Paul Gilbert - The Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

‘Perhaps some form of ill-fortune has overtaken him,’ I suggested whilst gathering my things together.

Holmes barely acknowledged me as I bade him a goodnight. ‘Perhaps I shall see you once my enquiries into this matter have gathered pace?’ he called, as I was halfway down the stairs.

I spent the following morning making my peace with Mary and then found, over the next few days, that my practice was being overburdened by the victims of a quite virulent strain of influenza. This minor outbreak lasted but a short while, however, and my thoughts returned once more to the plight of Randell Crosby. It was not that my heart had been indifferent to his cause, rather that I had absolute confidence in Holmes’s ability to find Nathaniel without any great difficulty.

I was proved correct in making this assumption, to the extent that Holmes was already deeply immersed in his subsequent problem by the time I next visited my old rooms. I found Holmes hunched over a glass jar, in the centre of the dining-table, studying its contents with such an intensity that he scarcely acknowledged my entrance. According to Mrs Hudson, who showed some concern, he had been thus engaged for a number of hours.

‘A junior scientist such as yourself might find the contents of this jar of some passing interest,’ he uttered mischievously as I quietly approached the table.

Vainly trying to stifle my indignation, I exclaimed: ‘Well, I am certainly enough of a scientist to recognize that this is nothing more remarkable than a worm!’

‘Watson, you must not allow yourself to be so affected by my little jibes. If you can control your nerves for a moment and observe our small friend with a little more attention you will come to realize that this is, indeed, a most remarkable worm and one completely unknown to science!’

‘How did you come to be in possession of so remarkable a creature?’ I asked mockingly. ‘Does it form the basis of your latest case?’

Indignantly, Holmes hastily covered the jar with a napkin and led me towards our chairs and the Persian slipper. ‘This is a matter that can wait for another time, for I am certain that you wish to know the outcome of the Randell Crosby affair.’

‘Well of course I do … but that worm—’

Holmes stopped me in my tracks. ‘Desist!’ Obediently I sat down and lit my pipe.

‘As you might well imagine, the searching out of Nathaniel Crosby was a routine matter that presented me with no great difficulties. Posing as a potential buyer of Crosby’s vacant house, I was soon able to extract his present address from the agent handling the sale. Then, masquerading as a cockney hawker, I was able to fall into conversation with a senior member of Crosby’s household. From this loquacious individual I discovered that Crosby was now in the employ of Kyle and Onstott’s, a small yet most influential bank in Cheapside, where Crosby is expected to do very well.

‘Of more interest to me, however, was this individual’s opinion of the lady of the house.’ Holmes paused for a moment to relight his old clay pipe.

‘Really, Holmes!’ I interrupted. ‘It is not like you to have any truck with idle household gossip.’

‘Have I not told you, Watson, on more than one occasion, that a trained student of human nature can glean more relevant information over a pint of ale with the clientele at a saloon bar, than he can from a thousand police reports!’ Holmes retorted, hurling his still lighted match to the floor with a flourish as he spoke.

I mumbled apologetically as I fell to the floor to douse the offending flame.

Having composed himself with a long draw upon his pipe, Holmes resumed.

‘Upon learning that the woman was both vain and cold-hearted in her meanness, I decided that a visit to the newsagent on the Commercial Road might be in order if I was to present a complete picture of the situation to brother Randell. My suspicions were soon borne out as the newsagent recognized at once my description of the banker’s wife of ill-repute. It was she who demanded that the money should now be passed to her and not to old Ben. He was to inform Ben that the money had simply not arrived and to make no mention of her visit.’

‘How do you suppose that she discovered her husband’s little deception?’ I asked, as Holmes paused to re-light his pipe.

‘The servant, whose evidence you valued so contemptuously, thinks that she observed her husband handing the footman an envelope, in a most strange and cautious manner. Interestingly enough this individual was dismissed but a few days ago. I have informed Crosby of this in a brief note and I now fully expect him to arrange a clandestine meeting with his brother. As to its results, I am sure Crosby will inform us of them at some future date,’ Holmes concluded quietly.

Any further thoughts that we might have had on the subject were suddenly dispelled by a disturbance in the passageway below. Even before we could take steps to investigate its cause, an awkward-looking, red-faced young constable burst into our rooms, with an apologetic Mrs Hudson in close attendance.

‘I am so sorry, Mr Holmes …’ she began, before Holmes dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

‘Now, Constable,’ Holmes spoke quietly and with a smile, ‘calm yourself for a moment and then explain the reason behind your clumsy intrusion.’

‘Yes sir. Sorry sir. You see, Inspector Lestrade was most insistent that you come at once. I have never seen him so put out before,’ the lad replied.

‘Where are we to come and with what purpose?’ I asked.

‘To the Kyle and Onstott bank, of Cheapside, although the inspector would rather inform you himself of the reason for the visit once you have arrived. I have a hansom waiting outside,’ he added hopefully.

Holmes gestured for me not to express my astonishment at the mention of the name of the bank.

‘We shall join you outside shortly,’ Holmes informed the relieved young policeman. Then quietly to me he added: ‘We shall learn a lot more from Lestrade for so long as he remains ignorant of our earlier involvement in this matter.’ I nodded my agreement and a moment later we were racing down the stairs to the waiting cab.

We were fortunate in that the driver was none other than an old acquaintance of Holmes. George had assisted Holmes in his enquiries on more than one occasion, most notably during the affair of the Naval Treaty, and his intimate knowledge of London enabled us to answer Lestrade’s request for urgency most promptly.

We made our way through a veritable labyrinth of security systems before we reached the small but very deep main vault. I have seen Lestrade, many times at the scene of a dreadful crime, but never before have I seen his small weaselly face so etched with distress and confusion. Nor have I seen him so pleased upon Holmes’s arrival at the scene.

‘Good of you to come, Mr Holmes. This really is something right up your alley,’ Lestrade said slowly, trying to calm himself.

Holmes paid scant regard to this dubious greeting and was immediately engaged in his initial survey of the room, whilst gesturing to me to examine the bloodied, lifeless form that lay prostrate in the centre of the vault floor. My examination was as brief as it was futile. The police surgeon would be able to supply a far more detailed report than I was capable of providing in these circumstances. However I was able to confirm that the poor fellow had suffered an almighty blow, to the back of the head, and that a large blunt object, evidently removed at the time of the murder, had been the tool of the man’s destruction.

As I gradually stood away from the body I became aware of Holmes slithering across the floor, as if he were a black mamba stalking its prey, with a small magnifying glass protruding from the stalk-like fingers of his left hand. From time to time he would emit a grunt of disappointment. Then he might put a certain object which was invisible to the rest of us under closer examination by raising it to his eye. At last he sprang up from the floor and dusted himself down with a flourish.