She started, then leaned forward with an expression of fascination. “Mr. Holmes, how in the world did you know I came in haste, let alone from the Savoy?”
He smiled, but I saw his gaze still surveying her narrowly. “It was a matter of inference, but well founded. You came in a hansom, which is suited for travel within the city, but scarcely for a trip exceeding a hundred miles from Kimberley in Norfolk. Therefore, you were staying somewhere in the city. Your dress and other accoutrements say that you are of a family with considerable means—and presumably thus acquainted with many others of similar means—yet you came in a cab rather than in a carriage belonging to one of your friends or acquaintances; therefore you were not staying with relations or friends, but at a hotel.
“Now, there are only a few hotels in which it should be in any way appropriate for a young woman of means to reside while in London. It also happens that one unfortunate characteristic of a hansom is that it can, in the course of traversing the streets, deposit some amount of the grime of the street upon the clothing. As my friend Watson could tell you, I have made something of a study of the soils to be found in various neighborhoods, so when I see the lighter dirt of the Strand region overlaid successively with the mud from other neighborhoods leading to my own humble abode, it points unerringly to the Savoy as your starting point.” He nodded to Miss LeChance, indicating her hair. “As to your haste, your coiffure is superficially acceptable, but in three critical places is loose, and should have been more carefully pinned. Had you not been in considerable haste, you would have taken the few additional minutes to ensure its security.”
She smiled. “Well, Mr. Holmes, you certainly have the right of it.”
“Then please tell me what brings you here in such a hurry.”
As she opened her mouth to speak, there was a knock on the door. “Apologies, Mr. Holmes,” said Mrs. Hudson, “but there was a call for Dr. Watson from one of his patients, most urgent.”
“Quite all right. Go on, Watson,” Holmes said.
I made my way downstairs to the phone, but even as I spoke with old Cosgrove, who sounded quite ill indeed, I could not forget the quick look that Sherlock Holmes had given me as I departed. Our visitor had, as yet, said nothing of substance.
Yet in that glance I had seen grim concern second to few others he had ever given me.
• • •
“So tell me, Watson; what did you make of our visitor this morning?”
This instant sally, the moment I entered 221B, startled me. Holmes had not even greeted me in his accustomed fashion, nor inquired about the health of my patient, and I remonstrated upon these points immediately.
Holmes placed his pipe upon the table next to him and chuckled—although, once more, there was a strain in that laugh which was disquieting. “My apologies, Watson. I should not forget the courtesies. But I perceive from your step, and the hour of your return, that your patient is not in immediate danger, and we have passed the point of greetings, so I ask again what your impressions of Miss LeChance were.”
“As you wish, Holmes.” I finished hanging my coat on its peg, then seated myself across from him. “Though I had a brief enough encounter with her, so I believe you have much the advantage of me.”
“Nonetheless, indulge me.”
I took a few moments to arrange my thoughts. Holmes never made these inquiries without good reason, and even if that reason were merely to test my observations, I was resolved to make a good showing of it. “I would first say that you observed some elements of her appearance, carriage, or manner that you found of great interest, as you were already most concerned before she had ventured the slightest clue as to her reason for contacting you.”
“Ah, of course, Watson. You know me better than anyone—even, I daresay, my brother Mycroft. Say on.”
“Still, as to Anne LeChance herself, there were certain points of interest, as you might say. She is one of the most striking women I have ever seen; her hair and eyes would argue for Irish extraction, though her complexion and name would seem to me to indicate French ancestry.” I thought a moment more. “Her poise was also unusual; it seemed almost military to me, odd though that may sound. Perhaps I am imagining something there.”
“No, no; there was surely a directness and dynamism in her presence which is most unusual in a young woman. Any other observations, Watson?”
“Yes. There was something about her hands that seemed at odds with the remainder of her. They seemed rather larger, and perhaps stronger than I might have expected.” I thought back to that handshake, and suddenly remembered a detail that had not impressed itself upon my consciousness until then. “Holmes, I believe her hands were rather callused. Not like a workman’s, perhaps, but certainly they were not as soft as those of a woman of leisure.”
“Oh, capital, Watson. Fine observations indeed, and several of the points of interest I had myself observed.” Despite this quite earnest congratulatory statement, Holmes still looked concerned, with an air of abstraction about him. “Have you exhausted your catalog, then?”
I knew I was missing some crucial elements, but this was something I had long been accustomed to. “I think so…no, hold on. Her voice. There was something about the accent that I could not place. It did not seem to me to quite fit with her Norfolk origins. But other than that…” I shook my head.
“Another pertinent observation, nonetheless.” He picked up his pipe and puffed on it for a few moments.
“Well, Holmes? Will you now enlighten me as to what new problem you have encountered? What did she tell you?”
“It was not what she told me, Watson, but rather what she did not tell me. As you astutely observed, even before she began her story, my observations of Miss LeChance had provided me with some facts which were most intriguing, not to say disquieting, in nature. She is not, in my estimation, what she seems at all.”
“Are you saying that her name is not LeChance?”
