The New Mysteries of Sherlock Holmes Read online

  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 yet 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 brothers accomplishments. 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 ther death two or three years ago and his failure to do so has been on his conscience ever since. He was aware of Johns 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 realised 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 Hughes 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 is cast doubt on his judgement.”

  “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 than 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 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 the 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 in unsteady gait trying to climb up on the parapet. As Stewart drew nearer, he recognised that figure as John Abergavenny. Alarmed, he called out John’s name and asked what he thought he was doing. John spun round, seemed to recognise 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 have 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 realised 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 realise 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 a
nd 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 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.”

  “I can assure you that I have no reason whatsoever to believe that my client’s motives are in any wise dishonourable. He simply seeks the truth.”

  “So you admit Dowling is your client! He has engaged your services behind my back to spy on me! By God, sir, this is intolerable!”

  He took a step forward and for a moment I believed that he was about to strike my friend. I tensed and so did Holmes, but then Abergavenny paused and uttered a hollow laugh.

  “You will have to forgive me, gentlemen. For a moment I was about to cast legal caution to the wind.” He gave Holmes a hard look. “I remembered in the nick of time my professional training - and also the fact that you once fought with McMurdo. Besides, fisticuffs will solve nothing. I would simply say this to you - a few errors at work, even an instance of professional negligence, none of these matters justifies the campaign of persecution to which I am currently being subjected. There is nothing worthy of your talents here, Mr Holmes. Good day, gentlemen.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and left the room. For a little while the two of us sat there in silence, Holmes stroking his jaw reflectively.

  “What do you make of that?” I demanded at last.

  “I recognise the symptoms of over-work,” my friend said softly. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

  The door opened again, this time to admit Matthew Dowling. His face had crumpled in dismay.

  “Mr Holmes, I think I may have achieved the worst of all worlds. John Abergavenny has just given me verbal notice to terminate our partnership with immediate effect. He said that since I preferred to believe gossip to his word of honour, the bond of trust between us had been irreparably damaged. He said he would finish the relationship between us rather than wait for me to do so on spurious grounds.”

  “Did he tell you where he was bound?”

  Dowling shook his head. “He has rooms above the tailor in Lamb’s Conduit Street, but I suspect that his first recourse may be to a den of infamy. I dread the thought that he might take some precipitate action at a time when he is clearly very disturbed.” He took a deep breath and made a visible effort to collect his thoughts. “Thank you for your time, Mr Holmes. This unfortunate outcome is not your fault. You will, of course, let me have a note of your fees in early course.”

  “You regard my investigation as concluded?”

  “With respect, I do not see what else you can do.”

  “Does it not intrigue you that, for no obvious reason, your partner’s behaviour should have changed so suddenly and in such a deleterious fashion?”

  “It dismays me, but I do not know what else I can do. I cannot see rhyme or reason in it.”

  “Precisely. I still have the impression that in this case, all the cards are yet to be put on the table. I would like to speak to the court usher you mentioned and also to your partner’s brother, Hugh. Would you be willing to write me a note of introduction to the man Stewart?”

  Dowling readily agreed to Holmes’s request, although he was plainly unconvinced that any good would come of further enquiries. We walked directly to the Law Courts in the Strand and were able after a short wait to see Stewart and hear about his encounter with Abergavenny at Blackfriars Bridge.

  “Do you believe he meant to kill himself?” Holmes asked bluntly.

  “I hesitate to say as much,” said Stewart with care. He was a desiccated fellow, as dry and dusty as a tome of Blackstone’s law reports. “I can add nothing more to the conversation I had with Mr Dowling, save to make the obvious point that I would not have troubled him with an account of the incident had I not thought it a matter which needed to be drawn to his attention as senior partner of an eminently respectable firm”.

  We could glean nothing more from him and made our way at once to the Temple. Holmes had expressed surprise when Dowling said we might be likeliest to find Hugh Abergavenny at his old chambers in King’s Bench Walk. “I understood that he had long since ceased to practise at the Bar?”

