Sherlock Holmes and The Scarlet Thread of Murder (4 page)

“You'd like to know who they bring back. That'd be the real crime.” Jeffry grinned.

“I do not care that others in authority have looked past this. I will not do the same. What I can promise is this: help me, and I will give you time to move your whores before we storm this cesspool!”

Jeffry squinted at me. I glared back at him, unmoving.

“Get us a whiskey!” shouted another man, slapping his open palm onto the bar. Jeffry walked away and I stormed out.

***

I returned, empty-handed, to the station. Lamech's body was brought in later that night, while White examined the remains of the explosive. Over the next twenty-four hours, the bodies from the explosion were identified. Further aid from other divisions of Scotland Yard stepped in to handle the amount of work. An Inspector Lestrade was put in place to interview survivors and speak with those who had lost loved ones, in the hopes of acquiring any leads.

***

I dozed at my desk. A rattle at my door shook me awake. “Come in,” I called, wiping the sleep from my eyes and seeing the morning sun pour through the windows.

“You look like hell, Reid,” said White. “You've got a beautiful wife, go sleep with her rather than at your desk.”

“I'd rather you not speak of me and my wife's sleeping arrangements,” I said. “Tell me, what have you learnt?” White waved, and I followed him. In his private working chamber, Lamech's body lay on a table. White had done the autopsy during the night. On a counter lay the remains of the explosive, along with some glass dishes filled with coloured powder, some magnifying instruments, and a few Bunsen burners boiling with strange liquids.

“Well, you were right. Lamech was poisoned,” said White, looking over the dead body. “But not by any poison I'm familiar with. This purple colouring of the skin appears to be a side effect of the poison.”

“A foreign poison.” I said, walking over and looking down at the corpse. “How did it get into his body?”

“It wasn't injected into his system. There are no signs of a struggle or even so much as a needle prick on him. It was done orally, through food or drink.” White walked over to a scope. I followed. “Have a look.” I put my eyes to the scope and looked at the microorganisms. “His gut and intestines were full of the stuff. I can only imagine that this poison is tasteless and has no aroma, or at least was masked by another taste. He gobbled his food and drink, and by the time he got home the poison had taken effect, and he died.” I raised my eyes from the scope and looked at White. “So, there you have it.”

“It was done through his food,” I said. “The only place he went, or at least the only place his family told me he went, was the public house. I paid them a visit. They were, of course, no help at all. It would seem they have something to hide.”

“Think you ought to pay them another visit. Perhaps a nice little raid is in order?”

“What of the explosive?” I questioned.

“It's definitely one of Lamech's designs. I knew that from the beginning,” said White, as he ran his hand through his hair. “It's the chemicals he uses, they leave those colour marks which were left. The device used an unknown chemical compound that Lamech and his group have never used.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“It's obvious. Where does an anarchist get a new chemical?”

“From someone like you.”

“Exactly,” White returned with a grin. “You need to find the chemist Lamech was working with.”

“Our best lead is back at the public house. Burst down the doors and chase out the whores until we get answers.”

Kipling burst into the room. “We've got a problem sir!” He handed me
The Weekly Dispatch.
The headline read:

JEWISH ANARCHIST RESPONSIBLE FOR WHITECHAPEL & MILE END BOMBING!

“Story by Eustace Brown? Damn, that reporter!” I shouted, throwing the paper aside. “Bring him in!”

“Another thing, Inspector Reid, Detective Chief Inspector Johnstone is here.”

***

“What the hell, Reid?” shouted DCI Johnstone as I stepped into my office. He was sitting atop my desk. “This is sloppy, very sloppy!”

“The reporter sneaked in, heard whispers and crafted a story. There is no truth to his words!”

“It doesn't matter. We now have a newspaper all over the city claiming that a Jewish anarchist is blowing up rail stations. Not only will this affect people travelling on the Underground, it's going to cause unwanted hostilities between the gentiles and the Hebrews!”

