“The Inspector’s new information only demonstrates the folly of constructing a theory before all the facts are in, Doctor. I discern a pattern at work here. I dimly perceive a wicked and intelligent mind behind it all.”
I tried to pry further into his thoughts, but he stymied me at every turn. Finally I decided upon sleep, as the hour was growing quite late.
“Are you for turning in as well, Holmes?” I asked.
“I fear that I may be up into the small hours, Watson. I shall most certainly see you in the morning.”
I went directly to my bedchamber and quickly fell asleep. I awakened during the night and perceived the strong aroma of Holmes’s pipe tobacco. This informed me that my friend was still at work in his mental pursuits.
When morning broke, I awoke and performed my morning toilet. Upon entering the sitting room, I found Holmes curled up in the same chair where I had left him the previous night. The air was positively poisonous with smoke, and I opened a window in hopes of clearing it away. The weather was still very hot, but the morning breeze from the outside felt refreshing.
Holmes and I broke our fast over a delightful meal courtesy of Mrs. Hudson, and were back in our sitting room when Inspector Lestrade arrived.
He seated himself and came quickly to the point.
“Well, Mr. Holmes, have you arranged your thoughts towards a solution to the case?” he asked.
“I have done as much as I can with the information at hand,” replied Holmes.
Lestrade appeared a bit crestfallen at this answer. I suppose he had thought that Holmes would supply him with the name and address of the murderer, but he rallied quickly.
“Perhaps then you can enlighten me as to your thinking,” said the Inspector.
“Certainly, but a question to you first. Has the Yard had any luck in finding members of the Will Scarlet Society?”
“None, sir,” said Lestrade ruefully. “I have ten men on it. We have questioned again the members of the other societies that were brought to our attention earlier by Xavier Thornton, but all claim no knowledge of such a club or society.”
“I see,” said Holmes.
He then lapsed into silence. It was as if he had forgotten that we were in the room. Lestrade finally grew impatient and spoke.
“Mr. Holmes, you did promise me that you would share your thoughts on the case.”
Holmes was brought out of his brown study and looked up sharply at the Inspector.
“That is true, Lestrade. I have promised you some guidance and I shall give it.”
Holmes paused, for dramatic effect in my opinion. Holmes would deny it, but he had a touch of the showman in him.
“To my mind, the solution of the case must answer five questions,” he continued. “The first question is why did Xavier Thornton send for me?”
“But we know that, Holmes,” said I. “Surely the letter he received from the Will Scarlet Society moved him to take action, whereas he had been previously reluctant.”
“I am also satisfied on that point, Mr. Holmes,” said Lestrade.
“The second question is why was there a second arrow in the loft of the carriage house?” continued Holmes as if he had not heard the Inspector and myself.
That question also did not seem relevant to me, but I did not speak my doubts. Lestrade likewise did not seem impressed with this second point.
“Thirdly, we must know why Xavier Thornton was whistling the morning of his death behind closed doors.”
“Mr. Holmes,” said the Inspector. “I believe that you are having me on. Can the man whistling really hold a key to his murder?”
“I am only relating my thinking at your express request, Inspector,” returned Holmes.
“Very well, sir,” Lestrade grumbled. “Please continue.”
“The fourth important question,” said Holmes, “is what was the purpose of throwing the book into the pond?”
“I’m not certain I follow you, Holmes,” said I. “The culmination of the threat was written on the first page.”
“Yes, Doctor, but why then throw it in a pond where it would not have been found except for a chance sighting?”
Lestrade rubbed his chin in thought.
“There is a point there, Holmes, I admit that. What is your last question?”
“The fifth, and final, question is why was the Will Scarlet Headquarters burned down?”
“But the society did not exist at that address, Mr. Holmes,” protested Lestrade.
“True,” said Holmes, “but it burned nonetheless. There must be a reason.”
Lestrade seemed doubtful of this entire line of reasoning.
“Holmes, can you yourself answer the questions you have raised?” I asked.
