“Not true, sir,” replied Holmes. “Though you were first to vote, you were not the first person to be alone with Mr. Wainwright in the voting chamber.”
A hearty laughter came from Arthur Blake.
“Mr. Holmes, are you implying that as I took Wainwright into the room, stabbed him dead before I left, and then watched everyone troop into the chamber knowing the poor fellow was growing colder by the moment? I believe that with your talent at story spinning you should be our next prospective member.”
“Do not play the fool, Blake,” said Hunter.
I had thought that statement might set off another fit of ill temper, but Arthur Blake waved away Hunter’s words.
“I am not playing the fool, Wallace. I merely state that it was quite a chance to take for the killer.”
“What do you mean?” asked Hopkins.
“Merely this, Inspector. What if the body falls over just after the killer leaves the room? It was extremely nervy to leave the body alone and then let multiple people tramp into and out of the room.”
“Mr. Blake is right,” said Holmes. “Indeed only one person could have killed Mr. Wainwright and not have taken that chance.”
“Who, Holmes?” asked I.
“Why, the Judge, of course, Doctor,” said Holmes in reply. “The Judge is the person designated, as longest serving member, to bring Mr. Wainwright forth. What would be simpler than to stab him to death and then pretend to be greatly shocked? Remember, the Judge was in the room with the body for longer than he should have been, given his duties.”
“But we covered that, Mr. Holmes,” said the Inspector. “Shock explains the extra time. Still, I suppose the question must be asked. Judge, was the man dead when you came to bring him out?”
The Inspector put the question to the elderly Judge. Before he could answer, the Judge was taken by a fit of some sort. He came swaying to his feet, clutching at his throat. He crashed back to the couch and made the most piteous cries. I ran to his side and attempted to aid him. I could get no words from the man, only strangled cries. In a matter of minutes it was over.
“He’s dead, Holmes,” I said to my friend who was standing by my side.
“What caused his death?” demanded Hopkins.
“I cannot say with certainty, Inspector. The symptoms were alike to those of poisoning, but what poison I would not venture to guess.”
“I would say that it is most likely arsenic poisoning, Doctor,” said Holmes. “In fact, I am certain of it.”
“How can you be so sure, Mr. Holmes?” asked Hopkins.
“Because of this,” said Holmes.
He produced a small vial with a cork stopper. The vial was nearly empty, but there was a small amount of white powder at the bottom.
“I found this on the person of Mr. Harold Wainwright.”
Chapter Six
“What can this mean, Holmes?” I asked in astonishment.
Before Holmes could answer, Wallace Hunter made a loud gasp.
“My God,” he cried. “It must be in the whiskey.”
The man clutched his own throat as if anticipating death.
“Calm yourself, Mr. Hunter,” said Holmes. “If it was in the whiskey then the Judge would be alive. I have observed that the Judge alone drinks brandy.”
“That’s right, Holmes,” said I. “It must be in the brandy.”
“I will have the brandy analyzed, both the snifter and the decanter,” said Hopkins. “This business grows more tangled by the moment. Now we have two murders.”
“At least one of the deaths is one we can celebrate,” said Captain Marbury in a harsh tone.
I heard an audible gasp from several of the group. There was a shocked silence after that until Arthur Blake stirred himself.
“Captain, I call upon you to withdraw that remark. It is ungentlemanly and is in defiance of the code of the League. Club members shall refrain from making insulting references to other members.”
“Then I am certainly not in violation, as Judge Bainbridge is no longer a member. I am correct that the dead cannot be members?”
“Captain, I know you and the Judge were frequently at odds, but you are relaying to these men an incomplete portrait of the man,” said Jonathan Sawyer. He turned to Holmes, Hopkins and myself. “The Judge was the kindest man I have ever met. When I returned to London ten years ago, he took me under his wing as a loving uncle or even second father. He was my sponsor to the club, for goodness sake!”
