Sherlock Holmes Never Dies - Collection Three: New Sherlock Holmes Mysteries - Second Edition (Boxed Sets Book 3)

by Craig Stephen Copland

  She smiled quite radiantly at Holmes, and again gave him an affectionate hug and a kiss on his cheek. He blushed, in a way that I have seldom seen him to do and smiled as he watched her bustle off on her way.

  “Well now, Holmes,” I said. “Do we return to London this afternoon?”

  “I know you need to return, my dear doctor, to your patients, but I will stay for one more night. There is another small matter that I must look into.”

  He would reveal no more, and I returned later that afternoon to London.

  Chapter Seven

  The Colonel Returns from Canada

  AT THE END OF MY DAY ON MONDAY, I made haste to get back to Baker Street, anxious to catch up with Holmes. He was sitting and smoking on his clay pipe and smiled warmly as I entered. I knew him well enough to realize that there was a story behind the smile and urged him to make it known.

  “I must admit, my most honorable friend, that I had to be rid of you in order to do what I did. You are so utterly virtuous that you would have been helpless not to reveal the hand I was playing.”

  I said nothing but looked at him, not knowing whether to be baffled or offended.

  “I made a point,” he continued, “of meeting again with Percy the Panderer and, in carefully coded language, asked if I could engage the services of one of his guides.”

  He was right. I would not have stood for any such degenerate actions.

  “Of course, my dear friend,” he responded, as he often did by seeing what was in my mind, “I had no intention of doing anything to which you would object. It was merely part of my investigation. I asked if he could provide me with a lovely guide, and if she might begin her service in my hotel room that evening at ten o’clock. I also stipulated that I, having somewhat peculiar tastes, might need some special information to be provided. He assured me that such particular needs could be accommodated, but that these would come at a premium price. We settled on three pounds, with the understanding that I would be expected to pay an additional bonus if all was satisfactory. I agreed and then he added another stipulation. He said that, because of the need for confidentiality, I would have to agree that all lamps in the room be extinguished before the arrival of the guide, and that her information and guiding session be carried out in darkness. This request was not surprising, considering the nature of the activities that were being contemplated.

  “At precisely ten o’clock my door opened slightly and, having confirmed that the room was in darkness, a woman, clad in a long, hooded cloak, entered and closed the door behind her. I had no idea what she looked like but in the immortal wards of Plutarch, ‘when candles are out, all women are fair.’ She seated herself beside me on the sofa and began to speak to be in a very warm and affectionate manner, well-practiced, I was sure on many previous occasions. I explained that my special needs were for friendly and intimate conversation prior to any other services, and I proceeded, in my most subtle way, to attempt to elicit any information concerning her employment, family, home district, education and the like. She, quite brilliantly, deflected all of my questions and, in a most friendly fashion, turned my questions back on me. Her accent was from London, acquired and polished whilst there, but I could not detect even a hint of any other county. Finally, I just gave up and reached over to the side table where I had placed an electric lantern, borrowed, with some expense, from the hotel’s janitor.

  “I switched it on and it shone directly on her face. She looked at me in anger, uttered a rather nasty oath, and immediately departed.” Here he stopped, raised his eyebrows and gave a smile that bordered on a smirk. I asked the inevitable question.

  “Who was she? Did you recognize her?”

  “I did indeed. She was not exactly the young college-aged girl I had been promised. She was none other than Madam Tiffany Toller.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “The man was selling you his wife? That is horrendous.”

  “I believe that the correct name of the transaction would be ‘renting’ but nonetheless, that it exactly what was taking place. And, quite frankly, it left me quite relieved.”

  “I beg your pardon, Holmes? How could you possibly say that?”

  “It removed one possible alternative from consideration. I had feared that our two previous nurses had been subjected to a terrible fate and that Miss Violet was in danger of the same happening to her. That possible alternative explanation has now been removed. The means by which it was removed may have been unorthodox, but nevertheless effective.”

