by John Hall
Holmes hurried forward, rubbing his hands in glee. ‘Thank you for taking the trouble to meet us here, Your Grace,’ he said. ‘And this, I take it, is Lord Whitechurch?’
The Duke of Greyminster nodded, and Holmes introduced me to our guests. ‘If you would care to step inside,’ said Holmes, ‘we may be able to make some progress in our investigation.’
The duke and young Lord Whitechurch followed us inside, and Holmes said, ‘We were unsure as to just when you would arrive, Your Grace, and so I took the liberty of reserving a couple of rooms.’
The duke glanced around with some dismay. ‘I trust we may be able to conclude our business in time for us to take the train back this evening,’ he said.
‘As you wish. In that event, it would be as well if we got to work immediately,’ said Holmes. ‘It was Lord Whitechurch that I really wished to see. Your Grace, might I ask you to step into the other room for a few moments? I am sure the landlord can provide a glass of beer, or a cup of coffee, should you wish it.’
The duke looked surprised, then nodded and left us. ‘Now, my lord,’ said Holmes, ‘I know this is a painful topic, but I must ask you one or two questions about the Abbey School.’
Lord Whitechurch had an air of self-assurance, but he looked a touch perturbed at this.
Holmes shook his head. ‘I promise that it will not be anything very troublesome,’ said he. ‘Now, am I right in thinking that you were asked to join some sort of secret society, just before your unfortunate expulsion?’
The lad started at this. ‘I don’t know how you knew, sir,’ he told Holmes, ‘but, yes, you are quite right.’
‘And you declined the invitation?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘May I ask why?’
Young Lord Whitechurch thought a moment. ‘It’s hard to define exactly, sir,’ he said at last. ‘I just felt that something wasn’t quite right, if you follow me.’
‘Yes, an impression that all was not above board?’ asked Holmes.
Lord Whitechurch nodded.
‘You asked the elder Watson brother what he thought, I gather?’
‘Yes, sir. He said it was fine to join a club or society or what have you, so long as you were sure that it was appropriate for you. And I thought this one wasn’t.’
‘May I ask if there was anything more substantial than your intuitive aversion? Were you told the objects of the society, say?’
‘Not as such, sir. I was just told that I had been chosen, nominated, to be a member, and that it was a great honour which I couldn’t refuse.’
‘Ah! Was it a master who told you this, or one of your fellow pupils?’
‘One of the older boys, sir.’
‘And yet you did refuse?’
‘Yes, sir. I promised to think about it, and give my answer later that day. That was when I asked Watson Major, and I didn’t think it was right for me, and so I said “no, thank you”.’
‘And their reaction?’
Lord Whitechurch smiled, without humour. ‘Well, sir, the boy who’d told me, and who I said “no” to, just said, “‘you can’t refuse”, sir. But I said I did refuse, and he went off.’
‘And shortly after that you were accused of theft and expelled?’
Lord Whitechurch winced, and gazed at the floor. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Did you steal that money?’
‘No, sir.’
‘I believe you,’ said Holmes. ‘I am sorry now that I did not listen to your father, the duke. Had I taken his case – your case – things might have been very different. Tell me,’ he added in a more businesslike tone, ‘who was the leading light in this society? One of the masters, I presume?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, then, who?’
‘Mr Donaldson, sir.’
‘What, the old music teacher?’
Lord Whitechurch nodded.
‘Thank you,’ said Holmes. ‘Come along, Watson.’
Ten
‘Old Mr Donaldson?’ I said, as Holmes and I hurried through the village and back to the school. ‘I could never imagine his being involved in anything criminal, Holmes. The lad means well; I am certain he told no more nor less than the truth, but he very probably got it wrong, and old Donaldson probably runs a glee club. They most likely sing polyphonic motets or whatever people do sing.’
Holmes laughed mirthlessly. ‘You may well be right, Watson. In that event, we can eliminate Donaldson from our list of suspects.’
We turned in through the school gate, nodding to our old friend the porter as we passed him. Holmes pulled out his watch. ‘I take it they will be at luncheon?’ he said.
