‘Indeed,’ said Holmes. ‘I see you are a clear thinker, Anderton, head for science or no. Tell me, what do you think happened to Thomas Kellway?’
‘Well, sir,’ Anderton said again. ‘Since you ask… I trust you won’t think the worse of me, but I’m not a believer in these psychical phenomena Sir Newnham’s Society’s been looking into. Sir Newnham’s entitled to his hobbies, of course, as all wealthy men are, and I’ve no objection to helping him out where I can, but… Well, it stands to reason, as I see it, that if such things really existed they’d have found some sign of it by now. Three years it’s been, sir, and scores of experiments they’ve run, and never a success.’
‘Unless this is the first such,’ I suggested.
‘Well, that’s as may be, sir,’ said Anderton dubiously, ‘but seeing as you’re asking for my opinion, it’s this. I think Mr Kellway would be marvellous doing conjuring tricks up on the stage, and I’d love to know how he did this one.’
Holmes nodded slowly. ‘I am inclined to agree,’ he said. ‘At present, though, my most pressing opinion is that I would very much like to speak to Mr Garforth and to Major Bradbury.’
The Daily Gazette
18th June 1889
England has welcomed back a loyal son in the person of Major Clement Bradbury, late of Calcutta, who returns from twenty-one years’ patriotic service in Her Majesty’s Eastern dominions with the Duke of Greyminster’s Lancers, the 1st Bangalore Pioneers and the Queen’s Own Fusiliers. He served under commanding officers including Lord Montrevor, General Pangthorpe of Afghan fame, and the noted big-game hunter Col. Sebastian Moran; and distinguished himself in campaigns in Lucknow, Sind and Bangalore, where he developed an enthusiastic interest in Eastern religion. He is a noted collector of the religious art and statuary of the subcontinent. The younger brother of the late Sir Adelbert Bradbury of North Devon, Maj. Bradbury resides when in London at the Oriental Club.
CHAPTER SIX
‘Well, it now seems obvious what happened,’ I observed to Holmes with some relief after Anderton left us. Garforth had not replied to the message Rhyne had sent to his studio, but Anderton had told us we would have our opportunity to meet with him and Bradbury that evening. Sir Newnham had invited the artist, Major Bradbury and various other members of the Society to join us for a light supper. Beech was to be there, as was Constantine Skinner, in deference to his equal involvement in investigating the case.
I continued, ‘Anderton didn’t look underneath the door himself – he just accepted Garforth’s word. Kellway must have been lying down there. While Anderton went to wake Sir Newnham, Garforth let him out.’
‘With Bradbury’s connivance?’ Holmes asked. ‘Well, perhaps. But we found it impossible to hide beneath the door with that lenticular window in place. You were fully visible when you tried.’
‘That was in daylight,’ I reminded him. ‘And Anderton isn’t a tall man. Kellway would have had nearly ten minutes in which to secrete himself somewhere, either in the laboratory or elsewhere in the house, and could have slipped out after the doors were unlocked for the day. That would explain why he insisted the room should be dark during the experiment,’ I added, in sudden inspiration. ‘With the bulb on, some of the light would have escaped beneath the crack, and Kellway’s body would have blocked it. Anderton might well have noticed that change.’
‘Your theory has the merit of being founded in everyday phenomena,’ Holmes admitted. ‘And yet I suspect a man of Kellway’s bulk would have been visible though the magnifying panel to a man of medium height, even in the dark. It must also be observed that by this hypothesis Kellway’s accomplices have made themselves rather conspicuous, as our suspicions have inevitably fallen on Bradbury and Garforth – despite the fact that it would not have taken two men to release Kellway, and Bradbury was not even supposed to be there at that time. Both would be taking a large and for one of them an unnecessary risk, for a notional third share of ten thousand pounds, which still lie unclaimed.’
‘Three-and-a-third thousand pounds is still a great deal of money,’ I pointed out.
