A Farewell to Baker Street (11 page)

The house itself was bigger than I imagined. Originally a Jacobean hall, Trimingham had been remodelled into a fine Edwardian-style property with attractive carved stonework, large family rooms and interior wood panelling. It was clear that David Harker had spent a lot of money restoring the home.

We had no sooner climbed from Wattisfield's vehicle when Holmes sprang to his feet, magnifying glass in hand, and proceeded to do a quick tour of the outside of the manor, pausing for some minutes to examine the two window frames of the study which was easily recognised, being the only downstairs room with its curtains drawn. Some five minutes later, Holmes returned to the bemused Chief Inspector and I, evidently pleased with what he had discovered.

“Worth a check - but I would say with some confidence, Wattisfield, that no one entered the study from outside the house, which suggests that if Henshaw had been attacked, his assailant had certainly been in the room before he arrived or had entered as Henshaw began to withdraw the cash from the safe.”

After some introductions, we were admitted through the front door by the kindly Mrs Dawson. She had a warm, but commanding presence, and wore her dark grey hair up in a small bun. I imagined the housekeeper to be a resourceful woman perfectly suited to the role, although she looked as if the day's events had weighed heavily upon her mind. She was clearly tired and disconsolate and explained that her husband had returned, having been contacted by the police during the boarding school visit. In the circumstances, he had arranged for Gerald to stay overnight at the school. She went on to say that the gardener was currently tending to a broken fence at the back of the estate but could join us later if required.

Holmes looked particularly pleased to hear all of this and thanked her for the information. And as we continued to stand inside the large entrance hall, he asked a very direct question: “Mrs Dawson, what did you know about the Harker's financial affairs?”

The housekeeper seemed comfortable to answer openly, without hesitation. “Mr Harker was a cautious, but generous man, Mr Holmes. He was comfortable to spend money where it was required, on his family, the estate or any of the numerous charities he supported. He never talked to us about how he made his money and Reggie and I were never rude enough to ask him. He looked after us good and proper and made some specific provisions for us in his will. In short, we are to stay on in this house as paid employees until such a time as the Good Lord takes us.”

“That is most gratifying to hear, Mrs Dawson. And was it Mr Henshaw who read the will?” asked Holmes.

“Yes. It was about a week or so after we learned about the death of Mr and Mrs Harker. And it was the last time that any of us set foot inside Mr Harker's study. Mr Henshaw called the two of us together with young Gerald and arranged some chairs around the desk, before announcing that he would read through the Harker's will. Insensitive man, he was. The mere mention of Gerald's parents brought the boy to tears, but Mr Henshaw just carried on in his usual abrupt manner.”

“I see,” said Holmes, “and what were the provisions of the will?”

“Well, beyond the bits that concerned the two of us, they were really quite simple. All of the estate and the Harkers' possessions were to pass to Gerald when he reached the age of eighteen. Nothing could be sold until such a time and Mr Henshaw was to act as legal guardian to the boy. A sum of money had been set aside to pay for the upkeep of the manor, Gerald's education and the recruitment of a personal valet. In total, Mr Henshaw said the estate had been valued at £115,000 and an additional sum of £15,000 had been deposited to cover all of the provisions I just mentioned.”

“And do you know how the £15,000 has been deposited?” I asked for clarification.

“Yes. Mr Henshaw opened up a bank account for the money, which my husband and I control. It also receives deposits from some of the Harkers' other business interests and investments.”

“That is very helpful - thank you, Mrs Dawson,” Holmes said. The housekeeper looked relieved to be released from our scrutiny and headed off towards the back of the house, where I imagined the kitchen to be. The three of us then made our way across the large hall towards the open entrance of the study, the original door of which now lay propped up against a wall to the right. As we approached, a young police officer jumped up from a chair that had been placed to the left of the doorframe.

“PC Curtis, gentlemen,” said the officer, standing to attention. His eyes darted from face to face, before settling on the famous consulting detective. “Very happy to be at your service, Mr Holmes,” he said, “this is indeed an honour.”

