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

‘And your opinion?’ queried Holmes.

‘I did not agree, but I kept my thoughts to myself, for I was the junior at the time and my opinion would not have been welcomed. Sir John Hawkesworth was a fine man, as highly regarded for his personal qualities as for his professional excellence. He was always extremely kind and encouraging to me and I cannot believe he would ever have acted meanly to a subordinate. His whole character forbade such a thought. Since his death, however, our chambers have acquired a reputation for grim efficiency. “North Walk Chambers will win your case for you”, people say, “but do not expect to be much cheered by the experience”.’

‘Presumably, you will now become leading counsel in these chambers,’ observed Holmes.

The barrister hesitated a moment before replying. ‘I am not at all sure that I want the position,’ said he at length. ‘There seems a curse upon the place. No man, surely, would be eager to remain upon the scene of such terrible and inexplicable bloodshed?’

‘Did such thoughts ever trouble Sir Gilbert Cheshire?’ queried Holmes.

‘He never once spoke of Sir John’s murder to me,’ replied Brown, ‘and I cannot therefore say what his thoughts upon the matter may have been. As he was such a cold and unemotional man, it may be that he was quite unmoved by thoughts which would have troubled other men.’

Stoddard accompanied Brown back to his office, to fetch the junior barrister, and we sat in silence for some minutes. My friend’s brow was furrowed with thought, and it was clear from the fleeting expressions which chased each other across his features that his swift and agile brain was sifting and re-sifting the evidence, and weighing and re-weighing the facts, to find an arrangement which would balance the scales of probability to his satisfaction.

For myself, I confess that the dark events which had occurred seemed like something from an evil dream and I was still shocked by the horror of the scene in Sir Gilbert Cheshire’s chamber. For such a tragedy to have befallen the North Walk chambers once was a most terrible misfortune, but for such a thing to have occurred a second time seemed incomprehensible. My thoughts were interrupted by a remark from my companion.

‘You realise, of course,’ said he in a quiet voice, ‘that Mr Brown could have left his restaurant at, say, ten to eight, walked back here and murdered Sir Gilbert at five past eight, retraced his steps to the other end of the Strand and picked up a cab there, as he says.’

‘Holmes!’ I cried. ‘You surely cannot be serious!’

‘I merely point out the possibility, Watson. In this fog, much can happen and be observed by no one.’

‘But the empty cash-box? Surely therein lies the motive for this terrible crime?’

‘I think not, Watson. These are deeper waters than was at first apparent.’

Stoddard returned before I could question my companion further, accompanied by a young man of about seven and twenty, introduced to us as Stephen Lewis, junior counsel of the chambers. He was a tall, remarkably thin man, with dark hair and a clean-shaven face, which was as white as paper. It was apparent from the nervousness of his manner and the tremor in his voice as he spoke that he was in a state of some considerable agitation. He took a silver cigarette-case from his pocket as he sat down, extracted a cigarette and lit it.

‘Such a terrible thing to have happened,’ said he after a moment, ‘and to such an eminent and highly respected man.’

‘Indeed,’ responded Holmes in a sympathetic tone. ‘I understand, however, that for all his professional eminence, Sir Gilbert was not an especially popular man.’

‘That can scarcely be denied,’ replied Lewis after a moment’s hesitation, in a cautious tone. ‘He was known by many people, but intimate with none. I know of no one who considered himself a particular friend of his. He conducted his relations with people at arm’s length, so to speak.’

‘Was there, then, anyone who might be considered an enemy?’

‘None that I am aware of. He had occasionally received abuse from criminals whom he had failed to save, but nothing of the sort recently. For several weeks – almost all the Michaelmas term, in fact – we have been appearing for the defence in the Brockwell Heath Case, which finally reached its conclusion on Tuesday, and in which we were completely successful. One might imagine that that would be a cause for celebration, but Sir Gilbert’s mood appeared unaffected. His character was saturnine and dark at the best of times, but recently he had seemed in an even darker mood than usual, and for the past couple of days he had been as limp as a rag and unable to concentrate on the next brief.’

‘Do you know anything of the death of your uncle, Sir John Hawkesworth?’ queried Holmes after a moment.

‘Very little,’ Lewis replied, shaking his head. ‘I was a mere schoolboy when it occurred, away at Rugby. I know no more of it than anyone might who read his newspaper. The accepted theory, I understand, was that Sir John was assaulted by a thief, who had intended to take his door-key and use it to gain entry to these chambers, but who fled upon realising that his attack, intended to incapacitate his victim, had in fact killed him.’

‘And yet, the assault was an exceptionally ferocious one, as I recall,’ remarked Holmes, ‘Sir John being bludgeoned again and again, in a manner suggesting that the assailant intended more than merely to temporarily incapacitate him.’

‘Then it is inexplicable.’

‘You have heard, I take it, that Sir Gilbert’s last words were “It was he – Sir John Hawkesworth”?’

‘Indeed. That, too, is inexplicable.’

‘What, if I may ask, brought you back through the Temple this evening, Mr Lewis? I understand that you were walking back from Brixton, to your lodgings in Bedford Place. But surely a more direct route would have taken you across Waterloo Bridge and up Bow Street?’

‘That is true,’ the other conceded; ‘but, as you correctly perceive, I made a detour. I was disappointed at missing my friend and determined to seek out another, a fellow-barrister, who has chambers in King’s Bench Walk. Alas, he was absent, too. I therefore resigned myself to a solitary evening and set off, finally, for home. But my way from King’s Bench Walk to the Fleet Street gateway brought me past the end of the North Walk, and when I saw the door of our own chambers standing wide open, and the light streaming out of it, I hurried to determine the reason.’

‘You suspected something amiss?’

‘Very definitely. I knew Sir Gilbert to be a most careful man. He would no more leave his front door open at night than he would leave his purse at the foot of Nelson’s Column.’

‘And you can shed no light on what has happened?’

‘None whatever.’

Elijah Smith, the chief clerk, was next shown in. He was a medium-sized man of about fifty, with a pale, clean-shaven face and a nervous manner. He informed us that there were just two keys to the cash-box, one kept by him and the other on Sir Gilbert Cheshire’s watch-chain. He also confirmed that the amount of money missing was as stated in the ledger which Stoddard had shown us.

‘Is there any reason why Sir Gilbert should have been looking in the cash-box this evening?’ enquired Holmes.

‘None whatever, sir. He always left all such matters to me. Every Friday morning I take round to the bank any cheques received during the week and any cash which is surplus to our immediate requirements.’

‘At what time did you last speak to your employer?’

‘Just as I was leaving, sir; shortly after half past five. His manner was exactly as usual.’

‘And you have not seen him since?’