“I can answer three of them with some certainty, I believe,” said he. “One I feel certain I can guess. As to the other, I hope to answer it by the end of the day. I further propose to revisit the Thornton Estate tomorrow. I hope you will accompany Watson and myself, Inspector.”
“I will, and gladly, Mr. Holmes, but I must say you are an absolute clam,” said Lestrade.
“Why, my dear Inspector, you have seen and heard all that I have. It is possible that I have deduced a bit more than you, but such is life.”
I looked for a hint of a smile from Holmes at his grandiose pronouncement, but saw none.
“Very well, Mr. Holmes,” said the Inspector finally. “When shall we leave?”
“I suggest midmorning,” said Holmes. “I wish to arrive at just before noon, as Watson and I did on our first visit.”
With that settled, the Inspector soon left us to return to the hunt for the Will Scarlet Society. I began to peruse The Times, while Holmes remained in his chair staring at the ceiling. After some thirty minutes of this, he roused himself and made his way into his bedchamber. Within a few moments he returned with his hat on and his walking stick in hand.
‘Are you going out, Holmes?” I asked.
“I am, Doctor,” said he. “I shall be home before the supper hour.”
No sooner had the words escaped his lips, than he was gone. I had no time to ask any questions or to see if I might accompany him. I was somewhat accustomed to this treatment by Holmes, and I made every effort to not take it personally.
I decided to take advantage of the quiet and solitude by spending the day in reading. I selected several weighty tomes from our bookshelf and sat comfortably in my chair. I spent most of the rest of the day going from Dickens to Dumas and back again. It was still dreadfully hot and my eyes grew heavy at several points of the day, but I fought the impulse to nap.
Towards evening I thought I heard the familiar step of my friend on our stairs. Moments later he strode through the door, confirming my suspicion. He gave me a curt nod, but said not a word. He was carrying under one arm a ledger of some sort. He immediately disappeared into his bedroom, only to return moments later.
He sat in his usual seat. The ledger was gone, deposited, no doubt, in his bedchamber. He seemed quite satisfied with himself and inquired as to how I had spent my day. Before I had a chance to answer, there was a knock at the door and Mrs. Hudson came in.
“A lady to see you, Mr. Holmes,” she said before withdrawing.
In her place walked, to my surprise, Victoria Thornton.
“I hope I am not too late in calling,” she said.
Holmes assured her she was not and guided her to a chair. She sat with her ankles crossed and her hands resting upon her knees.
“Constable Thomas,” she continued, “sent word earlier that Scotland Yard has found no trace of this Will Scarlet Society.”
“That is so, madam,” said Holmes. “They are making every effort, I believe. Inspector Lestrade was just here this morning.”
“It is not their effort I doubt, Mr. Holmes,” she said. “What I doubt is their acumen. By all accounts, when the police are out of their depths they employ you. Goodness knows that Xavier felt that you were the man for the job. What I want to know is
what you are going to do next?”
“What would you have me do, madam?”
“Why, protect my family, of course,” came the reply. “Mr. Holmes, my boys have been poisoned and my dear brother-in-law has been murdered. We need your help.”
“Mrs. Thornton, has it occurred to you that the danger to your family may come from within?”
“Nonsense,” snorted the lady. “Xavier was killed by an outsider. Who of the family would wish him harm? He was loved by all.”
I smiled a bit at this portrayal of Xavier Thornton. By all reports that Holmes and I had heard, he was a difficult man at best to get along with.
“And yet he disinherited your husband and yourself,” said Holmes.
“Xavier resented me for being a strong woman,” she said. “He thought I overawed my husband, but he was wrong. Winston is a virile and strong man.”
‘Even so, Mrs. Thornton,” said Holmes, “you must admit that few people in your family have an alibi for the time of the murder.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just this, madam. By their own testimony almost everyone in the family was alone during the time in question. Lawrence Thornton reports he was in the study at the time. Your husband was in the first floor conservatory. Your oldest son was alone in his bedroom resting. Only your youngest son has an alibi.”
