The Iron Dog (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale)

by Steven Ehrman

  “What do you mean, Holmes?” I asked bewildered. “Do you mean Kate Crawley left the man alive, and some other wrongdoer killed Rutherford hoping to throw suspicion on her?”

  Holmes paced across the room for some minutes before answering. Lestrade seemed about to speak on several occasions, but mastered himself and waited for Holmes to resume. Finally, the detective halted and spoke.

  “There were several suspects I considered,” he said. “The first was the person who impersonated Rutherford, but I struck him from the list. The second was Kate Crawley, but I quickly was satisfied that she was not the killer. The third was the business partner of Benjamin Rutherford, Edward Brown.”

  “Now, really,” interrupted Brown. “This is slanderous, sir.”

  “Compose yourself, Mr. Brown,” said Holmes. “You were eliminated just as Miss Crawley was, and by the same testimony of the same person. That person was the fourth suspect.”

  “What person, Holmes?” I asked excitedly.

  “Rogers, the butler.”

  “Rogers? What could be his motive, Holmes?” asked Lestrade.

  “You forget the conversation I had with the impersonator. He mentioned that Mary Rutherford was from the servant class. I thought it possible that Rogers and Mrs. Rutherford might have a long and hidden association. Perhaps even a family relationship.”

  “I swear it is not true, Mr. Holmes,” said Rogers, losing his composure. “I had never met the mistress before Mr. Rutherford brought her into this house.”

  “I know that now, Rogers. I have had your antecedents thoroughly examined. I am satisfied that there was no previous relationship. In fact, it was your statement to me that made the solution to the case possible.”

  “What did Rogers say that had any bearing on the identity of the murderer?” I asked. I racked my brain trying to think of something from his statement that had important evidence, but could not.

  “Tell us, Holmes,” said Lestrade. “I must admit that I noticed nothing of import in Rogers’s statement. As I recall it was quite straightforward. He let in a veiled woman with an Australian accent, and admitted her to his master’s den. There does not seem to be much to divine from that. He never declared he could identify Miss Crawley, if that’s what you are driving at.”

  “No, not any of that, Inspector. Recall I asked Rogers what his master’s attitude had been when he admitted the woman. I asked if Rutherford had seemed upset, or surprised, or angry. He replied that Rutherford seemed amused. That was the key.”

  “Holmes, I am still at sea,” said I. “What did Rutherford’s attitude tell you?’

  “It told me that Rutherford saw through the disguise that his butler did not. He recognized his wife, despite the accent and the veil. He smiled and sent Rogers away, because what was there to fear from his loving spouse? It is my speculation that she had made a wager with her husband that she could fool Rogers with a disguise. Remember, the false Rutherford told us she was very good in character parts, and character roles often involve an accent. At any rate, once inside I am certain she removed the veil and in some way maneuvered her husband into turning his back to her, and then fired the deadly round. She was counting on Rogers’s deafness. With the thick walls, she was reasonably sure he would not hear. I believe she had a trial run in which she fired a round into the oak paneling. That was the round we discovered, Lestrade. If Rogers had heard, and come running the day she ran her test, she could always say the gun had discharged accidentally. We can assume the test was successful because she went ahead with her very audacious plan.”

  “What of the fire, Holmes? You said it was important,” I reminded him.

  “Ah, the fire. I believe that Mrs. Rutherford came that night wearing another dress under the outward dress. That dress and the veil must disappear. After all, the police would likely search the house. So as soon as the murder was done, she built a fire and threw the dress and veil in. I looked at the dying fire and attempted to discern remnants of the material, but they had been entirely consumed.”

  “So there never was a blackmail attempt, Holmes?” I asked.

  “No, Watson. Miss Crawley showed us her letters, and they were markedly different. They used her real name, instead of diminutive pet names, such as on the other notes, and they were not written on Rutherford’s letterhead. As Rutherford was engaging in behavior he hoped to keep secret, he would hardly use his own stationery. No, the extortion attempt was a fabrication employed by Mrs. Rutherford and her accomplice. Is all this correct so far, Mrs. Rutherford?”

