Sherlock Holmes - Found Dead Read online

  “True, Watson. Yes, let us make arrangements now to catch that train. It will save time in the morning.” His forehead wrinkled. “I wonder what Thompson is planning. I do not think that he came all this way just to persuade his brother into some minor infraction of the law.”

  Now that he said that, nor did I. “You think he has some larger crime in mind, for which he needed a man he could trust?”

  “That is my thought, but there is another thing to consider.” I waited. “Everyone says that they are still very alike to look at,” Holmes continued. “Not that such a thing is surprising, after all, they are twins. But they have not seen each other—save that once—since their mother died two years ago. More interestingly, Watson, no one save the people here in this small place have seen them together in that two years. What if a crime were committed and bystanders could give a description of the criminal, and what if someone then told the police—perhaps anonymously—that a man of that description resided here, at Stafford Farm. And what if Charles were brought before witnesses who identified him as the thief?”

  I could see such an event but entered a prompt caveat. “He would have only to point to his brother, Holmes. And what of Mary Stafford?”

  “The police are reluctant to believe a wife if she is the sole witness, Watson. Moreover, the father’s crimes would be known, and the police are wont to say, ‘like father, like son.’ What if they could not lay hands on the brother, or if, perhaps, he had an apparently impartial alibi?”

  I scowled. “I don’t like the possibilities in this. At the least, if the police had both brothers, the law might be brought to a standstill.”

  “Even so. They bring both into court, each produces an alibi, each accuses the other, the witnesses cannot say for certain which brother they saw, what then?”

  I laughed abruptly. “The court is like to convict both,” I said. “But… that would not be justice. We must prevent any such thing, Holmes.”

  He nodded. “Yes, therefore tomorrow morning we will set out for this village Bob mentioned and see what we can discover of Mr. Thompson and his friends.”

  * * * *

  The following morning we climbed aboard the train, disembarked at the small village of Onisly, and left our cases at the inn. I went off to visit the local doctor while Holmes drifted into the bar and fell into conversation there. We reconvened in our small, shabby suite that evening and over dinner there exchanged news of our day.

  “The doctor here is a good fellow. We have medical friends in common and he spoke freely.” Holmes raised an eyebrow. “Yes, he knows Thompson. He moved here nearly two years ago and rents a small cottage down an out-of-the-way track. My friend dislikes him, says that he is friends with a bad element, and that while he is not here for long at any one time, he believes Thompson has been involved in several incidents.”

  “Of what sort?”

  “The one he was more explicit over concerned a man who intended to purchase a necklace for his wife.”

  It was an unpleasant little tale. A lady living near the village, having lost her husband and needing to pay a large debt he had incurred, let it be known that she had a necklace for sale. A Malcolm Edwards came to see the item, agreed to purchase it for his wife, and went to London to obtain the amount required. Upon his return late that evening, he was set upon, the money taken, and he received grievous injuries.

  “The doctor believes Thompson was involved,” I said.

  “On what grounds?”

  “He had little one could call proof, but he instanced Thompson having been seen talking to both the lady selling the necklace, and to Edwards. The doctor cared for Edwards until he was able to return home and Edwards told him that when he was attacked, while it may have been dark, he thought he had heard Thompson’s voice.”

  “I see. Did Edwards tell that to the police?”

  “The doctor says that Edwards did not. He was uncertain, saying that while the voice sounded like that of his acquaintance, it was rougher, using such language as he had never heard his acquaintance use. He had seen nothing, after all, and he thought it wrong to traduce Thompson.”

  “And thus honest men allow criminals to escape justice,” Holmes said. “Thompson would not have given another the benefit of the doubt in such a way. No, no,” as I would have protested. “I do not mean that Edwards should have sworn to something of which he was unsure, merely that his honesty would not be reciprocated.” He eyed me closely. “Did the doctor have any more to say of Thompson’s doings?”