‘Just finished, I should think.’ I led the way to the dining hall, but before we could reach it, we encountered a throng of boys going the other way, having evidently finished their meal, as I had predicted. ‘Have you seen Mr Donaldson?’ I asked the nearest boys.
‘Just left the hall, sir,’ came the reply.
‘Probably in his rooms, Holmes.’ And I changed direction and set off for Donaldson’s rooms.
As we reached the top of the staircase and turned the corner into the corridor which housed the rooms we sought, I caught sight of Donaldson himself, at the far end of the corridor, about to open the door of his study. Without thinking, I called out his name. Holmes, at my side, gave a little murmur of annoyance, while Donaldson, evidently startled, glanced along the corridor at us, then hastily went into his rooms.
‘Come along, Watson!’ Holmes set off down the corridor.
‘No need to hurry, Holmes,’ I told him. ‘Unless his rooms are very different from my own, there is no way out save through the window, and I hardly think –’ I broke off as Donaldson emerged. I had no time to boast that I had been right, though, for in his hand Donaldson held a large and old-fashioned revolver.
Holmes grabbed my arm and pulled me into the nearest set of rooms. None too soon, either, for there came a crash of the gun being fired, and a splintering as the bullet struck the door jamb not a foot from where we stood.
‘Rather looks as if we’ve got our man, Holmes,’ said I.
‘You scintillate, Watson.’ Holmes moved towards the doorway. ‘The question now becomes, can we take him safely, or has he some bolt-hole, some supplementary means of egress?’ He cautiously put his head round the door. I feared that there might be another shot – who could say that Donaldson had not crept closer? – but there was nothing. ‘He has gone,’ said Holmes, leading the way back into the corridor. ‘And he must have gone this way. Be careful though, for he is apparently a fair shot.’
The latter sentiment had already occurred to me, but it seemed pointless to say as much. ‘Wait, though,’ I said, as Holmes started off along the corridor. ‘If I am correct, the stairs at the far end lead to a side door. By retracing our steps, we should cut him off.’
Holmes nodded, and I set off back the way we had come. We encountered one or two curious glances from such boys or masters as had heard the shot, but there were few of these, as most were still in the dining hall or outside. We reached the side door which I remembered, and I cautiously looked outside, to see the figure of Donaldson hurrying away across the rugby field. ‘There he goes, Holmes. Do we follow?’
‘We do, but with care, for he is still armed. Where’s he off, do you think?’
‘It rather looks as if he’s heading for the old abbey ruins,’ I said doubtfully. This was the case, although I had not the least idea as to why it should be so, nor do I know for certain to this day. Possibly he had some notion of hiding in the ruins; more likely it was mere coincidence, and he was simply running away from us wherever his feet took him. Be that as it may, Donaldson was going in the direction of the little wood which housed the old ruins.
At that moment, though, he was in the middle of the playing field, and if we were to follow we should have to go out in the open as well, and that was not exactly the safest of courses, all things considered. I hazarded this opinion to Holmes.
He threw a calculating glance at the distance between us and Donaldson. ‘H’mm. Even I would not guarantee to hit my man at this range,’ he said. ‘But you are right, we must be careful.’ And with a complete disregard for either of us, he ran to the lee of that same pavilion behind which I had caught the two cigar smokers not long before. Here Holmes paused, and looked carefully at our quarry. He frowned. ‘Hullo! What’s he up to now, d’you think?’
I circumspectly poked my head round the angle of the wall, and looked where Holmes pointed. Donaldson, who had been running in that curious hit-and-miss fashion of a man who is totally unused to strenuous exercise, had stopped in his tracks. He was not, as one might have expected, looking back at any possible pursuer, but standing with a hand to his side. ‘Stitch, most likely,’ I said. ‘Not used to running. I wonder if we could –’ and I stopped, as Donaldson suddenly plunged forward full length on his face.
Holmes turned to me. ‘Some trick, would you say?’
