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

‘That last interview took somewhat longer than I had expected,’ said he, ‘but I think it was worthwhile. Chalfont was lying, of course. It is inconceivable that he has researched the subject of psychic illness for his proposed new play, a subject upon which his own uncle has been one of the leading writers for many years, and has not encountered the Routledge case, a case which, from what we have heard, caused quite a disturbance in that field ten years ago.’

‘The same thought had struck me,’ I returned. ‘It certainly sounds as if there are similarities between Chalfont’s play and the Routledge case. But if he does know Mrs Routledge, why should he deny it?’

Holmes shook his head. ‘It is proving a more interesting case than at first seemed likely,’ he remarked. ‘I hope that Gregson has—ah, yes! There he is!’

A four-wheeler was standing at the side of the road and, as we approached, a man in a bowler hat clambered out.

‘Good afternoon, gentlemen!’ said Gregson as we alighted on the pavement. ‘This is the place,’ he continued, indicating a neat gabled villa, set back behind a small front garden. ‘I thought I would wait for you, Mr Holmes, so that we could conduct the interview together.’

We were shown by a maid into a tastefully decorated parlour and a moment later Mrs Routledge entered. She was a neatly dressed woman of medium height, with faded sandy hair tied back in a bun. Gregson introduced us and explained the nature of his investigation, at which Mrs Routledge shook her head.

‘Of course I have heard what has happened,’ said she. ‘It is a shocking business that Professor Arbuthnot should be murdered, but I don’t see how I can help you in the matter.’

‘You called upon Dr Zyss at the Belvedere Hotel on Wednesday morning?’

‘I did, but I fail to see what that has to do with anything.’

‘Dr Zyss and Professor Arbuthnot were old colleagues.’

‘Yes, of course I am aware of that.’

‘Dr Zyss has disappeared. He is nowhere to be found.’

I observed her face closely, but she remained composed and it was difficult to tell whether this information was news to her or not.

‘How very strange,’ she remarked after a moment in a quiet voice.

‘You will appreciate, then, madam,’ said Gregson, ‘that your visit to Dr Zyss is not quite so unimportant as you suggest.’

‘I don’t see how my visit has any bearing on the matter,’ Mrs Routledge responded in a dismissive tone. ‘I can understand that you would wish to interview everyone who has seen Dr Zyss recently, if he has, as you say, disappeared. But I only saw him for an hour or so, quite early in the day, and he seemed perfectly normal then, I can assure you.’

‘You have not seen him since that meeting – on Wednesday evening, for instance?’

‘No.’

‘Did you also see Professor Arbuthnot on Wednesday?’

‘No.’

‘You did not go up to his house?’

‘Certainly not.’

‘But you know where it is?’

‘Yes, it is in Highgate. I have been there once or twice, but not for many years.’

‘What did you do when you left the Belvedere Hotel?’

‘I took lunch at a restaurant in Holborn, did a little shopping there, then walked over to the British Museum where I spent a pleasant couple of hours in the company of the Egyptian antiquities. I then took a cab to St Pancras station, from where I caught a train to St Albans, to visit my friend, as I had previously arranged.’

‘What time did you arrive at St Albans?’

‘Just before six o’clock, which was the time my friend was expecting me. She lives only a short walk from the railway station.’

‘What was your purpose in visiting Dr Zyss?’ interjected Holmes.

‘A purely private matter.’

‘Concerned with your son?’

For a moment, Mrs Routledge appeared surprised and discomfited, but in a moment she had recovered her composure. ‘I repeat,’ she said, ‘that my conversation with Dr Zyss was private. I am not prepared to discuss it further.’

‘Come, come, Mrs Routledge,’ said Holmes in a voice that was quiet but firm. ‘Your refusal to speak serves no purpose. We are aware of the tragic history of your son, and aware that you blamed Dr Zyss and Professor Arbuthnot for what happened.’

‘If you know so much, then why ask me about it?’ responded Mrs Routledge sharply.

‘We simply wish to confirm the details of your visit to Dr Zyss on Wednesday.’

‘Very well. Yes, I discussed the case of Nicholas with him.’

‘Could anything in the conversation have caused Dr Zyss to alter or cancel his own arrangements for later in the day?’

‘I should not have thought so. We were largely discussing the past.’

It was evident that we should get little further information from Mrs Routledge and a few moments later we rose to take our leave. At the doorway, however, Holmes spoke a few words to Gregson, who turned once more to Mrs Routledge, taking from his pocket as he did so the little black owl.

‘Have you seen this object before?’ the policeman asked her.

For a moment she hesitated and a variety of emotions passed in rapid succession across her face. ‘No,’ said she at last. ‘I have never seen it before.’

Outside, on the pavement, Inspector Gregson shook his head, as he pushed the little brass owl back in his pocket.

‘She’s lying,’ he said. ‘Your guess was right, Mr Holmes. She certainly has seen this owl before, or my name is not Tobias Gregson! What it means, I don’t know, but she is definitely implicated in the murder!’

‘Not necessarily,’ returned Holmes, as the three of us climbed into our cab. ‘The fact that she has seen the owl before scarcely proves she is a party to murder.’

‘But why, then, does she lie about it? You could see the guilt written all over her face. And I’ll tell you another thing: her account of her afternoon is not satisfactory. Two hours at the British Museum! I don’t believe it!’

‘Such recreation is not unknown,’ remarked Holmes with a chuckle.

‘Perhaps not,’ Gregson conceded, although he still sounded unconvinced; ‘but that’s not all that is suspicious about her afternoon. The railway line from St Pancras to St Albans passes right through this part of north London, not far from Gospel Oak, and, more significantly, not far from Highgate. She could easily have left the train at an intermediate station and walked up to the Arbuthnots’ house at Highgate, afterwards returning the same way and continuing her journey to St Albans.’

Holmes nodded his head. ‘Yes,’ said he; ‘the geographical possibilities were not lost upon me, Gregson. What you suggest would certainly have been possible.’

‘Aha!’ cried the policeman. ‘So you, too, suspect Mrs Routledge of having a hand in this affair?’

Holmes shook his head. ‘I did not say that,’ he returned, and would not be drawn further on the matter.

‘It’s a rum business, all right!’ said Gregson to me as our cab rattled its way westwards, towards Belsize Park. ‘I’ve seen plenty of men knifed – more than I’d care to count – but, between you and me, Dr Watson, the victims were very often no better than the villains that did for them. This, though, is the sort of case that just makes you scratch your head,’ he continued, taking off his hat and suiting the action to the word. ‘Why would anyone want to murder a harmless old retired professor? Have you formed any opinion?’

I shook my head. ‘I feel as much in the dark as you,’ I said. ‘It seems like nothing more than insane brutality.’

Our cab set us down before a large stucco-fronted house, in a side-road off Haverstock Hill. Our ring at the bell produced no immediate response and Gregson turned to us as he gave it a second sharp tug.