The Adventure of the Absent Doctor

by silvaze068

The good Doctor Allen Johnstone is believed murdered. There is clearly a scene of great violence in his study. Only one thing prevents Soctland Yard from openly declaring it so: the body of the Doctor is missing. With a suspect, but no evidence, Inspector Lestrade turns to the only one he knows can solve the case: Sherlock Holmes.

The Adventure of the Absent Doctor

In the all the years for which I have known Sherlock Holmes, there have been many cases in which my friend has been allowed to fully demonstrate that wonderful deductive mind of his, but few are more singular than that of the late Doctor Allen Johnstone. While in the ensuing years circumstances have prohibited the publishing of this particularly baffling case, now I can do so without fear of tarnishing anyone's reputation.

It was a foggy morning in April, in the year 1902. At this point, my friend's career was in a bit of a decline, despite his recent success in the case concerning the three Garridebs. And so it was that on that dreary April morning, my friend Holmes and I found ourselves in front of the fire with rather nothing to do.

"All of this nothing has been rather stifling to my mind Watson," said he. "As I have said before, my mind begins to deteriorate when I have nothing to do to keep it occupied. I am at my wit's end, and surely my great mind will dry up and wither if I do not have a case soon."

As it turned out, my friend's wishes were soon fulfilled. A heavy step was heard upon the stair. "It appears our friend Lestrade is here. No doubt he needs my help in a case. I think that my mental deterioration may end sooner than I had hoped Watson."

And indeed, Lestrade burst into the room, out of breath. "Ah, Holmes, here you are!"

"Yes, I was just discussing my recent drought of cases with Doctor Watson here."

"In that area, I may be able to help you, Mr. Holmes."

"Oh, how so?"

"Have you heard of the Johnstone murder case?"

"I have not. Watson, please fetch the paper if you could."

I picked up the latest edition of The Times and quickly found it. " 'Doctor Allen Johnstone of Chatham General Hospital has been declared missing, and presumed murdered. Around midnight last night, a loud gunshot was reported to be heard from the Doctor's study. Dr. Johnstone keeps a small household consisting only of himself, Marie, his wife of twenty years, a butler, Mr. Jacob Clarkson, as well as a maid, Miss Victoria Turner. All three of those people reported hearing a gunshot at the same time, and they all rushed to the study. Inside they found the window open, a large splatter of blood against one wall, as well as a streak of blood on the wall, which culminated in a puddle of blood on the floor. As it was raining last night, there were easily identifiable footprints on the lawn outside, showing that someone had crossed the lawn in both directions. No arrests have been made, but the investigation is in the capable hands of Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard.' "

Holmes put his fingers together. "I assume that those are not all of the facts. Lestrade, could you please tell me everything you know?"

"Certainly Mr. Holmes. Well, the crime scene is exactly as described. However, all three other members of the household heard arguing coming from the study. It was a quite heated debate apparently."

"Pardon me for interrupting," said Holmes, "But why did no one come to see what the argument was about? Surely something like that would be a clue as to what was happening."

"I thought the same, Mr. Holmes, and so I questioned all three of them. And all three of them maintain that they believe Dr. Johnstone was arguing with one of the other two."

"I see. Well, I apologize for interrupting your narrative, Inspector. Please continue."

"Well, Mr. Holmes, we do have a suspect for the murder of this man, for murder is undoubtedly what it is. It is his brother, Mr. William Johnstone. You see, Dr. Johnstone is fairly wealthy, you see, and he has stipulated in his will that, in the case of his passing, the vast majority of his fortune should go to his brother. So you see Mr. Holmes, it is quite certain that he is the man we are looking for."

Holmes sighed. "Well, if that is so, why did you even bother coming to see me today?"

"Well, although it is clear that he is the murderer, we would be hard pressed to convince a jury of that."

"So you lack evidence, and wish me to come and examine the crime scene to confirm your suspicions?"

"Precisely, Mr. Holmes."

"Well, I would not normally take on such a case, but from the facts I have seen so far, there are some singular points that I would like to clear up." He stood up. "We shall accompany you Inspector, to Chatham. I believe there is a train at eleven. Inspector, if you could go hail a brougham, Inspector, Watson and I will be down shortly."

Afew hours later, we had taken a brougham to the station where we caught the eleven o'clock train to Chatham. Another brougham took us to the outskirts of the city, to the house of Doctor Allen Johnstone. It was a lovely, quaint house, one story, made of brick, and obviously quite old, as the mortar was very much worn between the stones and was in dire need of repair. We had just opened the door when we beheld front of us two women, presumably the late Doctor's wife and his maid, arguing.

"And I'm telling you, I will not work here anymore! This incident has traumatized me so that I request I be allowed to leave and pack my bags at once!"

"You shall do nothing of the sort. I understand that this incident has traumatized you, and rightfully so. However, at such a time as this, I cannot afford to give you up. Perhaps in a month or two when all has quieted down, and once I have found a suitable replacement, I shall allow you to leave, but not now."

