The Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes (9 page)

‘My dear fellow, a thousand apologies! I would not have disturbed you for all the world, although your arrival is well-timed, I must admit.’

‘No doubt, no doubt and this must be…?’ Holmes glanced briefly in Daley’s direction, but he largely ignored the Inspector’s attempts to introduce himself and his men once he became aware of Stamford’s body in the chair. He stared down at the bloodied wound whilst I repeated my diagnosis. Holmes acknowledged this with a nod of his head and then slid down to the floor with his magnifying glass in his hand.

This was a process that I had witnessed on many such occasions, although I soon became aware that to the uninitiated inspector the whole procedure might have appeared most bizarre. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and seemed both puzzled by and uncomfortable with what he was seeing.

Oblivious to this, Holmes slowly made his way across the floor towards the crutch, examining the floor meticulously. Occasionally he extracted from the boards an object, invisible
to mere mortals, and slipped it carefully into a small buff envelope. He then ran his glass up and down the entire length of the crutch before standing and turning to face us.

‘Gentlemen, I must congratulate you,’ Holmes announced to my immense surprise. ‘Nothing appears to have been disturbed or moved and the evidence is as fresh as when the crime was first committed.’

‘Evidence?’ Daley queried. ‘I was not aware of any, save the body and the strange-looking crutch.’

‘Very likely not, however, I have already uncovered three separate pieces of evidence that I will need to put to the test,’ Holmes said quietly whilst the hint of a mischievous smile played briefly over his thin, dry lips.

‘Ah, the contents of that envelope!’ I stated superfluously.

Briefly raising his eyebrows in exasperation, Holmes then asked: ‘Would one of you now explain to me the exact circumstances that led to the untimely demise of the unfortunate Dr Stamford?’

Daley read from his notebook and every so often Holmes would glance at me for confirmation of the inspector’s accuracy. This I was able to provide.

‘Excellent!’ Holmes rubbed his hands together excitedly. ‘Has either of you formulated theories of your own?’ he asked, albeit with a thinly veiled air of resignation in his tone.

‘Sadly, no,’ Daley responded as he slowly shook his head. ‘My interviews with the club members have revealed nothing of significance other than the fact that none of them has any connection with the victim.’

Holmes now turned to me and I thought long and hard before answering:

‘Well, whoever committed the crime certainly had a cool
head because very little time had elapsed between the attack and my arrival at the club. Yet the nature of the weapon seems to indicate that the decision to kill Stamford was made on the spur of the moment. And surely a blow of such force would have caused an indentation in a metal as light as aluminium. At least we know from this that the murderer possesses great strength.’ I concluded whilst unsuccessfully trying to conceal my confusion.

‘Your haphazard ramblings do nothing to clarify the situation,’ Holmes observed shaking his head. ‘Inspector, perhaps now I might have sight of this list of members that you hold in such reverence.’ In answer to Daley’s questioning glance Holmes continued: ‘I might learn more by comparing the signatures that it contains with the writing style of the note, than you could during all your hours of tireless questioning.’

With an air of resignation Daley passed over the blue leather-bound members’ book to Holmes, who now flattened out my note on the table next to it.

After a few moments of detailed comparison Holmes revealed nothing either in his facial expression or by other physical reaction. Nevertheless he now pronounced: ‘Inspector, in my opinion you may now safely allow the club members to go about their business. However, I would not recommend the same with regard to the staff, until such time as Watson and I return here this evening. Come, Watson!’ Holmes now hustled me from the room, leaving the forlorn Inspector Daley anxiously rubbing his chin.

‘I am not certain that our friend can be relied upon to carry out my wishes for any length of time, so I would suggest that speed is of the essence,’ Holmes said as he scoured the street for an available cab. Once one was in
sight Holmes, his cane aloft, called loudly to it. ‘Watson,’ he said to me as we climbed in, ‘please give the driver the address of Stamford’s consulting room.’

‘St Bartholomew’s Hospital, please, cabby,’ I told the man.