  The next two days passed without incident as I attended to my patients and Holmes went about his business. On Thursday evening we had just finished our supper when there was a ring on the bell from the door of 221B Baker Street.

  “A Colonel Spence Munro,” announced Mrs. Hudson.

  “What,” I wondered out loud, “is he doing here? I thought he had departed for Canada.”

  Holmes and I rose to welcome a tall, athletic looking man in his mid-forties. He had a powerful military bearing and sported a closely cropped mustache. He was neatly attired in a manner that suggested some wealth, as well as an expected concern by an officer for his appearance.

  Holmes welcomed him, bade him be seated and offered both brandy and tobacco, both of which he graciously declined. Holmes then bluntly asked the man to explain his presence.

  His handsome face broadened into a smile. “Sir, I simply could not restrain myself. I was compelled to come and find out if it was true that the beautiful and ever-resourceful Miss Violet Hunter had succeeded in her longstanding ambition of having the one and only Mr. Sherlock Holmes take her on as a client, dedicate himself to looking after and protecting her, and all without her having to pay a farthing for his trouble.” He paused and looked directly at Holmes.

  “Ah ha!” he shouted. “I can see by the look on your face that it is true. Well now, bully for Violet. Isn’t she just the most incredible young woman you have ever met, Mr. Holmes?”

  Holmes’s face had gone cold and he replied in his most icy manner. “I do not discuss the affairs of my clients with strangers, sir. Please explain yourself or leave.”

  The Colonel burst out in a pleasant laugh. “Oh, Mr. Holmes, I may be a stranger to you but I most certainly am not to Violet Hunter. I was her employer for two years while she nursed my dear wife, most lovingly and capably, I must say. She lived for all that time in my home, and I came to know her very well. So, no sir, I am no stranger. But before you begin to interrogate me, allow me to ask you a question. How did she start? Innocently seeking your advice, perhaps? Aha, I see your answer in your glare. She is a smart one, isn’t she? She knows that any accomplished man cannot resist being asking by a beautiful young woman for his wisdom. And how did she present herself? As an orphan? Aha, there it is again, sir. The answer is on your face. Your dear Violet is not an orphan, and furthermore has never been an orphan. Oh, and lest I forget, a God-fearing orphan who would never miss church on Sunday morning. Oh, she is so good at that one. In two years of living under my roof she attended church precisely four times, two of those were Christmas Eve, and the other two were Easter.”

  He sat back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and kept smiling. “Now please sir, take the anger out of your heart. She is your most devoted fan. She has read every story about you and can recite them by heart. She quite adores you, Mr. Holmes. She said many times that she was terribly eager to meet you and get to know you. And now she has. Well done, Violet.”

  Here Holmes cut the man off. “Colonel Munro, kindly cease and desist with your impugning the integrity of one of my clients and explain yourself and your reason for coming here.”

  “Of course, sir, you are entitled to that, most assuredly you are. I returned yesterday from Canada and made plans to visit with Miss Hunter. She had written to my family telling us of her new employment in Winchester, and I contacted the Black Swan Inn to arrange accommodations. They sent back their particulars and added that they were proud to have very recently accomm
odated the famous detective, Sherlock Holmes. As soon as I read their note back to me, I knew that Violet had accomplished her goal of securing the attention of England’s most famous detective.

  “Let me give you some data about Miss Hunter that you may not yet know. She was raised on a country estate outside of Peterborough, an only child whose father abandoned her and her mother when she was only fifteen and ran off to Australia with some young adventuress. She was devastated as she had been what you might call a daddy’s girl. Soon afterwards her mother remarried a widower who had very young children, and Violet was no longer welcome. They gave her enough money to take her training as a nurse, but since was sixteen years of age she has been on her own in the world, and truly believes herself to be orphaned.

  “As far as I can tell, she is looking to replace the love she lost from her father, and has become not only attracted to older gentleman, especially those with some reputation and resources, she has become exceptionally skilled at having them become attracted to her. Not by any terrible or criminal deceit and fraud. Not at all. She just behaves instinctively. If she said she needed your help and protection, then I will vouch that she truly believed that she did, but she uses any situation in which she finds herself to her advantage.