Johnstone stood and walked around my desk looking at the map of London that hung on the wall.

“I'll make him print a retraction, sir,” said I.

“What are you doing about this anarchist?”

“He's dead. He was at the pub the night before the explosion, came home, ill, and died sometime after the explosion. His body lies here. Mr. White...”

“White is here?” he snapped.

“He is, sir.”

“That man is no doctor, he's no proper scientist. He should not be getting his hands on police business.”

“He's a good man, and he's a hell of a lot better than some of these police surgeons we've got wasting time on our payroll.” I composed myself. “Now, I have a dead anarchist, a wrecked rail station, and a journalist I need to deal with. So, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“See that all this is sorted, Reid. Don't let this be another Ripper.” Johnstone walked out. I went around my desk and fell into my chair.

Chapter 5

Doctor Watson

A Visit To Mr Daniels

Autumn 1890

“Watson, would you visit Lestrade and see what information they might have on this
Goblin Man;
and the incident regarding Mr. Daniels?” Holmes asked.

“I'll leave straight away,” said I. “What are you doing?”

“I will follow another avenue. Meet me at Lancaster Gate at nine o'clock, and from there we'll go see Daniels.”

I left Holmes and made my way to Scotland Yard. I did not find Lestrade at the Yard upon my arrival, and I waited some time before he appeared.

“Hello Doctor.” Lestrade greeted me with a handshake. I followed him into his small office. “What can I do for you?

“I need to learn what you know about The Goblin Man and his connection to David Daniels,” said I.

Lestrade leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh.

“The Goblin Man,” Lestrade began. “He is a man who dresses up and scares people, but he is slippery as a fish, I tell you. We can't seem to catch him. His activity quietened down the past few years. I know some people thought he might have been the Ripper because his attacks stopped about six months before the Whitechapel horrors started. Now the Goblin is back, or so we're meant to believe, and tormenting this man Daniels.” Lestrade leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk. “We've got nothing. Nothing other than Daniels' statements. Any piece of evidence or any claims, they've all been circumstantial.” Lestrade shook his head. “We've had more patrols around Daniels' house, but this Goblin somehow slips through all our nets. He's just a man, but a bloody sly one, that's for sure.”

“What about the bullets?” I asked.

“What bullets?” Lestrade questioned.

“The ones Daniels says the Goblin somehow took from his revolver.” Lestrade looked befuddled a moment. “Surely he informed you of this?”

“I can't say that he did. What did he tell you?”

“He told Holmes and I that he took a revolver with him to the club; on his way home the Goblin was waiting for him. When he tried to fire, he realised the gun was empty and somehow the Goblin had the bullets and dropped them on the ground before him.”

“Well, this is news to me!” Lestrade exclaimed. “I'm going to send someone over to his house right away!”

“Holmes and I are going there tonight,” I said.

“Then find out what game this man is playing. He's wasted enough of our time. I'm sorry I can't give you any solid information on this Goblin, sometimes I'm not sure he exists.”

***

I met Holmes at Lancaster Gate at nine o'clock; together we walked towards James Street. I told him all that Lestrade had said and that Daniels never spoke of the bullets to the authorities.

“Why would he tell us and not them?” I asked.

“Time will tell, Watson,” Holmes said sagely.

“Lestrade questioned the very existence of this Goblin Man. Do you think it's possible that Daniels is... well, maybe he isn't in his right mind?”

Holmes looked off into the distance a moment. “Lestrade may have a point.”

“Where have you been all day?” I asked.

“Watching Daniels,” Holmes said.

“Did you see anything of interest?”

“I didn't, no. He's been holed up in his house all day. No one has been seen coming in or out.”

We stopped when we reached the top of James Street. Holmes motioned to go down an alley. We passed by the back of Daniels' house but saw nothing of interest. As we walked around the corner, Holmes pulled me back.

“Someone's there,” Holmes whispered peering around the corner.

My heart pounded:”The Goblin?”