‘That is true. Yet even so, there is the question of how they obtained a copy of the key,’ Holmes continued. ‘Despite what I said to Sir Newnham last night, that is not a trivial question. Aside from Sir Newnham himself, the most likely persons to have been able to lay hands on his copy would be Anderton and Talbot Rhyne. Anderton would also have been in the best position to extract the housekeeper’s keys from her room, though Mrs Catton is a formidable and unbending woman and I find it difficult to credit that she would be so lax. And indeed, if Anderton is involved, why is he not telling us a simple story that exonerates Garforth and Bradbury, rather than this rigmarole of cats and card-games which leaves room for the very doubts you were just expressing? And if the man inside the Speight household is Rhyne, since he was also the man responsible for drawing up the rota he could simply have arranged for himself and one of the others to stand a watch together, and not involved Anderton at all.’
‘Still,’ I suggested, ‘perhaps we should try pushing blankets or something up against that door to see how big a pile it takes to be seen from above. Perhaps Kellway is some sort of contortionist who can make himself seem thinner.’
I was aware that my explanation was once again straying away from the realms of the probable, although a circus performer was surely a less implausible prodigy than a translocating wizard.
‘I shall enlist the thinnest servant I can find,’ Holmes promised, ‘and essay the experiment again. Meanwhile, my dear fellow, I have an errand for you.’
It seemed I was to visit the address given on Kellway’s business card, to find out what I could from his living quarters. Rhyne, who had sent several messengers the previous day but had not attended the premises himself, offered to accompany me, and we hailed a cab in the High Street.
We agreed to stop for luncheon at a public house in Chiswick, where it took Rhyne very little time to work the conversation around to the case. ‘And how is Mr Holmes’s investigation progressing, Doctor?’ he asked me. ‘Has he discovered some cunning escape route from the room, or does he still suspect conspiracy? I presume he hasn’t yet come round to a supernatural view of the matter.’
Though Rhyne was an appealing young fellow, and seemed to me an honest one, I reasoned that, as Holmes had not altogether eliminated him from his list of suspects, I should not be too forthcoming about the progress of our thinking. I offered Holmes’s usual platitude about theorising with insufficient data, and Rhyne took the hint. For the remainder of the meal he talked with great enthusiasm about his work with Sir Newnham and the luck he had had in finding his present position. I felt that he was emphasising how much he would have had to lose from engaging in any such conspiracy, though whether from a position of innocence or guilt I was not a precise enough judge of human nature to say.
After lunch we found Kellway’s address. It proved to be a rather poky boarding house owned and managed by an elderly widow named Edna Rust.
‘Mr Kellway’s a peculiar-looking gentleman, that’s for sure,’ Mrs Rust told us over a cup of tea in her sitting room. ‘You don’t need eyes as good as mine to see that.’ I had already surmised from the narrow frown with which she had greeted us at the door that Kellway’s landlady was somewhat myopic. ‘But what I says is, a man can’t help his looks, not what with his alopecia and all, and I can’t complain of his habits, not really. He don’t have visitors, not mostly, not till these last few days, excepting as it’s that niece of his, and he’ll always take her out for a stroll instead of sitting with her in his room, because you know how tongues wag, seeing the sorts of minds some people have. Some gentlemen have “nieces” what aren’t nothing of the kind, as I should know, Dr Watson, after running boarding houses these thirty years, but not Mr Kellway, leastways not as I ever knew of.’
I had wondered whether it might take some persuasion to entice Kellway’s landlady to give an account of his habits. Evidently, thoug
h, discretion and reserve were not among Mrs Rust’s characteristic qualities.
‘So he’s mostly been a good tenant?’ Rhyne asked her.
She pursed her lips. ‘The worst I’ll say is as he comes and goes as he pleases, any hour of the day or night. But he’s always quiet and considerate with it, and he’s friendly and clean, and on time with the rent every Friday evening regular.’
‘How long has Mr Kellway been lodging with you?’ I asked.
‘Ten weeks this Monday just gone,’ she replied promptly. ‘He came to me with references from his last landlady in Sheffield. Very prettily wrote, they was,’ she added.
‘And when did you see him most recently?’ I asked.
‘Well now,’ she said, a little dubiously. ‘I’ve so many things to remember, running a place like this, I don’t know as I could tell you, not for sure. I remember he said something to me about a job he had to do this week. Sunday evening, that was, because Mr Brightlea was there with his prayer book, just ready to go out to service at the Baptist chapel. He’s my oldest tenant, Mr Brightlea is, and he never misses his evening service.’
