Denis Smith - The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

‘One moment,’ interrupted Holmes. ‘If Jeavons had taken Earley’s coat, then whose coat was Earley wearing?’

Zennor shook his head. ‘I don’t know for certain,’ said he. ‘I didn’t hear him make any further remark on the matter, so I suppose I just assumed he had found Jeavons’s coat and gone off in that.’

‘Are their coats of a similar size?’

‘Yes, they are. As a matter of fact, all the coats are practically identical, except for Wakefield’s, which is a size larger. Shortly after Wakefield and Earley left, I saw Bebington going off into town. I believe he was going to the stationer’s shop, to purchase ink or nibs, or something of the sort, and didn’t intend to be out for very long. A few minutes later, I went to get my own hat and coat, before leaving for the railway station.’

‘Did you verify that the coat you took was your own?’

‘ Not then, although I did later, as I shall explain in a moment. At the time, I was in too much of a hurry and I can’t remember giving the matter any thought. I just assumed the coat was mine. There were only two coats still hanging in the corridor then – it was raining quite heavily yesterday morning and everyone who had gone out had put a coat on – and the other one had a frayed lapel and didn’t look like mine. Anyway, I put my coat on and set off. A couple of minutes later, I was caught up in the street by Stafford Nugent, who informed me he was intending to catch the same train. We walked on together for a few minutes, then he stopped and said he’d just realised that he’d forgotten the book he had intended to take back to the library at Lambeth Palace. “You go on to the station, Zennor,” he said, “and I’ll catch you up later.” With that, he turned and hurried back to the cathedral. I continued to the station, where I caught the 9.05 to London. At that time, Nugent had not reappeared, and I assumed he had been delayed for some reason and would catch the next train.

‘At eleven o’clock, my train reached Victoria. I knew that the person I had to see at Lambeth Palace would not be there until the afternoon, so I went down to Brixton to see my mother and sister, and took lunch with them there. I eventually reached Lambeth Palace at about two o’clock, hung up my hat and coat, and went in to see Canon Seagrave at the appointed time.’

‘Where did you leave your coat?’ interrupted Holmes.

‘I don’t imagine you are familiar with Lambeth Palace,’ responded Zennor, ‘so I will describe the relevant part to you. There is a side-door from the garden, which is the one we always use. On the outside of it, against the wall of the building, is a glass-enclosed verandah, in which there is a row of coat-hooks, hat-stand and so on, and a large bench – like a settle, but with a lower back – on which visitors can sit and wait if they have arrived early for their appointment. I hung my coat up there and proceeded in through the door, to where Canon Seagrave’s secretary has a desk.’

‘One moment,’ said Holmes. ‘Were there any coats already there, when you hung up your own coat?’

‘No, the coat-hooks were empty.’

‘And when you came out?’

‘When I came out,’ responded Zennor, ‘which was at about ten past three, there at first appeared to be no coats there at all and for a moment I was nonplussed as to what had become of my own coat. Then I leaned over and looked behind the bench, and saw that my coat was there, in a heap on the ground. It had obviously slipped from its peg. I picked it up, dusted it off with my hand and put it on. Outside, in the garden, I paused a moment, to neaten myself up a bit, when I felt something in the inside pocket of the coat. I unbuttoned my coat, put my hand in the pocket and pulled out a long envelope. It wasn’t sealed and I was just opening it to see what was in it when someone spoke, just behind me. I turned, to see that it was Canon Seagrave and his secretary.

‘“What is that you have there, Mr Zennor?” asked Canon Seagrave.

‘“I don’t know,” I replied. “I have just found it in my pocket.”

‘“You had better let me have a look at it, then,” said the canon, holding out his hand.

‘I handed him the envelope, he opened it, and the two of them said, almost together, “It is Sir Anthony Ingoldsby’s cheque!” Apparently, news had reached them just moments earlier that the cheque had disappeared from the cathedral office at Canterbury. “How do you come to have this cheque in your pocket, Zennor?” asked the canon in a grave tone. I told them I had no idea, that I had not even been aware that the envelope was in my pocket until a moment before. This was the gospel truth, but I realise it must have sounded highly improbable. “I think,” said Canon Seagrave, “that we will hold on to this now. It can be deposited in the bank in London just as well as in Canterbury. As for you, Zennor,” he continued, “I think you had best return at once to the cathedral and explain all the circumstances to your superiors there.” In other words, as was obvious, he didn’t believe a word of what I had told him, but he was washing his hands of the matter and consigning me to the mercies of the cathedral authorities.

‘It was as I was walking from Lambeth Palace to the railway station that it suddenly occurred to me that the coat I was wearing was perhaps not my own. With an uprush of hope at the thought that I might have found the explanation for this baffling puzzle, I stopped in the street and pulled out the lining of this right-hand pocket. Alas! my hopes were dashed. The coat was undeniably my own.’ As he spoke, he had suited the action to the word and had pulled out the lining of the pocket to show us. There, written quite clearly in indelible pencil, were the initials ‘M.Z.’.

‘I therefore returned to Kent,’ continued our companion, ‘in a state of complete gloom and mystification. I have since been quizzed repeatedly on the matter, but have been unable to throw any light on it. I think they find the whole business astounding, and cannot entirely bring themselves to believe that one of the canons could be guilty of such a deceitful act, but can see no other explanation. Nor, I admit, can I. But for the fact that I know for certain that I did not take that envelope, and had never even seen it before that moment in the garden of Lambeth Palace, I, too, should be inclined to think I must be guilty! And if that admission sounds slightly insane, then it is no more than a true reflection of my mental state!’

Sherlock Holmes sat in silence for some time, his brow furrowed with thought. ‘It is always a curious thing,’ said he at last, ‘when all the evidence in a case points to one specific conclusion and yet, at the same time, you know for certain that that conclusion is false. It is enough to make anyone feel unhinged, Mr Zennor. However, my dear sir, you must not despair. Let us forget about conclusions for a moment and consider some of the details. It is interesting, for instance, that you did not notice that there was anything in your pocket until that moment in the garden of Lambeth Palace.’

‘I think,’ said Zennor, ‘that when my coat slipped from the peg and fell to the floor, the envelope must have become slightly twisted in the pocket and that that is why I noticed it. It was, after all, only a very slim envelope and if lying flat was probably undetectable.’

‘That is possible,’ said Holmes. ‘What of the other papers and letters you had brought up to London? How had you carried them?’

‘In a small leather case. I don’t generally use the coat pockets for anything, except sometimes for my gloves.’

‘I see. Before you proceed with your account, can you remember the last time you, or any of the others, saw Sir Anthony Ingoldsby’s cheque before it disappeared?’