Mrs Hudson and the Spirits’ Curse

by Mrs Hudson

  ‘With Moran, you mean, Mrs H? There’s very little to tell. Just sat around and waited for Holmes, don’t you know.’

  ‘Perhaps if you could indulge me with a little more detail, sir?’

  ‘Certainly. If I can. Let’s see. When Flotsam left, Moran made another attempt to persuade me to leave. He seemed extraordinarily keen to keep his own company. But he soon saw I was having none of it and he became quite cold. “Am I to understand I am under house arrest?” he asked. Told him not to be so damned silly. Pointed out that he’d asked for our help and now he was jolly well going to get it. Then I turned my back on him and settled down to my newspaper. Fascinating item about a fellow called Phelps who claimed he shot the last quagga in the Cape. Thought he might have been the father of a chap I was at school with. Must have been reading for half an hour or more before I remembered the chap I was at school was called Phillips, not Phelps.’

  ‘And did Moran stay with you all this time, sir?’

  ‘Absolutely, Mrs Hudson. He wasn’t happy though. I noticed how jumpy he was, looking around at the slightest sound. I suppose he was still worried about those Sumatrans.’

  ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘At about eight o’clock I suppose we were both feeling a bit peckish and Moran suggested he get a bit of supper together. I thought he meant to go out for it at first, but he assured me that if I gave him half an hour or so, he’d see if there was anything in the house he could scrape together. To be honest it was a relief to have him out of the room. Since I’d been shown the true nature of the man, I found it rather uncomfortable sharing a space with him.’

  Mrs Hudson was listening very intently now, one round arm folded across her bosom, the other resting on it to support her chin.

  ‘As you can imagine, I wasn’t particularly looking forward to breaking bread with the blighter, but as it happens he served up a remarkably tasty little meal. Potatoes, greens and the best cheese soufflé I can remember tasting. Good bottle of claret too.’

  ‘And he produced all this from that kitchen?’ asked Mrs Hudson, pointing.

  ‘Well, I can’t see where else it could have come from, Mrs H. Obviously I didn’t stand over the fellow while he worked.’

  ‘Did he serve the food to you while you were seated at the table?’

  ‘Really, Mrs Hudson!’ interrupted Holmes. ‘I understand your interest in such matters but surely the dead man’s serving arrangements cannot be relevant here?’

  Mrs Hudson’s eyes never left Dr Watson. ‘Did he, sir?’

  ‘No, Mrs Hudson. It was all laid out on the table when he asked me to come through.’

  ‘Of course it was,’ said Mrs Hudson to no-one in particular. ‘And the kitchen door, Dr Watson, was firmly closed for the entire time you were dining?’

  Dr Watson was looking concerned now, as though he feared these questions were designed to undermine the theory that appeared to exonerate him.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Hudson, it was,’ he admitted after a pause.

  Gregory was quick to leap in.

  ‘I don’t think, Mrs Hudson, that the position of the door while they were eating has any bearing on my suggestion of what happened here. Granted, if the door were shut our marksman would have less opportunity to get Moran in his sights, but when Moran opened the door to begin tidying up, that obstacle was removed.’

  ‘Ah, yes. “Tidying up …” I believe, Dr Watson, that was the phrase Mr Moran used when he left you in the sitting room shortly before he was shot?’

  ‘Something like that, Mrs Hudson. “Excuse me while I go and tidy up a few things.” I think those were the words he used.’

  ‘Mr Moran was clearly something of an ironist, Dr Watson. Thank you, that is all I wished to ask.’ And to everyone’s surprise she lowered herself back into her chair with an air of finality.

  Holmes and Gregory exchanged glances.

  ‘And where exactly does that leave us, Mrs Hudson?’ asked Holmes, his pipe and one eyebrow both raised.

  ‘The assassin, sir, is a man of more than average height. Earlier today he murdered Mr Neale. This evening he was concealed in the kitchen all the time Dr Watson was dining. He passed the time smoking a rare brand of cigarette. If you want confirmation of this, I suggest that Inspector Gregory sends his men to search directly below the kitchen window. They are likely to find the remains of at least one Egyptian cigarette identical to that found at Neale’s house.’