‘A job?’ I echoed. ‘Did Kellway use that exact term?’ It would be an odd way to describe having an experiment conducted on oneself, I thought, but a criminal might well have applied it to a fraud.
‘Well, I couldn’t rightly say, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t taking it all down, if that’s what you mean. Come to think of it, I’m not sure Mr Brightlea was there. I might be getting mixed up with last Sunday.’
‘Is he away from home a lot?’ I wondered. ‘Mr Kellway, I mean.’
Mrs Rust was looking rather affronted now. ‘Well, I’m sure I couldn’t say. I don’t keep a diary of his comings and goings. Like I said already, he can keep his irregular hours for all I’m concerned. As long as he pays his rent, it’s all the same to me.’
Rhyne nodded sympathetically. ‘I suppose it works out rather nicely, in fact. I mean, I suppose there are days when you don’t have to do his laundry or make his breakfast or clean his room, but get your rent-money all the same.’
It would not have taken Holmes to deduce from the state of the sitting room that Mrs Rust was more lax about her cleaning duties than even poor eyesight could justify, but I could not help feeling that Rhyne’s comment was less than tactful. Seeing the landlady open her mouth for an indignant retort, I resorted to a compliment, which I have found is often the best way to gain the trust of witnesses of the fair sex.
With this stern, portly, elderly cockney widow, my choice of compliments was limited. ‘This is an excellent pot of tea, Mrs Rust,’ I ventured.
She sniffed. ‘I should think it might be, seeing as how I’ve been making it day in and day out these forty years and more.’ I thought I detected some slight mellowing in her manner, nonetheless.
She had some justification for being suspicious, as Rhyne and I had been deliberately vague about our intentions. This was partly because we had no official status in the case, there being in fact no official case at all. Had there been any clear evidence that a crime had taken place, Holmes would naturally have contacted our friends at Scotland Yard, but in the absence of such evidence he had respected Sir Newnham’s preference for keeping the matter within the purview of his household, the Society and those they had, wisely or otherwise, chosen to investigate the matter.
Mrs Rust peered narrowly at us now, first at me and then at Rhyne. ‘Are you his family too, then?’ she asked, calculatingly.
‘If I may confide in you, Mrs Rust,’ I said, ‘we’re all rather worried about him. He hasn’t been seen since early Tuesday morning, as far as we know. So if you could see your way to helping us out a little, we’d be very appreciative.’ Seeing her hesitation, I added, ‘We might even be able to arrange for his rent to be covered, perhaps for the next month, in case he’s somehow prevented from returning.’ I hoped that Sir Newnham would consider this an acceptable expense, for it would have made an unpleasant dent in my own pocket.
I could see her lips moving as she calculated the sum involved. ‘Well,’ she said, finally. ‘I suppose if you reckon as some harm might’ve come to the poor gentleman, I should do my best to help.’
‘I knew we could count on you,’ I told her warmly. ‘We would like to see Mr Kellway’s room, if you please. There might be some indication there of where he’s gone.’
She showed us up to Kellway’s room on the first floor, unlocking it with a key she kept on a stout ring clipped to her waist. The room was cramped, the bed jostling with the wardrobe on one side, while the washstand rubbed shoulders with a bureau close by at the other end. The windows were small and faced north. I had to persuade Mrs Rust to light the gas-lamp before we could examine the room properly.
It was, at least, tidier than the rest of the house, though the furniture and windowsill had not been well dusted. The bed was neatly made; the floor and other surfaces were free of clutter. An embroidered biblical text and a rudimentary print of a bucolic scene, both framed, were the room’s only extraneous decoration. Both of them spoke of Mrs Rust’s taste, or perhaps that of her late husband. The bureau seemed to double as a writing desk and dressing table, for it held both an inkstand and a mirror.
To do Mrs Rust justice, the room was neither draughty nor damp, and I had certainly seen far worse during my association with Holmes. ‘Do all the furnishings come with the room?’ I asked.
