The Mad Judge (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale Book 3) Read online

  “Pray describe to me the household contingent,” said Holmes.

  “Well, we have always had a large staff, Mr. Holmes,” she said. “Our butler Meadows has been with the family for decades, and the others of the staff are also of long acquaintance. But, aside from those Simon and I have lived alone since the two children left home. Cecelia, my step daughter has been studying in America and Cyril went into the army following his university years.”

  “Was your husband agreeable to their decisions?” asked Holmes.

  “Oh yes,” she cried. “They have both returned to the manor and they are both lovely children. Cyril, the poor boy, was wounded in some trouble with the natives in India. He has been invalided out of the army and has taken up residence at the hall. Cecilia has also returned from her studies and has brought a fiancé with her.”

  “Indeed,” said Holmes raising an eyebrow. “Was this betrothal unexpected?”

  “Unexpected it was, Mr. Holmes, but she adores the boy and he has been quite well mannered. He is an American so, of course he has somewhat different views from our own, but her happiness is paramount in my eyes.”

  “And your husband?” Holmes said skeptically.

  “Well, of course men know little of the love young girls feel. Simon has been civil, but Mr. Evanston, Robert that is, is inclined to what Simon believes is radical thought.”

  “One of those?” said Mr. Withers, with a sneer. “One of those who would tear down what has been built up over generations with no thought as to the consequences I dare say. I have met that lot.”

  “Father, please,” said John. “Doubtless your father and grandfather thought much the same about your generation.”

  George Withers attempted to answer his son in rebuttal, but Holmes waved for Mrs. Upton to proceed.

  “We also have my uncle, Harold Chandler, visiting. He has spent much of his life in South Africa and has returned for a short while. And lastly an old friend of Simon’s, Colonel North, is staying with us at present. I believe that is the entire household, Mr. Holmes.”

  “Then there are no others staying with you?”

  “Well there is the estate manager, Stanley Woodson. He was retained by Simon about a year ago. He, and his wife Jane, have a home on the estate, but they do not live in the hall itself.”

  “He’s a handsome young sprout,” said George Withers, with admiration. “How that mousy wife of his managed to land him is a mystery.”

  “Really, George, I believe you have indulged too much this evening,” she said eyeing his glass of brandy. “It has loosened your tongue. The Woodsons are quite happy together.”

  “My apologies, Honoria. Perhaps I have made a bit too merry this day.”

  The lady rewarded him with a forgiving smile, and he relit his pipe eschewing another glass.

  “Forgive me, Mrs. Upton,” I said. “But, a full house of friends and relatives hardly seems to be anything to be concerned about. Has Judge Upton deemed these guests unwelcome? Surely not his own flesh and blood.”

  “Simon loves his children, of course, doctor, and all of the others are welcome as well, but the strain of entertaining has seemed to cause his mania for conspiracies to run wild. There have been several burglaries in the area and Simon has taken to letting the dogs run free at night as a safety precaution. I fear that they may maim some unwary traveler, yet he will hear no word against this action.”

  “Is there anything else that worries you, Mrs. Upton?” asked Holmes.

  “Well…no…I mean it seems so…no,” she said finally.

  “Please, dear lady. You have sought me out because your fear has driven you to. Will you not tell me all?” Holmes gently prodded.

  “Very well, Mr. Holmes,” she said. “You are right of course. It is the height of foolishness to have you in attendance and not reveal all. It is just this, Mr. Holmes. Most of Simon’s conspiracy manias at least had a root in normal fears any man might have. He thinks people are stealing from him, his dislike of radicals, his intense jealousy, and his fear of burglars are all natural if taken to extremes, but his new one has set a deep fear within me.”

  It was obvious that this was the terror that had compelled the lady to seek out Holmes. I found myself leaning forward to listen.

  “Lately my dear Simon has confessed to me a fear of the crosses?”

  “The crosses?” I interrupted. I had blurted out my thoughts and was rewarded with a withering look from Holmes. He gestured for the lady to continue.