  Mary Rutherford had a look that conveyed both scorn and amusement.

  “It is a very pretty tale, Mr. Holmes, but I still maintain that I know nothing of the fiction you have created,” she said with confidence. “I believe that you and the doctor are mistaken about my husband’s ring, and as for that jeweler,” she wrinkled her nose in disgust, “I doubt anyone will believe his word over mine.”

  If the words were intended to deflate Holmes, they did not have the desired result. He merely shook his head sadly.

  “Madam, I admire your fortitude, but the game is up,” said he. Holmes thrust his hands in his pockets and turned to me. “Watson, do you recall attempting to interest me in various news events from the Times recently?”

  “Of course, Holmes,” said I. “There was a hurricane in America and a smallpox outbreak on a ship. I am sorry, I do not recollect the others.”

  “Thankfully, I have a somewhat better recall of our conversation. The one item that struck me was the tragic death of an English actor from an overdose of sleeping draught. As it happened, he was found dead the evening of the Rutherford murder. When he did not make an appearance at the theater, his company went to his rooms and found him dead. His name was Peter Fennell.”

  “But, surely, Holmes, that was before the murder,” said Lestrade. “What does that tragedy have to do with this case?”

  “I believe I can tell you that, Inspector,” said Holmes. From his inside pocket my friend pulled out what appeared to be a playbill of some sort. “This is the program of the play that Peter Fennell was a member of. His picture appears on the back. Watson, would you look at this picture, and tell me if you have seen this gentleman before.”

  I took the program from Holmes’s outstretched hand. Turning it over to the picture of Fennell, I saw at once what Holmes meant.

  “Why, it is the man who was presented to us as Benjamin Rutherford,” I cried. “The duplicate as well as the original died the same night.”

  “And by the same hand, doctor,” said Holmes. “Mary Rutherford needed a confederate to pull off this scheme, but she meant to share her spoils with no one. After they had played their scene at Baker Street, they retired to his rooms. I suspect they shared a celebratory glass of wine, which Mrs. Rutherford dosed with sleeping draught. By the time she murdered her husband, Peter Fennell was already dead. Fennell was an old associate of Mrs. Rutherford, and no doubt she used her considerable charms in order to entice him into this plot. He paid with his life for his weakness. Madam, do you have any reply now? The case is complete and I believe that Inspector Lestrade will have some additional questions for you at the Yard.”

  “That’s right, Mrs. Rutherford,” said Lestrade, as he rose from his seat. He was the embodiment of officiousness. “You will most certainly have to accompany me.”

  Mary Rutherford was crying softly by this point. She was leaning over the desk sobbing. As she collected herself she sat up, and in the same motion opened the top drawer to the desk. In a flash, a large revolver was in her hands, pointing at Holmes.

  “I knew we should not have chosen you, but Peter insisted,” she hissed. “That folly is now in the past, but I have another act yet before this curtain closes. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I will make my exit.”

  The room was frozen. I glanced at Lestrade, and he was in a state of shock. I feared for the life of Holmes, as the glint of hatred toward him was palpable from the woman. Holmes alone did not see
m nonplussed by the drawn weapon.

  “The third act is finished, Mrs. Rutherford,” he said, as he walked slowly towards her. “The gun will be of no avail to you, and you will leave this room only to be arrested.”

  “Stay where you are,” she snarled. “I will shoot if I must.”

  Holmes continued walking slowly towards her. He was only a single pace away from her as I tensed to leap to his aid. At that very moment the lady pulled the trigger on the service revolver. There was a loud click as the hammer came down, but there was no explosion. I felt my heart nearly stop, but Holmes merely smiled. Mary Rutherford had a look of disbelief on her face. She pulled the trigger twice more in quick succession. She went limp, and sank back into her chair. The gun clattered to the floor, and Holmes bent to retrieve it. I went quickly to his side.

  “My word, Holmes, that was nervy of you,” said I. “What if the gun had been loaded?”

  “But it was loaded when we arrived, doctor. I am sure that Mrs. Rutherford made certain of that. She is too clever a criminal to leave a weapon she may need unloaded. However, I suspected it and unloaded the gun myself after we arrived.”

