"It would be too much to expect this old index to contain an account of every Englishman who has left under a cloud for South America in the last 25 years; but a doctor, particularly that rarity, a medical criminal, might be expected to stand out in the crowd. Remember Dr. Grimesby Roylott? Thus."
He handed me the old scrapbook, and pointed out a pair of yellowed clippings.
The first was an account, dated 1881, of a case that had come before the London Assizes alleging a fraudulent collusion between a doctor, one Lewis Brookman, and the heir-at-law of one of his patients. The patient had been an aging textiles entrepreneur, and the issue a false certification of insanity, the purpose being to gain control of the old businessman's estate. It was hinted that the doctor's role went beyond a mere faked document, to the actual creation of symptoms of dementia in his patient by means yet unproved.
The second clipping, a follow-up of the first, reported the case dropped from court due to lack of evidence and suspicions of the validity of the testimony of two of the witnesses. The defendant Dr. Brookman was reported to be considering leaving his ruined London practice for a post at the Hospital San Felice in Rio de Janeiro.
"I do not recall the case," I remarked, handing the book back to its owner.
"Not surprising. I had nothing to do with it professionally at the time, although I followed it in the papers. The case was thrown out upon technicalities, and a lot of disagreements by the medical authorities called to testify. But the personality of the suave Dr. Brookman interested me. He had had a brilliant university career, and had at one time considered specialization in neurological problems. His career would seem to have been well launched, but evidently his expenditures outran his income to the tune of something over-well over-four figures. Why, was not explained. I wish I had some note upon his vices."
"You think this Brookman, then, is Garnett?"
"I think it is an hypothesis worth testing. There is a suggestive similarity in their methods, and the ages fit."
There was a ring at the door downstairs, and the sound of voices carried upward through the hall.
"Lestrade," said Holmes, levering himself up off the floor. "Now what has he found, I wonder."
The familiar features of the inspector appeared around the doorjamb, looking for all the world like a stoat peeking out of its hole.
"Good evening, Mr. Holmes," he said, entering upon my friend's invitation. He had a small suitcase in his hand. "And you too, Dr. Watson. Oh." This last as he caught sight of the occupant of the chemical corner. I could swear a slight flush rose over his features. "Uh, good evening to you too, Ma'am."
Miss Smith smiled a cool, ironic smile, and inclined her head in a kind of regal acknowledgment of his greeting. I could see his embarrassment aroused a little devilishness in her eyes.
"You are having quite a convention, I see," he went on, taking the chair that his host indicated. "No need for you to get up, Dr. Watson. What I came to tell Mr. Holmes properly concerns you too, since I understand this lady is now your patient."
"Have the official police captured their quarry, then?" I asked.
"Well, yes and no," Lestrade replied, rubbing a finger over his cheekbone.
"Meaning they have been found and lost again?" inquired Holmes with a lift of eyebrow.
"Meaning that Ormond Sacker was found this morning in the waiting room of the railway station at Liverpool, sitting on a bench with his legs crossed, his hat pulled down over his eyes, and a newspaper in his lap, stiff as a board. Stone dead," he added.
"Without a mark on him," said Holmes.
Lestrade tried valiantly not to rise to this bait, but failed. "All right. How did you know?"
"Because I know who killed him, and therefore I know how. For the same reason I know that no luggage was found with him."
Lestrade sighed. "I don't suppose you would favor me with the reason why as well, as long as you're about it?"
"Ah, that is another puzzle. At this point the only reasons I could suggest would be guesses, and you know how I abhor guessing."
"At any rate," Lestrade went on, "the autopsy is scheduled for tonight in Liverpool. I wondered if you would care to go along with me and see what there is to be seen."
"Sacker was murdered by the one you call Garnett; the method was poison, and the autopsy will not find it," came a low voice from the chemical corner. We all turned our attention to see Miss Smith, her face in her hands,
in that hunched posture which I now knew to be indicative of the highest tension.
"I hate to sound like an echo of the good inspector," said Holmes quietly, "but how do you know that the autopsy will not find the poison?"
