Sherlock Holmes (30 page)

Croft smiled. “Ah, I have been a
keen sailor for many years. Before my army days, my father used to
take me to Lymington. We have a small yacht moored there and, from
early childhood, my father and I used to take it out and sail on
the Solent, sometimes even across to the Isle of Wight.”

“Lymington, you say? Good
heavens, I used to sail on the Solent myself.” said Holmes.

I looked incredulously at Holmes
for this was something of which I had no knowledge. “You continue
to amaze me, Holmes. I had no idea.”

Holmes responded casually, “Why,
yes, Watson. I had the good fortune, as a very young fellow, to
crew on the topsail schooner 'Cambria', owned by James Ashbury. It
beat the Yankee schooner Sappho, in the Solent, in 1868 and our
success led to a formal challenge for the America's Cup.”

I just stood open mouthed and
watched as Holmes and Croft prepared the model yacht for another
run across the pond.

After two very enjoyable hours
of sailing, we bade Peter Croft farewell and returned to our rooms.
As we settled back with a pipe of tobacco, I was still in awe of
Holmes’ sailing achievement and I pressed him to say more.

Holmes sat back in his beloved
leather armchair but would not be drawn. His response was simply a
wagging forefinger. “Watson, there is only so much that can be
learned from sailing model craft.” I felt a little crest fallen but
then he turned and gave me a wicked smile. “However, as there is
precious little to challenge me here in London, I consider it my
duty to instruct you in this matter. My talents as a tutor will, I
think, be considerably tested.” I knew that my leg was being pulled
and we both laughed heartily.

The following morning I opened
the door of our sitting room to the cry of “Lymington!” Holmes was
already thumbing through a railway timetable as I was ringing for
Mrs Hudson to bring me my breakfast tray.

Holmes was tapping his finger on
the page as he said, “Ah, yes. We can take the express from
Victoria to Lymington Town leaving at ten minutes past ten. Come
along, old fellow. The Solent awaits us!”

I jumped as Holmes closed the
timetable with gusto and dashed off to pack a Gladstone. Whilst it
was encouraging to see that my friend had thrown off all vestiges
of his depression, the thought of the dynamism he would bring as my
mentor was somewhat un-nerving!

My breakfast tray arrived and I
hurriedly consumed the contents. Fortunately, my surgery had few
patients at this time of the year so I would not be gravely missed.
I dashed off a note, leaving it for Mrs Hudson. There being a
standing arrangement with a colleague that should it be necessary
for me to be elsewhere for a few days, he would attend to my
practice. I swiftly packed a few things into my Gladstone under the
gaze of a clearly impatient Holmes and we were off.

Hailing a Hansom in Baker
Street, we headed for Victoria Station and the 10:10 a.m. to
Lymington Town. I was pleased that we were travelling to Lymington
as I had an aunt who lived close by. She had lost her husband
earlier in the year and, up until now, I had been unable to
visit.

Once aboard the train we
travelled, for the most part, in silence until we reached
Lymington. The station was quite grand for a small coastal town
being built in a typical Victorian style, double fronted and using
a mid-brown, buff brick. This was contrasted with a pale cream
brick used to highlight the architectural features of the
facade.

Outside the station we were able
to obtain a ride into town in a pony and trap. Holmes gave the
driver an address and asked him to provide us with a brief tour of
the town as we went. I was intrigued by the close packed dwellings
and the steep cobbled streets of Lymington that lead down to the
quay.

Holmes saw my interest. “You
know, Watson, this area had something of reputation for smuggling.
It is said that there are secret underground passages that lead
from the Inns in the High Street down to the quays, ideal for the
illicit importation of French brandy.” I nodded and continued to
enjoy my ride through the town.

It was only a few minutes before
we arrived at The Ship Inn, located close by the harbour. I had
observed many fine Georgian buildings in Lymington and, I have to
say, The Ship Inn was no exception. It was a large building with
whitewashed walls fronting the road. The large sash windows facing
the harbour were surrounded by stout, exposed stone sills and
lintels. These gave the inn a certain elegance and charm.

