by Mrs Hudson
‘Eh, Holmes? What’s that?’ Dr Watson, having escaped from his rather damp coat, had made haste to the tray of whisky and soda water that Mrs Hudson had positioned on the sideboard.
‘Come, Watson, demonstrate for us your powers of deduction!’
‘Very well, Holmes.’ He took up the case and proceeded to observe it rather glumly. ‘Well, it’s a nice piece of work. Silver obviously. Very good quality, I’d say. Had one a bit like it myself once. Lasted me for years until I left it on a train just outside West Wittering. Never saw it again after that.’
‘Indeed?’ Holmes smiled fondly. ‘Now if you could confine your musings to that particular cigarette case…’
‘Oh, yes. Of course… Well, it goes without saying that the silver on the lid is a bit worn, so I should say it’s been well-used. Now this inscription here…’ He peered more closely and rubbed at something with his thumb. ‘It seems to be someone’s initials. They’re quite worn. Is that a G and a D?’
Mr Holmes took the slim case off him with a smile. ‘What if I told you, Watson, that the owner of this case is a grey-haired man of above average height, left-handed, who travelled here from Whitehall this morning by carriage?’
Dr Watson snorted. ‘Why, then I should call you a fraud, Holmes. How could you possibly deduce all that from a simple cigarette case?’
Mr Holmes placed the case upon the mantelpiece and began to divest himself of his coat.
‘You know, Watson, sometimes I despair of you. Everything I have just told you is written there as plain as day. All you need to read it is some basic observation. That is the key, Watson! It is only by being alert to every detail that you can be sure of arriving at the truth.’
‘Really, Holmes,’ grunted Watson, sinking into his seat, then brightening somewhat as Mrs Hudson replenished his glass. ‘It’s only a cigarette case after all.’
‘Well, let’s see…’ Mr Holmes took it up again and sat down opposite his friend. ‘As you yourself point out, this object is of excellent quality, and we can see from the way the silver has worn that it has clearly seen service over a very substantial number of years. Now, it is unusual but not impossible that a gentleman might choose to carry a second-hand cigarette case. But it is much more likely that this item has aged in the service of one owner. And if that is the case, then it would be safe to assume that the gentleman is himself a man of advancing years. And so, of course, it is highly probable that his hair will be grey. And if you recall I found this item on a shelf that is a good twenty inches higher than the mantelpiece. For a fellow to idly place his cigarette case there, in a position awkwardly high for most men, suggests that he is a taller man than most.’
Mr Holmes paused for a moment while he focussed his attention on the lid of the case.
‘This is where there is most to observe, Watson. Note that the silver is worn very decidedly on one side. That would suggest that the owner is in the habit of holding it in a particular way. Now a right-handed man would keep this in a left-hand pocket and would reach for it thus.’ He mimed the action of reaching inside his jacket. ‘Then, still holding it in his right hand, he would release the catch with his left. But look at how the silver is worn. If I hold it in my right hand, the marks are in the wrong place. No, Watson, this case is habitually kept in a right-hand pocket and is retrieved with the left hand, which strongly suggests that the owner is left-handed.’
‘That certainly sounds simple enough, Holmes,’ Dr Watson nodded, apparently greatly restored by a long sip from his glass. ‘But what of the carriage from Whitehall? You can’t tell me that is somehow written on the fellow’s silverware!’
Holmes leaned back and surveyed his audience with an air of profound satisfaction.
‘Not on it, Watson, but in it. Here, look inside. A very rare brand of Turkish cigarette. I know of only two establishments which stock this brand. One is in Edinburgh, the other is Stieglitz & Brothers of Whitehall. Now the case is nearly full – you see that only one cigarette has been removed – so it has only recently been refilled, and refilled in the Whitehall store itself. How am I so sure? See, the tissue beneath is stamped with the Stieglitz name. Had the cigarettes been delivered to the gentleman’s home and the case refilled by one of his servants, the tissue would be plain or – more probably – missing altogether.’
‘Remarkable, Holmes! But the carriage… I simply can’t see…’
The great detective smiled.
