The case-book of Sherlock Holmes
wife of the greengrocer? I can picture you whispering soft nothings
with the young lady at the 'Blue Anchor,' and receiving hard somethings
in exchange. All this you have left undone."
"It can still be done."
"It has been done. Thanks to the telephone and the help of the Yard, I
can usually get my essentials without leaving this room. As a matter
of fact, my information confirms the man's story. He has the local
repute of being a miser as well as a harsh and exacting husband. That
he had a large sum of money in that strong-room of his is certain. So
also is it that young Dr. Ernest, an unmarried man, played chess with
Amberley, and probably played the fool with his wife. All this seems
plain sailing, and one would think that there was no more to be
said--and yet!--and yet!"
"Where lies the difficulty?"
"In my imagination, perhaps. Well, leave it there, Watson. Let us
escape from this weary workaday world by the side door of music.
Carina sings to-night at the Albert Hall, and we still have time to
dress, dine and enjoy."
In the morning I was up betimes, but some toast crumbs and two empty
egg-shells told me that my companion was earlier still. I found a
scribbled note upon the table.
DEAR WATSON,--
There are one or two points of contact which I should wish to establish
with Mr. Josiah Amberley. When I have done so we can dismiss the
case--or not. I would only ask you to be on hand about three o'clock,
as I conceive it possible that I may want you.
S. H.
I saw nothing of Holmes all day, but at the hour named he returned,
grave, preoccupied and aloof. At such times it was wiser to leave him
to himself.
"Has Amberley been here yet?"
"No."
"Ah! I am expecting him."
He was not disappointed, for presently the old fellow arrived with a
very worried and puzzled expression upon his austere face.
"I've had a telegram, Mr. Holmes. I can make nothing of it." He
handed it over, and Holmes read it aloud.
"Come at once without fail. Can give you information as to your recent
loss.--ELMAN. The Vicarage."
"Dispatched at two-ten from Little Turlington," said Holmes. "Little
Turlington is in Essex, I believe, not far from Frinton. Well, of
course you will start at once. This is evidently from a responsible
person, the vicar of the place. Where is my Crockford? Yes, here we
have him. J. C. Elman, M.A., Living of Mossmoor cum Little Purlington.
Look up the trains, Watson."
"There is one at five-twenty from Liverpool Street."
"Excellent. You had best go with him, Watson. He may need help or
advice. Clearly we have come to a crisis in this affair."
But our client seemed by no means eager to start.
"It's perfectly absurd, Mr. Holmes," he said. "What can this man
possibly know of what has occurred? It is waste of time and money."
"He would not have telegraphed to you if he did not know something.
Wire at once that you are coming."
"I don't think I shall go."
Holmes assumed his sternest aspect.
"It would make the worst possible impression both on the police and
upon myself, Mr. Amberley, if when so obvious a clue arose you should
refuse to follow it up. We should feel that you were not really in
earnest in this investigation."
Our client seemed horrified at the suggestion.
"Why, of course I shall go if you look at it in that way," said he.
"On the face of it, it seems absurd to suppose that this parson knows
anything, but if you think----"
"I _do_ think," said Holmes, with emphasis, and so we were launched
upon our journey. Holmes took me aside before we left the room and
gave me one word of counsel which showed that he considered the matter
to be of importance. "Whatever you do, see that he really _does_ go,"
said he. "Should he break away or return, get to the nearest telephone
exchange and send the single word 'Bolted.' I will arrange here that
it shall reach me wherever I am."
Little Purlington is not an easy place to reach, for it is on a branch
line. My remembrance of the journey is not a pleasant one, for the
weather was hot, the train slow, and my companion sullen and silent,
hardly talking at all, save to make an occasional sardonic remark as to
the futility of our proceedings. When we at last reached the little
station it was a two-mile drive before we came to the Vicarage, where a
big, solemn, rather pompous clergyman received us in his study. Our
telegram lay before him.
"Well, gentlemen," he asked, "what can I do for you?"
"We came," I explained, "in answer to your wire."
"My wire! I sent no wire."
"I mean the wire which you sent to Mr. Josiah Amberley about his wife
and his money."
"If this is a joke, sir, it is a very questionable one," said the vicar
angrily. "I have never heard of the gentleman you name, and I have not
sent a wire to anyone."
Our client and I looked at each other in amazement.
"Perhaps there is some mistake," said I; "are there perhaps two
vicarages? Here is the wire itself, signed Elman, and dated from the
Vicarage."
"There is only one vicarage, sir, and only one vicar, and this wire is
a scandalous forgery, the origin of which shall certainly be
investigated by the police. Meanwhile, I can see no possible object in
prolonging this interview."
So Mr. Amberley and I found ourselves on the roadside in what seemed to
me to be the most primitive village in England. We made for the
telegraph office, but it was already closed. There was a telephone,
however, at the little 'Railway Arms,' and by it I got into touch with
Holmes, who shared in our amazement at the result of our journey.
