The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures (65 page)

“His brother?” Holmes asked.

“Hugh Abergavenny. The name may be familiar to you.”

My friend raised his eyebrows. “Indeed. He was a lawyer, too, as I recall.”

“You are correct, although he practised at the Bar rather than as a solicitor. I have seen him more than once in court and I can assure you he had a rare gift for winning over a jury, even in cases where he was appearing on behalf of the most undeserving wretch. It was a sad loss to the legal profession when he decided to devote his time to writing rather than to his career. A mistake, if I may say so, which Dr Watson here has been wise not to make.”

“I could not claim,” I said hastily, “to possess a fraction of the imaginative powers of Hugh Abergavenny. I must have read all of his books, although I think I am right in saying he has published nothing for some years. I regarded his early novels as splendid thrillers, reminiscent in some respects of Le Fanu and Wilkie Collins.”

“As I said earlier, I cannot claim to share your enthusiasm for writing of that kind, but I would readily acknowledge that it is remarkable that he should have prospered in two such distinct fields. For John, on the other hand, success has not come so easily. Yet what he may lack in natural talent, he has always compensated for with persistence.”

Holmes nodded. “That counts for a good deal in the law.”

“Assuredly, Mr Holmes. When we first met, John confessed to me that he had long nourished a burning desire to emulate his brother as a writer of thrilling tales, but I sought to convince him that his future lay in enjoying the security that a partnership in a sound legal practice can provide. Certainly, after he joined my firm he did not mention his literary ambitions again and I thought I had been able to concentrate his mind on the creative possibilities which exist within the law of real property.”

“So until the recent sequence of events mentioned in your note, you had no reason to regret your choice of partner?”

“None whatsoever.”

“What has happened to cause you to change your mind?”

“I began to notice that John seemed constantly to be tired. His eyes looked red and sore, his manner in the morning was often sleepy. It was as if he had been up all night. Thereafter it came to my notice that he had made a number of errors in his work. There was a problem with a conveyancing transaction, a relatively simple point to which he had failed to attend. Another client complained of a mistake in a bill of costs which caused me considerable embarrassment – to say nothing of a not insignificant sum of money. More in sorrow than in anger, I took John to task about these unfortunate events. He promptly accepted that he had been at fault and assured me that there would be no recurrence.”

“Did he give any reason for the difficulties that had occurred?”

“With hindsight, I recognize that he was vague. He referred to a minor health problem which had caused him trouble in sleeping and said he had obtained more suitable medication from his doctor. I have to admit that I did not regard his answers as entirely plausible, but I was hopeful that I had made my point and that there would be no need to pursue the complaints any further.”

“Yet in the event you were disappointed?”

“Indeed, Mr Holmes, and I find the latest developments both shocking and perturbing. First, my outdoor clerk Bevington told me in confidence that he had been crossing Lincoln’s Inn Fields late one night when he saw John Abergavenny approaching. He was in the company of a woman who appeared not – shall we say? – to be a suitable companion for a respectable young solicitor.” Dowling winced. “John was talking loudly and as he passed Bevington, he hailed him with an atrociously rude remark before bursting into a fit of wild laughter. My clerk is a teetotaller and he was shocked both by John’s behaviour and the fact that he stank of drink. Naturally embarrassed, Bevington hurried straight home. He has been with me for upwards of twenty years and was most reluctant, I am satisfied, to inform me of the unfortunate occurrence. He felt, however, that it was his duty to do so in the interest of the firm and I assured him that he was right.”

Holmes placed his finger-tips together and looked at the ceiling. “Does your partner have a weakness for the fair sex?”

“On the contrary. I have always regarded him as a decent fellow. He is engaged to be married to a delightful young lady whose father is a diplomat. She is at present in India with him and is not due to return for another six weeks. I always understood John to be devoted to her and her alone.”

“Did you speak to him about Bevington’s story?”

“Immediately. This time his reaction was a prompt and outraged denial. He said he was deeply hurt by what I had said. Bevington was a blind old fool who must have been mistaken. Frankly, I would have accepted his word but for two things. First, Bevington may be old, but he is neither blind nor a fool. Second, Hugh Abergavenny himself came to see me the following day.”

