Secret Archives of Sherlock Holmes, The, The

by Thomson, June

  ‘You examined the body?’

  ‘I did indeed.’

  ‘How soon after the incident?’

  ‘Within the hour. Hywel came down to the village from the farm as soon as he found Dai’s body in the barn. It was still warm when I examined it.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘The day before yesterday, at about half past nine.’

  ‘And the body was where?’

  ‘In the barn, lying on its back on the floor.’

  ‘You said he had been stabbed twice in the heart?’

  Dr Parry looked a little abashed.

  ‘To be honest, it was only once directly in the heart. The other wound was in the chest a little to the left of the heart.’

  ‘I see. Any sign of a weapon nearby?’

  ‘No, and nowhere else in the barn either. I had a good look round myself, as did Inspector Rees and a constable who came with him. There was nothing that any of us could see that could have caused those injuries. They were very strange, those wounds, unlike anything I have ever seen before.’

  ‘Strange? In what way?’

  ‘Whatever caused them was a narrow blade, more like a rapier than a knife, and they were about six inches apart. The entry was downward and curving—’

  ‘Curving?’ Holmes broke in sharply. ‘Are you sure, Dr Parry?’

  ‘I would stake my life on it. I used a probe to follow the thrust of the injuries. Whoever killed him must have stood in front of him and plunged the weapon twice into his chest with sufficient force to knock Dai backwards off his feet on to the floor of the barn, so it was someone of more-than-usual strength. Dai wasn’t a big man but he was strong. He was used to lugging sheep about, see, or holding them down when he was shearing them. So the muscles in his arms and chest were well developed.’

  ‘Very interesting!’ Holmes remarked musingly. ‘Would it be possible for Dr Watson and myself to inspect the scene of the crime?’

  Dr Parry gave us a conspiratorial sideways glance.

  ‘It could be arranged. The barn’s all locked up but I know where to find the spare key to the padlock on the door. The police have gone, so you would have the place to yourselves. But you’ll have to keep mum about it. If Inspector Rees found out I had let you in, he’d make a proper fuss. Officious he is, see – likes to be in charge.’

  ‘When could we see it?’ Holmes asked eagerly.

  ‘Now, if you wish. I’ve arranged for you and Dr Watson to stay in the village inn, Y Delyn Aur, “The Golden Harp” in English. I would offer to put you up at my house but my wife’s an invalid and I think you’d be better off at the inn; as my guests, of course. It’s a comfortable little place and Emrys Jenkins, the landlord, speaks English. You could come and go as you wish and you might pick up some of the local gossip from Emrys. We could drop off your luggage there and then go on to Plas Y Coed.’

  ‘Plas Y Coed?’ Holmes inquired. It was obvious from the tone of his voice that he was fascinated by the Welsh names and, aware of this, Dr Parry was delighted to translate them.

  ‘The House of Trees,’ he explained. ‘Dai Morgan’s farm. It’s about a mile outside the village.’

  ‘Which I gather from your letter is Pentre Mawr, is it not?’

  ‘Indeed it is, Mr Holmes. It means “The Big Village” and the name of the hill near to the farm is Bryn Mawr, Bryn meaning “hill” …’

  ‘And Mawr therefore meaning “big”,’ Holmes said, completing the sentence for him.

  The little doctor laughed out loud, clearly enjoying this linguistic game as much as Holmes himself, and I, too, was delighted at Holmes’ change of mood from his earlier low spirits to this more cheerful frame of mind.

  Despite its name, Pentre Mawr seemed a small enough place to me, a collection of stone and brick cottages and houses clustered along a pair of interconnecting country roads barely wide enough to allow two vehicles to pass side by side. Its central crossroads were dominated by its most impressive features: a chapel of dark-red brick with a steep gable end and pointed, Gothic-style windows, and the village inn of whitewashed stone, sporting a hanging sign of a golden harp against a bright-red background.

  Here the pony and trap was drawn to a halt and Dr Parry, having secured the reins to a convenient post, carried our bags into the inn, emerging shortly afterwards to resume his seat in the trap. We then set off once more in the direction of the mountains that loomed over the village like the curtain wall of some ancient fortress.