  “That is correct, but he told me he has continued to haunt the place where he first made his reputation. ‘The legal world is a source of the best stories in the world,’ he said, ‘If one knows where to look. I found many of my neatest plots within the four walls of my old pupil master’s room’.”

  The clerk’s office was awash with papers and pink ribbon and I wondered how many of the briefs to counsel spread casually upon the floor contained material for adaptation into tales of villainy and derring-do. Dowling’s guess proved to be accurate and within a couple of minutes a boy was directing us in to a small room at the back of the building.

  Hugh Abergavenny had the same beaky nose and build as his brother, but his hair was darker and thinning. I estimated that he was perhaps ten years older that John. He stood up behind a small roll-top desk on which lay a manuscript and came forward to greet us. It was clear from his expression that he was startled by our arrival, but there was no denying the handsomeness of his greeting as he stretched out his hand in welcome. I noticed that his cuffs were frayed, confirmation if it were needed that these days he regarded himself as a writer rather than an advocate.

  “Mr Sherlock Holmes! This is a rare honour. I have long devoured your exploits and admired the facility with which Dr Watson here writes them up for publication.”

  “With some embellishment, I should make clear,” Holmes said amiably. “I cannot deny that at times my colleague exaggerates my achievements in the interest of telling a good story.”

  “As a novelist, I cannot imagine a worthier aim or a better fault.” Holmes indicated the papers on the desk. “Your current work- in-progress?”

  Abergavenny hesitated for a moment before a slow grin spread across his face. “Your legendary powers do not let you down, Mr Holmes. Yes, this is my latest novel. I put in into the hands of my literary agent this very week.”

  “Splendid!” I cried. “I am one of your most faithful readers and it is far too long since you published The Hangman's Cellar. I must confess that I have been hoping that your next book would continue the adventures of your character Alec Salisbury.”

  The author smiled but shook his head. “I am afraid that Alec was getting a little long in the tooth, which is why I felt the need to try something different. You are too polite to say that my last novel did not set your pulse racing, but the critics were not so diplomatic. The reason for my silence since then is that I have been endeavouring to come up with a story that would keep them, as well as my publishers, happy. It is difficult for a man to judge his own work, but I think I can promise that neither they nor you will be disappointed by The Accusing Skeleton.”

  “I am delighted to hear it,” I said, unable to re
sist a covetous look at the sheets on his desk. “May I say also, that if by some chance you were willing to let me have an early opportunity to satisfy my hunger for your work, I would be forever in your debt.”

  He laughed rather nervously and said, “Well, like most authors I am rather superstitious and it is not my normal practice to show my work to third parties until it has finally been accepted for publication. Your words are very kind, though, and I am not immune to compliments, especially from such a quarter. I would be willing to loan you the first chapter for say, twenty four hours if you wish to see whether it whets your appetite.”

  “You are most generous!” I said as he gathered a dozen sheets together and passed them to me.

  “It is a pleasure to have such a celebrated reader. I await your verdict with bated breath. In the meantime, gentlemen, to what do I owe the privilege of this visit?”

  As Holmes outlined the sequence of events that had brought us to the chambers, the smile faded from Hugh Abergavenny’s face. He kept shaking his head and when he heard of the incident on Blackfriars Bridge he muttered, “Oh no.” By the time Holmes had recounted our brief meeting with John at the office in Essex Street, it was clear that Hugh was deeply moved.

  “It is as I feared,” he said. “His mental state is severely disturbed.”

  “I wondered,” I said, “about the part that drink may have played in your brother’s breakdown.”

  “You are an acute observer, Dr Watson. I have often suspected that modesty had prevented you from revealing in your narratives the extent to which you have yourself developed a detective’s flair.” Hugh cast his eyes down for a moment. “John has always had a weakness for alcohol. It can change him into a different person, aggressive, irrational and despondent by turns. His appalling behaviour whilst drunk was the main cause of the estrangement between us, a breach which I have lately been striving to repair. I had heard good reports of him in recent times and they led me to hope that he had turned the corner after accepting the offer of partnership in a sound practice. Sadly, it seems that my optimism was premature.”