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

‘The evidence of the wound itself is in my view inconclusive as to whether the assailant was right-handed or left-handed, although I incline to the latter. The evidence of the tallow which dripped from the candle, however, indicates clearly that the man who held it is left-handed. A man may generally carry a candle in the right or left hand with indifference, but if he has work to do – especially work which involves the application of force, such as the bursting open of a door, or a cupboard – he will always pass the candle to his weaker hand. For most people, who are right-handed, this will be the left hand, but tonight’s intruder held the candle in his right hand, while forcing the locks with a metal rod held in his left. He is therefore, beyond a shadow of a doubt, left-handed. Having conducted a little handwriting experiment, I am now in a position to state that there is only one man who both possesses a key to these chambers and who is left-handed.’

As Sherlock Holmes spoke these last words, he turned to Thomas Mason, the gate-keeper, whose face had assumed the colour of putty.

‘It’s a lie!’ cried he in a hoarse voice, springing unsteadily to his feet. ‘I was never in here!’

‘In that case,’ said Holmes, ‘you can have no objection to a search being made of your quarters.’

‘You’ve no right to do that!’ retorted Mason, in a loud, strident voice.

‘We’ll see about that!’ Stoddard interrupted. ‘Thomas Mason: I am arresting you on suspicion of having been involved in the death of Sir Gilbert Cheshire. You will accompany me to your lodgings where a search will be undertaken for evidence.’

The inspector and two constables escorted their prisoner from the chambers, leaving the three others in a dazed state, their features displaying the shock and amazement they clearly felt. Sherlock Holmes lit his pipe and sat smoking in silence for several minutes, his brow furrowed with thought.

‘It may be that the right man has been arrested,’ said Brown at length; ‘but the whole affair is still dark to me. I have a feeling that we do not yet know all that there is to know of the matter. Can you enlighten us any further, Mr Holmes? Do you believe there was any meaning in Sir Gilbert’s dying words, or was the poor fellow simply raving?’

‘Sir Gilbert’s words,’ Holmes replied, ‘as reported by Mr Ormerod, began, if you recall, “It was he”, and ended with “Sir John Hawkesworth”, with a gap of a few moments in between, during which he struggled for breath. I suspect that in those words Sir Gilbert was attempting to name his murderer.’

‘But that is madness!’ cried Brown. ‘Sir John was himself murdered ten years ago.’

‘Quite so. I therefore suggest that a phrase is missing from the sentence, which Sir Gilbert was unable to articulate. The likeliest candidate is something such as “the man that murdered”, so that the whole sentence would be “It was he: the man that murdered Sir John Hawkesworth”.’

‘Good Lord!’ cried Lewis.

‘However,’ continued Holmes, ‘if it was Sir Gilbert’s intention to identify his assailant in this way, it follows that he himself was aware of who had murdered his predecessor. This raises the question as to how he knew this with such certainty and, if he did, why he had never made public his knowledge.’

‘It could be that Mason informed him this very evening that he was the murderer of Sir John,’ I suggested.

‘Yes, that is possible, Watson, but on the whole I incline to the view that Sir Gilbert already knew the truth behind Sir John’s death, had known about it, in fact, for ten years.’

‘I find that suggestion quite incredible,’ said Brown in a tone of disbelief.

‘No doubt,’ said Holmes. ‘Nevertheless, the indications are there. In the first place,’ he continued, in his precise, methodical manner, like a specialist delivering a lecture, ‘it is well known that fifteen years ago, Sir Gilbert secured Mason’s acquittal on a charge of murder. Presumably Mason felt some gratitude for this. But then we hear that, about eight years ago, Sir Gilbert, actuated by sympathy at Mason’s plight, secured him a distinctly undemanding post as gate-keeper here. There seems something wrong with this: Sir Gilbert was not known for any great degree of sympathy; and the favour seems the wrong way about. It is as if there is some link missing from the chain of cause and effect, as we have it at present.’

‘Just what are you suggesting?’ said Brown sharply.

Before Holmes could reply, the door opened and Inspector Stoddard entered. He informed us that the search of Mason’s quarters had revealed a large sharp knife, its blade caked in blood, and a long thin chisel, both wrapped in a blood-stained shirt, and hidden under a sink. An amount of money exactly matching that missing from the cash-box had also been found, in a canvas bag inside a coal-scuttle. Mason had offered no resistance to the search and had shown no surprise when the above articles had been discovered, but had made one surprising request, that he be allowed to make a statement to the gentlemen awaiting his return in the North Walk Chambers.

‘I am sure we should have no objection to that proposal, if you do not,’ said Holmes.

‘Very well, then,’ said Stoddard. ‘I have already cautioned the prisoner that anything which he chooses to say in his statement may be given against him in court.’

The prisoner was brought in then, his wrists manacled together, and, standing before us, made the following voluntary statement. In the interests of clarity, I have made one or two very slight alterations, but otherwise the statement is exactly as Thomas Mason made it to us that night:

‘Yes, I killed Sir Gilbert Cheshire. I see there is no point in denying it now, and I’m not proud of it. But you ought to know that whatever they say about him in the newspapers, and whatever people might think, he weren’t so marvellous, neither.

‘I first met him when I was accused of murdering my wife and he was assigned to defend me. I was in Newgate when he came to see me. “Don’t worry,” says he; “I’ll get you off.” He knew I’d done it, although he never asked me outright. Things was looking black against me and I’d given up thinking about ever getting out; but somehow, in the court, it all came out different. One or two of the witnesses seemed to change their minds about what they were going to say, and Sir Gilbert spoke for such a long time and in such a confusing way, that in the end the jury decided I hadn’t done it after all and I could go free.

‘I was grateful to Sir Gilbert. I didn’t know how he’d done it, but I knew it was him I had to thank for the fact that I wasn’t swinging on the end of a rope. But things wasn’t so rosy with me even if I was free. I was a slater by trade, but now I couldn’t find any work nowhere. The trouble was, a lot of people – all the wife’s relations and half the district – knew that I had done it, really, and they wasn’t likely to employ me, and I couldn’t blame ’em for that. I tried all sorts of different lines, went halfway round the world in a clipper one year, but was still no better off when, about four year on from my trial, I was coming along Carey Street one afternoon, when who should step out of a bookshop in front of me but Sir Gilbert Cheshire.

‘“Hallo, Thomas,” says he, cool as you like. “How are you keeping yourself?”

‘“Not so well as I’d like, sir,” said I. “I haven’t had more than a tanner in my pocket any time in the past four years.”

‘“I’m sorry to hear that, Thomas,” says he, in a thoughtful voice. “You are still grateful for the little favour I did you the other year?” When I said course I was, he says “Then I have a little favour to ask of you in return, Thomas. Be under the Holborn Viaduct at seven o’clock this evening,” says he, “and I’ll tell you what I’d like you to do.” He slipped two bob into my hand then and walked off.