Sherlock Holmes (20 page)

By the evening of the second
day, Holmes could take no more. The inactivity was gnawing at him
so and caused him to throw his newspaper angrily across the room.
As I watched, he began to pace. A clear sign of his unease. I was
becoming gravely concerned for my friend and my only hope now was
that there would be news in the following morning's post.

At the breakfast table the next
day, Holmes was as a coiled spring. The sound of our front door
opening sent him hurtling downstairs at a break-neck pace. Plucking
the letters from the grasp of a clearly shocked Mrs Hudson, Holmes
raced back to our rooms, eager to inspect the mail.

Tossing two clearly unimportant
letters aside, I saw his eyes light up and a wry smile appeared
upon his face. “Well, well! What have we here? A letter addressed
to a Miss Jane Watson! Hardly imaginative...but I am sure adequate
for the purpose. Would you mind if I—?”

From my place at the breakfast
table and with my mouth full of toast, I was only able to shake my
head and wave a marmalade laden spoon to show my agreement.

Before opening the letter,
Holmes went through his usual ritual of examining the envelope with
his glass. This he did before turning it over in his hands and
holding it up to the light before finally sniffing gently at it. It
was at this point that one of his eyebrows arched slightly, a clear
indication that he had detected something of interest.

Holmes walked the few paces to
his desk and reached for his fine, Italian stiletto, a memento from
the Cagliari affair. Returning to the dining table, he carefully
slit the envelope and withdrew from it a single sheet of paper and
a smaller, sealed white envelope. This he gently opened to reveal
five small, round, white pills.

Opening the letter, Holmes again
examined it before reading aloud. "Dear Miss Watson, please find
enclosed the necessary supply of Lady Cardswell's Female Pills.
These are to be taken on five consecutive nights with a glass of
water when you retire for the evening. Within a week of taking
these miracle pills, your system will be restored to its natural
rhythm."

Holmes’ anger on reading this
was manifest by his fist striking the table, causing mayhem to the
assembled crockery. "Liars!" shouted Holmes, "They peddle false
hope and potential harm to both the mother and her unborn child!
This cannot be allowed to continue!"

I was greatly concerned by this
outburst, saying, "Calm yourself, Holmes! The only way to defeat
these vile charlatans is to apply your mind to the analysis of the
pills. Added to that, we have the solemn responsibility of
reuniting Miss Dixon with those who will, no doubt, be greatly
worried by her disappearance."

For a moment, Holmes looked at
me with wild eyes but, gradually, as the moments passed, the anger
within him receded as logic prevailed.

The next time he spoke, his
voice was measured and precise. Nodding towards me, he began, "You
are quite correct, Watson. There is important work to be done here.
I would be grateful if you could attend to the remainder of the
mail whilst I begin my analysis."

As I rose from the table, I
patted my friend on the arm, saying, "Of course, Holmes. I am
indeed eager to learn the contents of these miracle pills."

Within but a few minutes, Holmes
was applying himself enthusiastically to his task and he was soon
scribbling wildly in his notebook. Glassware containing various
chemicals and reagents spilled out from his workbench onto any
available flat surface. As the analysis proceeded, the air in our
sitting room acquired that strange, pungent odour that seemingly
only a laboratory can attain.

For my part, I picked up the two
discarded letters together with another that had been forgotten due
to the arrival of the pills. Clutching the letters, I retired to my
chair, seeking to be as far away as possible from the vapours
emanating from Holmes’ experiments.

The two letters that Holmes had
discarded were simply accounts from local tradesmen and I put them
to one side for payment. The third, however, was intriguing. Using,
as best I could, Holmes’ own methods, I examined the envelope with
great care. Taking up my own glass, the envelope appeared to be
nothing out of the ordinary save for a small translucent mark at
one corner. I noted that it had been posted in Chiswick and it was
as I held it to my nose that I detected the faint, though
distinctive, odour of turpentine upon it.

I did not wish to disturb Holmes
so I took the liberty of using his stiletto to open the envelope.
Within it was a single piece of cheap writing paper and from the
paint smudged fingerprint at one edge, I knew instantly from whom
the letter had come. Opening it fully, I instantly took in the
address of the sender as being number 15, Black Lion Lane,
Chiswick.

