Sherlock Holmes Murder Most Foul (27 page)

Some seven years later and now a notable surgeon, Robert Liston left Edinburgh, having accepted the Chair of Clinical Surgery at University College London. Such was his reputation that his list of private patients in the metropolis grew steadily each year, with the most precarious of surgical operations reserved for his hand only. Liston gained additional distinction when he was appointed an examiner at the Royal College of Surgeons.

Though never officially censured for his complicity in the crimes of Burke and Hare, Dr Knox was nonetheless ostracized by both the medical society and the populace of Edinburgh for his odious participation. Knox left Edinburgh and arrived in London in 1844, merely to be outshone again when Liston revolutionized surgery in Great Britain. On 21 December, 1846, exploiting the volatile liquid, ether, for the first time in this country, Liston anaesthetised butler Frederick Churchill and amputated his leg in twenty-eight seconds.

The People's Journal of London
proclaimed the achievement:

Oh, what delight for every feeling heart to find the New Year ushered in with the announcement of this noble discovery of the power to still the sense of pain, and veil the eye and memory from all the horrors of an operation….WE HAVE CONQUERED PAIN.

Sadly, the following year, on 7 December, 1847, Robert Liston died peacefully at his home in Clifford Street, London, aged only fifty-three. Knox, however, languished in the capital for another fifteen years and, virtually forgotten and nearly destitute, died at his home in Hackney on 20 December, 1862, aged seventy-one.

Liston surgical knives, designed by the late Robert Liston, are manufactured from the finest polished steel. With narrow six to twelve inch blades, either single-edged or double-edged, these ebony handled knives are dangerously sharp.

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Stepping out of a cab, Holmes and Lestrade are confronted by an excited Chandler rushing out through the doors of Commercial Street Police Station, “He’s caught!”

Holmes halts, “I beg your pardon?”

Lestrade is indifferent, “A local butcher, I suppose?”

Chandler catches his breath, “The Commissioner’s on his way.”

Holmes glances at Lestrade, “Sir Charles! Now that does denote some sense of seriousness.” He earnestly stares at Chandler, “And where was the suspect found?”

Chandler imparts, “Top end of Goulston Street, near Wentworth Street.”

Looking up at the cabby, Holmes instructs him, “Goulston Street! And hurry!” He motions to Lestrade, “Come! Before the Commissioner arrives.”

Hurriedly getting back into the cab, Lestrade glances back over his shoulder at Chandler,

“And don’t forget the journalist.”

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Hastily emerging from the gloom of Wentworth Street, the cab enters Goulston Street and halts sharply. Quickly stepping out of the vehicle, Holmes and Lestrade see Constable Long talking with two other constables outside the entrance to Wentworth Street Model Dwellings.

Lestrade briskly approaches him, “All right! Where is he?”

Long stares at Lestrade suspiciously, “Who are you?”

Despite the fact that Lestrade has grown weary of introductions, he nonetheless informs Long, “Inspector Lestrade, Scotland Yard.” He indicates Holmes, “And Mr Sherlock Holmes.”

Taken aback, Long stutters admiringly, “Gawd! In person.”

Holmes politely tips his hat, “Speed is of the essence, Constable. Please answer the question.”

Long divulges, “Inspector Fell took the gentleman away. Said he was taking him to Commercial Street Police Station.”

Lestrade sighs, “But we’ve just come from there.”

Holmes continues, “And at what time was that?”

Long answers, “A couple of minutes before you got here, sir.”

Lestrade glances at Holmes,
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“Wild goose chase. We must have passed one another in the street.”

Soberly staring at Long, Holmes pensively stokes his chin, “Then why are you still here, Constable?”

Long frowns, “Begging your pardon, sir?”

Holmes expounds, “Your presence, and that of your colleagues, suggests to me that you have been ordered to remain behind because there is something else. Further evidence, perhaps?”

Caught off guard, Long wavers.

Lestrade growls at him, “We want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, God.”

About to speak, Long is interrupted by Holmes raising a silencing hand, “Tell me about the gentleman first.”

Long indicates Cripple Court, “Found him there, sir. Thought he was drunk. Had a knife in his hand.”

Holmes enquires, “What type of knife?”

Long discloses, “Medical knife, sir.”

Holmes repeats to Lestrade the words he had previously uttered to him at 221b Baker Street, “Caught red-handed, so to speak.”