"Because," she said into her hands, "the coroner in New York couldn't find it either."
Holmes smiled a beatific smile. "Ah," he said. "The last piece." He went to her and took her hands gently from her face. "Now, Cordelia, try not to be upset," he said in the same earnest tones he had used to such good effect before, "but I want you to tell me what you recall. Remember, you are safe now."
"It's all jumbled up in my mind," she began. "But there was a man, a rich man with shady connections, who died suddenly in New York, oh, a few months ago or a little longer. It was what first made me suspect, or rather, what first made me take my suspicions seriously. He-Garnett-had a laboratory on the top floor of a big, fine house-I must have worked there, I don't think I lived there. I was sitting in a corner, working on extracting an equation from a data curve, when he came in with another man, a wealthy-looking, Italian sort of fellow.
" 'Do you guarantee your product?' asked the Italian.
" 'Well, you can hardly expect me to put it in writing,' replied the one you call Garnett-I'm sure that's not his right name.
'Five thousand dollars is a rather steep price for a packet no bigger than my thumbnail,' said the Italian.
" 'Oh, smaller, smaller,' said Garnett. 'But you must remember, you are also purchasing my professional discretion.'
" 'It seems to me,' said the Italian coldly, 'that is a blade with two edges.' 'Not at all,' replied Garnett with a sort of poisonous cheeriness. 'You asked me for a new, effective rat-killer; I supplied it. What you do with it afterwards is hardly my responsibility. Besides, no questions will be asked.'
" 'Rat poison; how true,' laughed the Italian. And they went into a part of the laboratory that was always kept locked. The Italian was the rich man's cousin; I saw a picture in the paper about the funeral."
"What else do you remember?" pressed Holmes.
"Nothing!" Her fist thumped down upon the deal table in her frustration, making the glassware rattle. "It's just another image with no context."
"It's enough for now." Holmes walked to the center of the room and stood before the fireplace, momentarily indecisive. "I admit, Inspector, to a strong temptation to accompany you up to Liverpool and see the scene first hand. However, Garnett is surely far from there by now. If I could but penetrate his reasoning - but I can't make bricks without straw. Liverpool it must be. I shall be packed in five minutes. Watson," he turned to me, "oblige me by escorting Miss Smith home, will you? I'll get in touch with you tomorrow night. And," he lowered his voice, "don't let her go out alone, my dear fellow."
"You anticipate some danger to her person?" I asked quietly. "I thought it was Sacker who wanted her killed, not Garnett. Is she not safe now?"
"I shouldn't care to put it to an empirical test," he replied. "At least not while I'm gone."
I nodded, and turned to collect my patient and her things. As the two cabs for which we had sent Billy arrived at the front door, Holmes and Lestrade came down the stairs, now equipped for the journey. Lestrade was saying, "I have the schedule. The tram for Liverpool leaves in just under an hour."
"Good," replied Holmes. "It will give us just time to stop at the Wigmore Street Post Office and send a cable to Brazil."
"Brazil! But this case has nothing whatever to do with Brazil," protested Lestrade, getting into their cab
. "The United States, yes, but not South America."
"No? I must be mistaken, then," Holmes's voice floated back blandly as the cab bore them away. "Wigmore Street Post Office, cabby."
***
The next evening I received a telephone call in my study from Holmes in Baker Street. This was a rather unusual occurrence, as he was not fond of the instrument, being addicted from long habit to telegrams when in a hurry and a personal visit when not.
"How is Miss Smith today?" was his first question.
"Improved," was my reply. "When she awoke this morning, she was able to recall a great deal about living in Boston and New York. I took her to see Sir Morris Stein, the great neurologist around the corner in Harley Street. I've referred one or two cases to him before. He's a remarkable fellow, semi-retired now to work on his books, but he owes me a favor. He concurs she's not brain damaged - puts her amnesia down to a combination of drugs, post-hypnotic suggestion, and exhaustion from terror. He thinks her loss of memory as to recent events is going to continue to pass off spontaneously over the next few weeks without further treatment."
