by June Thomson
* Mrs Watson, née Mary Morstan, died between 1891 and 1894 when Mr Sherlock Holmes was absent from England during the Great Hiatus. The exact cause and date of her death are unknown. Vide: ‘The Adventure of the Empty House’. Dr John F. Watson.
† Dr John H. Watson bought the Queen Anne Street practice sometime between June 1902, the date of the Three Garridebs inquiry, when he was still living in Baker Street, and 3rd September of that same year when he had already left his old lodgings. Most commentators agree that this decision to leave Baker Street and return to medical practice was linked to his second marriage. Dr John F. Watson.
* There are several references to the Persian slipper Mr Sherlock Holmes used as a tobacco pouch. Vide among others: ‘The Adventure of the Empty House’ and ‘The Adventure of the Illustrious Client’. Dr John F. Watson.
* In ‘The Sign of Four,’ Miss Mary Morstan explains that she has come to consult Mr Sherlock Holmes about her father’s disappearance ‘because you once enabled my employer, Mrs Cecil Forrester, to unravel a little domestic complication’. Dr John F. Watson.
† When Mr Sherlock Holmes first left University, he set up as a private consulting detective in lodgings in Montague Street which is close to the British Museum. He moved to the rooms in Baker Street, which he shared with Dr John H. Watson, in the early 1880s, probably in 1881. Vide: ‘A Study in Scarlet’. Dr John F. Watson.
* Mr Sherlock Holmes was a master of disguise and, during his career, assumed several different identities, including a ‘drunken-looking groom’ (‘A Scandal in Bohemia’) and an elderly Italian priest (‘The Adventure of the Final Problem’). Dr John F. Watson.
* In ‘A Study in Scarlet,’ Mr Sherlock Holmes compares a man’s brain with ‘an empty attic’ which a fool fills with useless lumber but in which the skilled workman keeps only those tools ‘which may help him in doing his work, but of these he has a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order’. In ‘The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire,’ Mr John H. Watson refers to Mr Holmes’ ability to docket ‘any fresh information very quickly and accurately’. Dr John F. Watson.
† In ‘The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor,’ Mr Sherlock Holmes claims he read ‘nothing except the criminal news and the agony column’ in the newspapers while in ‘The Adventure of the Six Napoleons,’ Dr John H. Watson refers to the files of old daily newspapers with which ‘one of our lumber rooms was packed’ at 221B Baker Street. Dr John F. Watson.
* In ‘The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger,’ Mr Sherlock Holmes tells Eugenia Ronder, who he suspects is considering suicide: ‘Your life is not your own. Keep your hands off it.’ Dr John F. Watson.
† The English law making suicide, or attempted suicide a criminal offence was not repealed until 1961, long after other European countries. Dr John F. Watson.
* Mr Sherlock Holmes had a tin trunk in which he kept records and mementoes of the cases he had investigated. Vide: ‘The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual’. Dr John F. Watson.
* Dr John H. Watson makes this comment in ‘The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter’. Dr John F. Watson.
† In ‘A Scandal in Bohemia,’ Mr Sherlock Holmes, disguised as a ‘drunken-looking groom,’ followed Miss Irene Adler to St Monica’s church in the Edgware Road where he was asked to act as witness to her marriage to Mr Godfrey Norton, a lawyer. In payment for his services, Miss Adler gave him a sovereign which he wore on his watch-chain in ‘memory of the occasion’. Dr John F. Watson.
THE CASE OF THE BARTON WOOD MURDER
It was a Tuesday afternoon in September 1894 and, lunch being over, Holmes had retired from the table to stand at one of the windows, gazing down at the comings and goings of pedestrians and vehicles in the street below. He was in a restless mood that day. The case of the Norwood builder had not long been successfully concluded and, for the time being, he had no other investigations on hand.* But such is his mercurial nature that, instead of rejoicing in this temporary lull in his affairs, he fretted at the lack of activity to occupy his mind.