  I leaned back and smiled. “Not of Thompson, but of something else. He mentioned that the squire of Onisly—one Simon Russell—celebrates his thirtieth wedding anniversary with his wife, Katherine, this weekend. There is to be a grand party at the manor, and rumor has it there will be a table in the study on which will be displayed the many gifts they will receive.”

  Holmes gazed at me, and I smiled back—a grin that had something of smugness in it. I had initially heard that as merely a brief comment, but it had immediately struck me. Was this event the one for which Thompson desired a scapegoat and even, perhaps, why he had temporarily moved to that village? I invited my colleague to lunch, and over a pleasant, if basic meal, I mined assiduously for any details he knew.

  “I see,” my friend said. “What do you know of this anniversary?”

  And with that I shared all I had learned, including a final tidbit which I held to last. Namely, that Thompson had been seen with a girl who worked in the manor, a parlor-maid by the name of Daisy Connor. She was young, naïve, and her mother was cook there, so she was very knowledgeable as to the manor, its exits and entrances, and the comings and goings of both the family and the staff.

  “What do you know of the staff?” Holmes asked. “Can you tell me of those who live in, and how many family members are normally resident?”

  I was able to satisfy those questions and he nodded approval. “Excellent work, Watson. And I agree it is likely Thompson has it in mind to rob the house. The question is whether he plans to do so before or during the party.”

  “It must be during.” He raised an eyebrow. “Dr. Mason told me that the presents will not be placed on display until just before the first guests arrive. Until then, they are held in the manor’s strong-room.” I added further details I had gleaned and Holmes indicated his disagreement.

  “No, they will strike before the night of the party. There may be fewer gifts, but they will have only to contend with the family and staff, not the detectives hired to watch the gift-table, nor the guests. Some guests will be strong young men who may intervene, and also the county’s local magistrate may bring a man or two. If they attack, perhaps the night before, they will be able to take most of the gifts and have fewer defenders to deal with.”

  That made sense, I thought, and aloud I inquired. “How do we prevent it?”

  “Leave that to me.”

  I did, and in the morning, it was suggested that I spend time again with the doctor. Holmes, he said, had business elsewhere.

  On returning to the inn for lunch together with the doctor, I was told my friend hired a pony-trap immediately after we breakfasted and had not yet come back. He did not do so until shortly after I, myself, returned for dinner and was about to sit down and order. At which time he drove into the inn’s yard with a weary pony and mud-splashed trap, left the tired animal to the ostler, and joined me briefly, pausing only to say that he would return as soon as he had bathed and changed, whereupon he vanished up the stairs.

  I decided that, like the pony, my friend was like to be weary, and instructed the waiter that we would, after all, dine in our suite. I ordered a pleasant, not-too-expensive wine to go with our food and ascended the stairs to our suite. There I waited, listening to Holmes splashing in the bathroom, and anticipating a good tale. In which I was wrong since Holmes, once he joined me, ate the meal, talked commonplaces, and said nothing of his day’s journey. I did not plague him with questions, for I know my friend. If he does not wish
to talk, he will not, and besides, I suspected that he had some surprise for me, and I would not spoil that.

  6

  I was honestly astonished when he disclosed next day what he had with-held.

  “We are invited to spend the night at the manor, Watson.”

  “What? Tonight? Holmes, I am not… that is, I do not have evening dress with me.”

  “Your suit will do well enough. We are invited to dine en-famille, and to stay the night.”

  I considered. The party was to be on the Friday night, so my colleague had informed me. It was now Wednesday.

  “Tell me, Holmes, how did they know of us?”

  “Temberton is a friend of the squire. He has mentioned us,” was my friend’s rather uninformative reply.

  That might well be true, I thought, but it did not explain why we should be invited to dine and stay the night, especially as it was only two nights before a major event which would have all the staff engaged in preparations.

  I said something of such things and Holmes shrugged. “Should you not wish to attend, you have only to say.”