“But how-,” began Victoria Thornton before biting off her sentence. She remained in silent contemplation before continuing. “But how is any of this important, Mr. Holmes? This has been the work of an outside agency. I will consider nothing else.”
Holmes said nothing for a few moments and studied the determined chin of Victoria Thornton. She had spoken with such conviction that she had convinced me of her sincerity in this matter.
“I believe that the matter can be settled very soon, madam,” said Holmes. “In fact, the good Doctor and I, along with Inspector Lestrade, had already planned to return to the Thornton Estate tomorrow at noon. Would that please you?”
The lady allowed that that would suit her to a T. With little more conversation we bid the lady good night. As we settled back in our chairs, I ventured a question to my friend.
“Holmes, do you really mean to solve this case by tomorrow?”
“Doctor, I can assure you that the murderer of Xavier Thornton will be in irons by the end of the day,” said Sherlock Holmes gravely.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The next day found Holmes, Inspector Lestrade and myself, gathered with the Thornton family at their estate. Holmes had been typically reticent about sharing his thoughts on the way down other than to say the culprit would be exposed.
Holmes had suggested that we employ the great hall as a space to speak to everyone. This was agreed to. Holmes stood in front of the large fireplace and looked over the group. Winston Thornton and his wife sat together on a couch with their son Howard standing beside them, holding a glass of whiskey in his hands. He stood with his typical ramrod-straight posture. Their younger son Franklin sat in a chair near them. He was pale, but seemed otherwise fit. Lawrence Thornton sat nearest to Holmes and it appeared as if the events of the past several days had aged him greatly.
George Smythe and Scragg stood together smoking to Holmes’s left. Lestrade and I also stood, I beside Holmes and Lestrade nearer the back of the hall. Standing at one end of the hall was Jackson, the butler. Holmes cleared his throat and began.
“Xavier Thornton sent for my help, but was murdered before I arrived,” he said. “As that is so, I consider it my duty to unmask his killer. That I intend to do today.”
“Then get on with it, man,” said Lawrence Thornton. “If indeed you know who it is, then tell.”
“I intend to, sir,” said Holmes placidly. “But I must tell you how I arrived at my conclusion lest you think said conclusion is fanciful. I have previously told Inspector Lestrade that there were five questions that needed to be answered. My first question upon discovering Xavier Thornton’s body was to wonder why he had sent for me.”
“Surely that is obvious,” said George Smythe. “The new, threatening letter from the Will Scarlet Society was the impetus for him to write you.”
“That is the conclusion that everyone has drawn, but it is wrong on the face of it. Xavier Thornton wrote me and said he wanted my service because he knew me to be discreet and he wanted no scandal.”
Holmes paused to gauge the effect of his words. Only silence greeted him.
“Is it not obvious?” asked Holmes.
“Obvious to you, perhaps, Mr. Holmes,” said Lestrade. “But I would ask you to be clearer.”
“Very well. Mr. Thornton feared a scandal. Would he fear a scandal from an anonymous society? Of course not, he feared a scandal because he sensed danger from his family.”
“What?” cried Winston Thornton. “Xavier feared one of us?”
“Yes,” replied Holmes. “It is obvious that a scandal must be a family matter. Xavier Thornton felt in danger from a member of his own family. We may never know precisely what set him on his guard, but he sensed the danger. His killer, finding out that his quarry was now alert and sending for help, murdered him before that help could arrive. However, it was not a sloppy murder. No, it was planned well in advance, as I will demonstrate.
“When I arrived at the estate, I was told that Xavier Thornton was in his room alone, and that he had locked the door himself after all had left. The door was indeed locked. We forced the door open and found the man dead, and dead for some time. Hence, we know he died sometime after the door was closed and everyone left the morning meeting and before the door was forced open. Do we all agree on that?”
Everyone nodded in assent.
“That has never been in question, Mr. Holmes,” said Lestrade.
