Sherlock Holmes (8 page)

“Tell me, Watson. What do you see as being
the most common occupation amongst these patients?”

This was something that I had not considered.
I had simply read the names as a list for Holmes. It took me a
minute or two to read through them again to myself. After some
thought, I replied, “Well, there appear to be quite a few clerks
amongst them.”

“Precisely! I'll wager that the other
patients on the list have clerical work amongst their duties
too."

I was puzzled. “Do you think, then, that all
the patients came into contact with the toxin through their
employment? Surely not. For they come from such a diverse range of
trades.”

 “As a starting point, Watson, that is
all we have to go on. You have seen for yourself their differing
ages and the spread of their lodgings. I cannot conceive that they
will all have consumed the same food and drink. The only common
feature is the clerical nature of their employment. We must arrange
to visit their places of work."

The morning was at an end and, after a good
luncheon, we headed off on foot for the Central Police Station and
Inspector Thomas. On arrival, Holmes did not venture to explain his
deduction but simply requested transport. Inspector Thomas was good
enough to furnish us with the use of a pony and trap and a driver
who knew the streets of the city. Armed with the patient list and
their employers address, we set off at a good pace.

Our first port of call was at Gold's
pawnbrokers. The shop was in Lemon Street and hanging above the
shop was the traditional pawnbroker's sign of three gold balls. We
entered the shop and a small spring mounted bell attached to the
inside of the door announced our arrival. From the back of the shop
appeared a bespectacled, elderly man in shirtsleeves and wearing a
striped waistcoat that had clearly seen better days. On his
forehead he had a jeweler’s loupe.

 “Good afternoon, gentlemen. How may I
be of service?” The man had a trace of, perhaps, an Austrian accent
and he stood slightly bent, rather, I thought, like a heron.

Holmes stepped forward, saying, “Good
afternoon, Mr Gold. I have come from the hospital."

Immediately, the colour drained from the
man's face and I thought he was about to faint before us. The man
staggered, saying, “My God! Not my Sarah!”

Holmes moved
quickly to support the man's elbow, saying, “No, no... Sarah is
recovering well and is in safe hands.
I'm
sorry if I startled you, Mr Gold. "

Holmes guided
him to a chair in the body of the shop and, once seated,
Holmes proffered his card.

Mr Gold peered at it over his spectacles. His
eyes grew wide as he read it. “A detective?”

Holmes smiled and patted Mr Gold's arm. “Have
no fear, I am here at the request of the authorities to investigate
the illness that has affected your daughter and others. Tell me
about Sarah's work. Is she employed here in the shop?”

Mr Gold now seemed a little calmer as he
answered Holmes. “Why yes. She usually serves here, behind the
counter." Holmes moved round behind the counter where there were
several ledgers, an ink well and pen and a small pile of envelopes.
To one side was a jeweler’s loupe and a small pair of weighing
scales to weigh gold.

Mr Gold continued, “It is a small but busy
business. There is just she and I now after the death of my wife,
Miriam, last year. Sarah sells unredeemed pledges and also takes in
items against which money is lent. All the items taken in she
enters in these ledgers and then she places the item in an
envelope, seals it, and then writes the ledger entry number on the
outside." Mr Gold opened a drawer and inside were trays of
envelopes containing pledges, all neatly numbered.

Holmes picked up the ink well and sniffed the
contents. He then picked up one of the envelopes used for the
pledges, examined it and then sniffed that also. “Tell me, Mr Gold.
Do you smoke or take snuff?”

“Why no, Mr Holmes.”

Holmes frowned slightly before asking, “Does
your daughter?”

“Certainly not!” replied Mr Gold, in voice of
one who had been asked an impertinent question.

Holmes held up his hand. “Please do not take
offence, I have a good reason for asking. Thank you Mr Gold, you
have been immensely helpful." With a nod, Holmes and I left the
shop.

Climbing back into the waiting trap, we set
off for the next address on the list.

“Well, Holmes, that seemed a perfectly
ordinary sort of job. I could see no way that the girl could have
been exposed to a toxin other than she had been handed something
sharp and she had pricked her finger with it."

