Sherlock Holmes (49 page)

Nothing further was said at
dinner that evening. Aunt Rachel had joined us and I believe that
Holmes avoided the subject of Elsie Grainger deliberately in order
to spare her feelings. Aunt, it appeared, had passed a very
pleasant day with Mrs Hudson. They had walked and taken coffee in
Baker Street, followed by an afternoon in the kitchen, sharing and
exchanging recipes.

The following morning I arose a
little later than usual to find an empty breakfast table. Holmes, I
could see, had already eaten. A plethora of toast crumbs surrounded
his place at the table. His damask napkin had been tossed
carelessly across his plate, covering, for the most part, the blade
of a knife which was coated with both butter and smears of
marmalade. I rang the bell for my breakfast and it was as I was
tucking in to a plate of scrambled eggs with freshly toasted bread
that I heard a familiar tread upon the stairs.

The door to our rooms burst open
and a clearly delighted Holmes bounded in and flung himself into
his leather armchair. I paused, my fork half way to my mouth,
commenting, “You seem to be in an unusually fine mood, Holmes. What
have you been up to?”

Holmes beamed across the room at
me. “A little research, Watson… a little research. Something, I
think, that might help ensure that our friend ‘Doctor’ Garton ends
his days at the end of a rope!”

I put down my cutlery and dabbed
my face with my napkin, eager to hear more. “I take it, Holmes,
that Doctor Garton is not, in fact, a doctor?”

Holmes cried out, “Hah! No more
so than am I, Watson! I took it upon myself to pay a visit to the
premises of The Imperial Gas Company, posing as an inspector from
the Board of Trade. I wished to see their designs for automated
methods of gas lighting. Clearly, the device used to deceive and
poison the Grainger’s was some derivative form of clockwork
mechanism that introduced the copper powder and carbon into their
gas supply.”

Holmes sat back and began to
fill his pipe before continuing, “Under the auspices of the Board
of Trade, I was shown the plans for a device powered by a clockwork
mechanism. In essence, it would open and close the gas valve of a
street lamp at a set time and so provide automated illumination
during the hours of darkness. From these plans, I noticed that the
engineer responsible for the design, was a Mr D. Garton, employed
by a manufacturer located in Bath. I took a note of their address
and have sent a telegram of enquiry to them. In the meantime, I
have a small task for you, Watson.”

Holmes sat back and, with a
wicked twinkle in his eye, he asked, innocently, “Tell me, Watson.
What is your opinion of these ‘practitioners’ who claim to be able
to pass on messages from the Spirit World? ”

I thought for a moment before
replying, “It is probably similar to your own, in that there are
those whose intent is to criminally deceive for monetary gain
whilst others truly believe they have such a gift. I have an open
mind regarding the latter.”

Holmes slapped his hand on the
arm of his leather armchair, crying, “Splendid! Just as I had
hoped. You will then, no doubt, enjoy this evening’s séance.”

I sat back in my chair in
wonderment, asking, somewhat warily, “I am unsure of your
intentions, Holmes, as I was not aware that we had an
engagement?”

Holmes was smiling as he said,
“
We
have not. You, however, are to be my eyes and ears at a
séance held by Dr Garton this evening at his home in St. John’s
Wood. I took the liberty of reserving you a place at the table as
John Watson.”

I blinked, saying, “Me? Alone?
Why will you not be there as I am sure that you would be far more
observant than I?”

Holmes waved aside my reticence,
crying, “Nonsense! I have several errands to complete this evening
but I will be home by supper time and shall expect a full and
detailed report of the evening’s events.”

Holding up his hand, he would
hear no more of my protests and I resigned myself to the task. The
séance was to commence at 7 o’clock precisely and I readied myself
for the journey. Holmes had provided me with the address and,
donning my hat and overcoat, I made my way downstairs to the street
below. A cab was hailed and soon taking me towards St. John’s Wood…
and a meeting with a suspected murderer! It was an encounter that I
did not relish but, if it would provide evidence of his deception,
I felt it my duty to oblige Holmes.