“I will agree that he treated you kindly, Jonathan, but even so he took advantage of your generous nature,” said the Captain. “But I knew him to be a grasping man with a cold nature. Do any of you remember when the Judge was reported dead?”
“Of what do you speak, Captain?” asked I. “You say the Judge was declared dead?”
“You see, the Judge was on holiday in the United States for some reason ten years ago,” began Marbury. “He was in the mountains in the American West and was caught in a terrible snowstorm. Word reached London that he had perished. It was even printed in all the papers. I tell you, I had a jolly few months until the news came that it was all a mistake.”
“That’s enough, Joseph,” said Colonel Pelham. “Let your feud with the Judge die with him.”
The words seemed to chasten the old sea dog and his face softened.
“Forgive me, gentlemen,” he said finally. “It is true that the Judge and I often were at daggers with each other,” I winced at the comparison, with Harold Wainwright stabbed to death in the next room, “but I should have held my tongue. I believe that I have had a bit more to drink than is wise.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Captain,” said Blake. “We have all had a shock to our systems; indeed, two shocks.”
The Inspector cleared his throat at this time and spoke.
“I believe that we can put personalities aside for now. The question becomes, what are we to do next? Mr. Holmes, can you make sense of what has occurred here tonight?”
All eyes turned to my old friend.
“Firstly we must determine if Judge Bainbridge has been poisoned by arsenic and if the vial that Mr. Wainwright had in his pocket contains arsenic.”
“And if those two deductions prove to be true?” asked I.
“In that case, Doctor, then the ground becomes very muddy indeed,” returned Holmes. “Very muddy indeed.”
I reflected upon the words of Sherlock Holmes. The mystery was certainly a tangled one, but I felt as though an obvious solution was staring me in the face. Suddenly I heard Inspector Hopkins snap his fingers.
“Of course,” he cried. “It covers and answers everything.”
“Pray enlighten us, Inspector,” said Holmes.
“Why, it wraps it all up in a neat bow, Mr. Holmes. Harold Wainwright comes here tonight with the intention of killing Judge Bainbridge. He knows, or is told in advance, that the Judge is the only club member to drink brandy. He poisons the brandy decanter at some point during the evening. That would have been possible, correct, Doctor?”
“Oh, most certainly, Inspector. Indeed, we were milling about through much of the time before the vote. Anyone could have dosed the brandy.”
“Good. Then that is settled,” said Hopkins. “What Wainwright did not know was that the Judge had determined to kill him. The Judge kills the American in the manner that Mr. Holmes suggested earlier. He waits until his second visit to the voting chamber and stabs the man, and then staggers out of the room in a seeming state of deep shock. Does that not answer all questions, Mr. Holmes?”
“We do not need the great Sherlock Holmes to tell us that you have most certainly hit upon the correct solution!” cried Blake.
“I heartily agree,” said Hunter. “Thank God there is not a killer among us. It might have been the end of the League. Are we all in agreement?”
Most of the members seemed ready to go along with Hopkins’s theory, save one. I saw at once that Jonathan Sawyer appeared uneasy. Holmes spotted it as well.
The South African rubbed his chin in thought.
“It is not that I wish to gainsay the Inspector,” he began. “After all he is a professional and this is his craft, but I just wondered why the Judge would have wanted to murder Wainwright. As far as I am aware, they barely knew one another.”
“You have hit upon a salient point, sir,” said Holmes. “Inspector, as I told you earlier, this case will be solved by motive. Your solution does not consider the issue of motive at all.”
“True, Mr. Holmes, but it is still early in the process.”
“At the very least it is not too early to jump to a conclusion,” said Holmes tartly.
“Mr. Holmes, what other theory fits the known facts?” asked Hopkins. “The vial of arsenic in Wainwright’s pocket is damning evidence that he killed the Judge.”
“Perhaps less so than might first be imagined,” replied Holmes.
