The Lost Files of Sherlock Holmes (10 page)

‘A most commendable idea, Miss Hardcastle, now if we can be shown to our rooms, I should like to take a walk while there is still some daylight.’

‘Nellie will take you to your rooms on the first floor, close to my own, no doubt you will then visit Captain Dyson’s shack?’

‘All in good time, but I think an evening at the “Admiral’s Mast” would be far more informative. Do not, I pray, prepare supper on our account.’

As Holmes left the room, Miss Hardcastle glanced quizzically at me.

‘In the past Mr Holmes has gained more information from a visit to a public house than he could get from a dozen interrogations.’ I explained as I followed Holmes to our rooms. Within a few minutes we were on the path leading down to the harbour.

I was always annoyed by the ease with which Holmes
adapted to so many diverse environments, for, within a few moments, the patrons were eating out of his hands.

‘A tankard of your finest ale please, landlord,’ He began, and then in a louder voice; ‘and one for each of your fine clientele who wish to join me.’

The decision to do so was unanimous and soon tongues loosened by alcohol were filling up my notebook with tales of the ‘Sea Lizard’ and Captain Dyson.

‘A Captain should be the last off the vessel, not the first,’ said one.

‘He was a great sailor, yet a captain without honour is of no use,’ said another; and so it continued, well into the evening.

After a while, I noticed Holmes’s distraction from his entourage, as he became aware of one isolated character, seated in a corner by the door.

He was small of stature, yet his great coat and muffler obscured his features. He savoured each sip of his rum and his cigarette seemed to last an eternity. Then, when both were consumed, the man silently slipped out into the night. A movement from Holmes’s head urged me to follow this character while Holmes remained, out of courtesy to his new friends, for a final drink.

The path outside was ill-lit and this, together with a sea mist drifting languidly in from the harbour, rendered my pursuit of this mysterious stranger a blind and futile
exercise
.

Then, from ahead and to the right, I heard the sound of leather and studs scuffing on stone, so I followed the sounds and not the sight of this man as he made his way towards Dyson’s shack.

As I drew closer, the shack began materialising through
the gloom and mist, although still an indistinct oblong shape. Then, the scuffing sound ceased and I stood still, rooted to the spot, unsure of how and where to proceed.

I soon regretted my decision to remain where I was, when a vice like grip held the right shoulder of my coat. Instinctively my left hand reached into my coat pocket, wherein the reassurance of my revolver lay.

‘Calm yourself, Watson. For tonight at least, gun play will not be required. Our bird has truly flown.’

‘Holmes! Will you always get amusement from unnerving me?’ Before he answered I suggested we continue our pursuit as we were now so close to Dyson’s shack.

‘Come, Watson. We shall learn much more in daylight, and besides, I have gorged myself on information that requires much digestion.’

Reluctantly I followed Holmes back to the lodge.

‘Holmes,’ I ventured as we walked. ‘Could you at least explain to me, what we have learned tonight?’

Holmes had evidently begun his digestion process, so oblivious was he to my question. We continued in silence and did not communicate further until breakfast the following morning.

I entered the dining room at a little after eight o’clock and found it to be a bright, cheery room, full of dried flower arrangements and small, rural landscapes. The elderly residents were enjoying a rack of toast and pot of tea and Holmes, the room’s only other occupant, was seated at a small corner table, partaking of a cigarette, coffee and, by the look of the table, very little else.

‘Good morning Holmes, does not even the sea air produce in you a sufficient appetite so you can enjoy a proper breakfast? You’ll fade away before long.’

Holmes could not contain his amusement and he was chuckling to himself as he blew smoke from his nostrils.

‘Your comments on my eating habits are clearly based on the sparsity of my table. Although your efforts at
observation
and deduction are commendable, in as far as they go, a closer examination of the tablecloth should have revealed the consumption of a full and satisfying breakfast.’ He pointed to an egg-yoke stain, and toast crumbs, dotted around. ‘The empty dishes were removed by Nellie only seconds before you entered the room.’

Stifling my embarrassment, I sat down opposite him. ‘Well, as your friend and doctor, I am certainly glad my deduction was so inaccurate.’ As I spoke Nellie bustled towards me, and I ordered kippers, toast and a pot of tea.

