The Big Book of Sherlock Holmes Stories (152 page)

“We shall leave now,” said Holmes. “I have one suggestion before we do so.”

“And what might that be?” asked Belknapp with a sneer that made it clear he was unlikely to take any suggestion made by a representative of Alfred Donaberry.

“Stay away from Mr. Donaberry,” said Holmes. “Stay far away.”

“A threat? You issue me a threat?” asked Belknapp, beginning to come around his desk, fists clenched.

“Let us say it is a warning,” said Holmes, standing his ground.

Belknapp was now in front of Holmes, his face pink with anger. I took a step forward to my friend's side. Holmes held up a hand to keep me back.

“You should learn to control your temper,” said Holmes. “In fact I would say it is imperative that you do so.”

I thought Belknapp was certainly about to strike Holmes but before he could do so, Holmes held his right hand up in front of the gem dealer's face.

“Were you to lose control,” Holmes said, “it is likely that you would be the one injured. Would you like to explain a swollen eye or lip
and a disheveled countenance to your expected client?”

Belknapp's fists were still tight but he hesitated.

“Good morning to you,” said Holmes, turning toward the door, “and remember my warning. Stay away from Alfred Donaberry.”

I followed Holmes out the door and down the stairs. The rain had stopped and the streets were wet under a cloudy sky that showed no promise of sun.

When we were on the move again, I looked at Holmes who sat frowning.

“I don't see how your warning will stop Belknapp from his plan to do away with Donaberry. While your reputation precedes you, he did not seem the kind who would be concerned about the consequences of any violence that might come to Donaberry.”

“I'm afraid you are right, Watson,” Holmes said with a sigh. “I'm afraid you are right.”

We were no more than five minutes from Baker Street when Holmes suddenly said, “We must stop the carriage.”

“Why?” I asked.

“No time to explain,” he said, rapping at the hatchway in the roof. “We must get to Alfred Donaberry at once. It is a matter of life or death.”

The driver opened the flap. Though the rain had now stopped, a spray from the roof hit me through the open portal. Holmes rose and spoke to the driver. I did not clearly hear what he said beyond Holmes's order and statement that there was a full pound extra in it if he rode like the wind.

He did. Holmes and I were jostled back and forth holding tightly to the carriage straps. The noise of the panting horse and the wheels against the uneven cobblestones made it difficult to understand Holmes who seemed angry with himself. I thought I heard him say, “The audacity, Watson. Not even to wait a day. To use me for a fool.”

“You think Belknapp is on his way to The Cadogan Hotel?” I asked.

“I'm convinced of it,” Holmes said. “Pray we are not too late.”

We arrived in, I am certain, record time. Holmes leaped out of the carriage before the horse had come to a complete halt.

“Wait,” I called to the driver, following Holmes past the doorman and into the hotel lobby.

As it turned out, we were too late.

The lobby was alive with people and two uniformed constables trying to keep them calm. Holmes moved through the crowd not worrying about who he might be elbowing out of the way.

“What has happened here?” Holmes demanded of a bushy mustached constable.

“Nothing you need concern yourself with, sir,” the constable said, paying no attention to us.

“This,” I said, “is Sherlock Holmes.”

The constable turned toward us and said, “Yes, so it is. How did you get here so fast? I know you have a reputation for…but this happened no more than five minutes ago.”

“This?” asked Holmes. “What is ‘this'?”

“Man been shot dead in room upstairs, Room 116 I think. We have a man up there with the shooter and we're waiting for someone to show up from the Yard. So…”

Holmes waited for no more. He moved past the constable who was guarding the steps with me in close pursuit. Holmes moved more rapidly up the stairs than did I. My old war wound allowed for limited speed, but I was right behind him when he made a turn at the first landing and headed for a young constable standing in front of a door, a pistol in his hand. The sight of a London constable holding a gun was something quite new to me.

“Where is he?” Holmes demanded.

The constable looked bewildered.

“Are you from the Yard?” the young man asked hopefully.

“We are well known at the Yard,” I said. “I'm a doctor. I expect an Inspector will be right behind us.”

“Is that the murder weapon?” Holmes asked.

