Sherlock Holmes At the Raffles Hotel

by John Hall

  “I almost wish I could, sir,” I told him. “There seems no doubt as to the matter.”

  “But … what sort of poison? And how on earth was it administered?”

  “Arsenic,” said Holmes, steel in his voice.

  “Good Lord!” Gerard looked as if he were about to faint. “But … but how? Where?”

  “You gave your wife a box of sugarplums, I think?” said Holmes.

  “No. Oh … those chocolate things? Yes … but you don’t mean …”

  “Arsenic was found in some of those,” Holmes went on inexorably. “And arsenic was found in your wife’s stomach, along with traces of some of the sugarplums. There seems little doubt as to the mechanics of the poisoning.”

  Gerard buried his head in his hands, and there was a long silence. Then he lifted his head with an effort, and gazed at Holmes. “You really mean that … that somebody put arsenic in these sweetmeats?”

  “In some of them, yes.”

  Gerard shook his head in disbelief. “I cannot believe it.” And then his face changed, he looked odd, as if the terrible fact of his wife’s death had been replaced by some nagging little doubt, some curious but trifling puzzle. “But you said … some of the sweets, Mr Holmes?”

  “Yes, and that is a singular thing. Arsenic was found in only four of the remaining sweets, all ‘Violet Cremes’.”

  A very peculiar look came over Gerard’s face. “That is more singular than you think, Mr Holmes!”

  “And why, pray?”

  “Because Emily hated ‘Violet Cremes’.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I happen to know that Emily hated ‘Violet Cremes’, or anything like them. I chanced to buy her a box of chocolate ‘Violet Cremes’ in England, soon after we met, wanting to buy her a little present, but not knowing her well enough to buy jewellery or anything of that kind. Anyway, she took the box, but then she acted very strangely. She thanked me for the gift, but then she seemed most embarrassed. When I ventured to ask why, she tried to laugh the matter off. It was only when I had known her for a week or two and we were getting on famously that she told me that she hated the things.”

  Superintendent Ingham gave a sort of grunt at this point, and I knew what he was thinking. He said, “Well, sir, that’s all very interesting, but it’s hardly the sort of hard evidence that would sway a judge and jury, is it?”

  Gerard stared at him. “Oh, I see … you mean that I could easily have made that up?”

  “You could, sir, and that’s a fact. Tell me, you say that your wife disliked ‘Violet Cremes’, but what about ‘Walnut Whirls’, then? Did she like those?”

  “She did, as a matter of fact,” said Gerard easily enough. “Indeed, she … oh!”

  “Yes, sir?”

  Gerard shook his head. He said slowly, “Emily loved walnuts, and any and all of the sweets and chocolates associated with them. As a matter of fact, I think that she ate some of the walnut sweets … though I couldn’t say just how many … from the box that I took for her. She was opening the box as I left the room, and ate at least one of the things … and, knowing her tastes, it would be a walnut.”

  “Ah!” Ingham inclined his head, and looked at Holmes and me.

  “Is that significant?” asked Gerard, with every appearance of being puzzled.

  Ingham ignored the question. “Still,” he said, “the business about ‘Violet Cremes’ doesn’t mean a lot, does it, sir? There’s nothing more … ah, concrete, as it were, that you can tell me, at all?”

  Gerard hesitated. “There is, as a matter of fact.”

  “Well, sir?”

  “Well … no, it’s ridiculous.”

  “What is?”

  Gerard shook his head. “It’s ridiculous, I say, but … well, then, if you must know … it’s true that I took those sweet things to Emily. But I hadn’t bought them, for I had no notion that such things existed. They were given to me to give to Emily …” and he broke off.

  “And by whom, sir?” Ingham insisted.

  Gerard hesitated a moment, but it was clear that the Superintendent would not be put off this time. “Well, then,” said Gerard at last, “if you really must know … by her sister, Anya Masterton.”

  Chapter Five: The Redoubtable Miss Earnshaw

  “What d’you think to the sister, then?” asked Superintendent Ingham, rummaging in his pockets until he found a penknife, with which to clean out his old briar pipe.

