‘’Oo of?’ Lestrade demanded.
‘That is not important, Inspector. They could have been of anybody. But there had to be evidence that the locket had contained two photographs. The obvious answer to this dilemma was to so badly damage the substitutes that they could no longer be recognised. So someone, probably M Daudet, defaced them and their settings, but in doing so, he failed to submit the locket itself to the same treatment, as it was imperative that it remained recognisable, and it was this that roused my suspicions. There was something else he also failed to remove, probably because they were so small they were not easily seen. These were the hallmarks on the locket itself. They comprised a leopard’s head, profiles of a lion and the Queen’s head and, most importantly, the capital letter “M” in Gothic style, all of which prove it was made of English silver, assayed in London and manufactured between the years 1887 and 1888, not in Paris in 1866 when Mlle Carère would have been a young girl.’ Catching sight of Lestrade’s doubtful expression, he continued, pushing the locket and the jeweller’s eyeglass across the table, ‘Would you like to examine them for yourself?’
Lestrade waved them away.
‘I’m not much good with them things,’ he said, indicating the lens, ‘so I’ll take your word for it. But what puzzles me about the ’ole business is why they did it in the first place.’
‘Ah, motive! A good point, Inspector!’ Holmes declared. ‘It was avarice, in my opinion the deadliest of the seven deadly sins and the motive behind a great deal of criminal behaviour. If you remember, Mme Daudet was a cousin to Mme Montpensier, a poor relation and apparently her only living one. No doubt Mme Montpensier had remembered her in her will but, if I have read the situation correctly, the legacy was probably a small one, reflecting the lady’s low social standing. Now, if Mme Montpensier was unfortunate enough to be hanged for her stepdaughter’s murder, her estate – and quite a considerable one, I would imagine – would pass to her next of kin, in short, to Mme Daudet.’
‘I can understand that,’ I interjected. ‘What I am puzzled by is the reason why Mme Daudet called on us the other evening.’
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
‘I am not absolutely sure myself. Women are such irrational creatures, likely to act on the smallest of whims, that I sometimes doubt if they themselves understand their own motives.8 She is a very cunning woman but not very intelligent. I think she was merely testing the water, so to speak, and using the opportunity to sow a few seeds of suspicion against Mme Montpensier. If you remember, Watson, she gave the impression that she supported the theory of Mlle Carère’s disappearance while at the same time throwing doubt on its veracity. I am convinced that, despite her own limited intellect, she was the brains behind the scheme. Daudet was a mere tool in her hands. It was he, of course, who dug the grave and buried Lizzie Ward’s body in it, after conveying it from the London Hospital to Hampstead.’
Lestrade, who had been listening to Holmes’ account with increasing impatience, broke in at this point.
‘That’s all very well, but ’ow did ’e manage it, Mr ’Olmes? You tell me that. I can’t go back to the Yard with some ’alf-baked theory. I need to have everything cut and dried.’
‘Then, Inspector, cut and dried it shall be. I made a few inquiries of the cabbies in the vicinity of the London Hospital and came across a Sidney Wells, whose memory – assisted, I must admit, with the judicious stimulus of half a crown and a few brown ales – recalled an occasion about eighteen months ago when a couple, who answered the description of the Daudets, summoned his growler9 and asked to be taken to Hampstead, together with their young niece who had fainted. She was wrapped up closely in a blanket, which no doubt the Daudets took with them for this very purpose, and was supported by the man and his wife. As requested, he dropped them off in a street, the name of which he could not recall, and the last sighting he had was the pair of them halfcarrying the young woman down a narrow alleyway that ran alongside a large house. I think we can safely assume it led to the garden behind Mme Montpensier’s residence where a grave already awaited its occupant.’
At this point he stopped and looked keenly from Lestrade to myself.
‘Well, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Are there any more questions?’
Questions? The inspector and I exchanged puzzled glances. What on earth was Holmes referring to?
‘The victim, gentlemen,’ my old friend reminded us gently.