“It is, sir,” the young man said, handing it to
me. “He gave it up without a word. He's just sitting in there now as you can see.”

I looked through the door. There was a man on his back in the middle of the floor, eyes open, a splay of blood on his white shirt. Another man sat at the edge of a sturdy armchair, head in hands.

The dead man was John Belknapp. The man in the chair was Alfred Donaberry.

“We are,” said Holmes, “too late.”

At the sound of Holmes's voice, Donaberry looked up. His eyes were red and teary. His mouth was open. A look of pale confusion covered his face.

“Mr. Holmes,” he said. “He came here just minutes ago. He had a gun. I don't…He gave no warning. He fired.”

Donaberry pointed toward the window. I could see that it was shattered.

“I grabbed at him and managed to partially wrest the gun away,” Donaberry went on. “We struggled. I thought he had shot me, but he backed away and…and fell as you see him now. My God, Mr. Holmes, I have killed a man.”

Holmes said nothing as I moved to Donaberry and called for the constable at the door to bring a glass of water. Had I my medical bag there were several sedatives I could have administered but barring that, I could only minister to his grief, horror, and confusion, which I did to the best of my limited ability.

Holmes had now moved to and sat on a wooden chair near a small table on which rested a washing bowl and pitcher. He had made a bridge of his fingers and placed the edge of their roof against his pursed lips.

I know not how many minutes passed with me trying to calm Donaberry but it could not have been many before Elspeth Belknapp came rushing into the room. Her eyes took in the horror of the scene and she collapsed weeping at the side of her dead husband.

“I…Elspeth, believe me it was an accident,” Donaberry said. “He came to…”

“We know why he came,” Inspector Lestrade's voice came from the open door.

Lestrade looked around the room. I retrieved the gun from my pocket and handed it to him.

“Mrs. Belknapp came to Scotland Yard,” said Lestrade, looking at Holmes, who showed no interest in his arrival or the distraught widow. “It seems Mr. Belknapp left a note which Mrs. Belknapp found no more than an hour ago. He told her he was going to see Alfred Donaberry and end his intrusion forever. Constable Owens has filled me in on what took place. We'll need a statement from Mr. Donaberry.”

“May I see the note, Inspector?” Holmes said.

Lestrade retrieved the missive from his pocket and handed it to Holmes who read it slowly and handed it back to the Inspector.

“Lady says her husband had quite a temper,” Lestrade said. “He owned several weapons, protection from gem thieves.”

“Yes,” said the kneeling widow. “I asked him repeatedly to keep the weapons out of our house, but he insisted that they were essential.”

“Temper, weapon, note, struggle,” said Lestrade. “I'd say Mr. Donaberry is fortunate to be alive.”

“Indeed,” said Holmes. “But that danger has not yet passed.”

Elspeth Belknapp turned to Holmes.

“I harbor no wishes of death for Alfred,” she said. “I have had enough loss, Mr. Holmes.”

“Well,” said Lestrade with a sigh. “That pretty much takes care of this unfortunate situation. We'll need a detailed statement from you, Mr. Donaberry, when you're able.”

Donaberry nodded.

“A very detailed statement,” said Holmes. “Mr. Donaberry, would you agree that my part of our agreement has been fulfilled albeit not as we discussed it?”

“What?” asked the bewildered man.

“You paid me two hundred pounds to keep John Belknapp from killing you. You are not dead. He is.”

“The money is yours,” said Donaberry with a wave of his hand.

“Thank you,” said Holmes. “Now, with that settled, we shall deal with the murder of John
Belknapp, a murder which I foresaw but failed to act upon with sufficient haste to save his life. The audacity of the murderer took me, I admit, by surprise. I'll not let such a thing to again transpire.”

“What the devil are you talking about, Holmes?” Lestrade said.

Holmes rose from his chair and looking from Elspeth Belknapp to Alfred Donaberry said, “These two have conspired to commit murder, which is bad enough, but what I find singularly outrageous is that they sought to use me to succeed in their enterprise.”

“Use you?” asked Donaberry. “Mr. Holmes, have you gone mad? I went to you for help. Belknapp tried to kill me.”

Holmes was shaking his head “no” even before Alfred Donaberry had finished.