  Charles Gerard had said nothing more of interest following the astonishing revelation that the poisoned sweets had been a gift from the poor victim’s own sister. Nothing, that is, beyond loud and repeated protestations that Mrs Masterton could not, and would not, et cetera. He had now been returned to the cells, and the three of us had been sitting in silence in the Superintendent’s office for some five minutes.

  Holmes shook his head. “She would, of course, know that her sister had a weakness for walnuts. But equally she would know that her sister had an aversion to ‘Violet Cremes’.” He added thoughtfully, “That could, of course, be a bluff.”

  Ingham nodded. “Poison in the ones you know will be eaten, but also poison in the ones you know won’t. Throw dust in the eyes of the poor old policeman by making it appear a stranger did it, that it wasn’t someone who knew her tastes.”

  “And the same applies to Mr Gerard, of course,” said Holmes.

  “Of course.” The Superintendent frowned. He leaned forward, and waved the stem of his pipe at us to emphasize his words. “And if the husband had inherited the lady’s cash, or if there had been another woman anywhere in the case, I’d have put my money on him. As it is, I’m wondering if I arrested the wrong person altogether. The sister inherits, and that must be a strong point.”

  “But the sister is herself a rich woman,” I pointed out.

  “So it seems. But things are not always what they seem,” said Ingham.

  “And I never yet met a rich man … or woman … who refused a little more,” added Holmes with a laugh. “Superintendent, I observe that you have that modern amenity, the telephone. I wonder if it is worth contacting Mr Tigran Sarkies at the Raffles Hotel and asking if he knows whether Mrs Masterton is yet in any condition to answer a few questions?”

  Ingham nodded, and lifted the receiver. He spoke for a moment or two, then replaced the telephone, and raised an eyebrow. “Mr Sarkies tells me that the doctor has just been to see Mrs Masterton, and given her another sedative. She won’t be able to talk to us until tomorrow, by what I gather.”

  “H’mm. That is rather inconvenient,” said Holmes.

  “For us,” Ingham told his pipe in an aside, smiling significantly.

  Holmes laughed. “Meaning that it is not necessarily so for Mrs Derek Masterton? Yes, I take your point. What of Mr Masterton? Is it worth considering him?”

  Ingham frowned. “The wife inherits the money, so the husband has a motive, you mean? I haven’t heard that he’s short of money, or in any sort of business difficulty, though. Remember we’re a fairly small, close-knit community out here, and it’s hard to keep things like that secret. However, we can at least talk to him, and perhaps make some discreet enquiries at the bank and so forth.”

  Holmes nodded. “But first I might take a look at the room where Mrs Gerard died?”

  “If you wish,” said Ingham. “But there was, I assure you, nothing there of any consequence.”

  Holmes sighed theatrically.

  “And besides,” Ingham added, “the landlady will have cleaned the rooms by now, I expect.”

  Holmes cast his eyes to the heavens. “Ah, would that the scene of the crime might … just once … be left untouched,” he said.

  Ingham shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it can’t be helped. We do have Mrs Gerard’s effects here, if they’d be of any interest?”

  “Any papers, personal documents?”

  “Ah!” Ingham flushed slightly. “Again, there has been so little time, and especially when the culprit seemed so glaringly
obvious.”

  “A handbag, perhaps?” suggested Holmes, turning his head to look at me, and raising an eyebrow ever so slightly.

  Ingham nodded, and called out an instruction to one of his subordinates. The man returned in a moment, bringing with him a large red leather handbag, which he passed over the desk to Ingham. The Superintendent opened it, and rummaged inside. “The usual things. Ah, here’s a diary.” He passed it to Holmes. “Oh, and some sort of note, or letter. Addressed to Mrs Gerard in block capitals, but no postage stamps or anything, so it was evidently delivered by hand.”

  He opened the envelope, took out a single sheet of paper, and read aloud, “’Mrs Gerard … Please be so kind as to meet me in the Long Bar at the Raffles Hotel on Friday, at 5-30 pm. I shall be in the corner opposite the door, but you can always ask the waiters, they’ll know me. Please also have the great kindness to bring the amount we agreed, namely £50 (sterling.) Yours very sincerely, HE’. Fifty pounds, eh?”

