The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part I

by David Marcum

  “Mr. Holmes, sir, welcome to Lichfield. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, though I fear there will be not much for you to do here. We are pretty certain that the young ‘un is the culprit.”

  “You received my telegram?” Holmes asked him.

  “Why, yes sir, we did indeed, and Taylor has presented your card to me. You’ll be happy to know that the room is not significantly changed from when Taylor entered it and discovered his wife there, though of course we have removed the body. As I say, there is really no doubt that the lad did it. Shocking case. I can’t remember anything like this happening here in the past. This way, sir.”

  He led the way into the front room of the house, which had been furnished in a good, if provincial style. Holmes stood in the doorway, and surveyed the room’s contents, which included a desk by the window, and a chair lying on its side beside it. Some dark stains marked the carpet and the bearskin rug beside the desk.

  “The front and back doors of the house were both locked, Taylor told us,” we were informed by Upton. “All the windows appeared to be shut, and there was no other means of entrance into the house.”

  “Unless the murderer came down the chimney, or through the coal-chute, assuming there to be such a thing in this house.”

  “True enough, Mr. Holmes, as regards the coal-chute, but no such apparatus exists here.”

  “The case against the boy certainly seems strong, then.”

  “Strong enough, Mr. Holmes. It’s a pity, as he seems like a nice lad. Just a sudden flash of temper, and-” The inspector shrugged.

  “Where was the body located?” Holmes asked.

  By way of answer, the police officer started to step forward to point out the spot, but was restrained by Holmes. “Please, Inspector,” he implored the other, “let us not disturb any further the remaining evidence that will help us determine the murderer, faint as it may be by now.”

  “Very well, then,” replied Upton. “Mrs. Taylor was discovered by Taylor lying on her back, over there by the desk, with her head nearest the chair.”

  “And yet she had been sitting at the desk, had she not, and the chair was overturned in the struggle with her murderer,” mused Holmes to himself. “Strange. Taylor told me that the son, Stephen, had moved the body, but did not provide any details,” addressing the policeman once more. “Do you know more?”

  “According to the son’s statement, he discovered his mother - rather, his step-mother - lying on her side, and merely moved her onto her back, and at that time determined that she was dead.”

  “I see,” said Holmes. “And where was the knife discovered, according to this statement?”

  “Beside the body, on the floor.”

  Holmes said nothing, but stood in silence for a moment before dropping to his hands and knees, and pulling out a lens from his pocket, with which he proceeded to examine the floor, crawling forward towards the desk as he did so. At one point he paused, and appeared to be about to retrieve something from the rug, but checked his movements and continued his appraisal of the carpet. The policeman and I watched him from the doorway for the space of about five minutes.

  At length he stood up, and dusted his garments, before turning to the desk and using his lens to scrutinise its surface, and the inkwell which still stood open, as well as the pen and the blotter and other objects that lay upon it. “Your men have been busy,” he said to Upton, “and have almost, but not completely, destroyed the traces of the events that took place. Nonetheless, many points of interest still remain. May we view the body of Mrs. Taylor?”

  “She is at a local Inn, the Earl of Lichfield Arms, in Conduit Street by the market square,” replied the inspector. “Though I fail to see that there is much to be learned from a further examination.”

  “There may well be more than you imagine,” answered my friend. “May I advise you that no-one is to enter this room until I have finished my investigation?”

  I could see that the police officer resented this usurpation of his authority, but he assented to Holmes’s request, and instructed the constable at the door to prevent any entrance to the chamber.

  The inspector accompanied Holmes and myself on the short walk to the inn, where we were shown to an upstairs room, which had been cleared of all furniture save a deal table on which lay the body, covered by a sheet.

  “There has as yet been no autopsy, of course?” Holmes enquired.

  On receiving the information that this was the case, he requested and received permission to draw down the sheet and examine the body. There were several wounds to the abdomen, obviously inflicted with a sharp instrument.

  “In my opinion,” I said to Holmes, in answer to a query of his, “this wound here could well have reached the heart. Of course, without a post-mortem examination, it will be impossible to say with certainty that this is the case, but my experience with bayonet wounds leads me to this belief. Even without the other wounds, this alone could be the cause of death. Shock and loss of blood would also be a factor in the cause of death.”

  “Thank you, Watson,” Holmes said. “As you rightly point out, this cannot be confirmed until an autopsy is performed, and it would be premature to certify this as the cause of death. But, dear me, this murder was committed in a frenzy of passion, was it not? I count at least five major wounds, and several grazes where the weapon has almost, but not completely, missed its mark.” He bent to examine the ghastly wounds more closely. “Watson. Your opinion on the nature of these? Specifically, how they were delivered.”

  I, in my turn, bent to the cadaver. “Delivered to the front of the body, with the blade entering from the right and above for the most part.”

  “That was also my conclusion,” said Holmes. “Mrs. Taylor appears to have been quite a tall woman, Inspector. Can you confirm that?”

  “I believe she was some five feet and seven inches in height.” Holmes made some notes in his pocket note-book.

  “And the boy?”

