Sherlock Holmes (48 page)

Holmes frowned, saying, "I
think, Watson, that it would be beneficial if we were to speak to
Mr Stephen Grainger as he is clearly in awe of this Emerald
Spirit." With that, Holmes reached for his notebook and dashed off
a telegram.

It was a little after lunch that
Holmes received a reply and a grim smile appeared as he read it to
me. "Ah! It appears, Watson, that we are invited to call this
afternoon, at half past three, in St John's Wood. In the meantime,
I have a little reading to do of some notes I have exchanged for
the past year with Mr Houdini. He, like myself, is extremely
doubtful of the powers of these mediums."

I must admit that I was shocked.
I knew, of course, the fame of Harry Houdini as a stage magician
and escape artist after his arrival and performances in England
during the previous year. However, I was unaware of any contact
that Holmes had had with him.

Holmes settled back in his
leather armchair and smoked steadily whilst he read his
correspondence with Houdini. As there was nothing further to be
said, I picked up the latest copy of 'The Lancet' and followed
suit.

At quarter to three, Holmes
sprang from his chair saying, "Come along, Watson, we don't want to
be late. I want to hear more of the Emerald Spirit!" With that, he
raced towards the coat stand and was off down the stairs. I quickly
followed, as best as I could, and arrived breathless at his side in
Baker Street as he flagged down a cab.

As we climbed aboard, Holmes
called up to the driver, "Boundary Road, St. John's Wood, number
fifteen... as quick as you like, Cabbie!"

Hardly had I settled into the
seat when we were jolted backwards as the cabbie flicked his whip
onto the horse's rump. As we travelled along, I wondered what
Holmes expected to glean from this meeting with Stephen Grainger.
"Tell me, Holmes, as this poor man was laid low by monoxide, I fail
to see how he might be of use?"

Holmes smiled grimly and held up
a cautionary finger as he replied, "Ah, but it is not only he that
we are there to observe, it is the scene of the crime and the last
known whereabouts of the Emerald Spirit."

I was taken aback, asking,
"Surely, you do not believe in a supernatural event, Holmes?"

Holmes slowly shook his head.
"No, Watson. I deal only in facts. Fantasy is the realm of the weak
and gullible. However, I am curious as to the events as they have
been portrayed and keen to see how this Emerald Spirit might be
conjured."

He sat back, eyes half closed
and would say nothing more. The cab rattled over the cobbles of
Boundary Road and soon stopped outside number fifteen. As we
climbed down, the net curtain in the front window of the house
before us twitched slightly. Holmes turned to toss a shilling to
the cabbie and, as he did so, said, "It would appear that Mr
Grainger is also a curious fellow."

The house before us was one in a
terrace of red, London brick dwellings. Above each of the three
sash windows was a stone lintel which had been painted a cream
colour so that it resembled Portland stone. The front door was
half-glazed with leaded glass and recessed in a small, arched porch
way. Holmes rang the bell and we waited perhaps half a minute until
the door was opened. Before us stood a well-built man, aged, I
would say, in his late sixties. His iron grey hair grew in waves
and his broad face was framed by rather expansive mutton chop
whiskers. He held out his hand, asking, "Mr Holmes?"

Holmes stepped forward, nodded
and took the man's hand, saying, "Indeed, Mr Grainger, and this is
my friend, Doctor Watson, whom you have met in earlier days."
Stephen Grainger smiled and nodded in my direction. Grainger moved
back further into the house whilst apologising for not opening the
door more promptly and explaining that it was the maid’s day off.
We followed him down a short hallway and were ushered into the
front room that faced the street.

Grainger smiled and asked us to
sit. The room was plainly furnished with a sideboard and a settee
upon which Holmes and I both sat. On either side of the cast iron
and tiled fireplace were two other chairs with a gas light above
each one. A dark wood picture rail circled the room and from this
hung a print or two and a few family photographs. My eye was drawn
to one larger photograph which had a large, black ribbon draped
across one corner. This, I presumed, was a likeness of Elsie
Grainger.

Grainger sat with his hands in
his lap, facing us. "Mr Holmes, from your telegram I understand
that you have called with Doctor Watson to pay your condolences
and, it seems, to offer your services? In what way, I cannot
imagine."