‘London has four million inhabitants. You would think at least one of them would have some pressing inquiry which needs investigating, if only into a servant who has absconded with the family’s silver teaspoons,’ he was complaining in a half-serious, half-humorous manner when he suddenly broke off to exclaim, ‘By jove, Watson, I believe we are in luck after all! A client has at this very moment appeared pat, like the fairy godmother in a pantomime, to grant me my wish.’
‘Where, Holmes?’ I asked, throwing aside the Daily Telegraph and hurrying to his side.
‘The portly gentleman over there,’ Holmes replied, pointing a little way up the street where a well-built man was indeed in the act of paying off the driver of a four-wheeler before turning away to glance anxiously up at the numbers on the nearby houses.
‘How can you be so certain he is a client?’ I inquired.
‘Gentlemen, dressed as he is for the City, do not usually arrive in Baker Street in such an obvious state of agitation unless something has occurred to cause them considerable distress. A woman in such a condition will cling to her reticule as if to a lifeline. A man will invariably mop his brow. There, Watson! What did I tell you? Off goes his hat and out comes the silk handkerchief!’
‘And there goes the front door bell,’ I added, amused at this small example of my old friend’s close observation of human behaviour.
A few moments later, the gentleman in question was ushered into our sitting-room. He was in his fifties and bore about him in his plump, rather florid features and well-nourished figure the unmistakable air of one used to the good things of life. It was also evident in his apparel, from the glossy sheen on his silk hat and the impeccable quality of his shirt front down to his highly polished black boots.
‘Mr Sherlock Holmes?’ said he.
Although in the short time it had taken to mount the stairs he had recovered some of his composure, his brow, despite the recent ministrations of his handkerchief, was still moist and his eyes, darting from one to the other of us, also betrayed a state of continuing anxiety.
‘I am Sherlock Holmes,’ my old friend assured him. ‘Pray sit down, Mr …’
‘Wilberforce. George Wilberforce,’ our visitor replied, sinking down into the armchair which Holmes had indicated.
‘And how may I help you?’ Holmes continued. ‘I perceive you have suffered some recent shock or some other untoward event which has occurred in the last few hours on which you need help. Am I right, sir? By the way, this is my colleague, Dr Watson. You may speak as frankly in front of him as you may before myself.’
‘Of course,’ Mr Wilberforce replied, nodding briefly in my direction before plunging into his account. ‘I do not know how you managed to deduce it is some recent occurrence which has distressed me, but you are perfectly correct, Mr Holmes. A close acquaintance of mine apparently disappeared earlier today and I am most anxious to trace his whereabouts.
‘I should explain that I am the senior partner of Wilberforce and Deakin of Lombard Street. You may have heard of us.’
‘The long-established City firm of solicitors?’
‘Quite so, Mr Holmes. The business was established by my grandfather in 1811. Many of our clients are wealthy people and part of our duties is to assist them with their financial affairs. Over the years, we have built up a close professional relationship with Mott and Co., the Cornhill bank, to whom we send those of our clients requiring sound advice on their investments. Ever since Mr Algernon Crosby was made one of the directors, I have always recommended him. He is an expert on the stock market and thoroughly reliable. Indeed, I have come to regard him more as a personal friend than a business acquaintance. We share the same club, Aston’s, and on occasions have met socially in the evening for dinner or a visit to the theatre, both of us being widowers.
‘I had arranged to meet Mr Crosby today for luncheon at our club in order to discuss the affairs of a particularly important client of mine, a titled gentleman whose exa
ct identity I should prefer not to reveal. Suffice it to say that he finds himself financially embarrassed and wishes to obtain a temporary bank loan until he can sell some of his assets.
‘Because of the pressing nature of the case, I was considerably surprised when Mr Crosby failed to keep the appointment. Nor had he sent any message to explain his absence, as I would have expected him to do had he been taken ill. He is usually so punctilious over such matters. I made inquiries at Mott’s bank where I was told he had not arrived that morning, neither had anyone received any message from him. I therefore took a cab to his house in Chelsea, only to be informed that he was not there either. However, his housekeeper told me that he had left that morning as usual at 8.30 a.m. apparently for the bank, and she was totally mystified as to where he might have gone. I was by now thoroughly alarmed at the situation and decided to come straight to you, Mr Holmes, to lay the facts before you.’