  “Let me see … did she leave you speechless with her smile? Give you a flirtatious kiss on the cheek? Hug you tightly so that you could feel the pressure of her breasts on your chest? Aha, your glare back at me says that she did them all. What else did she do?”

  Holmes said nothing and I thought he was about to explode. I, on the other hand, was absolutely intrigued and could not help answering.

  “Her jokes,” I said.

  Colonel Munro burst out laughing. “Oh yes. What man can resist a beautiful woman who makes him laugh? She must have a thousand jokes and stories in her memory, an immense repertoire, and she can recite them on a moment’s notice. She has had all of us in stitches time and time again. She even has quite a few about Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Oh, I can see that you heard them. Let me guess. I am sure she included the lemon riddle. She loves that one. Terribly clever. Did you both laugh at it?”

  Here Holmes rolled his eyeballs in my direction, leading Colonel Munro to look at me and laugh again. I still did not see the humor and changed the topic of the conversation back to Holmes.

  “Her hair,” I said.

  “Oh my, oh my,” sputtered the Colonel. “Did she have you remove the combs from her hair and let it tumble down all over you? Ah, Mr. Holmes, is that a blush I see on your face? I will wager you a fiver that you struggled to keep thoughts out of your head that you knew you should not be having, while she ran your fingers through her gorgeous locks. She is absolutely irresistible, is she not?”

  Having said this, he leaned forward and a serious look came across his face. “Mr. Holmes. Violet Hunter may be an unusual young woman, but she does not lie. If she has sought your protection, she is most likely in danger, and in need of your help. I assure you sir, that aside from my laughing about some aspects of your service to her, I am very relieved that you are looking after her interests.”

  Holmes said nothing. His face was still red with anger, and I imagined that if I were to wet my thumb and press it against his forehead it would sizzle with the heat. Since he was not about to respond to Colonel Munro, I took up the conversation, and was quite blunt in my approach.

  “You sir, have yet to explain your elevated interest in Miss Hunter. It is well beyond that of a former employer.”

  “Of course, it is,” he replied. “I have come back to England to ask her to marry me.

  I was hardly expecting that answer, and immediately shot back. “Kindly cut out the nonsense, sir. You are a married man.”

  “I was until two weeks ago, when my dear wife finally succumbed to her illness and died.”

  “And you are already prepared to ask another to be your wife? That, sir, is despicable.”

  “Doctor Watson, I would be the first to agree if my situation were of the usual sort for a widower. However, my wife, my children and I all lived for the past two years with the wasting away of her body. Her mind was still as sharp as it always was, and she was deeply concerned for the well-being of her children and her husband following her death. She was particularly concerned that her children have someone loving to look after them, especially knowing that a man in Her Majesty’s military forces must often be away from his family for long stretches. Three weeks ago, while I was on duty in the Citadel in Halifax, she called my children into her room. I have a boy who is nine, and a girl eleven, and they are both old enough to understand the situation they were facing. They knew that she would soon die but had accepted it, as had she. She told them that they needed another mother, and that I needed another wife as quickly as possible. She had seen that my children had adored Violet Hunter while she had been living with us, and that she had quite obviously loved and cared for them. The dear woman also had seen that I considered Violet to be an utterly fascinating and incredible young woman, even if, with great restraint, my actions toward her were honorable in every respect, hugs and hair and jokes not excepted. The three of them decided in my absence that I should do everything in my power to fall in love with Violet Hunter, which would not be difficult, and convince her to marry me, which, they all agreed, would be a far greater challenge given the difference in our ages. A week later my wife went to be with the Lord above and, once the few friends we had in Halifax had parted from the funeral, my children, bless their hearts, told me to pack my bags and get over here.

  “So here I am, gentlemen. Tomorrow morning, I will make my way to Winchester and do whatever I possibly can to woo the young woman and hope against hope that she will accept my offer and make me the happiest man on earth. Now, doctor, do you understand my situation? And if so, I trust you will not think ill of me.”