The contents read thus, 'Dear Mr
Holmes, I am replying to your advertisement in the Evening Standard
regarding the whereabouts of Miss Violet Dixon. I have been unable
to meet with her or elicit any correspondence for almost two weeks
and I am becoming increasingly concerned. Should you discover any
information, I would be much obliged if you could convey it to me
at the above address. Yours sincerely, Robert Talbot.'

I stood for a few moments,
taking in what I had just read before locating the map of London
that Holmes had used and annotated. Unfolding it, I quickly saw
that Black Lion Lane, Chiswick, lay within the circle he had drawn
and was, perhaps, a little less than a mile from the boarding house
in Hammersmith where the body of Violet Dixon had been found.

Looking towards Holmes, it
seemed that his analysis was now complete. He was sitting back in
thought, drawing slowly upon his pipe as he watched the bubbles in
his retorts slowly cease.

I was eager both to learn his
findings and also to inform him of the contents of Robert Talbot's
letter. Clearing my throat of the cloying chemical smells that
filled the room, I asked, "What...what is your verdict on the
miraculous pills, Holmes?"

Holmes slowly withdrew his pipe
from his mouth and wagged the stem in my direction, saying, "It was
a simple analysis. Tell me what you think they contain, Watson."
With that, he tossed a small, round, white object towards me. I
caught it and immediately recognised it as one of the five pills.
Using his pipe stem as a pointer, he swept his arm in an arc in the
direction of the assembled apparatus, saying, "All this was, for
the most part, unnecessary. I used it merely to confirm my
suspicions after my first taste."

I took a step back and looked
down in horror at the small, white pearl, nestled in the palm of my
hand. "You tasted one these, Holmes?" I asked, incredulously.

Holmes’ face bore a grim smile
as he said, "The senses are everything, Watson. Will you not try
one?"

I looked again at my hand before
replying, "Thank you, but no. I will rely on your judgement and
analysis, Holmes. I am sure that your senses are much more acute
than mine!"

Holmes laughed and slapped the
arm of his chair. In truth, it was the first time I had seen his
spirits lifted for many days.

With a twinkle in his eye,
Holmes began thus, "Well, there is nothing magical about these
pills, Watson. Putting one to the nose reveals little except a
suggestion of mint oil. The touch to the tongue provides a slight
tingle, a fizz which I suspect to be from a mixture of citric acid
and calcium carbonate. This and the mint flavour tend to hide the
slight bitterness of Laudanum, the presence of which is supported
by the purple colour in my retort."

I was still reeling from the
thought of Holmes tasting one of these foul objects as I asked,
"And, therefore, there is little efficacy in the ingredients?"

Holmes snorted. "I am of the
opinion that the mint flavour may provide a pleasant taste. The
fizzing in the mouth caused by the reaction of the acid with the
carbonate may, perhaps, suggest to a gullible purchaser that some
medical benefit is occurring. The Laudanum is there simply as a
soporific, a relaxant, if you will, hence the instruction to take
the pills just before retiring. They are as harmless as they are
ineffectual!"

Whilst I was relieved by the
results of Holmes’ analysis, I felt somewhat in a cleft stick. I
was, on the one hand, pleased that the pills were not toxic but, on
the other, I was still greatly concerned that they were giving
false hope to desperate women.

Holmes now turned to me and
asked, "Was there also a reply to my advertisement, Watson?"

For a moment I had quite
forgotten the letter and I fumbled to produce it. I had replaced
the letter in the envelope and now handed it to Holmes.

Holmes I could see was
immediately interested and he reached for his glass. "Ah, a
Chiswick postmark... and the distinctive smell of an artist!"
Opening the letter, I saw his brows furrow as he read the contents.
"We must journey to Chiswick, Watson, and, whilst painful, impart
our knowledge of Miss Dixon to Mr Talbot."

Holmes rose and headed towards
the hat-stand. I sat for a moment, unmoving, before asking, "Will
you tell him the whole truth... about the unborn child?"

