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

‘What time was it that you went to the stationer’s?’

‘A few minutes after half past eight, which is when the shop opens. I was back again by ten to nine.’

‘Do you know whose coat you were wearing when you went out?’

Bebington frowned. ‘What a strange question!’ said he. ‘As a matter of fact, I assumed it was my own when I put it on, but later realised it wasn’t.’

‘Why are you so sure?’

‘It had an ink-mark on the sleeve, which mine certainly does not. When I came down into the corridor where the outdoor coats are hung up, there were two or three of them hanging there and I just took the one I thought was mine. I didn’t think it really mattered whose coat it was, anyway, as I knew I was only going to be out for a few minutes.’

‘And when you returned?’

‘The clothes-pegs were all empty. I remember noticing that. So I just hung up my own hat and coat, and took my stationery supplies off to the library.’

‘Thank you,’ said Holmes. ‘You have been most helpful.’

‘Have I?’ returned the other, a look of curiosity on his features. ‘I’m sure I don’t know how!’

On the train back to London, Holmes was in a state of barely suppressed excitement, and it was clear that he considered that he had made some definite progress in the case. He opened his note-book at the page on which he had drawn numerous lines, arrows and little stick-men, laid it on the seat beside him and pored over it in silence for some time.

‘I don’t know how you can make sense of all those squiggles,’ I said, leaning across and studying it with him. ‘It looks too complex for the human brain to take in!’

‘On the contrary,’ said he; ‘it is, essentially, very simple.’

‘I suppose those little stick-men represent the minor canons.’

My friend shook his head. ‘No,’ said he. ‘The little circles with the initials in them are the minor canons. The stick-men, as you call them, represent their raincoats, which generally followed a different course during the day from that taken by their owners. It would perhaps be clearer if I had had a coloured pencil with which to draw the lines relating to the raincoats. You would then be able to see more clearly the contrast between where the men went and where their coats went. I must remember to carry a red pencil with me in future, to allow for such eventualities!’

After a while, Holmes put away his note-book and replaced it on the seat with the little scrap of paper that Zennor had found in his pocket. For some time he stared at this with a frown of concentration, then with a sigh, he took his watch out.

‘It would be helpful if this train would go a little faster,’ said he in a tone of impatience. ‘I can do nothing more until we return to Baker Street. There, the last but one piece of the puzzle should fall rapidly into place!’

My friend’s progress was destined to be somewhat less rapid than he had hoped, however. By the time we reached London, the rain had stopped, the clouds had begun to break up and the sun was peeping through, but it was evident from his manner that Holmes was perfectly oblivious to this improvement in the weather. Not a word did he speak until we were back in our lodgings, where he placed the scrap of paper on the table, got out a pile of maps and volumes of reference, and for several minutes turned the pages in silence. Then at length, with a groan, he looked up, a crestfallen expression on his face.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘Check number one,’ said he. ‘There is a church at Ham, Watson. Unfortunately, it is not St Mark’s, but St Andrew’s.’

‘Perhaps there are two churches there,’ I suggested, but my friend shook his head.

‘The information in this volume is very detailed, but there is no mention of a St Mark’s. Of course, the word ‘‘Ham’’ on this note is followed by a full stop, so it may be an abbreviation of a longer name.’

‘Hampton,’ I suggested, ‘or Hampton Wick.’

‘Let us see,’ said Holmes, turning the pages rapidly. ‘Hum! No good, I’m afraid. The church at Hampton is St Mary’s. That at Hampton Wick is St John’s. There is also somewhere called New Hampton, but the church there is St James’s. The large “X” on this note puzzles me,’ he continued, looking again at the scrap of paper. ‘Of course, people often write “X” as an abbreviation for “Cross” in place-names such as Charing Cross, but I can’t recall anywhere called “Ham Cross” or anything similar.’

‘What about Hammersmith?’ I suggested. ‘I have never heard anyone speak of “Hammersmith Cross”, but there is certainly a cross-roads there.’

Again Holmes turned the pages over rapidly.

‘No good,’ said he at length. ‘The church at Hammersmith is St Paul’s. Let us see what Hampstead has to offer! No, that is St John’s.’

‘West Ham or East Ham, in the East End,’ I suggested.

‘I’m afraid not, Watson,’ said my friend after a moment. ‘The church at East Ham is another St Mary’s, and that at West Ham – in the district of Upton, it says here – is St Peter’s.’ He sighed. ‘This is proving more difficult than I had expected!’

‘Do you not have an alphabetical list of London churches anywhere?’ I asked, but he shook his head.

‘It’s probably too late now to get hold of such a list,’ said he with a glance at the clock. ‘I can make inquiries first thing in the morning, but, as you know, I dislike leaving things to the last minute and had hoped to get the matter settled this evening. Of course, I know of a couple of churches dedicated to St Mark: there is one scarcely a stone’s throw from here, in the Marylebone Road, for instance, and another south of the river – in Kennington, if I recall correctly – but none is in a district which might be known as “Ham”. And then there is this capital “X”. What is the significance of that?’

‘Perhaps it is simply a symbol for a church,’ I suggested, ‘as you sometimes see on maps.’

‘Yes,’ returned my friend, ‘but if so its presence in the note seems completely superfluous; and, in any case, if it were simply an abbreviation for “church”, one would expect to see it after the word “Mark’s” and before the word “Ham”. Let us see if we can find anything on any of these maps,’ he continued, handing one to me, and opening another one out for himself.

‘What am I looking for?’ I asked, as I spread the map out on the hearth-rug.

‘I cannot precisely say,’ returned Holmes: ‘some likely-looking church, some reference to St Mark’s among the street-names, somewhere that might be known as “Ham”.’

‘There are a few streets in Fulham which bear that name,’ I remarked, after several minutes had passed in silence, ‘but I cannot see if there is a church there and, in any case, I can’t imagine that anyone would abbreviate “Fulham” as “Ham”.’

‘There is also a small hospital known as St Mark’s,’ responded my companion, ‘but it is in the City, near Aldersgate station, so I don’t think that that is of any use to us.’

Holmes fell silent again then and when I glanced up I saw that he was studying the little note once more, with the aid of his magnifying lens. Abruptly, he let out a little cry, as of surprise or enlightenment.

‘Watson!’ said he in an urgent tone. ‘I have something of great importance to tell you!’

‘What is it?’ I asked, rising to my feet.

‘That you have, all this time, been sharing rooms with a complete idiot! I deserve to be kicked from here to London Bridge for not seeing the truth earlier! Come and take a look! Do you see?’ he continued, as I bent over the little note. ‘What appeared to be a capital “X” is not that at all! It is in fact a lower-case “t”! It has been written in a great hurry and the vertical stroke is falling over backwards, while the horizontal stroke is rising from left to right. Of course that explains why there is a full stop after it!’