Sherlock Holmes - Found Dead Read online

  “So you went to your schoolmaster,” I guessed.

  “I did, and a right lecture I had, for he told me how I had fallen into the snare. They had wrought on my youth and vanity, my wish to appear knowledgeable, and drawn me in. Those I had supposed to be my friends were likely paid for each new pigeon they brought for the plucking. But he gave me the money, made certain I would get a receipt for it, and had an I.O.U. of me. I returned with the receipt and later I repaid him, expressing my deep gratitude. He said that when I was a man, if I saw a youngster in similar trouble I should do as he had done. In case I was tempted again, he would keep my I.O.U., though he had marked it as paid, and his possession of it would remind me of my folly, and that I should not do so again. I have never done so, gentlemen, and I have blessed Collin Melrose every day of my life, since I have seen more than one lad fall into that snare and be ruined.”

  “And his symbol to say the debt was repaid?” Holmes queried.

  “It is like an A with the lower part of the right leg missing.” He stared at us. “I am happy enough to confess my youthful follies, sir, but how does that aid you?”

  “It eliminates you as a murderer,” Holmes said cheerfully, and we left Lawson sitting with his mouth open.

  Once we were out on the pavement, I asked, “Did you believe him? I did.”

  “As did I, Watson. I think, too, that the story of the other notes of hand may be the same, since all bore that symbol.”

  “The amounts were quite large for a schoolmaster,” I commented.

  “Not so great for an established teacher who lives in with full board. As we know, he had savings—hmmm, yes—and they were perhaps more than I would expect, now that I consider the matter. It may be that we should talk to his bank manager,” Holmes added.

  “He would have banked in town while he lived here,” I offered.

  “And his savings would have been deposited and accrued while he was in London, with records existing. Yes, there is time. Let us go to the bank and see what can be found out.”

  We were fortunate to find an old acquaintance of my friend’s who, on hearing that the depositor was dead, was prepared to allow us a look at his records, so long as nothing was written down or taken away.

  We found that after his first three years as a schoolmaster, Collin Melrose had begun to deposit sums of cash into his account. The deposits had been irregular and small at first, but later they had varied from ten pounds to almost a hundred. I looked at the long line of sums that continued until he retired and blinked.

  “What can he have been doing, Holmes?”

  My friend studied the dates and nodded before looking up. “Consider this, Watson. Here we have an educated man. He warns strongly against gambling, and he assists at least one boy to escape such a snare, but what else do we know about Melrose?”

  I cudgeled my brain. “He grew up on a large estate. Oh, and Miss Bibi said he was a fine rider. His father was a gamekeeper, so he would have been familiar with that topic, and he was a friend of Mr. Paget, so he may have known quite a bit about running a large estate.” I remembered something else. “Yes, and judging by Lawson’s report, he certainly seemed to know all about gamblers and the habits of those who cheat them.”

  “Yes, put all that together, Watson, and what do we have?” I looked puzzled and he elaborated. “We have a man who knows horses, a man who was a fine rider, as agreed to by his boyhood friend. We have a man who appears to know a surprising amount about how those professionals involved in gambling lure innocents into their snares, and finally we have a man who had scores of boys under his care, who was, by report, the sort of man they liked, respected, and with whom they may have continued with in friendship once they departed the classroom.”

  I frowned doubtfully. “You mean, they may have told him of their work?”

  “I do, for those who leave school may fall into many occupations.” His voice emphasized his next words. “Including, Watson, work to do with horses.”

  My mind lit in understanding. “He bet on horses,” I exclaimed triumphantly.

  “Bravo, Watson. Yes, so I think. I noticed that some of the dates of later deposits were immediately after annual major racing events. Those deposits were larger. I think Melrose took his knowledge of horses, and information provided by former pupils, and used this knowledge to bet on races. I believe he did so skillfully and carefully, never risking more than he could afford or accruing such amounts as would make him conspicuous.

  “He would know that, as a schoolmaster, he could be a subject for blackmail. Moreover, if owners suspected that their employees talked too frankly, they would be dismissed. And those who accept bets professionally tend to object to gamblers who most often win. That is not their purpose.”

  I chuckled. “No. So you think that Melrose augmented his savings in this way? He did nothing illegal, and none should have cause for a grudge against him.”

  “None who would seek him out many years later and murder him, for they would gain nothing by it. These amounts ceased to be deposited from the time he returned to Ashwood to die, seven years gone.

  “No, let us return home, Watson. Tomorrow I will travel to those others whose names are on the I.O.U.s, but I think their stories will be the same as Lawson’s. I will leave you to your patients, but if you are willing and have the time, I would appreciate your company on another excursion.”

  I was more than willing, so we retired to our rooms, had a pleasant dinner and read the newspapers until bedtime. I, having sent a note around to my retired colleague asking his indulgence for a day or two’s work again shortly, went to my bedroom at ten. I lay thinking, before sleep overcame me, how fortunate I was to have both a profession I loved, and a hobby I could enjoy at the heels of my truest friend.