"And her amnesia about her early life?"
"He beat around the bush about that. Said he wanted to see her once a week for a while. He said a curious thing - that he didn't think this fellow Garnett was capable of building such a wall between her mind and her memory entirely without help. But he wouldn't explain what he meant. Could there be yet another doctor involved in the case?"
"Interesting. No, I don't think that's what he meant. I have a theory about her early life-but this is not the time. My dear fellow, do you suppose you could get your wife and servants out of the house for a few days?"
"Good God, Holmes, why?"
"It has to do with what I didn't find in Liverpool. This has been quite a case for negative data. Of course, I expected not to find Garnett, the excess luggage-if Garnett's the man I think him, it has probably been sent to Wooton-Under-the-Edge or some such place, to be left until called for-or a traceable poison in Sacker's body, and indeed all these things failed to turn up, right on schedule. But the crowning absence, the one I didn't expect, is the absence of motive for the slaying of Sacker. That has proved to be the keystone.
"I've been wrong about Garnett, Watson; wrong from the very beginning. I had assumed, that because he refused to kill Miss Smith or allow her to be killed or otherwise molested, that he was a man of greater moral scruples as well as greater intelligence than his partner; that, in short, he was a sane and rational gentleman, within the limits of his criminality. Wrong.
"Watson, the man is a megalomaniac of the first order. The springs of his actions are not reason and intelligence, but vision and obsession. And the name of his obsession is Cordelia Smith."
"Do you think he will come back to London and try to kill her?" I asked, horrified.
"Not exactly. I think he's going to come back to London and try to kidnap her. And we shall be waiting to take him in the trap. Thus the removal of your wife and servants, both to clear the path and to get them out of harm's way."
"But what about Miss Smith? You can't stake her out like a goat at a tiger hunt!" I protested indignantly.
"I can't spring a trap without bait, either. I think you rather underestimate Miss Smith. I believe she will wish to be in at the kill. She once described herself as the ghost of a murdered woman, as I recall. No, she has no love for Garnett, whatever distorted feelings he may harbor towards her.
"I'm having your place watched as discreetly as I can. I don't think Garnett will strike tonight; he needs a little time to prepare a hiding place, among other things. Inspector Lestrade is cooperating, under protest; he would rather be expending his considerable energies combing Ireland, I understand. I shall be along some time tomorrow to help set up, hopefully without being seen. Give my regards to Mrs. Watson, will you?" He rang off.
I sighed, and steeled myself to break Holmes's news to my wife. She is a patient woman, but turning her out of her home to make way for a midnight visit by a poisoning madman was going rather outside her experience, even for the interests of justice. However, she took it better than I had hoped, and although I suspect it was the cause of some coolness between herself and Holmes for a time thereafter, I was able to see her safely off for a visit to some friends at Greenwich early the next morning. Miss Smith had shown far less alarm than Alicia when Holmes's plan was revealed to her. She merely smiled, and expressed herself willing to cooperate to the best of her abilities. Later in the morning, however, she came down to my study to ask if I had an extra handgun which she might carry upon her person.
"Both Holmes and I shall be armed," I reassured her. "And Inspector Lestrade will have men outside. There will be no need for you to get involved in the unpleasantness." She accepted this after some hesitation. Privately, I breathed a sigh of relief; after her performance in the back garden, I was uncertain of how she would behave if armed.
About three in the afternoon there came a ring at my front door. Answering it of necessity myself, I beheld a thin, bent old man, whose wizened face and rheumy eyes were framed by white side-whiskers.
"Dr. Watson, is it? I was told you was the man to see about the rheumatics," he said in a high, thin quaver.
I had seen the disguise before, but it never ceased to amaze me. However, I kept a straight face, and invited the old man inside. As I closed the door, Holmes straightened up with a sigh of relief.
"It's a good disguise," he remarked, depositing cane, hat, and side-whiskers upon my hall table. "But good heavens, I think I should be seeing you in earnest about the rheumatics if I had to keep it up for very long. I've received answers from Boston and New York. Is your resident patient within?"
