Sherlock Holmes: The Dark Reckoning

by Ian Wright

  “Try not to upset yourself, Miss Spencer,” said Holmes in a soothing voice. He then turned to Watson and asked, “Watson, would you ask Mrs. Hudson to make us all a cup of tea?”

  Susan smiled at the kindness shown by Holmes and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I didn’t mean to cry. It’s just that I don’t know what to do! I’m so worried about Sally.”

  Watson stood and gave the young lady a smile. “I shall arrange for tea to be sent up,” he said, leaving the room.

  As Watson left, Holmes asked, “Do you feel strong enough to continue, Miss Spencer?”

  The girl, drying her eyes with a lace handkerchief, replied, “Yes, Mr. Holmes; but there’s not much more to tell. I waited up all night. It was awful, and the hours dragged by. The later it got, the more my glimmers of hope turned to despair.”

  Do you live alone, Miss Spencer?”

  “No, I share a house with two other girls. We all work at the Bank of England. My parents live in Devon, and I haven’t lived with them for over two years.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  “Only that I waited up all night, in case she arrived. When she didn’t, I took a carriage to her place early this morning. She lives alone in Hanover Street, near Oxford Circus. I knocked, but there was no answer, so I let myself in. She wasn’t there. I went to the nearest police station to report her missing, but was told that I would have to wait another day before they would file a report. The police officer I spoke to suggested that I might contact you in the meantime.”

  “I see. Do you have a recent photograph of your sister?”

  “Yes, I do,” smiled Susan, taking the photograph out of her bag and showing it to Holmes. “I thought it would be a good idea to take it to the police station.”

  “May I retain this photograph, until I have completed my investigation, Miss Spencer?”

  “Of course you may, Mr. Holmes,” replied Susan, handing the photograph to the detective.

  Watson returned, carrying the tea. He poured out three cups and gave one to the young lady, one to Holmes and then sat down with his own. Holmes did not want to distress the girl any further by questioning her about her sister, so instead, he remarked, “You mentioned that your parents live in Devon, Miss Spencer. Dr. Watson visited Devon for a week, just over a month ago.”

  Susan looked over to Watson and smiled. She then asked, “Which part of Devon did you visit, Dr. Watson?”

  “I stayed with a farmer friend in Paignton to help him on his farm. It was nice to get out of London for a break.”

  “My parents live quite close to Paignton, Dr. Watson. They are in Brixham. I haven’t visited them since the summer.”

  “Both Holmes and I know Brixham well”, added Watson.

  “Have you known the farmer you stayed with for long, Doctor?” asked Susan, now appearing a little more composed and relaxed.

  “Not particularly long. Holmes and I made the acquaintance of a certain Arthur Smith, just over six months ago. He recently acquired a small farm in Paignton, so I offered to go and help get him settled in. It was hard work, but made a very enjoyable change from life in London.”

  Susan smiled and remarked, “That was kind of you Dr. Watson.” Suddenly, the thought of her missing sister returned to her mind and her smile vanished, to be replaced by an anguished expression.

  Holmes noticed the girl’s change of heart and said, “We will look into finding your sister today, Miss Spencer.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I appreciate your help a great deal. I’ve taken up enough of your time, so will bid you farewell. If you need to contact me, I will be at 28 Charing Cross Road.”

  “Very well, Miss Spencer. We will be in touch as soon as we discover anything,” said Holmes, walking towards the door to retrieve the young lady’s coat. He handed it to her and she put it on.

  “Good bye, gentlemen,” said Susan. Both men replied in kind to the girl. Holmes walked her to the front door and saw her out.

  When Holmes returned to the room, Watson looked worried.

  “What is it, Watson?” asked the detective.

  “When I went to make the tea with Mrs. Hudson, it occurred to me that the clue in the note delivered last night could be referring to Sally Spencer’s murder, and that she may already be dead.”

  “The same thought occurred to me, old man. I considered asking Miss Spencer about the murder trial where her sister had been a witness, but thought better of it. She seemed so distraught and I didn’t wish to upset her unnecessarily”

  “Perhaps you should have asked her anyway. By not doing so, you may have given her false hope.”