  Holmes nodded. I may perhaps remind you that fifty pounds in 1905 was not by any means what fifty pounds is in these days, but was a substantial amount, representing a few months’ pay for a working man. “Blackmail, d’you think?” he suggested. “A discarded lover, something of that kind?”

  “Sounds remarkably like it to me,” said Ingham. He frowned. “Though I’d thought that Mrs Gerard didn’t know anyone in Singapore?”

  “Perhaps this ‘HE’ came over on the same boat?” I said tentatively. “Someone she’d known back in London?”

  “A distinct possibility,” said Holmes with a nod. “Tell me,” he asked Ingham, “does ‘HE’ not suggest anyone to you?”

  Ingham thought. “There’s one or two, sir. Herbert Everard, for one. But he’s a judge. Can’t see him being a blackmailer.”

  “Some ambassador?” I suggested. “The ‘HE’ might be an honorific, not his initials?”

  Ingham shook his head. “I can’t see that, Doctor. I hardly like to think badly of a diplomat.” He smiled, then, “Oh! Harry Ellis?”

  “And who might he be?” asked Holmes.

  “Same line as you and me, so to speak,” said Ingham. “He’s a private enquiry agent.” It was said easily enough, but there was an odd note in his voice as he spoke, and Holmes and I regarded him closely.

  Ingham shrugged his shoulders. “He’s not exactly out of the top drawer,” he said. “I’ve had my eye on him more than once, I can tell you. Nothing proved against him, mark you, I don’t say there has been. But … well, once or twice I’ve had my doubts about him.”

  “Blackmail?” suggested Holmes.

  Ingham nodded slowly. “That, and one or two other small matters. Nothing to attract my attention officially, you understand, just … irregularities, shall we say? Harry has what they call an eye to the main chance, I’m afraid.”

  “Ah!” Holmes glanced at his watch. “I see that it is almost four o’clock. I suggest that we go downstairs and ask Mr Gerard if he knows anything about this note, or anything of Mr Harry Ellis. And then I think we might adjourn to the Long Bar, first for a drink, and second to see who might turn up.”

  “But won’t this ‘HE’, whoever it might be, know of Mrs Gerard’s death, and fail to turn up?” I asked.

  Holmes looked at Ingham. The Superintendent shook his head. “No danger there, for I’ve kept it quiet for the moment, Doctor. No report has appeared in the papers, so unless this ‘HE’ has been to the lodging house, then he … or she … won’t know of Mrs Gerard’s death.”

  “Unless, that is …” said Holmes, and left it at that.

  “H’mm. In which case his absence would be significant? Well, we’ll see.” Ingham stood up, and led us downstairs to the cells.

  It was stifling down there – no open windows or electric fans for these poor devils, and noisy, too, for there were groans, yells and curses in every language that I knew, and a few that I didn’t.

  Gerard had been given the luxury of his own cell, dark and oven-like though it was. He was sitting on his bunk, his head in his hands. He looked up with dull eyes as Holmes entered the little cell. “Well, Mr Holmes?”

  Holmes held out the letter in its envelope. “Do you recognize this, sir?”

  Gerard shook his head. “No. Should I?” He glanced a second time at the envelope and frowned. “Addressed to Emily? No, I …” and he broke off.

  “You do not recollect its being delivered to your late wife since you arrived in Singapore?”

  Gerard shook his head. “But then, I haven’t been … I mean, I wasn’t with her all the time at the lodging house. I went to see Derek Masterton once or twice, and left Emily there. It might perhaps have been delivered to her during one of my absences?”

  “Very likely,” said Holmes. “Tell me, do the initials ‘HE’ suggest anything to you?”

  “His Excellency? Isn’t that what they style ambassadors, or governors or something?”

  “And the name Ellis, then? Harry Ellis? D’you know anyone of that name?”

  “Not at all,” said Gerard, a bewildered look on his face.

  Holmes nodded. “Thank you.” He made as if to leave the cell and then turned back. “You still decline to tell me anything about the quarrel you had with your wife?”

  “I do. Beyond reiterating that it had nothing to do with the present matter.”

  “Very well. And you said that the sweets were given to you by Mrs Anya Masterton?”

  Gerard nodded. “But as I told you, the notion that Anya might have killed Emily is quite ridiculous.”

