Sherlock Holmes (54 page)

We sat to one side in one of the
smaller rooms and ordered two large whiskies as a nightcap. The
room was plainly furnished with wheel back chairs and a much used
and stained, mahogany table. The ceiling was oak beamed and the
once white walls were ochre from long exposure to tobacco smoke.
Upon the walls were hung some sporting watercolours and hand drawn
caricatures of the locals that frequented the inn.

The landlord appeared with a
tray, a bottle of whisky and two glasses. He poured out two good
measures and placed them on our table. “Oh, Mr Holmes. This
telegram arrived for you this afternoon.” The landlord rummaged in
the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out the crumpled envelope.
He placed it on the table and tried running a large hand over it to
remove the creases. “Sorry about that, sir." Holmes smiled and
nodded, picking up the telegram. Opening it, he scanned the
contents. A slight smile now played on Holmes’ thin lips.

“Something of interest from
Mycroft?” I asked.

Holmes shook his head, replying,
“Not really, Watson. It simply confirms what I already
suspected."

Holmes sat back, picked up his
glass of whisky and, looking over the top of it, he let his eyes
rove around the room. As I watched, Holmes suddenly froze, saying,
“Hello, what’s this?” He stood up, put down his glass and picked up
a clearly very old photograph, mounted in a cardboard frame, from
the mantle above the fire.

In the photograph was a somewhat
faded group of soldiers. The front row were sitting on benches at
attention with a further row standing to attention behind them. An
officer could be seen, standing to one side, with a swagger stick
under his arm. In the foreground was burnt earth with the odd patch
of grass and, in the background, there could be seen native
troops.  On the back of the photograph, written in fine,
purple ink was, ‘Allahabad, 1857’.

Holmes reached for his
magnifying glass and was closely examining the photograph when the
landlord reappeared. He was flushed and dampened from changing a
barrel in the cellar and was wiping his hands on his apron as he
approached.

Holmes looked up, remarking, “A
fine body of men, landlord."

The landlord grinned proudly.
“Yes, Mr Holmes. That’s a picture of my Dad and his chums when they
were out in India in ’57. It's a print made from one of the very
earliest photographs ever taken in India." The landlord thrust out
a stubby finger and pointed to a large soldier in the standing
group. “That’s my Dad. They were a good bunch of lads, I met one or
two of ‘em when I was a nipper. Quite a few of the men from
hereabout joined the army all at the same time. There was little
enough work so they upped and joined the army."

Holmes smiled, asking, “…and the
officer?”

The landlord’s expression
changed. “He was a bad lot, he was. Lieutenant Stretton. My Dad
said he never had a good word for the lads. Dad’s troop was always
the one to get the dirty jobs. They were some of the ones who had
to go and try and find that Nana Sahib after Cawnpore. River
patrols, night patrols up into them hills near the border." The
landlord shook his head and sat down opposite us, saying, “My Dad’s
health was never the same when he got back."

“This Lieutenant Stretton... was
he from around here also?” asked Holmes, in a casual way.

“Why yes, sir. His son is the
local solicitor, Charles Stretton. I think bad blood runs in that
family for nobody round here has a good word for him either… and as
for young Robert Stretton. It’s a miracle he hasn’t been up before
the assizes!”

 “Really?” asked
Holmes.

The Landlord nodded. “Yes, sir.
He’s been on a sticky wicket a couple of times and I think only a
word from his father has got him off!”

Holmes returned the photograph
to the mantle. “Well, thank you for your hospitality landlord. I
think after our journey we should go to our rooms."

The landlord wiped his hands
again, saying, “Yes, right sir. What time would you like your
breakfast?”

Holmes thought for a moment and
replied, “I think 8 o’clock sharp would be excellent!”

The Landlord smiled. “Very good
sir, I’ll tell my wife and I bid you goodnight."

We climbed the stairs, wished
each other a goodnight and retired to our rooms. I slept soundly
but was rudely awakened by a loud commotion outside the door of my
room. I reached for my pocket watch on the night stand and saw that
it was barely 7 a.m.