  “Yes, I realise that, Watson. However, I don’t know for certain if Sally Spencer has come to any harm. There would be little point in making a statement that could cause such great anguish, before the facts are established. I felt that reminding Miss Spencer of the trial would only give her another reason to think that something terrible has become of her sister.”

  Watson nodded his head in agreement, and sat back comfortably in his chair.

  “Come along now, Watson! There isn’t time for you to relax. We need to get to Scotland Yard.”

  Watson scowled at Holmes briefly, and stood up to get ready to leave.

  Chapter 7

  It was a bitterly cold morning, fog hanging in the air and no hint of sunshine, made for a miserable atmosphere. Frost lay thick on the ground, as Holmes and Watson left 221b Baker Street and walked over to a waiting Hansom cab on the opposite side of the road.

  Holmes approached the driver and asked, “Would you be so kind as to take us to Scotland Yard?”

  “Yes, Sir, I’ll take ya wherever ya wanno go,” answered the cab driver. The two gentlemen climbed into the small carriage and the driver shook the reins, instructing the horse to move along.

  Holmes rubbed his gloved hands together and remarked, “My word, Watson, it is bitingly cold this morning. I believe this freezing fog will be with us for the entire day. It’s quite a contrast from yesterday morning when the sun shone so brightly.”

  “Yes, old fellow. I shall not complain if we are to get anymore mornings like yesterday during the course of the winter.”

  The two men made small talk until the carriage pulled up in Whitehall, opposite the archway leading to Scotland Yard. They noticed a crowd had assembled outside of the police station, so quickly disembarked from the carriage, after Holmes paid the driver.

  Holmes turned to Watson and, with some urgency, beckoned, “Come, Watson!” as he started to run towards the crowd.

  Holmes and Watson struggled to fight their way to the front of the crowd, where they found an area that had been cordoned off. Several police officers patrolled the area, preventing anyone from crossing the barrier.

  Holmes caught the attention of one of the officers and said, “My name is Sherlock Holmes and it is imperative that I, and my associate, speak to Inspector Lestrade.”

  “Mr. Holmes, Sir!” exclaimed the officer, recognising the great detective. He lifted the tape and continued, “Step under, gentlemen. Inspector Lestrade is inside the station.”

  “Thank you, Officer,” acknowledged Holmes, as the two men stepped under the barrier. As they left the crowd, both men saw a pool of blood on the pavement under the archway. Holmes did not stop to look at the blood, which surprised Watson. Instead, he made his way straight to the police station.

  As they approached the station, Holmes said, “I often find myself loathing peoples’ fascination with death. Look at that crowd, their insatiable curiosity driving them to look at a pool of blood.”

  “You can’t blame people for being curious, Holmes.”

  “You are right, Watson. I think my anger is directed more towards the fact that such crowds unwittingly obliterate vital evidence from crime scenes.”

  The two men turned into Scotland Yard, climbed the few steps to the entrance and went inside. The desk clerk informed them that Inspector Lestrade was
in his office, and suggested that the two of them should go straight in. As they made their way to Lestrade’s office, they met him walking towards them in a corridor.

  “Mr. Holmes! Dr. Watson. Good morning to you both,” said the Inspector.

  Not acknowledging Lestrade’s greeting, Holmes asked, “Lestrade, what happened under the archway?”

  “We found the body of a young lady. She has been taken to the morgue. I am on my way there now to find out more. I saw her briefly before she was taken, but there were too many people around. As the crowd was growing larger, and more curious, it was decided to move the body to the morgue as soon as possible. Would you gentlemen like to join me?”

  “Very well,” replied Holmes.

  The three men left the station and walked to the morgue. On the way, Holmes took the photograph of Sally Spencer from his pocket.

  “Is this the dead girl you found this morning?” he asked, showing the photograph to Lestrade.

  Lestrade stopped, dead in his tracks, as he stared at the photograph.