I shook my head. ‘Hard to say. I’d guess not, not out in the open like that. After all, a couple of minutes more and he’d have been in the shelter of the wood.’
‘I concur.’ Holmes produced his own revolver. ‘Just in case, though.’ And he set off at a run, the pistol held out ready to fire should it indeed prove to be some stratagem on Donaldson’s part.
There was no stratagem, though. As I had thought, Donaldson must have been unused to exercise, and more particularly to the heavy work we had imposed upon him. To be brief, when I examined him I found that his heart had given out. He was beyond the aid of any doctor. I looked at Holmes, and shook my head.
‘H’mm. Well, Watson, in a way this simplifies matters.’
‘Flight being proof of guilt, you mean?’ I asked, straightening up from the body. ‘Not to speak of shooting at us!’
‘Just so. But then I should have wished to ask Donaldson – if that was his real name – a few questions.’
‘Indeed, Holmes. For one thing, this weak old fellow could hardly have killed a young chap like Greville. And I wouldn’t have thought that he could even use a bludgeon on Tromarty.’
‘No, again I agree with you.’ Holmes frowned.
‘Carstairs said that Donaldson was with him when Tromarty was killed,’ I suggested.
‘He did. Now, Donaldson may have been establishing an alibi. Or –’
‘Or Carstairs was lying?’
Holmes nodded. ‘We shall have to report this anyway,’ he said, indicating Donaldson’s body. He removed his coat, and laid it over the corpse. ‘We may as well talk to Carstairs at the same time.’ He turned towards the school.
‘That will be easy, for here is the man himself,’ I said, gesturing towards the far side of the playing field, where Carstairs was indeed making his way towards us at a good pace.
Holmes came to a full stop, and we waited until Carstairs, flushed and breathless, reached us. ‘What’s all the commotion?’ asked Carstairs, glancing at the mortal remains hidden by Holmes’s coat.
‘Donaldson,’ said Holmes shortly. ‘He was one of the men we sought. His heart was unequal to the strain, but fortunately he did not die immediately.’
Before I could contradict this, Carstairs had shoved me violently into Holmes, and the two of us crashed to the ground. Carstairs himself took to his heels, heading back towards the school.
Holmes was the first to get up, and he wasted a moment or two giving me a hand. ‘He should not get far, though,’ he told me, as we set off at a run.
‘Is the range too great for a shot?’ I asked him.
‘I want him alive if possible. There are too many questions unanswered.’
‘Such as how many more of them are involved?’
Holmes gave a short laugh. ‘He seems to be making for the school buildings. In which case, we should be able to catch him.’
Carstairs was by this time almost at the main door of the school. I have told you that this door led to a short passageway which opened on to the main assembly hall and so forth. Now, it was just after the luncheon interval, and, either because they had heard the shot or seen some unusual activity, or simply because they wanted a breath of fresh air, a small group of masters was making its way out from the main building, and Carstairs’s way inside was therefore blocked.
I called out something incoherent, and the man in the lead, Herr Wieland, sensing that something was amiss, held his arms out as a further barrier to Carstairs’s progress. Carstairs slowed his headlong flight, half turned, for all the world like a hare that jinks to elude the hounds, then seemed to vanish actually within the doorway.
‘The tower!’ cried Holmes, slowing down momentarily. He laughed. ‘We have him now, Watson.’
‘I thought that the door had been locked?’ I mumbled churlishly. ‘Should have been locked.’
‘Ah, he very likely has a key, though. He could not rely upon the porter’s faulty memory, could he? That was one point which worried me, though this is hardly the time to discuss loose ends.’ We had arrived at the door now, and Holmes, ignoring the questions of the puzzled little group, paused to consider his best course.
‘Hardly matters, Holmes,’ I pointed out. ‘He cannot get out now, so we need not worry too much.’
‘H’mm. We do not know if he is armed, though. A determined man might do a good deal of damage, even with a small pistol. I think we had best pursue him at once.’ And with a word to the others to keep the boys well away, and to take similar evasive action on their own account, Holmes gripped my arm and led me inside the base of the tower.
