The Execution of Sherlock Holmes (24 page)

‘“All these people, some of whom, like Mr. Rouse, have supported you in the past, now combine together to tell lies about you for this mysterious reason that you cannot name? And you also ask my lord and the jury to believe that, do you?”’

Mr. Wild winced and Holmes inquired sympathetically, ‘It goes something along those lines, I suppose, Mr. Wild?’

‘It goes like that almost word for word, sir.’

‘Of course it does,’ said Holmes with a sigh.

‘The facts of the case, sir, are becoming lost in slander and innuendo—and I almost fear that I may become lost with them!’

The facts of the Peasenhall murder! Such as they were, they became our constant companions in weeks to come. Indeed, there were now embellishments of the original story, all of them to William Gardiner’s prejudice. Skinner had claimed he went to a hedge near the Doctor’s Chapel with Wright and had listened to a couple engaged in an immoral act. He now remembered that the man and woman had jokingly discussed passages from the Book of Genesis, which may have a lewd interpretation in certain minds. He and Wright had already recalled that, as they waited, they saw quite plainly Rose Harsent come out after some time, followed by Gardiner a little while later. It was not only the voices of the guilty couple, but their appearances as well, to which these wretched youths were prepared to swear.

Whatever was believed in court, the ‘truth’ that circulated in the neighbourhood, through the little villages, seemed to be unquestioned. The Peeping Toms were believed. Gardiner had been the girl’s lover. She had conceived a child by him, and, in order to conceal his guilt and avoid a paternity summons, he had murdered her in the most brutal fashion. This also carried the comforting hope that if William Gardiner could be made to bear the guilt, the rest of the neighbourhood would breathe freely again.

I have put the facts that Mr. Wild gave us into a nutshell, for it took him a good hour and more to explain the entire case. When he had finished, he sat back in his chair and looked at each of us in turn. Sherlock Holmes got to his feet, crossed to the sideboard, and refilled his pipe from the tobacco jar.

‘I sympathize entirely, Mr. Wild. I see the threat of a great injustice here, though I am not convinced of Gardiner’s innocence. I do not entirely see, however, what it is that you would like me to do.’

The young man looked him straight in the eyes.

‘I would ask you to fight a duel, Mr. Holmes.’

Despite the solemnity of the case, my friend threw back his head and laughed as he took his seat once more.

‘Would you have singlestick or pistols for two?’

Ernest Wild did not smile.

‘I do not believe that William Gardiner can receive justice at the assize court where he now stands, though it is heresy for me to say so. His only hope must lie in another arena.’

‘Of what possible use would that be?’ I interposed.

The young lawyer turned to me.

‘Dr. Watson, William Gardiner’s last hope may lie in the Crown withdrawing the prosecution because they see that the man is innocent. It is in their power to do that, whatever local prejudice may say.’

I almost gasped at the audacity of it.

‘The Crown has won eleven of the twelve jurors to its side and might have got the other had he not been an eccentric! Why should they withdraw from the case?’

‘One moment,’ said Holmes. ‘Tell us, if you please, Mr. Wild, a little about this other arena, where it seems I am to fight my duel.’

The young advocate let out a long breath, as if he knew that he had won my friend to his side at last.

‘Mr. Holmes, it is no secret that you count among your associates—if I may call them that—some of the best men at Scotland Yard.’

‘They would not have to be so very good to be the best of a bad bunch. No matter. Pray continue, sir.’

‘Let their best man be chosen. Let the two of you sift the evidence and the witnesses, free from all slander, prejudice, intimidation. Work together if you wish, fight it out if you must. When that is done, your findings shall be presented to the Director of Public Prosecutions or the solicitor-general, or the Home Secretary himself for that matter. If you can carry the day, your reputation is such that I believe a plea of
nolle prosequi
may be entered by the Crown and the agony of William Gardiner brought to an end. No less than that, the agony of his wife and children too.’

‘And if I do not carry the day,’ said Holmes nonchalantly, ‘my reputation and much else shall end in the mud. And I must warn you that if I investigate the evidence, you, Mr. Wild, may not get the answer you are hoping for.’