Mrs Rust peered around as if assessing whether Kellway had left behind anything she might sell. ‘He brought that looking-glass with him,’ she said finally.
I examined the mirror more closely. It was of reasonable size but inexpensive: an inelegant rectangle without a stand, clearly second-hand and much-handled, the metal peeling from the glass in places. I doubted Kellway’s landlady would get very much for it, were he not to return. I asked her for a moment’s privacy, and she tutted and withdrew, though I suspected she would remain in earshot.
I opened the drawers in the bureau and found little that seemed personal. There were handkerchiefs and other linens, a soap-dish, another clip of cards, blank sheets of writing paper with envelopes, a cheap pen, candles, a box of Speight’s Self-Igniting Wonder Matches (for the candles, I assumed, as there was no sign of tobacco and we had been told Kellway was a non-smoker). Aside from a copy of the schedule we had seen for the Society’s experiment on Kellway, the drawers’ contents could have belonged to anybody.
Looking at the wardrobe, Rhyne made similar observations. The state of the few shirts and the pair of trousers hanging there was consistent with the well-mended wear Holmes had observed in the clothing Kellway had left behind at Sir Newnham’s, but they had nothing else distinctive about them. A second jacket hung at the back, in slightly better condition than the one Kellway had worn. While shabby, its lining at least was intact.
In fact, I reflected, the lack of personality in the room was itself remarkable, given that Kellway had been described to us as a unique and forceful character. In particular, there were no books. To be sure there was no bookshelf to keep them on, but the windowsill, the bureau or even the top of the wardrobe would have served the purpose if called upon to do so. Even given the existence of public libraries, I wondered how a man would develop a philosophy, whether sincere or not, involving etheric vibrations and the planet Venus, without actually owning at least some books on the subject.
Nothing else in the room suggested esoteric or psychical interests, although I was not altogether sure what other form I might have expected them to take – a chalk pentacle beneath the rug, perhaps? I lifted it, justifying this to Rhyne on the somewhat more rational grounds that Kellway might have used it as a hiding-place for letters or other papers, but the floorboards beneath were unmarked and fixed firmly in place.
More for the sake of thoroughness than because I expected it to yield results, I lifted the inkstand. It revealed nothing but a circle of dust and an eyelash.
That left only the print and the sampler. The former was a
n inferior reproduction of a poor etching of a not-especially-scenic hill with a wooded crest and some sheep; the latter read ‘LOVE THY NEIGHBOUR’ – excellent advice for boardinghouse life, I had no doubt, but suggesting nothing by way of occult significance.
‘Rhyne,’ I said, ‘could you ask Mrs Rust if we may take these pictures down and check the frames for any hidden items?’
While he went to ask, I picked the eyelash up with a pair of tweezers and sealed it in one of Kellway’s envelopes, thanking providence for Mrs Rust’s indolence. I remembered Holmes remarking once that, should either of us be murdered at home, Mrs Hudson’s zealotry for household cleanliness would ensure that the police would never find a clue to the culprit’s identity. He had jocularly suggested to her that she might find employment in a freelance capacity among the criminal underworld, ridding crime scenes of their traces. While no crime had been committed in this room as far as I knew, the general point remained.
Rhyne and the landlady returned shortly, and we set about carefully removing the items from their frames. As I had by now expected, there was nothing unusual to be found behind them, and we replaced and rehung them with equal care.
‘Did Mr Kellway tell you he had alopecia, Mrs Rust, or was it a guess?’ I asked, as idly as I could.
She stared at me. ‘Stands to reason, don’t it? He’s got no hair at all. My auntie had a friend as was the same way, from when she was a little girl. It’s crueller for a woman than a man.’ I tried to probe further, but quickly realised that on this point Mrs Rust’s rather fallible memory once again had nothing to offer.
‘What work does Mr Kellway do?’ I asked her, as we reconvened for tea. ‘He mentioned having a particular job in progress, but I presume you established that he had a steady income when you took him on as a tenant?’
‘He’s a commercial traveller,’ she said, ‘and that’s why he’s away so much. But,’ she added slyly, ‘as you’re his family you’ll know that at least.’
Sherlock Holmes--The Vanishing Man Page 7
