Sherlock Holmes At the Raffles Hotel

by John Hall

  “Does anyone else in the house drink whisky?”

  Masterton frowned. “I don’t see why that matters, but, no. Anya never touches spirits, and Fisher prefers a drop of gin, though he thinks I don’t know.”

  Fisher, standing discreetly to one side, started slightly at this revelation, and strove, not altogether successfully, to hide a smile.

  “I see. Please go on,” said Holmes.

  “Nothing much more to tell, I’m afraid,” said Masterton. “I took a hefty pull at my drink, and I remember thinking that it tasted a little odd. Then I felt sick and dizzy, and only just managed to ring the bell for Fisher here before I collapsed.”

  Holmes looked at Fisher, who nodded. “I came when the master rang, sir, and found him slumped all of a heap on the floor,” said Fisher. “I tried to move him, realized that he needed a medical man, and ran out into the road. Then … heaven be praised … I saw you gentlemen strolling in this direction. The rest you know,” he added.

  Ingham said, “Where do we go from here, Mr Holmes?”

  Holmes glanced at Fisher, who correctly interpreted the look and said to Masterton, “If there’s nothing more, sir?”

  “No, thank you, Fisher.” Masterton hesitated, and then told Mrs Masterton, “And if you would please excuse us, Anya? I’d like a word with these gentlemen in private. Nothing to worry about, my dear,” he added, as she looked understandably anxious. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be resting? Yes, I know it’s a nuisance, but Doctor Watson is here to look after me now, so you just get your maid to help you back to bed.”

  I escorted Mrs Masterton back to her own room, and handed her over to her maid. Then I hurried back to see what Derek Masterton might have to say for himself.

  He sat up in bed as I entered the room. “Just close the door there, would you, Doctor? Not that I suspect anyone …” And when I had complied with his request, he told us to sit where we could. Holmes and Ingham found chairs and drew them close, while I perched on the foot of the bed.

  “Now, Mr Masterton?” said Ingham.

  Masterton managed a weak grin. “Just a couple of points I’d like to get straight, Superintendent. Both a touch awkward, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. First off, you asked me if I was Cedric Masters?”

  “And are you?”

  Masterton shook his head. “I said I wasn’t, and I’m not. But I am his brother, Derek Masters.”

  “Ah!” Ingham sat up at this.

  Masterton went on, “You’ll know the story about Cedric? Our old father was cheated by a plausible crook, and Cedric decided … rightly or wrongly … that since the law couldn’t, or wouldn’t, act, he would. He set out to take back what he thought was his. Oh, I know,” he went on as Ingham seemed about to speak, “you’ll say that you cannot condone what he did, and so on and so forth. Well, I perhaps see things differently. I have my own ideas as to the rights and wrongs of it, and you have yours. That’s neither here nor there. The important thing is that Cedric came to see me, right after the robbery. I had a farm of sorts, a cattle ranch out in the back country, though nobody ever knew I was Cedric’s brother, I think. Well, he turned up there, one fine evening, and I took him in. What else could I do?

  “He was wounded, pretty badly, by a police bullet. I wanted to call a doctor, but Cedric said no, he hadn’t long to live anyway, and even if he could be saved he didn’t want to die in prison, or on the gallows, especially not for killing a crook who so richly deserved to die. If he had to go, he’d sooner go under my roof. And go he did, but not before he’d made me promise to return as much of the money to its rightful owners as was humanly possible, and keep only what was rightly due to us … to him, and then to me as his heir, though there was no written will or any nonsense of that sort.”

  “And you did so?” asked Holmes.

  Masterton nodded. “The Australian police will tell you that the money … some of it, at any rate … was returned anonymously to those who’d been cheated of it. That was my work. I couldn’t hope to contact all of them, because some had died, some had moved house, and some I simply didn’t know about. But I did what I could. I’d sold the farm by then, and moved away, and eventually landed up here.”

  “And your brother?” I asked.

  Masterton’s face clouded. “He didn’t make it,” he said. “I buried him out in the bush, where nobody would ever find him. Read from the Bible and everything … that’s all he’d have wanted or needed, and the same goes for me.”

  “Well,” said Holmes, “it is not for me to judge your brother … or you. Not for the old crime, anyway. Superintendent?”

