‘So, homeless, penniless and alone, you journeyed to London hopefully to start a new life and regain your lost wealth. With this in view you began a search for accommodation, as close to central London as possible, where the best opportunities may be found, yet affordable within your, now, most limited means. The “Old Grey Horse” seemed to fill those requirements, and there you were employed in the most servile of tasks earning a pittance and a bed. Unpleasant and uncomfortable as this was, all was relatively well, until certain aspects of your employers’s behaviour, manner, and, indeed various unsavoury occurrences led you to believe that something strange was afoot. Hence your visit to Baker Street and your consultation with my colleague here, Doctor Watson!’
I was agog, I must confess, used as I was to my friend’s amazing faculties for observation and deduction, his knowledge of Matthews’s past verged almost on the uncanny. Though, of course, if I had put forward this conjecture, I would surely have incurred his extreme impatience, so assertive was he on the fact that his was a cold-blooded scientific study. At the same time, I was annoyed with myself for not seeing what Holmes had seen. In so short a time in Matthews’s company, his knowledge of him was so much greater, than my own. No doubt sensing my annoyance and curiosity, and being aware that he was about to be bombarded with questions, Holmes quickly continued. He put his finger to his lips and smiled …
‘My dear Watson, before I answer all your questions, though, I must confess, that knowing my methods as you do, most of my observations are straight forward and should be obvious, allow me to complete the full circle in this extraordinary ring of circumstances.
‘As you know, Watson, for some time I have been engaged in the services of Scotland Yard, who have found themselves in some difficulty for a period, regarding a veritable plethora of jewellery thefts. As you are, undoubtedly aware, this type of investigation is not normally to my taste, but on this occasion one or two most singular details appealed to me and, indeed, of late we have been making some progress. However, Lestrade’s informer, whom you observed in the rain the other evening, proved of no worth at all and I returned home to Baker Street with the problem still weighing heavily upon me. Upon my return, Mrs Hudson informed me of your nocturnal visitor and of your agitated departure the following afternoon. Eventually, with Mrs Hudson’s assistance, I located the driver who had deposited you in Kilburn Lane. It was fortunate for you that the torrent of the other evening was replaced with a mild spell of weather. Therefore, traces of your usual tobacco ash, from Bradley’s of Oxford Street I believe, were still visible on the paving.
‘I found some on the corner with Regent Street and then a most crudely outed cigarette end outside the entrance of the “Old Grey Horse”, indicating that you were indeed, most agitated. Another deposited close by, with very little indication of burning showed you had lit up again, quickly upon your return to the street outside. Then I found still more ash on the corner with the alley to the side of the building, which led me to the cellar door and still more ash. I shuddered at the thought of what I might encounter when I noticed the congealed scraping of blood upon the door’s edge, but thankfully those fears were unfounded.’
As he said this, Holmes patted my arm affectionately and smiled. I looked at him and smiled back. Rarely in our association had he showed me any affection or warmth and I often thought he just saw me as a part of the furniture, but I saw a glimpse of Holmes’s real feelings towards me which made up for the sarcastic and belittling comments he occasionally made.
‘Holmes, wonderful though this explanation of how you discovered us is, you have still made no mention of the details of the case that so appealed to you and how they are connected with the predicament you saved us from.’
‘Nor how you acquired such detailed knowledge of my earlier life. On this subject, I am sure I have so far, indulged nothing.’ Matthews added.
‘That much is simple enough; I acquired such knowledge from your appearance, more specifically your hands. Now, come, Watson, sit next to me and observe our friend as I have done. Then put my methods to work.’
I humbly obliged, but learned little more, save Holmes’s deduction of the fire, for around Matthews’s ear, I observed, for the first time, a large ugly burn scar. As to the rest, well, I had to confess to seeing nothing more.
