Sherlock Holmes (41 page)

I looked at Holmes and he beckoned me towards
him. “I think we need a sample of these Rattle-Jacks, Watson.
Perhaps you might acquire a little.”

I took my cue and wandered off towards the
heap of Rattle-Jacks. I nodded and touched my hat to the couple who
were filling their hand cart. Bending down, I picked up a handful
of coke. I was acutely aware that I was being observed by Oldfield
and, after pretending to examine the coke, I threw a portion back
onto the heap. However, I retained a little of it within my gloved
hand which I casually thrust back into my coat pocket before
strolling back to Holmes. I gave Holmes the slightest of nods
before the three of us returned to the gasworks office. Once there,
Oldfield offered us some tea but, on the pretext of having to
return to St Pancras station to catch an express, we said our
goodbyes and made rather a hurried exit before he had chance to ask
our names.

Outside St Pancras we hailed a Hansom and
were once more on our way home. Holmes leant towards me, smiling.
“That was a very adept manipulation of the sample of coke, Watson.
May I see it?” I fumbled in my coat pocket and produced the three
or four small pieces that I had retained. Holmes selected one and
then took from his pocket his magnifying glass. Despite the
movement of the cab, he studied the coke for thirty seconds or so
before returning it to me. He then did the same with a seemingly
identical piece that he had taken from Broad Street. “On the face
of it, they do seem to be one and the same… but I must do some
further analysis at Baker Street.”

Holmes has always loved the logic of
Chemistry. Over the years, he has steadily increased his knowledge
in fields as diverse as rare, South American poisons extracted from
frogs to an encyclopaedic knowledge of tobaccos from around the
world. Our lodgings have often more resembled a laboratory rather
than a gentleman's sitting room.

On our return, Holmes had quickly set up two
retorts, with spirit burners beneath, and was busy heating the
samples of coke. From these, he drew off any gases produced,
passing them through a variety of liquids. Holmes worked
tirelessly. His analysis taking him most of the evening but,
eventually, he slumped in his armchair. It was plain to see that,
whilst he was exhausted, he was also pleased with the results of
his experiments.

Sitting back in his armchair, he briefly
presented his findings to me and, when he had finished, I
understood. I was, of course, aware of the dangers of carbonic
oxide gas poisoning from cases within my own practice and Holmes
would, in due course, enlighten me further. He was now able to
present his evidence in such a way that it would convince any court
in Christendom. Later that evening, as I idly read the evening
edition of the newspaper, I feared that he would need to do so
quickly as the date for the Inquest had been set for just two days
hence.

The following morning Holmes sent a message
for Alfie to call at Baker Street with his cousin Lucy. At around
ten o’clock the doorbell sounded in the hallway below and there was
again the thunder of children's feet on the stairs. Mrs Hudson
appeared, a little out of breath, and announced our visitors. Alfie
had returned the umbrella and, I must admit, they both looked
considerably better than the last time we had seen them. Having
said that, Lucy did still look a little pale. Her face bore the
expression of one who has a great weight upon her young
shoulders.

Holmes stood and greeted them. Alfie, in his
eagerness, burst out, “What news, Mr Holmes? When is Flora going to
come home? She's going to stay with us until she can find a
position.”

Holmes smiled. “One step at a time, Alfie. We
have some way to go yet...but I am convinced that she is innocent
and I think I can prove it.”

On hearing this, Alfie’s face lit up and, as
I watched, I saw him give Lucy’s hand a squeeze, saying, “See! I
told you Mr Holmes could do it.”

Holmes cautioned the pair. “We have to
prepare our ground thoroughly, Alfie. It is imperative that Flora’s
name is cleared. It is vital that I discover the name of the
landlord of the house in Broad Street.”

Alfie smiled. “That’s easy, Mr Holmes. It’s
Mr Levy. He lives just two doors away in his Mum’s old house, the
one with the blue door.”

Holmes reached into his pocket and took out a
sixpence. “Alfie, I want you to go and see if Mr Levy is at home
and then return here and tell me.” Alfie took the sixpence, grabbed
Lucy by the hand and rushed from our rooms as if a pack of hounds
were at his heels. Holmes laughed heartily and returned to his
armchair.