"No, it must be now! I cannot stay in this house any longer!" She noticed the three of us standing in the door. "Oh, my apologies." She blushed, and quickly scurried away.

"I'm sorry that you had to see that," said the Inspector.

"Oh do not apologize, Inspector. It was actually very informative." I could tell that the inner gears of Holmes' mind were turning, and that he was forming his own theory as to what exactly had happened, but despite all of my time with him, I could not understand what.

We were quickly led to the study by Inspector Lestrade. The study was guarded by a constable, who promptly allowed us access. "We have touched nothing Mr. Holmes. I know that you hate it when we do so."

"Yes, a very wise decision on your part." My friend made for the window. The lock had clearly been picked. Holmes then turned his attention to the macabre blood stain on the wall. It was quite horrendous; there was a large splash of blood about head level, in the middle of which was the hole that the bullet had made, and a streak which continued down the wall to where it meets the floor, where there was a small pool of blood, which had by now dried, spread on the floor. "So, I presume that the man was shot in the head, fell backwards against the wall, and collapsed, his head dragging against the wall to create this streak."

"That was what we had theorized Mr. Holmes."

"And may I ask what kind of physique the Doctor and his brother have?"

"The Doctor was a very portly man. He'd grown large with years of good living, and was about 6 foot. His brother, on the other hand, is quite small and squirrely. He stands a good head below his brother, and is quite scrawny and lacking in muscle."

"Approximately how much do they weigh?"

"If I had to guess, the Doctor, about 300 pounds, his brother, about 140."

"I see. So, the brother could not have lifted the Doctor?"

"Hardly. But really Mr. Holmes, what has this got to do with the case?"

"Simply put, there is no streak of blood on the floor leading to the window. Now, you have just said that the brother could not have carried his brother, so the only alternative would be to drag him, and doing so in the short time from when the gunshot was heard to when the other members of the household burst in would be a hard task for a man of such meager strength. So you see, Inspector, there is no way that the brother could have burst in here, shot his brother, and drag or carry him out of here in time to prevent being seen."

"Wonderful, Holmes!" I exclaimed. In such a short span of time my friend had been able to completely tear the police's theory to pieces.

"I appreciate the acclaim Watson; however, now is hardly the time for celebration. Now we must turn our energies to finding the true culprit."

"Mr. Holmes," interrupted Lestrade, "I feel that I should point out it is possible that someone was hired by Doctor Johnstone's brother to come and kill him in his stead, to cast suspicion off of himself."

"That is certainly a viable theory. Now, may I examine the footprints on the lawn?"

In a short time, we were standing directly outside the window of the study. "How is it that there is only one set of prints, and that they are leading away from the house?"

"We asked that question ourselves, Mr. Holmes. The rain did not begin until shortly before the time that this murder took place, and we have theorized that the murderer came to the window beforehand."

"Well, it certainly explains why there is only one set of prints." Holmes strode to the prints.

"Are you going to measure them to see if the strides match up with the height of the brother?"

"No, Watson. I have often done so in the past, but now, I am measuring how deep they are." He laid down on the ground next to the perfectly preserved prints. "It is quite easy to approximate the weight of someone based on how deep their footprints are." My friend worked in a few minutes of silence before standing up. "I believe that all there is left for me to do here is to interview the remaining three members of the household. Can that be arranged, Inspector?"

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes. But wouldn't you want to interview the brother as well?"

"There is no need. The three members of the household will suffice. Now Watson, let us go meet these characters."

Our first meeting was with the butler, Mr. Jacob Clarkson. "Now," began Holmes, "How long have you been in the employ of Dr. Johnstone?"

"Oh, about twelve years, sir."

"And in all those years, did you ever know Dr. Johnstone to make any enemies?"

"Why, no, sir. He was always nice, polite, and courteous to everyone, well, except for…"

"Except for what?"

"Well, about a year ago, he began acting rather oddly. He was always very courteous to his wife, but then he just became plain rude to her. He would ignore her, yell at her, and treat her in ways I'd never seen before. I tell you, it was downright queer."

"Did they ever argue?"

"Oh, yes. They argued quite a lot in fact."

"Now, did anything else happen around the time this shift in behavior started?"

"The only thing I know of is that Miss Turner was hired as the new maid."

"One last question: did Dr. Johnstone ever exhibit this behavior towards you?"

"Oh no, Mr. Holmes. It was only to his wife."

Holmes was silent for a moment. "Well, I think you've given me all you can, Mr. Clarkson. Thank you for your time."

"He didn't give us much information, Holmes," I remarked.

"On the contrary, he gave us quite a lot of information."

Next came Miss Victoria Turner, the maid. "Now, Miss Turner, Mr. Clarkson said that you only joined the household about a year ago. Is that correct?"

"It's correct, Mr. Holmes."

"For what reasons were you hired?"

"Dr. Johnstone said that he did love my cooking, and Mrs. Johnstone herself liked my diligence in keeping a house clean."

"Did Dr. Johnstone exhibit any peculiar behavior after you came to work for him?"

"Now that you mention it, he did sour quite a bit in the few months after I came here. He became quite mean to his wife, if I recall."

