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

‘He shook his head. “My sojourn at Whalley Abbey was the only time I spent in the north of England,” he returned with a smile. “Other than that, my life has been passed here in the south. But perhaps I could look you up at your club some day. I have heard that it is a splendid place!”

‘“Indeed it is,” said I with enthusiasm. I invited him to dine with me there the following evening, but he declined, pleading a prior engagement. We promised each other, however, that we should certainly dine together in the near future.

‘“After all,” said he; “it is not every day that two old school friends meet and in such an oddly out-of-the-way spot, too!”

‘We travelled back to town together, chatting animatedly the whole way, and shared a cab from Victoria station. When we reached his house, which lies just north of Oxford Street, he invited me in for a little cold beef and wine, an offer I readily accepted. His house appeared in a state of some disorder, I must say, but he explained to me that he had recently been obliged to dismiss his servants for dishonesty, and had not yet succeeded in finding suitable replacements. I enjoyed his comestibles and his conversation, and returned home with my spirits considerably raised from the depths into which they had sunk earlier in the evening.

‘Three days later, I was reading the Standard at breakfast-time when the name ‘‘Wickling Place’’ – my old school friend’s family home – caught my eye.’

Mr Herbert paused and took out his pocket-book. ‘I have the paragraph here, Doctor,’ said he, extracting a small oblong cut from a newspaper. He passed it to me, and I read the following account:

Wickling Place, the home of Colonel Sir Reginald and Lady Hollingworth was burgled on Tuesday night, several valuable works of art, including an early painting by Titian, being stolen. The thieves apparently entered by a French window, at some time between midnight and 6 a.m, without disturbing the household. They appear to have selected for theft the most precious works of art in the house, leaving untouched the less valuable pieces. How they arrived in and left the district is not known, although it is reported that three strangers were seen by several witnesses earlier in the day, upon the Maidstone road. Sir Reginald Hollingworth, a local Justice of the Peace, is well known and respected in the area. This incident is a further blow to the family, coming so soon after the tragic death of his son, Stephen, who was drowned off the coast of Ireland in May.

‘Why!’ I cried in astonishment. ‘It says here that the man you met is dead!’

‘One moment,’ returned Herbert. ‘I will tell you what happened next. All that day I turned the matter over and over in my head, such that I could hardly concentrate upon my work, but I could make nothing of it.

‘That evening, I arrived at my club as usual, at about six o’clock, and had my foot upon the doorstep, when the door in front of me was flung open and out stepped Hollingworth. In his hand he carried a small black valise.

‘“Thank goodness I have found you!” he cried, his voice throbbing with emotion. “I have been waiting some time, in the hope that you would come.” He glanced quickly up and down the street, with an air of great caution, then stepped back inside the doorway. I followed him, and we sat on a settle in the entrance hall. He seemed terrifically agitated.

‘“What is the matter?” I asked. “I read this morning of the burglary at your father’s house.”

‘“It is in connection with that business that I wish to speak to you,” he responded, nodding his head.

‘“It said in the report I read that you had died some time ago.”

‘Again he nodded, the trace of a grim smile upon his face.

‘“That,” said he, “was the usual culpable carelessness of the press. They have confused the names: it was my younger brother, Philip – sadly – who drowned. But their carelessness has certainly cost me some trouble – I spent half the morning sending telegrams here, there and everywhere to assure everyone that I am still very much alive. However—” He broke off, and his eyes assumed a faraway look, as if some novel train of thought had occurred to him. “Do you know,” cried he at last; “we may yet be able to use the press’s blundering to our advantage! Yes, by God, we’ll win through yet!”

‘“I do not understand,” said I, alarmed at the wild tone of his voice.

‘“No, no, of course not. I’m sorry, Herbert. It’s a rather complicated matter. We had to give the newspapermen something to print; but there’s more to this so-called burglary than meets the eye!”

‘“Oh?”

‘“Yes. The burglars were looking for something, but they didn’t find it – the pieces they got away with are of no consequence in comparison – and they never will, so long as I have anything to do with it!”

‘“It all sounds very mysterious, Hollingworth!”

‘“I suppose it must, to you, Herbert. Look, old man, I’d love to explain it all to you; indeed, I most certainly will do; but I cannot do so at the moment; the matter is too pressing. It touches upon the honour of the family – nay, upon the very existence of the family! – and concerns particularly my mother, God bless her! Our backs may be against the wall at the present moment, but, by Heavens, they won’t be for long!”

‘I knew not what to make of all this and was about to express my bewilderment to him, when he abruptly turned and gripped my arm.

‘“Herbert,” said he in a grave tone; “I have come to you because I can think of no one else who can aid me in this dark hour. I regard it as an uncanny piece of good fortune that we should have run across each other in the way we did the other day. It is as if fate had stepped in, to throw a lifeline into my sea of troubles! I have two favours to beg of you, Herbert, both as a man and as an old school friend. Will you help me?”

‘“Certainly, if it is in my power,” I returned. “What is it that you wish me to do?”

‘For answer he held out his black leather bag, and I took it from his hand.

‘“Guard that with your life,” said he in a low tone. “There is no one else in London I can trust, and I believe I am being followed.”

‘“What is it?” I enquired, feeling the weight of the bag in my hand. It was heavier than I had expected and clearly contained more than just documents.

‘He shook his head.

‘“You will see that it is locked,” said he. “It is not that I wish to keep the matter a secret from you, Herbert. Indeed, one day you will know the whole story. But it is better for the present – for your own safety – that you do not know any more than is absolutely necessary.”

‘“Very well, Hollingworth. What do you wish me to do with it?”

‘He glanced cautiously about him, but there was no one there save the hall-porter behind his desk. “I shall send you a message in a few days’ time,” said he at length, “giving you specific directions. Do you understand?”

‘“Perfectly.” said I. “You can trust me. What is the other favour you wished to ask of me?”

‘His voice sank to a whisper. “Can you lend me a little money, Herbert, just for a few days? They are keeping a watch on my bank. This afternoon, as I arrived there, I recognised one of their men in the street outside, so I told the cabbie not to stop but to drive on. I don’t think I was seen, but it meant, of course, that I was unable to withdraw any money.”

‘“I should be pleased to help you, Hollingworth,” I responded. “How much do you require?”

‘“Good man!” he cried, squeezing my arm. “I knew I could rely on you! I think that fifty pounds should suffice for the moment.”