I was about to speak but stopped
short as Holmes leant forwards. "Doctor Watson's aunt was deeply
attached to your late wife and was greatly moved by her passing.
She has asked me to investigate this tragedy." Holmes reached into
his waistcoat pocket and, from his card case, he handed Grainger
his card.

Grainger's eyebrows rose in
puzzlement as he read aloud, "Consulting detective? Are you then
attached to the police as they were here several times prior to the
inquest?"

Holmes held up his hand, saying,
"No, Mr Grainger. I am here at the request solely of Rachel Watson
as she is concerned both for your wellbeing and the memory of her
dear friend. I would be most grateful if you could tell me what
transpired on the day of the 'happening'."

Stephen Grainger sat back and
was clearly concerned, rubbing his chin and glancing somewhat
nervously at Holmes. "I'm not sure that this is proper, Mr Holmes.
Although I loved Elsie dearly, she was an unbeliever and I am of
the opinion that she was taken because of this. She had begun to be
very outspoken in her criticism of Dr Garton and our séances. She
had even threatened to write an article for the newspapers. Other
than that, there is little else to tell. All was said in the
coroner's court."

Holmes smiled, asking, "All I
would like to know is the happenings on that day, if you please? It
would help Rachel to understand better."

Grainger's eyes went from one to
the other of us. It seemed as though he had made a decision,
saying, "Very well. It was the 27th. We had arisen early as Elsie
wanted to tend to her small cottage garden at the rear of the house
as the weather had been unfavourable for the previous few days. We
spent the day doing errands and odd jobs: I had fixed a shelf in
the outhouse and Elsie had begun to knit a shawl for our youngest
grandchild. We had returned from our usual afternoon stroll and it
was after dinner as we sat here, in this room, that we began to
feel ill. I had lit the gas lights and started a fire as there was
a chill in the air. Elsie was sitting there, beneath the gas light
doing her knitting when she complained of a headache and all of a
sudden the whole room turned a bright green. I knew what it was
immediately...it was the Emerald Spirit... she was here! In our
house!"

I sat with my mouth open, hardly
daring to breathe. Holmes asked, "Was there any sound at all?"

Grainger shook his head. "No, Mr
Holmes, nothing except our wheezing. There was
her
smell in
the room, something almost metallic, just as it is at the séance. I
knew it was her, the Spirit, because of the emerald colour but I
couldn't see her form as I usually can.” Stephen Grainger paused
before continuing, “I know Elsie had vehemently expressed her views
of Doctor Garton and I had seen that he was indeed very angry… but
I did not think the spirit would take Elsie. I saw her fall, Mr
Holmes, but I could do nothing to help her for I then lost
consciousness myself and only awoke in hospital."

Holmes sat back, I could see
that he was deep in thought. Grainger was silent now but suddenly
Holmes bent over and started to cough. I looked at my friend in
some astonishment and concern as he suddenly croaked, "Water...a
glass of water, if you please?"

Grainger jumped to his feet and
hurried out of the room. As soon as Grainger had disappeared,
Holmes leapt up and was immediately on all fours, peering up the
chimney. Once satisfied, he quickly went to each of the gas lights
in turn and examined them and their mantles with his glass.
Plunging his hand into his pocket, he took out his handkerchief and
he quickly wiped it along the top of the picture rail. Folding it,
he replaced it in his pocket. Hearing footsteps in the hallway,
Holmes swiftly returned to his seat and again began to cough.

Grainger appeared with the water
and proffered the glass to Holmes. Holmes drained it, smiled and
nodded in thanks. "I'm sorry for the outburst of coughing, Mr
Grainger, a bit of dust, perhaps, I am quite sensitive to it."

Stephen Grainger looked a little
shocked and hurt by this remark. “Hardly dust, Mr Holmes, for Elsie
was most particular with her cleaning. Although we have a maid, she
is far from perfect. Elsie had cleaned this room herself from top
to bottom on the day of her passing.”

Holmes nodded, saying, “I meant
no disrespect Mr Grainger. I read that, at the inquest, you had
both been affected by monoxide poisoning but there was nothing
amiss with the chimney. Tell me, did the police examine your gas
lights?”

