The Mad Judge (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale Book 3) Page 7
“Neither I’m afraid, doctor. It is part of a piece of Hindi folklore. They are not simple savages you know. Evanston is right about that much.”
Withers mumbled something under his breath that I did not quite catch. It was nearly one o’clock and I tried to look at my watch without drawing attention. The Colonel noticed and checked his watch as well.
“Doctor, I fear that I have over stayed my welcome,” he said. “I would not keep you up for the world.”
The Colonel arose as I hurriedly said that he had done no such thing, while all the time I was grateful on the inside. John Withers seemed ready to break up our party as well. He stretched like a cat and yawned.
“One more thing, doctor,” said Colonel North, as he paused by the door. “Would it be alright, do you suppose, if I were to ride out to the Withers estate tomorrow and have a talk with Mr. Holmes?”
I was surprised by the statement, and it took me a moment to answer. The Colonel must have taken my hesitation as a rebuke and turned to Withers.
“Not without your permission of course, Withers. Your father has always welcomed me in the past.”
“The pater would be most glad to see you, Colonel. And from my brief association with Mr. Holmes he seems a most amiable personage, and he said only yesterday he would welcome visitors.”
That was a paraphrase of what Holmes had said, but in the main I felt that Withers was correct. Although Holmes’s health had prevented him from coming today I knew his interest in the case was growing. As this was the case Colonel North, as the Judge’s oldest friend, might be able to shine some light upon the Judge’s present condition. The Colonel had said that the Judge was much the same as from his youth, but those words had been spoken without reflection. If presented with Mrs. Upton’s worries, a woman he seemed to admire, he might be able to cast some light on the Judge’s mental state. As all this was going through my mind there was a tremendous crash of glass from the downstairs. With the door open all of us heard it quite clearly.
Colonel North and John Withers sped from the room, down the stairs, with me in their wake. The downstairs hall was draped in shadows as the lights had all been extinguished. The Colonel looked towards the billiards room and the library. The doors to both rooms were open. At a nod from him, Withers and I checked each one and saw nothing. Returning to the hall the Colonel gestured towards the study. The door was closed there, but no light was visible under the door. Withers tried to open the door and found it locked
“Gentlemen, that noise came from the study. Are we agreed?” asked Colonel North. With no dissent he went on. “We must force the door.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I hesitated for a moment, but the force of the Colonel’s will, and John Withers eager assent, overawed me and we manfully placed our shoulders against the heavy doors. We took three runs at it, and on the last two I saw Colonel North wince visibly at the impact. I felt for the older man, but there was no stopping now.
On the third try the doors gave way and we burst into the room. Withers fell to the floor, but picked himself up quickly. The room was very dim. The fire had almost completely died out, leaving little light to discern anything, and a cold chill enveloped the room. However, our attention was immediately drawn to the figure of a man draped over the desk in the room. There was a blade protruding from his chest.
I rushed to the man and, despite the darkness, quickly saw it was Judge Upton. I found John Withers at my side. He looked at me in what appeared to be shock. I turned my attention back to the Judge. The blade sticking from his chest looked like a thin dagger. It was plunged deeply into his chest over the heart. It took only a moment to ascertain that he was dead. I felt for a pulse and finding none, I let his arm go. I heard Withers whisper, “Oh, my God.”
A lamp was suddenly lit, and the room sprang into clear view. Furniture was overturned and a great assemblage of glass had been shattered. The blade in the Judge’s chest was buried to the hilt and a small amount of blood had seeped through his shirt. The struggle had obviously taken place in the middle of the room, as there was a large splotch of blood there and also smeared on a sofa. The Colonel had lit the lamp and he now joined Withers and myself.
“Is he dead, doctor?” he asked. An old soldier like the Colonel had seen much death in his career, but the sight of his old friend lying dead in front of him was a shock to his system. He visibly blanched at the sight of the body and then rallied. It was only a moment and then the stolid army officer was in residence again.
“He is indeed dead, Colonel,” I answered. “It would appear that there was a struggle. The old boy did not go quietly.”
“He wouldn’t,” said the Colonel grimly. “We must dispatch someone to the village right away for the authorities.”
Colonel North’s training took hold and he became the master of the scene.
“Nothing in the room is to be touched until they arrive,” he continued.
I started to agree with Colonel North, and I also wondered how to get word to Holmes, when there was a gasp at the door to the study. I turned and saw Robert Evanston standing in the doorway, still in the same suit he had worn earlier that evening. He gaped at the body and grabbed the frame to steady himself.
“What has happened here?” he croaked.
“The Judge has been killed,” said the Colonel dryly. “Where have you been, Mr. Evanston?”
In a daze Evanston answered. “I was upstairs reading when I thought I heard something. I came down and saw the light. Good God, poor Cecilia. She will be devastated. The Judge was worried about burglars.”
“What do you mean burglars?” I asked sharply
“Why I mean…well…what else could it be?”