Holmes, who had listened to this account in silence, the tips of his long fingers pressed together, unclasped his hands and fixed his client with a steely gaze.
‘Some of the facts, Mr Wilberforce, but not all.’
‘I do not understand what you mean,’ Mr Wilberforce said stiffly, his florid features flushing even darker.
‘No, sir? Then allow me to explain. What you have told me is not the whole of the truth. You are deliberately withholding certain information. Unless you are prepared to tell me every last detail concerning Mr Crosby and his apparent disappearance then I shall have to decline the case. I am not prepared to undertake any inquiry unless I have the full confidence of my client.’
There was a moment’s silence in which Mr Wilberforce’s expression turned from annoyance to one of shamefaced embarrassment.
‘You are quite correct, Mr Holmes,’ he said at last, ‘although I cannot for the life of me imagine how you found it out.’
‘Quite simply, sir. In my experience, senior partners in a busy and highly regarded City law firm do not chase about London inquiring into the disappearance of a business colleague. They would send their confidential clerk. So, sir, what is it about Mr Crosby’s affairs which caused you such consternation that you felt the need not only to make your own inquiries but to ask me to look into the case on your behalf? He has, after all, been missing for only six hours, hardly long enough to warrant such obvious and immediate alarm.’
The perspiration had again broken out on Mr Wilberforce’s forehead and, taking out his silk handkerchief, he mopped his brow before replying.
‘I believe I may rely utterly on your discretion, Mr Holmes, as well as Dr Watson’s? I do not ask on my own account but Mr Crosby’s, for what I have to tell you was confided in me under terms of the greatest secrecy.’ Having received our assurances, Mr Wilberforce continued, ‘For the past two months, Mr Crosby has been receiving anonymous letters threatening his life, a situation which I only heard about six days ago.’
‘Did he show you any of these letters?’ Holmes inquired, sitting up to attention, his deep-set grey eyes kindling at this information.
‘Only one, Mr Holmes, the latest he had received. Both the envelope and the letter were written in capitals in red ink.’
‘What was the postmark?’
‘Guildford. I understood from Mr Crosby that all the letters were similarly franked. He had received seven altogether, sent at irregular intervals.’
‘What of the writing? Did you notice any peculiarities about it?’
‘It was awkwardly formed, possibly with the left hand, but both the spelling and punctuation were correct.’
‘So whoever had sent it is educated?’
‘That was certainly my impression.’
‘And the contents?’
‘I cannot recall them word for word. However, the general gist of them was to warn Mr Crosby that the writer was waiting his opportunity to murder him. He – at least I assumed it was a man advised him to be on his guard day and night. The final sentence was particularly threatening and for that reason I can recall it in detail. It read: “There is a special hell waiting for leeches such as you and it will give me the greatest satisfaction to see you suffering the torments of the damned.”’
‘The writer actually used the word “leech”?’
‘Oh, yes. It was one of the reasons why I took special note of it.’
‘Did Mr Crosby know who had sent the letters?’
‘No; he said he was totally at a loss as to the writer’s identity as well as his motives for threatening his life. I urged him to go to the police but he seemed reluctant to do so.’
‘Why?’
‘He did not tell me that either, sir,’ Mr Wilberforce replied, mopping his brow again. He seemed harassed by Holmes’ questions, coming so relentlessly one after the other.
‘But you hazarded a guess?’
‘I certainly formed an impression.’
‘Which was what?’
‘I hesitate to put it into words …’ Mr Wilberforce began.
‘Then allow me to do it for you,’ Holmes said coolly. ‘I suggest you suspected Mr Crosby had indeed guessed who the writer might be and why he had sent the letters. The word “leech” struck you as significant which was why you could recall that particular sentence so clearly. The epithet denotes a parasite, does it not? A creature which sucks the blood of its victim? When applied to a human being, it describes someone who has misappropriated someone else’s money, and is a term often used for blackmailers or moneylenders who charge an exorbitant amount of interest.’
