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

‘As far as I have been able to learn, the others all left for home at the usual time, after which Sir Gilbert was working here alone. He went over to the dining-hall as usual, at about ten to seven – dinner is at seven – but did not linger over his brandy and cigar, as was his habit, but excused himself on grounds of work as soon as the plates were cleared from the table and was back here by eight o’clock. At around quarter past eight, a barrister by the name of Philip Ormerod, who has chambers in King’s Bench Walk, was passing the end of the alley outside – the North Walk – on his way to Fleet Street, to get a cab home, when he saw the door standing open and light streaming out. Moments before that, he had heard the sound of running footsteps in the fog, somewhere ahead of him. Concerned that something might be amiss, he had a look in and saw it as you see it now. In a few moments, he had run to the Fleet Street gatehouse, which is only a short distance, and sent the gate-keeper round to Bridewell Place Police Station to get a constable. They communicated with Snow Hill Station, where I happened to be, and I was here within fifteen minutes.’

‘There is no sign of a forced entry at the front door,’ remarked Holmes.

The policeman nodded. ‘It seems probable that the murderer rang at the bell and was admitted by Sir Gilbert himself. The chambers would, of course, have been locked up while he was away at the dining-hall. The only people with a front-door key, other than Sir Gilbert himself, are the two other barristers, the chief clerk and the gate-keeper, who is responsible for attending to the fires and the like. There is much of value here and, of course, many of these papers are of the most confidential nature.’

‘From your information it appears that Sir Gilbert was attacked very soon after his return from the dining-hall,’ remarked Holmes. ‘It is possible that someone was waiting for him outside these chambers and entered at the same time as he did. Was he quite dead when this man Ormerod found him?’

Stoddard hesitated before replying. ‘May I enquire, Mr Holmes, if you recall the Hawkesworth case?’ he responded at length, an odd expression on his face.

‘Very clearly.’

‘Then you will understand,’ said Stoddard, ‘that Sir John Hawkesworth, who was Sir Gilbert Cheshire’s immediate predecessor as head of these chambers, was also murdered. He was bludgeoned to death on just such a night as this, exactly ten years ago. He was attacked as he stood on the front-door step of these very chambers. His assailant was never discovered. I was a young officer at the time and was not directly involved with the case, but of course I knew all about it, for it was the single topic of conversation for some considerable time. There was much talk then, in certain parts of the press, of an ancient curse which was said to lie upon this part of the Inner Temple and of how a man murdered many centuries ago returned from time to time to exact vengeance for his own death. Now, I’m not, as you know, much taken with such stories generally, but it is not the sort of thing you forget. I suppose I have not thought about it now for seven or eight years, but this business tonight has brought it afresh to my mind.’

‘I am aware of the story,’ said Holmes, a trace of impatience in his voice, ‘and was struck by the fact that little had been heard of it before Sir John Hawkesworth’s murder. I do not think we should permit our thoughts to become confused by ancient history, Stoddard.’

‘Of course not, Mr Holmes,’ the policeman returned, ‘but I thought I had best mention the matter to you. In most ways this appears a brutal but unremarkable crime and I should not have sent for you were it not that it has a couple of unusual features. The eminence of the victim, for one thing—’

‘The victim’s station in life is not in itself of any interest to me,’ interrupted Holmes. ‘What was the other unusual feature?’

‘When Mr Ormerod entered these chambers and discovered what had happened,’ Stoddard explained, ‘he thought at first that Sir Gilbert Cheshire was dead. But as he mastered his horror, he heard a slight murmur escape the poor man’s lips. He raised Sir Gilbert’s head a little and bent closer to listen. He says that Sir Gilbert coughed and spluttered a little, then murmured “It was he—” followed by more coughing and attempts to speak, then “—Sir John Hawkesworth.” A moment later, all life had passed from him.’

Stoddard pursed his lips and regarded Holmes with a querying look, as if wondering what the other would make of this strange information.

‘What a very singular pronouncement!’ said Holmes at length. ‘Is Mr Ormerod absolutely certain on the point?’

‘He says he would take his oath on the matter.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘I sent him home in a cab. He was very badly shaken up, as you can imagine. I have his address – Montpelier Square, in Knightsbridge – if we need to speak to him again.’

Holmes nodded. ‘You are not aware of any other Hawkesworth?’ he queried. ‘No brother or cousin of the late Sir John, who might bear the same name?’

‘None but the man murdered ten years ago. His nephew, oddly enough, is a member of these same chambers, but his name is not Hawkesworth, but Lewis. He is the son of Sir John Hawkesworth’s sister, who married Sir George Lewis, the well-known society solicitor. He is here now, in the other office.’

Holmes’s features expressed surprise.

‘He must have answered your summons with great dispatch,’ he remarked.

‘I had no need to summon him, Mr Holmes. He was here before we were. Just after Sir Gilbert breathed his last, but before Ormerod had left the room to summon help, in walked Mr Lewis through the front door of the chambers.’

‘I understood that everyone had left some hours previously,’ said Holmes. ‘What is his explanation for his reappearance?’

‘He left just before six o’clock,’ said Stoddard, ‘had a bite to eat in a tavern in Fleet Street and set out on foot to pay a call on a friend of his who lives at Brixton. This friend turned out not to be at home, however, so Lewis walked all the way back to town again and was on his way back to his lodgings in Bedford Place, near Bloomsbury Square, when he passed this way and saw the door open.’

‘It is a dreary evening on which to undertake such long walks,’ remarked Holmes. ‘He might have saved himself trouble by taking a train back from Brixton to, say, Ludgate Hill station, and arrived back in town somewhat earlier.’

‘He says he felt in need of physical exercise. Do you wish to speak to him now, Mr Holmes?’

‘His testimony will keep for a few moments,’ returned Holmes. ‘I should prefer to have a look round while evidence of the crime is still fresh.’

He took off his overcoat, laid it carefully over the back of a chair and began a methodical examination of the fatal chamber. For some time, he examined closely the dead man, the desk and the chairs, then squatted down to examine the carpet. After a few minutes, he rose to his feet and stood a moment, his chin in his hand.

‘The artery has been severed,’ he remarked at length. ‘There are two chairs behind the desk, the second of which was moved to its present position beside that of the dead man from its usual place at the far side of the room. There is one clear impression of a footprint and traces of several others, not so complete. As they all appear to have been made after a copious amount of blood had flowed, they were probably made by Mr Ormerod. As he has now gone home, however, and taken his shoes with him, we are unable to confirm the matter.’

Stoddard conceded the point in an apologetic tone. ‘I had thought we had learnt all we could from Mr Ormerod,’ he said. ‘It is fairly certain they are his prints, though,’ he added. ‘As I see it, the assailant was probably on the far side of the desk from Sir Gilbert and leaned across it to stab him. From the position of the wound, it is clear he is right-handed.’