I have to say that I was somewhat puzzled by
Holmes request. I lit my pipe and settled into a chair, trying to
reason why knowing the landlords name and, whether he was at home,
might be helpful. After five minutes I could hold back my curiosity
no longer, asking, “Holmes, I fear I am at a loss to see why you
should send Alfie on such an errand?”

Holmes drew on his pipe and slowly blew out a
small cloud of blue smoke towards the ceiling. “I am attempting to
show how Flora is in no way responsible for the death of her
parents. It is vitally important that I find and talk to the
previous tenant of Broad Street. I believe his actions are the key
to this whole business.”

Holmes looked across at me, smiling at my
expression of complete befuddlement. With a twinkle in his eye, he
said, “Never mind. Watson. All will be revealed once the smoke has
cleared!”

It was a little less than fifteen minutes
before the thunder of feet once more sounded upon the stairs. Alfie
burst in even before Mrs Hudson could open the door. “He’s there,
Mr Holmes!” panted Alfie.

Holmes sprang from his chair, crying,
“Excellent work, Alfie! Come, Watson. We must seek out Mr Levy and,
hopefully, question his former tenant!” With that, Holmes gathered
up his coat and was out the door. We hailed a cab and were in Broad
Street in but a few minutes. The cab stopped outside a property
identical to the one we had visited a few days previously. The only
difference being that this property had a blue painted door.

Holmes jumped down from the cab and tapped
sharply on the house door with his cane. A minute or so later, an
elderly gentleman opened the door. Holmes touched his hat and
enquired, “Mr Levy?” The gentleman nodded and Holmes opened his
card case and presented his card. “My name is Sherlock Holmes. I am
trying to help little Flora Smith but I require some important
information."

The old gentleman looked from the card to
Holmes and back to the card. “A detective...you are not with the
police?” I could see the door was starting to slowly close.

Holmes moved a little closer… but not so much
as to alarm Mr Levy. “No, no. Have no fear, Mr Levy, I am acting
solely on behalf of Flora and her family. I am quite independent of
the police.” This seemed to satisfy Mr Levy and the door opened a
crack further.

Mr Levy, I saw, shook his head. “It's a bad
business. They had only been in there a few days. My nephew,
Benjamin, my brother's boy, he had the place before them but after
he and his wife had the baby...well, they needed more space and the
front bedroom was somewhat damp.”

Holmes tensed as he heard this. “Your nephew,
has he moved any distance?”

Mr Levy rubbed his chin. “No sir, just around
the corner, in Oak Terrace, number 14. Since he got a good job on
the railway, he can afford to rent a better house. Now sir, how can
I be of help to you?”

Holmes briefly touched his hat, saying, “You
have already been of tremendous help, thank you.” and with that,
Holmes sprinted away leaving me to shake the hand of a very
confused Mr Levy and to mutter a hurried goodbye.

At the corner of Broad Street Holmes stopped,
searching for a street name. Looking upwards above the frontage of
a corner shop he was fortunate to observe a cast iron sign
announcing, 'Oak Terrace'. I had barely caught up with him before
he was off again and searching for number 14. Fortunately for me,
the numbers started at number 1 at the corner and seven houses down
was the house in question.

More than a little out of breath I reached
him, supporting myself on the wall of the property. “For pity’s
sake, Holmes!” I panted, “Remember that I am a wounded old
soldier!” Holmes laughed and then tapped on the door of number 14.
We waited but a few moments and then the door was opened by a young
woman. Over her shoulder was draped a young baby whose back she was
patting gently.

Holmes touched his hat and enquired, “Mrs
Levy?” The young lady nodded and Holmes passed her his card.

The eyes of the young woman widened. “Tell me
it's not my Ben, he ain't been in trouble again, has he?” She
clutched for the door frame with her free hand.

Holmes was quick to support her elbow,
saying, “No, no...I was wanting to enquire about the house you
rented in Broad Street.”

The young woman recovered quickly and was
obviously somewhat relieved. “Oh yes, a terrible business. I can't
believe the stories I'm hearing. I've heard say that the daughter,
Flora, has done in her Mum and Dad with a hammer!”

