as he could dazzle us with it.

  “Forgotten hunters?” Bradstreet took the bait.

  “We have so far believed that the Crew of Light consisted of five men and one woman,” Holmes said. “This is what we learned from the Dracula Papers. But once there were two other men in this loose confederacy, and I believe their stories—their suppressed narratives—are central to the resolution of this case.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE FORGOTTEN HUNTERS

  “Langdale Pike is not suited to hiding,” Holmes began. He took a sip of his tea, which was now cold, and winced at its awfulness. He set down the cup, put out his cigarette in the foul brew, and lit another at once. “His short exile has seen him exert his considerable network of gossips and social spies upon the subject of one Abraham Van Helsing, and those who assist him. Pike, it seems, has taken a dim view of the professor, to our benefit.

  “He arr
anged for me to meet an old acquaintance this morning, who shall remain nameless, at least for now. He is a theatre manager by trade—Pike wrote of him in his earlier correspondence, the man who knew of the actress, Jenny Kidd. By a quirk of fate, this man is further connected to the players in our little game, for when Genevieve Holmwood auditioned for him years ago, she also introduced him to another man by the name of William Young, who now works as an accountant on the theatre staff. Mr Young, however, was once in the employ of Peter Hawkins of Exeter, as a junior clerk. He was passed over for promotion in favour of Jonathan Harker. When Harker took control of the firm, Mr Young was dismissed.

  “Now, William Young has little part to play in our tale, save for the intelligence he provided me during our short interview. He did, however, know both Mina Harker and Lucy Westenra. I at first thought that Harker may have perceived Mr Young as a threat to his courtship of Mina Murray, but I quickly ascertained that this was impossible. Mr Young is certainly not the kind of man to have romantic interests in another man’s sweetheart.

  “Mr Young knew another friend of Lucy’s—an artist, by the name of Francis Aytown. This gentleman is the real person of interest in this tale, for he was close to Miss Westenra, and by association knew Arthur Holmwood. Indeed, both of them sat for Mr Aytown at one time or another. At Ring, I studied several family portraits of the Godalmings, and the painting of Arthur was signed by one ‘F. W. Aytown’ if I recall correctly. I have yet to speak to Mr Aytown, but I believe he will be of singular importance to our investigation.”