Once we were under way Holmes held up his hand in front of my face.

‘Now please, Watson, before you start bombarding me with a myriad of questions, allow me to lay these facts before you. If you consider them logically I trust that you will soon find your questions becoming irrelevant.’ I closed my mouth immediately and nodded my agreement.

‘The points that I would commend for your consideration are the handwriting employed in the note and the nature of that most singular of murder weapons. Have you seen anything of its like before?’

‘Whilst wood is still the most common material used in crutch manufacture, aluminium is not uncommon and certainly not unique,’ I replied.

‘Ah, but did you not notice the unusual spring hinges that divided the thing? Surely they were designed and inserted to help relieve the armpit of the strain of supporting the body weight.’

As a medical man I was loath to admit that I had not thought of these as being worthy of note. ‘Carry on.’ I suggested.

‘I thought as much. Similarly I am certain that you did not notice that the rubber support, at its base, was screwed into place for easy removal and was not a permanent fixture. Your expression tells me that you find this detail of no account, however you were not privy to a minute discovery that I made on the floor of the booth.’

‘Ah, the contents of your envelope!’ I exclaimed, now
hanging on to every one of Holmes’s words. Holmes carefully extracted the envelope from his inside pocket and slowly emptied its contents into the palm of his hand.

‘Come now, Holmes! You go too far. What relevance could a single tiny pellet such as this possibly have?’

‘None at all,’ Holmes calmly replied. ‘At least, not in isolation. But when you consider that this pellet is one of hundreds found inside a four-bore shotgun shell, then it acquires a greater significance.’ Before continuing Holmes studied my countenance for any signs of my comprehending. Upon observing, quite correctly, that there was none, he continued:

‘These shells are quite simple to open and to empty and the combined weight of the contents of only a few shells would be sufficient to render the base of the crutch solid enough to cause great damage.’

I shook my head in astonishment. ‘My goodness, Holmes, the things that you know! I understand now. The screw base leaves the crutch equally simple to empty afterwards.’ Then after further consideration, I added: ‘Of course, the bloodstain was only visible close to the base of the crutch!’

‘Watson, Watson, it does take a while for the pennies to drop, but when they do there is a veritable cascade.’

Ignoring Holmes’s sarcastic response I reminded him of the other notable point of reference that he had previously mentioned.

‘This point will be far easier for you to digest, because there was not one club member whose writing corresponded to that of the note, including that of its supposed author, our old friend Stamford! Therefore, we shall have to look elsewhere if we are to discover the identity of our killer. Now, I think we are close to our destination. A few discreet
enquiries at this most reputable of institutions will, I think present our provincial inspector with his first case at the Yard.’

I seemed to be remembered by the officials at the entrance to St Barts and, as a consequence, we were soon traversing those hallowed corridors towards Stamford’s chambers. A colleague of Stamford’s, obviously ignorant of the events at the Holborn informed us of Stamford’s absence, but made no objections to our awaiting his return in his consulting room.

Upon gaining entrance to Stamford’s rooms Holmes gestured for me to stand vigil by the heavy oak door while he began an urgent, albeit most thorough, search through the various papers contained in the drawers of Stamford’s desk.

I kept my ear close to the door, so that I could alert Holmes to the sound of someone approaching, all the while glancing furtively in Holmes’s direction. Every so often he emitted a grunt of frustration and each utterance being followed with an increase in the intensity of his search.

‘In heaven’s name, Holmes! What can you possibly be looking for?’ I whispered hoarsely, out of frustration. When no reply came I glanced back towards him, to find him beaming contentedly while clutching a maroon leatherbound volume in one hand and a rather official-looking document in the other. Before I could ask him what these were Holmes had tucked them inside his coat. Then he nodded to me to open the door.

Having calmed ourselves, we returned to the corridor outside.

‘We shall return at a more convenient time!’ Holmes called cheerily to the fellow who had directed us to
Stamford’s room. We doffed our hats towards the doorkeeper then made off in search of a cab.