‘A gentleman stops in Whitehall to have his cigarette case filled with his favourite brand. Yet he does not smoke the first cigarette until he reaches this room – the evidence is in the ashtray over there. Now it may be that he walked all the way from Whitehall with a full cigarette case, fighting temptation with every step. Yet it is more likely that only a short time elapsed between the filling of the case and the gentleman’s arrival here. And so, Watson, I do not think it is unreasonable to assume a carriage!’
‘I say, Holmes, you make it sound the easiest thing in the world!’
‘A simple thing, Watson, though it would perhaps be ingenuous to call it an easy one. Observation is the key. Observation!’ Mr Holmes had turned his attention to the inscription on the lid of the case. ‘These initials, Watson. You are correct that the first two are ‘G’ and ‘D’, but I believe there is a third. I suspect that our visitor’s surname begins with the letter ‘P’. He passed the object to Mrs Hudson who took it and, after glancing at it in the most cursory way, gave a little cough.
‘If you please, sir, I think you’ll find his name begins with a ‘B’.’
‘You think so, Mrs Hudson? I fear that the script is too faded for any certainty in the matter.’
‘That’s probably true, sir. But of course the gentleman gave me his name when he called. Mr Godwin Branchester, sir.’
I am ashamed to confess that the name of Godwin Branchester meant nothing to me. It was only later that the eminence and influence of the man was explained and I came to understand why, at the mention of his name, a startled silence fell. For although the name of Branchester was never widely known amongst the public at large, amongst the circles of government it was whispered in awe.
Godwin Branchester was at that time a man of seventy eight years, but still a powerful figure in every sense of the word. His family was not remarkable, but his magnificent legal brain, his razor-sharp wits and, most of all, his tremendous personal authority had made him the pre-eminent adviser to the government of the day, regardless of its political hue. For nearly forty years he had maintained that position. He had advised prime ministers, admirals, archbishops, Lord Chancellors and, it was whispered, was the most trusted adviser to the Queen herself. He had long since retired from any official position but it was said that no foreign policy was formed that he had not first commented on, no new measures introduced that had not first been placed before him.
‘Godwin Branchester? Here?’ Dr Watson sounded slightly hoarse, as if the very thought made him nervous.
‘Yes, sir.’ Only Mrs Hudson seemed unmoved. ‘I explained that your train was probably delayed by the snow, and he agreed that was almost certainly the case, there having been so little of it.’
‘Well done, Mrs Hudson.’ Mr Holmes reached into his pocket for his pipe. ‘Watson, we must be on our mettle for such a distinguished visitor. I suggest we spend the time between now and his return in a period of quiet contemplation so that our faculties are rested and our minds prepared.’
Whether a period of calm would have achieved this outcome was never to be tested because as Mr Holmes finished speaking there was a sharp knock at the front door. Dr Watson, who had just returned to the drinks tray, jumped visibly. Mr Holmes raised his eyebrows. And I, crouched in one corner and mopping at a pool of water left by the gentlemen’s boots, decided to crouch a little lower in the hope that my presence would not be noticed.
In the silence that followed the knock, Mr Holmes allowed himself a low laugh that spoke more of anticipation than of amusement.
‘Well, Watson, it seems we are to wrestle with the problem without the benefit of rest. But the great affairs of state will not wait on our convenience. Mrs Hudson, would you be so good as to show our caller straight up? There is no need to announce him. This is one visitor who needs no introduction.’
In the minute or so that followed Mrs Hudson’s departure, a tense and rather awkward silence fell on the study. Mr Holmes remained seated with his eyes closed. Dr Watson, having poured another drink, seemed suddenly unsure what to do with it and finally solved the problem by drinking it off in one gulp. Unnoticed by either, I made haste to make the room ready for our visitor, sweeping the coal dust from the hearth and wiping away further marks of melted snow that the two gentlemen had left on the carpet. Intent on finishing my task, I didn’t look up when I heard footsteps outside the door, nor when Mrs Hudson’s polite cough heralded the new arrival. It seems that neither of the two gentlemen had looked up either because the next words Mrs Hudson spoke took us all by surprise.
‘Mrs Smithers, sir,’ she announced calmly. ‘Mrs Smithers wishes to consult you, sir. It appears her son-in-law has vanished into thin air.’
