Sherlock Holmes: The Dark Reckoning (5 page)

“But you said that, in your dream, you saw them dump the
body into the river.  Did that not happen in reality?”

“I did not see, Watson.  However, I am aware that, in many
such establishments, dead bodies are put in weighted down sacks and hidden
until after dark.  With the cover of nightfall, the bodies are usually loaded
into a boat and taken to a quiet location where the river is deep.  There, they
are tipped out of the boat and into the river, where they sink without a trace.”

“So, your trip to the opium den was a dangerous waste of
time,” remarked Watson, somewhat scornfully.

“No, it proved to be very useful.  Just after the two men
returned, I was about to leave.  However, I noticed the suspect exit through
the same door that the two men had just entered.  I decided to pursue the man
and started into the den, stepping over the addicts as I went.  Upon witnessing
me move so quickly, the proprietor signalled the two men.  They began to
approach me with the intention of beating me senseless.”

As Holmes paused, he could see the anticipation in Watson’s
face.  “What happened next, Holmes?”

“I had little time to decide whether to run, or fight.  I
turned to make a retreat, but there were too many people obstructing my path. 
So, I turned and faced my opponents, having resolved to fight back, if
attacked.  Neither of the men attacked, however.  Instead, they forced me to
the end of the room and shoved me through the very door that I had intended to
go through in pursuit of my suspect.  This led to a smaller, but wider room
that was completely empty, except for the sack containing the dead body.  There
was a pair of large doors at the end of the room that were slightly ajar,
through which the suspect must have made his escape.”

Holmes paused again and took a sip of his water.  He
beckoned to Watson, as if to ask if he would also like a glass, but Watson
declined.

After taking another sip, Holmes continued, “One of the two
men grabbed my arms from behind, whilst the other, standing in front of me,
clenched his dirty fist.  The man behind me managed to clasp my arms tightly
behind my back, as the other man drew his fist back.  He threw his fist forward
with all his might.  Somehow, I managed to twist and move my head to the side,
so that the fist went crashing into the face of the man behind me.”

Holmes paused again, took another sip of water and then
continued, “The man behind me released his grip and fell to the ground,
unconscious.  The other man was so shocked by what had happened, he froze momentarily,
giving me time to bunch my fist and hit his jaw as hard as I could.  To my
intense relief, he fell to the ground and did not get up.  I left the building
via the two doors, which opened out onto a small path next to the river.  I
searched the path in both directions, but found no sign of the suspect.”

“Holmes, you were lucky to get out of there unscathed.  You
should
never
take such risks”

“You are quite right, Watson.  I was foolish to go into such
a place alone.  Anyhow, let us continue analysing my dream.”

“Oh yes, of course.  What happened next, old fellow?”

Setting his glass down on the table, Holmes thought for a
few moments, before proceeding, “The next part of the dream involved a small
girl who managed to clip a wing of the man with wings.  There were also two
policemen who managed to trip him.  All these people represent witnesses that I
found during the course of my investigation.”

“So, was anything here based on actual events that took
place, Holmes?” asked Watson.

“No.  The people did exist, but not the events I just
described.  I believe that each witness I found impaired the ability of my
suspect to continue his murders.  In the dream, this manifested itself as the
witnesses physically impairing the criminal’s progress.  In reality, each
witness supplied evidence that led to his conviction.”

Watson was sitting on the edge of his seat, his eyes wide as
he was unable to resist any longer.  Suddenly, he asked, “Well, who was this
man, Holmes?  I mean the one with wings”

“In a moment, Watson,” replied Holmes, relishing the
knowledge that he was making his friend wait for the answer.  He then went on,
“Before I reveal his identity, there is something else to be learned from my
dream.  There was a part where you and I gave chase to the man, eventually trapping
him in the large net.  At this point, his face became clear, which represents
me remembering his identity.  The final part of the dream showed a judge
building the Houses of Parliament.  This represents Sir Charles Grey.  Although
he later went on to become a Member of Parliament, he was originally a judge.
In actual fact, he was the judge that convicted the murderer, and sentenced him
to death.”

“Do you think that’s why his head was cut off a few days
ago, Holmes?”

Holmes nodded in answer to Watson’s question and waited for
the next question, which he was sure would be asked soon.  He didn’t have to
wait long.

“So, who was the criminal, Holmes?”

Holmes smiled and said, “Stanley Wood.”

“Oh yes, I remember that case.  But he can’t be killing
people as he was hanged.”

“Yes, that is true, Watson.  I believe that someone close to
him is now avenging his death.”

