by Mike Hogan
“His accusers!” cried Mrs Barker. “And what of this cruelly wronged woman?”
“Hush, Mary, my dear,” said Miss Caspar softly in a voice with a Northern tone. “As Mr Holmes is not yet engaged in the case, I am sure that he will agree to hear the facts of the arrest from the lips of both principals before he decides on his course of action. That would be fair and prudent, would you not agree, Doctor?”
She turned to me with a sweet smile and a flutter of eyelashes.
“I think,” I said. “I am of the opinion. That is to say -”
“Very well, Miss Caspar,” said Holmes, much to my relief. “You have a valid point. You must understand, however, that anything you tell me may be made available to the supporters of PC Endaby, should I decide to act for him.”
“I understand and agree. I have nothing to hide.”
Holmes sat in the armchair by the window with his face in shadow.
“Pray, state the facts.”
“Thank you.” Miss Caspar folded her hands in her lap and began her story.
“I am Elizabeth Anne Caspar, twenty-four years old, unmarried, born in Grantham in 1863, and residing until recently in Stockton in County Durham. I made my living first as a seamstress, and then I had the good fortune to be noticed by Mrs Barker and offered a position in London as a dress designer. I left Stockton earlier this year, and I now live and work at Mrs Barker’s residence and workshop in Southampton Row.”
“Number nineteen,” said Mrs Barker. “It is a most respectable neighbourhood.”
“Thank you, Madam,” said Holmes. “I do not doubt it for an instant. Perhaps we could move on to the day of the incident.”
“I went out on the evening in question to Jay’s Shop in Regent Street. They are a large retailer of silk and millinery. I wanted to buy gloves. The Jubilee decorations were up, and people were out enjoying the warm weather. It took me longer than expected to get to Jay’s, as the crowds were so dense. When I arrived I found that the premises were closed.”
“What did you do?” asked Holmes leaning forward in his seat.
“I stood for a moment in the doorway of the shop deciding whether to press on to another shop or go back home,” said Miss Caspar. “It was getting late, so I decided to return home. I retraced my steps through the crowds across Oxford Circus, intending to take the omnibus back to Holborn. I was walking along Oxford Street to the ‘bus stop when a policeman grabbed my arm most forcibly and took me in custody on a charge of - of -”
She buried her face in her hands and let out a low sob.
“Spencer-Churchill,” said Holmes, glancing at his watch. “Would you pop outside and dismiss the cabman. You may then sit upstairs in the sitting room. Watson, give the boy eight pence for the cab waiting charge.”
Churchill left, glowering at Holmes. The door slammed behind him.
“We must take that boy in hand, Watson,” said Holmes. “I have a solidly made hairbrush that may be used to persuade the child to exit rooms in a more orderly fashion. Our door hinges are Georgian; they will not stand this abuse.”
Holmes snapped his watch closed. “The boy is vexed. We have unfortunately missed the last luncheon sitting at the Junior United Services Club.”
He stood. “Were you walking along happily, Miss Caspar?” he asked, smiling. “Were you dancing? Swinging your parasol?”
She looked up, and returned a wan smile. “Not at all, Mr Holmes. I was in something of a bad mood. I wanted a new pair of gloves to wear for the Jubilee celebration and on our company excursion to see the Wild West Show at the Olympia Grounds in July.”
“Your demeanour was not cheerful and high-spirited?”
“Quite the opposite, I was hot, bothered by the crowds, and morose at my lack of success with the gloves.”
“And you were taken into charge in Regent Street, between Oxford Circus and Great Castle Street. That is the testimony of PC Endaby.”
“That is not the case. I am certain I was in Oxford Street. I was looking in the windows of the Crystal Bazaar when Constable Endaby accosted me. I cannot understand his insistence that the arrest took place elsewhere. It seems of little importance where I was at the time.”
Holmes considered for a long moment.
