Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine #10

by Arthur Conan Doyle

  “I am sorry to interrupt your meal, Mr Holmes and Dr Watson. If you like, I can return later, but circumstances have become unnerving enough that I felt I should waste no time in seeing you.”

  As Holmes regarded the man’s flushed countenance and agitated respiration, he smiled slightly and replied, “Of course, Mr Pierpont, I would be happy to hear about these circumstances which have so unnerved you. Please, have a seat by the fire and tell us your story from the beginning. Watson, please pour our guest some brandy to calm him, and Mrs Hudson, those dishes can wait. Please make yourself scarce.” Holmes took a seat by the fire and relit his pipe as he waited for our indignant landlady to depart and for our guest to sit down.

  “Now, Mr Pierpont, please proceed. I realise that you will need to be getting back to the bank soon.”

  “But, Mr Holmes, how could you know?”

  “It is simplicity itself. Your frock coat and trousers are of the very best black broadcloth, yet they have become somewhat shiny in the back, suggesting a job that requires you to remain sedentary for long periods. The slight stoop in your shoulders also marks you as a man who spends most of his time hunched over his desk. The pink corner of the Financial Times in your inner pocket suggests that you have something to do with finance, and the traces on the fingers and thumb of your right hand of that rosin that is frequently used by people who spend a great deal of their time counting money is also suggestive. Finally, that small, gold ornament depending from your fob with the initials, “IBE,” engraved upon it is conclusive: you are employed by the Imperial Bank of England on Lombard Street. As I noted before, you are too well dressed to be a clerk, but I know you are not the director or branch manager of that particular establishment. I would venture, though, that you are in a position of some authority.”

  “I am an accounts manager for the Imperial Bank. That is uncanny, Mr Holmes!”

  “Please, state your case,” replied Holmes as he leaned back into his armchair and assumed the weary, heavy-lidded expression which veiled his keen and eager nature.

  “Well, Mr Holmes, it may be as nothing, but three days ago an odd series of seeming coincidences began to unfold before me. I am a bachelor and own a small house in Christopher Street, Finsbury. As I was leaving for work Monday morning, I noticed what appeared to be a piece of litter lying on the stoop outside my front door. When I attempted to sweep it aside with my foot, it clung there stubbornly, so I knelt to pick it up. Mr Holmes, it was a photograph of a woman.”

  Fishing in one of his waistcoat pockets, Pierpont retrieved a small photograph of the most striking women I had ever seen. Raven-black hair framed a delicately and perfectly proportioned face of almost porcelain complexion, and there was an intensity in her dark eyes that gave the photograph an extraordinarily lifelike quality.

  “The back of the picture is still slightly tacky with adhesive,” observed Holmes. “May I keep this?”

  “Of course. I only kept it on the off chance that I might bump into its subject in the neighborhood and return it.” As he said this, a flush once again returned to his countenance.

  “You do not know the subject?”

  “I had never seen her before then, Mr Holmes. But on my way to work that morning, just as I was entering the bank, I saw her standing just outside a jeweler’s, five doors down. I could not help but stare, and as I stood there trying to determine if it was, in fact, the same woman, she turned and seemed to recognize me. She took a step toward me, but I then lost sight of her as a passing throng of young clerks passed by. I stood there, like a fool, for some time but was unable to spot her again.”

  “So you are unsure that it was the same woman?”

  “I was, Mr Holmes, but the thing that is so extraordinary is that I have seen her several times since. As you have noted, I do not have much opportunity to stretch my legs at the bank, and I try to walk as much as possible. However, on Monday evening, I worked rather late and decided to take a cab home. But just as I was putting the key in the front door of my home, I saw her again. She was walking toward me, and I had just caught sight of her before she turned into an alley three houses down from my house. I could hardly believe my eyes and immediately turned to follow her, but when I turned into the alley, there was no sign of her. Yesterday, I saw her again, both as I was arriving at and departing from work, and again, she vanished as suddenly as she appeared.”