“But who could it be, Holmes?” asked Watson, desperation
evident in his voice.

“I can’t be sure at this time, Watson, but I suspect that it
may be his brother.  He went mad when Stanley was arrested for murder and had
to be institutionalised.  I believe he deteriorated further after Stanley was put to death.  We can check to determine whether he is still in the asylum
whilst we are at Scotland Yard.”

“I remember reading about him in the newspapers.  His name
is Stephen.  Do you know what he looks like, Holmes?”

“Yes, I interviewed him shortly after he was
institutionalised.  He stands approximately 5 feet, 9 inches and is of slim build,
although it is possible that he has gained weight since I last saw him.  His
hair is light brown and he has a large, bulbous nose.  He has particularly
thick lips and his eyes seem too close together.  They have a piercing look
that clearly hints at his unhinged mind.  If it is true that the eyes are the
windows to the soul, Watson, then this man’s soul is evil.”

There was a knock on the door.

“Enter!” called Holmes.

Mrs. Hudson came in and handed Holmes a piece of paper. 
“This arrived for you yesterday evening, Mr. Holmes,” she said, somewhat nervously. 
She half expected the delay in bringing the note to annoy Holmes.

Instead, he smiled and, in a calm voice, asked, “Why did you
not deliver the note to me yesterday evening, when it arrived?”

“I… I forgot, Sir.”

“Very well, Mrs. Hudson,” responded Holmes.  He noticed how
nervous the housekeeper appeared, and added, “There is no need to be
frightened.  I imagine the noise I was making yesterday evening dissuaded you
from bringing the note to me at the time.”

“It did, Sir.  I could hear lots of noise, and you
shouting.  I was scared to knock on the door!  That’s why I thought it best to
say that I forgot to give the note to you.”

“I understand.  However, in future please bring all
correspondence to me in a timely manner.  Do not let us detain you, Mrs.
Hudson.”  Holmes beckoned to the door, indicating that he wished her to leave. 
Mrs. Hudson gave a smile and quickly left the room.

Holmes unfolded the piece of paper and exclaimed, “Our
messenger has sent us another message, Watson!  And this one is somewhat more
cryptic.”

“What does it say?” enquired Watson, suddenly interested in
the note Holmes was holding.

“It reads as follows.  ‘
The final curtain falls and law
is devoured.
’  Somewhat obscure, don’t you think, Watson…”  Holmes’ words
seemed to trail off and a sudden look of despair adorned his face.  He looked
down at the floor for a few seconds and then back at Watson and gravely added, “Watson,
I fear that three murders may have taken place last night.”

“What do you
mean
?  I don’t understand how you can
make such a claim!” replied Watson, clearly shocked and perplexed by what he
had just heard.

Holmes found the previous note that had been delivered a few
days earlier, and handed both to Watson.

He gestured for Watson to look at the notes, and said, “As
you can see, both of these notes were written by the same hand.  If you look
more closely, you will see that they are both written on the same type of
paper.  Although the author attempted to use two different forms of
handwriting, there are unmistakable consistencies between the handwriting on
each of the notes.”

Watson studied both pieces of paper in his hand.  “I can see
the resemblances that you mention, but I fail to understand how these notes
lead you to think that there were three murders committed last night.”

“As we know, the first note was delivered in connection with
the murder of Sir Charles Grey.  It directed me to go to the Prince of Wales
Gate in Hyde Park at 4:00pm on Wednesday 7
^th
December, so that I should
happen upon the politician’s dead body.”

“I’m sorry, old fellow, but I don’t follow.”

“You will recall that, when we were discussing the case of
Stanley Wood, I mentioned three witnesses.  One was a young girl and the other
two were policemen.  The girl, named Sally Spencer, grew up and became an
actress.  Does this mean anything to you yet, Watson?”

“Yes, it does!” exclaimed Watson, grimly, a horrified look showing
on his face.  He then went on, “In the note, ‘
the final curtain
’ implies
that Miss Spencer may be in danger.  Furthermore, ‘
law is devoured
’ can
be associated with the two policemen.  What were their names, Holmes?”

“I don’t recall.”  Holmes thought for a moment and then
added, “I may have their names in a file.  Hold on a moment, whilst I check.”  He
searched through a stack of files on the desk and found the one he needed.  He
flicked through the pages within.  “Ah, here we are.  Their names are given
here as P.C. Roach and P.C. Baxter.”

“Are they still in the Police force, Holmes?”

“I don’t know.  We shall ask when we get to Scotland Yard.”