“It was never in question, and it was completely wrong,” said Holmes. “That is how the crime was designed to look. In reality, it was done another way.”
“Are you telling us that an arrow did not kill Xavier Thornton, Mr. Holmes?” asked the Inspector.
“No, that is not what I am telling you, Inspector,” replied Holmes. “Xavier Thornton was killed with an arrow. However, remember that an arrow is just a short spear.”
“Are you saying Xavier was stabbed through the neck with the arrow?” asked Lawrence Thornton.
“That is correct, sir,” said Holmes. “And he was murdered by the last man to see him alive, Mr. Howard Thornton.”
There was a stunned silence that was finally broken by the sound of Howard Thornton laughing.
“You have a perverted sense of humour, Mr. Holmes,” he said as his laughter died away. “I could not possibly have killed Uncle. He locked the door after I left. Smythe and Scragg both heard it.”
“That is true, Mr. Thornton,” said Holmes. “As I said, it was cleverly done. Shall I explain?”
“By all means, Mr. Holmes,” said the young man. “This should be amusing, if not instructive.”
“Yes, Mr. Holmes, let us hear your explanation,” said Winston Thornton evenly.
“This is how it happened,” began Holmes. “Howard Thornton resolved to kill his uncle when he realized how sick his other uncle, Mr. Lawrence Thornton, was. It was well known that all of the money from the estate would go to him alone leaving out Winston Thornton and his family. Mr. Lawrence told me that he did not agree with his brother’s thinking and that he would do things differently. In other words, once the inheritance came to the sickly oldest brother, he would make a will in favor of his brother Winston. In turn the money would come to Howard, and his parents would certainly indulge his theatre projects. But what if Lawrence Thornton died before his brother Xavier? Then Xavier Thornton would have to name a new inheritor. Would he change it to his youngest brother? It seems unlikely given his distaste for Victoria Thornton, and indeed women in general. What if he designated for charity? This was a chance a greedy man like Howard Thornton could not dare take.
“When I first met Howard Thornton, he told me that he
wished to produce his own plays. Where would that money come from? At any rate, he resolved to kill the man. When the morning meeting concluded, he must have been thrilled that his uncle asked him to remain. I am certain that he would have asked to stay for a moment, but his uncle’s request was fortuitous. After everyone else was gone, Howard came up from behind his uncle and drove the arrow through the older man’s throat, killing him instantly.”
“And then I left, and Uncle rose from the dead and locked the door,” mocked Howard Thornton. “Is that what happened, Mr. Holmes?”
“No, Mr. Thornton,” said Holmes. “You managed to lock the door yourself. Mr. Smythe, what sound did you hear before the door locked?”
“Why, I heard whistling,” said he. “We all did.”
“Precisely,” said Holmes. “Only it was not a whistle, it was the air being released from something like this.”
Holmes pulled something blue out of his pocket. He put his lips to it and began to blow.
“Why, it is a balloon, Holmes,” said I. “What does a child’s toy have to do with this?”
“Only this,” he said. “Listen closely.”
I leaned forward, as did everyone else, and listened. I heard a low whistle coming from the balloon.
“Why, air is escaping, Holmes!” I cried.
“Exactly. Before Howard Thornton left his uncle’s room, he put the false letter from the Will Scarlet Society in with the other letters, and then he set a small balloon in between the door and the latch. After he closed the door, the air slowly left the balloon. The balloon eventually fell to the floor and the latch fell through the eye and locked the door from the inside. Howard Thornton had only to retrieve the balloon before anyone saw it on the floor. He knew my appointment was for one o’clock, so he hoped to talk Smythe and Scragg into breaking down the door before I arrived. That plan failed, but he recovered the balloon anyway. However, I saw him pick up something blue and taxed him with that knowledge. But Howard Thornton is a clever man, and he had anticipated that someone might see him. He already had a blue handkerchief of his brother’s at the ready to display.”
Robin Hood's Revenge (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale Book 7) Page 7