  * * * *

  Holmes was gone the next morning when I rose, and I guessed he had taken a very early train into Suffolk, where John Brill lived. The signatory to the third I.O.U. lived some distance from Brill, but there was a connecting train. If Holmes managed his journeying well, he could see both men and be home again by this evening. Therefore, it behooved me to do my work with industry, that I might accompany him the next day—guessing that he would be in search of the writer of that anonymous and threatening letter, or perhaps of the author of the second one that castigated Melrose for some supposedly unwise dealings.

  I had a busy day yet had cleared my patient list by the time I arrived home late that evening, weary but content. Holmes came in just as I was sitting down to dinner and we said nothing until that was dealt with and we could relax. With a good meal, a glass in hand, and the fire stoked, I sat back and looked at my friend, who smiled.

  “Watson, you have the look of a terrier asking for a walk.”

  I grinned. “Do I get one?”

  “You do. The letter that warned Melrose against some folly was signed. I admit the signature was almost illegible and there was no address, but I have managed to make out the name and after that the address could be found. Tomorrow, if you agree, we shall go there and interview the lady.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “A lady? From the forceful nature of the letter and the bold handwriting I had rather supposed it to be a man.”

  “Ah, but when I say a lady, Watson, I mean the word literally. A Lady Bennington, who resides just outside London, wrote that letter, and I admit to curiosity as to the subject.”

  As did I, now that I knew the writer. “You have the item, Holmes. May we look at it again?”

  He rose, went to the mantelpiece, removed the letter from a tin, and laid it out on the table. The paper was of good quality, although not quite as superior as I would expect for use by a member of the nobility. The writing was angular, a finely written copperplate inscribed in faded black ink, but there was a forcefulness to it that betokened someone of strong character. We had found no envelope with it in Melrose’s box and I supposed it had been discarded. I looked up at Holmes.

  “What do you think it means?”
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  “I have some idea,” my friend stated enigmatically, and said no more while I read the letter again. It had no salutation, and the only word at the end was a scrawl, which, now the writer was named, I could decipher to read ‘Bennington.’ It was curt, vaguely threatening, and, as I also now saw, suggested the writer and Melrose had known somewhat of each other. It read:

  I would be grateful for your withdrawal from my affairs. You have not the right to interfere, nor any authority in the matter. You yourself are involved to some minor extent and this places you in peril should I chose to lay information, or to act against you. It is my strong suggestion that in future you mind your own business and remain far from that other you have chosen to influence. Should you not heed this warning I have those at my command who may convince you otherwise.

  I regarded this communication, thinking that while there were no outright threats, no “I’ll have someone do you bodily harm,” the last sentence nonetheless suggested that intent. But who was “that other” Melrose had influenced, and what was the business in which they were both involved—even if in Melrose’s case—it was to only a minor extent. That indicated that the writer was also involved, and more deeply. Could this have something to do with Melrose’s gambling? And whatever it was or meant, the fading of the ink showed it had been written quite some time ago.

  I read the letter a second time. After a short silence, Holmes spoke. “Your conclusions, Watson?”

  “That—and it seems incredible—they were both involved in gambling on horse-races, that he influenced some member of her family, and that she was very angry when she wrote this.”

  “The latter certainly. The person he influenced, I agree, is likely a relation of the lady’s. I think that while they may both have gambled, it was not that which produced this rather hysterical effusion.”

  “What then?”

  “I have asked around about the lady and discovered two interesting facts. One is that her husband died in a hunting accident when her son was only five. She was then, in effect, regent for the estate, which was rigidly entailed. Once her son reached his majority, and by her husband’s will, she received the right to live in the Dower House there, a right to use the London House in the season, and a moderate allowance for life.

  “As regent to the Bennington estate she had rather more money available, but I am told that she seemed to live above even that, or did so until some twenty years ago, about the time the heir turned eighteen. He is now thirty-nine and married, with two children. His mother lived predominantly in the Dower House, coming only briefly to London for the season until a short time ago, when she removed to France, where she remains. All that being contrary to her previous habits.”

  “Eighteen,” I said thoughtfully. “What do young men do at eighteen? Gamble, perhaps? But at that that age he’d have no authority against the estate.”

  “His mother would.”

  “But the entail. There’d be lawyers.”

  “Who are City men, and she would visit them in the City. What would they see or know of the estate?” I could make no sense of it. Holmes continued. “Wastage, Watson. She was committing wastage.”

  “I see,” I said slowly. An entailed estate may not allow certain things to be done, nor some items sold, unless the money returns directly to the estate for its betterment. Lady Bennington could have been committing wastage, most likely by means of cutting and selling timber and then replanting. A quiet tithe of livestock disposed of privately, perhaps, and I had heard of another method.

  “Is there a river on the estate?”

  Holmes nodded. “A good-sized stream. The fishing rights on that could be rented out for cash each season, which would not be something that vanished, hence its rental could go unnoticed.”

  “Cutting down trees would be obvious.”

  “Not if they were on the farther part of the estate, and then, too, some portion of the monies could have been declared.”