I had expected Holmes to direct the driver towards the Holborn, so I was somewhat surprised to hear him give Baker Street as our next destination. However, upon reaching our rooms he explained that he wanted to examine the items that he had taken from Stamford’s desk, before presenting his findings to Inspector Daley.

He poured out a substantial Cognac for us both and offered me a cigar from the coal scuttle, before spreading the papers out on the table under the illumination of a small oil lamp.

‘Let us study these in silence for a moment, before voicing our conclusions.’ Holmes suggested. I nodded my agreement and was most careful in placing my cigar in a large glass ashtray, well away from the papers.

The book turned out to be Stamford’s diary and the document none other than the patent for the unique spring hinges, employed in ensuring that the aluminium crutch was more comfortable than any other of its type. We had hoped that the diary would reveal some of Stamford’s innermost thoughts and thereby furnish us with a clue as to the motive behind his horrendous demise. However, this proved to be a purely professional journal, providing brief notes as to his day-to-day activities. My disappointment at making this discovery was tempered somewhat by Holmes’s excitement. He hurriedly removed the note that I had received from Stamford and laid it out next to the page in the diary that had so excited him.

‘See here, Watson!’ he said, breaking our silence while pointing at the note.

I compared the two and immediately understood the implications of Holmes’s discovery.

‘Again, there is no similarity between the two. I say!’ I suddenly exclaimed. ‘Whoever did send the note used his knowledge of my association with Stamford as a means to camouflage his crime. This is intolerable!’

‘Calm yourself, Watson, there are graver implications here than your personal indignation. Read some of Stamford’s diary entries. Here, on the fourth of last month:
Have agreed to increase Paulsen’s share of the proceeds from
the crutch to forty per cent. I fear that this may still not be
enough to satisfy him
.’

‘Now read this entry of but a week later.
Paulsen’s
manner has become most threatening. I fear that I may soon
be compelled to get in touch with my old friend Watson. His
colleague Sherlock Holmes may be my only hope
. This entry certainly explains your involvement, eh, Watson?’

‘Certainly it does. Yet how did this Paulsen have access to Stamford’s diary? How did he know of my friendship with Stamford and our penchant for the Holborn?’

Holmes suddenly got up from the table and lit his cigar, using an ember with the tongs from the fireplace.

‘For the answers to your questions I would suggest that you need to look no further than to the foot of the final page of these patent papers and to the very last entry in the diary,’ Holmes replied gravely.

I followed Holmes’s instructions and then, having done so, laid the documents on to the table again.

‘Phew! So this fellow Paulsen was none other than Stamford’s partner in the invention of the aluminium crutch. As is often the case, greed has proved to be the motive for the taking of a life.’

‘Quite so, old fellow. Too often I fear that the satisfaction I receive from my chosen profession is tempered by the
humility born of witnessing the good being extinguished by the evil. Now call for Mrs Hudson. We must send a wire with all speed to Daley at the Holborn. Instruct him to arrest the footman at once and inform him that I will provide him with the details of the case early tomorrow morning. I think that we have delayed the remainder of the staff there for long enough.

‘Oh, and be so kind as to suggest that he might search through the footman’s belongings, or should I now refer to him as Paulsen? For that is surely his masquerade. I would not be a bit surprised if Daley were to discover that Paulsen possesses a “Gladstone” full of the pellets from some shotgun shells!’

Holmes now abandoned his cigar in favour of his cherrywood and retreated to the windowsill looking out over the street below. I issued his instructions to Mrs Hudson, who went about the business immediately. During the protracted silence that followed I was able to read again the very last entry that Stamford ever wrote.

I have arranged one final meeting with Paulsen, in the
hope that the convivial ambiance of the Holborn might
induce harmony rather than violence
. Sadly my friend’s hopes had been dashed in the most tragic way possible and my thoughts were accompanied by the sad lament of Holmes’s violin.