‘If you observe the palms of the hands more closely, you will notice some unusual calluses.’ Holmes began reverting, unfortunately, to a more condescending tone. ‘These indicate to me a period of hard labour with a shovel or hoe. The ruddiness of complexion and the place of origin, Yorkshire, one of our great agricultural counties, are all evidence that point immediately to farming.’
Suddenly, Holmes slid from his seat and, crouching on the floor of the cab, held up one of Matthews’s hands for my examination.
‘With your permission, Mr Matthews?’ Matthews just shrugged vacantly as Holmes continued. ‘Notice here, however, and here, how the wounds have been allowed to heal. This proves, beyond doubt, that, for a period before tragedy struck, Matthews’s situation had improved enough for him to designate the more menial tasks to his subordinates. Further evidence of this new found affluence is to be found in Matthews’s attire. I immediately recognised the style and cut of his shirt as being hand made by Gieves and Hawkes, for example, a make seldom found on the backs of the less well off. The fact that it is not yet threadbare, but is badly worn, confirms that his period of impoverishment has been a brief one.’ Since he was still holding Matthews’s wrist, Holmes continued to examine his hand while Matthews and I sat dumbstruck by the dexterity of Holmes’s mind and his power of observation.
‘Before I resume my seat, examine the wedding ring, Watson. My assertion that Matthews’s marriage was a recent one, is confirmed by its condition. Not a blemish or scratch is evident, proving that the marriage took place at a time when it was unnecessary for Matthews to do his own labouring. Traces of harsh cleaning agents under and around the nails point to the present menial tasks he has had to undertake.’
As he resumed his seat, finally releasing Matthews’s wrist, Holmes answered my one remaining question.
‘As to the age of the wife, that is a supposition based on the faintest of remaining traces of black colouring around the roots of Matthews’s hair. Why else should a man in his position bother himself with such vanities, unless he was attempting to impress a younger woman?’
Matthews reddened slightly as he then confirmed that each of Holmes’s deductions had been correct down to the smallest detail. At this Holmes sat back contentedly trying to suppress a brief smile.
I added fuel to the fire of my friend’s conceit by expressing my heartfelt admiration at his venerable feat of deduction, based on the frailest of detail, frail, at least, to an ordinary mortal.
Holmes, however, waved this aside, ‘Watson, please, let us not become too self-congratulatory for our real work has yet to begin, let alone been satisfactorily completed. Now to return to these remarkable jewellery thefts I referred to before. I mentioned two facts that raised an ordinary succession of robberies from the routine and elevated them to a most extraordinary level. As you well know, Watson, to attract my attention, any case or problem requires some singular or bizarre aspect that inevitably baffles the regular law enforcement agencies. In this case, our old friend Lestrade.
‘In each case the only obvious means of access to the property were the tiniest of windows, usually ground-floor larder windows. The main doors and larger windows were always found to be intact. Even my own most thorough examination found no other signs of entry. On two occasions, I discovered traces of the smallest of footprints, in one case on the ground below the window, in the other on the window sill itself. Both suggest the use of children, probably street arabs who would not be missed.
‘The other point which attracted me was the remarkable ability of the safe-cracker employed on each job. Obviously, upon gaining access our tiny intruder opened the front door and allowed in, unless I am very much
mistaken, Albert Collins!’
‘Why the very man whom I am sure gave my game away at the “Old Grey Horse!”’ I exclaimed.
Holmes rubbed his hands together at this. ‘All the strands then have been neatly entwined together.’
The remaining minutes of our journey were taken up by Matthews supplying Holmes with the last few details of his experiences whilst resident at the ‘Old Grey Horse’. When Matthews made mention of the strange crying at night, Holmes’ mood darkened at once and not a sound passed his lips for the remainder of the journey.
At Scotland Yard, Holmes made short work of raising Lestrade and then insisted that we three went ahead of him, not willing to waste any time while he collected his constables.
‘I must say, Holmes, there is an element of risk in this sudden urgency, especially if members of the gang, other than the Blackwoods, are present tonight.’
