There was something about his demeanour which prompted me to ask, ‘So, given the evidence of the locket, the body must have been that of Mlle Carère?’
Before Holmes could reply, Lestrade had intervened excitedly, ‘Of course it is! There has never been any doubt of that in my mind. But what I want to know is, did Mme what’s-’er-name say anything about her stepdaughter’s disappearance? ’Ad there been a quarrel between the two of them?’
‘Leading to an act of violence in which Mme Montpensier murdered her? Is that what you are thinking, Inspector?’
Taken aback by Holmes’ directness, Lestrade shuffled his feet on the carpet.
‘Well, she did agree quite candidly that the two of them were not on very good terms,’ Holmes conceded. ‘She even admitted there had been arguments between them on occasions. As to a violent quarrel, it was Mme Daudet, who called here just before you arrived, Lestrade, who gave a most detailed and revealing account of an incident that happened about eighteen months ago. It was an early evening in June. Mme Montpensier was in the drawing-room with her companion Mlle Benoit, Mlle Carère was upstairs in her bedroom, while the Daudets were in the basement kitchen, washing up the supper things, when a messenger delivered a letter which Mlle Benoit took from the boy and handed to Mme Montpensier. Having glanced at the name on the envelope, Mme Montpensier put it into her pocket. Minutes later, Mlle Carère came downstairs and demanded to see the letter. She had evidently been expecting a message and had heard the front doorbell ring and Mlle Benoit answer it, so had assumed, quite correctly, that a letter had been taken in.
‘Perhaps her manner was too high-handed or Mme Montpensier was too dismissive; we shall never know the cause, but Mme Montpensier refused to give her stepdaughter the letter unless she agreed to open it and read it out loud in her presence. There ensued a violent confrontation, so vocal as to be overheard downstairs in the kitchen, with Mlle Carère accusing her stepmother of intercepting her letters and Mme Montpensier replying that, as long as Mlle Carère remained in her house, she was responsible for her moral behaviour.’
‘Moral behaviour!’ I repeated. ‘Oh, Holmes, what an awful thing to say!’
‘Especially to a young lady of twenty-two years of age who had achieved her majority and had legal control of a considerable sum of money inherited from her parents. You may imagine the effect it had on Mlle Carère, especially as only a few days earlier she had been forced by her stepmother to abandon the drawing lessons she was taking at the Art Training School in Kensington.’5
‘When did you hear this, Holmes?’ I inquired, much surprised by the information.
‘Only this afternoon, from Mme Daudet, who strongly disapproved of Mlle Carère’s desire to learn to draw. She mentioned it as an example of the young lady’s recalcitrant manner and inappropriate behaviour. Mme Daudet claimed the young lady had no talent and the whole affair was a waste of money, quite ignoring the fact that Mlle Carère had paid for the lessons herself. She was clearly reflecting Mme Montpensier’s attitude to the situation. It was, Mme Montpensier stated, quite improper for a young, unmarried lady to mix with artists, infamous for their loose morals, quite ignoring the fact that arrangements had been made for male and female pupils to be taught separately. Mme Montpensier even took it upon herself to write to the governors demanding that her stepdaughter’s name be removed from the list of students.’
‘How very high-handed of her!’ I exclaimed, quite shocked by this information. ‘Mlle Carère must have been very annoyed.’
‘Annoyed! She was furious, and the final straw was Mme Montpensier’s attempt to keep back the letter delivered by hand. It was that which lit the fuse to the angry argument I have already described. The next morning, Mlle Carère had disappeared.’
‘Disappeared?’ Lestrade interjected.
‘Exactly how?’ I added.
‘Ah, that is the mystery, gentlemen. Mlle Benoit discovered she was missing when the young lady failed to arrive downstairs for breakfast on the morning following the argument. On further examination of her bedroom, it was discovered that her bed had not been slept in and that her jewellery and some of her clothes, together with a valise were missing. The rest of her possessions were later collected up on Mme Montpensier’s instructions and deposited in a trunk in the attic.
