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

‘Mr Vidler was interested in the selection I took to show him, and appeared about to make me an offer for the lot. But as he was deliberating, I began to have the odd and disconcerting feeling that someone was watching me. Once or twice, out of the corner of my eye, I had had the impression of a face peering round a doorway at the back of the shop. I looked up sharply, and as I did so a face withdrew behind the door-frame. It was only a momentary glimpse I had, but in that fraction of a second, I had the distinct impression that the man watching me was none other than Jonathan Pleasant, the man I had put up at Juniper Cottage on the night of the storm.

‘“There is something very odd afoot here,” I said softly to Major Loxley. “That man, Pleasant, is following me about!” To the surprise of the old shop-keeper, I made a sudden dash towards his back room, with Loxley at my heels. But as we reached the doorway and looked into the room, a door in the opposite wall banged shut. We could not get it open for a moment, and when we did we found ourselves in the narrow lane which runs behind the shops. We could hear hurried footsteps ringing upon the pavement round the corner, and ran in that direction, but when we reached the corner, there was no one to be seen.

‘“Whoever it was, he has vanished,” said Loxley, scratching his head, and we returned to the bookshop. Mr Vidler made me an offer for the box of books, but I felt put out by what had happened, and not in the mood for concluding a bargain, so I told him I would consider his offer, but, for the moment, take my box of books back home again. As I was gathering them together, I asked the shop-keeper if he knew Jonathan Pleasant, and described him. He said he did not, but said that there had been a customer of that description in the shop shortly before we arrived, and that he might have slipped unnoticed into the back room as we entered. I was about to leave then, when it struck me that there were fewer books in the box than before. At first Mr Vidler disputed the matter, but when I insisted upon it, he let out a little cry.

‘“Oh, of course!” said he, as if in sudden recollection. “Do excuse my carelessness, Mr Potter! I carried a volume to the window, to study it in a better light, and forgot to replace it. Here it is!” he continued, picking up a volume from a shelf behind where he was standing. It was old Hardiman Smallbone’s copy of the Old Testament.’

Sherlock Holmes rubbed his hands together and chuckled. ‘Excellent!’ cried he, with the enthusiasm of a wine-connoisseur who has taken his first sip of a particularly rare and fine vintage.

‘My story interests you, then?’ queried Potter, a note of relief in his voice. ‘I had feared that you might think it too trivial a matter to concern yourself with. It is, of course, of the first importance to me, for I am determined to get to the bottom of why I am being persecuted by this man, Pleasant; but I can see that it might strike an outsider as a somewhat inconsequential business.’

Holmes shook his head emphatically. ‘One must never prejudge such a matter,’ said he. ‘One of the most terrible cases I was ever involved with began with the arrival of a packet of children’s wooden bricks in the post one morning. Besides, the great big crimes, which feature so frequently in the newspapers, and in connection with which you may have seen my name, are all too often banal and uninteresting, for all their sensation. The connoisseur of such things, Mr Potter, when presented with a choice between a pint-pot of weak and mediocre beer and a thimbleful of an exquisite and refined liqueur, will always choose the latter. Your case interests me greatly, and I should be pleased to look into the matter for you. Are we now up to date?’ he continued, glancing up at the clock. ‘I should like to see Juniper Cottage for myself, this afternoon if possible, and if we leave now we should be able to catch the three o’clock train from Charing Cross.’

‘I believe I have told you most of it,’ returned Potter. ‘I can give you the remaining details as we travel.’

‘Capital!’ cried Holmes, springing from his chair. ‘Let us be off to Woolwich at once, then. You will accompany us, Doctor?’

‘With great pleasure!’ said I. Mr Potter’s curious little puzzle had fired my imagination, and I was keen to see the scene of the mystery for myself. What Holmes might hope to learn there, I could not imagine, but knowing his profound mental resources, I could not doubt that we should leave Juniper Cottage knowing more than when we arrived.

Once we were aboard the train, Holmes’s client resumed his account.

‘Following the incident at the bookshop,’ said he, ‘I gave the matter a lot of thought, and discussed it exhaustively with Major Loxley, who was tolerably familiar with my late uncle’s affairs, but we could make nothing of it. It seemed to me, on reflection, that the man calling himself Pleasant – I put it that way for I have come to feel that it is not his real name – had the cut of a soldier. He was tall and upright, clean-shaven, and with close-cropped hair. This made me wonder if he was from the local barracks, and if the whole matter were not perhaps connected in some way with my uncle’s old regiment. For although he had been retired from active service for some years, most of his friends and acquaintances were men from the regiment, and he was a frequent visitor to the barracks.

‘I therefore called in a few days later, and asked to speak to the commanding officer, Colonel Headley, whom my uncle had known well. I was informed that he was absent that afternoon, at Rochester, but his adjutant, Major Felgate, was most obliging. He is a very smart-looking man, with a black moustache, and very sharp, inquisitive features. He expressed concern when I described to him the odd visitor we had had at Juniper Cottage, and the other incidents.

‘“I cannot recall offhand that any of our men exactly matches the description you have given me,” said he, stroking his moustache in a thoughtful way, “but I shall make thorough inquiries. If it turns out that any of our men are concerned in the matter, I shall get to the bottom of it, Mr Potter, you may be assured of that. Major Ullathorne, your uncle, was a very well-respected figure here, and the Royal Medway Regiment would certainly feel it its duty to do all it could to clear up any little mystery connected with one of its finest former servants.”

‘He said that he would communicate with me when he had any further information, but I have heard nothing so far, so it seems he has not yet managed to discover anything.’

Sherlock Holmes nodded. ‘Your uncle’s death was sudden, you say,’ he remarked after a moment. ‘Was he at home when he died?’

‘No, his body was found on the Plumstead marshes. Apparently he had taken himself off for a walk there.’

‘Indeed? That is a fair step for a retired gentleman,’ observed Holmes. ‘Was it his habit to take such long walks?’

‘Not that I am aware. His heart being weak, he was inclined to become breathless if he walked too far.’

‘Well, that is curious. There was an inquest, presumably.’

‘Yes. No one could shed any light upon why he should have been out on the marshes on a damp afternoon in February, but as the cause of death was established beyond question as heart failure, the matter was not pursued. The County Medical Officer said that the strain of the walk, perhaps exacerbated by the cold weather, had undoubtedly contributed to the heart failure, but that my uncle’s heart having been weak for years, he might have gone at any time.’

‘That is true,’ I remarked. ‘With conditions of that type, any stress or strain, physical or mental, is liable to hasten the end.’