Paul Gilbert - The Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

As soon as the couple had hurried past us we gave up our hiding-place and stealthily approached them from behind. As we drew closer Holmes placed his hand on the young man’s right shoulder while I did likewise to the woman’s left. Neither offered any form of resistance and they both turned around slowly, their faces riddled with fear and guilt.

‘Oh Mr Holmes!’ The woman exclaimed. ‘Please do not have us arrested. We meant no harm. We simply did not know how to approach so esteemed a gentleman as yourself. Your recent clients have included royalty and the like and our problem seems so insignificant by comparison.’

‘My dear lady, you must calm yourself,’ Holmes responded, at his gentlest and most charming. ‘No one is going to have you arrested. However, judging by your brother’s silence and dour countenance I would say that he disapproves of your approaching me a good deal more than I do myself.’

The young man flushed with embarrassment. ‘It is not that so much, sir, and I mean no disrespect, but I do believe that the matter of one’s father’s sanity is not a subject one should discuss with strangers.’

‘Your father’s sanity? Well, Watson, this may be a subject upon which you will have more knowledge than I. Young lady, I really do not see what possible assistance I can render you in this matter.’ With that Holmes turned away and resumed his walk towards Baker Street.

‘A moment, please sir,’ The young lady’s voice pierced the silent night air and caused Holmes to pause in his tracks, but not to turn. ‘My father’s sanity is not the issue here, more the authenticity of what he claims to have witnessed.’ At this, Holmes slowly turned and began retracing his steps.

‘He claims to have observed the Alicia on her fateful voyage!’ Holmes concluded his return to us at a sprint.

‘Our rooms are but a five minutes’ walk from here!’ With a dramatic flourish, Holmes waved them to walk ahead of us.

It had been Holmes’s intention to follow the young couple all the way to our rooms, however his enthusiasm and impatience overcame any such restraint. Consequently he led the way, almost at a sprint; the couple tried to match his pace whilst I brought up the rear to ensure that they concluded their journey.

By the time the young couple and I eventually arrived at 221b, a somewhat bleary-eyed and dishevelled Mrs Hudson had already been coerced into preparing a tray of coffee. We also discovered that Holmes had, absent-mindedly, discarded his coat on the stairs in his haste to ascend them. I retrieved it as we made our way up and found Holmes pacing the room with his pipe already alight.

‘A thousand apologies, Mrs Hudson, for causing a disturbance at such an hour, but the matter is of the utmost moment,’ Holmes declared, as he took the tray from her unsteady grasp. He then ushered her out once more, somewhat unceremoniously, by way of a gentle shove upon her shoulders.

‘Well I must say—’ Mrs Hudson began to protest.

‘Goodnight, Mrs Hudson!’ Holmes called, once the door had been slammed shut behind her. I smiled apologetically towards the young couple when I observed their embarrassed exchange of glances, to which, I might add, Holmes was totally oblivious.

I invited our guests to share the sofa, upon which they perched themselves uncomfortably, whilst I picked up my notebook and pencil. Holmes returned his pipe to the mantelpiece temporarily before turning to face them.

The young lady spoke first:

‘I apologize for my brother’s earlier apparent brusqueness, but the embarrassment that we both feel is harder for a man to suppress, with his stronger inherent sense of family pride.’

Holmes waved this aside with the briefest of smiles.

‘Do not concern yourself with the niceties at such a time. The national newspapers have kept Dr Watson and myself well enough informed with regard to the tragic and mysterious loss of the Alicia and for your father to claim to have witnessed this calamity is more than enough for you to bear. Unfortunately the authorities have not seen fit to involve us at this time, so for you to engage us would be something of a feather in our cap and a means to prise open the door that, hitherto, has been closed to us.’

‘It is indeed strange that you have not been consulted upon this matter, Mr Holmes, but please let me explain our involvement and predicament in the hope that both your mystery and ours might yet be solved,’ the young lady offered.

‘That is indeed an excellent idea, for apart from the obvious facts that you are both from Leigh-on-Sea, in Essex, and that someone very close to you, though patently not your brother, is a seafaring man, I know nothing of you whatsoever! Perhaps you might begin by furnishing Dr Watson and his notebook with your names.’

‘Why yes, of course. It is most reprehensible of me not to have done so this far. I am Mildred Lomas and this is my brother Edward.’ Miss Lomas said these words slowly, clearly bemused at the accuracy of Holmes’s observations.

‘Do not look so amazed, Miss Lomas. As the good doctor here will testify, there is nothing miraculous in what I do, only observation, deduction and pure logic. For example, I have yet to encounter a sailor who has not badly scored the insides of his hands with the scars of the ship rope on which he is constantly pulling. Your brother’s palms are as blemish free as on the day he was born. Furthermore, the exquisitely carved shark’s tooth that you wear around your neck as a pendant is an example of work only undertaken by a man of the sea. The fact that this sailor is close to you can be attested to by the quality of the work that has affixed the pendant to the chain. With no disrespect intended, this clearly belies the quality and condition of your other apparel and is, therefore, of great importance to you and was no doubt, a gift from your father. Identifying your home was simplicity itself. The splashes of mud, on both of your boots, are of a colour and consistency unique to the upper reaches of the Thames estuary. No other town along that stretch of the Essex coast can boast of a mooring large enough to accommodate the type of vessel capable of reaching the depths wherein a tooth of that size might be found.’ Without waiting for a reaction to his astounding explanation, Holmes suddenly turned away and reclaimed his pipe, which he promptly relit.

‘Mr Holmes, I now understand why my sister was so eager to seek your help,’ Edward Lomas stated gravely. Without acknowledging this remark Holmes promptly asked: ‘Since you appear to be more anxious to air your thoughts than your brother, Miss Lomas, I should be obliged if you would explain your exact connection with the affair of the missing cutter and why you fear for the sanity of your father.’

‘I will certainly do my best, Mr Holmes,’ Miss Lomas replied. Before beginning her story she took a long grateful sip of her coffee. Her pale cheeks suddenly started to redden with suppressed emotion as she began her narrative.

‘The Alicia was the last of the full-rigged cutters ever to set sail out of the harbour at Leigh. As such she commanded a certain sentimental respect from all who worked at the yard. Every time she put out of harbour, old sailors sitting on the boards, repairing their nets and tackle, would put down their work, for a moment, doff their caps or wave their scarves as she majestically glided by. I mention this, Mr Holmes,’ Miss Lomas clearly sensed Holmes’s growing impatience, ‘because no number of newspaper articles can do full justice to the great sense of deprivation felt by the whole community at the loss of the Alicia .

‘I am quite certain that this popular demonstration of grief has been a contributing factor behind the maltreatment and incarceration of our father. Men who have known my father well over many years have, seemingly, turned against him and even participated in the heckling and ridicule of him on the day that he was led away.’ Miss Lomas was barely able to complete the sentence before she gave way to her emotions and began sobbing uncontrollably.