“Miss Caspar,” he said. “I put it to you that you were tripping gaily along Oxford Street, enjoying the warm weather and the jolly throng of shoppers and sightseers as you have done in perfect innocence on a number of previous occasions. You found yourself accosted by a man, perhaps by several men in succession. Flustered, you took a wrong turn away from your route and from the crowds, north into Regent Street. The man or men accosted you again, and you flew into a panic. You were relieved to see a policeman come up, but horrified when he took you in charge for -”
Miss Caspar jumped to her feet. “No, sir, that is not so,” she cried. “That was my first visit to the centre of the city, and I was not accosted. I am wholly innocent of this disgusting charge!”
“I say, Holmes,” I said. I sprang up, proffered my handkerchief, and helped Miss Caspar back to her seat.
“Oh, how remiss of me,” said Holmes. “We have not offered you any refreshment. Watson, would you be good enough to instruct Bessie to brew tea?”
Miss Caspar returned my handkerchief with a murmur of thanks.
I opened the door and found Bessie outside with the tea tray. Churchill followed her in with a plate of biscuits.
“You must try some of this new lump sugar,” said Holmes. “One piece or two, ladies?”
“You were hard on Miss Caspar, Holmes,” I said, as Billy showed the ladies out, and we settled ourselves upstairs in our sitting room.
“Nonsense. The magistrate was far more unpleasant, the old reprobate.”
He filled his pipe with tobacco.
“There is more to this than meets the eye, Watson. I am convinced that everything hinges on the place of arrest.”
“Could it be, Holmes, that Endaby places the arrest north of the Circus because, as he says, the area in front of Peter Robinson’s is notorious for -” I looked across at Churchill seated at the dining table. “For street-walkers?”
“Prostitutes,” said Churchill with a sly smile. “Gay ladies, women of the Town, Femmes -”
“Or could it be,” said Holmes overriding him, “that Miss Caspar was mistaken. She says herself that she is a stranger in London. You have the list of witnesses she gave you?”
“The persons whose evidence are relevant, apart from the principals,” I said, “are witnesses Madame Fernand Audet and Major Edgar Massingham, and the two policemen on duty in the area, PC Twyman and PC Dyer.”
“We shall get to the witnesses in due course,” said Holmes glancing at the clock. “It is three-twenty. If we can hold famine at bay with café and biscotti at the Italian coffee house by Baker Street Station, we can travel to Oxford Circus, view the scenes of arrest and then repair to the Criterion Grill. The table-d’hôte starts at five-thirty, and they offer capital roast beef in a fine room on the Piccadilly side for half-a-crown a head, excluding wine. You are cordially invited, Spencer-Churchill, provided you can manage to learn how to close a door like a Christian. Come, it is your turn to pay, Watson.”
The doorbell rang.
“I shall snip the wire,” cried Holmes.
Churchill went to the window.
“It is a police detective,” he said.
The Stockton Allegations
Billy showed in a stooped, narrow-faced man with a sharp nose and a sallow complexion. He wore a brown tweed suit and a bowler hat.
“Inspector Lestrade,” said Holmes with a sigh. “How good it is to see you.”
“And you too, Mr Holmes, Doctor.”
He looked quizzically at Churchill.
“This is Winston Churchill,” I
said. “He is - ah -”
“A cadet in the Consulting Detective profession,” said Holmes. “An apprentice: he is learning the trade.”
Churchill beamed.
“Well,” said Lestrade, taking his usual seat on our sofa and placing his hat in his lap. “It’s this Caspar affair. The Commissioner himself put me on the case. I don’t mind telling you, Mr Holmes, it’s been an embarrassment to the Force, and, if I may make so bold, to the Government.”
“Miss Caspar is bringing a private prosecution against Endaby,” I said. “How are the police involved?”
“The Law Officers have offered to take over the case, or to direct it. It’ll be official whatever way.”
“I see,” said Holmes. “I should inform you, Lestrade, that we have been visited by Endaby and by Caspar. Each party has requested that we act in the matter. We have not yet concluded an agreement, but I feel bound to respect the private nature of any information imparted to us today.”