It was clear on entering the inn
that it had long tradition with the sea and sailing. The walls were
adorned with nautical items, prints of fishing vessels and their
crews and also large, painted seascapes. I was intrigued to see
that ships lanterns were ready to light our way to the bar where we
received a hearty welcome. As we had not had luncheon, we asked the
landlord if he was able to provide us with a meal and this he was
pleased to do.

Whilst we waited, I noticed that
the inn had two different casks of beer on wooden trestles behind
the bar. However, tucked to one side, I was delighted to see a cask
of cider. “Tell me, landlord, is the cider locally produced?” I
asked.

The landlord rubbed his chin for
a moment. “Well sir, it is Hampshire cider from The New Forest but
I do believe that in some years, when the local apple crop was
poor, they have included apples from as far away as Somerset.” I
could hear Holmes chuckling as he stood next to me.

Now, I have to admit to being a
devotee of cider and, as there is scare little of it to be found
locally in London, I was obliged to order a flagon. Holmes,
however, selected a pint of the local Wheatley & Ford's finest
bitter.

We sat down to a satisfying meal
of cold ham, cheddar cheese, pickles and home-baked bread and local
butter. This was followed by an ample slice of delicious cherry
pie.

A walk was called for after our
meal and stepping out spritely, we headed off towards the harbour
in order to hire a boat for a few days. Holmes took the lead
saying, “I fancy there will be something to fit the bill here,
Watson.” pointing towards a gaggle of small boats nestled together
on the river.

There were craft of all kinds in
the harbour, some tied up to the harbour wall whilst others were
moored to buoys that bobbed in the river. We found the office of
the Harbour Master who kindly directed us to one of the local
companies that seemingly specialised in hiring out boats to
visitors in the summer months. Soon we had agreed to hire a small
sailing dingy for two guineas a week and had paid a deposit of ten
pounds.

By this time it was
mid-afternoon and we returned to the inn. Whether it was the
bracing sea air or the cider, I felt that it would be better to
start my period of tuition in the morning. Holmes, seeing my
somnolence, agreed and we sat back in the lounge of the inn,
smoking a relaxing pipe of tobacco.

It was during this time that I
happened upon a copy of the previous day's Portsmouth Evening News.
“Good Lord, Holmes! Listen to this.” I folded the paper and read
aloud. “Mystery deaths continue in Hampshire. For the last three
months the medical men and the hospitals throughout Hampshire have
reported a mystery illness which has caused the disablement and
deaths of over 50 persons. The symptoms appear to be common in many
cases. Patients have complained of a feeling of 'pins and needles'
in their hands and feet accompanied by weakness in their limbs
together with all over rheumatism and a general numbness. This
affliction has been apparent in both men and women and in advanced
cases has been seen to cause paralysis.”

Holmes took his pipe from his
mouth and gazed at the wall, deep in thought. “Interesting and
extremely concerning. From the symptoms described, it appears to be
a case of poisoning through the ingestion of a heavy metal,
leaching perhaps, from an old mine working. However, if a water
course were affected, then one would expect the effect to be fairly
localised but this appears to be county wide.” Holmes returned to
drawing on his pipe, clearly deep in thought. “Is there more,
Watson?”

“Yes, indeed there is.” I looked
back at the paper and continued. “A meeting of the Portsmouth
District Health Committee was convened last week. A preliminary
report was presented by Dr J Carter, the Chief Medical Officer. His
evidence revealed that in the last 3 months, 28 people had died due
to peripheral neuritis or alcoholic neuritis. After a review of the
evidence collected, a suggestion was made that the poisoning may
have been from the ingestion of arsenic. The source of such a
poison continues to be a mystery and one that requires urgent
investigation.”

Holmes had closed his eyes.
“Yes, it would appear that I was correct... but from where? That is
the question.”

For the rest of the afternoon I
sat and read a copy of ‘The Lancet’ whilst Holmes went out into
Lymington town and procured a copy of the local tide table. This
would enable us to determine when we could safely sail, the river
at Lymington being tidal.