  Ingham shook his head. “Cedric Masters may have been wanted in Australia, but we never had anything against him here in Singapore. As for you, Mr Masterton …” and he emphasized the name slightly “… the Australian police might perhaps make a case for failing to report your brother’s death, or, more serious, for receiving stolen money. But that would only be if they found you, and I, for one, don’t plan to tell them.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Masterton.

  “But,” added Ingham, “there remains the little matter of Mrs Gerard’s death. Now, this latest bit of business,” and he gestured at Masterton, lying there in bed, “does rather tend to show that you had nothing to do with Mrs Gerard’s death, but for all that, I’d like to make sure.”

  “But I was poisoned as well,” cried Masterton.

  Ingham shook his head. “You knew Fisher was in the house, and were not so badly affected that you could not ring the bell to summon help. A clever man, knowing that he was suspected of using poison, might take a small dose himself, if he knew there was no real danger, in order to make it look as if he were a victim rather than the murderer.”

  Masterton shook his head in despair.

  I said, “Look here, Superintendent, had I … we … not got here when we did, Mr Masterton wouldn’t be alive to answer any questions. I’ll swear to that.”

  “H’mm.” Ingham looked baffled. Then, “Mr Masterton, it seems that I owe you an apology, sir.”

  “Accepted.”

  “But tell me,” Ingham went on, “what was the second thing you were going to tell us?”

  “Ah, yes.” Masterton levered himself upright, and gazed earnestly at the Superintendent. “We have a cat, you see.”

  “Ah. That is nice.”

  Masterton laughed. “No, I’m not rambling. It’s a very old cat, and sometimes gets a bit lethargic on a morning, won’t get out of her basket. In that case, I give her a spoonful of my whisky … an extravagance, I know, but she’s part of the family, you see … in a saucer of milk. I did that this morning, and she’s capering about like a kitten.”

  “H’mm. Meaning that the whisky was poisoned in the last few hours, then?”

  Masterton nodded. “And nobody … except, that is, Fisher … has left the house. That means that the poison must still be here. At any rate the bottle or container. Unless, of course, Fisher did it, and disposed of the bottle when he went out just now.”

  Ingham shook his head. “Could have been wrapped in a twist of paper, and a match put to it,” he grumbled. He stood up. “Still, it would be neglecting our duty not to look. Mr Holmes, Doctor, can I rely upon your assistance?”

  We made our way out on to the landing, and Ingham closed the bedroom door behind him. He glanced round, and lowered his voice. “Well, Mr Holmes? A bit too prompt in suggesting that we search for the poison, d’you think?”

  “H’mm. Perhaps. But, as you said yourself, it would be silly not to look.” Holmes smiled grimly. “And I would wager that I know where to look first.”

  “Oh? And where might that be, then?”

  “In Mrs Masterton’s room,” said Holmes.

  “Mrs …” I began, but Holmes silenced me with a look.

  “No need to let all Singapore know, Watson,” he said with some irritation.

  “Sorry, Holmes. But, really, do you think that Mrs …” />
  “I think it would be as well to look there first,” he repeated calmly. “And perhaps politic to collect Mrs Masterton’s maid before we rush in there.”

  We found the maid, who looked first frightened, then puzzled and then angry. We asked her to take us to Mrs Masterton’s room. The maid tapped on the door, and looked in. “Beg pardon, ma’am, but the policemen would like to see you.”

  “Oh?” came Mrs Masterton’s voice from inside the room. “Show them in, please.”

  The maid stood aside, and Ingham led us into the room. “Sorry to disturb you again, Mrs Masterton,” he began, “but the fact is … well …”

  Holmes glanced round the room, gave a little nod, and darted over to the dressing table, where a large box stood. “Your jewel box, I think, Mrs Masterton?”

  “Why, yes. I like to have them where I can see them … a foolish fancy, but a common one.” Mrs Masterton looked frankly bewildered.

  Holmes nodded. “A very obvious hiding place, you will agree?” he told Ingham and me. And before we could reply, he had opened the lid of the box and pulled out a little blue glass poison bottle, the duplicate of the one he had found in the dustbin earlier.

  “But … but I didn’t put that there!” cried Mrs Masterton. Holmes bowed to her.