I confess that I have been more cheerful towards the conclusion of an investigation. True, one does not – unless his pupils be very unruly – expect a schoolmaster to walk around with a revolver swinging from his hip in the manner of the Sagebrush Kid, or some other of the Wild West Heroes of the penny dreadfuls; but then Donaldson had been armed, and had not hesitated to shoot at us. What was there to say that Carstairs might not be similarly provided with a pistol? And he had the advantage of height, he was above us looking down! As we made our way slowly up the winding iron stair, I expected at any moment to hear the crash of a pistol shot ring out in the confined space. Holmes must have had similar unpalatable thoughts, for I saw him take out his own revolver and check the chambers.
There was no shot, though. We reached the topmost landing without incident, to see Carstairs lounging against the window, presumably that through which Greville had passed earlier, smoking a cigarette with no appearance of concern. As we started towards him, he threw the window open, and held up a hand, as if in warning. ‘It was a valiant effort,’ he said. ‘Ours, I mean. Although your own was none too dusty, Doctor, nor yours, Mr Holmes. I give you best.’ He threw his cigarette away. ‘However, you must excuse me. The penalty for treason is death, and I prefer to choose my own time, and indeed manner.’
‘It may not come to that,’ said Holmes suavely.
‘Oh, I think it would, you know. In any event, the penalty for murder is the same, so it is six of one, half a dozen of the other, as my old nurse used to say. The murders, Tromarty, Greville, must be laid to my account, by the by. Not that it matters, I imagine.’
‘But –’ Holmes leaped forward, but he was just too late. As soon as Carstairs had finished speaking, he jumped onto the window ledge, and with only the least hesitation, he plunged forward into space.
I do not think I could tell you with any accuracy what Holmes or I said or did. We stared out of the window in a sort of frozen horror, and saw the little group of men gather round Carstairs’s body. One of them, Wieland, I think, bent over him, though it was pretty clear that there was no hope, and then someone put a coat over him.
‘Well, Holmes, we seem to have brought a liberal portion of disaster to the school,’ I said.
Holmes shook his head. ‘It was hardly of our making, Watson. I confess that I am surprised that Carstairs should have been implicated.’
‘Yes, he seemed a thoroughly decent young ch
ap.’
‘And his background was impeccable. The Duke of Greyminster himself recommended Carstairs, on His Grace’s own testimony.’
‘Good Heavens! You cannot think the duke is implicated?’ I asked, horrified.
Another shake of Holmes’s head answered this. ‘If he were, Watson, then he would hardly have consulted me in the first place. No, this poor young fellow must have started off on the right track, and somehow been tempted to evil. But how?’
‘He may genuinely have believed in the objects of this secret society. World peace, and all the rest which you mentioned. After all, we do not know as yet just what the society did, do we? Donaldson, an older man, apparently a harmless old chap, may well have fooled Carstairs completely.’
Holmes seemed dissatisfied with this. ‘You could be right, but I cannot quite see it. Now, what would cause a young fellow –’ He stopped abruptly, and gripped my arms. ‘Where is the sickroom, Watson?’
‘Why? Oh, very well, I’ll take you there.’ I led the way down the stairs and out into the main building. As you may imagine, there was a considerable crowd of curious bystanders down there, and a good many questions were directed at us as we pushed through the crowd.
Holmes ignored questions and questioners alike, and manoeuvred me through the hall and into the comparative stillness of a corridor. ‘Now, Watson.’
‘This way.’ I led him to the sickroom, tapped upon the door, and looked in. There was only one occupant, Miss Windlass, and I was somewhat surprised to see her slumped in a chair, and in evident distress.
Before I could offer some consolation, Holmes had brushed past me, and stood over her. ‘Donaldson and Carstairs are both dead,’ he said, in what I privately thought a most brutal fashion.
Miss Windlass looked up, and nodded. ‘You will give me a moment?’ she asked. ‘I need a few personal articles.’
‘Very well,’ said Holmes.