Holmes contemplated me disdainfully. ‘There is certainly an element of truth in what you say, Watson, but I should never forgive myself if any further delay should result in our prey making good their escape. Do not forget, once your absence from the cellar is discovered they will realize their game is up and I shudder to think what retribution might be exacted upon their young helpless captives. This is a most odious and abhorrent business, Watson, and I mean to secure the capture of these villains with all the means in my power.’
‘You can rely on me, Holmes, if there is danger afoot; this fire-arm Lestrade gave me will be most useful.’
Holmes barely acknowledged me and sank into the dark forbidding recesses of his thoughts, while we made our way in complete silence.
Holmes bade the driver to stop at the exact spot where I had alighted on my first visit. Despite our determination, caution and surprise were still of the essence.
To our advantage, Regent Street, due partially to its size and lack of use, was ill-lit and with as much speed as our stealth would allow us, we made our way to the door at the side of the ‘Old Grey Horse’. With relief we had noted the lack of internal light at any of its windows. Surely this meant that the Blackwoods were asleep, two storeys above, and, therefore we might effect the children’s escape prior to Lestrade’s arrival, in relative safety.
Matthews led me to the Blackwood’s bed chamber, outside which I would stand guard, should they be suddenly aroused. In the meantime, Matthews led Holmes down to the smaller of the cellars in search of the children. For ten full minutes I stood there in the dark, for not even the dimmest of lamps lit the landing in that forbidding establishment. The purpose of our perilous task was almost lost to me during that time, as I became engulfed in the darkness and absolute silence of my strange post.
Then, all was confusion: the clumsiness of Lestrade’s arrival at the front of the building surpassed all the levels of stupidity that even he had hitherto attained. The clattering of hooves on the cobbled street below was followed by the ardent efforts of three burly constables in battering down the heavy oak street door, with their bare fists.
I was faced with a difficult choice between holding my post or racing away to the front to facilitate the entry of the constabulary. I had almost decided on the latter, when, to add further to my dilemma, the sound of two shots from a revolver echoed up from the cellars, followed by a heinous cry of pain that pierced the air like a shaft of lightening.
In the end my decision was made for me when the Blackwood’s bedroom door was violently flung open, crashing as it did so, against the inner bedroom wall. Revolver cocked and at the ready, I stood face to face with the abhorrent apparition of the despicable Mrs Blackwood. She was indeed as vile to behold as her husband, the more so, perhaps as she was a woman. Of similar height and shape to Mr Blackwood, her bulk exaggerated still further by the many layers of filthy bed-clothes that she wore. The small oil lamp she held was the only light and produced eerie shadows in the corridor and had a surreal effect upon her ogress-like face.
‘So, Albert’s old friend, Doctor Watson, has returned to us, Jonathan.’ Her voice was surprisingly deep and guttural and it chilled me to the core. As she spoke, her husband appeared wielding a large cudgel.
‘Yer interfering devil!’ he bellowed and raised his weapon as he shoved his wife out of the way.
Not a moment too soon, my nerve returned and I fired my revolver. The bullet hit the advancing Blackwood in the chest. The cudgel fell from his hand as he made one desperate attempt to grab my neck. I stepped back as he collapsed to the floor. It needed no medical examination to determine that he was dead. The reaction I expected from any spouse at a moment such as this was far removed from Mrs Blackwood’s dark nature. No grief or tears, no attempt to comfort her husband, just blind rage, the force of which sent her hurtling towards me, her fists hammering at my chest.
Fortunately, two of Lestrade’s constables, whom I later discovered had been let in by Matthews, appeared on the landing and, not without some difficulty, restrained the screaming, demented banshee that was Mrs Blackwood. Once I was certain that she was in safe custody, I raced down to the cellar to discover the cause of the two shots I had heard earlier.