  “You need not concern yourself, madam,” he told her. “I shall attend to everything, now that we have this last piece of the puzzle.” And he ushered Ingham and me out on to the landing again.

  “Admit it, now, Holmes,” I said, “you knew that bottle was in there.”

  “No, Watson,” said he, very serious, “I assure you that I did not know, or not for certain. But as I say, it is a very obvious hiding place; just the sort of place someone might put the bottle knowing it would be found by a very cursory search, and wanting it to be found.”

  “You mean someone put that there to incriminate Mrs Masterton?”

  “I do. Why, it is ludicrous to suppose that she would poison her husband and conceal the bottle of poison in her own room.”

  Ingham frowned. “A clever bluff? Knowing that we’d think it ludicrous?”

  Holmes shook his head. He turned to the maid, who was standing there open-mouthed. “Tell me, had Mrs Masterton left her room since you saw her to it that first time?”

  “No, sir. I’ve been across the way, right up until all the fuss with the poor master, and the mistress never stirred from her room.”

  Holmes nodded. “Thank you. Moreover,” he went on to Ingham and me, “I know for a fact that the bottle was not there earlier, for when we helped Mrs Masterton to her room the first time, I took advantage of the fuss that you were making of her to look into that box, and it contained nothing that it should not contain.”

  “Why on earth did you do that?” asked Ingham.

  Holmes shrugged. “Force of habit. As I say, so very obvious.” He looked at me. “Watson, do you assure me that Derek Masterton was in danger of his life from poison? He could not merely have given himself a small dose to appear ill?”

  I shook my head. “It was genuine, or I’m no doctor, Holmes.”

  “In that event, we must arrest the real culprit.” Holmes turned to the little maid, who was regarding us with complete astonishment. “Which is Miss Earnshaw’s room?”

  “Miss Earnshaw, sir? Why, it’s this way,” and she led us down the corridor, up a short flight of steps, and indicated door.

  Holmes tapped on the door, and there was a curious muffled sound from within. “Miss Earnshaw?” called Holmes. “I must ask you to open the door, madam.” And, when there came no answer, he opened the door himself.

  “How dare you burst in like this?” Miss Earnshaw, flushed of face, stared at us from the other side of her bed. She had evidently been packing, for a suitcase lay open on the bed, and there were clothes and effects scattered about.

  “Not going anywhere, are you, miss?” asked Ingham. Before Miss Earnshaw could reply, Holmes had called out,

  “Careful, Watson,” as Miss Earnshaw grabbed a pair of scissors and lunged towards me.

  Without thinking, I picked up a candlestick that stood on the dressing table, and brought it down with an audible crack on her wrist. Unsporting and ungentlemanly, I know, but it isn’t every day a man is attacked with scissors, and I had no experience of how best to react.

  I attended to Miss Earnshaw’s wrist, before Superintendent Ingham found some handcuffs for it, and its companion. As she was marched off, I asked her, “But why?”

  She gave me a look full of hatred. “You fool,” she hissed at me. “You damned fool!”

  * * *

  “Am I a fool, Holmes?” I asked a little later, as we sat with Superintendent Ingham in the Long Bar of the Raffles Hotel.

  “If you are,” said Ingham, “so am I, for I haven’t a clue as to why she did it.”

  “Has she said nothing?” asked Holmes.

  Ingham shook his head. “Not a word. So, Mr Holmes, it’s rather up to you to clear things up.”

  “Oh, that is soon done,” said Holmes, in his usual offhand manner. “She meant to kill both Mrs Gerard and Mrs Masterton. Mrs Masterton with the poisoned sweets … that Miss Earnshaw did not, of course, know would be given away … and Mrs Gerard with a dose of arsenic administered in a glass of something. I suspect Miss Earnshaw had called upon Mrs Gerard, asked about her headache, sympathized, offered a special remedy, mixed it, and …”

  I shook my head. “But Miss Earnshaw was with the nursemaid and the Masterton children.”

  Holmes looked at Ingham. The Superintendent said, “Ah, yes. It seems the nursemaid has a young man. Miss Earnshaw was very obliging, said she would see to the children while the nursemaid had a little walk and talk with this chap. And then when the nursemaid returned, Miss Earnshaw asked her to return the favour, said she had some business to attend. Of course, the nursemaid never suspected anything out of the way, and equally of course she never mentioned this little arrangement to the police.”