‘I must protest, Mr Holmes!’ Mr Wilberforce exclaimed. ‘Mr Crosby is a man of the highest probity! As a banker …’
‘Exactly, sir! Mr Crosby is a banker and, while I have no doubt he has always acted honourably, as a banker he must, in the course of his career, have had occasion to refuse a loan to someone whose credit he considered unreliable, or to demand repayment of an overdraft. I am not for a moment suggesting that Mr Crosby took these decisions lightly or irresponsibly but nevertheless such actions could have led to the ruin of one of his bank’s clients. Did that not strike you as a possibility, Mr Wilberforce?’
‘Indeed it did, Mr Holmes,’ the man replied, looking considerably abashed. ‘’Pon my word, your powers of deduction amaze me, sir! It is as if you have read my very thoughts. However, I do not believe Mr Crosby had any particular former client in mind, only the suspicion that someone with whom he had had such dealings in the past and who might have harboured a grudge against him had, for reasons unknown to him, chosen to seek revenge at this particular time.
‘As a solicitor, I could be placed in a similar situation and can therefore sympathise with Mr Crosby’s dilemma. Like him, I have had on occasions to deal with a disgruntled client who has felt that I have not done my best by him and have therefore lost him his case. But, unlike him, I have not so far, thank God, been subjected to threats against my life. However, in such a situation, I think I, too, would hesitate to go to the police until I had more information to offer them about the writer’s identity. Mott’s bank is an old family firm with an excellent reputation. Any adverse publicity could well have harmed its good standing in the City. Now that all of this is in the open, I assume you will take the case, Mr Holmes. Where do you propose to start making inquiries? At Mott’s bank?’
‘No, not immediately although it may be necessary later. For the time being, I shall start at the place where Mr Crosby was last seen, his house in Chelsea. If I may have his address, Mr Wilberforce?’
‘Penrose Villa, Meredith Close.’
‘And the name of his housekeeper?’
‘Mrs Denton.’
‘A description of Mr Crosby will also be useful.’
‘He is a little taller than I, about five feet eight inches, but with much the same build. He is also grey-haired and clean-shaven. As he left his house this morning as if to go as usual to the City, I assume he would be wearing clothes very similar to mine.’
‘That is all I need to know,’ said Holm
es, rising to his feet and holding out his hand. ‘As soon as I have any definite news, I shall call on you at your office.’
We left soon after Mr Wilberforce had made his own departure and, having hailed a cab in Baker Street, we drove to Mr Crosby’s house in Chelsea, a handsome stucco villa set in a quiet, tree-lined cul-de-sac.
The housekeeper, Mrs Denton, a sensible-looking woman in her late fifties, answered the door to us and, when Holmes had given her our names and briefly explained our business, she showed us into her own small, comfortably furnished parlour at the rear of the house where she invited us to sit down.
‘I am glad you have come, Mr Holmes,’ she said with admirable directness, ‘for ever since Mr Wilberforce called on me earlier this afternoon to tell me Mr Crosby had not arrived at the bank and was apparently missing, I have been very anxious about him. He is so regular in his habits that it is quite unlike him to do anything out of his usual routine.’
‘I understand he left the house at eight thirty this morning?’
‘That is correct, sir.’
‘And what would he normally do after that?’
‘He would walk to King’s Road where he would take a cab to Mott’s bank in Cornhill.’
‘Tell me, was Mr Crosby still here when the first post arrived?’
‘Yes, sir. It came at a quarter to eight. I took the letters to him with his breakfast. There were three, one from his sister in Devon and one from an old friend of his who lives in Cambridge. You must not think I am prying, sir, but Mr Crosby is in regular correspondence with both of them and I am familiar with their handwriting. I did not recognise the writing on the third envelope.’
‘Was it addressed in red capital letters?’
Mrs Denton gave Holmes a shrewd look.
‘No it wasn’t, sir, although Mr Crosby has received letters in the past addressed in such a style. I have never asked who sent them – it was not my place to do so – but whenever they arrived Mr Crosby seemed very distressed. This letter was in longhand and was written in black ink.’
