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

Ashby nodded. ‘I understand. In that case I shall use the name of my rowing-club – “Pegasus” – but hope I shall not have to do so. Now I shall leave the matter in your hands, Mr Holmes, and pay my belated respects to Great-Aunt Caroline!’

Holmes went out shortly after Ashby had left us and did not return until late in the afternoon. He had, I knew, numerous sources of information scattered about London and I looked forward to hearing the results of his enquiries. When he returned, however, he was unforthcoming. I asked him if he had learnt anything of significance, but he shook his head.

‘There are several possibilities,’ he replied, and no more than that would he say.

As I retired to my bed that night, I wondered when – if ever – we should hear from Julian Ashby again. I could not have imagined then quite how soon it would be.

I was awakened abruptly the following morning to find Holmes drawing back my bedroom curtains.

‘What is it?’ I asked in momentary confusion. ‘What is the time?’

‘Just before eight. We have had a message from young Ashby.’ He held up a telegram. ‘It’s “Pegasus”, Watson. Mrs Hudson was woken up earlier by the messenger and was none too pleased, but her temper is now soothed and she is making us a pot of coffee. You will have to hurry, though, old fellow. The train to Bourne End leaves Paddington at eight-forty.’

The streets were still almost deserted and very quiet when we left the house, a lone church bell ringing somewhere in the distance. At Paddington station, however, which we reached with just a few minutes to spare, there was already quite a crowd, and a general air of bustle. We had bought our tickets and were looking for our train when I observed a familiar figure hurrying on to the platform ahead of us.

‘Surely that is Inspector Lestrade,’ I said.

‘It certainly is,’ said Holmes. ‘Lestrade!’ he called, and the policeman turned in surprise.

‘Why, Mr Holmes and Dr Watson!’ he said. ‘I can’t stop to talk, I’m afraid. My train leaves in less than a minute.’

‘Where are you bound?’ asked Holmes.

‘Somewhere called Bourne End,’ replied Lestrade, resuming his hurried progress along the platform. ‘And you?’

‘Bourne End,’ said Holmes. ‘We can travel down together and see if our business bears any relation to yours. Here is a suitable compartment!’

In a moment we had climbed aboard. A few seconds later the guard blew his whistle and, with a hiss of steam, the train pulled slowly out of the station.

‘Now,’ said Holmes, as we picked up speed and were rattling along through the western suburbs, ‘this train doesn’t stop until Maidenhead, so we have plenty of time in which to compare notes.’ He gave Lestrade a sketch of what Julian Ashby had told us the previous day. ‘Are your inquiries related to any of that?’ he asked the policeman as he finished.

‘I’m not sure if they are or not,’ replied Lestrade with a frown. ‘What you’ve told me all seems fairly inconsequential, if I may say so. My own business is considerably more substantial. It’s a suspicious death,’ he continued, in answer to Holmes’s query, ‘probably murder.’

‘Murder?’

Lestrade nodded. ‘I don’t know the name of the victim, but it’s evidently not your client if he’s been able to send you a telegram. I was on early duty at Scotland Yard this morning when a message came through from the Buckinghamshire Constabulary, asking us to send a detective inspector as soon as possible to this Bourne End place. Apparently there’s been a bad fire there, but whether that’s connected to the murder or not, I have no idea. And that, I’m afraid, is all I know.’

I could see that Holmes was disappointed at this lack of information, but as there was nothing we could do about it, the conversation passed on to other subjects. The day had started brightly, but by the time we reached Maidenhead, heavy clouds were rolling in from the south-west and, as we alighted at our destination, the sky was overcast and grey. We were met outside the station by a uniformed police officer who introduced himself as Inspector Welch. Lestrade explained the reason for our presence, and Welch nodded his head.

‘Yes,’ said he. ‘It’s Challington House where it’s all happened. There were five young men staying there alone. They had been drinking, and we think that one of them must have left a candle burning downstairs, for a fire broke out after they’d all retired to bed. By a stroke of good fortune, the local constable was passing on his beat at that time, saw smoke pouring out of a window and at once took charge of the situation. After making sure that everyone was out of the house, he summoned the fire-brigade, but by the time they got there the house was a raging inferno and they haven’t been able to save it. It’s little more than a burnt-out shell now.’

‘How does the suspicious death fit into all this?’ asked Lestrade.

‘It’s not clear,’ said Welch. ‘The facts of the matter are a bit muddled at the moment. I think it best if you hear an account of it from the young men themselves. They’re all in the Black Bull at present.’

He led the way along the road to a large old inn. As we entered, a group of young men sitting round a table turned to look, their features expressing tiredness and anxiety. One stood up as he saw us, whom I recognised as Julian Ashby.

‘Mr Holmes,’ he cried, coming forward to meet us. ‘Thank the Lord you have come! The past twelve hours have been like a nightmare!’

At Holmes’s request he introduced us to his companions, Warnock, Xantopoulos and Loxton.

‘And Churchfield?’ queried Holmes. ‘Is he not here?’

‘I very much fear that he may have perished in the blaze,’ replied Ashby in a distraught tone. ‘He was going to rouse the fire-brigade, but said that there was something he wanted to save from the house first and that was the last time I saw him. He never reached the fire-station, and the constable, who arrived only a few minutes after Churchfield had spoken to me, said he had seen no one on the road.’

Holmes nodded. ‘Perhaps you had best start at the beginning. Tell us, as briefly as you can, all that has happened since you left us yesterday morning. I have given Inspector Lestrade a sketch of what you told us then, and I am sure he is as keen as we are to know what has happened.’

‘After leaving your chambers,’ said Ashby, ‘I went straight to my great-aunt’s house and was there nearly two hours. I then caught the next train from Paddington and got back here in the middle of the afternoon. I went directly to the football field, as Churchfield had suggested, where my friends were watching the local team play. When that finished, we returned to the house, lit a fire and made something to eat. Our evening passed pleasantly enough, in drinking, eating, playing skittles and cards and so on. We were all so tired in the end that we were not particularly late in retiring and were all in bed before midnight.

‘I suppose I had been in bed about an hour, but had probably only been asleep for half an hour, when I was awakened by the sudden opening of the door. Churchfield was standing in the doorway fully dressed, with a candle in his hand.

‘“Ashby!” he cried. “Get up, man! Quickly! There’s a fire! Throw your clothes on and wake the others, then get out of the house! Quickly now!” he repeated. “I’m going for the fire-brigade, but first there’s something I must try to save!”

‘With that he was gone. I sprang from my bed, flung on my dressing-gown and slippers, and went to wake the others. I remembered that the door to Warnock’s room was opposite mine, but was not sure where anyone else was sleeping. It’s a very big house, with an enormous lot of bedrooms, some of them off odd branches of the upstairs corridor, and I really wasn’t familiar with it. I woke Warnock first and gave him the alarm, then, after looking into an empty room next to his, found Xantopoulos’s room and shook him awake. I looked into another empty room and then tried the door of the room next to mine. The door was locked, so I felt sure it was Loxton’s room, although why he should have bothered to lock it, I couldn’t imagine. I banged on the door several times, but got no answer.