  “Well, that explains that,” I said. “But then, arsenic is not a fast acting sort of thing. There are symptoms, unpleasant symptoms. Why did Mrs Gerard not call for help?”

  “Ah,” said Holmes, embarrassed. “I can only think that she did not call for help simply because Miss Earnshaw was there, offering her cologne, promising to call a doctor, that sort of thing.”

  “You mean that Miss Earnshaw sat there and watched her die?” I cried, aghast.

  “I do,” said Holmes grimly.

  “But,” asked Ingham, “what about the poisoned sweets, then? Was there poison in the walnut centres?”

  Holmes shook his head. “I think not. Miss Earnshaw poisoned the violet centres, to kill Mrs Masterton. She did not, I believe, also poison the walnut centres, for she could not know that the box would be passed on as it was. She left it in Mrs Gerard’s room because she did not realize that it was the same box. No, I think she poisoned Mrs Gerard with a drink, a glass of something for her headache.”

  “Dreadful,” I said with a shudder.

  Holmes nodded. “I do not think she is a very nice person,” he added.

  “To say the least. And Doctor Oong naturally assumed that the poison was administered in the walnut sweets.”

  “And we did not think to question it,” said Holmes ruefully. “An object lesson in not taking things at their face value, Watson.”

  “Indeed. But, Holmes, what was the point of it all? To marry Charles Gerard, I suppose? But what about the money? As we keep saying, if they could not afford to marry in London, then how could they hope to do so in Singapore?”

  “Ah, you ask an interesting question,” said Holmes with a smile. “Two points come to mind. First, if the scheme had worked, there was a logical suspect in Derek Masterton. Now, it may have been that the police might not have arrested anyone, that the Superintendent here would have thought the case insufficient against him. In that event, I suspect that Miss Earnshaw would have offered comfort to the grieving widower, and would in a
relatively short while have become the second Mrs Masterton.”

  “But you just said that she wanted to marry Charles Gerard,” I said, puzzled.

  Holmes smiled. “How long do you think Derek Masterton would have lived?” he asked me.

  “Good Lord! But suppose the police had arrested him for the double murder? What then?”

  “Ah, then Miss Earnshaw would, I think, have suggested to the obliging Mr Wharton that Mr Masterton’s will was made before Emily Cardell got married. What more natural than for the deceased wife’s deceased sister’s widower … Charles Gerard, that is … to take custody of the children? And the money, of course.”

  “But the capital would go to the children,” I pointed out.

  “If they survived.”

  “Good Heavens!”

  Holmes nodded. But you have not heard my second point, Watson,” he added with smile.

  “And what is that?”

  “That it may not have been about the money at all. We have heard that Charles Gerard is an independent sort of fellow; is it too difficult to suppose that he had married Emily Cardell because he loved her, rather than for her money? He asked her not to leave him the cash, remember. He may … unpalatable though the notion may have been to Miss Earnshaw … he may have omitted to propose marriage to Miss Earnshaw not because they were both poor, but because he simply did not love her.”

  “Oh. I never thought of that!” I nodded. “I see, now. Simple, of course.”

  “Of course,” agreed Holmes.

  Ingham asked, “So Miss Earnshaw faked Mrs Gerard’s suicide, with the bottle … the first bottle … and the note, which was a page, or part of a page, from a letter from Mrs Gerard to Miss Earnshaw, asking forgiveness for pinching … as she saw it … her friend’s gentleman friend? Yes, like Doctor Watson, I see it now Mr Holmes has explained it. But why leave the poisoned sugarplums there? To confuse us?”

  Holmes shrugged. “She did not know it was the same box, of course, or she would have taken it away, so as not to confuse us. And then finally, when things went wrong because Charles Gerard tried to conceal the suicide, as he believed it to be, Miss Earnshaw, feeling the hand of the law upon her lace collar, or on that of her lover, tried to make us suspect Mrs Masterton, by poisoning Mr Masterton and placing the bottle in his wife’s room, when Mrs Masterton left the room to see what the commotion was. Does that explain everything?”