Holmes confirmed it was not with a slight shake of his head. “It's a woman.”

I looked and saw a tall slender woman standing on the porch of Daniels' house. The light from inside poured over her, but she was too far away to make out any clear features. Her distinguishing feature was her blazing red hair. The front door was open and she was speaking with someone, presumably Daniels. She was handed a small box, after which she turned and left. Holmes and I hid in the shadows as she walked towards us. As she passed us, she paused and turned her head slightly in our direction. We both stood still in the darkness, hoping she would not see us. Finally, after a few moments, she continued on her way.

“Who is she?” I asked when she had gone.

“A curiosity. Come, Daniels will be waiting for us.”

***

Mr. Daniels greeted us with a look of relief. “Oh Mr. Holmes, I am glad to see you!” He ushered us inside and quickly closed the door. “How has your day been?”

“Informative,” Holmes returned. “Has anything of interest occurred since we last spoke?”

“No, no,” Daniels answered quickly.

“No sign of the Goblin?” I pressed.

“Not tonight.”

“Show us your room,” said Holmes.

We followed Mr Daniels down a hall and up a staircase. We were shown into his room.

“Burn marks on the floor?” Holmes asked in surprised as we stepped through the door.

“Yes, that's right,” said Daniels admitted, looking at a charred bit of carpet and wood panelling.

“I thought you said when you dropped the lamp, it didn't catch fire,” said I.

“Did I?” he said with a blank expression. “Uh, no it caught fire a bit. I put the fire out when the Goblin had left.”

“Where was the Goblin when you came in the room?” I asked, looking around the room.

“Right behind you on the...” Mr. Daniels paused. “Uh, he was there behind the door, right behind you, Doctor.”

“Can we get the bullets?” Holmes asked. ”The ones taken from your revolver.” Daniels took us down into the kitchen where six bullets lay on the table. Without touching them directly, Holmes put them into a leather pouch and tucked them away in his coat pocket. “We need nothing more,” said Holmes patting his pocket. Daniels looked surprised.

“You don't care to see anything else?”

“No, we have all we need. Good day Mr Daniels.”

Chapter 6

Martin Hewitt

The Wrong Room

Autumn 1890

“What do you make of that woman?” Hewitt asked after Mrs. Goodtree had stepped out. He carried on before I could answer. “These games of love, they always appear to lead to crime.” He paused a moment. “Never mind. Let us try and find Mr. Daniels and hope that we can obtain the information we need.”

“Are we to call upon him at home?” I asked.

“Perhaps he could join us for dinner at the Savoy?” Hewitt suggested. “I will send a message requesting his presence.”

***

A few hours after Hewitt had sent his message to Mr. Daniels, we received a reply. Hewitt took it into his hands and puzzled over the words written. With a sigh, he read aloud:

Mr. Hewitt.

I am a busy man - I have no time to meet you nor to discuss any matter relating to Mr. Phillias Jackson.

Sincerely,

David Daniels.

“This is greatly unfortunate,” said he, putting the note down in his lap.

“Surely there is someone else who may aid us, perhaps someone from his previous work place?”

“Yes, Nine Elms. Mrs. Goodtree said he managed the factory there. We might even gather some evidence from the hotels where they would rendezvous. It seems that we have several avenues to take as we cannot obtain a friendly audience with Mr. Daniels.”

***

Our initial line of enquiry was to visit the hotels. We first went to the Savoy. The staff were a little apprehensive towards us, but once we explained ourselves to the management, they eventually allowed us to see their list of guests. A short thin man named Evans took us into a private room where we could look through the names. Hewitt asked which of the names were individuals who returned on a regular basis with a woman. The man pointed out a few names, those being a Walter James, Bryan Potts, and Phil Jacks.

“What do these men look like?” Hewitt asked.

“Mr. James is a red-headed man. Thin and wire-like.”

“Where does Mr. James hale from?”

“Worcestershire, if I'm not mistaken. Has a large mansion there. Comes from a very wealthy family.”