  The man’s situation was highly unusual, I had to admit, and I could quite understand why he was attracted to the beautiful, resourceful, and beguiling young woman. For a moment, I allowed my imagination to picture the chap lying on his back, gasping in ecstasy, while long luxurious locks of chestnut hair swayed across his bare torso. He would indeed be a very lucky man.

  He rose and bade us his good wishes. Holmes said nothing and nodded stiffly as I accompanied Colonel Munro to the door.

  Once he had departed, I returned to my chair across from Holmes.

  “Watson,” he said sharply. “Kindly spare me any of your comments. I am infuriated when I learn that my good intentions and time have been abused. Do not speak to me of this matter ever again.”

  Chapter Eight

  The Banker Returns

  from The City

  BY NOON ON SATURDAY he had yet to speak to me about anything at all. He had spent the entire previous night in chemical researches, stooping over a retort and test-tube, and was in no sweet temper. I was quite sure that I could hear the ulcer eating away at his stomach and feared that he would soon seek refuge in his seven percent solution. Miss Violet Hunter, so recently one on whom he bestowed his warm attention, had become a pariah.

  He was still sitting glumly, puffing on his pipe, and not uttering a word when an unexpected knock came to the door. Opening it and walking in unannounced was the large and impeccably dressed Alexander Holder, of Holder and Stevenson on Threadneedle Street. I had forgotten that Holmes had asked him for information concerning Mr. Jephro Rucastle, and felt concerned that he had wasted his time in coming to report on a case that Holmes had now dropped and wished not to be reminded of.

  Holmes rose and graciously welcomed our prestigious visitor. After offering Mr. Holder a coffee and some of Mrs. Hudson’s excellent buttered scones, he launched into his sincere apology for having brought Mr. Holder away from his family on a Saturday.

  Holder interrupted him. “Oh, now there, Mr. Holmes. You know that I am in your debt and can never repay your services to me. It is my honor to try to assist you. I was quite tickled to receive your note, and I have p
repared a full report.”

  Again Holmes waxed apologetic and explained that he was no longer concerned with the case, and that it had not really amounted to a case at all. To this the banker responded quietly but forcefully.

  “Then the best advice I can give you, Mr. Holmes, is that you had better become concerned with this case again and do so quite quickly.”

  Holmes said nothing but simply gestured to Mr. Holder to continue.

  “You inquired concerning a Mr. Jephro Rucastle and made mention of his assistant, Mr. Percy Toller, as well as the two young women who are now known as Mrs. Rucastle and Mrs. Toller, did you not?”

  “I did,” confirmed Holmes, his curiosity now piqued.

  “Jephro Rucastle,” said the banker, “was one of our senior managers and entrusted with the oversight of nearly two hundred portfolios. Ten years ago, a most embarrassing set of events took place in our bank. It was a miracle that the press did not get hold of it as it would have been devastating not only to our firm, but to the entire City. We learned through some of the women who were working for us that Messrs. Rucastle and Toller had, on the side, convinced their secretaries to enter into the vile practice of prostitution, and were pandering them to men, both single and married, throughout the City. It had become quite a lucrative enterprise and it was rumored that over one hundred men, some of them with high positions in finance and government, were making use of these disgusting opportunities. Countless reputations, marriages, support of children, and mutual ownership of property and portfolios were on the line. We confronted Rucastle and Toller and gave them a choice. They were to leave the firm, make honest women out of their secretaries by marrying them, to resign from the bank, and never seek employment again in the City. They complied without question. Rucastle’s first wife had died recently and Toller was a bachelor. They departed London and moved to Winchester to live on Rucastle’s small family estate. There have been rumors abounding that some of their former clients, men of the City, have become the victims of blackmail and extortion, but these could not be confirmed and were matters for Scotland Yard, not for a private bank. I thought and hoped that I had heard the last of them. However, even before your note arrived, I had decided to seek out your investigative services concerning them.”