The Midwinter Mysteries of Sherlock Holmes: Three Adventures & The Grand Gift of Sherlock (20 page)

“But which one was he referring to?”

Holmes shrugged. “Difficult to ascertain without additional information. Four, it could be a reference to the first line in some article in
The Star
.”
[260]

“But which day’s edition?” I protested.

“Again, insufficient data. Five, it could be a reference to the stars on the flag of the United States of America. If we consulted the
Encyclopedia Britannica
, I am certain that it would inform us which was the first of those states.
[261]
It could also be a reference to Texas, the ‘Lone Star’ state of terrible memory,
[262]
with some confusion on the part of the deceased regarding the difference between the definitions of ‘solitary’ and ‘primary.’”

“But what in particular are they referencing about those states?” I cried.

“Watson, please recall that these are all theoretical exercises initiated at your bequest. Perhaps they are referring to a particular individual known to originate from one of those states? Six, it could be a warning. While the official Star Chamber created by Henry VII has long since been abolished,
[263]
the term is still used poetically to refer to secret proceedings and arbitrary rulings. Perhaps the expired man feared the persecution of some body of the law?”

“That is only six explanations,” said I, somewhat crossly.

Holmes smiled beatifically. “Seven, perhaps the man was simply in a holiday turn of mind, given the time of year, and was referring to the comet that has become known as the Star of Bethlehem.”

“A comet?”

“Certainly, Watson. I have learned much about the dynamics of our heavenly bodies during my studies into the inner workings of the mind of Professor Moriarty.
[264]
It cannot be doubted that the so-called star of the Magi was a comet that appeared in the spring of the year negative five.”
[265]

“Spring?”

“Oh yes, Watson. Surely you have read that the date of 25 December was adopted to coincide with an earlier pagan ritual celebrating the birth of Sol Invictus,
[266]
and therefore has no historical basis for the actual Christmas event?”

I stared at him in consternation for a moment, and then shook my head. “Really, Holmes, there are times when I wonder if your first occupation was not in the warehouse of Mr. Fezziwig?”
[267]
With that Parthian shot, I turned away and re-buried myself in the articles of the morning
Times
.

However, my resolution to ignore Holmes was quickly forgotten when I read the story that led the ninth page. Knowing his interest in the realm of the strange and bizarre, I turned to him. “I say, Holmes, did you see that a madman has broken into the home of Sir James Oldcastle?”

“What was burgled?” he asked, lowering his violin.

Only belatedly did I realize that he had abandoned his experiments and had been playing a variant upon the tune of Greensleeves,
[268]
perhaps his peculiar attempt at reconciliation.
[269]
“That’s just it. Nothing was taken. But Sir James’ carefully decorated Christmas tree
[270]
was hacked to bits by an axe.”

“Let the sky rain potatoes!”
[271]
Holmes exclaimed. “That is a singular occurrence. I wonder what our friends on the force think of such a bizarre attack?”

“I would wager a sovereign that we are about to find out,” said I.

Holmes looked at me in brief puzzlement, before he too noted the knocking that had suddenly sounded upon the outside door. “Very good, Watson. You are progressing. You have noted that that particular style of a single rap, followed in quick succession by three more, is a hallmark of the men of Scotland Yard. Whichever one should we expect?”

“Lestrade,” said I with some definitiveness to my voice, as the sound of a man climbing our steps reached our ears.

“I concur, Watson. That is indeed the distinctive stride of Lestrade. You are scintillating this morning.”

I shrugged modestly. “It helps that the
Times
article mentions that Lestrade was assigned to investigate,” said I, waving the paper in my hand.

Holmes was still softly chuckling when the inspector in question opened our door and entered out sitting room. “Come in, Lestrade, come in. Put up your feet.” He motioned to the coal scuttle. “Would you care for a cigar? No? Then what can we do for you?”

Lestrade slumped back into his chair. “I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, Mr. Holmes,” he said, wiping his hand across his brow. “Gregson is assigned the plum case of the Underground Convict, while I have to chase after maniacal tree-murderers.”

“Come now, Lestrade, take heart. Surely yours is the more interesting of the two?”

“Maybe to an amateur such as yourself Mr. Holmes. But nothing of significance was taken from Sir James. You can buy another tree of it’s like for two sovereigns from any stall in the Covent Garden Market.
[272]
The man is up in arms about it, however. He’s hopping mad, I tell you, and breathing down my neck for some answers. Then I thought that you have been of some use to the Yard in the past, and enjoy little puzzles. So I thought to lay the small problem before you, and see what you made of it.”

I could tell from the look upon my friend’s face that he was slightly aggrieved by Lestrade’s overly cavalier attitude towards the extent of his deductive powers and prior assistance. “Perhaps if you laid out the facts in the case,” said Holmes, with some sharpness.

“The facts are simple. Sir James Oldcastle and his wife planned to enjoy a night at the Haymarket Theatre
[273]
and as such, they had given the servants the night off. However, Lady Edith complained of a touch of indigestion, and they returned after the first act to their empty Hampstead townhome,
[274]
long before the servants were due back. Their first thought upon entering was that the house was far colder than they would have expected. The reason for this chill was not long in presenting itself, for one of the rear windows of the house had been smashed and the night air was blowing freely though the ground floor of the house. The second item of note was that their Christmas tree was no longer in its place of pride under the front bay windows. Or rather, the tree was still in its original location, however, it had been hacked to innumerable pieces, each no bigger than my hand. Sir James immediately rang for the police, and the first constable to arrive upon the scene carefully inspected the house, but found no sign of the intruder. Once the servants had returned, a careful inventory was performed, but no other items were out of place. Sir James is most upset, and has insisted that a constable remain behind at his home to prevent a future attempt upon his life.”