  “Yes, doctor, the crosses,” she said solemnly. “Only in his sleep I have heard him cry out “not crosses” so I do not know what to think. When awake he refuses to talk about it further. He has mentioned it to no one else, but he says that he has been seeing signs of the crosses in his correspondence and on the estate. He has told no one else as I say, but it weighs on his mind more than anything else.”

  “And this mania of the crosses is what has finally forced your hand?” asked Holmes.

  “There is one more matter, Mr. Holmes,” she said grimly. “Simon says he will be murdered within days.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The room fell into a stunned silence at this pronouncement. As the import of the lady’s statement began to sink in the men in the room each absorbed the information in their own manner. John lit a cigarette and glanced nervously around the study. The old Squire immediately forgot his temporary vow of forbearance from drink and poured another glass of brandy for himself. I leaned forward in my chair and felt my muscles tense in anticipation of I knew not what. Holmes alone appeared not to react. He sat with hooded eyes that I recognized as intense interest. George Withers could contain himself no further.

  “Honoria,” he burst out. “You must have him committed if he has gone this far around the bend. The old boy always was a bit different, but surely this is evidence enough of a serious mania.”

  “If only it were that simple,” she said. “You don’t understand, he seems perfectly lucid when people are around. Even the children have detected nothing wrong with their father. He confides only in me. He says he trusts no one else. Indeed I feel I am betraying his trust by being here, but my fear has driven me to the edge. When I heard Mr. Holmes was here I felt it was a sign from heaven, and here I am. Mr. Holmes, can you help me?”

  Holmes took a long moment to answer. It was always impossible to anticipate just how Holmes would react to almost any problem, and the fact that the appeal came from a lady was of no consequence to the taciturn detective. Holmes finally roused himself.

  “What would you have me do, dear lady?” he asked finally, in an almost melancholy tone.

  “Why, surely it’s obvious, Mr. Holmes,” said George Withers. “Simon is a danger to himself, and perhaps, others. We have all heard of your skill in unraveling mysteries. Here is a mystery right at hand.”

  Honoria Upton was shaking her head as the stout financier spoke. “No, George, Mr. Holmes is right to ask what I expect from him. The fact is I do not know what I, you, or anyone can do. I am simply mad with worry and I wanted to share my burden. Any advice would be welcome. Can you not guide me? I was hoping that perhaps, you could pay us a visit under the guise of a simple dinner invitation and observe my husband, and give me your opinion as to how I should proceed.”

  “Mrs. Upton, what you describe is not a problem for a detective, but rather for a physician,” said Holmes. “It just so happens that the perfect man for the job is here in this very room. I suggest that you allow Dr. Watson to go in my stead as your dinner guest. Watson has been my companion in many deep mysteries and a more trustworthy and steadfast man you will not find on these islands.”

  I was a bit taken aback at the unexpected burst of praise from Holmes. It was not in his nature to dole out compliments, and I admit, I flushed as my friend spoke. I saw some slight disappointment on Honoria Upton’s countenance as Holmes made his pronouncement, but she rallied quickly and put on a brave face.

  “Are you suggesting that I act as you
r agent, Holmes?” I asked.

  “Precisely, Watson. I suggest that you visit Upton Hall tomorrow evening, and place Judge Upton under observation. I would ask that you scrutinize his actions. Should you believe that he is a danger to himself, the fact that you are a physician would carry weight should the judge need to be placed under evaluation against his will.”

  It was a weighty responsibility, and I was tempted to refuse the commission, when I espied Mrs. Upton’s hopeful expression. If she had hoped for Holmes she was willing to accede to myself as the great man’s proxy. A simple visit seemed a small burden when considered in that light.

  “Very well, Holmes I shall do as you wish, if the lady will acquiesce to my presence in her household.”

  “Dr. Watson, I would be most appreciative if you would pay a call on us,” she said with vigor. “Perhaps Mr. Holmes is right, and a medical opinion is what is needed. Also, of course, with your experiences we have read about in your writings it is obvious you are a more than capable agent.”