“I am not entirely sure of that, although if I were to hazard a guess I would say that her name is something along those lines, if not precisely LeChance. I did look up the family and it is a name that was familiar to me, and should have been to you.” The look he gave me was hooded and unreadable.
I wracked my brain for several moments before revelation broke in upon me. “Of course! The affair of the three golden books! Our client worked for Sir William LeChance!” The memory had been hazy for a moment, almost like a tale told to me by someone else, but as I spoke the memory seemed to clarify, become sharper and filled with detail. How could I have forgotten that most curious and singular case? I wondered.
Holmes nodded, but his smile did not reach his eyes, and I felt a vague chill. “Yes. The LeChance family is quite prominent in Norfolk, and we both should have recalled it.”
“The tone of your voice—”
“Hold your thoughts on that, Watson. Allow me to continue. Miss LeChance presented something of an enigma as she entered. You noticed something of her dress, yes?”
“It seemed of a very fine make, and suited her well.”
“I was not remarking on the aesthetics, although I will agree that the young woman is startling in her appearance. That particular style of sleeve has been almost two years out of fashion, and while her figure was more than presentable, the current trend is the S-bend corset. A woman of her purported position would hardly be so far behind.” He frowned. “She also had a well-concealed but evident stiffness in motion that is more often seen in far younger women, those first accustoming themselves to wearing those articles of clothing.”
“That is indeed peculiar, Holmes. A young woman of her age and station will have been wearing her corsets for quite some time now.”
“Precisely my observation. Now, her accent, as you noted, was not that of Norfolk; in fact, while I have an extremely detailed knowledge of the dialects and accents of the entirety of the British Empire, I could not place her accent; it seemed to be something of a patchwork, a concatenation of sever
al accents which to an outside ear might seem superficially similar.”
“You mean, something that a foreigner attempting to imitate our speech might create?”
“Something like that, yes,” he agreed. “Although if there were hints of her true accent in her speech, I could not accurately place them. Perhaps something like a few of the Colonial accents, but my knowledge of American speech is sadly less than would be necessary to verify this vague surmise.”
During his reply, I went to the bookcase and found his copy of Burke’s. “Well, Holmes, if she is not who she appears, then surely she is taking some risk in the impersonation; Anne LeChance is a real member of the family, and would seem to be of the proper age, from this listing.”
“The question is somewhat murkier than that, Watson; I sent a telegram to an associate who lives in that area, and he was able to confirm various details of the young lady’s appearance as well as the fact that she had departed the estate a few days previous, presumably en route to London. I am reasonably certain that, if I were to bring our visitor thence, she would be recognized by all and sundry as Sir William’s second daughter.”
This intelligence brought with it considerable confusion; I had thought that Holmes was implying that our visitor was an impostor, but now it seemed he was certain she was not. “But then, Holmes, how do we account for these discrepancies?”
“That is indeed the problem, Watson.” I could detect a hint of the same dark melancholia which had previously afflicted him. “Her story itself was, if we make allowances for our newly expanded worldview, fairly straightforward.
“Within the grounds of her family’s estate lies an old ruin, a structure strikingly similar in some aspects to certain Greek and Roman temples, circular in design, with supporting columns. She said that it has been rumored to have been the site of ancient pagan rituals—Druidic or similar—in times long past. Now—unsurprisingly—there have been signs of unnatural activity associated with this ruin, sightings of strange lights or creatures.
“The impetus for her visit was that the phenomena went from the curious to the menacing, with one of the groundskeepers chased by something that mauled him rather severely before he managed to reach his own home. The police, of course, are ignoring the less-accepted elements of the tale and believe there is a wolf or escaped animal loose on the grounds.”
“If people are in danger, Holmes, then we must act—regardless of the identity of our visitor.”
“I agree, of course, Watson. Yet the most unusual aspects of our visitor, especially those in connection with what you called the affair of the golden books, require me to dig a bit more deeply into things before we depart. Would you assist me in bringing out my collection of criminal records—especially the older ones?”
“Older ones? Those that predate your work, Holmes?”
“Precisely. I would like them all here in the sitting-room. Once we have assembled all the resources on criminal cases, I beg that you leave me to myself, and tell Mrs. Hudson that I will not be receiving any callers, for a time.”
I found myself staring at him. “But Holmes, we already had two other cases that we agreed were—”
“Watson!” His voice was sharp. But immediately he took a breath and moderated his tone. “Watson, my old friend, I assure you I am completely aware of all of these circumstances. But will you trust me if I say to you that this is something of even greater importance?”
“Of course, Holmes. I trust you implicitly. What of Miss LeChance? Any additional instructions regarding her?”
“Yes. Leave word with Mrs. Hudson that if she calls again I will give her an appointment for next Tuesday—that is four days from now—and that I believe I will have a resolution to her problem at that time.”
I admit I stared at him in some disbelief for a moment. It was clear that he expected to spend the majority of that time studying books and files of old criminal cases, most of which were not even his own; yet he seemed quite serious about being able to resolve Anne LeChance’s mystery in four days. Knowing my friend, however, I banished my doubts and nodded. “As you say, Holmes.”