There was a knock on the door.  “It’s unlocked, come in,”
called Holmes.  Mrs. Hudson entered the room, followed by a young woman.

“This young lady wishes to speak with you, Mr. Holmes,” said
the housekeeper.  “I tried to explain that you might be busy, but…”

“That is quite alright, Mrs. Hudson,” interjected Holmes,
having noticed the troubled expression on the girl’s face.  Judging by her
appearance, Holmes thought her to be no older than about twenty years of age. 
“Of course I have time.  Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” he smiled.

Mrs. Hudson left and closed the door behind her.  The young
lady shifted awkwardly on her feet and stared at the floor, only occasionally
glancing up at the two men in the room.

Watson smiled at her when she caught his eye, and asked,
“May I take your coat, Miss?”  The girl returned his smile, removed her coat
and handed it to him.  Watson hung it over a hat stand by the door.

“Would you care to sit by the fire and warm yourself?”
Holmes asked the girl.

“Thank you, Sir,” she replied, as she sat where Holmes had directed. 
Holmes sat in a chair opposite the girl, who was now looking around the room. 
She noticed the pale, delicately patterned wall paper, the pattern of which was
only just discernable.  She wondered whether this subtlety matched Holmes’
taste, or whether he was not concerned with such matters.  Several paintings hung
on the walls, mostly small in size.  Additionally, there were three swords
fixed to one wall, one above another, in succession.  Over the fireplace,
behind the clock, was a large mirror.  A gaslight was positioned on each side
of the mirror, as well as another two on the opposite wall.  Somehow the décor
of the room made the girl feel more at ease.

“How may I be of help?” asked Holmes, looking at the
distraught girl.  She was very attractive and had smooth pale skin and dark
brown hair.  Her eyes were deep blue and looked as though she had recently been
crying.  Holmes guessed who she was, based on her resemblance to a picture of
Sally Spencer that he had seen in the Times a few weeks beforehand.

“My name is Susan Spencer, Mr. Holmes.  I’ve come to report
a missing person, and would ask for your help in finding…”

“Her,” finished Holmes.  “You are referring to your sister,
Sally Spencer, are you not?” he then asked.

“Well, yes!  But how did you know that?”

“I saw a photograph of your sister in the Times a few weeks
ago, in a review of the play she is currently appearing in.  You have a close
resemblance to her.”

Holmes glanced over at Watson, still holding the two notes
in his hands, and tried to conceal the awful feeling he had about the fate of
the young lady’s sister.  He knew that Sally Spencer was the young witness who
had helped to secure the conviction of Stanley Wood several years earlier. 
That, along with the reference to the ‘
final curtain
’ in the note Watson
was holding, led Holmes to believe that Sally was possibly now dead.

Susan Spencer was now warming her delicate, small hands by
the fire.  She observed Holmes quizzically, waiting for him to respond.  He raised
his right hand and placed his thumb under his chin and pointed his index finger
up the side of his right cheek, as he said, “Tell me why you suspect your
sister to be missing, Miss Spencer.”

“She told me that she would visit after her performance had
finished last night.  Her intention was to stay the night.  I didn’t expect her
to arrive until after eleven thirty, but she failed to turn up.”

“Where do you live, Miss Spencer?” asked Holmes.

“28 Charing Cross Road, Mr Holmes.”

“Does your sister usually visit you after finishing work at
the theatre?” enquired Watson.

“Yes, some evenings she does, and
always
on
Thursdays.”

Holmes confirmed something he already knew, by asking, “In
which theatre does your sister currently work?”

“She is working at The Theatre Royal, Haymarket.”

“How does she typically get from the theatre to your place
of residence?”

Susan looked down at the floor as if embarrassed to admit
what she was about to say, and quietly answered, “She walks, Mr. Holmes.”

“Do you know by which route she travels when she visits you from
the theatre, or, indeed, if she always uses the same route?”

“I’m not sure,” replied Susan, shaking her head.

Holmes looked thoughtful, as he gently rubbed his index
finger back and forth over his cheek.

After a few moments, he looked directly at Susan and said, “Tell
me more about your suspicions, Miss Spencer.”

“Yes, of course, Mr Holmes.  As I mentioned, I didn’t expect
her to arrive until after eleven thirty.  I don’t know why, but I began to feel
worried at about a quarter past eleven.  I tried to dismiss the feeling as a
silly emotion, but it wouldn’t go away.  By the time my clock struck twelve, I
was very worried.”  The girl’s bottom lip began to tremble and her eyes filled
with tears, as she relived her anguish.