By a quarter to seven I was
outside the front door of quite a large example of a red, London
brick terraced house. Beside the front door was a shiny, new, brass
name plate which read ‘Dr Daniel Garton.’ Rather reluctantly, I
rapped upon the door and within a few moments, I was invited in by
the maid. After taking my card, she led me through to a rather drab
sitting room. The room itself was quite gloomy as the windows were
covered, for the most part, with gold edged, green velvet curtains.
It was lit by four gaslights, one on each wall and, in the centre
of the room, stood a circular table covered with a heavy, dark
velvet cloth and with six chairs arranged around it.

It was clear that I was not the
first arrival as there were already four other gentlemen sitting
around the table. One of them looked up, rose and came towards me,
holding out his hand and saying, “Dr Watson! I am surprised to see
you here. Is Mr Holmes with you?”

I must admit that I too was a
little taken aback as I had not expected to come face to face with
Stephen Grainger. Thinking on my feet, I shook my head and in reply
said, “Unfortunately not. He has asked me to observe on his behalf.
I believe that I may be, perhaps, a little more open-minded to
matters spiritual than he.”

Stephen Grainger pursed his lips
and nodded slowly. “Come and sit by me, Doctor Watson. Doctor
Garton will join us presently. The séance always starts precisely
at seven o’clock.”

Grainger led the way back to the
table. I could see now that one chair was larger than the others
and I presumed that was for Dr Garton. As we pulled in our chairs,
I touched Grainger’s sleeve, saying, “I would be grateful if you
would address me this evening simply as Mr Watson rather than
Doctor Watson. I wish to observe in a private capacity and not in a
professional one. I do not wish to influence the séance in any way,
you understand.”

Grainger nodded, saying, “Of
course… Mr Watson.” As he said this, a tall, slender figure in a
flowing, long sleeved midnight blue robe seemed to almost float
into the room. He was a man aged around fifty years with fiercely
blue eyes, a long, almost rodent-like face which was topped with a
mass of straggly grey hair, swept back behind his ears.

Doctor Garton nodded to each of
his guests in turn, pausing briefly as Stephen Grainger introduced
me. Once seated, he took several deep breaths before saying, “Let
us begin…”

As I watched, Garton spread out
both his hands so that the little finger of each hand touched the
little finger of the two men either side of him and this was
repeated around the table. Garton closed his eyes and began to
chant softly, “Emerald Spirit… come amongst us.”

The chant was now taken up by
all the others and I found myself being carried along. As I sat, I
suddenly felt an ice cold draught of air over my knees and as I
looked down, I saw waves of vapour, almost like small banks of
cloud, rolling across the floor. They seemed to be flowing out in
all directions from around our feet.

“She is coming!” cried Garton
and as he said this, the edge of the table nearest to him started
to rise. I looked closely at his hands to make sure that he was not
using them to lift it but clearly he was not. His fingers still
touched his partner’s on either side. Again he cried, “She is
coming….” A few moments later, the lights in the room flickered
slightly and then turned a vivid emerald green and a now familiar
metallic smell filled the room.

Seemingly from nowhere, a figure
appeared before us. The figure was clearly female and naked except
a sheer, emerald green, muslin sheet that covered her from head to
toe. I would say that she was, perhaps, a little less than twenty
years and seemed to float around the room in classical movements
that one might expect of a Grecian muse. The figure passed closely
by each person in turn and each one reached out and touched the
form. I was indeed shocked as some of the men, to my eyes, touched
her quite inappropriately.

As she drew near, I heard
Grainger whisper to me, “Touch her, for the spirit is not an
illusion, she is truly real!” I reached out and put my hand on her
forearm and, indeed, the figure was solid and warm to the touch. I
turned and nodded slightly to Grainger in agreement.

This dance, if you will, lasted
several minutes and, in truth, I was becoming more and more
uncomfortable with the behaviour of the other participants. Finally
the lights began to change from green back to their familiar yellow
lamp light and, as they did so, the figure slid from our view.

As the gas lamps flared back to
full brightness, the other men rose, nodded to Dr Garton and, as
they left, each one passed an envelope to him. I was indeed puzzled
by this but Stephen Grainger, seeing my unease, leaned towards me,
saying quietly, “It is a small contribution for the séance of two
guineas.”