“Holmes, you obviously have another theory in mind,” said I. “Would you care to outline it for the company?”
“Actually, Doctor, I can think of twelve theories that meet the facts of the case. Some of them more fantastic than the others, but I will give you the particulars of just one.”
“Please do so!” I cried. “I am all attention, and I believe I speak for everyone.”
A quick look around at the others in the room showed faces both anxious and attentive.
“Very well, Doctor. Suppose it happened like this. Two men come to the proceedings this evening with murder in their heart. One poisons the Judge’s brandy quite early. As only the Judge drinks brandy, it is certain to kill him and no one else. Another party has planned a death for a different person and in a different method. That person stabs Wainwright and leaves him to be discovered by someone else. The poisoner then comes into the voting chamber. For whatever reason, this person walks around the table and sees Wainwright stabbed to death. This person is shocked, but immediately conceives of an idea. He decides to plant the vial containing the remaining arsenic on the body of the American. He hopes that we will believe that the Judge and Wainwright killed each other. The person who stabbed Wainwright is taken aback by this development, but welcomes the confusion it causes.”
“That is well thought out, Mr. Holmes, if a bit fantastic,” conceded Hopkins.
“More fantastic than two men killing each other on the same night, Inspector?”
“But, Holmes, you do not ascribe any motives in your theory,” I protested. “You said that motive was paramount in this mystery.”
“Indeed I did, Watson, but I proposed that theory merely as a cautionary tale against jumping to conclusions. I do not propose that it is the most likely explanation.”
“How are you to discover any possible motive when you say we do not even know who the killer is?” asked Colonel Pelham.
“I would suggest that we concentrate on Mr. Wainwright first,” said Holmes.
“Why Wainwright?” asked Hopkins.
“Because, Inspector, Judge Bainbridge was the longest-tenured member of the League of Mendacious Men. As such, he has a long history with all of the men here to greater or lesser degrees.”
“That is so,” said the Captain. “I knew the Judge for decades and so did Hunter. The Colonel and Blake knew him over a decade and Sawyer for just under that length. I suppose any one of us might have had a secret grudge against Bainbridge.”
“Precisely,” said Holmes. “On the other hand, it would seem that Mr. Wainwright was a comparative stranger to most of you. Except for yourself, Mr. Hunter. As his sponsor into the club, I suppose you were of a more intimate acquaintance with Harold Wainwright.”
“Well not exactly,” said Hunter slowly. “You see, Mr. Holmes, it is the policy to discourage bringing in close friends as members. It was thought that bringing in only like-minded men and close friends might cause the League to become stale.”
“But you did know Wainwright to some degree, did you not?” asked Holmes.
“Well, of course,” said Hunter, as he mopped his brow with a handkerchief. “My wife and I met Wainwright at the symphony. We fell into conversation and I liked him. He had seen a bit of the world and knew how to talk about it. In addition, as Wainwright was a newspaper writer, I felt he would bring fresh story-telling abilities to our group. When Sir Rodney suffered his untimely demise, I proposed our American friend as the new member.”
“And how was he received?” Holmes asked.
“Jolly well I should say. The members all met with him informally. There seemed to be general agreement that he would make a fine member. Of course I never dreamed that…”
Wallace Hunter’s voice trailed off and he again dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief. Holmes again spoke.
“Does anyone else claim a former acquaintance with Harold Wainwright?”
“Well, I don’t know if he could be called an acquaintance, but I met him in America several years ago,” said Colonel Pelham.
“Under what circumstances?” asked Holmes.
“I was I in the States for a speaking tour. American audiences love tales of adventure. I had recently returned from the Arctic, and my agent set up the tour. In New York City I gave a lecture. Wainwright came to my hotel the following day and I consented to an interview. I never saw him again until Hunter began to bring him around.”
“Very well,” said Holmes. “Does anyone else claim a prior relationship with Harold Wainwright?”