Holmes leaned forward. “What did he have to say?”

“Like Bevington, he was plainly unhappy about having to speak to me, but believed he had no proper alternative. I had not met him previously. I gather that the two men are not close and Hugh told me that he was aware that John had, in his younger days, felt that he was living in the shadow of his brother’s achievements. In such circumstances, jealousy is perhaps inevitable.”

“I might take issue with you there,” Holmes interrupted. “I have myself a gifted elder brother and have always looked on him as my mentor. Let it pass, though. What did the famous novelist have to say?”

“He said that he had been anxious for some time to improve his relations with John. Apparently he had promised this to their mother some time before her death two or three years ago and his failure to do so has been on his conscience ever since. He was aware of John’s enthusiasm for writing and had tried to give him help and encouragement, but to no avail. I understand that he had kindly offered to read the manuscript of a work over which John had been labouring, in the hope that he might be able to persuade his own literary agent to take it on. Regrettably, the story proved to be a clumsily executed penny dreadful. When the brothers met again, Hugh tried to be constructive in his comments, but realized that John was sorely distressed by them. Apparently John had continued to cherish the belief that he might one day publish a book of his own and he went so far as to say that, if Hugh’s judgement was sound, he had no reason to go on living. He added that he had half a mind to kill himself.”

Dowling shook his head and sighed. “Emotion has no place in the law, Mr Holmes. I was saddened to hear that my partner could have responded so wildly. Once again it cast doubt on his judgment.”

“As an experienced solicitor,” Holmes pointed out, “you will appreciate that it is far from uncommon for words to be uttered in the heat of the moment which the speaker soon has cause to regret. I assume, however, that since Hugh Abergavenny mentioned his brother’s remarks to you, he was of the opinion that they should be taken seriously.”

“You are right, Mr Holmes. Hugh explained that over the years his brother had been prey to bouts of depression and that his chosen remedy, the bottle, invariably exacerbated the problem. He was especially concerned because John had been drinking before he arrived that evening and was evidently far from sober. Moreover, he made a specific threat, saying, ‘If that’s what you really think, I may as well chuck myself into the Thames and have done with it all.’ With that, he turned on his heel and left. Hugh’s anxiety was such that he followed John at a safe distance. While his brother called at a local tavern, he waited outside for upwards of an hour. Eventually, John was thrown out by the landlord and Hugh was able to call a cab and ensure that his brother was taken home safely.”

“Did he arrive at the office as usual the next morning?”

“Yes, he had an appointment in court. Again, I noticed that he was rather bleary-eyed. He conceded that he had been to see his brother and had perhaps had more to drink that was strictly wise.”

“Did you inform him that you had spoken to Hugh Abergavenny?”

“No. I should explain that Hugh said he felt that I was the one man left whose opinion John would respect. In view of their disagreement, he felt that he had little opportunity to exert any influence for the good, but he remained deeply troubled. He implored me not to disclose our conversation to John, but to keep a close eye on him, lest he might seek to do harm to himself.”

“And did you?”

“To the best of my ability, Mr Holmes. Despite all that has occurred, I do retain a warm regard for the young man and I am appalled by the prospect that he may do himself harm.”

Dowling closed his eyes for a few seconds before continuing. “The rest of that day passed without incident, but at the end of the next afternoon I had an even more perturbing visitation. One of the ushers from the Law Courts, a decent fellow by the name of Stewart, came to see me. He said that the previous evening he had been approaching Blackfriars Bridge when he saw a man with an unsteady gait trying to climb up on the parapet. As Stewart drew nearer, he recognized the figure as John Abergavenny. Alarmed, he called out John’s name and asked what he thought he was doing. John spun round, seemed to recognize Stewart and then uttered a series of foul blasphemies before clambering down from the bridge. He broke into a run and, although the erratic course he took suggested to Stewart that he was far from sober, he managed to make good his escape. It was at that point that I decided to consult you, Mr Holmes. This morning my first task was to confront John and put to him the report I had received from Stewart. He denied it hotly. Even if I was prepared to believe that Bevington might have mistaken someone else for John, I could not accept that Stewart had made the same error. I was shocked that John should lie to me. For the first time we quarrelled openly and voices were raised.”