  “And the same could have been done with livestock,” I agreed. “I was just thinking she could have skimmed there. Easy enough to tell the lawyers that they have, say, two hundred sheep, and they had of them one hundred and ninety-five lambs. That would be believable to City lawyers. A few lambs died, which is normal.”

  “Exactly. However, if many of the sheep produced twins, as some breeds do, and well-cared-for flocks can, then she might have as many as several dozen lambs to sell without record. The resultant money would be hers.”

  “Nor would the staff be prepared to talk,” I said, knowing how things went on some estates. “They would live in the main house or in tied cottages and be afraid to gossip, lest they lose both home and wage and be turned off without a reference. And you think that was what she was doing? But how would Melrose learn of it?”

  “What was Melrose’s profession, Watson?”

  I snorted at my own stupidity. “Of course! He taught the Bennington lad, and he gambled. If she did also and using the same betting agents, he would know of it. He might fall into conversation with the son about his estate and from that discover some of what was being done. Melrose came from an estate, so he would know of wastage and how it could be accomplished and covered up.”

  “Precisely, Watson.”

  “But do you think the lady is likely to admit any of this?” I asked dubiously.

  “It is not the lady I intend to approach,” was all my friend said, and I knew that look too well to argue.

  * * * *

  We caught the train next morning, and I was astounded to find a crested carriage waiting for us at the small halt which served the Bennington estate. Once at the house we were shown at once to the study where Garrett Bennington—a brown-haired, brown-eyed, aquiline-faced man of medium height clad in good country tweeds—rose to greet us. I liked the look of him. His eyes, while keen, yet held kindliness and a gentle good humor.

  “Anything I can do at all to assist you in discovering the murderer of my friend, gentlemen, shall be done. Ask what you will, and I shall answer.”

  We settled in comfortable armchairs, accepted whisky, and Holmes nodded. “I want you, if you will, to tell me of Mr. Melrose. He was your teacher for five years and you held him in high esteem. As you say, a friendship grew up between you. Did he talk to you of personal subjects? Was he ever a visitor here? Speak of the man you knew.”

  And our host did precisely that, while we sat and listened.

  4

  The school he had attended, Garrett Bennington told us, was a minor public school mid-way between his home and central London. It had been Melrose’s last posting, and there he had met our host, who attended when he was thirteen.

  “I had previously gone to a different school, but my mother insisted I should live closer to home and I had no say in the matter. I was lonely, homesick, and dare not show it for fear of ridicule. But I had been at I------ since my father died, a period of almost six years, and I knew it as well as my own home. At the new school I knew no one, and since those about me had been there years already, they had their own friends. Melrose saw to it that I got to know other boys with similar interests, and when, on one occasion, I would have been subjected to a rather brutal hazing, he stepped in. He did this in such a way that prevented the hazing from happening, but the perpetrators did not realize his intervention, putting it down to accident.”

  He continued with other anecdotes, all of which showed Melrose in a good light, as a decent man and a fine teacher, who had taken a genuine liking to a lonely boy. Bennington, being an only child and older in some ways than his years, was interested in what Melrose could tell him of the ways and management of an estate. Bennington’s estate might have been larger than the one Melrose was familiar with, but the principles were the same. It sounded as if the lad had learned all he could—which gave me to wonder. Catching Holmes’s eye, I could see the same idea had occurred to him.

  “He told you of the ways in which an estate might be profitable?”

  “He told me many
ways, and I have applied almost all to my own home. My estate does very well nowadays, and I count that as owing much to his knowledge and advice.”

  “Ah, yes.” Holmes’s voice was bland. “Undoubtedly he mentioned wastage and how unwise for any steward of an estate to indulge in it.”

  Bennington looked up sharply and I realized this man could be dangerous.

  “Melrose died. You believe it murder,” he said, as if ticking off a list. “You are asking questions, and perhaps seeking out those who may have had a grudge against him. I had no grudge, nor do I commit wastage.”

  Holmes’s voice remained toneless. “Of course, but things may be done that the master does not know of, or that he may learn of and chose to deal with privately at another time. Assured of that, and that none here would have harmed your friend, we would be able to leave, knowing all was well. No more need be asked of you or yours, nor further intrusions made.”

  “That would be satisfactory. Can you tell me how anything was known of my direction?”

  “Someone wrote a letter—and signed it,” Holmes informed him. “It made certain threats, and it was found in Melrose’s effects upon his death. His heir, the daughter of his boyhood friend, came to me in great distress saying she was certain Melrose was murdered and demanding that I find the person and bring him to justice. She loved Melrose, and he appears to have regarded her as an almost-daughter. All we have heard of him says that he was a good man, and,” here his voice grew stern, “there are not so many good men that the murder of one should be countenanced.”

  “A letter?” Bennington said blankly, before his fist came down on the table beside him. “A signed letter! The d----- fool! That stupid, brainless, arrogant, money-hungry idiot! And making threats! Dear God, after all these years I can still be amazed at the depths of her folly. How like Melrose to say nothing of it to me. He knew I had matters in hand and would not wish to distress me further.”