  Below it were fields dotted with the pale shapes of grazing sheep moving slowly across the pasture, with here and there an isolated farmhouse of stone and slate crouching low to the ground as if cowering from the scrutiny of unseen enemies lying in wait up there among the crags.

  After about a mile, we came to one of these farmhouses set back a little way from the road and surrounded by trees. As we turned in at the gateway, I heard Holmes murmur beneath his breath, ‘Ah, Plas Y Coed!’, a remark which Dr Parry immediately translated into English.

  ‘The House of Trees. Indeed, Mr Holmes, you are an excellent scholar. We’ll make a Welshman of you yet!’

  The pony, which had slowed to a walk, proceeded down a short drive to the house itself. It was a plain building of stone with a low, slated roof that gave it a top-heavy appearance, and it faced a cobbled farmyard that was surrounded on two sides by outbuildings, the largest of which appeared to be a barn.

  As soon as the pony halted, Dr Parry jumped down and, having secured the reins, produced a large door key from his pocket, explaining over his shoulder, ‘Hywel has given me this in case of need. I shan’t be more than a few moments, gentlemen, fetching the key to the barn, and then you can examine the place were Dai Morgan was murdered at your leisure.’

  He was as good as his word and a few moments later was unlocking the double doors to the large stone building which faced the house and which put me in mind of drawings I had seen of Saxon churches. It had the same simple architecture, the interior open and uncluttered, the floor paved with large, uneven stone slabs and the roof supported on a structure of ancient beams, held together by larger cross braces. Old cobwebs hung down from these beams like the tattered banners of some long-ago battle. At the far end was an open-fronted loft, the ladder that would have given access to it lying on the floor amongst a scattering of hay. The sweet scent of the hay pervaded the whole interior and the air was filled with a cloud of glittering dust mites caught like fireflies in the shafts of sunlight from the arched window set in the rear wall.

  Dr Parry was pointing to an area of the floor a little distance from the hayloft.

  ‘That’s where Dai’s body was lying,’ he said in a low voice, as if he were indeed not only in church but also in the presence of death. He added in the same hushed tone, ‘There was a muddy footprint in the centre of Dai’s chest as if someone had stamped on him.’

  ‘Was there indeed?’ Holmes commented but he said no more, merely walking over to the spot that the little doctor had indicated, where he stood without speaking for a moment looking down at the strewn hay before, shifting his attention, he glanced up at the hayloft and then looked across at the barn walls. I had seen him before at other scenes where a crime had been committed looking about him with the same rapid, keen-eyed scrutiny.

  Dr Parry and I waited for him to make some remark that might indicate that he had noticed something of significance but he said nothing apart from asking me to help him to set up the ladder against the edge of the loft, which he then briskly mounted. To my surprise, however, he made no attempt to clamber into the loft itself but remained on the ladder, his head level with the loft floor, before climbing down again. It was only then that he spoke.

  ‘Did Inspector Rees go up into the loft?’ he asked.

  ‘No, he did not,’ Dr Parry replied. ‘In fact, he said something about the dust up there and not wanting to get it on his clothes.’

  ‘And what about the other policeman who came with him?’

  ‘He di
dn’t either.’

  Holmes made no rejoinder but wandered off towards the right-hand side of the barn, which seemed to serve as a storage area for various farm implements. Several were leaning against the wall, among them a large wooden rake and a scythe, while suspended from pegs on the wall itself were several smaller pieces of equipment including billhooks, knives of various sizes, sieves and large woven baskets which I took to be used for winnowing grain.

  ‘Interesting!’ Holmes murmured, tilting his head to one side and lapsing once more into silence.

  Dr Parry, who was watching Holmes with the rapt attention of a cat at a mouse hole, was perceptive enough to realise that some significance should be attached to Holmes’ movements and occasional remarks but was frustrated by his silences.

  As if aware of this, Holmes turned to him with a smile.

  ‘You must not mind me, Dr Parry,’ he said. ‘I have my own methods. And this case reminds me of the curious incident of the dog in the night.’

