Repeat Business

by Lyn McConchie

  “I rode to tell the police as Father said I should. The man at the police station was kind; he listened to me, and once I had told him of our plight, he called many other policemen to go with me. I led them back almost to our house, where they questioned me as to the way the buildings lay and how they could approach without being seen. They made me wait there with my pony, but they said I was a very clever and brave girl. Do you want me to ride to town as I did then?”

  Holmes smiled at her. “No, thank you, you may put your pony back in the stable. But the policeman was right. You were very clever and brave and you did just as you ought.”

  Effie Munro returned with the feather dusters at that moment and Holmes took them from her politely, after which she went to help the child as he indicated she should do.

  “Now, Mr. Munro,” my friends said. “We shall see what we shall see.” With that he returned to the back of the hen house where lay the lidded nesting boxes and began using the dusters carefully. As he worked he explained.

  “You said there was a strong wind for some hours on the afternoon of the day after the attack on your home. Here, between the various outbuildings, the ground is clear but unpaved in any way. It has been subject as a result to the rains of spring and, like most of the ground about your home, it too is slightly soft and will hold footprints. The child is small and lightly built but she was running and the tips of her prints are still sufficiently impressed into the ground. Also, the marks of her turning where her heels dug into the earth.”

  Under the careful flicking of the feather dusters as they removed layers of light debris we could see that he was right.

  “And see here, this is where you walked to examine the nests after Lucy had told you where the jewel had been hidden. Here too are her prints again and again as she came to feed the hens, but all of those are less clear, they were trodden over the debris the wind deposited, but this line here, they are Lucy’s prints on that night and no other adult footmarks approach them save your own.”

  As he whisked energetically small prints were appearing, showing in a line, so that Munro gasped in sudden joy.

  “She spoke the truth, she went directly from the place where we let her down on the rope to the hen house to the stable.”

  “Precisely. Then I have relieved you of one apprehension?”

  “You have, and blessing upon you for that. I am content if you can tell me no more.”

  “I did not say that. Follow me, both of you.”

  He retraced his steps and entered the hen house. This was a building that must have originally been designed for the convenience of the owners since an adult man—even one of Holmes’ height—could walk about upright within it. The birds were incensed at our intrusion and most fled squawking in all directions, save the two who brooded eggs. Holmes left them alone but prowled into all the corners, peering into the angles and squinting in the almost dark. Then I heard a small sigh escape him. He straightened and motioned us to join him.

  “Mr. Munro, you wished to know who could have stolen the jewel. Do you put down poison anywhere about this estate?”

  “Why, no, sir. We have lived here only five months and I have seen no need, nor has any of the staff suggested that we should do so.”

  “I think you may wish to reconsider, sir. I have your culprit—or at least, I do not think him far away. Look there, a rat hole, and another here. Did you know that a rat may creep to a sitting hen and steal an egg from under her very body?”

  Grant Munro was staring at my old friend as if Holmes were deranged—but I, having been country-bred, had some inkling of the path Holmes was following.

  “What has this to do with the loss of the jewel?” Munro said, his tone one of exasperation. “Are you suggesting that the jewel was stolen as an egg by a hungry rat?”

  Holmes nodded. “Yes, any countryman could tell you it is not uncommon for such a thing to occur. And he could also inform you that where they have placed a false egg in the nest to encourage the hen to lay in the particular place, it has also been known for a rat to steal that in error.”

  Munro’s eyes opened wide as he stared at us. “You really think this to be possible?”

  “I do. Have your men bring spades and we shall trace where the holes here lead.”

  That was sufficient for our client. He ran from the hen house calling loudly for his servants to bring spades, shovels, and any such similar implements as they could lay their hands upon. We took it in turns to dig after that, and in less than an hour we had discovered not only the jewel, well below ground and some yards away from the hen house, but also a number of false eggs, all laid carefully in the larder of a rat.

  Mr. Grant Munro took up the jewel and rubbed it upon his sleeve while searching for words. Finally he spoke, looking directly into Holmes’ eyes. “I owe you a debt beyond anything I can repay. You have found the jewel and saved my reputation, but far more than that, you have reinforced my belief in Lucy.”

  Holmes shrugged. “It has been an interesting case, sir.”

  “I would never have credited it had I not seen this with my own eyes,” Munro said, looking down at the small collection of carved and painted eggs. “I must gather these so they may be again used for their proper purpose. But what can a rat have wanted with wooden eggs and an emerald? Why did the beast not discard them once it found them to be useless as food?”

  I spoke chaffingly. “Perhaps the beast is a collector, it may be that the gatherer of these items is the envy of every rodent upon this estate for its collection, even as Lord Elgin was envied the marbles of Greece and the other artifacts he possessed.”

  Holmes too studied the collection and spoke soberly. “There are more things on heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy. It may be possible that a rat has some concept of beauty. And what would it find more beautiful than an egg which it found to glitter like stars in the moonlight, might it not risk all to take and hide that greatest of treasures? Who can know the mind of a rat?”