  “Did she appear near the jeweler’s yesterday, as well?”

  “Yes, in that vicinity. I was relating the events to two of the clerks at work, and one of them joked that it sounded like a case for Sherlock Holmes.

  “For lunch, I decided to take advantage of the break in the rain and walk to the George and Vulture. As I turned into Birchin Lane, there she was again! She was on the opposite side of the street and walking in the opposite direction. It did not look as though she had seen me, so I followed her, sticking to the opposite side of the road. We made our way almost as far south as Cannon Street before an omnibus passed between us, and I lost sight of her.”

  “Could you tell whence she had come?” asked Holmes.

  “No, she seems to appear and vanish like a ghost. I could stand no more and immediately resolved to hail a cab and, all jesting aside, consult you.”

  “Your story contains elements that intrigue me, Mr Pierpont, but I am afraid that there is not yet a sufficient amount of data with which to work. I do promise to assist you, if necessary, in this matter and will ask you to please leave me your card and home address. Do not hesitate to contact me if anything else of significance happens. Watson will see you to the door.”

  With that, I led our guest back out and reassured him as he donned his hat and coat that Holmes would do everything in his power to help and that he should not worry about imposing upon us in the future. When I returned to our sitting room, Holmes was still sitting with his feet upon the fireplace fender, puffing away at his oily, black clay pipe.

  “It is remarkable the lengths to which an old bachelor will go having caught sight of a pretty face,” I remarked.

  “A phenomenon with which you are no doubt familiar,” retorted Holmes, smiling.

  “Well, to be fair, if her photograph does her any justice at all, I probably would not object to walking after her in the rain, either.”

  “Then you shall have your chance. I have a small matter to attend to in the morning. I was hoping you would follow Mr Pierpont to work tomorrow morning and report back to me everything that you see,” said Holmes as he stood and handed Pierpont’s card to me.

  * * * *

  I assured Holmes that he could rely upon me, and next morning found me standing half a block from the banker’s neat, three-storey home in Christopher Street. It had stopped raining but a cold, damp fog had settled heavily upon The City, and when I saw Pierpont hail a cab, I immediately did the same, taking care not to be seen by him. On the way from his front door to the hansom, I noticed no change in his behavior, and we traveled slowly but without incident to Lombard Street. As he alighted from the cab, however, Pierpont turned dramatically and stared intently to his right. I quickly left my cab and tried to follow his gaze but could only see hoards of clerks, businessmen, and workmen all rushing about their customary early morning business in The City. Pierpont began to look rather wild and rushed down the street. Trying to be discreet, I was at a disadvantage as I followed him, but I was certain that, if our mysterious lady were somewhere in Lombard Street, I would surely have seen her. After having gotten about halfway down the block, I turned quickly into a tobacco shop as Pierpont returned dejectedly to the bank. Once he was out of sight, I continued to reconnoiter, but I never did glimpse the black-haired woman from the photograph.

  I had just finished lunch when Holmes returned to Baker Street, and I related to him all that had occurred that morning.

  “I am sorry I don’t have more for you, Holmes.”

  “Not at all. Your professional opinion may be of value here. Did Pierpont seem…healthy to you…c
ompos mentis?”

  “Actually, Holmes when I saw the change in his features as he got out of the cab, I did become concerned. But of course, under the circumstances, there is no way to be certain about the state of his mind.”

  “No, but it is, at least, another possibility. But what is this?”

  A frantic banging at the front door had begun, and soon, above Mrs Hudson’s protestations, I could hear rapid footsteps on the stairs. Looking even more worryingly frantic than before, Mr Pierpont burst into our quarters.

  “Mr Holmes, I saw her again! And she led me straight to a murder!”

  “A murder? Mr Pierpont, this is really most grat…fascinating. Please, take off your coat and have a seat. Have you informed the police?”

  After helping the banker out of his coat and pouring a drink, we sat down to hear his story.