Holmes laughed, he seemed quite amused by the
thought. “A pledge of a diamond hat pin, dipped in curare,
perhaps?” asked Holmes with a raised eyebrow and twinkle in his
eye.

“Exactly!” I cried. Holmes’ only response was
a broad smile.

Our next stop was at the Telegraph Office.
Holmes wanted to see if there was any news from Mycroft but also to
enquire about young Trelorn, the telegram boy who had sadly died.
Holmes asked at the desk if there had been a telegram for him and,
after but a few moments, he was passed an envelope. Holmes quickly
opened it and read the contents. With a grim look on his face he
passed it to me.

The telegram was indeed from Mycroft and read
“PM received second letter with details for payment. Says will
affect major city in three days if not paid immediately.
Mycroft.”

Holmes’ face was now like granite. “We must
make haste and solve this, Watson." Holmes turned once more to the
Telegraph counter, asking, “Please give my card to the Head Clerk
and ask him if he would be so kind as to come to the counter." The
clerk took the card, nodded and disappeared.

Within a few moments, a rather rotund
gentleman with grey hair, a fine handlebar moustache and dressed in
a smart, three piece suit appeared. “Mr Holmes? I am George Shaw,
Head Clerk.”

 Holmes touched his hat, saying, “Good
morning, Mr Shaw. I am working with Inspector Thomas and would like
some information regarding the tragic death of Master Anthony
Trelorn."

Shaw nodded. “Come this way, gentlemen.”
leading us through the gap in the public counter, then through
frosted glass swing doors and into a small office. “Please, take a
seat."

 Holmes smiled, but refused. “Thank you,
but no. We seek knowledge of the boy and his duties.”

Shaw rubbed his cheek. “Well, he was a good
lad, always on time for work. He used to be our delivery boy for
telegrams and such." Shaw shook his head saying, “A great shame, he
fell ill here, you know. We haven't been able to replace him and
his bench is just as he left it. One of the more senior boys has
had to take on his duties temporarily.”

On hearing this, Holmes expression changed
and he was immediately alert. “Nobody has touched his work area you
say?” questioned Holmes.

“
Nobody wants
to
, Mr Holmes! The lad said he felt ill,
grabbed the table and keeled over. He was deathly pale, sweating
and racked with stomach pains. A doctor was immediately called, of
course, and the lad was taken to the hospital but was dead within
two hours."

“Please, show me his work place. This is
vitally important.” urged Holmes.

Mr Shaw escorted us from his office to a
small room off the main sorting office. “Here we are, sir.” said
Shaw, pointing to an empty bench.

Holmes took in the area with a series of
swift, enquiring looks, almost like a garden bird on the look-out
for a cat. He followed this by a slow examination of the area,
pausing to pick up items, examining them minutely before replacing
them exactly from where they had come.

After some ten minutes he had finished and,
turning to Shaw, asked, “Tell me, Mr Shaw, from where do you get
your supplies of materials for the telegrams?”

Shaw rubbed his chin. “Well, they mostly come
from Her Majesty’s Stationary Office, the telegram forms and such.
We sometimes have to buy in materials when we run short, things
like the odd ball of string. Of course, we do sometimes have
special commemorative telegram envelopes which come directly from
the manufacturers. This is the latest one which came in last week.”
Shaw picked up an envelope which had on the front a picture of a
steam locomotive emerging from a tunnel. “It celebrates the opening
of the world's first underground railway by The City and South
London Railway Company on the fourth of November. Here's some the
lad was using.” Shaw bent down and pulled out a part used box from
under the work bench.

Holmes bent down and carefully removed one.
“Would you mind if I took one of these?” asked Holmes, with a
slight smile.

“Not at all, Mr Holmes.” replied Shaw.

Holmes slipped the envelope into his coat
pocket, saying, “Well, we won't take up any more of your valuable
time, Mr Shaw. You have been most helpful."

Bidding Mr. Shaw farewell, we left the
telegraph office. As we mounted the trap I asked Holmes about the
envelope. “Have you been on the new underground railway, Holmes?
It’s wonderful! The line runs all the way from The City to
Stockwell.”

Holmes appeared to be completely unimpressed,
replying, “Really? It is neither the route of the railway nor the
commemorative aspect of the envelope that interests me, Watson.
Driver! Take us back to Inspector Thomas."