Holmes paused and turned
slightly towards me, saying, "I am unsure; I will make the decision
once we have met this gentleman. His disposition might be such that
he could not cope with such knowledge."

I rose and, on collecting my
coat, I followed Holmes down the stairs. A Hansom was hailed and we
set off towards Chiswick. Holmes was silent for most of the journey
but as the cab entered Black Lion Lane and began to slow down as
the cabbie searched for number fifteen, Holmes held up a finger in
caution. Looking directly at me, he said, "We must have a care as
to what we say here, Watson. We do not know whether Miss Dixon had
struck up this relationship with Talbot after the break-up of her
engagement. We must tread most carefully."

I nodded and then raised my arm
and pointed. "There! Number fifteen!" The cab drew to a stop and
Holmes stepped down. Tossing the cabbie a florin, he asked him to
wait for our return.

The house before us was one of a
terrace, all built from a pleasant, sandy coloured brick and
benefitting from Portland stone lintels. It appeared to have three
or, perhaps four floors as there were roof windows. From the name
plate by the front door, it was apparent that the property had been
divided into separate dwellings. Small pieces of card displayed the
names of the residents and a brief glance told us that Mr Robert
Talbot resided on the top floor.

Holmes pressed the small
bell-push beside Talbot’s name and we waited. After a minute or so
there had been no response. Holmes tried again and this time we
were rewarded with attic sash window being raised. Looking up we
saw a young man in a paint spattered shirt holding the sash whilst
gripping a paint brush between his teeth. Removing this, he shouted
down, "Yes? If it's about the rent, I will pay you on Friday!"

He half turned and was about to
close the window when Holmes called up to the man, "Mr Talbot? You
answered my advertisement about Miss Dixon."

The man stopped, looked at
Holmes and quickly vanished from our sight, leaving the window half
closed. Seemingly within moments, the front door was opened and a
panting figure stood before us.

"Mr Holmes? You have news?"
asked the young man, plainly eager for any information.

Holmes nodded. "Yes, but I think
it better if we were to talk in your rooms."

The young man's face clouded and
he stepped back into the hallway, saying, "Why yes, but it is
something of a climb, I fear."

Talbot led the way up the three
flights of stairs to the top of the house. By the time we had
reached his room, I was panting and leaning against the wall for
support. Talbot saw my exhaustion and enquired, "Are you
distressed, sir?"

I waved him away, thanking him
for his concern whilst gasping, "No... no, I will be restored after
a few moments, thank you."

Talbot did not seem convinced
and ushered us into his rooms.

Holmes introduced us both and we
stood whilst Talbot hurriedly removed clothing and other items from
a pair or rather tired-looking armchairs. I looked around the
lodgings and saw that it seemed to consist of two rooms. The room
we were in was clearly the young man's studio. In one corner, near
one of the two roof windows, was set up an artist's easel. This
stood on a tarpaulin which, I presume, protected the floor. Upon
the easel was a part painted canvas. To one side was a table that
was covered in crumpled and creased metal tubes containing oil
paint. Sprouting from a large jam jar were a great variety of up
ended-brushes and beside which was a palette and other sundry
artist’s supplies.

Through an open doorway, I could
see an unmade bed with a tousle of clothes strewn upon it and
across the floor. It was as I surveyed the studio that I noticed
several completed canvases propped against the wall in one corner.
The first one was of a partly draped female figure in a classical
pose. I moved a little closer to get a better view and
instinctively, my hand went to my mouth as I recognised the
artist's model.

Talbot noticed my interest and
held up the canvas, asking, "Is it to your liking, Doctor..." but
his voice trailed away as he saw my expression which, I fear,
conveyed my anguish on seeing the image of Violet Dixon.

Reaching out towards me, he
questioned, "There is something wrong. Something has happened to
Violet? You must tell me, sir, for pity's sake!"

Holmes gently guided Robert
Talbot to one of the chairs whilst he sat in the other. "I am
afraid it is the gravest of news, Mr Talbot. Your friend, Miss
Dixon, was found dead at a boarding house in Hammersmith some days
ago."