T
HE
A
DVENTURE OF THE
A
BOMINABLE
W
IFE

A
particularly pleasant spring afternoon in 1890, just a few months prior to Holmes’s supposedly calamitous confrontation with Professor Moriarty at the Reichenbach Falls, found my friend sitting on the windowsill overlooking Baker Street, toiling over Bruch’s Violin Concerto.

I use the word toiling for that is the only way that I can describe the horrendous, discordant screeching that was being emitted from Holmes’s normally sublime instrument. It is worth mentioning here that the last few months had seen his workload of noteworthy cases reach an unprecedentedly high level. The affairs of the ‘Enigmatic Talisman’ and the ‘Venetian Mandolin’ are at least two of those that will undoubtedly, one day, be included in my ever-growing compilation.

However, the last few weeks had seen a certain slackening off and, as a consequence, I had noticed certain signs of frustration returning once more to Holmes’s behaviour as
his nature rebelled against the stagnation of his faculties. His inept rendering of the Bruch was indicative of this. Surprisingly, though, and in an instant Holmes’s bow on string became true again and the strands of the concerto became sweet and coherent once more.

I could not perceive a reason for this sudden change until I decided to employ Holmes’s own methods. There was a smile of satisfaction on his face and I stole stealthily over to the window. Sure enough I saw our old friend Inspector Lestrade, having just vacated a departing cab, staring up at our rooms standing next to a most singular-looking companion.

‘So you perceive a case in the offing?’ I asked.

‘Certainly the potential, Watson, although, as you know, I am loath to make assumptions without being in possession of the facts.’ Holmes smiled whilst carefully replacing the violin into its case. Reluctantly I put down the book that I had been engrossed in, Lord Lynton’s veritable tome
The
Last Days of Pompeii
and a moment later there came Mrs Hudson’s inevitable knock on the door.

Once our guests had entered the room, Holmes sized them up for a moment before reciprocating their greeting.

‘Tea for four if you would be so kind, Mrs Hudson. Please take a seat, Mr Clarke!’

The look of astonishment on the stranger’s face was certainly mirrored by that on both Lestrade’s and my own.

‘I was not aware that I had previously made your acquaintance, sir,’ said the man identified as Mr Clarke.

‘I can assure you that you have not.’ Holmes replied.

‘Then in heaven’s name, what magic have you used to identify me?’

‘I can assure you that there is nothing magical in
anything that I do.’ Before explaining himself and, I am certain, in order to create the maximum dramatic effect, Holmes turned deliberately away to prepare, slowly, his old clay pipe.

This most singular-looking gentleman presenting himself before us stood at just below average height and his build was certainly more than a little portly. He sported a most lively-coloured waistcoat; a checked tweed jacket fashioned from a cloth of deepest maroon and a bowler hat to match. He appeared to be in his early fifties and when he spoke it was with a deep, rich baritone voice. He used his arms to a most dramatic effect.

As I was making these observations Mrs Hudson returned with a tray of tea. Holmes waved our guests towards the spare chairs.

After we had each had a sip of tea Clarke repeated his question. Holmes hesitated, as if he had forgotten it.

‘Mr Clarke, your somewhat exuberant attire, your extravagant affectations together with such a well-trained resonant voice indicates employment in a branch of the performing arts. When I observe a strand or two of straw still clinging to the base of your left heel and a light dusting of sawdust nestling within the folds of your trouser turnups I can narrow that down to a circus. Furthermore, I observe a red blister between the thumb and forefinger of your right hand, of the type that I would normally associate with a driver and his use of a whip. You are, therefore, either a trainer of animals or the ringmaster. The quality of your clothes and shoes and the magnitude of your girth seem to indicate the latter. I have observed of late a large number of posters advertising Clarke and Clarke’s Circus as being “The Only Show in Town”. Therefore you are one of
the proprietors of said circus. Which one, of course, I cannot possibly tell,’ Holmes concluded with a flourish.

‘Well, upon my word! The reputation that goes before you and your powers is by no means exaggerated.’ Clarke applauded most enthusiastically. ‘I am indeed Carlton Clarke; however, I should point out that the second “Clarke” is merely another affectation of mine. I found the symmetry of my “Three Cs” motif most appealing and so do my public.’