  I refuted any such desire, and retired to seek out the chambermaid, asking that she clean and press my suit to the best of her ability. Happily, her ability was considerable, and when I made ready that night with a suit that was at least respectable, and with a clean shirt and collar, I felt I did my friend no discredit. Since the manor was no great distance from the village, we retained the inn’s trap and ostler so that we were driven to our rendezvous in style.

  I admit to continuing surprise when we were greeting heartily on our arrival by one clearly the master. “Heard about you! Good to see you, Doctor, and you, Mr. Holmes.”

  We were conducted with all good will into a parlor, where our host chatted to us for some half-hour of one of my friend’s most recent cases. After which a gong sounded, and we followed him to the dinner table where we were introduced as “friends of old Temberton, you know, in the area for a couple of days,” and made welcome.

  I ate a convivial and excellent dinner, spent some time talking to our hostess who smiled blandly, giving me leads on various subjects for discussion. After a couple of hours, Holmes said politely that we would retire, as we were weary. We then were conducted by a servant to two bedrooms with a connecting door, each room containing a large, comfortable bed, a glowing fire, and—to my astonishment—a lantern beside the more usual candlestick and candle on the bedside table.

  “Holmes,” I demanded, “why does our host suppose we shall need a lantern?”

  His eyes showed amusement. “Perhaps because I shall, and you also, should you choose to join me.”

  Light burst on my brain as a sunrise. “You expect Thompson and his fellows tonight? But why?”

  The explanation, as I discovered, was simple. Holmes arranged for Thompson to hear that the squire requested the detectives arrive on the Thursday. This left the criminals only tonight in which to break open the strong-room and seize its contents before reinforcements rendered the job more dangerous. In the manor, the squire and his wife alone knew of the plans, and it had been she who casually let the information fall to Thompson’s informant.

  “We believe it most probable that they will come in the early hours, once everyone is abed, including the servants. All the servants are housed in a separate wing, and once retired they will not come into the main house again until five.”

  “Thompson and his friends will enter between the house’s going silent, and the servants rising at five?”

  “So we think. Go to bed now, Watson. It is only ten, and you should get several hours of sleep before anything occurs.”

  I obeyed and slept quite soundly until almost two. The house had long since gone quiet when Holmes tapped at the connecting door.

  “Time to dress, Watson. Light the candle when you can do so without a light showing beyond the house but bring the lantern unlit. Come by the back stairs and I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.”

  It was pitch dark, and I moved to the window, having already counted footsteps to that. Once there I pulled the heavy curtains across and returned to my bedside, where I lit the candle. l dressed swiftly, having laid my clothing out before I climbed into bed, and checking my pocket to be certain I was not unarmed. I then took up the candlestick in one hand, the lantern in the other, made my way to the bedroom door, opened the door slightly and peered down the hallway.

  Down the enclosed stairwell at the end of the hall I could see a faint glimmer of light, and I padded in that direction. I reached the top of the stairs and a soft hiss attracted my attention. Holmes waited partway down. He beckoned, and I followed until we reached the kitchen doorway where he halted, signaling me to remain silent. I did so, and a soft sound behind me announced the arrival of another person. I turned and was startled to see an unknown man, certainly not our host or one of his family. I slipped a hand surreptitiously into my pocket and he spoke at once in a low voice.

  “I am delighted to meet you, sir. Mr. Holmes has assured me that you are a good man to have at one’s side at such a time.”

  Such an introduction was a useful way of telling me that, whoever he was, he was not a housebreaker. I relaxed and nodded as he continued.

  “I am Sir James Hasking, magistrate of this county, and a long-time friend of Russell’s. Your friend called us in, telling us all you discovered. With that warning, we set a trap for this Thompson.”

  The call of an owl, repeated three more times, and a hiss from nearby silenced us both. Holmes loomed up, his silhouette black against the tiny candle-flame. “That was the signal,” he said. “Three men are approaching the house.”

