The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures (53 page)

My companion chuckled, a long chain of sparks from his pipe, which he had lit on his way down from the cottage, making fiery little stipples on his lean, aquiline features.

“I certainly agree there, my dear fellow.”

4

The next morning I was up early but Holmes was earlier still for I found him at breakfast in the cheerful, beamed dining room, where a few sickly rays of sun glanced in at the windows. When we had finished our repast, Holmes jumped up swiftly and made for the door, hardly leaving me time to collect my overcoat from the rack and follow somewhat protestingly in his rear.

“We have very little time, Watson,” he said as I caught up with him in the surprisingly busy street.

“Firstly, we must just pay a call upon Mr Amos Hardcastle, the lawyer and see what he has to say about this matter.”

We had only some 300 or 400 yards to go and when we neared the brass plate which indicated that gentleman’s office, Holmes took me aside and pretended to study the contents of a saddlery shop window.

“Leave the talking to me, my dear fellow. My name will be Robinson for the purpose of this business.”

I had scarcely time to take this in before Holmes led the way up a dusty staircase to where a stout wooden door repeated the legend on the brass plate outside. A distant clock was just striking the hour of nine but the office was already astir and Holmes opened the door without further ado and I followed him in.

An elderly woman with grey hair rose from her desk in the dingy outer office and welcomed us with a wry smile. When Holmes had introduced himself as Robinson and explained that he would not keep Mr Hardcastle more than ten minutes, she nodded and crossed to an inner door, tapping before entering. There was a muffled colloquy from behind the panels and then the door was opened again. The solicitor was a man of heavy build and late middle age, who wore a snuff-stained waistcoat and gold pince-nez. His white hair fell in an untidy quiff over his forehead but his manner was cheerful enough and he asked Holmes and myself to sit down opposite his battered desk.

The room, which was lit by two large and dusty windows, was piled high with papers on the far side while the area behind Hardcastle’s desk was stacked with labelled tin boxes from floor to ceiling. Holmes, in his persona as Robinson said that Smedhurst was thinking of selling his cottage and that he, Robinson, was thinking of buying it. He had come down with myself to view the property but had found that Smedhurst had apparently gone away for several days. He wondered if the lawyer had a key to the house so that we could have a look at it.

A cautious, professional look immediately settled on the lawyer’s face.

“Dear me, Mr Robinson, this is the first I have heard of it. Have you any written authority for what you say? This is merely a formality you understand, my dear sir, but I’m sure you realize …”

“Certainly.”

I was even more astonished when Holmes produced a crumpled letter from the pocket of his ulster and passed it across to Smedhurst’s solicitor. He scanned it cursorily through his pince-nez, biting his lip as he did so.

“All seems in order, Mr Robinson,” he said as he handed it back.

He turned to the massed japanned boxes behind him and went down them rapidly. He took one up from the end of the piles and rattled it as though he expected to find something unpleasant inside it.

“Here we are.”

He put it down on his desk, brushing the dust from the top of the box with a frayed sleeve. He opened it and went through a pile of yellowing papers. After sifting about for what seemed like an interminable time, he shook his head.

“I am so sorry to disappoint you, Mr Robinson, but I have nothing here. If I remember rightly my late client was a very retiring sort of person and inordinately frightened of burglars, though what he could have had of value up there was beyond me.”

He chuckled rustily.

“Some years ago he had the front door lock changed. It came with a massive single key, which he always retained on him. I have no doubt Mr Smedhurst has it still. My regrets, gentlemen.”

Holmes rose with alacrity and extended his hand to the lawyer.

“It was just a possibility. I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

“Not at all, not at all.”

He waved us out with a smile and as soon as we had regained the street I turned to Holmes.

“Where on earth did you get that letter?”

My companion smiled.

“Forged it, my dear fellow. I thought it might come in useful. I have a passable talent in that direction which has served its purpose from time to time. Now we must interview the young lady, which might be a more delicate matter and then I shall warn Smedhurst to make preparations for his departure.”