‘The woman, Lizzie what’s-’er-name?’ Lestrade suggested.
‘No, no, no!’ Holmes protested. ‘I am referring to the other young lady, Mlle Carère.’
‘Oh, Holmes!’ I exclaimed, greatly mortified to think that Lestrade and I should have forgotten to consider the fate of that young woman about whom the inquiry had first arisen. ‘What happened to her?’
‘She is safe and well and living in New York with her husband,’ Holmes announced coolly.
‘’Usband?’
‘In New York?’
‘’Ow did you find that out?’
‘Who is he?’
Laughing, Holmes held up a hand to stem the flow.
‘One at a time, gentlemen, if you please!’ he protested. ‘Allow me to answer your questions in a proper sequence. Her husband is Henri Chevalier, an artist, whom she met at the Kensington School of Art where he was teaching drawing. How did I find out his name? Easily enough. From his signature at the bottom of that watercolour which was hanging in her bedroom in the Hampstead house. It was, by the way, a view of New York seen from the banks of the River Hudson, which provided me with the American connection.
‘As for finding out where she was, I sent a cable to my old friend Wilson Hargreaves of the New York Police Bureau10 and he most kindly discovered her whereabouts and the details of her marriage. It seems she met Chevalier at the art school, where they fell in love. It was a genuine coup de foudre, as the French would say, and they were planning to marry in New York after Henri Chevalier’s contract at the school expired. In fact, the letter which Mme Montpensier so high-handedly withheld was from Chevalier, giving Mme Carère details of the sailing times of ships from Liverpool to New York. Under the circumstances, they decided to hurry forward their plans, rather than allow Mlle Carère to stay a moment longer under Mme Montpensier’s roof. So they married in London and booked their passage immediately.
‘By the way, Mlle Carère, or Mme Chevalier as she was by then, did write to Mme Montpensier explaining the circumstances, a letter which I strongly suspect Mme Daudet intercepted and destroyed. I have received a cable from Mme Chevalier stating that, if need be, she will send a statement, witnessed by an attorney, should there be any legal repercussions.’
‘But what would the Daudets be charged with?’ I asked. ‘Not murder?’
‘Indeed no. Lizzie Ward died of natural causes and no actual fraud had been committed—’
To my surprise, it was Lestrade who spoke up with a confidence I had not expected of him.
‘According to civil law, there is an indictable offence, passed, if I remember right, in 1788, to do with preventing a dead body from ’aving a Christian burial; average sentence about two years.’
‘Well done, Lestrade!’ Holmes exclaimed with genuine admiration and, refilling our glasses, lifted his, adding, as he rose to his feet, ‘I think a toast is called for! To our excellent Inspector Lestrade!’
‘Hear! Hear!’ I exclaimed loudly in agreement.
As for Lestrade himself, I have rarely seen a man beam so broadly or blush so deeply as our old friend and colleague, the inspector, on that evening.
However, in our pleasure at the successful outcome to the inquiry and the good news of Mlle Carère’s survival and subsequent happy marriage, we had forgotten one other person whose fate we had failed to give a second thought to: that of Mme Montpensier. Much to my surprise, it was Holmes who reminded us; Holmes, whom in the past I have criticised for his lack of human warmth towards other people, especially women!
Neverthele
ss, he went to the trouble of contacting an old acquaintance of his in France through whom he later learned that Mme Montpensier had returned to Paris with Mlle Benoit as her companion where, using her considerable fortune left to her by her late husband, she had leased a large and comfortable apartment in the Champs-Élysées. There the two ladies shared a very pleasant life, going to the theatre and the opera or shopping in the Rue Rivoli.
I wish them both good luck.
As for Holmes, I realise I was too quick in jumping to the wrong conclusion. I should have given him the benefit of the doubt and for that I apologise most heartily.