‘So, Watson,’ Holmes began, while I awaited my food, ‘what relevant information did we glean from our visit to the inn yesterday evening?’

‘Well, we certainly confirmed the contents of Miss Hardcastle’s letter, where she describes Dyson’s current standing in the village. I have never heard such
unanimous
hostility toward a single member of a small community. To a man they hold him responsible for the deaths of his crew.’

‘Indeed, though that issue was never really in doubt. As usual, however, you have been drawn towards the more sensational gossip of the general conversation. I, on the other hand, assimilate only those small gems that often get lost in the general mêlée, yet prove vital at the conclusion. For example, I established that Mrs McCumber is not the paragon of virtue that she would have us believe.

‘She does not clean for Captain Dyson out of pity, she tends to him out of affection, for they were once fervent
lovers and she spends a lot more time at the shack than it could possibly take to clean it.’

My food had arrived during the course of this statement, and a mouthful of kipper precluded my making any comments.

‘However,’ Holmes continued, ‘the most interesting aspect of Mrs McCumber is her regular monthly visits to London, ostensibly to visit an aged aunt and always lasting for four days. This month, however, she went for a week and has still not returned.’

‘Yes, but why should Mrs McCumber interest you so?’ I asked.

Lighting a cigarette, in a lowered voice, he said. ‘She also happens to be Nellie’s mother…!’ As he spoke, Nellie herself, redder of face than usual, bustled into the room in a state of agitation, preceding a familiar figure.

Saving her having to announce the arrival, Holmes called out, ‘Ah, Inspector Hopkins, will you not join us for some tea?’

‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ Hopkins gravely responded, extending his hand to each of us. ‘But I am afraid on this occasion I have no time for tea. I cannot believe my good fortune, in that you responded positively to Miss Hardcastle’s entreaties.’

‘Her letter was most persuasive.’ Holmes replied. ‘However, I understood that her little conundrum held no interest for the Kentish police.’

‘That was certainly true before this morning’s tragic occurrence. You see, gentlemen, Captain Dyson has been found dead on the beach!’

‘Good heavens! Was it an accident? Did he fall?’ I asked excitedly.

Hopkins slowly shook his head. ‘I am afraid it is far too early to say, Doctor. We shall know more after we have made our initial examination.’

‘Am I to understand that no one has yet trampled over the scene of the crime?’ Holmes asked.

‘Apart from the early morning Limpet hunter, who discovered Dyson, no one has attended the body, nor has the site on the cliff top been disturbed. It would appear that the body was pushed from there. The scene is as untouched and pristine as a man of your unique talents could wish it.’

Gleefully, Holmes clapped his hands and rose hurriedly from his chair. ‘Capital Hopkins! We shall, of course
accompany
you at once.’ Then he glanced down at my half eaten kipper, and the expectant fork in my left hand, and with surprising consideration, offered to collect our coats, while allowing me to complete my meal. Gratefully, I attacked my fish once more. Holmes’s magnanimity was short lived however and in a few moments he called out impatiently.

‘Do hurry along, Watson!’

A few minutes later Holmes, Inspector Hopkins and I were striding purposefully towards the cliff top to the right of Dyson’s shack. Immediately, I was struck by how
oblivious
the scent of the hunt had rendered Holmes to the severity of the weather. This was, indeed, far harsher than it had been on the previous day.

As we came within thirty yards of the edge of the cliff, Holmes suddenly stopped in his tracks, and bade us do the same.

‘Inspector!’ Holmes called; he had to raise his voice to be heard above the stiffening breezes, ‘What is the exact
location
of Dyson’s body in relation to the top of the cliff?’

In front of us was spread a wide expanse of unkempt grass. To our right it ran directly down to the harbour behind the line of small shops and cottages that were terraced along the harbour road. To our left the grass extended to Dyson’s shack and beyond, while straight ahead of us it grew right up to the edge of the cliff, and the oblivion below.

Hopkins pointed to a small rise, marked out by a clump of bramble bushes. Holmes followed the direction of Hopkins’s straightened arm.

‘The body was discovered lying spread-eagled on its back, directly below that point over there.’ Hopkins called back.