“Try not to upset yourself, Miss Spencer,” said Holmes in a
soothing voice.  He then turned to Watson and asked, “Watson, would you ask
Mrs. Hudson to make us all a cup of tea?”

Susan smiled at the kindness shown by Holmes and a tear
rolled down her cheek.  “I’m sorry, gentlemen.  I didn’t mean to cry.  It’s
just that I don’t know what to do!  I’m so worried about Sally.”

Watson stood and gave the young lady a smile.  “I shall
arrange for tea to be sent up,” he said, leaving the room.

As Watson left, Holmes asked, “Do you feel strong enough to
continue, Miss Spencer?”

The girl, drying her eyes with a lace handkerchief, replied,
“Yes, Mr. Holmes; but there’s not much more to tell.  I waited up all night. 
It was awful, and the hours dragged by.  The later it got, the more my glimmers
of hope turned to despair.”

Do you live alone, Miss Spencer?”

“No, I share a house with two other girls.  We all work at
the Bank of England.  My parents live in Devon, and I haven’t lived with them
for over two years.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Only that I waited up all night, in case she arrived.  When
she didn’t, I took a carriage to her place early this morning.  She lives alone
in Hanover Street, near Oxford Circus.  I knocked, but there was no answer, so
I let myself in.  She wasn’t there.  I went to the nearest police station to
report her missing, but was told that I would have to wait another day before
they would file a report.  The police officer I spoke to suggested that I might
contact you in the meantime.”

“I see.  Do you have a recent photograph of your sister?”

“Yes, I do,” smiled Susan, taking the photograph out of her
bag and showing it to Holmes.  “I thought it would be a good idea to take it to
the police station.”

“May I retain this photograph, until I have completed my
investigation, Miss Spencer?”

“Of course you may, Mr. Holmes,” replied Susan, handing the
photograph to the detective.

Watson returned, carrying the tea.  He poured out three cups
and gave one to the young lady, one to Holmes and then sat down with his own. 
Holmes did not want to distress the girl any further by questioning her about
her sister, so instead, he remarked, “You mentioned that your parents live in Devon, Miss Spencer.  Dr. Watson visited Devon for a week, just over a month ago.”

Susan looked over to Watson and smiled.  She then asked,
“Which part of Devon did you visit, Dr. Watson?”

“I stayed with a farmer friend in Paignton to help him on
his farm.  It was nice to get out of London for a break.”

“My parents live quite close to Paignton, Dr. Watson.  They
are in Brixham.  I haven’t visited them since the summer.”

“Both Holmes and I know Brixham well”, added Watson.

“Have you known the farmer you stayed with for long, Doctor?”
asked Susan, now appearing a little more composed and relaxed.

“Not particularly long.  Holmes and I made the acquaintance
of a certain Arthur Smith, just over six months ago.  He recently acquired a
small farm in Paignton, so I offered to go and help get him settled in.  It was
hard work, but made a very enjoyable change from life in London.”

Susan smiled and remarked, “That was kind of you Dr. Watson.” 
Suddenly, the thought of her missing sister returned to her mind and her smile
vanished, to be replaced by an anguished expression.

Holmes noticed the girl’s change of heart and said, “We will
look into finding your sister today, Miss Spencer.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes.  I appreciate your help a great
deal.  I’ve taken up enough of your time, so will bid you farewell.  If you
need to contact me, I will be at 28 Charing Cross Road.”

“Very well, Miss Spencer.  We will be in touch as soon as we
discover anything,” said Holmes, walking towards the door to retrieve the young
lady’s coat.  He handed it to her and she put it on.

“Good bye, gentlemen,” said Susan.  Both men replied in kind
to the girl.  Holmes walked her to the front door and saw her out.

When Holmes returned to the room, Watson looked worried.

“What is it, Watson?” asked the detective.

“When I went to make the tea with Mrs. Hudson, it occurred
to me that the clue in the note delivered last night could be referring to Sally
Spencer’s murder, and that she may already be dead.”

“The same thought occurred to me, old man.  I considered
asking Miss Spencer about the murder trial where her sister had been a witness,
but thought better of it.  She seemed so distraught and I didn’t wish to upset
her unnecessarily”

“Perhaps you should have asked her anyway.  By not doing so,
you may have given her false hope.”

“Yes, I realise that, Watson.  However, I don’t
know
for
certain if Sally Spencer has come to any harm.  There would be little point in
making a statement that could cause such great anguish, before the facts are
established.  I felt that reminding Miss Spencer of the trial would only give
her another reason to think that something terrible has become of her sister.”