I fumbled for my wallet but as I
did so, Dr Garton came round the table and held up his hand,
saying, “There is no need for a contribution, Mr Watson. Your
friend settled all when he made the appointment. I hope you enjoyed
the séance.” Garton smiled in a lewd manner which, I have to say, I
found most distasteful. He continued, adding, “I understand that
you both will be joining me again tomorrow evening for our next
séance.”

I don’t know if my surprise
showed upon my face as I stumbled a reply, “Err… perhaps so.
Forgive me, for I am unsure of our commitments tomorrow.”

Doctor Garton smiled and nodded.
I said goodbye to Stephen Grainger and hurried from the room and
out into the fresh air. What I had witnessed was quite disturbing.
It was not the spiritual aspect of the evening that had offended
me, although I knew it to be duplicitous, it was more the abhorrent
and lewd behaviour of the other guests. I questioned the purpose of
the séance for no questions had been asked of the spirit nor any
information received!

Finding a cab, I swiftly
returned to Baker Street where I found the atmosphere in our
sitting room to have taken on that blue haze produced only by the
most ardent of pipe smokers. Holmes had draped his shoulders with
his old dressing gown and was relaxing in his leather armchair,
puffing contentedly on his briar.

“Ah, the wayward spirit
returns!” cried Holmes as I entered the room.

I tossed Holmes an angry look as
I replied, “Have a care, Holmes, for I am not best pleased after
witnessing the events of this evening. I deem them close to
depravity!”

Holmes instantly sat forwards,
his voice no longer teasing but now ice cold as he demanded, “Tell
me all that occurred. Leave nothing out, Watson.”

For the next twenty minutes, I
recounted the evening in as much detail as I could. Holmes asked
questions at various points and, once I had finished, he sat back
in silence. With his knees drawn up to his chest and with his eyes
closed, he drew steadily on his pipe. After some five minutes had
passed, he took his pipe from his mouth and pointed the stem in my
direction, asking, “Tell me more of this spirit, Watson.”

I shook my head, a little
bemused, saying, “I fear that there is nothing more to tell, I have
described her as fully as I am able.”

Holmes leant forwards, asking,
“What of the scar on her right wrist?”

I jolted upright in my chair,
shouting, “Yes! Yes…now I remember, as I touched her forearm, I
noticed that she did have… but that is impossible! How could you
know?”

Holmes smiled grimly. “She is no
spirit, Watson. She is Garton’s maid! I noticed the scar when she
took my hat and coat this afternoon when I arranged for your
presence at the séance. After you described the spirit to me, it
became clear that they were one and the same.”

I sat back, shocked, as I
considered this. “But…but why, Holmes? Why would she consent to
become this fictitious Emerald Spirit?”

Holmes wagged his forefinger in
my direction as he said, “Remember, Watson, life as a maid in a
small household is hard. This girl may well be earning less than
ten shillings a week. It is not difficult to imagine that she would
be prepared to disrobe if she were offered, say, an extra guinea a
week.”

I considered this and nodded as
Holmes continued, “By using her in this way, Garton is both
building his bank balance and his reputation as one being able to
conjure up a tangible spirit. It would appear that he is conducting
these séances four or five times a week and, in doing so, is
pocketing ten guineas from each séance.”

Holmes paused for a moment,
drawing on his pipe and then blowing out a thin stream of blue
smoke. “Consider this, Watson. Where else in decent society might a
man have the opportunity to ‘legitimately’ caress a young woman
under the pretence of verifying her physical presence in the room?
There are those who believe and those who care not a jot for the
spirit world… but would gladly pay for the titillation.”

I shuddered at the thought,
saying, “But this is exploitation and deception of the vilest
kind!”

Holmes nodded and then held his
forefinger to his lips. “It is imperative that we do not lose sight
of the fact that the man is a murderer, Watson. Elsie Grainger was
about to expose him and what better way to dispose of this nuisance
than by eliciting the help of the Emerald Spirit? Garton was not
present when the spirit struck her down and, no doubt, had a
perfect alibi.”