  He took time before replying, “I think that is her. I can’t be completely sure though, as her face had been really smashed in. How did you know, or suspect, that she could be the victim?”

  “I was visited by her sister this morning, who wished to report her missing. The police had referred her to me as it has been less than a day since her sister was last seen. Prior to her visit, Watson and I had been discussing the case of Stanley Wood, who was hanged for murder. The young lady in that photograph was a witness at his trial, and I fear somebody may have killed her in a revenge attack.”

  “That’s impossible! It’s a ridiculous assumption to make, Holmes. What evidence do you have?” asked Lestrade in a cold tone, whilst shaking his head.

  “Would you still think it so ridiculous if you learned that Sir Charles Grey was the judge that sentenced Stanley Wood?”

  “Errrm. I… errrm don’t know. No! That still doesn’t prove anything!” retorted the policeman.

  Holmes smiled, as Watson retrieved the two notes from his pocket and handed them to Lestrade, adding, “Look at these, Inspector.”

  Lestrade looked at the notes, with a puzzled expression. He didn’t say anything, but looked up quizzically at Holmes.

  Holmes took the notes from him and explained, “These were delivered to me on separate occasions. This note was delivered a few days ago, and is how I happened to be near Hyde Park when Sir Charles Grey’s body was there. The other note was left last night. I believe the two to be connected, as the hand writing shows signs of being written by the same person. The reference in the note to the ‘final curtain’ could refer to someone in the theatre. If I am correct about the identity of the dead girl, she was the actress, Sally Spencer.”

  “Well, that does make sense,” said Lestrade, now beginning to see how Holmes had arrived at his hypothesis. “What about the other part of the note, where it mentions something about the law being devoured?”

  “There were three witnesses whose evidence resulted in Wood’s execution. One was the girl I have already spoken of, and the other two were policemen. Their names were P.C. Baxter and P.C. Roach. If I am correct about the meaning behind this note, these men are either in grave danger, or already dead.”

  “Let us pray that you are wrong, Holmes. I know both of them. They are based at Scotland Yard. P.C. Baxter is now a sergeant, having been promoted a couple of years ago,” replied the Inspector. He stood stroking his chin for a moment and then asked, “If Stanley Wood was executed all those years ago, why is someone avenging his death now?”

  It was Watson that answered the question, “Stanley Wood had a brother, called Stephen, who went mad and was committed to an asylum after his brother was put to death.”

  “So, you think he is the killer of this girl and Sir Charles Grey? How can he be, if he is locked up in an asylum?”

  Holmes smiled briefly and said, “You have serendipitously stumbled upon the reason for our visit, Lestrade. We wanted to find out whether Stephen Wood has escaped, or been released from the asylum. With all the commotion, I forgot to ask you, whilst we were at Scotland Yard.”

  “We may as well go back to the station and find out before we head off to the morgue, gentlemen” suggested Lestrade. “Do you know the name of the asylum that he was put in?”

  “It was The Middlesex County Lunatic Asylum,” answered Holmes.

  The men returned to Scotland Yard. Lestrade left Holmes and Watson, and went to make enquires about Stephen Wood. After a short while, he returned with a case file.

  “It looks like you might be onto something, Holmes. Stephen Wood was released from Middlesex County Lunatic Asylum six months ago. An entry was made in our case file, stating that the asylum considered him completely sane.” Lestrade showed Holmes the case file, which didn’t contain very much information.

  “Six months ago,” repeated Holmes, thoughtfully, as he looked through the case file.

  “Holmes, you described this man as evil. It seems implausible that such a character could ever be completely cured of his insanity,” commented Watson.

  “Indeed,” replied Holmes. “I’ll venture that he managed to convince staff at the asylum of his sanity. I found him to be an extremely adept liar, when I questioned him in the case of his brother. I doubt whether he was truly rehabilitated, at all.” Holmes handed the case file to Lestrade, who gave it to the desk sergeant, asking him to file it away.

  The three men left the police station, and started walking to the morgue.

  On the way, Holmes asked, “What can you tell me about the girl at the morgue, Lestrade?”