"She's reading in the study."
Miss Smith looked up in quick alarm as we entered, but her face relaxed into a smile when she saw Holmes. "Is all prepared, then?" she inquired.
"Very nearly," Holmes responded easily. "Lestrade will move his men into position at dusk. In a moment we three shall hold a council of war as to how best receive our nocturnal visitor, assuming he comes tonight, and also assuming he comes at all. If I were he, I would be halfway to St. Petersburg by now.
"But before that: I have received these cables." He took them out of his breast pocket. "I'm afraid Tufts was disappointing. They tell me they have not had a student named Cordelia Smith or Cordelia Smith-something within the last fifteen years."
"But that can't be!" began my patient.
Holmes held up a hand. "My New York correspondent, however, tells me that a gentleman by the name of Lt. Oser of the New York Police Department has been searching high and low for over a month for a lady by the name of Cordelia Naismith, who disappeared one night along with one Dr.James Helmuth and his private secretary, named Orville Sandeman, both of whom are desired urgently by the New York Police for questioning."
The lady sank back into her chair with a long, low sigh. "Calvin Oser," she breathed. "Thank God."
Holmes gave a little bow. "The gentleman is a friend of yours, I take it. In that case you will be happy to know that he took ship for London from New York last night."
"An old friend," she replied, pleased relief upon her features. "I can't recall now how I first met him, but he was my friend in New York. I went to him when I first began to suspect about-James Helmuth, yes, that was his name-when I began to suspect there was something peculiar going on from his laboratory. I kept my eyes open and reported to him, hoping to pick up something that would be concrete evidence. I can remember telling him at the last not to make a move until he heard from me." She rubbed her forehead. "What happened after that, now?"
"Presumably, this Garnett-Helmuth fellow suspected you were a spy," I interjected.
"Yes," she replied. "It is just on the tip of my memory, I can feel it." "Perhaps Helmuth himself will tell us, if we can but lay hands upon him tonight," said Holmes. "To turn for a moment from speculation to the practical: presumably he will come in by the back, so as to
remain unseen, or so he thinks. Now it is not my wish to expose Miss Naismith to any more physical danger than absolutely necessary, therefore.
He was interrupted by a ring at my front door. "Now who can that be?" "Probably a patient," I replied, rising. "Don't get up, my dear fellow.
I've made arrangements to send all my emergencies today to Anstruther down the way. I'll just send him along."
I opened my front door to disclose a tall, clean-shaven gentleman of about fifty-five, dressed with great neatness and propriety. His bright eyes met mine with congenial directness. A cab waited in the street behind him.
"Dr. Watson?" he inquired politely.
"Yes, but Dr. Anstruther is taking my calls today," I replied. "A family emergency. He is just down the street-Number 114."
"Ah, how disappointing. You were particularly recommended to me. Well, my case is not urgent. Might I step in and make an appointment for another time? Thank you."
I closed the door behind him and turned to lead the way to my consulting room, which adjoined my study and was where my books were kept. As I entered the room ahead of him I felt something cold brush the back of my neck. Turning, I found myself looking down the gleaming barrel of a well-oiled revolver.
"Ah," I cried in a good, loud voice, after an instant's pause. "Dr. James Helmuth, is it? We were not expecting you to call so early."
"I imagine not," he agreed affably. "But it's no good, I'm afraid; I know there's no one here but you, my friend Miss Naismith, and that old man who came in a while ago. Now, I have no desire to inconvenience you in any way. Kindly do me the favor of calling down Miss Naismith, and we will just be on our way." His pistol never wavered from my head.
"Not so fast, Dr. Helmuth," came Holmes's voice suavely as he stepped into the consulting room from the study, his cocked revolver in his hand and Miss Naismith at his shoulder. His face abruptly went cold and still as he saw my predicament. Miss Naismith neither screamed nor shrank, but her eyes widened, then narrowed to a freezing watchfulness.
The Adventure of the Lady on the Embankment Page 5