“Burglars generally do not smoke cigars with the master of the house,” said Colonel North. He pointed towards a large ashtray that was undisturbed on a table. There were two large, black cigars in it, and they were still smoldering. I walked over and examined them.
“These cigars have been lit within the last ten or fifteen minutes,” I stated. “The embers are still hot.”
“Then it would appear that the killer smoked with the Judge before the struggle broke out.”
“How did he get out of the room?” asked Withers. “The door was locked.”
“Likely he took the key with him and locked it when he left so as to delay the discovery of the body,” answered Colonel North.
“Impossible,” I declared. “We were upon the stairs within moments of the crash. He could not have gotten out before.”
“This was Simon’s sanctuary and I know for a fact there is only one key to the door,” said the Colonel, as he walked towards the body. Without disturbing the blade he reached in the dead man’s jacket pocket. He felt around for a moment, and then withdrew his hand. He held a gleaming golden key in his hand.
“So much for the theory that the killer absconded with the key,” he said.
We were all staring at the key as Evanston strode forward to look for himself. He had only taken a single step when we heard a loud crunch, as if he had stepped on a glass. As all the broken glass was ten paces away from him I looked to see what it was. Evanston himself had stopped and was looking down. I reached his side with Withers quickly.
The object was a small round silver case. The shattered case had a mirror inside of it and something like talc had spilled out of it.
“A lady’s compact,” said Evanston, in a daze.
“Who does it belong to?” asked John Withers.
“It’s not Cecilia’s,” said Evanston quickly.
“Nobody said it was,” I stated. “But this is a murder scene, and a lady’s compact in the Judge’s study seems to be an anomaly.”
“We must proceed in an orderly fashion,” said Colonel North. He seemed genuinely mystified by the new discovery. He addressed us as if we were the regiment at attention. “The scene must be preserved, and we must alert the rest of the house at once to this tragedy. We mustn’t have panic.”
“Action is just what I propose, sir,” said the Colonel gruffly. “I propose we close off this room until the police arrive. Are we all agreed on that?”
There was a general consent murmured.
“I propose that no one be permitted to leave the house until such time as the police give their permission,” I interjected. “I do not want to overstep my authority, but no one should leave, and we should have an accounting of everyone.”
“To what purpose, Watson?” asked John Withers, in a clear voice. The events seemed to have sobered him up to a remarkable degree.
“I am not my friend Holmes, but I believe that it is most likely that the killer is still here in the house.”
There was a stillness for a few moments as the import of my words were processed by those in the room. The silence was broken by Robert Evanston.
“What poppycock, doctor! I think I see through your fine words. When you say the killer is in the house you mean me, of course.”
“I said no such thing, Mr. Evanston,” I returned coldly. The young braggart’s manner was beginning to grate upon my nerves. “I merely point out the most likely explanation. Where has the killer gone if he is not amongst us?”
“Why not out one of the windows?” challenged Evanston.
I fear his question struck home and it plainly showed it on my face. Evanston sneered as he saw the effect upon me. As a group we all turned towards the western wall of the study behind the desk. There were two large windows there that were covered by large beige tapestries. They were completely drawn, covering the windows. Evanston strode forward and violently pulled one of the tapestries back. He examined it, with the Colonel at his side and saw that it was securely latched from the inside. This disclosure deflated Evanston a bit. He walked over to the other window with much less confidence and pulled back its tapestry. The window was wide open with the blackness of the outside yawning through it. Evanston turned with a vicious grin.
“I see that your tutelage at the feet of Sherlock Holmes has not made a detective of you,” he said triumphantly.
I was chagrinned, and looked to John Withers. His face was a mixture of relief that the killer was not a trusted friend, and sympathy for me. My embarrassment was acute, but Colonel North stepped in quickly.
“Well, what ho. That does seem to simplify the matter. Simon heard a noise, he was likely in the library and surprised a thief. There was a struggle and Simon was killed. The thief locked the door and then escaped by the window.”
As the Colonel was laying out the scenario I became aware that two men were standing in the doorway. It was the ubiquitous Meadows and the under butler Reeves. The servant mask was temporarily torn from the face of Meadows. As he stared at the body of his master what I saw instead was surprise and horror.
“Oh, Meadows,” said Colonel North. “I am glad you are here. You’re just the man we need. Your master has been foully murdered.”
The mask came back down and at once Meadows was the proper English butler.
“I see, sir. An absolute tragedy. Shall I send for the police?”
“Yes, but have you been awake all evening?”
“I have, sir. I was in the kitchen with a staff member,” he inclined his head towards Reeves, “discussing the proper decorum for the Upton household.”
“I see. Yes, rather,” said the Colonel. “Did you hear anything unusual in the last half hour or so?”
“I fear not, sir. The kitchen is isolated from the rest of the house. I only became aware that you gentlemen were in the study because I make it a habit to check all the doors and windows before I retire.”
“How long has that been your policy, Meadows?” I asked softly.
“The master has only recently…rather had, only recently become concerned about burglars. It was at his suggestion that I make certain that all was in order. Most especially,” he cleared his throat somewhat nervously, “when guests were in the house.”