  A silence fell more profound than any that had preceded it. Watson and Holmes both stared at Mrs Hudson in astonishment. Inspector Gregory frankly gaped. I, for all my faith, found myself trembling at the audacity of her assertion. Finally Dr Watson sank back on to his chair with a deep escape of breath.

  ‘I can’t see how you work all that out, Mrs H, but I’m very pleased to hear you say it.’

  Holmes lowered his pipe and smiled quizzically. ‘Mrs Hudson, I confess you astonish me. Could we ask you to share with us the reasoning behind this startling theory?’

  ‘Indeed, ma’am,’ added Gregory. ‘Until you have explained some very baffling details, you will forgive me if I remain a little sceptical.’

  ‘Of course, sir. Why don’t you gentlemen sit down. It’s hard to be comfortable seated around the unfortunate gentleman here, especially on these chairs, but there’s no harm in our trying.’

  There was a moment of subdued settling down, Gregory clearly still incredulous, Holmes having finally succeeded in lighting his pipe with one good hand, showing in his smile signs of amusement at the policeman’s discomfiture. Watson was leaning forwards intently, his honest face turned hopefully to where Mrs Hudson sat, unperturbed by the attention she suddenly commanded. She gave herself a little shake from side to side as if to form a better contact with the narrow dining chair and, after a little cough to clear her throat, addressed herself to Mr Holmes.

  ‘There were, sir, two particular things that told me a third person was present in these rooms when Mr Moran met his end. As a housekeeper by profession, I can only sit back and marvel at the way you search so systematically for scientific clues that would mean nothing to me. But in domestic matters I’ve had years of experience that you gentlemen don’t have, so it’s hardly surprising I see things in a kitchen that are beneath the attention of your investigations.’

  Holmes nodded slowly as she spoke, his pipe unattended in his hand.

  ‘And to what particular details do you wish to draw our attention, Mrs Hudson?’

  ‘If you will allow me, sir, I suggest you take a close look at the state of the oven.’

  ‘The oven, Mrs Hudson?’

  ‘Of course, sir. As I pointed out to Flotsam here, the kitchen here is rather an unusual domestic arrangement. These being bachelor’s rooms you wouldn’t expect to find a kitchen here at all. But at some point in the past someone decided it was necessary and created that tiny kitchen as we see it now, in the process robbing this dining room of its only window. A most unsatisfactory arrangement, if I may say so. The range is small and awkward and seems unnecessary for a place like this. Indeed it’s clear that the oven has rarely been used. You can see from a glance inside that, unlike the top of the stove, it shows signs of rust and old marks that suggest it has not been in use – or properly cleaned – for some years before tonight. Penge may have been using this stove to prepare breakfast but his ambition clearly hasn’t extended to baking or roasting.’

  ‘Mrs Hudson, I fear I’m failing to see the significance of all this. But go on. What is the second detail to which you wish to draw our attention?’

  ‘To the peculiarity of the cheese soufflé that Dr Watson enjoyed this evening.’

  ‘But Mrs Hudson,’ exclaimed Watson, ‘there was nothing at all wrong with the cheese soufflé. It was quite perfect.’

  ‘That, Dr Watson, is the peculiarity I find so interesting.’

  A short silence followed this extraordinary utterance. The doctor looked completely baffled and Gregory suddenly tutted impatiently. Holm
es however had an eyebrow raised and was eyeing Mrs Hudson with extreme attention, as if her words were opening up important lines of thought in his brain.

  ‘Indeed, Mrs H. A fascinating concept. I only wish I had thought of it myself.’

  ‘Eh, Holmes?’ Watson’s perplexity showed no signs of untangling itself. ‘I’m sorry. You’ll have to make it all a great deal clearer for me, I’m afraid.’

  ‘My apologies, gentlemen.’ Mrs Hudson was leaning back with eyebrows trembling slightly as if she were enjoying herself enormously. ‘I fear I am being quite unnecessarily cryptic. A most objectionable habit, I’m sure. And I am running ahead of myself. I shall return to these details in a moment. I only mention them now because they confirmed for me what I already believed – that there was a third party present here throughout the evening. Since Dr Watson didn’t kill Moran and Moran clearly didn’t kill himself, the murder must either have been done as you suggest, by someone outside the building, or by someone who was here all along. Now you must forgive me if I find your manly grasp of angles and lines of fire magnificent but just a little unlikely. Quite possible, of course, but how much easier if the murderer was simply hidden in the kitchen.’