  Holmes pulled a handful of cartridges from his pocket. I recognized the .476 rounds at once.

  “But, how, Holmes?” I asked. “I was with you the entire time. How did you manage to unload the weapon?”

  “Do you recall the figure I saw at the window, doctor? I fear I must tell you that was a ruse in order that I might unload the revolver without your knowledge. I am sorry, my old friend, but I desired to play a lone hand.”

  “I am capable of keeping a secret, Holmes. Dash it all, but you are close at times. In the future you might give me the benefit of the doubt.”

  “I will certainly keep that in mind, doctor,” said Holmes, with a twinkle. “Believe me, Watson, without your stalwart support I do not know what I would do.”

  “Well, be that as it may, I do congratulate you, Holmes. This was a splendid demonstration of your skills.”

  “Please, doctor, my modesty,” said he, in a thoroughly unconvincing manner. “Now I believe that Lestrade has a duty to perform.”

  We stepped aside as Lestrade took the arm of a now truly weeping Mary Rutherford. After a quick word with Holmes, he exited, taking with him Kate Crawley. He explained she was to be released naturally, but that it was necessary for her to return with him. Holmes and I said our goodbyes all around, and returned to our humble lodgings for the night.

  Chapter Nine

  The morning broke on a cooler day than we had had in several weeks. I welcomed the respite, and sat down to breakfast. Holmes was unpredictable in the morning. Some days he was a quite early riser, and on others he would miss the morning meal altogether. On this day he joined me soon after I had begun, and we passed a pleasant meal with pleasing conversation. The end of a case sometimes left Holmes at sixes and sevens. His agile mind required activity, and I worried when leisure hours were spread before him. However, despite my fears, the ending of the case had left him in high spirits. We were relaxing over coffee and cigarettes when our page announced we had guests.

  “Whom do you suppose is calling, Holmes?” I asked.

  “It is undoubtedly Lestrade and the charming Miss Crawley,” said Holmes. “I requested they attend to us this morning. I wish to know the state of Mary Rutherford, and also to see how Miss Crawley has weathered this storm.”

  It pained me that I had quite forgotten the trial that Kate Crawley had been through, and I was delighted when I saw the bright expression on her face as she and Lestrade entered. Holmes and I seated our guests and saw to their needs. Miss Crawley accepted a biscuit, and Lestrade happily took possession of a fine cigar, a box of which Holmes had earned from Sir Henry Farnsworth as a gift for clearing up a small matter. As our guests reclined in the comfort of our sitting room, I found myself very much drawn to Kate Crawley. In spite of her ordeal she seemed more beautiful and composed than when she had first appeared before us. It occurred to me that her stay in gaol had robbed her of the ability to obtain strong drink, and her constitution was recovering as a result. Regardless of the cause, she was a handsome woman.

  “Well, Lestrade, how is Mrs. Rutherford finding her new rooms?” asked Holmes. “I hope the change was not too deleterious to her tastes.”

  “Don’t worry about that one, Holmes,” chuckled Lestrade. “She is a tigress, ready to blow out her own brains or those of anyone else. I believe that she is quite mad.”

  “Madness, Lestrade?” I asked. “Do you mean she may be found not responsible for her actions?”

  “Not at all, doctor. I merely mean that she is determined to take down all around her if she must go down. She has cast a wide net. She claims that Rogers did it so that he would inherit, but that is outrageous. Rutherford’s will explicitly names several secondary beneficiaries. All of them are relations in Australia. Rogers couldn’t possibly hope to inherit. She says Miss Crawley here was the actual blackmailer, despite her having the original letters in her possession. She has also thrown Edward Brown’s name into the mix, making a bizarre set of accusations of fiduciary malfeasance, despite his being the silent partner. They are mere ravings. She is guilty by her own words. She is now simply attempting to muddy the water. As a woman she may escape the hangman’s noose, but she will certainly face prison walls until her death.”

  The final words of Lestrade were harsh, but I could not help, but to find myself in sympathy with them. Holmes continued to smoke, and Kate Crawley was nibbling on her biscuit with seemingly little appetite.