“Nonsense, Curtis, it is to you that we owe a debt of thanks, for having the good sense to preserve the scene.” Holmes flashed a smile at Wattisfield, who remained impassive throughout the whole exchange. “And perhaps you could aid us further in our enquiries, young fellow?”

“Certainly, sir, in what way can I assist?”

“I would be grateful if you could take a short walk from the kitchen door and along the gravel path that leads off towards the back of the estate. I have already observed that the path ends at the edge of a small wood. We have been told by Mrs Dawson that beyond the copse her husband is in the process of mending a broken wooden fence. I would like you to find where he is working and locate a suitable point nearby where you can scale the fence, without causing any further damage. Within a short distance of that point you should see something which will confirm my working hypothesis.”

Curtis seemed very relaxed about the task outlined, but Wattisfield shifted uneasily beside me. “Mr Holmes, I think the lad needs a little more direction than that. What exactly is he likely to see, assuming this theory of yours to be correct?”

A flash of irritation flickered across Holmes' face. “A car, Chief Inspector. To be precise, Barrington Henshaw's abandoned car. Did it not strike you as odd that having arrived at the house today, his car was nowhere to be seen? Clearly he did not walk from his home, so his car must be somewhere. We learnt earlier that Henshaw had come into the house through the kitchen door, not the main entrance. It is my contention that he had hoped to enter the house without being seen by any of its occupants. He already knew that Mr Dawson and Gerald had gone off by taxi to the school and would have been able to watch from outside the house as Mrs Dawson served breakfast to Heinz Descartes. I have little doubt that he was heading for the study, in order to transfer the cash that was in the safe into his briefcase. I fully expect Curtis to find his car close to the broken boundary fence. I am working on the basis that that is where he climbed the fence, inadvertently breaking it as he did so.”

“I see,” replied Wattisfield. “Very clever, Mr Holmes. Let's hope you are right.” He turned smartly towards PC Curtis. “Well, off you go lad - at the double!”

Curtis left us swiftly, heading off in the direction taken earlier by Mrs Dawson. The three of us then continued into the study. As Wattisfield and I stood back, just within the doorway, Holmes got to work. With his trusty magnifying glass he made a complete reconnaissance of the high-ceilinged study, pulling the curtains open slightly at one point to let in a shaft of sunlight, which immediately illuminated the open safe on the wall. From where I stood, I could see a considerable pile of banknotes still within the safe, each bundle wrapped around its middle by a white paper sheath. I imagined this was how they had been dispensed by the bank that had arranged for the sizeable cash withdrawal.

As Holmes went about his work, diligently and wholly preoccupied with the task at hand, my attention shifted towards the large fireplace in which Henshaw's body had been found. There was little doubt where the corpse had laid, a bright red halo of congealed blood still staining the hearth. The mantelpiece against which he had fallen was made of Portland stone and appeared to be more decorative than functional. Positioned along it were a few photographs of what I took to be David Harker and his family.

Wattisfield followed my gaze and took it as a cue, opening his blue pocket book and sharing with us a few more details about the family based on his enquiries earlier that day.

“I'm told that Harker was originally from Maldon in Essex, where his family had built up a large and prosperous fishing business. But the family suffered such a string of accidents and deaths, that when David was born in 1897, he became, alongside his father, the only other surviving male member of the Harker family. When his parents both died in 1912, the fifteen-year-old inherited what remained of the fishing empire - two trawlers in desperate need of an overhaul. At the outbreak of the war, he sold the boats and became one of the first men in the town to volunteer, joining a company in the third battalion of The Essex Regiment in late 1915 and travelling out to France less than three months later.”

“So, a fairly humble background for a man who went on to accumulate such a fortune,” I observed.

“It would appear so, Dr Watson, and certainly not the sort of background that might have equipped him to pick up the trade of diamond dealing after the war. Mrs Dawson said that Harker had once confided in her that until he made the first trip to Trimingham Manor after its purchase, he had not once returned to England since first setting off from his East Anglian home to fight on the Western Front. She had also never known Harker to receive any family guests at the manor.”