“Quite so, Mr Holmes,” said Lestrade tapping the side of his nose. “One cannot be too fastidious in these cases. I could tell you tales that would curl your toes, gentlemen. The Press is in a state of high excitement. Have you seen the afternoon editions?”
“We have been much taken up with business,” said Holmes. “To the point of missing luncheon: missing luncheon entirely, Inspector. I would be grateful if you could let me know how I may be of assistance to Scotland Yard.”
“Well, sir,” said Lestrade. “When I heard that you might have an interest in the case - news travels fast, sir, especially when the gutter newspapers are on the track - I thought that I might pop around to have a quiet word. You’ve been a good friend to the Force, Mr Holmes, and I would not like you to think that we are ungrateful.”
He bent towards Holmes and lowered his voice.
“A particular person, sir, a luminary of the Metropolitan Police, suggested that I should acquaint you with certain facts that we have unearthed. We thought to let you have this information before you take a position as to the innocence or otherwise of the lady.”
“You have something on Miss Caspar,” said Holmes in a cold tone.
Lestrade nodded. He looked left and right as if searching for eavesdroppers.
“In Stockton, Mr Holmes, oh -” Lestrade glanced across at Churchill and back to Holmes. He raised his eyebrows.
The boy sighed, got up and slouched out of the room. He closed the door with a quiet click.
“The poor fellow is starving,” said Holmes, shaking his head. “He has lost his vim. What of Stockton?”
“We are about to acquire evidence, sir, that Miss Caspar had a reputation for drink and disorderly conduct. We understand that the police there cautioned her for soliciting. I have sent a pair of my best officers to Stockton to gather data.”
He sat back.
“There, sir,” said Lestrade with a sniff. “I have been as open with you as I can be.”
Holmes was lost in thought for a while.
“Your luminary at the Yard, Lestrade. He would be content if the case against Endaby were dropped. He would not pursue Miss Caspar, or let out the Stockton allegations.”
“He would not. The affair would be forgotten in a fortnight.”
Lestrade stood and put on his bowler.
“There is a particular reason for urgency, Mr Holmes. That news reporter, Mr Stead of The Pall Mall Gazette, is doing a piece on what he calls ‘Police assaults on Women’. He says that we allow foreign women and their bullies to infest the West End, while innocent and respectable English girls are pounced upon. Stead is a convicted felon, as you may know, sir.”
“Thank you for your warning, Inspector.”
“Time?” asked Holmes as we settled into a cab.
“Five past five,” said Churchill. He perched on my knees.
“Excellent. To the Criterion Grill, then. We can visit the crime scenes after our roast. Their apple pie and custard is the best north of the River.”
He tapped the cab roof with his cane.
“Drive on!”
“Holmes,” I said.
“What?” he snapped.
We drove in silence until we crossed Mortimer Street into Regent Street.
“Cabby!” Holmes tapped again on the cab roof. “Go to nineteen, Southampton Row.”
Churchill gave me a puzzled look.
I winked.
Holmes came out of the house at a run. He clapped his top hat on his head and vaulted into the cab.
“The Criterion, Cabby. Two bob tip if you get us there before we die of hunger!”
We took off at the trot.
“Are we still on the case, Holmes?”
“We are not. Miss Caspar all but threw me out. She would hear nothing of Stockton. She vows her innocence and that the prosecution will proceed. She says that the Law Lords will direct the case, and that The Pall Mall Gazette has offered to defray costs. She is a determined woman, Watson.”
“I thought that,” I said with a smile.
“And a poor liar.”
“Eh?”
“Oh, yes, she lied about Stockton. This is a dark business; darker than we thought in every particular.”
He smiled.
“I must confess that at first I thought it dull fare, but Stockton has added a relish.”
“What happened in Stockton?” asked Churchill.
“How did you know, young Spencer-Churchill, that Lestrade is a detective?” asked Holmes in the pause that followed. “You said that there was a detective at the door.”
