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

‘It was at that point that I felt I could do with a spot of light. I didn’t want to trip over something and break my neck, or fall into the water. I took out a box of matches and struck one. For half a second I was dazzled by the sudden light, then, with a shock so unexpected and alarming that I can scarcely describe it, I saw that there was someone else there in the boathouse, someone who was standing perfectly still and watching me. It was the face of a young lady, quite beautiful, staring rigidly at me in perfect silence. I think I cried out in surprise and took a step backwards. The match burnt my finger and I tossed it away as it went out. Then – I don’t quite know what happened – I think I struck my head on something hard behind me and can remember no more.

‘When I came to, I was lying on the lawn in the dark, with Churchfield leaning over me, holding a lantern, a look of concern on his face.

‘“Thank goodness!” said he as I stirred. “I thought you were never going to wake up!”

‘He turned and called out, and the others – Loxton, Xantopoulos and Warnock – appeared out of the darkness from somewhere behind him. They asked me what had happened to me and I said I didn’t know. ‘‘I must have banged my head on something,’’ I said.

‘“I was in the garden,” said Churchfield as he helped me to my feet, “when I heard a noise – a cry, I think – from the boathouse. I went in to have a look and found you laid out, unconscious, on the walkway. I carried you out here and went to tell the others. What on earth were you doing in there?”

‘“I came by sailing-boat,” I replied, gingerly feeling the back of my head, which was throbbing with pain.

‘“Yes, I could see that,” said Churchfield. “Your boat is in there.”

‘“Wait a moment,” I interrupted as the recent events came back to me. “There was someone else in there.”

‘“What!” cried Churchfield. “Burglars?”

‘I shook my head. “I don’t know who it was. I saw a girl – a young lady, I mean. She was just staring at me.”

‘Churchfield looked puzzled. “Did she say anything? No? Oh, wait a minute!” he cried all at once. “I think I know what it is.”

‘He led the way to the boathouse, and pushed open the back door. “My sister, Lavinia, had her portrait painted a few months ago, but when she saw the result, she hated it. She refused to have it in the house, and it ended up down here. That must be what you saw, Ashby.”

‘He held his lantern up to show me. Leaning against the wall on a broad work-bench at the back of the boathouse was a life-sized portrait of a handsome young lady. “There,” said he. “Isn’t that the face you saw?”

‘I frowned, trying to remember. “I suppose it must be,” I said, “although it doesn’t seem exactly the same.”

‘“But you saw it for only a moment,” said Churchfield. “It must be the same. I don’t blame you for being startled, Ashby. It’s enough to unnerve anyone, having that face staring at you out of the darkness!”

‘“Oh, I don’t know,” said Loxton, laughing. “I can think of worse faces to see! Come along, Ashby! Let’s get back to the house and I’ll mix you a restorative drink!”

‘Later that evening, when the others were playing cards, I went to get myself some bread and cheese from the kitchen, but mistakenly went through the wrong doorway and found myself in what appeared to be a dining-room. As I glanced about, holding up a lamp, my eye was drawn to a blank space on the wall at one end of the room. A large rectangular shape on the wallpaper was a slightly lighter shade than the rest of the wall, as if a picture that had hung there for some considerable time had recently been removed. I could not help wondering if the picture in question was the portrait of Churchfield’s sister, Lavinia.

‘I used my sore head as an excuse to retire early and, as I lay in bed, reconsidered the events of the evening. I had a strong suspicion that the picture that was now in the boathouse had only been placed there that evening, while I lay unconscious. There was something about the girl’s hair in the picture and the angle of her gaze that were not quite as I remembered them. Of course, I might have been mistaken, but I did not think I was. What it might mean, though, I could not imagine.

‘This morning I rose earlier than the others and told Churchfield, who was still in bed, that I had previously promised to visit my great-aunt today. She lives in Bayswater, just a stone’s throw from Paddington Station.

‘“Are you not coming with us to poke fun at the hopeless local football team?” asked Churchfield in a tone of disappointment. “You are becoming something of a part-time member of the XYZ Club, Ashby!”

‘I apologised for not telling him of my plans earlier, but insisted that I could not let my aged great-aunt down. “Don’t worry, Churchfield,” I said. “I shall be back this afternoon without fail.”

‘“If you get back before four,” he said, “don’t come here, but go directly to the football field. We’ll all be there.” With that, he closed his eyes, as if to go back to sleep. As I was leaving his bedroom, however, I happened to glance back and saw that his eyes were open and he was watching me. He closed his eyes quickly as I turned, but he had not been quite quick enough. This little incident left me with an unpleasant feeling, as I hurried off to the railway station.’

‘It is an entertaining story,’ said Holmes, when we had sat for some time in silence, ‘but I am not clear what it is you wish us to do.’

‘Possibly, nothing,’ replied Ashby. ‘It may be that my misgivings are groundless, and that today and tomorrow will pass off with nothing untoward occurring. But I cannot shake off the feeling that something odd is afoot, something of which I know nothing, and if so it will be a great support to me to know that I have related the matter to you. Would you be able to come, if I were to send for you?’

‘Certainly, if you considered the circumstances warranted our presence. Is there anything else you can think of that has increased your misgivings?’

‘It is difficult to put my finger on anything definite, but there seems something at Challington House that is not quite right. More than once yesterday evening, I had the impression that one or more of the others was watching me and, in the case of Churchfield, it was always with a calculating expression in his eyes.’

‘Very well,’ said Holmes, taking out his note-book. ‘If you could give me a little more detail about your fellow-members of the XYZ Club, it would be helpful.’

‘There’s not much I can tell you, I’m afraid. These men are friends of mine in college, but I don’t know a great deal about them outside of that. Loxton’s family come from Warwickshire, their claim to fame being that some forebear invented the Loxton Steam Regulator, which, I understand, had a great vogue in the early days of steam locomotion, although it has now been superseded. Xantopoulos is from Greece, as you would guess from his name, where his father apparently owns a great number of olive-groves and fishing-boats. Warnock’s father is vicar of some rural parish near Ashbourne, in Derbyshire. Churchfield, as I mentioned earlier, is from the banking family of that name. Churchfield’s Bank is, I believe, one of the very oldest in the City of London.’

‘Thank you,’ said Holmes. ‘That will do for the moment. I shall see if I can discover anything today which might be relevant, but I shall do nothing more unless I hear from you. If you do wish us to come, a telegram any hour of the day or night will bring us. If the situation meets your worst fears, do not attempt to explain it in your telegram. Simply use a code-word.’