‘And you are certain that none of your men have, so far, set foot on this grass?’ Holmes asked anxiously once more.

‘Mister Holmes, I have despatched four Constables to cordon off Dyson’s grotesque form from the curious public gaze. We are the first to arrive here.’

‘Excellent!’ Holmes beamed. ‘Once again, Inspector, your conduct has proved exemplary. Now I beseech you gentlemen to take no steps further forward until I have fully examined this untamed stretch of turf.’

Hopkins and I duly pulled up our coat collars in
anticipation
of a long, cold vigil. We were fortunate in that Hopkins’s foresight had granted us a warm golden glow of Cognac from his hip flask. Holmes, however, was fuelled by something far more effective. His love of the hunt.

Initially he advanced slowly, and seemed uninterested in the ground before him. Then he came upon, what we assumed to be, a footprint, and in an instant he had laid himself flat on his stomach, his glass automatically appearing in his right hand. He lay there for three or four
minutes, slowly passing the glass back and forth over the area immediately ahead of him.

Then, apparently satisfied, with a sudden movement he snapped himself back up to his feet, and began a long range survey by rotating himself slowly, hands on hips, until his next discovery found him once more flat on his front. I could just detect a strange grunting sound of
disappointment
emanate from him as he jumped up once more. He just stood there pensively pressing his lips with his right forefinger. We next heard a small cry of triumph, and he was on the move again. This time, however, he was following the trail from a vertical position, so positive was he of his interpretation of the traces.

The trail led him to the very edge of the cliff and it was only when he reached the edge that he lay down once more on his front, glasses in hand. For a moment or two he peered over the edge down to the sand below.

I was used to my friend’s disregard for his own
well-being
, but Hopkins clearly thought Holmes was over reaching himself and called out to him. ‘Have a care, Mr Holmes!’ Holmes pulled himself back and stood up.

‘Do not unduly worry yourself, Inspector, the risk was well worth taking.’ He called as he retraced his steps towards us. Then something caught his attention, which he clearly had not expected to find. The look of triumph was now one of great puzzlement as he turned away from us again, this time following a path behind the line of shops and houses that led down to the harbour.

He disappeared from our view for a few minutes.

‘It is not often your friend seems so perplexed.’ Hopkins remarked. I saw the look on Holmes’s face as he came back into view.

‘Thankfully, it does not usually last long.’ I replied.

‘Gentlemen, I must return to London for a couple of days to conclude my investigation.’

This time it was Hopkins and I who looked confused.

‘In heaven’s name, why London?’ I asked.

‘Because I have learned all I can down here in Kent.’ Was Holmes’s typically enigmatic reply.

‘When do you intend to leave?’

‘On the first available train, I believe there is one due to leave in twenty minutes.’

‘So soon, do you not even intend to view the body?’ Inspector Hopkins asked.

‘I shall leave that in your expert hands, although Watson, I think you will find that death occurred five days ago. I commend that fact to you, Inspector, as being most suggestive. Now Watson, in my absence I should rely on you to ensure that Nellie McCumber shall not set foot from the lodge under any circumstance.’

‘You may rely on me Holmes, but for what reason? Is her life in danger?’

‘The very greatest danger,’ Holmes nodded gravely. ‘You did not realize her bedroom is directly above that of Miss Hardcastle?’

‘I confess I did not, yet how does that endanger her?’ I asked.

Clearly Holmes would not be further drawn. ‘You have two days to consider the facts and use my methods, then it will become clearer.’

Holmes at once turned on his heels and set off for the station. ‘Remember, Watson, she must not leave the lodge, even for an instant!’ He called back over his shoulder.

As I watched my friend stride away, I turned to Hopkins
for inspiration. He merely shrugged, and turned towards the beach. I returned to the lodge to begin my vigil.

The forty-eight hours that followed passed very slowly for me. The inclement weather left me with no regrets at not being able to step outside, and Nellie displayed no great desire to do so either. This, of course, rendered the task of protecting her that much easier. Holmes’s other request, that I use his method in unravelling the murderous demise of Captain Dyson and its connection with the threat to Nellie’s life, proved somewhat more difficult.