Holmes visibly stiffened. “That is untrue.
Flora is innocent. Of that you can be quite sure.” With the
greatest of self-control, Holmes took a deep breath and smiled.
“Tell me, when you were a tenant there, did you ever light a fire
in the grate of the back bedroom?”

Mrs Levy thought for a moment. “Well sir, we
tried once. Ben laid a fire and started it going but there was such
a wind from that chimney that the room filled with smoke. He had to
fetch a bucket of water to put it out! It was bitter without any
heat. The cold wind fair whistled down that chimney, so much so,
that Ben had to stick some wood up there to try and block it off,
but it still blew.” I could see Holmes’ expression change from one
of enquiry to one of satisfaction.

Holmes touched his hat once again, saying,
“Thank you, Mrs Levy. We will trouble you no further, you have been
extraordinarily helpful. Goodbye.”

As we walked away, I conferred with Holmes.
“It would appear, from your expression, that this new information
substantiates your theory, Holmes.”

Holmes nodded. “Perfectly, Watson. I am
almost in a position to present my findings at the Inquest. I do,
however, need to see Dr Parry's analysis of the deceased's stomach
contents. We shall call on him on our way back to Baker
Street.”

We hailed a cab on Broad Street and a few
minutes later we found ourselves outside a somewhat grand Georgian
house, a little distance from Hanover Square. The house was red
brick with an arched doorway and pale cream stone lintels and
sills. To the right of the pillared portico was a brass plate,
announcing the residence of Dr J. Parry.

Holmes
pressed the bell button to the side of a fine, half glazed door
and, a few moments later, a smartly presented maid opened the door
to us, asking, “
Yes, sir?”

Holmes took his card holder from his
waistcoat pocket and handed a card to the maid. “Please be so good
as to give this to Dr Parry.” The maid bobbed slightly, closed the
door and could be seen hurrying away down the hall. Almost
immediately she returned, I could see that she was accompanied by
the taller figure of a man.

The door opened and there before us was a
figure I had seen before, Dr John Parry. He was a tall, slim man
aged in his late thirties with dark brown hair and a trim
moustache. He held out his hand saying “Sherlock! How good to see
you...and Watson! How are you, old fellow?” Holmes and I were
indeed pleased to be remembered. We entered the house, exchanging
pleasantries as we walked along the hall towards a welcoming fire
in a well-furnished study. Parry smiled, saying, “Please, be
seated.”

We sat in two fine, leather covered
Chesterfields with high, winged backs that faced a large mahogany
desk. Holmes looked around the room and smiled. “You appear to be
making a good living, John.”

John Parry almost blushed. “Yes, I'm afraid
my practice these days is quite small, I seem to be doing a
considerable amount of work for the courts and I have become a
lecturer in Histology and Medical Jurisprudence at St. Stephens
College.”

Holmes nodded. “It is about a legal matter
that we have sought you out. I understand that you took away
samples of the lungs and the stomach contents from two people who
lived in Broad Street.”

Dr Parry thought for a moment. “Ah yes, the
Smiths.” He moved to the rear of his desk, opened a drawer and
removed a slim file containing his notes. “Yes, my analysis showed
an absence of any narcotic or toxic substances in the stomach.”

Holmes sat with his fingers steepled,
touching his lips. “It is then as I thought. Tell me, John. Did you
confirm the presence of carbonic oxide gas in both the blood and
lung tissue?”

Dr Parry's head shot up. “Why, yes! How could
you have known?”

Holmes had a grim smile upon his lips. “The
police are so fixed on this case being murder and Flora Smith being
the obvious killer that they have ignored the possibility of there
being a silent killer in the room. Flora was very fortunate not to
have been a victim herself.” Holmes rose, saying, “Thank you, John.
We will see you again at the Inquest in the morning.”

Holmes appeared supremely confident. However,
if he did not succeed, Flora would have to stand trial for murder
in the Crown Court. I feared that even if she was to be found
innocent, the trial itself had the potential to mentally scar her
for life and to ruin her.