  ‘But, Mrs Hudson …!’

  ‘I know, Inspector. I’m aware of the difficulties. But I look at it like this. There has only been one opportunity this evening for anyone to enter this building without our knowing about it, and that was during the highly contrived disturbance in the street outside. That occurred just before Dr Watson and Flottie’s visit. So anyone who entered then would have been seen by them on the stairs – unless he had already entered these rooms before they arrived.’

  Dr Watson raised his hand. ‘But how could he have entered without Moran knowing? It’s simply not possible. Yet when we arrived Moran was adamant that he was alone.’

  ‘Yes, sir. You made the mistake of assuming that Moran was as afraid of intruders as he pretended. In fact he had no sense of danger. This was a welcome caller, someone he wanted to meet. From his anxiety to be rid of you, it’s clear he was extremely eager to attend to his guest.’

  Dr Watson lowered his hand thoughtfully and Mrs Hudson continued.

  ‘Now, let us imagine events. While those observing the front door are distracted, a mystery visitor – let us call him Melmoth – slips inside. Moran welcomes him in and is eager to speak to him. The pair are, however, almost immediately interrupted by the arrival of Flottie and Dr Watson. There are clearly reasons – almost certainly criminal ones – why Moran and Melmoth do not wish to be found in conference. So Melmoth slips into the dining room and waits for Moran to show you the door. Imagine their consternation when you will not be persuaded to leave at any price. Moran is in a difficult situation but, under the pretence of fetching his newspaper, he is able to appraise Melmoth of the situation. The pair agree to wait until the obstinate guests take their leave.’

  Heads were nodding now. Even Gregory seemed to feel this sequence of events made sense.

  ‘Now if Melmoth had called with the idea of murder already formed – and I believe he had – why did he not do so at that point, when he was briefly alone with Moran? Why wait so tediously? Perhaps he was not yet certain that Moran had to die. Or perhaps a cunning scheme was forming in his brain. When he was informed that the inconvenient visitor was none other than the renowned Dr Watson, what better than to make his mystifying escape in such a way as to throw suspicion onto the doctor? So he waited, sir. And the longer he waited, the more convinced you became that you and Moran were alone.’

  By now we were all listening with intense concentration. A little shudder ran through me at the thought of murder so coldly calculated. Mrs Hudson gave another shuffle in her chair.

  ‘When Moran excused himself on the pretence of investigating supper, he was probably doing no more than looking for an excuse to confer further with his new accomplice. By now Moran may have been worrying, rightly, that your continued presence was the prelude to a visit from Mr Holmes and possibly the police. He left the room to explain his fears to Melmoth.

  ‘At this point it is only fair to explain that I have my own ideas about Melmoth’s true identity. The man I have in mind is quite capable of seizing upon the opportunity that presented itself. He liked the supper idea. It gave Moran an excuse to absent himself from the sitting room and so enabled the two to talk without arousing Dr Watson’s suspicions. Furthermore, by entertaining in the dining room Moran would cement in Dr Watson’s mind the idea that the rooms beyond the sitting room were unoccupied. So while the two of them got down to the discussions interrupted by Dr Watson, Melmoth prepared supper.’

  Gregory opened his mouth to interrupt but Mrs Hudson silenced him with a stern glare.

  ‘I am aware, Inspector, that this is all speculation, which is why the domestic details are so important. We know the oven was not commonly used. Tonight someone used it. It is possible that Moran, liberated by the absence of Penge, decided to experiment with new levels of culinary creativity. But it is surely unlikely. Dr Watson also testifies to the perfect soufflé. To create such an object on such an awkward range attests to a highly skilled hand. It is possible that Moran has long concealed a talent for soufflé. But again, surely unlikely. These details prove nothing in themselves, you see, but they are enough to convince me of the presence here tonight of one Maurice Orlando Fogarty.’

  The effect of this declaration was dramatic, startling her listeners like a sudden flash of lightning. I felt a little surge of pride at their astonishment.