  Hasking gave a subdued chuckle. “Clever, very clever. City chaps won’t be surprised to hear an owl at night. Who is the signaler?”

  “Russell’s gamekeeper,” Holmes responded. “He said he could make the call of an owl so convincing that even owls have been known to call back.”

  “I don’t know about owls,” I whispered, “but it sounded real enough to me. How far are our visitors from the house?”

  “They should be forcing the window-catch at any moment. Follow me and show no more light than you must.”

  And with that he led us down the hallway, through two service rooms, and out into an uncarpeted back corridor where Russell stood by a door.

  “They aren’t inside as yet,” he whispered. “The strong-room is in here, and they won’t get into it as easily as they hope.”

  To his hiss of disbelief, however, they had the strong-room door opened in seconds. I felt every sinew tighten. “Now, Holmes?”

  “A minute.” He was easing the door open, and we could hear voices. A light held low illuminated the wooden floor immediately in front of where we stood.

  Someone spoke in a rough country voice. “B------ me, look at that glitter! Enough gelt to buy an abbey. Told you I could get you through the wood wi’out anyone seeing.”

  A more educated voice cut across the rejoicing. “No noise! Get it into the bag. Hurry! The less time we’re here, the better.”

  A third voice added a demand. “Joe, hold that bag open wider. Yeah, reckon you got the goods all right. Stupid little skirt you bin getting it from knew enough to be d------ useful. She’ll be real disappointed to find her fancy man’s vanished in the night. You don’t think she’ll peach?”

  Again the educated voice spoke. “What can she say? She may not be that bright, but she isn’t stupid enough to rush off to the peelers. What? Say how she told me where to find the strong-room, how she happened to know where a spare key is kept? No, she’ll keep her mouth shut once she works it out—if she ever does.” He gave a low, unpleasant laugh. “Even if she talks, I have an option there, as well.” His tone had a gloating tinge to it, and I felt outrage, guessing of what he spoke.

  Holmes’s hand reached back to grip my wrist. “Inside when I say, Watson, and leap to the left as soon as soon as you clear the door. Sir James, you to the right, with Mr. Russell close and dir
ectly behind you. Leave a gap between you at the door.”

  He waited until the voice announced that they had everything of value, and only we four heard his signal. “Now!” With one accord we leaped at the command.

  There was immediate confusion. One of the housebreakers—as Holmes had anticipated—seeing the dark gap of an opened door, fired at that, the shot missing us all clean. He had no more opportunity. Holmes reached him in two bounds and caught him a nice flush hit. He dropped unconscious to the floor, the gun sliding away across the boards. At the window, which had been left wide open, one man was in the process of departure, bag in hand. The gamekeeper loomed up, dodged a vicious blow and struck back with what I later learned was called a “priest,” used by anglers to give a quick death to landed fish. It did not kill our burglar, but it stunned him long enough for handcuffs to be clapped on by Sir James. The third man, a small, scruffy individual, cringed, cowered, protested that he had been coerced into this, and begged for mercy, offering to give evidence. At a word from Sir James, he too was handcuffed, but otherwise suffered no harm.

  We assembled in the huge old kitchen: gamekeeper, host, magistrate, several policemen who had been in reserve, Holmes, and I, and surveyed our bag. Item one, the would-be informant—still cringing, but now more from the looks he received from his companions and which promised dire retribution, than from fear of the law. Item two, the attempted escapee, nursing a swelling lump on one side of his head, and a black eye—I wondered whence he had that. Finally, item three, one well-dressed young man who appeared in his mid-twenties, the very image of Charlie Thompson. From the look in his eye, he was already determined that someone was going to pay for this, if he ever had the chance.

  The gun, I knew, had been his. He was unlikely to receive the chance for which he yearned. The gamekeeper had the bag, Holmes the gun, and the magistrate the floor as he addressed the small, scruffy man first.

  “You are Joseph Long. I’ve had you before me for petty theft a number of times. Tell me, Joseph, who are your companions?”