Chapter III
A Disappearance In Ealing
Mrs Hudson’s announcement was met with some considerable consternation. Where we had anticipated a figure of magisterial gravity, there stood before us a rather corpulent woman of about fifty-five, dressed in an old-fashioned coat and a hat that, although maintaining the awkward air of Sunday best, had clearly in its time witnessed a great many Sundays. And if her appearance caused a surprise in the study at Baker Street, that surprise seemed nothing to the astonishment felt by our visitor at finding herself the focus of such direct and bemused scrutiny. She stood before us wringing her hands nervously and looking from Sherlock Holmes to Dr Watson and back again, until Dr Watson, remembering his manners, leapt to his feet.
‘Mrs Smithers, you say?’ he began, clearly still in some confusion. ‘Surely not from the Home Office, madam?’
The stout woman’s nervousness began to intensify into outright panic.
‘The Home Office, sir? No, sir, from Sefton Avenue. That’s in Ealing, sir.’
‘Mrs Smithers has come to consult Mr Holmes on a personal matter, sir.’ Mrs Hudson ushered the visitor smoothly to the centre of the room. ‘Her difficulty sounds most intriguing, sir, and your instructions were to bring the caller straight up . . . I am sure the matter she wishes to discuss will be of some interest to you gentlemen.’
Mr Holmes had raised himself to the edge of his chair upon Mrs Smithers’ arrival and he now rose to his feet and paced towards the window.
‘Quite right, Mrs Hudson. And under normal circumstances I’m sure we would be delighted to assist. But at this particular moment…’ He began to feel in his pockets for his pipe, as if his attention was already returning to matters of greater import.
‘You must excuse us, madam,’ Dr Watson continued. ‘Mr Holmes and I are expecting a most distinguished visitor. If you were to return at another time, perhaps in the New Year…’
Mrs Smithers nodded frantically and began to back away.
‘Yes, of course,’ she murmured. ‘No wish to be a trouble. Another time…’ But I could see that Mrs Hudson was having none of that. The housekeeper reached out a reassuring arm that had the effect of holding our visitor firmly on the edge of the rug. When she spoke, there was iron in her voice.
‘I fear, sir, that Mrs Smithers’ business is more pressing than that. And it is her belief that, in the whole of London, only Mr Holmes can assist her.’
‘Oh yes, sir,’ burst out Mrs Smithers eagerly. ‘I’ve heard so much about you, sir, and when I found that the police were right flummoxed by the whole thing, I said to my Lavinia “this is a case for Mr Sherlock Holmes, this is. Mark my words, he’s the man to sort this out,” I told her.’
Dr Watson appeared at a loss how to respond to this statement but Mr Holmes, who had now succeeded in lighting his pipe, appeared strangely moved by her words.
‘Now, Watson,’ he reproved, ‘let us not be too hasty in this. There is no doubt a lot of truth in what our visitor says.’ Here he favoured Mrs Smithers with a polite nod and motioned her vaguely towards a chair. ‘While we have a few moments I can see no harm in hearing her story. That the police are bewildered means nothing, of course. It may be something that we can clear up here and now, without the need for further investigation.’
He turned again to Mrs Smithers, who had remained standing, her hand now clamped tightly to Mrs Hudson’s arm.
‘Now, madam, if you would tell your tale clearly, confining yourself strictly to the facts, Dr Watson and I will endeavour to assist in any way we can. Mrs Hudson, since Mrs Smithers appears to find your presence reassuring, perhaps you would be so good as to remain with us?’
And with that, he returned to his seat, drew deeply on his pipe and closed his eyes again. Watson perched himself on the arm of his chair and smiled encouragingly.
‘Go ahead, Mrs Smithers. Whenever you’re ready…’
By now I had retreated to a corner of the room that was partially hidden by Dr Watson’s collection of primitive medical instruments. Realising that neither the gentleman nor Mrs Smithers were aware of my presence, I decided that I would be least in the way by sitting still and saying nothing.
Even when settled in a low chair, Mrs Smithers seemed uncertain where to begin, but eventually she took a deep breath and plunged in.