  “Holmes,” continued Lestrade. “I find myself in your debt in this matter. I was outfoxed by the Rutherford woman and I am man enough to admit I was on entirely the wrong trail. You prevented a miscarriage of justice.”

  “I did little,” said Holmes, with a wave of his hand. “Remember, Lestrade, I had the advantage of meeting the false Benjamin Rutherford. As I said last night there were signs of duplicity at the time, but since no crime had occurred I did not pursue my instincts. Had you been here, you may have had the same inklings.”

  Lestrade smiled at the compliment from Holmes. I myself doubted Holmes’s theory. I could not see the stolid Scotland Yard Inspector divining the murder plot by the subtle clues Holmes had noticed, but if the great man was willing to apply a salve to Lestrade’s wounded ego, it was his to do.

  “Why, that is a capital thing to say, Holmes,” beamed the Inspector. “I must say however, that there does not seem to be great deal of sadness at Rutherford’s passing among the people I interviewed in this investigation. From stagehands to stockbrokers, I received a portrait of a terribly hard businessman who was loved by few. Not that he deserved to die, of course, but there you have it.”

  “What of the players in the productions that Rutherford was backing?” I asked. “Are they to be thrown to the streets?”

  “No, doctor,” said the Inspector. “Mr. Edward Brown has stepped into Rutherford’s shoes. He tells me that he had been a silent partner too long and he now wishes to step to the fore. He has even offered Miss Crawley here a part in a new musical that is currently being put together. It sounds quite the saucy role, eh, Miss Crawley?”

  The woman blushed under the Inspector’s words.

  “It is true that Mr. Brown has been most kind. It seems he remembers me from before my…well, troubles began. I will make good on this opportunity. It seems heaven-sent, gentlemen. I feel I have all of you to thank for this, and especially you, Mr. Holmes. Without you I would be languishing in a prison cell this very moment. How can I thank you?”

  Homes smiled at the lady, but returned no words. I saw that Lestrade was beginning to stir, and I sensed that he wished to be on his way. As if reading my thoughts, Lestrade arose.

  “Holmes, I must be off. The duty of an Inspector for the Yard allows no laxity. Miss Crawley, by all rights you deserve a conveyance home, as it was Scotland Yard which took you from it. May I see you there myself?”

  Les
trade bowed with more grace and good manners than I gave him credit for. The lady gave every sign of accepting his offer, when Holmes intervened.

  “Lestrade, if I may presume. I wish to speak to Miss Crawley. I assure you that I will see that she makes it safely back to her flat, if she will consent to stay for a bit further.”

  “Why, of course, Mr. Holmes,” she said. “I am in your debt, after all.”

  The Inspector left, and the three of us resumed our seats. Holmes fixed his gaze upon Miss Crawley and did not speak for some moments.

  “Now, my dear, I suppose you know why I wanted to speak with you privately,” he said blandly.

  “Why, no, Mr. Holmes. I am quite at sea. Is there some way I can be of aid to you?”

  “No, but I can be of aid to you. I ask you to consider the escape from justice that you have had. I hope this close call will compel you to make a better choice for your future. Should I hear otherwise, I may be obliged to acquaint the good Inspector with what you and I both know.”

  I could not for the life of me divine Holmes’s meaning, but the expression on Kate Crawley’s face gave evidence of an untold truth.

  “How did you know?” she asked in a whisper. “I swear it is all like a nightmare now. How I could ever have thought to blackmail Ben I do not know.”

  “You mean Miss Crawley actually was blackmailing Rutherford?” I asked. “But, Holmes, you proved that it was all Mary Rutherford’s doing.”

  “I proved nothing of the sort, doctor. It was, of course Mary Rutherford’s idea to commit murder, but the fuse was lit by the opportunity she saw when Miss Crawley began her extortion attempt. I believe she wanted Rutherford himself to meet with me. That would have done away with the dangerous fiction of disguising Peter Fennell, but Rutherford did not see Miss Crawley as a genuine menace. He knew that she may threaten when she was in her cups, but that she was not the type of person to follow through on her threats.”