‘Further searches by the Daudets revealed that, although the front door was locked, the bolts had been unfastened and it was assumed she had left the house by this means. However, there was no farewell letter to explain her actions, nor any forwarding address by which she might be contacted. In fact, nothing has been heard of her since.’
‘Was she reported missing?’
Again, it was Lestrade who posed the question, although it was more in the nature of a statement rather than in inquiry.
‘Not officially. Mlle Carère’s absence was of course noted by neighbours, who were used to seeing the young lady coming and going in the area. She was young and very striking in appearance. However, nobody cared to ask Mme Montpensier directly what had happened to her. No one could speak French well enough to express their concern but, apart from the language problem, Mme Montpensier had a formidable reputation. But evidently there was gossip, some of it loud enough to reach the ears of the local constabulary, to the effect that Mlle Carère had been murdered by her stepmother for her not inconsiderable fortune and her body disposed of in the garden.
‘It was a plausible story. No one who had had any dealings with Mme Montpensier liked her. She was very abrupt and autocratic in her attitude to the local tradesmen and made no effort to befriend the neighbours. Consequently, she was generally disliked. But what told against her the most was the fact that she was French and, moreover, a stepmother, which was sufficient proof for quite a number of people of her innate wickedness. Finally, the gossip reached such a pitch that the police despatched an inspector to the house to make inquiries, but he was sent away by Mme Montpensier with his tail between his legs or, as Mme Montpensier herself might have expressed it: avec sa queue entre ses jambes.
‘Although nothing more was said openly regarding Mlle Carère’s whereabouts, a question mark continued to hang over her fate.’
‘Did she herself not contact Mme Montpensier to let her know where she was living and to set her mind at rest?’ I asked.
‘Not a word,’ Holmes replied. ‘It was as if the young woman had vanished into thin air.’
‘So her stepmother could have murdered ’er and buried ’er body in the garden,’ Lestrade remarked with a satisfied air, as if the mystery had been finally solved and there was nothing more to be said about it.
‘Oh, come, Lestrade!’ I protested. ‘Is it as simple as that? Mme Montpensier is an elderly lady. Are you suggesting that she not only killed her stepdaughter, but managed to carry the body out of the house to the grave she had dug in the garden?’
Holmes sat back in his chair, smiling quietly to himself as Lestrade hastened to put forward his own explanation.
‘She could ’ave ’ad an accomplice,’ he remarked.
‘Who?’ I demanded. For some reason, I felt the whole discussion was unfair and, on that basis alone, I was eager to defend Mme Montpensier.
‘That other French woman.’
‘You mean the lady-companion, Mlle Benoit?’
‘Yes, that’s the one!’ Lestrade exclaimed, looking pleased with himself.
I was about to refute this suggestion on the grounds that there was no evidence to support such a theory when Holmes, who had been refilling his pipe and tamping down the tobacco as we spoke, broke off from this task to comment in a voice which brooked no argument, ‘Oh, no, Lestrade; you are quite wrong, my dear fellow. Mme Montpensier is innocent of the death of her stepdaughter. That fact is proved beyond doubt.’
If the situation had not been so serious, the effect on Lestrade would have been comical. His mouth fell open in a ridiculous gape of astonishment, and when he eventually recovered enough to speak, he could barely enunciat
e the words.
‘Innocent?’ he stuttered. ‘B-but I ’ave been asked to submit a report to my superior confirming ’er guilt and laying out my reasons for saying so.’
‘Then I suggest that you delay sending it for at least a week until I have gathered together the evidence to prove Mme Montpensier’s innocence.’
‘What evidence?’ Lestrade demanded belligerently. ‘I saw no evidence.’
‘Neither did I, Holmes,’ I interposed, a little reluctantly at finding myself for once on Lestrade’s side.
‘Some of it was not there, so it was quite understandable you failed to see it,’ Holmes remarked, smiling and puffing away contentedly at his pipe.