No one volunteered that they knew the man. It appeared to be a dead end. If Holmes could find no motive for the killing of the American, it would mean that a motive would have to be discovered for the Judge. I could only imagine how complex and complicated it would be to attempt to divine a murder motive for the Judge. Decades of relationships would have to be examined. My mind reeled at the thought.
Holmes might have kept the League members under questioning until the small hours, but Inspector Hopkins interceded.
“Mr. Holmes, the hour is growing late. I suggest we call a halt to the investigation until the coroner’s findings come in for both of the bodies. That will also allow tests to be done to determine if the substance in the vial is arsenic and if there is arsenic in the brandy.”
“I believe that is our most prudent course,” Holmes allowed. “Let us take our leave, Watson. Baker Street awaits.”
Chapter Seven
The next several days passed uneventfully. The papers made much of the two killings the following day, but the absence of any arrests soon caused interest to wane, and I believe most people were convinced that Judge Bainbridge and Harold Wainwright had murdered each other.
Holmes, still awaiting word from Scotland Yard, sulked about in a foul mood. Inactivity was always anathema to the great detective. Finally one morning our page-boy announced Inspector Hopkins. Holmes and myself both greeted the young detective and soon we were all comfortably arranged in our sitting room.
“I hope this visit augurs well for news,” said Holmes.
“The reports are all in, Mr. Holmes. The coroner has concluded that Judge Edward Bainbridge died of acute arsenic poisoning. The tests on the vial you found on Harold Wainwright’s person show it contained arsenic. The brandy that the Judge drank was also contaminated with arsenic.”
“Was the arsenic in the snifter the Judge was drinking or the decanter?” asked Holmes sharply.
“Both, sir,” came the response.
“Is that an important fact, Holmes?” asked I.
“Indeed it is, Doctor.”
“Why so?”
“Had the poison been only in the snifter the Judge was using, it would have eliminated Mr. Wainwright as the poisoner. If no arsenic had been found in the decanter, that would mean that someone poisoned the glass after it had been filled. I saw myself that the Judge filled his glass several times after the body had been found. He would have certainly noticed a powder in t
he glass when it was empty; therefore, it was dosed after the glass was filled. However, with arsenic in both the snifter and the decanter the field of suspects is wide open, as the decanter could have been tainted at any point in the evening.”
“We appreciated that point at the Yard as well, Mr. Holmes,” said Hopkins. “In fact, the feeling is that the case has been solved.”
“Do you mean to say that there is no ongoing investigation?” demanded Holmes.
The young Inspector wilted under Holmes’s gaze. Hopkins looked upon Holmes as a mentor, and I could see he did not relish taking a contrary position to my friend.
“The matter is out of my hands, Mr. Holmes,” Hopkins said after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. “My superiors see a case that is neatly solved, and they see no reason for further exploration.”
“But what of a motive for the two murders?” I asked. “Surely that is of importance. Are the cases simply to be written off without a cause for the crimes?”
“As to that, Doctor, I have not let the past few days go by without making an effort to divine the root cause of the crimes.”
“That at least is pleasant news, Hopkins,” said Holmes. “What have you discovered?”
“Do you gentlemen remember the sinking of the Nova Scotia?”
I remembered that calamity well. The Nova Scotia was a steam liner that had sunk off the coast of America some fifteen years in the past. Many lives had been lost, and many more would have been had not another ship luckily come across the scene and rescued the survivors.
“Well, it just so happens that the Judge’s daughter was a passenger on the ill-fated ship. She was also one of the casualties.”
“What of it, Inspector?” I asked.
“We have discovered that Mr. Harold Wainwright was also aboard the Nova Scotia, and he was among the fortunate survivors.”
“This is most interesting, Hopkins,” said Holmes as he leaned forward eagerly. “Is there any evidence that Wainwright and Judge Bainbridge’s daughter knew each other?”
The League of Mendacious Men (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale Book 10) Page 4