  I nodded, only Holmes could ask such a question, and I wondered as I listened, would such a question ever be answered—and by whom?

  AUTHOR’S NOTE: The rat’s theft of the gem is genuinely likely. Many years ago, I cleaned out my hay barn, and found five plastic eggs carefully tucked away in a rat hole. Why on earth it stole plastic eggs, I have no idea. But I was assured by farmer friends that it’s not that unusual.

  A GIRL GONE

  I have often observed the two advantages my friend Holmes has over most other private detectives and also the police. One is that it is very rare for him to fail, and the other springs from that. In short, his clients tend to recommend him vigorously to others, and, if they have a new problem themselves, it is to Holmes that their mind automatically turns.

  This explains why, when some five years’ time after the affair of the Copper Beeches, we again received Miss Violet Hunter into Holmes’ rooms at 221B Baker Street. The intervening period had wrought a considerable change in her. Immediately after that case Miss Violet had been offered the post of Headmistress at a select private school for girls in Walsall.

  She had accepted, and two years later by dint of a present from a grateful husband for her part in saving Alice Rucastle, and her own hard saving, Miss Violet was able to buy a junior partnership in the school which flourished mightily under her energetic guidance.

  It was therefore some surprise to me when she was shown into Holmes’ rooms, and her countenance and form were the very epitome of downcast spirits. I started from my chair, took her outstretched hand and conducted her to a seat, while Holmes brought her a glass of wine.

  He studied her briefly before speaking. “You are in distress over an event which has occurred at your school. You are being blamed for it, and you have come in hopes that I can make some small suggestion as to what has happened. Are you, perchance, missing a pupil?”

  Miss Hunter positively gaped at that. “I do not know how you can know, but yes, that is what pert
urbs me so. Yet how can you have guessed my trouble?”

  Seeing, I think, that a brief diversion would allow the lady to calm herself and tell us her story with greater clarity, Holmes condescended to explain.

  “The matter is simple. You show all the signs of one who is deeply agitated, your cheeks are flushed, the tendrils above your brow are loosened, yet your eyes show no signs of weeping. It seems to me that while trouble has come upon you, that trouble is not of a deeply personal nature. You donned garb which is suitable for the headmistress of a select academy, but a closer look indicates that while you wished to look the part of a woman in command of herself and the situation, you omitted to provide yourself with an umbrella, and your suit is spotted with rain while your gloves, though matching to the casual eye, are—when more closely considered—not quite a match.”

  “But my missing pupil?”

  “Ah, there I made something of a guess, but I felt it was most probably the correct one. Deep trouble, which is not of a personal nature, an exit from your home, which has obviously been made in great haste and some secrecy, and you are the headmistress and part owner of a girls’ school. What is more likely than the disappearance of a pupil under strange circumstances?”

  By now Miss Hunter had calmed herself and was listening closely to my friend’s reasoning. “You are right as always, Mr. Holmes. But the worst is yet to be revealed. I fear this is a case of kidnapping, but the local police suspect I may have had something to do with this terrible event.” Tears filled her eyes as she spoke the last words.

  Holmes spoke quite sharply. “Nonsense. I know you for a sensible woman. Your unusual common sense and courage enabled Watson and me to discover the secrets of your previous employer. I was impressed on that occasion by your demeanor, and I have no doubt that whatever has transpired at your school, it was not facilitated by any criminal action or failure of yours.” His voice became gentler. “But now you must tell me the whole story so Watson and I may help you.”

  I passed the lady my handkerchief and watched as she absorbed the compliment of Holmes’ words.

  Miss Hunter sat upright in her chair, sniffed once, and nodded. “You are quite right, Mr. Holmes. It is of no use to anyone that I should give way. This, then, is the sequence of events.

  “My pupil is Miss Daisy Alder; she is now seventeen years of age and is of quite reasonable looks and intelligence. Daisy is the only child of a man who, through the kindness of himself and his wife, was recently possessed of some considerable fortune and wished his daughter to have the advantages that he and his wife never had. To accomplish this he sent her to my school for a year as a boarding pupil. She is a good, biddable girl, and has never appeared unhappy. Her parents come from Kent to visit her at the school each quarter, and there has always appeared to be the most genuine affection between them.”

  “What is her financial situation?” I asked.

  “Her parents, having not been wealthy themselves until very recently, have elected to be sensible about this. I was given three pounds on her behalf at the beginning of the year and Daisy understood this must last her for all her necessities for the entire twelve months.”

  “It is now well into autumn, how much of that sum remains to her?”

  “She is not a spendthrift, Doctor Watson. She has a little over one pound and has not requested any sum at all of me for several weeks.”

  Holmes nodded to her. “Please continue.”

  “That is just what I am unable to do, Mr. Holmes. Almost a week ago Daisy vanished from her bed at some period during the night. There is no indication of how she departed, or why she should have done so. So far as we may ascertain she went in her nightclothes and without outside footwear of any sort. I had a search made as soon as I discovered her absence, but there was no trace of her. At first I thought her disappearance to be no more than a foolish prank, but when there was no sign of her the following day I had perforce to inform her parents of the event. They arrived at the school in a great taking, and her father demanded a search that took in a greater portion of the area.