His behaviour was intended to be infuriating and Lestrade rose to the bait. Getting to his feet, the inspector stalked over to the door where he paused to declare, ‘I can’t be doin’ with your methods, Mr ’Olmes. If the evidence isn’t there, then as far as I’m concerned, it don’t exist. That’s all I’ve got to say.’ Drawing himself up to his full height, he remarked, not without a certain dignity, ‘So, I wish you goodnight, gentlemen!’
And with that, he left the room.
‘Oh, Holmes!’ I protested as we heard Lestrade’s footsteps loudly descending the stairs. ‘You have offended him deeply. I really do think you ought to apologise.’
‘All in good time, my dear fellow,’ Holmes replied, gently blowing smoke at the ceiling. ‘When I have gathered together the last pieces of the evidence, I shall be suitably contrite and the good inspector shall have his just rewards.’
Holmes left the house the following morning soon after breakfast to search out these remaining pieces of evidence, but what they were or where he proposed looking for them he refused to tell me on the grounds that it would spoil his coup de théâtre, which he was planning to spring on both Lestrade and myself later in the week.
And with that I had to be content, although, as the days went by, I found I was becoming more and more exasperated by his expression of smug satisfaction when he returned from these various fact-finding missions.
By Friday, however, his researches had evidently been completed, because at six o’clock I was instructed to take myself off and not to return until exactly half past seven. Evidently, Lestrade had received the same orders for, as I approached the house at the appointed time, the front door key in my hand, who should alight from a hansom cab but the inspector, looking as surprised at my presence as I was at his.
‘What’s all this about?’ he demanded suspiciously. ‘I’ve been told by Mr ’Olmes to call ’ere on the dot of ’alf past seven. Do you know why?’
‘I think it is to do with the dénouement of the case,’ I replied.
‘Dénouement? You mean the solution?’
‘Yes, I think it is his intention to tell us exactly what happened.’
‘Well, I blinkin’ well ’ope so,’ came Lestrade’s rejoinder as he followed me into the house and up the stairs.
The coup began as soon as I opened the door. Our workaday sitting-room had been transformed into a salle à manger fit for the most exclusive gentlemen’s club. It was illuminated by a bright fire burning on the hearth and by a dozen or so candles arranged along the mantelshelf, the bookshelves and on the table itself, which was laid with a white damask cloth, wine glasses and an opened bottle of wine that stood in an ice bucket, as well as enough cutlery for several courses, the precise contents of which were temporarily concealed under domed silver dish-covers to preserve their heat.
No sooner had the door closed behind us than the inner one to Holmes’ bedroom opened6 and Holmes himself entered, dressed like a head waiter, with a napkin over his arm. His manner was suitably solemn but, as he invited us to sit down, he could no longer maintain the role and a broad smile lit up his features.
‘Now, gentlemen,’ said he, ‘if you are ready, I shall serve you with a choice little supper, sent for specially from the Mouton Rouge which I trust will titillate your taste buds, if you will forgive the excess of alliteration. But, before we begin, I entreat you to make no mention of the present case until we have finished. Do I have your word?’
As Lestrade and I murmured our concurrence, Holmes, with all the panache of a stage magician, lifted the dish-covers with a flourish to reveal what lay under them and the meal began.
It was indeed a choice supper. It began with sole meunière followed by pheasant à la Normande served with a julienne of celery and potatoes, and lastly, poires belle-Hélène and a Brie at the very peak of perfection. The courses were accompanied by well-chilled bottles of Château Saint Jean des Graves, a very drinkable dry white Bordeaux.
When the meal was over and the dishes had been cleared from the table, Holmes passed round coffee, brandy and cigars to add the final touches and, when we were all served, produced a white envelope from his inner pocket which he solemnly placed before him. Its appearance together with the little tap he gave to his brandy glass with his coffee spoon announced that the serious business of the evening was about to commence.
‘Gentlemen,’ he began, rising to his feet, ‘I take great pleasure in declaring that the mystery of the missing belle fille, or Mme Montpensier’s stepdaughter, Mlle Carère, has been solved and we may now all rest easy in our beds.’