1 During the Hound of the Baskervilles case, Sherlock Holmes telegraphed Inspector Lestrade asking him to help both him and Dr Watson with the investigation, as he was ‘the best of the professionals’. Among other instances, the inspector helped them to reconnoitre Merripit House, to rescue Mrs Stapleton and also to search Grimpen Moor for Roger Baskerville, aka Jack Stapleton. Dr John F. Watson.
2 A quotation from a magazine article entitled ‘The Book of Life’, written by Sherlock Holmes, which he deliberately left open on the breakfast table for Dr John Watson to read and which explained his theory of ‘the science of deduction and analysis’. In it, Sherlock Holmes claims he could deduce a man’s history and background on first acquaintance by means of observation of his clothes, his hands and so on. Vide: A Study in Scarlet. Dr John F. Watson.
3 Sherlock Holmes could speak French well enough to pass himself off as a French workman in the case of the disappearance in Lausanne of Lady Carfax. His maternal grandmother was the sister of Vernet, the French artist, a relationship which is referred to in ‘The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter’. Dr John F. Watson.
4 Dr Watson had served as a medical officer with the Berkshire regiment in Afghanistan. Wounded at the Battle of Maiwand in July 1880, he was invalided out of the army and retired on a pension in England. Dr John F. Watson.
5 The National Art Training School was situated in South Kensington. As well as preparing students who wished to teach art, it also held classes for members of the general public in drawing, painting and modelling, as well as other artistic accomplishments. The fees were five pounds a month for five whole days and the entrance fee was ten shillings. Male and female students were taught separately. Dr John F. Watson.
6 Sherlock Holmes’ bedroom was at the back of the house on the first floor (American second floor) and opened directly off the sitting-room. Dr John F. Watson.
7 The London Hospital was situated in the Mile End Road, Whitechapel, a poor working-class district, and mainly served patients living in the East End. Dr John F. Watson.
8 Sherlock Holmes could at times be very scathing about women. In ‘The Adventure of the Illustrious Client’, he declares that a woman’s heart and mind are ‘insoluble puzzles to the male’ and in ‘The Adventure of the Second Stain’ he is even more critical, stating that ‘their most trivial action may mean volumes, or their most extraordinary conduct may depend upon a hairpin or a curling-tongs’. Dr John F. Watson.
9 A ‘growler’ was the popular name for a four-wheeled cab which seated four passengers. Dr John F. Watson.
10 Wilson Hargreaves was an officer in the New York police force. He and Sherlock Holmes regularly exchanged information about criminals and their activities in their respective cities. Vide: ‘The Adventure of the Dancing Men’. Dr John F. Watson.
THE CASE OF THE WATCHFUL WAITER
Although I admit I can at times be careless over certain facts regarding my accounts of Holmes’ cases, in particular their dating, the day that this case began is firmly fixed in my mind as if burnt on to it in figures of fire.
It was the second Wednesday of April 1896 and the time was about half past nine in the morning. Holmes and I had finished breakfast and, once Mrs Hudson had cleared the table, we removed ourselves to the two armchairs on either side of the hearth where a small fire was burning, the weather being a little chilly, to read the newspapers at our leisure as was our custom.
Holmes seemed restless that morning and, laying his newspaper aside, had risen to his feet to prowl about the room like a cat that cannot settle, pausing at regular intervals to glance out of the windows. He could not be waiting for the morning post. That had been delivered before breakfast and he had read it over his bacon and eggs. There had been only a few letters which, after he had perused them, he had pushed to one side as if disappointed by their contents. In fact, the past ten days had been a particularly unproductive time for him. No one had written or called asking for his help with an investigation and consequently he was at a loose end, a very disturbing state of affairs to find himself in. Without the stimulus of an investigation to occupy his mind, he tended to become bored and might easily revert to that other unorthodox form of stimulation from which I had been trying to wean him for some time. Although I thought I had succeeded, with Holmes’ mercurial temperament it was impossible to be positive about anything. Depending on his mood, he could be maddeningly unpredictable at times.
With this thought in mind, I watched his movements with covert attention as he paced about the room, turning his head for what must have been the tenth time towards the windows.