‘Whatever fee you may think fit shall be paid. I have undertakings as to the expenses of the case from two newspapers, the
Sun
and the
East Anglian Times
.’

It seemed to me that Holmes bridled a little at this.

‘A man does not take money for seeing that justice is done. Before I move a single inch in this matter, however, I must take sight of William Gardiner. Even then, I do not suppose that Scotland Yard or the solicitor-general will look favorably on what you propose.’

Ernest Wild looked a little awkward.

‘Sir Charles Gill and Sir Edward Clarke were unable to accept a brief in the case. However, both men sit in parliament, and they have assured me that in the circumstances they will urge Sir Edward Carson, as solicitor-general, to permit such an investigation, independent of the Suffolk constabulary. These two are men of great influence at the bar and well known to him. Sir Edward Clarke was solicitor-general before him and afterwards led for Oscar Wilde against the Marquess of Queensberry in the notorious trial. Carson led for Queensberry with Sir Charles Gill as his junior. You see? I think Carson will not lightly dismiss advice from two such learned friends. Meantime Gardiner cannot be released, of course. If you must see him first, I will obtain a visitor’s warrant and you may travel down to Ipswich Gaol.’

‘To the ends of the earth, if necessary,’ Holmes said quietly. His voice was so soft, as he stood gazing at the drizzle of rain and soot falling across the roofs of Baker Street and beyond, that I was not quite sure if there was irony or resolve in his tone. Only when he turned round could I see that his eyes were bright with a strange chivalry of justice.

As the train carried us north from Liverpool Street to Ipswich three days later, I asked my friend how he knew that Ernest Wild would come to us so promptly.

‘I have deceived you again, Watson,’ he said, drawing up the strap and closing the carriage window against the draft. ‘I have followed the events of this case in the papers. I thought it might come to such a point as this. The night before we entertained our visitor, I received a note from Sir Edward Clarke, just before dinner. He informed me he had been unable to accommodate Mr. Wild but that they had discussed such an arrangement as is now proposed. Sir Edward too had misgivings about this case. He asked me to see the young man. I replied at once and suggested an early hour next morning. After the first case at the assizes, I rather thought that the defence would get itself into a scrape. Once again you have trusted me too far in supposing that I can perform miracles.’

He gazed out across the damp ploughland north of London, and added without prompting:

‘I have disliked this business from the start. Gardiner may be the murderer of Rose Harsent. It seems someone in the village surely is. Yet here is a man who has raised himself by his own efforts, acquiring the arts of reading and writing on the way. He is surrounded by many who have done nothing to improve their minds or skills, some of whom are no doubt envious clodhoppers. Of course, I do not think such jealousies make him innocent of murder. He is a man of resolve and so perhaps he has the resolve for such a crime. To be sure, he is a man of religion. Primitive Methodism, as I understand it, is a faith of the poor and the simple. It has no charms for me, Watson, yet I honour those who embrace it. But too many men of religion have committed murder. Therefore I cannot suppose that a sense of self-righteousness makes him innocent either.’

The train jolted to a halt at the signal for a country crossing, and we sat in a silence broken only by the long escape of steam. Then we jolted forward again, and Holmes resumed.

‘Yet, Watson, what better target for the rustic voyeurs and scandal-mongers than a serious-minded man, an industrious worker who professes to be devout? People love to sniff out hypocrisy, perhaps in the hope of drawing away attention from their own, for it is a universal vice. You saw for yourself that within hours of Gardiner’s arrest, his guilt was being proclaimed in a waxwork display on the seafront at Great Yarmouth. The evidence alone must determine his fate.’

Sherlock Holmes had seemed to blow this way and that until I had no idea what was in his mind.

‘From all that we know so far, can you not decide whether you believe him guilty or innocent?’

He pulled a face at the trees and fields of Hertfordshire beyond the carriage window.

‘As to that, my dear fellow, I will tell you when I know him a little better.’