“Now we’re making progress,” said the Colonel. “He wasn’t paranoid at all. He was right to be cautious.”
The Colonel appeared to be very pleased at how his investigation was proceeding. He thrust his hands into his pockets and put his head upon his chest as if in deep thought. Presently he came to a decision.
“Meadows, can you send someone to the village?” he asked.
“Of course, sir. I will send one of the stable boys at once. I will see to it myself.”
Meadows was about to withdraw when I had a thought.
“What of the dogs? Is it safe to walk to the stables?”
Meadows cleared his throat again. “The dogs were never released tonight, sir.”
“But the Judge most clearly stated that they were. It was the entire reason we had to stay.”
“I know, sir, and I regret my part in the deception. However, the master, for reasons he did not share, wished everyone to stay. He told me to go along with his fiction if asked. It was his express wish. I will send the stable boy at once.”
With that bewildering statement Meadows withdrew. I knew not what to make of the deception by Judge Upton.
While we were all mulling over Meadows’s revelation I noticed Reeves had lit a lamp and had carried it to the open window. I thought again about how cold the room had gotten.
“Careful not to disturb anything by the window, Reeves,” I said. “That was the egress of the killer.”
“I’m afraid not, Watson,” said the voice of Sherlock Holmes.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Reeves turned around, and suddenly the insolent slouching butler with the moustache and squint disappeared, to be replaced by the spare ascetic figure of my old friend. I was dumbstruck by this turn of events. Momentarily I was delighted that the great detective was on the site of the crime, but gradually the monstrous deceit dawned upon me.
“Holmes, you villain!” I cried.
My companions were taken aback by my outburst and confused by the turn of events. Even Withers, who had been in Holmes’s company for many days, seemed not to realize what had just occurred.
Holmes removed his false moustache from his upper lip and began wiping his face vigorously with a handkerchief. The restoration to his former self was nearly complete, and I heard John Withers gasp at my side.
“My goodness. It is Mr. Holmes,” he said, in a whisper.
Colonel North was the first to regain his composure.
“Am I to understand,” he said, “that this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I fear I am completely at sea.”
“Yes, gentlemen, I am Sherlock Holmes. Please forgive the necessity of my disguised entry into Upton Hall, but I believed it to be a needed tool.”
“But, Holmes, how was this pretense managed?” I asked.
“All of those questions can wait for now. Suffice it to say that no one in the household was aware of my true identity, save Mrs. Upton. She facilitated my employ as the new second butler, and in that guise I was able to observe with impunity.”
I had often noted the ability of Holmes to disguise himself when he wished to remain anonymous. As his fame had grown this talent had served him in good stead. Even so, I was still in a state of shock at his ability to fool, even me, at close quarters. I also remained a bit raw at the knowledge that Holmes had conducted this part of his investigation without my knowledge. It was high handed of him and I chafed at the thought. For his part however, Holmes’s face was impassive and I could read no emotion there.
“Gentlemen, as I say all questions about myself are secondary to this crime. Surely, that is obvious to all.”
“Quite, quite, Mr. Holmes,” said Colonel North. “But I hardly think we require your talents, sir. It is a simple case of burglary with a tragic conclusion.”
“I
hardly think so, Colonel,” Holmes said dryly. “As I stated a moment ago, no one has passed through this window within the last several hours at least. Please observe and attend.”
Holmes still held the lamp in his hand and stepped back from the open window. The Colonel, John Withers, and I all stepped forward to see just what Holmes was talking about.
Holmes handed me the lamp, and I stepped to the sill and gazed outward. The lawn of the hall was covered in a blanket of fresh fallen snow. At some time during the evening it must have begun and it had obviously stopped now. I looked down from the window and saw what Holmes had meant. The snow was untrampled. There was not a single footprint visible. I leaned far out and saw there were no prints on either side. The import of this information was stunning. I fell back and let the others look.
Holmes was busy within the room assessing the scene of the crime. Robert Evanston remained near to the door, and was closely observing Holmes. Colonel North and John Withers were talking softly by the window. It appeared that the Colonel was arguing a point with Withers who was shaking his head in disagreement. The tête-à-tête finally broke up. The Colonel advanced upon Holmes, who was studying the large bloodstains on the sofa and the rug.
“Mr. Holmes, I fail to see the significance of the snow,” he protested. “Surely the snow merely covered the footsteps of the foul perpetrator of this crime. I see no difficulty with the theory that he escaped in that manner.”
Holmes had finished with his blood stain examination and had moved on to the ashtray. He did not answer the Colonel at once, as he studied the two black cigars still smoldering. With his omnipresent glass he closely examined them.
“What was that, Colonel? Oh, the snow, of course. I’m afraid that you are quite incorrect. The snowfall began at around nine this evening and abated at seven minutes after ten. Meadows and I were in the kitchen and he can corroborate this. That means, of course, that the snowfall stopped almost three hours ago. No, Colonel, it is not possible that the murderer left by the window without wings.”