Reminded of their earlier conversation about Watson, Lestrade blurts, “It has to be him!”

Inwardly relieved, Holmes smiles, “I congratulate you, Lestrade. For once, your supposition might yet prove to be correct. Though arrested on suspicion of murder, it would appear that the good doctor has been returned to us by his abductors, unharmed.” He turns to Long, “What drew you here in the first place?”

Long shrugs his shoulders, “Nothing, ’til I found a piece of apron inside this doorway.”

Lestrade queries, “Soaked with blood, was it?”

Long nods, “Yes, Inspector.”

Lestrade glances at Holmes, “Too much of a coincidence, Mr Holmes. It has to be Eddowes’.”

Holmes agrees, “Which means the piece of apron was not used to carry away her organs, but deliberately deposited inside this entrance to draw attention to something else.” He again turns to Long, “The article was taken away by Inspector Fell?”

Long nods again, “Along with the gentleman and the knife, sir.”

Holmes ruminates, “Now we come to the question in hand. Why are you still here, Constable?”

With his bulls-eye lamp, Long illuminates the right hand jamb of the entrance, “To keep a watch over this, sir.”

Stepping closer to the jamb, both men stare at the chalked message. Quickly producing his magnifying glass, Holmes glances at Lestrade, “Be in no doubt, Lestrade. By now, the Commissioner has been informed of this and is on his way here.”

Chapter 10

Revelations

Holmes leans forward and examines the chalked message with his magnifying glass. 

The Juwes are

The men That

                Will not

be Blamed

         for nothing

Pondering for a moment, he turns to Lestrade, standing beside him, “You wouldn’t happen to have…?”

Lestrade takes the
E. C.
postmarked envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket, “Prepared for any eventuality, Mr Holmes.” He removes the two-page letter from the envelope, unfolds the first page and holds it up next to the chalked message.

Holmes impatiently beckons Long, “Bring the lamp closer.”

Long complies, illuminating the chalked message and the sheet of paper with his bulls-eye lamp.

Eagerly, Holmes peers through his magnifying glass and begins to compare the text of both messages. Rapidly moving the device back and forth across the two communiqués, he nods decisively, “Identical! Both have been written by the same hand.”

Lestrade lowers the sheet of paper, “Odd way to spell the word Jews, though?”

Holmes returns the magnifying glass to the pocket of his coat, “Not really, Lestrade. It is a phonetic spelling. Written the way the local inhabitants would say the word.”

Lestrade folds the letter and slips it back into the envelope, “A sleight of hand…”

Holmes interjects, “Has revealed the writer is
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too clever by half.”

Lestrade returns the envelope to the inside pocket of his jacket, “So, the way he’s spelled the word, folks from around here would say it like that?”

Holmes interjects again, “But would they write it down the same way, Lestrade?”

Lestrade counters, “No, of course not. You may pronounce a word wrongly, but you’d probably write it down correctly.”

Holmes commends him, “Bravo, Lestrade! Which means a local person did not chalk the word.” He cordially pats him on the arm, “Keep after the journalist. You are on the right track.”

Lestrade stares at the message, “Not exactly good English, is it?”

Holmes agrees, “If he had dispensed with the double negative, the message would have been much clearer. It should read, ‘The Jews are the men that will be blamed for something’. In this case, murder, Lestrade.”

Alerted by the trundling wheels of a vehicle clattering over the cobbled surface of nearby Wentworth Street, Lestrade quips, “The Commissioner, I believe?”

Holmes quickly turns to Long, “Constable, you have been most helpful but, regrettably, we must leave you in the hapless hands of your superior.”

Amused by the remark, Long politely lifts a finger and touches the brim of his helmet, “Been a pleasure meeting you, sir.”

Hurriedly accompanying Lestrade to their waiting cab, Holmes instructs the cabby, “Commercial Street Police Station.
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Post-haste!”

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Mere minutes after Holmes and Lestrade had astutely departed from Goulston Street, Sir Charles Warren, along with Chief Superintendent Arnold, H Division, and Detective Constable Halse, City of London Police, had arrived at the entrance to Wentworth Street Model Dwellings to examine the chalked message. The time was close to 5. 30 a.m. and it was getting light.