‘Holmes—’ I began, but got no further than that.
‘I know what you are going to say, Watson,’ he stated in a dismissive tone, ‘but there is a purpose to my walking about in this fashion and also in my apparent obsession with the view from the windows. It is to make sure of the appearance of the young man who is watching the house so that, should the need arise, I can give the police a precise description of him.’
‘Watching the house?’ I repeated. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I am, my dear fellow! I would not make such a claim unless I were certain of the facts.’
‘Perhaps he is a client or one of your many admirers who has found out your address and is hoping to catch a glimpse of you.’
‘I think not,’ he retorted. ‘Clients or, come to that, admirers, do not keep vigil for a whole day nor go to the trouble of altering their appearance from time to time.’
‘In what way?’ I exclaimed, quite taken aback by this piece of information.
‘By discreetly changing his headgear, for example, or occasionally even his hair.’
‘Changing his hair!’ I repeated disbelievingly, starting up in my chair so that I might go closer to the window to catch a clearer view of this extraordinary individual. But Holmes waved me back with a peremptory gesture.
‘Stay where you are!’ he ordered. ‘Although the lace curtains are thick enough to hide a general view of the interior of the room, sudden movements can be seen through them and, if you approach too close to the glass, my peeping Tom will almost certainly be aware that he, too, is being watched and this might frighten him off. If you must catch a glimpse of him, I suggest you stand well back and concentrate on the curtain to your left. About halfway down, there is a small tear in the fabric through which you can get a better view. But take care not to stay there too long. He may not be able to see you in detail but he would certainly know if you were moving about or not.’
Following Holmes’ instructions, I carefully stepped to the left and, realigning my feet, found the tiny rent in the curtain, no longer than a man’s little finger, through which I was able to catch a glimpse of the street outside, unobstructed by the gauzy pattern of leaves and flowers that was woven into the lace.
Even so, the view was restricted and I saw only the hazy shape of a young man who gave the impression of a black-haired youth, slight of build, who was wearing dark clothes. I could not make out any details of his features but his stance suggested tension and an ominous pertinacity, although, had I been asked to explain this last impression, I would have been hard put to do so.
Behind my back, Holmes was saying, ‘I see you have found the little slit in the lace. I made that myself on purpose after our visitor first started watching the house last week. It makes my own observation of hi
m so much easier.’
‘You mean he has been here before?’ I cried, turning round to look at him in some alarm.
‘Yes; last Wednesday.’
‘But why?’
‘There lies the mystery,’ Holmes replied. ‘Now do come and sit down, my dear fellow. If you remain like that at the window you will not only get a crick in your neck but the man, whoever he is, may notice that you have been lurking there for some time and get suspicious. I do not want him to be frightened off until I have had the opportunity to discover who he is and what business has brought him here.’
As I resumed my seat by the fire, Holmes continued, ‘As I explained, I first noticed him last week purely by chance. I took him to be a reluctant client, nervous of approaching the house, but I soon realised I was wrong, for he remained there for at least three hours, pacing up and down and occasionally crossing over the street and resuming his vigil a few doors down. It was when he changed his wig that I became really intrigued and decided to let the situation develop to see what would happen.
‘After an hour, he set off down the street to number 217, where he disappeared briefly behind that large privet hedge by the gate, and when he reappeared he had fair hair and a tweed cap and what appeared to be a pair of eyeglasses. Later that afternoon, he reverted to his dark hair, although he had, in the meantime, abandoned the tweed cap and replaced it with a beret such as French workmen wear. He also seemed to have grown a small moustache, but as it was so difficult to distinguish details through the lace, I decided to cut that small eyehole after it began to get dark and he gave up the vigil.’
I listened to Holmes’ account in astonished silence until he had finished, when I broke in to exclaim, ‘But who is he, Holmes?’
‘I have no idea,’ he admitted with a shrug.
‘And what does he want here?’
Secret Archives of Sherlock Holmes, The, The Page 17