  “The men who searched did so by beginning in a loose circle about the school and moving outwards so that it was a further two days before they reached the Rushall Canal which lies about a mile from the school itself. There on the bank thrust under a large bush, they found her nightgown—Mr. Holmes, there was blood on one of the cuffs and nearby there were the signs of a struggle. Upon hearing of this, Mr. Alder demanded the police be called in, and I could not deny that request since I also feared for the child.”

  “What sort of night was it on which she vanished?”

  “It was cold and clear, without moonlight—but the stars were very bright; there was a frost when I arose and I remember the chill distinctly. I am also told that the frost came on about midnight and it certainly continued until well into the morning.”

  “They dragged the canal and found nothing,” Holmes stated.

  “Why, yes. I admit to fearing that they should find Daisy’s body, but there was no sign of her. However, there was worse to come. The day after that a letter arrived demanding a large payment from Daisy’s parents. It said that if this was paid honestly, the girl would be returned; if it was not, then a hideous fate awaited her, and the Alders would never see their beloved child again.”

  “To whom was the letter sent?”

  “To the school; it was postmarked from Stafford. I opened it and at once went to the police to disclose the contents. They—” Her voice faltered in distress.

  “They made the assumption that you had some part in the disappearance of the girl and accused you.” Holmes said. “Are you in financial difficulties?”

  “No, Mr. Holmes, we are not. But it is generally known that we would like to expand the school and accept more pupils. We had begun to build a new wing when a storm damaged a part of the roof in the oldest wing. It cost us more to repair than we had available in ready money without halting the building of the new wing, so that was what we chose to do. The police have leaped to the conclusion that I lured Daisy from the building and have her imprisoned somewhere until the money is received by an accomplice or myself.

  “I have protested my innocence strongly, but I am not believed. Worse still, I fear that because their minds are set on this solution, the police are giving little thought to other possibilities. I know I am innocent in this matter, but if they continue to assume my guilt, I think it not impossible the guilty party or parties may escape justice.”

  Holmes turned a grave countenance upon her. “That is not unlikely, I have known such cases. But it shall not be so here.”

  “You will help?”

  “I will indeed, and Watson shall stand with us, won’t you, Watson?”

  “As always,” I affirmed.

  Holmes looked at us with approval. “Very well. Then to begin with, I must ask you a number of questions. The basic outline of events is clear, but it is in the most minor of details that the solution often lies.”

  “I will answer frankly anything you care to ask,” was Miss Violet’s response to that.

  “Excellent, let us begin at the beginning. Please describe the way in which the girl and her parents lived before their good fortune. You have said that the girl’s parents came into their fortune recently—please tell me all you know about the circumstance in which that occurred.”

  Miss Violet drew in a long breath. “It was thus. The Alders have always been yeoman farmers with ownership of their own land dating back some two centuries. They are neither poor nor particularly wealthy. I may perhaps sum up their lives by saying that they can afford all that they need, and much of what they want—so long as their wants be neither expensive nor grand.” She looked inquiringly at Holmes, who nodded his understanding of this definition.

  “Near to their land an elderly man named Jason Okeshott inhabited a small house. It was understood that he was virtually penniless, although he had one servant who, when Mr. Okeshott became ill and required nursing,
gave notice and departed without informing anyone of his elderly employer’s plight. Mrs. Alder heard of the servant’s departure, however—and being a kind woman, called to see how the old man did.

  “This all occurred more than three years ago, you understand. She found him in a pitiful state and at once summoned her husband. They took up Mr. Okeshott and removed him to their own farmhouse, where Mrs. Alder nursed him devotedly; they even paid for the doctor to call when the old man insisted he could not afford that. Once Mr. Okeshott was fully recovered, he returned home and while—now and again—the Alders called to make certain he was in health, nothing was ever said of gratitude on his part or of payment expected on theirs.”

  I chuckled. “Am I right in thinking Mr. Okeshott was not so poor as he seemed?”

  “You are indeed, Doctor Watson. Some eighteen months ago the old man died and, to the Alders’ astonishment, the Okeshott lawyer revealed that his client was a man of some fortune—all of which had been left to the Alders ‘in gratitude for their great kindness to a man they believed to be without resources.’

  “The amount is not a huge fortune, but on an earlier visit Mrs. Alder confided the story to me, and added that the sum inherited, after all debts had been paid, amounted to eight thousand pounds. One half of this is invested in general funds at four and a quarter per cent, so that the Alders receive one hundred and seventy pounds per annum interest, or something over fourteen pounds per calendar month.”

  I nodded. “As you say, it is not a huge fortune, but together with whatever their farm brings to them, it must leave them quite well-to-do. Were there no relatives to contest this will?”

  “None, sir.”

  Holmes glanced at me with a twinkle in his eyes. “Ah, Watson, you were preparing a theory in which Miss Daisy was stolen away so that Okeshott’s disinherited family might obtain their own again, were you not?”