  Dr Parry looked merely bewildered by this remark which must have meant nothing to him. Even I, who had accompanied Holmes on this particular investigation, was taken aback. What possible connection could there be between that case, involving a missing racehorse and a dog which failed to bark, and this present inquiry which, as far as I could ascertain, concerned neither a dog nor a horse, but a Welsh farmer and a barn containing a hayloft and a collection of farm implements?

  Holmes was aware of my perplexity and, catching my eye, gave a small smile accompanied by an almost imperceptible shake of his head. I knew my old friend well enough to understand the signals. I was to regard the subject as closed, at least for the time being, although he might, if so inclined, explain the enigma at some future stage in the inquiry. In the meantime, he strode forward to address the doctor, who was making his way to the barn door, key in hand, as if to indicate that the examination of the barn was finished.

  ‘A few more questions before we go, Doctor Parry. Inspector Rees must have thought Hywel Morgan had some strong motive for murdering his father, otherwise he would not have arrested him. What was that motive?’

  There was a long moment of silence before the doctor replied, and when he did speak, it was with obvious reluctance.

  ‘It was just gossip, Mr Holmes.’

  ‘Never mind that!’ my old friend retorted sharply. ‘I need to know everything about the case, including the gossip. Unless you are prepared to be completely frank with me, Dr Parry, I shall be forced to abandon the inquiry and Dr Watson and I will return immediately to London. The choice is entirely yours.’

  I saw Dr Parry was trying to avoid Holmes’ gaze and I thought he was about to brush aside this ultimatum with some vague reply but, where his professional standing is concerned, Holmes is adamant. There is no compromise and Parry must have recognised this in my old friend’s stern, inflexible expression. I felt quite sorry for the little doctor as he hurried to make good his error, stumbling over his words as he did so.

  ‘Well, you see, Mr Holmes, there was talk in the village about Dai marrying again. He’s a widower, see; has been for the past seven years. And there’s this widow, Carys Williams, a pleasant enough woman, owns a farm out at Bryn Teg on the other side of the village. People had noticed them chatting together after chapel and they added two and two together and made, well, more than five, if you ask my opinion. Before you could say “knife”, they had the two of them married off and Carys moving into Plas Y Coed with her younger son helping Dai to run the place while her eldest son took charge of the farm at Bryn Teg.

  ‘The talk apparently caused ill feeling between Dai and Hywel. Had Dai remarried, Hywel could have felt his claim to Plas Y Coed was threatened.’

  ‘Is there any evidence that this was indeed his reaction, or was that also simply gossip?’

  Dr Parry shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

  ‘Well, the postman evidently heard Dai and Hywel arguing one morning when he delivered some letters. Hywel was saying, “If that woman and her son come here, I’ll pack up and leave.” Then he went slamming out of the house.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Holmes demanded.

  ‘They stopped drinking together at Y Delyn Aur. Dai would sit on one side of the bar, Hywel on the other …’

  His voice trailed away miserably.

  But Holmes had not finished with him yet.

  ‘In your opinion, was the situation bad enough to give Hywel a motive for murder?’ he demanded.

  Dr Parry looked down at the ground and then, drawing himself upright, he looked Holmes full in the face.

  ‘It could have been, Mr Holmes. Hywel has a quick temper. But I’ll still lay any wager you care to name on his innocence. And that is all I’m prepared to say on the matter.’

  ‘I see,’ Holmes replied, obviously impressed by the little doctor’s conviction. ‘Then on your recommendation, I shall continue with the case, but I warn you, Dr Parry, should any evidence arise that proves Hywel’s guilt, I shall hand it over to the police without a moment’s hesitation. Do you agree with those terms?’

  ‘I do indeed, Mr Holmes,’ Dr Parry replied, looking crestfallen.

  ‘Very well, then,’ Holmes said briskly. ‘Let the inquiry continue. Now, Dr Parry, a few more answers, if you please. Who else beside Hywel Morgan was at the farm at the time the murder was committed?’

  ‘Owen Madoc and his daughter Rhian,’ Dr Parry replied promptly, as if to confirm there would be no holding back from now on.