Worried that the message, coming so soon after the murders of Elizabeth and Catharine, might incite racial disquiet and ultimately lead to public disorder, Warren and Arnold had agreed that it must be effaced. Halse, however, had proposed an alternative solution by which the first line, including the word ‘Juwes’, should be covered up until a photograph could be taken of the entire message. But Warren, whose authority held sway in Goulston Street, had been adamant and, seconds later, the message was sponged from the jamb.

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Having returned to Commercial Street Police Station, Holmes and Lestrade hastily enter the building, to be greeted by Inspector Fell, holding something wrapped in the gore-stained piece of apron. Smugly, he remarks to Holmes, “Come to see the murderer, have you?”

Holmes affirms, “Yes, I believe he is a friend of mine.”

Deflated, Fell stammers, “How could you know that?”

Holmes imparts, “Because, Inspector, I make it my business to know.” He indicates the piece of apron, “That article came from the apron of the woman murdered in Mitre Square. And since the murder did not occur within your jurisdiction, the evidence should be returned to the City of London Police.”

Fell scoffs, “It was found in Goulston Street, which is within our jurisdiction.” Lestrade scowls at him, “Two women found butchered in the street, and you want to split hairs?”

Holmes intercedes, “May I see the knife? A surgical instrument, I believe?” Sneeringly, Fell cocks his head, “And I suppose it has a narrow six inch blade?”

Holmes raises a quizzical eyebrow, “Of course. Any longer and it would be awkward to conceal about the body.” Supportive of Holmes, Lestrade snaps at Fell, “Show Mr Holmes the knife.”

Grudgingly, Fell unwraps the piece of apron and reveals the surgical knife. Inspecting the blood-stained instrument, Holmes nods satisfactorily, “A Liston knife. Double-edged for swiftness.” He glances at Lestrade, “Hardly an inexpensive item, Lestrade.” Holmes stares at Fell, “And now, if you have no objection, we would like to see the good doctor, Inspector.”

Fell continues to be obstructive, “On whose authority?”

Lestrade snarls, “Mine! And I’ll gladly give you that in writing.” He then adds cunningly, “But only after Mr Holmes has seen the prisoner.”

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Indicating the locked cell door, Fell instructs the gaoler, “Open up.” Selecting a key from the large metal ring he is holding, the gaoler complies.

Accompanying Holmes and Lestrade into the cell, Fell sniggers, “Courtesy of H Division, gentlemen.”

Holmes quickly approaches the back of a man lying on his side upon the cell bed. Hurriedly kneeling, he gently turns the man over and reveals the inanimate face of his good friend and associate, Dr Watson. Carefully raising one of his eyelids and then the other, Holmes detects pupil dilation. He turns to Lestrade, “A narcotic has been used to subdue him.”

Lestrade smiles wearily, “But you have him back, Mr Holmes.”

Appreciating the sentiment, Holmes tips his head, “Indeed, I do. Thank you, Lestrade.”

Flippantly, Fell gloats, “No matter. Drugged or otherwise, we can still hang him.”

Lestrade retorts, “Do you want the murderer, or just anybody?”

Fell shrugs his shoulders, “He’s a doctor, isn’t he? He’ll do.”

Holmes stands quickly, “Be warned, Inspector, you are trying my patience.”

Fell snaps, “I
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rule the roost down here. Not you, Mr Holmes.”

Glaring at Fell, Lestrade growls, “Get out!”

Taken aback, Fell splutters, “Now, wait a minute.”

Lestrade remains resolute, “Get out! Now!”

Dumbstruck, Fell slowly retreats from the cell and steps out into the corridor.

Hastily, Lestrade turns to Holmes, “We don’t have much time. A few minutes at the most.”

Raising Watson to a sitting position, Holmes replies, “Off with his jacket, quickly.”

Deftly, both men remove the piece of clothing.

Laying Watson back down on the bed, Holmes hurriedly rolls up his shirtsleeves. Quickly producing his magnifying glass and peering through the device, he examines the inside of both forearms, “Ah, ah! Minor bruising to each arm. Caused by a hypodermic needle, no doubt.” He stares at Lestrade, “One of his abductors knew how to administer a drug to keep him permanently quiet.”

Lestrade murmurs, “A doctor, the murderer!”

Holmes nods in agreement, “Watson needs time to recuperate, but not here, Lestrade.”