Mr. Wild and his instructing solicitor, Arthur Leighton, were waiting for us as the train pulled into Ipswich station. The horse and trap outside carried us through the streets of the country town to its prison gates. As there is a sad similarity to the fortress-like appearance of provincial gaols, so there is a common odour within them of sour humanity and despair. We were shown into a room where prisoners facing trial were permitted to consult their legal advisers. Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard, the burly rival of Holmes, stood beside a former military man who was now the prison governor. It was a dismal place, in reality a meanly furnished cell with a single barred window high in its opposite wall. A table and half a dozen wooden chairs were all the comforts that it contained. Even at noon, on this winter day, the white gaslight sputtered in lamp brackets along the pale green lime-washed walls.

Once the introductions had been performed, the governor addressed us.

‘Gentleman, the prisoner Gardiner and whatever other witnesses you may care to see shall be brought before you. I will grant you such privacy as I may. You have Inspector Lestrade with you, so I think we may dispense with a guard in the room itself. Two prison officers will be on duty outside the door. In the circumstances, however, Gardiner must remain handcuffed while he is with you. I respect your need for confidentiality and shall withdraw as soon as the arrangements have been made.’

He left the four of us—Wild, Lestrade, Holmes, and I—and went to order the escort to fetch Gardiner. The Scotland Yard man turned to my friend.

‘Well now, Mr. Holmes, this is a favour I should not have done for any man except yourself.’

Holmes gave him a quick and humourless smile.

‘My dear Lestrade, it is I who have undertaken to pay a favour and the recipient is the English legal system. Favour or not, let it be in respect of a man who deserves to hang if he butchered that poor girl but shall not go to the gallows when he is innocent. My mind is as open as I trust yours is. I must draw such evidence from witnesses and circumstances as will convince you that Gardiner did or did not murder Rose Harsent. You will inform your superiors or the solicitor-general accordingly. That is all I ask.’

‘The whole thing might be far better done in a court of law,’ said Lestrade with a tired shrug. He drew up one of the plain wooden chairs to the table and sat down with his notes spread before him.

‘I would trust this man’s life to you rather than to a jury,’ said Holmes quietly. ‘That is the extent of my confidence in your love of justice.’

This seemed to catch Lestrade on the hop, as they say, and he sat there without speaking a word for the next few minutes. Holmes, Wild, and I had taken our seats next to him with one chair on the far side of the table for our witnesses. Almost at once the door opened and we heard the bustle of a large man being led between two escorts. Before us, in handcuffs, stood the accused whose life was now in our hands. William Gardiner was a finely built man of thirty-four with clear eyes and hair so black that he might have been of Spanish origin. His descent was, as I soon learnt, from those hard-working Huguenots who had sought refuge in Suffolk from religious persecution in France two centuries earlier.

It had been agreed that Ernest Wild should abandon his role as examiner to Sherlock Holmes and Lestrade. My friend looked up at the tall prisoner with his raven-black beard and said quietly, ‘Sit down, if you please, Mr. Gardiner.’

There was a pause and I saw the emotions contending behind the prisoner’s quiet demeanour. It must have been many months since anyone had done him the courtesy of addressing him as ‘Mr.’ Gardiner. Though he was wearing prison handcuffs, he managed the chair easily enough. Holmes looked him directly in the eyes and Gardiner held his interrogator’s gaze. His manner was not hostile, but utterly confident.

‘My name is Sherlock Holmes. To my right is Inspector Lestrade and on my left is my colleague Dr. Watson. Mr. Wild is already familiar to you. You know who we are and why we are here?’

‘I do, sir,’ said Gardiner in that strong, quiet voice that seldom wavered except under the emotion of questions respecting his wife, children, or religion. ‘I know all that, and my gratitude to you is unbounded.’

Holmes sat back in his chair, a little brusquely as it seemed to me.

‘We are not here to earn your gratitude, but to serve justice. If you are innocent, we shall do all in our power to demonstrate it. If you are guilty, that shall also appear.’

‘Then we are at one in our purpose, sir,’ said Gardiner in the same firm but quiet voice, ‘and if the truth shall indeed shine through all this, I have nothing to fear.’

Only then did his eyes cease to search those of Sherlock Holmes and look down at the table. Sitting in that drab and tainted cell, I thought that the power of Gardiner’s personality seemed at times almost to dominate Holmes and Lestrade. Either this was a man whose piety and decency were an example to us all, or one of the devil’s own breed in his cunning and dissimulation. The next two or three days would tell.