  “Well, as I said, her face has been smashed in very badly. One of her eyes has been pushed into her head. Also, her hair was matted with blood at the back, where she appears to have been hit with something. The worst thing though, is that her left arm has been cut off, and is missing.”

  A young police constable left Scotland Yard and ran along the road, calling after Inspector Lestrade. The Inspector turned and asked, “What is it, officer?”

  “Sir,” panted the young policeman. “We just received a report that two police officers were murdered last night!”

  “Are their identities known?” asked Holmes.

  “Yes Sir. They were P.C Roach and Sergeant Baxter. They worked in Scotland Yard. Everyone knew them!” exclaimed the young officer, the shock of hearing the news clearly evident on his face.

  Lestrade looked visibly staggered. It took him some time, before he answered the young officer. “I have to go to the morgue now, but I want to hear everything about these murders when I return. Go back to the station and tell the Chief Inspector that I will come and see him, as soon as I return from the morgue. Do you understand, Officer?”

  “Of course, Sir,” answered the young officer, turning to go back to Scotland Yard.

  Holmes called after the young policeman, “Do you know where their bodies are, Officer?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Holmes,” replied the young policeman, suggesting, “They may already be at the morgue.”

  Lestrade turned to Holmes. He shook his head, in disbelief, as he said, “Holmes, it really is beginning to look like Stephen Wood may be our killer. Do you agree?”

  “I concur, up to a point, Lestrade. All we have, at this point in time, is circumstantial evidence. It is possible that someone else is carrying out the murders, with the intention of using Wood as a scapegoat.”

  The men entered the morgue and, after exchanging pleasantries, Dr. Death confirmed that the two policemen had been delivered earlier that morning. He showed the men all three corpses. A horrified expression appeared on Lestrade’s face, as he recognised the dead bodies of the two policemen. He stumbled slightly and steadied himself against the wall.

  “Lestrade, are you alright?” asked Watson, going to the Inspector’s assistance.

  “I’m sorry,” replied Lestrade. “These two are Sergeant Baxter and P.C Roach. I wasn’t expecting to see any
thing like this.”

  “Would you like to sit down for a moment, Inspector?” asked Dr. Death.

  “No, I’m alright. I’ve seen enough dead bodies. It’s just a shock when you see people that you know.”

  Holmes looked at Dr. Death and asked, “May I examine the girl’s body, Doctor?”

  “Yes, Mr. Holmes, of course you may.”

  Of the three corpses, the girl had been mutilated the most. Her face was smashed in and she had a long bruise that ran from her forehead, down across her chest and stomach and ending on the top of her thigh. Her left arm was missing. The point at which it had been cut appeared slightly rough and very straight, leading Holmes to suspect that it had been cut off with a saw.

  Holmes looked at where the girl’s eye had been pushed in. Immediately below her left eye was a deep round puncture, approximately a half-inch in diameter. This appeared to be one of two blows, as the same circular puncture was visible in her eye socket.

  Watson stood next to Holmes, looking at the girl’s face. “What do you think did that to her face? Her nose and the bottom half of her jaw have been pushed so far to the left. What could do such a thing?”

  Holmes turned to Watson, and replied, “Judging by the damage to her face, as well as the long bruise running down the upper half of her body, I think she may have hit the edge of a roadside kerb when she fell. If so, the force of the impact may have misaligned her nose and jaw to such an extent.”

  “There is more evidence that supports that theory, Mr. Holmes,” added Dr. Death. “She was hit twice on the head, from behind.” The doctor turned the girl’s head to reveal an area that he had shaved. “As you can see from the shape of these wounds, it appears that she was hit with something like a hammer. The force of each blow was extreme, as I can feel that her parietal bone has been broken.”

  “Did these blows kill her, Dr. Death?” asked Holmes.

  “It is possible, but I’m not convinced that they did.”

  Holmes lifted the girl’s right hand and, taking a magnifying glass from his pocket, began to examine it closely. “There is some skin under three of her fingernails. I believe she may have scratched one of her attackers.”