In minutes we had returned and I watched from
the trap as Holmes had the briefest of conversations with the
Inspector. Thomas saluted and hurried back into the police station.
We, in turn, were taken back to ‘The Swan’.

Once inside, we again settled into the small
sitting room. Holmes now had the look of a man inspired. He pulled
from his pocket the telegram envelope and also an envelope which I
had not seen before.

“Where is the second envelope from, Holmes?”
I asked.

Holmes smiled grimly. “I took the liberty of
acquiring one from Mr Gold's shop. I thought it may be of some
importance.” Holmes now sat back with his right forefinger against
his lips. Turning to me he asked, “Tell me, Watson. What do you
know of nicotine poisoning?"

I thought for a moment before replying,
“Well, I know very little really, only what I have read. Strangely
enough, there is a submission regarding nicotine poisoning in the
August edition of 'The Lancet' that I was reading on the
train.”

“Be a good fellow and fetch it will you?”
With that, I hurried upstairs to retrieve it from my Gladstone.

Flicking through the pages, I found the
article and proffered it to Holmes. “Here you are, Holmes, page
337. It is entitled, 'On a case of poisoning by nicotine' submitted
by Dr G. Stillingfleet Johnson."

“Capital! Watson." Holmes took the journal
and was silent for several minutes as he reviewed the article. His
face was now as granite. “It is as I thought. Examine the two
envelopes, Watson. See what you can discover."

I picked up each one in turn. “Well, they are
of similar size but not of similar paper. They are both gummed and
unused."

“Smell them man! Smell them!” yelled
Holmes.

Feeling more than a little hard done by, I
offered each one up to my nose. “Hmm, they both smell of new paper
and there is a faint smell of tobacco from the gum...good lord!
Nicotine!”

 “Precisely!” cried Holmes. “We have it,
Watson! We know how this fiend has murdered and know a way to foil
him.” Holmes slapped his palm down hard on the arm of his chair,
shouting, “Lord! I was so blind! I should have seized upon this
when I first examined that letter of Mycroft's. Look again at the
list of patients and their workplaces. You will see that each of
the victims will, in some way, have used envelopes."

I looked at the list and I could immediately
see the truth in what Holmes had said... although there did seem to
be some exceptions. “Yes, I see, but they don't all seem to fit,
Holmes. What about Helena Robbins, the seamstress and John
Trevithick, the paymaster's clerk?”

 Holmes had clearly considered this.
“Tell me, Watson. If you were to go into a haberdasher's for half a
dozen small shirt buttons, how do you think they may be wrapped for
you to carry them home?”

“Why, in an envelope!” I cried. “But what of
the paymaster's clerk?”

Holmes held up his forefinger and smiled.
“Ah! Since the closure of the mines extracting metals in the '70's,
the largest employers in this region have been the mines producing
china clay. Consider, Watson. How will those workers be paid?”
asked Holmes with a twinkle in his eye.

“Why, with coin and banknotes...Of course!
Contained in a wages envelope!”

Holmes nodded grimly. “Exactly! All these
poor souls have been poisoned by licking gummed envelopes where the
gum has been laced with a strong solution of nicotine. Perhaps
exposure to one or two a day may have caused some illness but
sealing many would also, I fear, seal their fate. I have instructed
Thomas to visit all the workplaces on the list and to seize any
stocks of envelopes that have been received during the last two
weeks. We must make haste, Watson, and try and track this poison
back to its source." Holmes rose from his chair and we were once
again off to a meeting with Inspector Thomas to glean what
information we could from his seizure of envelopes.

Arriving at the police station we were
immediately taken to a yard at the rear where constables were
unloading boxes from a four wheeled cart. Holmes, I could see, was
clearly pleased. “Ah, Inspector. You have a fine haul… and one that
has, no doubt, saved lives.”

The inspector nodded, saying, “Yes, thanks to
you, Mr Holmes.” Bending down he picked up one of the boxes,
saying, “Many of them appear to have come from this company in
London." He turned the box he was holding towards us. Upon it was
displayed the name, ‘Arthur Birchwood & Sons, Chiswick,
London.’