Paul Gilbert - The Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

‘Any clues?’ Lestrade asked, a note of hope in his voice, quite unlike his usual cynicism.

‘Only three of any real relevance, although I am certain that there would have been considerably more had you and your men not stampeded all over them!’ Holmes glared towards two embarrassed constables who were standing to attention by the door, as he spat out these words.

‘Three?’ Lestrade asked, smiling tentatively.

‘However I shall not be able to determine their true worth until you furnish me with a few facts! For example, have you managed to establish the identity of the victim?’

‘Certainly, it is none other than the bank’s manager himself, one Nathaniel Crosby.’ As Lestrade said this name Holmes shot me a barely discernible glance in the hope that it might prevent me from registering any form of recognition. In this Homes was successful, for Lestrade continued, unaware of our interchange.

‘The facts, as I understand them, are as meagre as they are unusual. Crosby informed his staff that he would be working late this very evening in preparation for the regular quarterly audit. At a quarter past seven his chief clerk, John Clevedon, asked if he could be of any further assistance. Crosby informed him that the remainder of his work would need to be conducted in the vault and was for his eyes alone.

‘You can, therefore, understand Clevedon’s surprise when, upon leaving for the night, he was certain that he heard two agitated voices echoing up from the vault and that one of them was surely that of a woman!’

‘A woman?’ I questioned. ‘Well, perhaps it was that of his wife?’

‘That was Clevedon’s notion, however he felt that it would be indiscreet of him to try to confirm this, and he continued on his way out of the building. It was at this point, as he turned the last key in the main door to the street, that he heard a most terrible cry that also emanated from the vault. His first instinct was to retrace his steps and to discover the cause of this ghastly sound. However, and to his regret, he thought it unwise to return unattended and so he went in search of a constable—’

Holmes slapped his forehead in exasperation. ‘I presume that the search took longer than he had anticipated and that by the time he had returned, policeman in tow, the culprit had long since departed?’

‘You have it in one, Mr Holmes,’ Lestrade confirmed gravely.

‘I presume that your early suspicions have fallen on Crosby’s wife?’ I asked.

Lestrade nodded emphatically. ‘Indeed, Doctor, and I immediately dispatched two men to the Crosby’s address. However no one in their small household had a notion as to her whereabouts, so I left an officer there to await her return. So far I have received no word of her.’

‘Was the bank fully secured when Clevedon eventually returned?’ Holmes asked quietly.

‘It was necessary for Clevedon to unlock each lock in the sequence,’ Lestrade confirmed.

‘Sequence?’ Holmes repeated quietly and enigmatically. As he did so he raised himself on to a large chest that stood in a corner of the room. Once there he sat down, crosslegged and with his eyes tightly shut. Lestrade glanced quizzically at him and I turned him away to ask further questions of him.

‘What is this sequence you speak of?’

‘The main locking device has been arranged in such a way that the final bolt can only be activated provided that the others have been thrown in a particular order. Interestingly, only Clevedon and Crosby were in possession of this sequence and they have both committed it to memory.’

‘Well then!’ I exclaimed. ‘Surely this confirms Mrs Crosby as the murderess. She must have observed her husband lock the door on a previous visit to the bank, and retained memory of the sequence!’

Lestrade shook his head slowly and despondently. ‘Ah, but there is the mystery, Doctor. Clevedon knows of no such visit, the device cannot be fathomed merely by chance and there was not time for her to try every permutation.’

As Lestrade said these words I glanced once again at the forgotten form in the centre of the room. ‘This man has only been dead for a little under an hour!’ I declared. ‘Yet his pallor is that of a far older corpse.’

At this, Holmes’s grey, glistening eyes burst suddenly open. He unravelled himself and dropped to the floor in a single, fluid motion.

‘Watson, I am nothing more than a dull-witted incompetent!’ he raged.

‘Whatever can you mean?’ I asked.

‘It is not possible to explain now. Lestrade, would you, Watson and your two fine officers carry the body to the street above? There is no time to lose, for surely there are only the last glimmers of daylight left to us!’

‘Glimmers, daylight? I do not understand,’ the bemused inspector replied, though straining at the body just the same. We all shared Lestrade’s bewilderment, yet my own experience assured me that every one of Holmes’s actions and instructions would have a perfectly logical motive behind them. The climb up to street level was not made without some difficulty, so Holmes had to squeeze between us in order to support our efforts. Once there Holmes had us lay the body gently down upon the pavement and remove the covering from over Crosby’s head.

Within an instant the effect of what remained of the gloaming was visible to us all. The sight of Crosby’s skin awakened in my own dull reasoning something that Holmes had already foreseen. Large, unsightly red welts began to blemish the dead man’s face, although, I am certain, they would have been considerably brighter and more grotesque had the sun been high.

Holmes was visibly moved at this sight. ‘By underestimating the dark, devious nature of this woman, I have surely condemned this man to his untimely death,’ he snarled through gritted teeth.

Although I had a greater understanding of these symptoms than Lestrade, I still felt compelled to ask: ‘How has this tragedy occurred?’ while the inspector merely stood there in bemused silence, his lips slightly parted.

Holmes’s answer was brief and impatient.

‘My own naïvety led me to enable Randell to arrange a meeting with his brother who used the forthcoming audit as the excuse, to his wife, for his having to work so late. Evidently his subterfuge failed and his wife broke in upon this meeting. An argument then ensued, as audibly witnessed by Mr Clevedon, resulting in a blow to the back of Randell’s head, probably from the large spanner used to bolt down the lid of the chest on which I meditated when we were in the vault.’

‘But whatever made you so certain that the body was Randell’s and not that of his brother? After all, his appearance could not be more different from that of the man who visited our rooms,’ I asked whilst glancing furtively towards Lestrade, who was, by now, becoming aware of our having suppressed prior knowledge.

‘I am certain that, at the behest of his wife, Nathaniel swapped clothes with the corpse of his brother and then proceeded to trim his hair and beard with a pair of blunt nail scissors.’ In answer to my questioning look he added: ‘There were still traces of this unseemly operation on the vault floor when I examined it earlier.’

‘Gentlemen!’ Lestrade suddenly cried. ‘There is, evidently much more about this grim affair of which you have withheld prior knowledge. This is a most serious obstruction of the police and I insist upon an immediate explanation!’

I could see that Holmes was still greatly affected by what he would undoubtedly regard as a terrible failure on his part.

‘Inspector, I will be more than pleased to accompany you back to the Yard and provide you with whatever information that may be of use to you,’ I offered.

Holmes placed a grateful hand upon my shoulder as he called to George, who was still waiting at the corner. ‘I would suggest, Lestrade, that you cast a wider net than the Crosbys’ now abandoned new home,’ was his parting comment.