“Departure, Holmes?” I said as we walked rapidly down the busy street. “I am all at sea.”

“It is not the first time, old fellow,” said he with a wry smile. “But hopefully all will be made plain in due course.”

We walked several hundred yards and then turned at right-angles down a small alley, lined with pleasant old stone-built cottages. He stopped at the third on the right and opened a wrought-iron gate which gave on to a minuscule garden, where withered plants struggled for existence at this time of year. A motherly-looking lady in her early sixties opened the front door to his knock. She looked surprised, as well she might have.

“We wish to see Miss Eveline Reynolds on a most important matter. Please do not be alarmed, dear lady. A short interview will be greatly to her benefit.”

The cloud gathering on her face disappeared immediately.

“Please come in. My niece is in the next room sewing. Whom shall I say …?”

Holmes leaned forward and whispered something in her ear. I saw a surprising change come over her face.

“I am sure she will be pleased to see you in view of what you have just told me.”

She ushered us into a charmingly furnished oak-beamed parlour where a slim, golden-haired girl of some twenty-eight years was sitting at a sewing frame. She got up suddenly as we entered and looked enquiringly at her aunt.

“Please don’t be alarmed, dear. These are friends of Mr Smedhurst.”

“Ah!”

The girl could not suppress the exclamation that rose to her lips. The aunt had silently withdrawn and Miss Reynolds came forward to shake hands formally, beckoning us into easy chairs near the welcoming fire.

“You have news of Aristide? I have been so worried about him …”

There was such a pleading look on her face that I saw a dramatic change in Holmes himself.

“This is an extremely difficult matter, Miss Reynolds. But I am afraid we are forgetting our manners. I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my friend and colleague Dr Watson. I have asked your aunt not to reveal our identities and I would ask you to do the same.”

He held up his hand as the girl started forward in her chair.

“Please let me continue. Mr Smedhurst is in some great difficulty and he has called upon me to help him. Am I to take it that your engagement has been broken off?”

The girl bit her lip.

“It is nothing of my doing, Mr Holmes. He has changed over the last year or so and become evasive. He no longer confides in me. He has taken to drinking rather heavily and now he has grown that ridiculous-looking beard!”

Little red spots of anger were starting out on her cheeks.

“Forgive me again, my dear young lady, but Mr Smedhurst appears to think that you have transferred your affections elsewhere.”

The girl stared at Holmes in astonishment and then burst out laughing.

“You must mean Mr Jacob Ashton. He is a young Australian who came to the village a long while back. He is a surveyor by profession. My aunt and I occasionally lunch or dine at The George and Dragon and we made his acquaintance there. He is in practice here, but we are friends, nothing more.”

“Ah, that is good news indeed, Miss Reynolds,” said Holmes, rising abruptly from his chair. “I cannot confide in you at the moment but you may be sure that all will yet be well between you.”

“Ah, if only I could believe you, Mr Holmes!”

“You may. And I might add that he was thinking only of you in his present troubles and did not wish you involved.”

The girl shook hands with us warmly, and after Holmes had again asked her not to reveal his identity, we left the house with its occupants more cheerful than when we had arrived.

“Now Mr Smedhurst, Watson. I must prime him as to his role in our little drama. Ah, there is our man himself!”

He had just noticed our client’s reflection in a shop window and, turning, we saw that he was making for The George and Dragon. We followed as quickly as possible, catching him at the entrance, where Holmes had a muffled conversation, before following him into the crowded restaurant. A waiter hurried forward as we sat down to order our meal when Smedhurst gave an exclamation and said, “Why, there is young Ashton at the table yonder.”

Holmes leaned forward and put his hand gently on our client’s shoulder.

“You have no need to worry. Miss Reynolds and Ashton are merely friends.”

With a muffled apology he rose from the table and I was astonished to see him make straight for the surveyor, who was lunching alone at a side table. He bent over, presumably to introduce himself and then beckoned me across.