Grainger sat and thought for a
few moments before replying. “No, not that I am aware… but there
can be nothing wrong with them as they were inspected and checked
by the gas company the day before we fell ill.”

I saw Holmes straighten, like a
Pointer sensing its quarry, asking, “And was all found to be in
order?”

Stephen Grainger nodded. “Yes, I
believe so. Elsie and I had gone out for our afternoon stroll but,
according to the maid, a man from the Imperial Gas Company examined
the lamps and then asked if she might show him the gas supply and
the gas meter. He said there had been reports of some leakage in
the neighbourhood and he was checking all the houses in the street.
He even fitted a special device to verify that all was in
order.”

Holmes’ face had hardened and he
asked, “I wonder if you might show me the device as we have had
some similar problems at Baker Street.”

Grainger shook his head, saying,
“Unfortunately not, Mr Holmes. I can show you the meter but the
maid informs me that the device was removed by the gas company
whilst I was in hospital. I saw the device though, it seemed to me
to be some kind of mechanical mechanism as there was a hole for a
winding key.”

Holmes’ eyes now burned. Stephen
Grainger rose and took the lead before standing aside and opening a
small door which I took to be the entrance to the cellar head.
“Here, Mr Holmes, you can see where it was connected.”

Taking out his glass, Holmes
examined both the gas meter and the associated pipework most
carefully. From my position, I could see that his face had become
most stern but, as he turned to face our host, he smiled. “Thank
you, Mr Grainger. I will enquire of the gas company and ask them to
verify our supply also. We must delay you no further. Come along,
Watson.”

Holmes nodded to a clearly
bemused Stephen Grainger before hastily heading towards the front
door. I mumbled my goodbye before rushing after my friend.

When I caught up with Holmes, it
was clear that he was white with rage. “Murder, Watson! We are
dealing here with a man who has killed, with no conscience, in the
most evil of ways. We must return to Baker Street to confirm
it.”

Holmes would say no more in the
cab ride back to our rooms but sat brooding and hunched in the
corner of the cab. Once inside 221b, he immediately set about
arranging his glassware and chemicals. As I watched, he carefully
removed his folded handkerchief from his coat pocket and began an
analysis of its contents.

After some ten minutes, there
was a cry of triumph from my friend and suddenly our sitting room
was filled with an eerie green light.

Looking about me, I cried, “My
God, it is the Emerald Spirit!”

Holmes gave a hollow laugh,
saying, “Hardly that, Watson… but it is enough to convince those
willing to believe, of her presence. Watch whilst I conjure her
again!”

I moved closer and, as I did so,
Holmes took up a metal spatula and used it to pour a small amount
of fine, orange metallic powder into the flame of a Bunsen burner.
Immediately, the flame turned bright green and illuminated the
room.

Holmes turned towards me,
asking, “Think back to your university days, Watson. What metal
powder when burned would produce such a colour of flame?”

“Copper!” I immediately
cried.

Holmes beamed. “Quite so, but
there is more here than a simple illusion. You will recall that I
examined the chimney and the gas mantles? The chimney was clear of
obstruction, as confirmed by the coroner’s court. So, where might
the monoxide have come from?”

I thought for a moment, asking,
“Surely not the gas mantles?”

Holmes shook his head. “No, not
on their own… but I did observe a significant amount of blackening.
The sample of material that I took from the picture rail was most
enlightening. Elsie Grainger was fastidious in her cleaning regime.
We were told that she had cleaned the front room from ‘top to
bottom’ and that, no doubt, would have included the picture rail.
The sample of dust that I obtained in my handkerchief was
fascinating in its composition. It was largely carbon together with
a small amount of black copper oxide.”

I was initially confused by
this, asking, “So the copper and the carbon were somehow introduced
into the flame of the gas lights to produce the green flame and
carbon monoxide?”

Holmes nodded, saying,
“Precisely, Watson! It is the method of delivery that is both
deadly but, at the same time, intriguing. When I examined the gas
meter and the pipework, I found traces of both copper powder and
powdered charcoal. There was also evidence of the device being
attached at the point where the gas company uses a manometer to
ascertain the gas pressure.” Holmes’ lips were a thin line as he
reflected on this. “I am indeed anxious to find and examine this
device. In the meantime, I think that this Doctor Daniel Garton
requires our closest attention.”