Suddenly, I heard Holmes call my
name. “Watson! Get dressed quickly. There are developments at the
Grange!”

I dived into my clothes and
opened the door to find Holmes fully dressed and heading rapidly
towards the stairs. At the front door of the inn was a liveried
footman and, behind him, the Duke’s carriage with two greys which
were wet with sweat. They had been driven hard from the Grange to
collect us. We climbed into the carriage and were immediately
thrown backwards as the carriage set off at a fearsome pace.

“What’s afoot, Holmes?” I
asked.

Holmes paused for a moment
before replying, “It would appear from the message that vandals
have been at work in the gardens at the Grange."

“Vandals? Surely not
Holmes."

Holmes now had a grim smile on
his face. “No, I think not... more like plunderers than
vandals."

In but a few minutes we had
arrived at the Grange. The Duke, I could see, was beside himself
and Holmes asked to be taken to the gardens immediately. We were
led to the formal garden at the front of the house. Here, by an
ornate metal sundial, a hole had been dug about two feet square by
two feet deep.

Holmes looked about him, asking,
“Has anyone been near the sundial?"

The Duke replied, “Only the
night watchman. He was completing his rounds when he found the
ground disturbed."

Holmes nodded. “Excellent. If
you would be so good as to take Doctor Watson into the house and
give him breakfast, your grace, I will join you shortly.”

Looking a little bemused, but
being an excellent host, the Duke invited me to follow him to the
dining room. Looking over my shoulder I saw that Holmes had
immediately dropped onto all fours and was beginning an
inch-by-inch examination of the area.

           
It was some thirty minutes later that Holmes joined us. I had
enjoyed a superb breakfast of kedgeree, devilled kidneys, bacon and
sausage followed by hot toast and some excellent Seville orange
marmalade. The soil on the knees of Holmes’ trousers and on the
elbows of his jacket bore witness to his activities. Holmes then
sat down and was served the same fare as myself.

The Duke was keen to question my
friend but, being a gentleman, he waited until Holmes had finished
his breakfast. “Well, Mr Holmes. What do you make of this?”

Holmes dabbed his mouth with a
rather fine, damask napkin. “This, your grace, is another attempted
burglary… and this time the thieves were after the prize
itself."

The Duke was plainly shocked,
asking, “Good Lord! Have they succeeded?”

Holmes shook his head.
“Thankfully not. I can see no marks in the bottom of the pit they
have dug to indicate that anything that was buried there had been
removed. There were two men. The first was a large, fit, well-built
man about 6 feet in height with well-worn size ten boots with metal
cleats. He is a manual worker, used to hard digging. He had used a
frayed towel, possibly a neck cloth, to wipe away his sweat as he
dug. There were blue and white fibres on the edge of the hole where
he had thrown it down whilst he dug."

His grace listened intently.
“How can you be so sure of his occupation or his height and build,
Mr Holmes?”

Holmes sat back. “It’s simple
your grace. There is a direct relationship between shoe size and
stride length plus information about his weight distribution from
the depth of the imprint in the soil. Only a man used to manual
labour would have been able to dig a hole of that size swiftly
enough to avoid detection." The Duke nodded and Holmes continued,
“The other man had done none of the digging, he had simply stood
and watched. This second man was much lighter but about the same
height. He wore expensive, size ten shoes and he had paced
nervously around whilst the other dug.”

Holmes paused and took a sip of
a rather excellent Darjeeling tea. “The second man’s footprints
were confused and showed where he had paced backwards and forward
on the same spot. I also found a round depression in the grass
where they had placed a lamp. It must have been shielded so that
nobody in the house would observe them."

“Could you follow them further,
Mr Holmes?” asked the Duke.

“Certainly. They crossed the
gardens and left by climbing the wall by the kitchen and then on
into the road to Salcombe. I observed that there were marks on the
wall and numerous lichens growing on the wall had been disturbed as
they scrambled up." 

On hearing the news that the
thieves had not found the prize, the Duke looked genuinely
relieved.

Holmes rose, asking, “With your
permission, your grace, I would like to examine the picture
again.”