“Well,” said Churchill. “He has that furtive hole-in-the-corner manner that sneaks have at school. And his carriage had a dingy government-issue look.”
“And?”
“His picture was in the newspapers last month: the vitriol throwing in the Mall. Inspector Lestrade is his name. He looks older than in the newspaper drawings.”
“Fling the boy from the cab, Watson. We’ll have to pay sixpence extra for him otherwise, and it is your turn to pay.”
“Perhaps the driver would accept him as extra baggage for tuppence,” I suggested.
Churchill gave me a grin and a sharp dig in the ribs.
4. Arresting Points
Infamous Conduct
“Well, gentlemen,” said Holmes as we pushed through the heavy swing doors of the Criterion Grill and back out into Piccadilly. “You will agree with me that there is nothing more satisfying to the inner man than a good English roast. The three emperors were not better served at the Café Anglais in Paris than we three here in the heart of Empire.”
He turned to me.
“Shall we take a cab?”
“Not on my account,” I answered. “My leg is much improved; a walk will do it good.”
I offered Holmes my cigar case. He turned to Churchill as he lit his cigar with a match.
“Do you smoke, Spencer-Churchill?”
Churchill looked up at Holmes and wrinkled his nose. “I do not, sir.”
“You might think about taking it up,” said Holmes as he led us across the Circus and into Regent Street. “It is a wholesome, gentlemanly practice. A good cigar excites the nervous system and exalts the mind. In conversation, a cigar, or particularly a pipe, affords time for cogitation, for thoughts to be marshalled and ideas organised. Tobacco smoke is, as Watson will agree, a notable invigorator.”
“I find cigars rather sick-making,” said Churchill.
We strolled along Regent Street at a pace suited to my impairment, through a moderate throng of evening shoppers and theatregoers. Posters for Gilbert and Sullivan’s latest piece, Ruddigore, were on every wall.
“Did you see The Mikado last year, Churchill?” I asked.
“No, Doctor. I missed it due to ill
ness. I was behind in conversation with the other fellows at school until my mother’s friend, Prince Kinski, sent me a score and I could learn the songs and patter.”
I hummed the first bars of ‘A Wand’ring Minstrel, I’. Churchill sang the song in a sweet treble voice. Passers-by smiled indulgently or picked up the tune. Holmes drew ahead of us, hunching his shoulders in irritation.
We reached Oxford Circus after a pleasant walk and darted across the road through a jam of cabs, omnibuses, and heavy carriages.
“Here we are,” said Holmes waving his stick at the row of handsome shops between the Circus and Portland Street. “The Crystal Palace Bazaar is before us. There is Peter Robinson’s establishment. It is on this stretch of pavement that Miss Caspar insists Officer Endaby apprehended her. Good, let us now -”
“There is a policeman over there,” said Churchill. “He is watching Mr Holmes.”
I followed his gaze. A policeman in the doorway of the Bazaar peered out. He walked across the pavement to us.
“Is everything all right here, sir?” he asked, addressing me. “This gentleman seems agitated.”
“You are PC Dyer,” said Holmes.
“If you are newspaper reporters,” the policeman said, “I will have you in charge for loitering. Be off with you.”
“I am Sherlock Holmes.”
“Bless me,” said the policeman puffing up. “You used your detective powers to identify me, sir. It is like a magic trick. I shall tell the lads -”
“Dyer, I act in the case of your colleague Endaby and Miss Caspar. Is there anything that you can tell me that might shed light on the affair? You were here on the night in question, I believe.”
“Exactly there, sir, where you saw me. I was on fixed-point duty, watching the Circus.”
“Did you see the arrest?”
“I saw nothing, sir. There was no arrest here, sir; no fracas if I may use the term.” He rhymed the word with jackass.
“You did not see PC Endaby or Miss Caspar at all.”
“I did not.”
“Was it a busy evening, constable?” I asked.