Assembling the materials Holmes wanted, and arranging them such that all were accessible in the sitting-room, took a few hours; we had our dinner about halfway through the task, and I bid Holmes goodbye at about eight thirty. After passing on his instructions to Mrs. Hudson, I stepped outside and prepared to hail a cab, when I saw an unmistakable figure alight not ten paces distant.
“Miss LeChance?” I said. “The hour is quite late for calling.”
“It is, Dr. Watson,” she agreed. “But I was hoping to speak further with Mr. Holmes. The matter is quite urgent.”
“Has there been another injury?”
“No,” she said, “but another frightening apparition was seen, which caused my younger brother to run into the house in such a state of fright that it took an hour to calm him; I have this from my mother, to whom I spoke on the telephone this evening.”
“Then,” I said, “I will ask if he will see you.”
I went upstairs again, but my conversation with Holmes was brief. Returning to Miss LeChance, I shook my head. “He is at work now,” I said, “and will see no one. He recommends that you tell your family, and anyone else who might walk the grounds, to stay in at night. He also says that you should return on Tuesday, at two thirty promptly, and he will have a resolution for your problem at that time.”
On her delicate features I could clearly see the interplay of skepticism and surprise. Yet…perhaps it was Holmes’s suspicions affecting me, but it seemed to me that the expressions were not precisely right. Or, to be more accurate, that they were too right. They were so exactly the expressions I expected that for a moment it felt almost as though I watched a superlative actress upon the stage, giving the reaction the audience required. But in a moment her features had shifted to mere concern and resignation. “Do you believe him?” she asked, and her voice was filled with a concern far greater than her face revealed.
“Miss LeChance, I have known Sherlock Holmes for many years now, and in all that time, I have never known him to lie about such things. If he says he will have an answer for you in four days’ time, then you may depend upon it.”
She studied me for an instant, and again I had a fleeting, strange impression, this one of sadness, or even of an inexplicable pity, that flickered across her face. Then she smiled and extended her hand. “Well, then, thank you, Dr. Watson,” she said. “You have a reputation as well, and so I will trust your judgment. You will see me at two thirty on Tuesday.”
“Two thirty,” I agreed, and saw her back into her hansom.
I stood there, irresolute, for several minutes. Her behavior, and that of Holmes, presented me with their own mysteries, and I once more felt an indefinable chill descend upon me. But I shook it off and finally set out for my own home. Tuesday would answer all of these questions, of that I was sure.
• • •
My return to 221B Baker Street, shortly before the scheduled meeting on Tuesday, came after a time both interminably long and startlingly short. I had many cases to attend to in that time, but in looking back that morning I could scarce recall their details; it did sometimes seem to me that my time spent with Holmes provided a vividness that other parts of my life lacked.
Perhaps, I thought as I let myself in, it was because while my work as a doctor could be a matter of life and death, it was a contest I controlled as much as any man could, while the mysteries Holmes and I investigated often pitted us against clever and malevolent antagonists who were beyond our control and who consciously sought to evade and even ruin us if they might.
As I had rather expected, I was greeted with a blue fog of shag tobacco smoke. Holmes sat in his favorite chair by the fireplace, with literally hundreds of papers scattered about. Some of these were old case accounts, others new, covered with numbers and—to me—inexplicable notations and graphs.
“Ah, Watson,” came the familiar dry voic
e. “I expected you about now.”
“You do realize, Holmes, that our rooms are in no condition to receive a young lady?”
He roused himself and glanced about. “I see what you mean. I daresay we could tidy up a bit.” While his voice and manner did not have the hopeless, broken demeanor of our earlier encounter, still I heard something grim indeed in his words.
“Have you solved the problem of Miss LeChance, Holmes?” I asked, as I threw open the windows to begin the airing-out.
“The problem of Miss LeChance?” His smile was, if anything, more disturbing than his tone. “Yes, I believe I have. Watson, what do you know of statistics?”
“Statistics?” I repeated, beginning to gather up the papers and organize them. “Statistics on what?”
“The science of statistics, Watson.”
“Ah. Little enough, I admit. I know that they were used for various political and military purposes, and many studies now done in the medical field attempt to use them to determine the efficacy of various treatments, but what little I knew of the mathematics is no longer with me.”
“It is a wonderful field, Watson. One takes many samples, performs the same operation many times, gathers a large amount of data, and then with the proper analysis of numbers arrives at a clear set of conclusions, complete with a probability of error and even the ability to determine correlations.” He waved at the newer papers. “I have been performing just such analyses on criminal cases over the years that I have good data upon.”
I felt my eyebrows rise in surprise. “And this is relevant to the case?”
“It has proven to be at the core of this and other related cases, Watson, though not—I fear—in a manner either of us could have expected or desired.” He considered me gravely as we completed straightening the room and preparing it for visitors. “In the time since you have known me—sixteen years, since eighteen hundred and eighty-three—how many cases of great interest have we seen?”
“How many?” I was not sure of the point of the question but thought on it seriously. “Well, I believe I have written accounts of no fewer than forty-nine cases, though not all have yet been published by Mr. Doyle, and within my files are others which we have not chosen to publish for various reasons. Excluding those you have told me of your time prior to our meeting…seventy or so, I should say.”
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