The Duke nodded, saying, “Of
course" and led us once again to his study.

Holmes was walking beside the
Duke but as the Duke pulled back the heavy curtain to reveal the
steps to the lower chamber, Holmes threw out a cautionary arm
preventing the Duke from going further. “Stay there, your grace!"
commanded Holmes as once again he went onto all fours. “You have
had visitors in here last night too. See here…” and pointed to some
tiny scratches on the stone steps. “These were made by the metal
cleats in our friend's boots. Come, let us continue."

The Duke was becoming quite
agitated, crying, “Mr Holmes! The picture!”

Holmes was quite calm. “Have no
fear, your grace. The thieves did not want to take the picture
away, they simply wanted to consult it."

Once in the lower chamber we
stopped outside the huge, oak door of the strong-room. The Duke
tried the door and, finding that it was secure, he was clearly
relieved.

Holmes smiled thinly, asking,
“If you would be good enough to unlock the door, your grace?"

The Duke stepped forward, used
his key and pulled the door open.

As he did so, Holmes reached
forwards, asking, “Hello, what’s this?” Kneeling, he took from the
strong-room floor a match stalk.

Looking at it with him I asked,
“Surely it’s just a spent match, Holmes?"

“Be so kind as to pass me the
box from the shelf, Watson." I reached over and passed the matches
to him. Holmes held out the box to us. “You will see that these are
wooden. The match stalk that I retrieved was a wax Vesta. Do you
use wax Vestas at the Grange, your grace?”

The Duke thought for a moment.
“No, Mr Holmes. The household uses wooden matches from the kitchen
store."

With a thin smile, Holmes
pocketed the spent match. He then stooped to examine the lock on
the door and the corresponding recess in the doorframe. “Nothing
has been forced so our visitors had a key."

The Duke blinked hard, saying,
“That’s impossible! My key stays with me day and night and I know
for certain that there are but two keys to this room...” The Duke’s
voice trailed away as the implication of what he had just said
struck home.

Holmes spoke grimly. “We were
not meant to have discovered the fact that this room had been
entered. I am sure that if we looked around the house, we would
find their point of entry. I suspect it is the same place as the
last time they broke in. To the unpractised eye, any new marks
would be hard to distinguish from those made from their previous
incursion."

Holmes now entered the
strong-room and returned carrying the picture. “As you can see, the
picture is intact. Let us look again at it. If you would allow me
to carry it upstairs, your grace, there is now no reason why it
cannot be re-hung in the Great Hall. The intruders believe it has
served its purpose. Watson? Be a good fellow and bring the
easel.”

Holmes carried the picture and I
followed with the easel. Once in the study, Holmes propped the
picture upon it.

 Holmes stood back, asking,
“What difference might we notice when we compare this picture with
the house and gardens as we see them today?” The Duke and I looked
hard at the picture and, finally, the Duke cried out, “The
sundial!”

Holmes nodded. “Quite, your
grace. This picture does not show the sundial yet it is clear that
the sundial had been part of the gardens well before your
grandfather painted the picture."

The Duke looked puzzled. “Why
would grandfather leave out the sundial from his picture? It is
inconceivable that his memory failed him when he knew the Grange so
well."

Holmes smiled. “It was a
deliberate omission, your grace. It was not so much what was in the
picture that was important, it was more what had been omitted. Let
us look again at this sundial."

Holmes led us back out into the
garden. I have to say that the sundial was quite magnificent. It
had been fashioned from a large bronze statue of Mercury, his
outstretched arm and hand being the ‘index’ or pointer, which casts
the shadow.

As we stood in front of the
sundial, Holmes continued. “Now, your grace, we can see that the
shadow from the index falls onto a half circle of stone tablets.
Each one is inscribed with a roman numeral to indicate the hour of
the day." Holmes stood next to the small excavation and turned to
the Duke. “There is intelligence behind this, your grace. At least
one of the people responsible for this had used the information
from the picture to locate the area where he thought the prize
would be located.” Holmes paused for a moment before asking, “Can
you recall the time shown on the clock in your grandfather’s
painting?”