  “I have told Inspector Lestrade, who is the detective in charge. He told me he would wait for you at the scene of the crime.”

  “Then we must not keep him waiting. Please, from the beginning.”

  “Since I was unable to go yesterday, I thought I would walk to the George and Vulture for lunch today. Again, as I turned the corner into Birchin Lane, I saw the woman from the photograph on the other side of the street, heading in the opposite direction. This time, given the fog, I resolved to take no chances. I darted across the street, and after miraculously emerging in one piece onto the other side, I commenced to follow her. I was bolder this time, but she did not turn around as we headed south, past Cannon Street and, eventually, past Upper Thames Street. However, I was afraid she did spy me as she pivoted on her heel and quickly turned into a side street. Afraid of losing her, I quickened my pace and managed to catch up again before she turned into another, even narrower alley. It seemed remarkable that she wouldn’t have spotted me as we wove through these tiny, dirty thoroughfares. Though I was unfamiliar with the neighborhood, I could tell we were still bearing south in an extremely roundabout way. And as crumbling tenements gave way to even seedier pubs and sooty warehouses, I could also tell we were getting very close to the Thames. I determined finally to call out to her, because I was truly concerned for her safety as I saw sailors, dockworkers, and assorted riffraff leering at her out of the fog. But just as I opened my mouth to yell, we suddenly emerged onto the docks, the Christopher Docks, to be precise and as I later learned.

  “She never said a word, Mr. Holmes, but abruptly stopped and stepped to one side, looking toward two figures on the dock who were barely visible in the dense riverside fog. I was unprepared to stop and came within less than ten feet of the two men before halting. To my surprise, one of them was another accounts manager from my bank, a Mr Lewis Owen. He was on his knees and seemed to be unconscious. The other man, who was unknown to me, had a hold of Owen from under his arms, a truncheon still gripped in his right hand. I called Lewis’s name, barely realizing what I was doing, but it was too late. The ruffian had already swung him around and pushed him into the river. The murderous brute then turned upon me, brandishing the truncheon, and I’m ashamed to say, I turned and ran faster than I have ever run.

  “I had gotten no further than two blocks from the docks before seeing a constable and calling for help. My pursuer, however, had abandoned the chase and had disappeared back into the fog. The constable and I rushed back to the dock to help poor Lewis, but all we saw of him, upon returning, was his top hat floating in the water. I told him my story and repeated it to Inspector Lestrade when he arrived on the scene.”

  “And what did our friend, Lestrade, make of the affair?”

  “He seemed to think it was merely a mugging that had gone too far.”

  “And his thoughts on the woman?”

  “He appeared uninterested.”

  “Typical. I don’t suppose you saw what happened to her?”

  “No, Mr Holmes. She was gone when I turned to run.”

  “And the assailant’s appearance?”

  “He was about my height in rough brown tweed and a misshapen brown bowler. His face, what I could make out, was clean shaven. He was a little remarkable looking in that his mouth was rather long, almost reptilian looking, and he had either no or very thin eyebrows.”

  “This is really most interesting,” remarked Holmes with that keen look in his eyes that always preceded the hunt.

  “I don’t know. What if I have been beset by a spirit from the other plane, sent as a harbinger of doom and disaster? Dear God! What if I should continue seeing her?”

  “Please restrain yourself, Mr Pierpont. That you were being led somewhere is certain, but we must confine ourselves to physical entities of a far more commonplace type. How well did you know the victim?”

  “Not very. He began working at the bank about five months ago, replacing Peters when he left unexpectedly. I know that he did good work, but he kept mostly to himself. He never mentioned a family or anything about his social life.”

  “Please think. Is there anything to connect you with Owen?

  “I’m sorry, but I can think of nothing. We worked in the same bank but never exchanged anything more than the most casual of greetings.”

  “Do you know if he was friends with any of the other employees?”

  “Not that I am aware of. He came to the bank promptly every morning and departed by himself in the evening.”