“Do you know anything further about his war record, Chief Inspector?”

“Well, only what I could glean from a telephone call to an old service colleague at the War Office. He told me that Harker's Essex battalion had entered the fighting during the Battle of the Somme in 1916, and that his company had all but been wiped out - in fact, only four soldiers had survived the campaign. These were a Sergeant Geoff Simkins and three privates, one of whom was Harker. All had been decorated for their bravery. Under Simkins' supervision, the four had then been assigned to a motorised division and engaged in running supplies to the front. This they had continued to do until May 1917, when their two trucks had been attacked and destroyed by the Germans near Bullecourt, on the journey to Arras in France. Despite the attack, Simkins and Harker had apparently survived, but were destined never to see each other again. And here we have another mystery...”

As busy as he was, crawling around on the carpet and checking desk drawers, I had imagined Holmes to be completely oblivious to anything Wattisfield had relayed to this point. But on hearing the word ‘mystery', Holmes piped up suddenly. “My dear Chief Inspector, I fear you may have been unduly economical in sharing with us earlier the key facts of this case. I'm at once intrigued to hear more of these revelations about Harker's past as I believe them to be central to the events which unfolded here this very morning. Please enlighten us...”

“Well, the official records show that Sergeant Simpkins was taken by the Germans and held as a prisoner of war until 1918, after which he returned home to his wife and family in Harwich - two stone lighter, but otherwise fit and healthy. In comparison, one day after the fateful attack near Bullecourt, Private David Harker had presented himself to a Major Williams at the British position near Arras. He sketched out what had happened during the attack and explained that he was the only survivor from his original company. He indicated that he had walked from Bullecourt to reach Arras. After a couple of days recuperating, Harker had joined a new company and was moved to Piave in Italy. From that point on, he fought in a variety of places until spring 1918, when he was transferred back to the Western Front. Just before the war ended, he was engaged in moving food and other supplies into Holland. The records suggest that Harker had never returned from Holland.”

I could not at this juncture see any great mystery in what the Chief Inspector had outlined, and voiced my concern. He was quick to respond.

“Agreed - in itself, there appears to be nothing particularly remarkable about Harker's movements. The real mystery lies not with that, but in the observations that Simkins made on his release from the prisoner of war camp in 1918. In providing the War Office with a full account of his capture, he was adamant that he had been the only survivor of the German attack. He said that he had seen Harker die that day and when shown a photograph of the Essex man - taken at the time Harker was transferred to his new company in Italy - Simkins was on record as saying that the person in the photograph bore no resemblance whatsoever to the soldier he had served with.”

“Very enlightening,” said Holmes. “And what did the authorities do as a result of this claim?”

“Nothing, apparently. Harker had already been demobbed at that point and was residing somewhere in Holland. I imagine the War Office had more pressing concerns to deal with, so let the matter rest there.”

“And what of Harker after the war? Do you have anything more you can tell us about that?”

Wattisfield flicked forward in his notebook. “Only a few bits and pieces which Mr and Mrs Dawson shared with me, based on their conversations with the Harkers. They understood that after the war, Harker had continued to live in the Dutch town of Giethoorn in the Eastern Province of Overrijssel, where he married a local girl called Katerina. In 1920, their son Gerald was born. Harker was said to be well regarded in the town, making a modest living as a gem dealer. A year later, he bought Trimingham Manor and moved the family to England. He continued to have a number of business ventures in Holland and beyond, including a controlling interest in some diamond mines in South Africa. Earlier this year, he and Katerina had been invited to tour one of the newly-opened mines in the Archaean Witwatersrand Basin. As they did so, a pocket of trapped gas was ignited by a miner's candle lamp and the explosion ripped through the mineshaft, trapping the touring party and killing the couple. As the appointed executor of their legal and financial affairs, Barrington Henshaw took charge of everything from that point on.”