Holmes frowned. “Why does Sir James believe that his life is in danger?”

“His notion is that an assassin entered the house with the goal of dispatching the baronet himself.
[275]
However, when said assassin discovered the house empty, he took out his frustration upon the tree in effigy.”

Holmes snorted in derision at this theory. “Sir James has a distorted sense of his own importance if he conflates himself with a Christmas tree, which is of course sacred to a god.
[276]
And he has little understanding of the practices of professional assassins, who rarely enter a house without understanding who exactly is present within, and who certainly never leave such an obvious reminder of any unconcluded visits.”

“Could it be a warning of some sort?” I asked. “Like an orange pip?”

Holmes shrugged. “Perhaps, Watson. Though certainly not one commonly employed by any criminal organization that I am familiar with. Does Sir James have some particular cause for concern?” he asked Lestrade.

The inspector nodded. “He mentioned owing a considerable amount of money to some gentlemen at the Tankerville Club,
[277]
payment of which is a bit behind.”

“I see. Well, I do not consider it likely, but for now we shall allow Sir James to continue in his beliefs, which at the very least may have the salutary effect of motivating him to wipe clean his debts and reconsider how precisely he came to such a precarious state. I have a few more questions for you, Lestrade. First, I assume that Lady Edith did not wear all of her jewels to the theatre?” asked Holmes.

Lestrade shook his head. “Indeed not. Though the majority of her family treasures were left at their manor in Warwickshire, and some were on her person of course, there were several valuable pieces in the bedroom that would have been found by even the most careless burglar.”

“Excellent. Second, where did Sir James acquire his tree?”

Lestrade frowned. “I have no idea.”

Holmes’ eyebrows arched. “Really? You did not ask?” He shook his head ruefully. “Then you likely also do not know whether it possessed any unusual features?”

“Features? What are you talking about Mr. Holmes? It was a Christmas tree, like thousands of others you can find scattered across London!”

“On that point you are mistaken, Lestrade. This tree is different. Unlike the thousands of other trees in the city, this one was attacked. You suggest that the destruction of this particular tree is due to the fact that it belonged to Sir James Oldcastle. I would posit the opposite hypothesis is equally possible, the property of Sir James Oldcastle was destroyed because it happened to be this particular tree.”

Lestrade shook his head in a perplexed fashion. “You may pursue your theories, Mr. Holmes, but I always follow the money. I reckon that is where our answer lies. I just can’t quite determine what should be the next step. So I thought I would ask you to take a look.”

Holmes laughed. “Dear me, this is quite excellent, Lestrade,” said Holmes happily. “I thank you for bringing this little gift to my door.”

“Then you think you can discover why Sir James’s home was invaded and his tree destroyed?” asked the inspector, with a note of hope in his voice.

“We can but try, eh Watson, the motto of the firm.”
[278]

“Of course,” I replied automatically, knowing the beneficial effects of such an enigma upon my friend’s mental state, and being quite intrigued myself by the sheer eccentricity of the case.

“Well, Watson, what do you make of it?” asked Holmes.

I nodded slowly, while considering the information presented. “One possibility is that the intruder is a deranged Puritan, who seeks to destroy all pagan influences upon the holiday? Perhaps we should consult our friend Doctor Percy Trevelyan? He is an expert upon obscure nervous disorders.”
[279]

Holmes smiled, “Very good, Watson. I admit that that possibility had not occurred to me.”

“Then you consider it likely?” said I, unable to hide the hint of pleasure in my voice.

“No, not at all.” Holmes shook his head. “Madness is always an explanation of last resort. With careful attention, a method can almost always be elucidated.”

On that note, Holmes retreated to his bedchamber and emerged minutes later fully dressed. We descended to the street, where we hailed a passing cab. Just as we were about to step in, a uniformed constable ran up Baker Street calling out to the inspector. By the time he reached us, the slightly rotund man was completely out of breath, but he managed to silently hand a note to Lestrade before his hands sank to his knees.

The inspector hastily tore open the letter and read it with widening eyes. “It’s happened again, Mr. Holmes!” he exclaimed.

Holmes’ face flushed with excitement. “Another tree destroyed? Where?”

“At the home of a Mr. Torben Heppenstall, on Garden Road in St. John’s Wood.”

Holmes turned to me with raised eyebrows. “Near the Briony Lodge,
[280]
I think,” said he, with restrained significance. “It is on our way to Hampstead, so let us stop in there first.”

We climbed into the patiently waiting hansom, and set off on the short journey up Grove End Road. Holmes was moodily staring out of the window, and I decided it was wise to not disturb the train of his thoughts, which I presumed were directed not on the case in hand, but on the present locale of
the
woman.

Fortunately, by the time we arrived at the prosperous row of homes lining Garden Road, Holmes’ attention to the case at hand had been restored. He first instructed the cabby to wait for our continued journey. Then, per his usual
modus operandi
, he first inspected the grounds around the house belonging to Mr. Heppenstall, while Lestrade and I stood back towards the street so as to not disturb any footprints or other potential clues. After a few minutes, he waved us forward. “I have seen everything of note, and the print belonging to the shoes of Dr. Watson and Inspector Lestrade will never be confused with those boots over there.” He motioned towards a set of vague impressions that seemed to lead toward the rear of the house. “Come, let us see what Mr. Heppenstall has to say for himself.”

The man in question promptly answered Holmes’ knock. He proved to be a vigorous man in his mid-thirties, of an average height and trim build. His light brown hair was mildly tousled, and his blue eyes appeared large behind a pair of thick glasses. He wore a red cardigan over some workingman’s trousers. He looked surprised to see us. ‘I admit, gentlemen, that I little expected three officers to turn out for such a minor affair.”