Dowling paused and wiped a bead of perspiration from his forehead. It was clear that he was in a state of some distress. “It cannot go on like this, Mr Holmes. I see little alternative but to end our partnership. I cannot bear dishonesty and John has badly let me down. Yet if my act were to push him into carrying out his threat to commit suicide, I would find it hard indeed to live with myself. I welcome any guidance that you feel able to give.”

“The explanation for your partner’s conduct may be straight-forward. Drink can corrupt a man more quickly than any other vice.” Holmes glanced briefly at me as he spoke and I guessed that his own occasional lapses were passing through his mind. “Yet I fancy that the problem may be more complex than it appears at first blush.”

“Have you been able to form an opinion upon the basis of the information I have provided to you?”

Holmes shook his head. “With no disrespect to you, I sense that I have yet to be presented with a complete picture of events. I need to make further enquiries.”

“By all means, Mr Holmes, but where would you wish to start?”

“Perhaps by speaking to your man Bevington, as well as to John Abergavenny himself.”

Dowling flushed. “Certainly you may talk to my clerk. As for John, perhaps you would bear in mind the need to be circumspect. Although my intentions are entirely honourable, I would not wish him to think that I had recruited you to spy on him.”

“You need have no fear. I shall be discreet. If it is convenient, perhaps Dr Watson and I can accompany you back to your office in the hope of determining where the truth lies.”

A cab took us to Essex Street. Sombre skies contributed to the air of mourning which hung over London. Barely two weeks had passed since the death of the Queen and the sense of grief among her subjects was still as palpable as a dockland fog. Our journey passed almost wholly in silence. I realized that Holmes was turning over in his mind the facts that the solicitor had placed before him and seeking to draw the different threads into a pattern that satisfied him. For my own part, the conclusion seemed obvious enough. John Abergavenny was suffering a mental breakdown. It was a case for a doctor rather than a detective.

The firm of Dowling and Company occupied the ground floor of a building close to the Embankment end of the street and after we had spent a couple of minutes warming ourselves in front of the fire in Dowling’s room, the solicitor returned accompanied by his clerk.

“Please would you repeat to the two gentlemen here the facts that you reported to me the day before last concerning your encounter with Mr Abergavenny in Lincoln’s Inn.”

“But Mr Dowling – ”

“Bevington,” the solicitor said gently. “You and I have known each other for a long time, have we not? I realize that you are unwilling to be a teller of tales and your attitude does you credit. I simply ask you to bear with me. I will leave you with these two gentlemen for a few minutes and I know that you will be as frank with them as you were with me.”

Thus entreated, Bevington gave us his account. It did not differ in any material respect from Dowling’s summation. The old clerk was stooped and short-sighted, but after listening to him for a few minutes, I was convinced that the report he had made to his principal was tainted neither by malice nor by a mistake as to the identity of the man who had been carousing with the street-walker. Bevington was, I felt sure, not blessed with an imagination vivid enough to have enabled him to embellish his tale. He was cautious and exact and he would have made a compelling witness at any trial. After he left us, I said as much to Holmes.

“I agree. Now we must – holloa!” The door was flung open and a man burst in. He was perhaps thirty years of age, middle-sized with a beaky nose, thick curly fair hair and a moustache. There were dark rings beneath his eyes and his cheeks were flushed with temper.

“Mr Sherlock Holmes?”

My friend bowed. “Allow me to introduce Dr Watson,” he said in his suavest tone. “And you, I presume, are Mr John Abergavenny?”

“I am familiar with your legendary powers of deduction,” the lawyer said tersely, “and in other circumstances I might be glad to pick your brains. What is wholly unclear to me today, however, is why you have come to these offices to listen to tittle-tattle from a member of staff who is old enough to know better. I can only assume that for reasons wholly unknown to me, your express purpose is to destroy my reputation so as to enable Mr Dowling to expel me from this practice.”