The sea air had seemingly
stimulated our appetites as by 7 o'clock we were both ravenous! Our
evening meal consisted of the most delicious, locally caught fresh
cod. Holmes had opted for a portion of prawns as an entrée, he
being a devotee of seafood and shellfish in particular. I did not
indulge as I preferred the home made pâté. We washed this down with
the same choice of drinks as before and, on finishing our splendid
meal, we had a final pipe of tobacco before retiring to our
rooms.

At around 2 a.m. I was awakened
by the most dreadful sound of moaning, the location of which, at
first, I could not identify. Shaking myself awake, I determined
that the sound was emanating from the room next door which I knew
to be that of my friend, Holmes. The glow from a gas lamp in the
street below allowed me to locate an oil lamp in my room and,
having lit it, I went out onto the landing. I stood and knocked on
Holmes’ door but I could get no reply save for a weak cry of
“Watson!” By this time, the landlord had appeared and, together, we
opened the door of Holmes’ room.

I quickly lit the gas light and
could see that he was deathly pale. A chamber pot at the side of
the bed bore witness to his vomiting and he was clutching the bed
sheets in agony. I quickly set about examining my friend, finding
his stomach was tender to the touch and he was suffering from acute
abdominal pain.

Holmes opened his eyes, saying,
“Watson, I am so dry. Pour me a glass of water, if you will.” I
went over to the jug of water by the wash stand and poured a glass
which Holmes drank voraciously. Almost immediately he wretched and
lost all that he had drunk and more besides. I was deeply concerned
for my friend and considered what might be causing this sudden
sickness. I thought back to our evening meal and his choice of
prawns as an entree. My immediate diagnosis was that he was
suffering from food poisoning. I moved closer to my friend, saying,
“Bear up, old chap. I will empty the chamber pot and sit with you
for a while.”

Holmes’ body was wracked with
pain and he was again clutching his stomach. I went to the water
closet at the end of the landing and returned with the empty pot
and I also gathered the pot from my room, in case it was needed.
From the washstand I took a flannel and dampened it, cleaning my
friends face. It was then I detected that his breath had a slight
smell of garlic which, at the time, I thought unusual but did not
give it any great importance.

I sat with Holmes for several
hours and tried, with some success, to administer a little
Laudanum. I was indeed thankful that he was able to retain most of
it. I must have dozed off as it was a little before 8 o'clock the
next morning that I awoke to see my friend with his eyes open and
with a little colour in his cheeks. “Ah, Holmes. I trust you are a
little better?” I asked.

A weak smile showed on his face
and he nodded. A thin, dry voice came from his lips. “Yes, a little
better, thank you, Watson. I am most grateful for your
ministrations and company last night.” Holmes tried to sit but fell
back onto the pillow, his face covered in sweat from the exertion.
“I am so weak, Watson, and my head swims so!”

“You must lie still, Holmes, and
allow what has affected you to pass through your body.” I picked up
the glass of water and held it to his lips. Holmes drained the
glass, he was clearly dehydrated. I was pleased to see that he was
now able to drink and he consumed almost another full glass.

A look in the chamber pot showed
me that he had not vomited again but his urine presented a very
dark appearance. It was as I took the pot away that I again smelled
garlic. “Arsenic! But how?”

Over the years, as Holmes’
companion and also within my own practice, I had come into contact
with the victims of arsenical poisoning. I cursed myself for not
having diagnosed it at once.

Returning to Holmes’ room and
with the word “How?” ringing in my ears, it was perfectly clear to
me that in his present condition, Holmes was unable to be part of
finding the answer.

I leant close to my friend.
“Holmes, old man. I am going downstairs for some breakfast but will
be back shortly.” Holmes nodded weakly and I left him so nature
could take its course and cleanse his body. There was little more
that I could do.

Finding the landlord behind the
bar, I ordered my breakfast and I also had a mind to question him
about the prawns. As far as I could ascertain, this was the only
thing different in our meal of the previous night. “Tell me,
landlord. The prawns my friend ate last night, they were
fresh?”