  “He is somewhat small for his age. I would put him at a little under five feet.”

  “And it would take considerable strength, would it not, Watson, to cause these wounds?”

  “Indeed so,” I confirmed. Holmes bent to the body once more, and eventually stood straight and addressed Upton again.

  “What was the state of the boy’s mind when the constable took him in charge, Inspector?”

  “According to the constable’s report, he was shaking. The constable judged him to be in a state of fear.”

  “That is hardly surprising,” Holmes commented. “And he has not confessed to the murder?”

  “He continues to insist that he entered the room and discovered his step-mother lying in her own blood. As to the knife, he says that he has no idea why he picked it up and carried it with him to the scullery where he washed his hands and clothing.”

  “Those in such a condition often are unaware of their actions,” answered Holmes. “I think we may attach little importance to this. You are satisfied, of course, that the knife discovered with the boy is indeed the murder weapon?”

  “Why, what else could it be?” asked Upton in surprise. “You may see it for yourself at the station. I take it you will wish to interview the boy?”

  “If that is permitted.”

  “Surely,” replied the inspector. “Though I fear you will be wasting your breath if you are attempting to establish his innocence.”

  “We shall see,” answered Holmes. “By the by, where is Taylor now? He did not seem to be in evidence at the house.”

  “He has left the city for the day. He told me that he had urgent business in Birmingham to which he must attend, and I allowed him to go there.”

  “I have a feeling that you may never again set eyes on Mr. Henry Taylor,” Holmes told him.

  “Why, what can you possibly mean?” aske
d Upton in surprise and dismay. “Do you mean that he means to do away with himself in despair? Have I let him go to his self-inflicted death?”

  “By no means,” smiled Holmes. “The truth will prove to be at once simpler and more complex than that.”

  “You have me scratching my head,” said Upton in puzzlement, and led the way to the police station, where he produced for our inspection the knife that had been discovered by the body.

  Holmes produced his lens, and examined the blade, covered with now-dried blood, closely. “It is impossible to say with any certainty without knowing the exact position and location of the knife when it was found,” he announced at length, “but it seems to me that this knife was not the murder weapon. Has it been identified, by the way?”

  “Yes, Taylor recognised it as one of the knives used in the kitchen for preparing food. The maid, Anne Hilton, likewise identified it, as indeed does the boy, Stephen. But why do you say that it is not the murder weapon. Surely it is obvious?”

  “Too obvious,” retorted Holmes. “Two factors lead me to this conclusion, which, as I said, must remain tentative for now. Firstly, the blade, as you will observe, is almost triangular in shape, with a narrow point, and widening towards the hilt.”

  “That is a common design,” answered Upton, “and I fail to see how you can make anything of that.”

  “Ah, but the wounds on the body were performed using a narrower blade. Either that, or this knife was not inserted to its full depth.”

  “In which case, it could not have reached the heart, as I surmised,” I interrupted.

  “Precisely, Watson,” he confirmed. “And in that event also, the blade near the hilt would not have been coated with blood, at least not to the even degree that blade exhibits. To me, this has all the appearance of a knife that has been deliberately smeared with blood, possibly not even human blood, and left beside the body, while the actual murder weapon is still missing.”

  “But no other weapon was found in the room or indeed in the house,” protested the policeman.

  “And there was no-one else in the house other than the boy and his step-mother, according to the boy’s story, and that of Taylor,” Holmes added. “And the boy never left the house, it would appear.”

  “You continue to produce puzzles, Mr. Holmes. Do you wish to see the boy now?”

  “Thank you, yes.”

  I will not dwell for long on the exchange between the poor child and Holmes. The boy was clearly in a wretched state, and though he freely admitted the bad feeling that had recently sprung up between him and his late step-mother, and confirmed the story that had been told to us by Taylor, he emphatically denied her murder. The only new detail he added that we had previously not heard was his account of having heard some noises, as of something heavy falling, a few minutes before he entered the drawing-room. He appeared to be a somewhat nervous youth, of somewhat slender build, and undersized for his age.

  Holmes produced his notebook, and asked the lad to draw a rough sketch of the room and the position of the body and the knife when he discovered them. Examining the diagram, he complimented the boy on his skills, for which he received a faint smile from the youth.

  “And there were no papers on the desk or lying around the room?” he asked the boy by way of concluding the interview.

  Stephen Taylor shook his head. “Nothing like that, sir,” he answered.

  “Thank you,” Holmes told him. “I am confident,” he added, to Upton’s obvious astonishment, “that you will be out of here very soon.”

  “What in the world did you mean by raising the boy’s hopes with false promises like that?” Upton asked Holmes, almost angrily, when we were walking back to the inspector’s office. “That was indeed a cruel jest to play on the poor lad, was it not?”

  “No jest,” Holmes told him. “I believe that we can have this whole matter cleared up in a matter of hours. May I make a request that you send word to Sutton Coldfield police station, and ask them to send a Mr. Henry Staunton to you for questioning in connection with this matter? A house in Victoria Road, I believe, will find him.”