Now it was Holmes’s turn to give some applause. ‘Really, Lestrade, your companion is most entertaining. I fancy, however, that there is a darker motive for your visit this afternoon?’

‘Oh, indeed there is, Mr Holmes,’ Lestrade confirmed, ‘although on this occasion I think that even your powers may be found to be somewhat inadequate.’ For a brief moment a hint of maliciousness flashed across Lestrade’s weaselly countenance, as of old.

This was clearly not lost on Holmes, who now responded sternly: ‘That surely remains to be seen! However, before we allow ourselves to reach any premature conclusions, perhaps we should allow Mr Clarke to describe the details of his hopeless cause. I assume that that is the adjective used by our disparaging Inspector?’

‘Indeed it was, Mr Holmes, although I should point out that it is not for my cause that I have persuaded the Inspector to accompany me here to consult with you. It is for the sake of my old friend, known as Ricoletti, whose nature, I am certain, makes it impossible that he should have committed the heinous crime of which he now stands accused. Namely, the murder of his wife with a throwing knife through the head!’

These words suddenly ignited Holmes’s eyes and he almost shuddered in anticipation.

‘Watson, I think that this might be the moment for your notebook and pencil,’ Holmes pointedly suggested. I could not have agreed with him more and yet I had hesitated, so aghast had I been at the words of Carlton Clarke.

‘Before you relate to me the precise details of this remarkable-sounding crime please explain to me the use of the words “known as” when you referred to your friend Ricoletti,’ Holmes requested, whilst lighting his pipe once more.

‘His circus act is known as “The Remarkable Ricoletti and The Fearless Maria,” Maria being his wife. However, their real names were Alfred and Sonia Walker from Bermondsey.’

‘Now explain to me in terms as exact and detailed as you are able, the circumstances and events that have led to the dire plight in which your friend finds himself.’ Holmes now sank back into his chair and tightly closed his eyes as an aid for the intense concentration that he now required of himself.

‘The Walkers first came to my attention during the course of my grand tour of Europe in the early 80s, when my troupe packed out the ancient amphitheatre of Padua. The entire tour had been a triumph and the finale in Padua was its magnificent culmination.

‘It was while we were breaking camp on the following morning that the Walkers first presented themselves. This first meeting was not an auspicious beginning to our association. They had, evidently, been unemployed for some time. Their attire was worn and dishevelled and Alfred was badly in need of both a haircut and a shave. His movement was hampered by a club foot. The only aspect of their appearance that was worthy of note was a beautiful pair of bright-red shoes that adorned the feet of Sonia.

‘In all honesty, I was so distracted by our preparations to depart that I gave those two little or no attention and his insistence that he was the greatest knife-thrower ever to grace the ring of a circus, fell on deaf ears. It was only when I discovered that they had followed our show all the way to our base in London that I decided that their perseverance, if nothing else, warranted giving them an audition.

‘Despite their somewhat tattered appearance in Italy they had, evidently preserved their stage clothes in good repair and when they eventually presented their act they looked impressive indeed. Alfred was attired in a black suit that was richly bordered with a striking red brocade. His club foot was disguised by the great width of the hems of his trousers. Sonia wore a dazzling red leotard decorated with jet beads and silver diamante and the same red shoes that I had seen briefly in Padua, the whole ensemble being crowned by a sparkling tiara.

‘Their act was every bit as sensational as their appearance. Upon my word, Mr Holmes, throughout all my years under the “big top” I have yet to witness a finer exponent of the knife-thrower’s art than the “Remarkable Ricoletti”. His speed and accuracy are unparalleled and his ability to almost shave the skin of his target, while yet leaving it unscathed, borders on the uncanny.

‘This much I recognized at once and I lost no time in signing them both up for the next season. It was a decision that I have never regretted. They created a sensation whenever they appeared and, up to two days ago, they have proved to be our biggest draw.’ Carlton Clarke now paused as he sipped his tea disconsolately.