"Most singular!" said the distant voice. "Most remarkable! I much
fear, my dear Watson, that there is no return train to-night. I have
unwittingly condemned you to the horrors of a country inn. However,
there is always Nature, Watson--Nature and Josiah Amberley--you can be
in close commune with both." I heard his dry chuckle as he turned away.
It was soon apparent to me that my companion's reputation as a miser
was not undeserved. He had grumbled at the expense of the journey, had
insisted upon travelling third-class, and was now clamorous in his
objections to the hotel bill. Next morning, when we did at last arrive
in London, it was hard to say which of us was in the worse humour.
"You had best take Baker Street as we pass," said I. "Mr. Holmes may
have some fresh instructions."
"If they are not worth more than the last ones they are not of much
use," said Amberley, with a malevolent scowl. None the less, he kept
me company. I had already warned Holmes by telegram of the hour of our
arrival, but we found a message waiting that he was at Lewisham, and
would expect us there. That was a surprise, but an even greater one
was to find that he was not alone in the sitting-room of our client. A
stern-looking, impassive man sat beside him, a dark man with
grey-tinted glasses and a large Masonic pin projecting from his tie.
"This is my friend Mr. Barker," said Holmes. "He has been interesting
himself also in your business, Mr. Josiah Amberley, though we have been
working independently. But we both have the same question to ask you!"
Mr. Amberley sat down heavily. He sensed impending danger. I read it
in his straining eyes and his twitching features.
"What is the question, Mr. Holmes?"
"Only this: What did you do with the bodies?"
The man sprang to his feet with a hoarse scream. He clawed into the
air with his bony hands. His mouth was open, and for the instant he
looked like some horrible bird of prey. In a flash we got a glimpse of
the real Josiah Amberley, a misshapen demon with a soul as distorted as
his body. As he fell back into his chair he clapped his hand to his
lips as if to stifle a cough. Holmes sprang at his throat like a
tiger, and twisted his face towards the ground. A white pellet fell
from between his gasping lips.
"No short cuts, Josiah Amberley. Things must be done decently and in
order. What about it, Barker?"
"I have a cab at the door," said our taciturn companion.
"It is only a few hundred yards to the station. We will go together.
You can stay here, Watson. I shall be back within half an hour."
The old colourman had the strength of a lion in that great trunk of
his, but he was helpless in the hands of the two experienced
man-handlers. Wriggling and twisting he was dragged to the waiting
cab, and I was left to my solitary vigil in the ill-omened house. In
less time than he had named, however, Holmes was back, in company with
a smart young police inspector.
"I've left Barker to look after the formalities," said Holmes. "You
had not met Barker, Watson. He is my hated rival upon the Surrey
shore. When you said a tall dark man it was not difficult for me to
complete the picture. He has several good cases to his credit, has he
not, Inspector?"
"He has certainly interfered several times," the Inspector answered
with reserve.
"His methods are irregular, no doubt, like my own. The irregulars are
useful sometimes, you know. You, for example, with your compulsory
warning about whatever he said being used against him, could never have
bluffed this rascal into what is virtually a confession."
"Perhaps not. But we get there all the same, Mr. Holmes. Don't
imagine that we had not formed our own views of this case, and that we
would not have laid our hands on our man. You will excuse us for
feeling sore when you jump in with methods which we cannot use, and so
rob us of the credit."
"There shall be no such robbery, MacKinnon. I assure you that I efface
myself from now onwards, and as to Barker, he has done nothing save
what I told him."
The Inspector seemed considerably relieved.
"That is very handsome of you, Mr. Holmes. Praise or blame can matter
little to you, but it is very different to us when the newspapers begin
to ask questions."
"Quite so. But they are pretty sure to ask questions anyhow, so it
would be as well to have answers. What will you say, for example, when
the intelligent and enterprising reporter asks you what the exact
points were which aroused your suspicion, and finally gave you a
certain conviction as to the real facts?"
The Inspector looked puzzled.
"We don't seem to have got any real facts yet, Mr. Holmes. You say
that the prisoner, in the presence of three witnesses, practically
confessed, by trying to commit suicide, that he had murdered his wife
and her lover. What other facts have you?"
"Have you arranged for a search?"
"There are three constables on their way."
"Then you will soon get the clearest fact of all. The bodies cannot be
far away. Try the cellars and the garden. It should not take long to
dig up the likely places. This house is older than the water-pipes.
There must be a disused well somewhere. Try your luck there."
"But how did you know of it, and how was it done?"
"I'll show you first how it was done, and then I will give the
explanation which is due to you, and even more to my long-suffering
friend here, who has been invaluable throughout. But, first, I would
give you an insight into this man's mentality. It is a very unusual
one--so much so that I think his destination is more likely to be
Broadmoor than the scaffold. He has, to a high degree, the sort of
mind which one associates with the mediæval Italian nature rather than
with the modern Briton. He was a miserable miser who made his wife so
wretched by his niggardly ways that she was a ready prey for any
adventurer. Such a one came upon the scene in the person of this
chess-playing doctor. Amberley excelled at chess--one mark, Watson, of
a scheming mind. Like all misers, he was a jealous man, and his