  “In the name of all that’s good, Mr. Holmes!” exclaimed the policeman. “What on earth can you want with such a person? And how do you come to know of him?”

  “I feel that he will be most germane to your enquiries,” Holmes answered him. “As to how I have knowledge of him, why, the answer stood as clearly before you as it did to me.”

  “Very well. If this request had come from any other source, I would have regarded it as the ravings of a madman, but your reputation, Mr. Holmes, precedes you, and I will do as you ask, though I fail to comprehend your reasoning on this matter.”

  “While we are awaiting the arrival of Mr. Henry Staunton,” Holmes said to Upton, “we will find lodgings. I doubt if we will wish to be accommodated in the Earl of Lichfield Arms. I have heard The George spoken well of by an acquaintance who passed through this city once.”

  “The George is indeed a pleasant hostelry. I will send for you there once Staunton, whoever he may transpire to be, arrives here.”

  “Come, Watson,” Holmes said to me, and we passed through the pleasant streets of this old city to the George, where we secured a most comfortable room, and bespoke an early dinner, anticipating the arrival of Staunton.

  Over the course of our meal, I attempted to interrogate Holmes regarding what he had discovered, and the conclusions he had drawn, but much to my chagrin, he refused to be drawn, and discoursed instead on the life of Doctor Samuel Johnson, a native of the city that we were currently visiting. I could follow his reasoning with regard to the knife, and was forced to agree that the knife that had been discovered by the body was in all probability not the murder weapon. It also seemed to me that the boy was unable to have inflicted the wounds that had caused the death of Mrs. Taylor, by reason of his under-developed physique.

  We had just finished our meal when a uniformed constable entered the dining-room, much to the consternation of the hotel waiters, and informed us, with a strange smile, that Mr. Henry Staunton from Sutton Coldfield was now at Lichfield police station.

  “Inspector Upton’s compliments to you, Mr. Holmes,” he added with a broad grin. “He thanks you for your discovery of Mr. Staunton, sir.”

  We followed the countable to the police station, where we encountered the inspector who wore the same smile as his constables. “Mr. Staunton is in the next room,” he told us, and opened the door - to reveal Mr. Henry Taylor!

  “What is the meaning of this?” I asked. “Are Henry Staunton and Henry Taylor one and the same person?”

  “Indeed so.”

  Our client’s face had turned red with anger. “How the devil did you discover all this?” he demanded of Holmes.

  “You thought that by removing and destroying the letter that your second wife had written to your first wife, informing her of Mrs. Taylor’s new-found knowledge of Mrs. Staunton, you had removed any possible evidence of a motive, did you not? But you failed to notice that she had blotted the envelope. Your true name and address were clearly visible on the blotter, reversed, naturally.”

  “My God!” Staunton sank back in his chair.

  “Bigamy, eh?” said Upton. “Well, my lad, we can have you for that.”

  “And add to that the murder of Martha Taylor, as I suppose we must call her,” said Holmes, “though I fear her actual marital status must be in some doubt.”

  “I never meant to kill her-” cried Staunton, and bit off the words as they came out of his mouth.

  “Oh, but I think you did indeed kill her, and then worse,” said Holmes. “In my whole career, I have hardly ever encountered such a cold-hearted diabolical piece of treachery.”

  “Your proof?” taunted the other.

  “It would be easy to prove to a jury that the blows that killed M
artha Taylor were not inflicted by the knife found beside her body. The blows that killed her could only have been inflicted by a stiletto blade, as any wide blade would have been stopped by the ribs. Once that doubt had been established, your son would walk free. No other possible weapon was discovered in the house. You may have thought you were being clever by killing with one weapon and leaving another, more plausible instrument to implicate an innocent party - your very son - but you ignored elementary anatomy.”

  “That might prove my son’s innocence, but it hardly establishes my guilt,” protested Staunton defiantly.

  “True,” agreed Holmes. “However, there is the matter of the missing seal from your watch chain, the empty clasp of which I noticed when you visited us in Baker Street.” Staunton looked aghast and grabbed at the chain in question with a look of horror on his countenance. “No, it did not fall off somewhere else. It is currently pressed into the bearskin rug in the front room of the house in Dam Street. Did your men overlook this, Inspector? Pressed in there by the weight of a body lying on it, and covered with blood. It is impossible that in that state it was ever there before Martha Taylor was struck down.

  “Let me reconstruct the events for you, gentlemen. Mr. Staunton took a fancy to have more than one name, and more than one family. It happens to some men. I am myself not that way inclined, but I regard this aberration with an amused tolerance. As Mr. Taylor, he was widowed, and he removed himself to Lichfield, where he cast about for a new partner. Mrs. Staunton is obviously not suited as the ideal sole helpmeet and companion of his life-”

  “Leave her out of this, damn you!” exclaimed Staunton, angrily.

  “By all means,” answered Holmes with an equable air. “In any event, Miss Martha Lightfoot fitted the bill, and she appears to have been a good match, and an excellent parent to the two children of the first Mrs. Taylor.”

  “The best,” sighed Staunton, with what seemed to be genuine regret.