Lestrade anxiously scratches his face, “Can’t promise anything, Mr Holmes, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Dr Watson remains here.”

Reacting to the suddenness of the voice, Holmes and Lestrade turn to see Warren and Arnold standing in the doorway of the cell, with Fell lingering behind them.

Haughtily raising his monocle, Warren places it against his right eye and addresses Holmes, “It is almost daybreak and the rabble of Whitechapel will soon be baying for blood. If you remove him now, he could be lynched.”

Holmes slips the magnifying glass into the pocket of his coat, “A valid point, Sir Charles.”

Warren continues, “Since we spoke last, there have been three more murders. Hardly progress, Mr Holmes?”

Holmes corrects him, “Two more, Sir Charles. The woman found murdered in Dutfield’s Yard was slain by a different hand.”

Warren annoyingly turns to Arnold, “Which is it, Superintendent? Two or three?”

Arnold replies arrogantly, “Syphilitic whores, Commissioner. Their number is of no importance. What is important, however, is that we apprehend the murderer for the good of the force.” He indicates Holmes, “With or without the assistance of Mr Holmes.”

Holmes demurs, “Odious words, indeed, Superintendent.”

Warren interjects, “Superintendent Arnold has offended you, Mr Holmes?”

Steely, Holmes rejoins, “On the contrary, Sir Charles, I see before me a man to be pitied.” He turns to Arnold, “You give loyalty only to pomposity and spurn the less fortunate whom you are morally obliged to protect. Compassion, Superintendent, is what sets us apart from our ancestral apes. Would you prefer that we return to the cave of ignorance and embrace barbarism?”

Warren snaps, “Are you suggesting that Superintendent Arnold is inept, Mr Holmes?”

Holmes retorts, “Yes, Sir Charles. And if I had the power, I would compel him to resign.”

Warren frowns, “You know what you risk? The disintegration of your own society, Mr Holmes. Replaced by a radical ideology that Superintendent Arnold and I are determined to quash.”

Holmes is scornful, “Superintendent Arnold has given you his support which, in turn, binds you to him. There has not, and never will be, a radical threat to the social order of this country. That thought exists only in the minds of two men in this cell.”

Arnold counters acidly, “Should the Commissioner also resign?”

Holmes assents, “Yes!”

Warren cocks his head, “On what grounds, may I ask?”

Holmes goes for the jugular, “You serve only yourself and a few others like you, whose charity does not extend beyond the closed doors of a hierarchical absurdity.”

Arnold looks at Warren apprehensively.

Noticing his uneasy expression, Holmes enquires, “I alarm you, Superintendent? Under normal circumstances that would surprise me, as I have yet to disclose what I know.”

Warren glowers, “Do not presume to judge us, Mr Holmes.”

Holmes steps closer to Warren, “Do you deny, Sir Charles, that you, Superintendent Arnold, the Prime Minister and my brother belong to the secret order of Freemasons? A society that jealously guards its archaic rituals and excludes the fairer sex.” He suddenly turns to Arnold, “Which may well explain your indifference to the murdered women, Superintendent.” He turns back to Warren, “Be assured, Sir Charles, I have proof.”

Nervously removing the monocle from his eye, Warren is slightly submissive, “We are a benevolent society, Mr Holmes.”

Holmes retorts, “I would prefer a much more reliable authority, Sir Charles. You abide by a secret oath of fellowship above your sworn allegiance to humanity. You will not fear for the unfortunate women of Whitechapel, nor acknowledge their pain. Therein lays the madness by which justice can be perverted.”

Warren quickly raises a censorious hand, “Enough, Mr Holmes! Our business here this morning is finished.”

Holmes steps away from him, “Finished, Sir Charles? Perhaps for you, but not for me. There still remains the apprehension of Jack the Ripper to consider.”

Warren stares at Watson and then barks at Lestrade, “Search his lodgings.”

Caught off guard, Lestrade stammers, “With all due respect, Commissioner, surely you don’t think…?”

Warren interjects, “If no incriminating evidence is found, he can be released. But if he is implicated, charge him.”

Arnold growls at Lestrade, “You heard the Commissioner, get on with it.”

Leaving the cell with Lestrade in tow, Holmes pauses beside Fell and solemnly warns him, “Harm one hair on his head and you will answer to me.”

Speechless, Fell blanches.

Holmes and Lestrade stride off along the corridor.