  For the second time within minutes I felt my cheeks burning with crimson, and the lady’s kind words made me determined to do my utmost to clear away her troubles.

  “Very well,” I said. “But how is this to be arranged. I can hardly simply appear at your door. Surely your husband would look with suspicion at a stranger infiltrating your home.”

  “I suggest that an invitation be extended to Captain Withers as well as the good doctor. As a friend of Cyril Upton this visit would surely seem an ordinary one,” said Holmes.

  “What a marvelous idea,” said Mrs. Upton. “Cyril was saying just the other day at breakfast how much he would like to see you, John. And you have not yet met Cecilia’s fiancé. As Dr. Watson is your guest it would be only natural for him to attend as well. Seeing as though tomorrow is Friday perhaps we can make a weekend of it.”

  John Withers stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray and looked up with an uneasy manner.

  “I don’t know if I am comfortable with this cloak and dagger approach. It seems distinctly ungentlemanly if you ask me, but if Watson is game, you can count on me. I would like to see Cyril of course.”

  “And Cecilia and her fiancé,” interjected the lady.

  “Oh yes…er…jolly good that,” he stammered. “Dashed lucky man, this Evanston fellow.”

  “Then it’s settled,” said Holmes. “You are to rest easy, my lady. The inimitable Dr. Watson will be at your home on the morrow, and you can place your faith in his capable hands.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen, so much,” said the lady, as she rose to leave. “I shall expect the both of you tomorrow evening. And, Mr. Holmes, should you change your mind, you would be welcomed as well. And remember, that I have told you nothing. If Simon knew of the purpose of my visit he would be wild with rage.”

  “I will walk you out, my lady,” said Holmes, in a courtly manner.

  The lady made her exit with Sherlock Holmes at her side. Within a minute or two he returned and sat with a troubled look.

  “That is a lady of the old school,” said George Withers admiringly. “Sounds as though that old Simon is mad as a hatter, yet still he has a fine woman at his side. John, perhaps I should have married again. After your poor mother died I could not conceive of another taking her place, but now I wonder.”

  “Father, you were not likely to find another as accommodating, and refined as Mother,” gently remonstrated John Withers. “Few men strike it rich once, much less twice. If you will all excuse me I feel very fatigued suddenly. Until the morning, gentlemen.”

  John quickly left the study. Holmes was busy refilling his pipe, while George Withers finished off the remains of his glass of brandy. Silence enveloped the room until the older man roused himself and stood.

  “I fear I am not a proper host, but I must retire as well,” he said. “Willis is at call for your needs. Good night.”

  The old squire tottered off on unsteady feet. It did appear that Mrs. Upton’s diagnosis had been accurate, as I feared for the old boy’s journey up the stairs. Once alone I decided to brace Holmes his decision in declining the lady’s invitation.

  “Holmes, there seems to be something in the air at Upton Hall. Are you entirely comfortable abdicating your responsibilities to me?”

  “What responsibilities would those be, doctor?” Holmes asked, with a yawn. “I well know that your gallant nature naturally rises to the damsel in distress, but I owe Mrs. Upton nothing.”

  Holmes’s attitude seemed quite heartless. It was true that Holmes could be unfeeling towards others, but still it was cruel as far as I was concerned. A gentleman could hardly refuse a lady, and remain a gentleman. I was on the point of saying this to Holmes when he continued.

  “What exactly did you make of the tale Mrs. Upton told, Watson?”

  “What do you mean, Holmes? Surely it was quite straight forward unless you divined something deeper.”

  “Watson, there is nearly always something deeper than what is seen on the surface. The placid pond is teeming with life just out of sight. The human mind likewise, is only visible in small bursts.”

  “I must confess, Holmes, I saw only a lady in distress at the mental state of her husband. Surely, that is the most likely explanation of her story and her visit.”

  It is one explanation, doctor, though I will not go so far as to proclaim it the most likely one.”

  “How many explanations could there be, Holmes?”