“Can you prove this, Holmes?” Lestrade asked.

“Have I ever failed to do so in the past to your satisfaction?”

“Not that I recall,” said Lestrade.

“Good, then hear me,” said Holmes, pacing the floor. “First, I thought it oddly coincidental that Mrs. Belknapp should visit me only minutes before her former husband. Ships are notoriously late and occasionally early. Yet the two visits were proximate.”

“Which proves?” asked Lestrade.

“Nothing,” said Holmes. “I accepted it as mere coincidence. As I accepted Mrs. Belknapp's statements about the basic goodness of her former spouse. She said she wanted to protect her husband. I now believe she came for the sole purpose of describing her former husband as a kind and decent man who would hurt no one and her now dead husband as a man of potentially uncontrollable passion.”

“But that…” Lestrade began.

Holmes held up his hand and continued.

“And then Mr. Donaberry here arrived, rumpled, suitcase in hand showing us the finger from which he had supposedly removed his wedding ring three months earlier.”

“Supposedly?” asked Lestrade.

“Mr. Donaberry told Watson and me that he worked almost daily with his hands in subtropical heat and sun. His skin is, indeed, deeply tanned. In three months, one would expect that the mark of the removed ring, though it might linger somewhat, would be covered by the effects of the sun. The band of skin where the ring had been is completely white. The band has been removed for no more than a few days.”

“That's true,” I said, looking down at Donaberry's left hand.

“So, why lie? I asked myself,” Holmes went on, “and so allowed my prospective client to continue as I observed that his clothes were badly rumpled and that he was in a disheveled state.”

“I had hurried from the train, hadn't changed clothes since arriving in port yesterday,” Donaberry said.

“Yet,” said Holmes, “when I examined the contents of your suitcase when Dr. Watson led you out the rear of Mrs. Hudson's, I found everything neatly pressed and quite clean. You could have at least changed shirts and put on clean trousers in your travel to an appointment that meant life and death to you.”

“I was distraught,” said Donaberry.

“No doubt,” said Holmes. “But I think you wanted to give the impression that you had not yet had time to check into this hotel.”

“I had not,” Donaberry said, looking at me for support.

“I know,” said Holmes, “but neither had you rushed to see me from the train station. I asked the cabby where he had picked you up. You had hailed him from the front of the Strathmore Hotel which is at least three miles from the railway station.”

“I took a cab there and quarreled with the cabby who was taking advantage of my lack of familiarity with London,” said Donaberry. “I got out at the Strathmore and hailed another cab.”

“Possible,” said Holmes, “not plausible. My guess is that you were staying at the Strathmore, probably under an assumed name.”

“But why on earth would I want to kill Belknapp?” said Donaberry. “I was not jealous.”

“On that I agree,” said Holmes. “You were not. It was not jealousy that led you to murder. It was simple greed.”

“Greed?” asked Elspeth Belknapp, rising.

“Yes,” said Holmes. “While John Belknapp's offices may seem shabby, the firm is an old and respected one and he supplied to my satisfaction that he was not only solvent but had an estate of some value. It will not be difficult to determine how valuable that estate might be.”

“Not difficult at all,” said Lestrade.

“And Mr. Donaberry, it should not be difficult to determine your financial status,” Holmes went on. “You tell us you have a small fortune which Belknapp coveted. I doubt if that is the case.”

“We can check that too,” said Lestrade.

“Then, you counted on something that on the surface seemed to remove suspicion from you and your former wife. Mrs. Belknapp, even with tearful eyes, is a lovely young woman while you are, let us say, a man of less than handsome countenance. Belknapp, on the other hand, was decidedly younger than you and even as he lies there in death, he makes a handsome corpse.”

“This is absurd,” said Elspeth Belknapp.

“Indeed it is,” said Holmes, “but easy for Inspector Lestrade to check. A final point, how did John Belknapp know that you were staying at The Cadogan?”

“He must have followed me from your apartment,” said Donaberry.

“But you went out the rear,” said Holmes. “However, even if we give you the benefit of the doubt, Watson and I went immediately to Belknapp's office after you departed. We were probably on our way before you found a cab in the rain. And he was in his office when we arrived.”