  ‘Maurice Orlando who?’ muttered Watson.

  ‘Never heard of him!’ added Gregory.

  Mr Holmes laid down his pipe on the dining table.

  ‘Let me get this clear, Mrs Hudson. You are telling us that as well as knowing how this murder was committed, you also know the identity of the murderer?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir.’ Mrs Hudson seemed surprised at the question. ‘I’ve known that all along. It was finding ways of demonstrating it that was the difficulty. Even now I’m afraid I don’t have actual proof. Not proof that would hang the man. But enough for my own satisfaction, and that is at least something.’

  ‘But who is this man Fogarty?’

  ‘There will be plenty of time to tell you all about Fogarty later, sir. For now, suffice it to say that his soufflés have been praised from Madrid to St Petersburg. His fish soufflé once turned the head of a minor, though quite substantial, Bourbon princess. But tell me, sir, before I go on, don’t you think something should be done for Mr Moran? It seems wrong to leave him here very much longer.’

  ‘Presently, Mrs Hudson. When you’ve finished.’ Holmes waved aside her query with his pipe. ‘Now let us suppose this Fogarty was here tonight. Let us agree with your remarkable contention that Watson’s supper is itself proof of his presence. Let us even set aside for the time being the question of why he committed this remarkable crime. How do you propose to explain his disappearance into thin air?’

  ‘But that is surely quite simple, sir. We know he must have left through the kitchen window. There is no alternative. When Dr Watson was seated comfortably next door, Fogarty shot Moran, taking care to place the gun on the table so that a verdict of suicide could not be an option. He was out of the window while Dr Watson was still rising from his armchair. He had of course taken care to plan his escape long before he paid his visit. Mr Fogarty is the sort of man who likes to know the whereabouts of the back door before he calls at the front.’

  Inspector Gregory looked as though he was in danger of exploding.

  ‘But, Mrs Hudson, you heard my man swear that there was no-one in that alley at any time. How could he have escaped?’

  ‘He simply walked out of the alley, sir. Calmly so as not to excite suspicion, I imagine.’

  ‘Then you think Flynn was lying?’

  ‘Oh no, Inspector.’ Mrs Hudson seemed appalled at the thought. ‘Flynn wasn’t there.’

  ‘But he claims he was there all afternoon and eve
ning.’

  ‘No, sir. Shortly after the murder you asked him to come up here. I imagine Fogarty anticipated something of the sort. He’s generally clever that way. He knew the chance would arise.’

  Gregory’s tone began to contain a hint of desperation.

  ‘But he was out of that window before Dr Watson could cross the sitting room. Flynn was still there at that point. And he could hardly have failed to notice a man dropping to the alley.’

  ‘Of course not, sir. But why do you assume he dropped to the alley straightaway? Why do you assume the only way out of the window is down?’

  The beginnings of a ghostly pallor began to show in Gregory’s face.

  ‘You mean he …’

  ‘Yes, sir. The drainpipe leads up as well as down. Now, it’s not very firmly attached, but if you take another look you will see that a man with a good reach might succeed in clambering from the window up to the roof without relying on it. That is why I suggested he must be above average height. From the roof he would have a good view of the alley. When he saw your man withdrawn, he made his escape. Of course, he was prepared to wait there for as long as it took, guessing rightly that the police would be slow to undertake a search of the rooftops.’

  ‘But if you knew …’ Gregory seemed lost for words. ‘If you had told us this before, surely his escape could have been prevented?’

  ‘I did think about that, Inspector. But he is a ruthless man, sir, not afraid of desperate measures. I feared that if I raised the alarm earlier you gentlemen would have insisted on heroic pursuit and he would not have hesitated in shooting at least one of you dead. A very masculine sequence of events but what an unnecessary waste it would have been. Fogarty will not escape forever, sir. For now I thought it better to wait.’

  ‘Bravo, Mrs Hudson!’ Mr Holmes rose smiling from his seat and slapped the speechless Gregory firmly on the shoulder. ‘Inspector, see what a study of my methods can achieve? I too had wondered about the rooftop. But is it really possible that you withdrew the only observer from the alley?’

  Gregory’s face looked grey and his eyes glassy.