  ‘And who are they?’

  ‘Owen works on the farm and Rhian is a sort of housekeeper, I suppose.’

  ‘Where were they when Dai was killed?’

  ‘Owen was out feeding the pigs, I believe, and Rhian was somewhere in the house. Inspector Rees would know. He took statements from them both.’

  ‘Can I speak to them myself?’

  ‘I don’t see why not but they’re not at the farm today, apart from Owen who had permission to call in briefly to feed the animals. Otherwise Rees told them to stay at home until the police had finished searching the place. But you should find them at Plas Y Coed later this morning.’

  ‘So they are not live-in staff?’

  ‘Oh, no. Owen has a bit of a farm – well more like a smallholding, I suppose – about half a mile up the road; keeps chickens and a pig or two, that sort of thing.’

  ‘I would very much like to speak to them both. Would tomorrow morning suit you? Say, at ten o’clock? The journey here has been quite tiring and I would like the opportunity for a rest before we continue with our inquiries. I am sure Dr Watson will agree.’

  He turned to me and I nodded in agreement.

  ‘But I should not wish to inconvenience you in any way,’ Holmes added, addressing the little doctor who waved away such a suggestion.

  ‘No trouble at all, I assure you, Mr Holmes. I have a locum who will see any patients on my list. I suggest we drive back to the village, where I will drop you off at the inn and where you will find excellent lodgings for the night.’

  He was right about the inn. The rooms were small but comfortable, the linen clean and smelling of lavender and the evening meal plain but delicious; far better, in fact, than some I have eaten in London restaurants. I went to bed tired but content, drifting easily into a deep sleep in which the puzzle of the link between this case and the one about the dog that had not barked occupied my mind for no more than a few minutes.

  Dr Parry was as good as his word and promptly at ten o’clock the following morning called at the inn, ready to take us on the next stage of the investigation. I, too, was eager after a good night’s sleep and an excellent breakfast to discover what was the connection between the Silver Blaze inquiry and this present murder case. But Holmes, who, much to my relief, was back on form, fended off any questions I tried to put to him.

  There was no opportunity to quiz him anyway, for no sooner had I opened my mouth than Dr Parry arrived and Holmes began to make his own inquiries of him concerning the people we
were about to meet.

  In the conversational stakes, Dr Parry was almost as fluent as Holmes. Obviously delighted that Holmes was once more committed to the investigation, he began with great enthusiasm.

  ‘Now then, gentlemen, let me give you the full story. Owen Madoc is a widower with just the one daughter, Rhian. There is a son as well but he left home years ago for Cardiff, looking for adventure, see, though I doubt if he found it there. Owen must be in his late fifties, the daughter is … well, thirty-five at a rough reckoning; unmarried; speaks only Welsh, as does her father; not much spark to her, if you know what I mean. They live about half a mile up the lane from Dai Morgan’s farm in a small house called Cartref – “Home” to you, Mr Holmes, knowing your interest in the language. If you like, I could take you for a little drive tomorrow into the mountains to look at the view. The road passes their place. It would be a shame to come all this way and not see the countryside.’

  On receiving Holmes’ assent to this plan, Dr Parry continued with his account of the Madocs. ‘They both help out at Plas Y Coed, Owen with the sheep and the pigs. Rhian works in the house: does the cooking and cleaning; sees to the hens as well as the butter and cheese-making.

  ‘I feel sorry for the pair of them. Cartref is isolated, as you’ll see for yourselves when we drive past it, although they should be back at Plas Y Coed by then. Rees gave them permission to return later this morning. So if you’d like to meet them, I could make some excuse for stopping by there.

  ‘As I was saying, it’s not much of a life for Rhian. As for Owen, he’s a very bitter man in my opinion. He would like to have had his own place but he was the younger son and the family farm went to his older brother. It’s left him hard; ill-natured. His wife died, too. Oh, a terrible death! He thinks life has been unfair to him and, to give him his due, I can sympathise. He’s concerned, too, about what will happen to Rhian when he dies. She’ll lose the cottage – it’s tied; goes with the job. She’ll be without a home. It’s all such a great worry!’