  “Perhaps so. Never the less, humour me. Tell me, if you would, the precise circumstances under which the sweets were given to you.”

  Gerard frowned. “I went to see Derek Masterton yesterday morning, at his home. We …”

  “Your late wife remained behind?” Holmes interjected.

  Gerard frowned. “She did. As you said yourself, we’d had … that is to say, things were a bit uneasy between us just then. We’d arranged to visit Derek and Anya, and I reminded Emily of the fact; but she pleaded a headache. I may say I wasn’t entirely convinced, but …” and he shrugged his shoulders. “If you gentlemen are married, or have been, you’ll understand.”

  “Of course,” said Holmes – a lifelong bachelor! “But you were saying?”

  “Oh, yes. I went to the Mastertons, and we had a chat. I was tempted to broach the matter of my entering Derek’s firm, but didn’t …”

  “And why not?” Holmes added quickly.

  Gerard shrugged. “It didn’t seem appropriate. I told you, I was waiting for Emily to put a word in for me. Anyway, we talked about Singapore, and about Masterton’s business … in a general sort of way only … and everything seemed fine. Then he excused himself, said he had another appointment and asked if I wanted a lift anywhere. I said no, I was just passing time, so he left. I was about to say farewell to Mrs Masterton, when she asked if everything was all right between me and Emily. I don’t know how she knew, perhaps Emily had said something when last the two of them met; or perhaps Mrs Masterton just sensed something in my behaviour which said all was not well. Anyway, I tried to laugh it off, but in the end I admitted we’d had a bit of a tiff.

  Anya told me not to be silly, to go and make things right with Emily and buy her a present on the way back. I must have looked blank, because Anya said something like, ‘Oh, wait a moment’, and went out of the room. She came back a moment later with that damned box of sugarplums and told me to give them to Emily saying that they were from me.”

  “And you did.”

  Gerard nodded. “I did just that.” He shook his head, as if he could not believe what was happening to him. “But …” and he looked intently at me. “Doctor Watson, are you absolutely sure …”

  “I’m afraid so,” I told him.

  “But it’s incredible? Unbelievable.” He shook his head again. “No,” he said, decidedly, “I cannot believe it. I will not believe it. There has been some ghastly mistake, gentlemen, mark my wor
ds.”

  “But you cannot suggest the nature of this mistake at all?” asked Holmes gently.

  Gerard stared at him for a moment and then shook his head without speaking.

  “You gave your wife the box of sugarplums on your return from the Mastertons?”

  Gerard nodded. “That was around half past eleven, possibly twelve noon.”

  “You said, I recall, that she ate one immediately?”

  “Yes … no! She thanked me, and opened the box, but did not eat any just then. Or did she?” He put a hand to his brow. “I think she took one out, but then replaced it. I honestly cannot be sure.”

  “The point is interesting, but not essential. Pray continue,” said Holmes.

  “Well, Emily seemed in a better mood, and I asked if her headache had gone, and she said it was better, but still slightly troublesome. She said she did not want any luncheon, or to go out. I didn’t particularly want to stay inside, but I thought I ought to stay there with Emily. She, however, insisted that I go out and enjoy myself. Enjoy myself! I …” and he broke off, and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

  “I understand that it is very hard for you,” Holmes told him softly. “But I must ask these things. You went out and had some lunch, perhaps?”

  Gerard nodded. “And then I went back to see how Emily was. That would be around five in the afternoon.” He stopped, and let out something very like a sob of anguish.

  “And … forgive me, but I must ask this … who found your wife’s body?” asked Holmes gently.

  Gerard winced at the question, and did not speak for a while. Then, “I did,” he said with an obvious effort.

  “And you were, of course, greatly distressed. But tell me, what exactly did you do?”

  “Do? I went for the police, of course.” Gerard stared at Holmes, an angry look in his eye. Then he subsided. “No, I ran out of the room, and downstairs. I shouted something or other to the landlady, who was hanging about in the hallway, and then … I was distraught, you know … then I ran out into the street, with some half-baked notion of finding a policeman out there, I suppose. There was no policeman in sight, only the usual throng of folk wandering past all unknowing and uncaring that Emily … well! And so then I went back inside, calmed down a little, and asked the landlady to telephone for the police.”