  “I can think of seven reasons for the lady to tell the story she related to us. I will describe three for demonstration. The first is as you say. The lady relates the facts as she sees them. Even then she may be wrong, but we will pass over that for now. The second is that she wishes us to believe her husband to be mad, and has made up the stories of his increasingly dangerous manias.”

  “Surely not, Holmes. Why, as soon as we talked to the other denizens of the house we would discover the tale was untrue.”

  “Doctor, did you not hear the lady say that her husband acts perfectly rational around everyone, but her.”

  “That is true,” I said slowly. Holmes had a point. It did seem too convenient in retrospect. “But a lady such as Honoria Upton would be unable to produce such a monstrous lie.”

  “Watson, really,” scoffed Holmes. “Your gallantry has led you astray again. What do you know of the woman in question? I ask what does anyone here know of her? She is of middle age, yet she has been married to Judge Upton for only the past fifteen years by her account. Where does she come from? What are her antecedents?”

  “Very well, Holmes. I see the thrust of your argument. What then of the third possibility you spoke of?”

  “The third possibility is the most dangerous of all Watson. I think it unlikely, but it must be considered. That is the possibility that Judge Upton is not actually dangerously paranoid, but rather that he is in mortal danger. A judge must, by nature, make many enemies over the course of a long career. Some of the other items the lady describes could be set down as normal for an older, fractious, former judge. The fear of burglars, the jealousy, the dislike of radicals are things to be found in a variety of elderly men. I, myself, was struck by the mention of crosses.”

  “Does the symbol mean anything to you, Holmes?” I asked.

  “It could mean many things,” he conceded. “The cross is a symbol of persecution. That symbol would appeal to a man who imagines himself beset by attackers. It would be quite easy to see crosses where ever one looked, if they were already on the mind, but remember in his sleep it is not the crosses that worries him according to his wife.”

  I imagined how many times a day a man might see something that resembled a cross and realized that Holmes was correct. I was reflecting upon the subject when I heard Holmes break into a hearty laugh.

  “Forgive me, doctor,” he said, as gained control of himself. “It simply occurred to me that I, myself, have a habit of seeing things as well.”

  “What the devil do you mean, Holmes?” I aske
d, with concern.

  “Simply this, old friend. My profession carries a heavy burden. As a tailor automatically assesses the fit of a man’s jacket when they meet, a detective sometimes imagines crimes where none exist. My first reaction upon listening to Mrs. Upton was that she was an overwrought wife who wanted reassurance. I am still of that inclination. Go with Captain Withers and enjoy yourself tomorrow, and set the lady’s mind at ease.”

  “I will, Holmes. Anything else I should do?”

  “Two things, doctor. First, observe everyone closely and not simply Judge Upton.”

  “You said two things, Holmes.”

  “Be careful, doctor. There is the odd chance there actually is danger.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The words of Sherlock Homes weighed heavily upon me as I retired that evening. I had nearly dropped off to sleep, when I heard a light rapping at my door. I called out for whoever it was to enter, and was surprised to see the figure of John Withers slip into the room.

  “I hope I didn’t knock you up, Watson,” said he.

  “Not at all,” I said, as I rubbed my eyes. “I confess I was on the verge of sleep, but you did not wake me. Is something wrong?”

  “No. Not exactly,” he said slowly. “Tell me, Watson, you know Holmes better than I, of course, but does he really believe there is any danger in the Upton household?”

  “If Holmes believed there was any real danger he would go himself. It is his belief that the lady simply is overwrought and the presence of a famous detective has caused her to see trouble where none actually exists.”

  “That is well then,” he said, with some relief. “It would grieve me to think she could be in danger.”

  “Honoria Upton struck me as a woman who can take care of herself.”

  “Who? Oh, Mrs. Upton. Oh, rather, I should say. Well, Watson, I will impose on you no longer. I shall see you at breakfast and then we shall make our plans. I should think that Mrs. Upton is likely to send us an invitation tomorrow as a blind for our visit. Sleep well, old friend.”