‘Well, sir,’ she began, ‘it all happened last Sunday. Sunday is the day when my daughter – my Lavinia, that is – likes to take tea in town. It’s a little thing of hers. I daresay you will think it a little piece of nonsense, and it’s certainly an extravagance, but in truth my Vinnie was spoiled something terrible by her father, and when he died she was that upset I’ve never liked to rein her in. She’s certainly grown up more lady-like than the daughter of a haberdasher has any right to be.’
Now that she’d begun, Mrs Smithers began to gather speed.
‘That’s why I was quite surprised when she married Phillimore, sir. He being only a clerk, and a quiet chap at that. Reserved, you’d call him. But she saw something in him and, to be fair to her, he’s always kept her as she likes to be kept, and he’s never said anything against indulging her little habits. Take Sunday afternoons, for instance. She likes to dress up so you wouldn’t know her from a duchess, and he takes her into town to have afternoon tea in a proper ’otel. Always somewhere fancy, it is.’
Throughout this speech, Mr Holmes’ eyes had remained tightly shut but now he opened one of them and fixed her with a baleful glare.
‘Very nice, I’m sure, Mrs Smithers,’ he opined. ‘However perhaps if we were to get back to this particular Sunday…’
‘Yes, sir. Well, this Sunday they were going off as normal. The three of us live together in Ealing, sir. Sefton Avenue – I don’t know if you know it. It’s just the three of us there. Vinnie and her husband haven’t had no children yet, sir, but of course there’s plenty of time for that. To be honest with you, sir, I’m not sure Lavinia is that bothered by it, though of course I’d like grandchildren for myself, sir.’
Sherlock Holmes stirred dangerously in his seat.
‘This particular Sunday, Mrs Smithers?’
‘Yes, sir. Well, sir, this Sunday they were going out at about half past two. I happened to be going out at the same time because I wanted to call on a cousin of mine who lives in Perivale. So the three of us left the house together, sir, which is a bit unusual. Anyway, we’d only gone about twenty steps when Phillimore began to fret about the weather. He said he thought there’d be showers.’
‘Eh?’ Dr Watson scratched his head. ‘But Sunday was a fine day, Mrs Smithers. Remember it well because we haven’t had many this winter. I almost went for a walk myself, if I remember rightly.’
‘That’s right, sir. That’s what I told Phillimore, but he seemed uneasy. Said he’d just step inside for an umbrella.�
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‘Very well, Mrs Smithers. So what happened then?’
‘That’s just it, sir. Nothing happened. We waited, but he didn’t come out again. And when we went in to look for him, well, you could have knocked me down with a feather! You see, he just wasn’t there! He couldn’t have left the house, sir, not without us noticing. Be he weren’t inside, neither. And we’ve never seen him since, sir. It’s as Mrs Hudson here said: he’s gone and vanished into thin air.’
*
Mrs Smithers’ story made Sherlock Holmes sit up sharply and open his eyes. Although he remained silent, and made a show of attending to his pipe, I could tell by the gleam in his eye that her narrative had engaged his interest. Even so, it was Dr Watson who spoke first, blinking slightly as if a crucial element of the tale had passed him by.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Smithers, I don’t quite see… Could your son-in-law not have left the house unnoticed by some back route?’
‘Oh, no, sir. I can be sure he did not.’
‘But you have a back door and rear windows, Mrs Smithers?’ Mr Holmes was still apparently absorbed in his pipe. ‘It must have been impossible for you to observe them from the street.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Mrs Smithers turned to him eagerly, her honest face full of confidence. ‘But the back door was locked from the inside and all the windows were latched. You see, when we couldn’t find Phillimore anywhere in the house I thought he must be playing some joke on us. I thought ‘he’s gone out the back.’ But he couldn’t have done. I took care to check all the windows, sir. Everything was locked from the inside.’
‘Remarkable!’ Dr Watson reached for his glass. ‘What do you make of it, Holmes?’
‘That remains to be seen, Watson.’ Mr Holmes removed his pipe and looked directly at our visitor. ‘You say, Mrs Smithers, that your daughter is a woman of expensive tastes?’
‘Well, sir, let’s just say that my Vinnie has always liked nice things.’