  “All right, Mr Pierpont. Are you returning to the bank now? Good. Watson and I need to meet with Lestrade while there is still a chance his men have not entirely obliterated every scrap of evidence from the scene. We will stop by the bank afterwards.”

  * * * *

  Holmes and I took a cab to the Christopher Docks, and the ride was made interminably long by both the fog and by Holmes having fallen into one of his fits of reticence. Upon disembarking from the cab, once we had arrived at our destination, a smile returned to his face as he addressed our old comrade, and occasional rival, Inspector Lestrade.

  “Greetings, Lestrade! I hear you have met one of my clients.”

  The cold, dirty fog was even denser here by the river, and it really did feel like we were on a different plane, with the shades of policemen, sailors, and stevedores hovering around us. Lestrade peered at us through the mist.

  “It seems you are one step ahead of us this time, Mr Holmes. But never you worry. We’ll close the gap before long.”

  “I have every faith.”

  “So, have you learned anything relevant from your client?”

  “To be honest, I sent him on his way yesterday, because there seemed too little to go on. All that had happened were his continual encounters with the woman in this photograph,” said Holmes, handing the picture to Lestrade. “You may keep that.”

  “Thank you, Holmes. He told us about his series of run-ins with the lady. At first, I thought them insignificant, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “What has made you change your mind?”

  “It seemed, at first, like a routine mugging in a dangerous area, but then, a few moments ago, when he overheard me mention that the poor fellow worked for the Imperial Bank, one of the other detectives mentioned that that bank’s director is at present being done for embezzlement.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Now I’m wondering if Owen were somehow involved in this mess?”

  “You know, Holmes,” I interjected, “you said something earlier about Pierpont being led here. What if the woman was trying to lead him here to prevent this from happening?”

  “It’s a leap. Pierpont isn’t the first person to whom I would turn for protection, but leaps of the imagination are crucial in situations like these. Have your men found the body?”

  “No, just Owen’s hat floating in the river. I’ve already requested some boats to drag for him, but it will probably be some time before they get here, given the weather.”

  “I don’t suppose there were any witnesses?”

  “Here? The lads are talking to people, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

  �
��May I take a look?”

  “By all means,” replied Lestrade and handed Holmes a bull’s-eye lantern, for despite its being mid-afternoon, it was becoming quite dark.

  After closely examining the bricks of the docks for several minutes, Holmes returned the lantern.

  “Do you have anything to add, Holmes?” asked Lestrade.

  “Only that the ground corroborates Pierpont’s account, nothing more than we already know. There is a fine layer of mud that has been disturbed which could be indicative of a struggle, but there is no way of making out any prints. There are also some clothing threads that match his description of the subject. If you find the body or get anything out of the director, please let me know.”

  “And where are you headed?”

  “To the bank for now. Tomorrow, I shall try to learn more of Mr Lewis Owen. I’ll let you know if I find anything of interest.”

  * * * *

  We returned to our awaiting cab and proceeded north to Lombard Street and the Imperial Bank. When we arrived a short time later, the disruption caused by the director’s arrest was still very much in evidence as both staff and patrons milled nervously about the large, marble lobby and desperate sounding clerks attempted to placate frightened sounding customers. Evidently, the arrest had already reached the newspapers. We entered a doorway to the left and walked down a narrow, wainscoted hallway to Pierpont’s office. As we reached his door, he was just ushering out a skeptical looking older man, asserting repeatedly that the client’s investments were perfectly safe. He seemed glad of any distraction and invited us in. Before entering, Holmes stopped to examine a photograph that hung on the wall.

  “It is a picture from our last annual Christmas party,” offered Pierpont.

  “Is Owen in it?”

  “Why, yes, he is. Right…here.”

  “May I borrow it?”

  Pierpont looked at Holmes dubiously and then shrugged.

  “I don’t suppose, at present, that anyone will miss it,” he said sighing.