This statement was received with a mixture of emotions – astonishment tempered by relief on my part and, on Lestrade’s, ill-disguised suspicion.
‘If that is so, Mr ’Olmes,’ he replied, ‘then tell us ’oo the murderer is and put us out of our misery.’
‘There was no murder,’ he declared, a response which caused as much sensation as his opening remark.
‘No murder!’ Lestrade repeated, half rising from his chair. ‘Then ’oo wrote the letter and ’oose is the body buried in the grave?’
‘All in good time, Lestrade. If only you can contain your curiosity for a moment, I shall come to the letter shortly. As for the body, it was not that of Mlle Carère but of a young woman by the name of Lizzie Ward, who had died of pneumonia eighteen months earlier. To use the epithet that we so-called members of the respectable classes would use to protect ourselves from the less salubrious aspects of life today, she was an “unfortunate”; in short, a prostitute who had collapsed in the Whitechapel area and was taken to the London Hospital,7 where she died. A few days later her body was claimed by a man and a woman who came to the mortuary looking for their missing daughter. They were a respectable-looking, middle-aged couple dressed in black, but what made the mortuary attendant remember them in particular was the fact that, although the woman could speak a little English, they conversed between themselves in French.’
‘The Daudets!’ I exclaimed.
‘Undoubtedly,’ Holmes replied.
Lestrade looked unconvinced.
‘But if they were looking for their daughter, why did they go to the London ’ospital? Didn’t they report ’er missing to the police first?’ he protested.
‘My dear Inspector,’ Holmes said, with the long-suffering air of a schoolmaster trying to explain Euclid’s theorem to an innumerate pupil, ‘there was no daughter. What they were looking for was a body which roughly corresponded to Mlle Carère in age, height and so on.’
Understanding lit up Lestrade’s countenance like a slow dawn coming up over a horizon.
‘Oh, I see!’ he exclaimed. ‘So the body we found in the grave wasn’t M’zelle Career’s after all but this other woman’s?’
‘Quite,’ Holmes said crisply. ‘I had my doubts about its true identity the moment I saw it. The absence of shoes first roused my suspicions—’
‘But why were there no shoes?’ I interjected. ‘Judging by the remnants of clothing found in the grave, the dead woman was wearing a dress, not nightclothes. So was she barefooted when she died?’
‘Almost certainly yes. But that is not the point, Watson. There was a specific reason for making sure there were no shoes in the grave. You both saw the skeleton. Did either of you notice anything particular about
the joint to the big toe of the right foot?’ When both of us shook our heads, Holmes continued, ‘It was slightly deformed. A swelling had begun to form, probably a bunion, due no doubt to ill-fitting shoes. This deformity would have been evident in the right shoe, where the leather would have been distorted by the swelling. I think we may safely assume there was no such deformity on Mlle Carère’s right foot and that the Daudets were aware of this.
‘However, they were very anxious to make sure there was evidence to prove that the skeleton was that of Mlle Carère and they went to considerable trouble to supply it. I am referring, of course, to the silver locket which was found with the body. On the face of it, it was a clever ploy. As we already know, the locket was a birthday present to Mlle Carère from her father and she was known to wear it constantly. Therefore, the presence of a locket answering the description of Mlle Carère’s in the grave would, they thought, confirm that the body was that of Mlle Carère. The problem was finding a locket to match the original. Unfortunately, the substitute they placed there only strengthened my suspicions that the body was not hers.’
‘’Ow was that?’ Lestrade asked.
Reaching into his pocket, Holmes produced the little envelope containing the silver locket, which he carefully tipped out on to a napkin on the table.
‘It is a long story, I am afraid, which I will tell as succinctly as possible. The Daudets were familiar with the locket and knew it contained two likenesses of Mlle Carère’s parents that they would have to substitute with two other photographs.’
Secret Archives of Sherlock Holmes, The, The Page 16