To my immense relief, there, in the damp stone corridor, outside the cellar door, was Inspector Lestrade kneeling beside the prostrate form of Albert Collins. The two bullet holes in his chest adequately answered my query. Lestrade gestured to a door next to that which opened into my erstwhile cell.
‘He’s in there, Doctor, but be prepared for a bit of a shock.’ Lestrade warned me.
I entered a small cellar, identical in all but size to the one in which Matthews and I had been held, and there in the far corner were three small boys being comforted by Sherlock Holmes!
My dismay at their plight, bedraggled and emaciated as they were, was matched by my astonishment at the sight of my friend in such a pose.
‘My dear Watson, I see all went well with you. By the sound of the gun shots, I would say you were the more accurate in the despatching of Blackwood than I was with Collins.’ Holmes said quickly as he noticed my entrance, obviously trying to detract my attention away from the youngest boy sitting on his knee and another with his skinny arms round his neck. He gently disengaged himself, attempting to appear nonchalant.
‘The deranged fool was almost upon me when I fired.’ I replied modestly, at which Holmes smiled as he got to his feet.
‘Nonetheless, these children undoubtedly have you to thank for their salvation and the clumsy arrival of Lestrade. For I am in little doubt that Collins fully intended to use these innocents as a shield to further his escape, had not the hullabaloo out front drawn his attention for that vital moment.’
‘It seems his accomplices were as despicable as Blackwood himself, but who are these children, in heaven’s name?’ I asked.
‘That remains to be established, but unfortunately, even in these enlightened times the streets of London are still full of young vagrants such as these and the three here have been most sorely abused and manipulated. I tell you Watson, I shall not rest until I am sure they are properly reinstated whether with their families or others just as suitable. The effects of the Blackwood’s abuse shall not be long-term, I assure you.’
‘Well stated, Mr Holmes.’ As he entered the room, Lestrade said this without his usual sneer of cynicism. The two constables who entered with him escorted the children to the carriage outside, with a gentleness that belied their size and bulk. ‘They will be given the best of care, I assure you. Upon my word, this case of yours took a turn even you could not have expected.’
‘For once I must agree with you, Lestrade, and we have Watson here and his peculiar brand of tobacco to thank for the conclusion. I think you will find the stolen jewellery in the storage box in the corner.’
With that, Holmes turned and swept from the room before Lestrade could waylay him with any further questions.
‘Holmes, I must confess to feeling a might uneasy about Matthews, after all it was his unfortunate circumstances that led us to the ‘Old Grey Horse’ in
the first place and once Lestrade has finished taking his evidence, he will have nothing.’
‘Not quite nothing. Some of the homes that were robbed belonged to extremely wealthy people, the jewellery being of some considerable value. Therefore, the various individual rewards he will receive should return Matthews to something approaching his original position. Undoubtedly, Lestrade will receive his due credit for the considerable, if uninspired labour which he has put into the case and …’
‘What of us?’ I interrupted mischievously, knowing full well that Holmes’s reward was the satisfactory conclusion of the case itself.
‘Dinner at Mancini’s?’ Holmes offered, once we had escaped the dark menacing walls of the ‘Old Grey Horse’ and breathed in the fresh air once more.
‘I should be delighted,’ I laughed as we went in search of a hansom.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE CONSCIENTIOUS CONSTABLE
Towards the end of a particularly harsh inordinately long winter, I was awakened one morning in early March, by a shaft of sunlight that had penetrated my curtains. Greatly encouraged by this early sign of spring I decided to rise immediately and, despite a chill that was still in the air, take an early morning stroll and return with our morning papers before the remainder of the household had risen.
Holmes had only concluded a long and testing case the day before, and had not returned to our rooms until well after midnight. Therefore, I could not contemplate awaking him at this early hour and so set forth on my own. I lit a cigarette and upon closing the door was immediately struck by the invigorating effect of the early morning air. I decided to extend my walk beyond the newsagents and, only the pangs of hunger some twenty minutes later prompted my return to our rooms.
The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes Page 13
