Paul Gilbert - The Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

‘I had two friends among the workers with the carnival. A young lad called Tom, who had an unusually small head; he was one of the sideshow attractions under the moniker of “Pin Head”. The other was the animal keeper, “Old Ben”, an elderly fellow, from the East End of London who was half-blind. These two tried to shelter me from the attentions of the two unsavouries. However, I found myself alone one morning with the horses, and during the course of a violent scuffle with the drivers I found my head covering removed and my awful secret was exposed.

‘The drivers took great pains to reveal my appearance to all in the camp and I was resolved upon making a hasty departure, when the Smythes made me an unusual proposal.

‘Business had become quite slack of late, so they suggested that I should share his enclosure with Tom and appear as the “Red Leech”. In this way I should become one of the sideshow attractions. The idea of becoming a fairground freak appalled me at first, as you might well imagine.’

He paused for a moment, scanning our faces for signs of understanding and, perhaps, a little sympathy. I looked across at Holmes and was amazed to observe how intently my friend was gazing into the eyes of our tragic client. The man’s obvious pain was mirrored in the eyes of the habitually ice-cold Sherlock Holmes.

Then, as if remembering himself, he suddenly straightened up and remarked: ‘Although your story has a certain poignancy about it I would now appreciate it if you could proceed to the crux of the matter, Mr Crosby. You might begin by explaining why you agreed to become the “Red Leech”.’

Understandably taken aback by Holmes’s biting outburst, Crosby apologetically cleared his throat and stumbled over his first few words.

‘I could see that Tom had never been maltreated or humiliated; indeed he even regarded the carnival as a form of refuge from the somewhat harsher treatment he might have expected from the world outside. Therefore I resolved to accept the offer that I had received from the Smythes. The arrangement suited both parties; for a time. I was content with my modest accommodation and keep and the “Red Leech” was proving to be a popular and profitable attraction for the Smythes, which pleased me also. It all ended somewhat abruptly, however, when I chanced upon a week-old copy of the Times .

‘Therein, gentlemen, almost hidden in a column listing recent deaths was the first intimation that I had received of my parent’s untimely passing. They had always been keen explorers and, as a consequence, were aboard a small steam transport, which had been wrecked but a few miles off the East African coast. No trace of them or their belongings were ever recovered.

‘I decided to return to London at once, there to seek out my brother for more information than the newspaper afforded and to discuss any family arrangements that might concern me. Ben, the old animal keeper, kindly accompanied me, as he knew of a small basement room in a run-down old building near Brick Lane. He offered to run any urgent errands that could only be accomplished in daylight. I had no great difficulty in finding my brother, as he had yet to vacate the family home, and I found his welcome somewhat warmer than I might have expected. However, he reluctantly informed me at the outset, that my parents had been so convinced either of my death or my inability ever to return to them, that no provision had been made for me in their final will.

‘To his credit, Nathaniel was not insensitive to my reaction to this news, nor could he have failed to observe the very obvious physical effects of my present situation. There and then he resolved to make me a small monthly allowance. He explained that his imminent wedding was proving to be a most costly affair and that our parents’ estate had proved in the end to be a surprisingly modest one, probably eaten away by the costs of their insatiable lust for travel. The amount was barely sufficient to keep body and soul together, but I was grateful even for that.

‘I did not wish to embarrass my brother by revealing my address to him, so it was agreed that he would deposit the money at a large newsagent’s on the Commercial Road on the first Monday of every month. My friend Ben collected it regularly and this meagre sum was supplemented by my night cleaning job and any small errands that Ben was able to run for the local traders. By these means we were somehow able to survive.

‘You may therefore understand my consternation when upon one Monday, now two months ago, Ben returned from our friend the newsagent empty-handed. I have implicit trust in old Ben and he, in turn, trusts the newsagent, so I had to assume that my brother had withheld the money for his own reasons. I decided to visit my family home once more, in the hope that the missing money was nothing more than an oversight. I was distraught to discover that the place had been boarded up and was on offer for sale, whilst the only information that I could glean from the neighbours was that my brother had been married and had moved away.

‘For reasons that I have now explained to you, I am not able to conduct any enquiries into Nathaniel’s whereabouts on my own account and the police would be aghast at the thought of granting me an interview. Although, I am sure, you will have far loftier matters that demand your attention, I turn to you, Mr Holmes, as the only recourse I have of restoring what scant means of subsistence remains to me.’ Crosby drained the last of his brandy and extinguished his cigar as he concluded his moving and remarkable story.

For a moment Holmes sat silent and still. He then jumped up and strode to the window, through which he gazed wistfully, strumming his bony fingers against its glass.

Holmes’s voice was barely audible when he next spoke.

‘You must understand, Mr Crosby, that this is not the kind of routine inquiry with which I normally involve myself. However,’ he added quickly so as not to lower Crosby’s spirits still further, ‘I am curious to discover the true reason behind the withholding of the money and you have surely suffered much already. If you give the address of your newsagent to Dr Watson here, I promise to leave word of your brother’s whereabouts there within a week.’ With a dismissive wave of the hand, Holmes turned his gaze towards Baker Street once more.

As he slowly rose to take his leave Crosby added: ‘Your reputation for cleverness has been well documented by Dr Watson, but your kindness and compassion should be lauded equally.’ Holmes responded with only the briefest of nods, but maintained his vigil by the window until Crosby had shuffled out of sight towards the Marylebone Road.

For a moment after Crosby had disappeared from view Holmes and I remained both silent and still, Holmes continuing to linger by the window and myself leaning against the door that I had just closed behind our long-suffering client.

‘So, Watson, what are we to make of all this, then?’ Holmes asked, turning away from the window and lighting a cigarette.

‘Well, I suppose the story itself is a simple enough one and its conclusion is that the size of the parents’ estate precluded the newly married, Nathaniel Crosby from continuing to live in the family home. I presume that he has now moved to a somewhat less salubrious area and has decided that his brother’s meagre allowance was an expense that he could ill afford.’

Holmes eyed me quizzically for a moment and then grunted absent-mindedly as he extinguished his cigarette in a half-empty coffee cup.

‘Yours does seem to be the likeliest of explanations, yet such action would appear to be out of character. Remember how Randell described the warmth of the greeting that he received from his brother? Besides which, he was not coerced into granting his brother an allowance; it was his own idea, no matter how inadequate it proved to be. No, I am convinced that there is another reason for the money’s being withheld,’ Holmes quietly concluded.