Holmes now opened his eyes and leant forward.

‘Mr Clarke, you must spare me no detail, no matter how
trivial it might appear to be, as you relate the events of two days ago.’ Holmes quietly instructed him.

‘Those events are still so indelibly imprinted on my mind that to omit any of them would be impossible,’ Clarke reassured him.

‘I should preface my statement by making one thing clear from the outset. Despite their teamwork in the ring, the Walker’s marriage was not a happy one. There was not one occasion when this affected their performance, indeed their public rejoiced in the fact that the “Ricolettis” were a couple rather than just a performer and his assistant. However, once they were backstage they rarely enjoyed a happy moment together. Sonia would not give Alfred a minute’s rest. She was forever scolding him over one thing or another and would pursue him for a new frock or a pair of shoes, to the point of distraction. This despite the fact that her obsession was bringing about their financial ruination.

‘On the other hand Alfred was a man of moderation and after a fearsome argument he would eventually give in to Sonia’s feverish demands. Nevertheless, it was becoming harder for him to continue with the act and at last, two days ago, things appeared to be coming to a head.

‘“Goldie” had made off with another pair of Sonia’s shoes and—’

‘Who or what is “Goldie”?’ Holmes impatiently interrupted.

‘My apologies, Mr Holmes. I should have mentioned that “Goldie” was Alfred’s closest friend and his only harbour from the storm of his marital turmoil. He was also a Golden Labrador with a peculiar penchant for ladies’ shoes.’

‘So “Goldie” is a dog.’ Holmes stated, clearly becoming exasperated. ‘Yet you refer to it in the past tense?’

‘When the accident occurred he became most agitated. He ran around their changing room barking hysterically, chewing up everything in his path, until he eventually disappeared through the tent flap, to be seen no more.’

‘So you are still referring to the tragedy as an accident,’ I observed, full of admiration for Clarke’s continuing loyalty to his beleaguered friend.

‘Indeed I do, Doctor, but before I can convince anyone of Alfred’s innocence I must first explain the reasons for his suspected guilt. Sonia’s reaction to Goldie’s mauling of her pair of shoes was, perhaps, the most verbally violent that we had yet witnessed. She compounded this by hurling various objects around the room and she insulted Alfred in the most objectionable and personal terms. He was only able to calm the situation by offering to replace the shoes and by promising to give the dog away. Such is the man’s dedication to his art that he was willing to make so great a sacrifice for the preservation of his act. Then they continued with their rehearsal.’

‘What, exactly, are the circumstances and conditions in which these rehearsals take place?’ Holmes asked.

‘The intensity of their concentration is such that they always practise alone and in the confines of their room. You may ask why Sonia needs to concentrate at the same level as her husband, but when I tell you that their show, even in rehearsal, is performed throughout with Alfred fully blindfolded, and that Sonia’s positioning and stillness is of life preserving importance, you might then well understand.’

Holmes called a pause to this narration by holding up his hand before him. ‘You are absolutely convinced of the total efficacy of these blindfolds?’ Holmes asked. ‘Have no doubt
as to the importance of the accuracy of your answer, Mr Clarke.’

‘Oh, I have no doubt, Mr Holmes,’ Clarke replied emphatically. ‘The very first thing that I did before their first audition was to test the thoroughness of his blindfolds. Furthermore, every so often I conduct random inspections, to ensure the continued authenticity of the act. I have yet to be disappointed. Therefore I am convinced that all was as it should be on the night of the tragedy. The camp settled down soon after Sonia’s histrionics and the Walkers continued with their rehearsal in absolute silence. So it was only when the dog began his crazed yelping that we were alerted to what had befallen Sonia. We raced to their tent and there found Alfred sobbing inconsolably over the body of his wife, who lay there soaked in the blood of her awful, gaping head wound. Alfred’s beautiful knife was still hanging there embedded between Sonia’s darkened eyes. The police surgeon confirmed, subsequently, that she had died instantly.