“Please forgive this intrusion, Mr Ashton, but I understand you are a surveyor. Myself and my friend Mr Watson are hoping to buy a cottage down here and have found exactly what we require. Mr Smedhurst, who is lunching with us, as you have perhaps noticed, is anxious to sell and we wondered whether you would be kind enough to undertake the survey.”

Ashton, who was a pleasant-looking man of about thirty with black curly hair, seemed embarrassed, I thought.

“Certainly, Mr Robinson,” he stammered. “But this is the first I have heard of it. Miss Reynolds did not mention it.”

“It was a sudden decision,” said Holmes smoothly. “Mr Smedhurst is going to London for a few days this evening, but is leaving the key of the cottage with us. I have the address of your office. And now, I have interrupted your lunch long enough.”

Ashton got up to shake hands with the pair of us.

“Honoured, my dear sir,” he said with a smile. My hours are from nine-thirty a.m. until six p.m., unless I am out on survey. I look forward to seeing you soon.”

“I cannot see, Holmes …” I began as we regained our table.

“I seem to have heard you say that before, Watson,” said my companion with a disarming smile. “I think the oxtail soup and then the steak will do admirably in my case.”

And he talked of nothing but trivial matters until the meal was over.

5

“Now, you understand the procedures I have outlined to you, Mr Smedhurst,” said Holmes as we regained the street.

Our client nodded.

“I will leave Parvise Magna this afternoon, in daylight, with my luggage and make sure my departure is noted in the town, both by pony and trap and by train. I will give out that I am going to London for a week to see an aunt and make myself conspicuous on the platform. I will stay away for three nights. I will leave the cottage key behind a big boulder about thirty feet from the front door. You cannot miss it, Mr Holmes. There is a fissure at the back and I will place it there, well concealed.”

“Excellent, Mr Smedhurst. Now there is just one thing more.”

“What is that, Mr Holmes?”

My companion gave him a thin smile.

“Shave off your beard. Miss Reynolds does not like it.”

I spent part of the afternoon reading in the smoking room of The George and Dragon, while Holmes was away on some errand of his own. Presently he rejoined me and we both noted with satisfaction the departure of Smedhurst as his pony and trap clattered down the main street on its way to the station. As gas lamps began to be lit in the street outside Holmes rose from his deep leather chair, his whole being tense and animated.

“I think you might fetch your revolver, old fellow. We may need it before the night is out. I have some provisions in my greatcoat pocket so we shall not go hungry.”

“In that case I will bring my whisky flask,” said I.

A quarter of an hour later we left the hotel and made our way inconspicuously through side streets, as though taking an innocuous afternoon stroll. Though there was still an hour or so of daylight the sky was dark and sombre as we cleared the outskirts of Parvise Magna and a pallid mist was rising from the drenched fields which skirted the rounded hills. We were both silent as we continued our walk and presently Holmes turned aside to avoid approaching our client’s cottage from the front. When we could just see the roof of the property through the bare branches of leafless trees, we diverged from the path and in a few moments found ourselves on the overgrown track that led to the quarry. It was a grim place at that late time of day and we both paused as though possessed of the same impulse, and gazed down over the hundred foot drop.

“An awful spot, Holmes.”

“Indeed, Watson. But I think there is a more agreeable approach yonder.”

He pointed forward and I then saw what appeared to be a white thread which turned out to be a shelving part of the quarry that led downward in gentle slopes. Our feet gritted on the loose shale and after we had descended about halfway my companion gave a sharp exclamation.

He led the way across the face of the quarry to where a dark hole gaped. It was obviously man-made and had perhaps provided shelter for the quarrymen in years gone by. I followed him in and saw that the cavern was about ten feet across and some twenty feet deep. There was a narrow shelf of rock on the left-hand side, about five feet in.

“Hulloa”, I said. “Here is a candle, Holmes.”

I bent closer.

“And recently used, I should say, judging by the spent matches which are perfectly dry and not wet as they would be had they been there a long time.”

Holmes came to look over my shoulder.

“You are constantly improving, my dear fellow. You are not far out.”

He went back into the rear of the cave which the failing daylight still penetrated.