"Did he ever extend the same behavior to you?"

"No, it was only to his wife. He never once shouted at me or Jacob."

"Now, I overheard you arguing with the wife of your employer. You said you wished to leave at once."

"Yes Mr. Holmes. I can't stand this gruesome incident, and I do not believe my fragile constitution could stand it much longer if I am forced to remain in this house."

"Thank you. You may go."

"Really Holmes," I said after she left, "All she did was restate some information we already knew, and the rest wasn't much help."

"Perhaps, but perhaps not. We shall see after we interview Mrs. Johnstone."

She came in aquiver. "Now, Mrs. Johnstone, how long have you and your husband been married?"

"Twenty years, Mr. Holmes."

"And in all those years did he ever exhibit the behavior he has shown to you in the past year? You do not need to hide it, for I have it from the mouths of your employees." He added the last sentence upon seeing her shocked expression.

"No, Mr. Holmes. He was always kind and pleasant to me until this past year."

"And you know of nothing save hiring Miss Turner that occurred at that time?"

"Nothing that I can recall, Mr. Holmes."

"In that case, all I have left is a recommendation for you. I could not help but notice your altercation with Miss Turner earlier."

"Oh, I apologize. You shouldn't have to see that."

"Make no apologies. However, I would recommend you let the girl do as she wants."

"What? Let her go?"

"Precisely. Nothing could be better for you now than to let her do as she pleases and leave."

"But why, Mr. Holmes?"

Holmes sighed. "Please, Mrs. Johnstone, trust me on this one matter. The success of this case hinges on you giving in to your maid's wishes."

The woman nodded. "Very well, Mr. Holmes. I will do as you say. She will most likely have her bags packed and will leave tomorrow."

"Very good." He stood. "Come along, Watson. I have done all I can here."

"So you have solved it?" I asked as I followed him out.

"Quite. There is merely one more piece of information that I need, and it cannot be gathered here."

"So you have solved the case, then?"

"Yes, quite easily, I might add."

"And I suppose you're not going share your deductions with me or anyone else?"

"Why, you have learned quite a bit in your years with me Watson! But for now, let's go back to Baker Street; there's nothing more we can do here."

On our way out, we ran into Lestrade. "Ah, Holmes, leaving so soon? I presume then, that you've come to your own conclusions about the case?"

"Yes, Inspector, and I'm quite sure that you care for none of them. I presume it will be as it normally is. I will follow my methods, and you will follow yours."

"Quite right, Mr. Holmes. I'm currently having the police search all of Mr. William Johnstone's possessions. I'm sure in there we'll find something that implicates him in the case."

"Well, I wish you luck, Inspector Lestrade. And if you have any interest in solving the case, I would suggest you closely examine the blood stain on the wall."

"What are we supposed to find there? It's just a blood stain; what are we supposed to be looking for?"

"It's quite elementary, Inspector."

"Really, Holmes? You surely have seen something that we have not?" I exclaimed.

"You have seen the same things I have, Watson. As to what we have observed, that is something completely different. Now come, we must go back to Baker Street."

We did so, and after sending a quick telegram, Holmes immediately retreated to his room, and I saw nothing else of him for the remainder of the day. I awoke the next morning to find a note from Holmes on our breakfast table.

"Dear Watson," it read, "I will most likely be out for most of the day. However, if I am lucky, I will return before lunch. Please send a telegram to Inspector Lestrade to have him come at dinner time. Inform him it would be in his best interest and in the interest of the case to appear. Also, a telegram should arrive for me today. Please hold it for me upon my return."

I did as he said and sent a telegram to Inspector Lestrade, then settled down to wait for my friend. With a half hour to go until our appointment and still no sign of my friend, I heard steps on the stairs. And soon there burst into the room a ma, dressed in a high-class ensemble, with a top hat which hid his face, a three piece suit, and a cravat. "Who are you, and what are you doing in here?" I exclaimed, leaping from my chair.

In a deep voice, the man replied. "Is this the residence of the famous detective, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

"It is. What business do you have with him?"

"Really, Watson, I'd have thought that after all these years you would recognize me in my disguises. The man removed his hat to reveal the face of my friend.

"Holmes!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, Watson. And I must say that my day has been very productive. There is no doubt whatsoever as to the outcome of this case."

"It is completely solved then?"

"Absolutely, my dear Watson. Now, all that remains is to wait for our friend the Inspector and to show him what I have uncovered." Removing his disguise, Holmes sat down in his customary chair, and I too returned to mine, knowing full well that my friend would make his deductions known in due time.

"By the way, I have your telegram." I handed it to him, and I saw a slight smile blossom on his face. "I take it that it is good news?"

"Good news indeed. There is no doubt whatsoever as to the solution to this case."

At six on the dot, we heard the tramp of the Inspector's footsteps on the stair. He burst into the room. "Well, I'm here. Now what do you have for me, Mr. Holmes?"

"I have for you the solution to this case." He stood. "Let us fetch a cab. We shall need transportation to the Grand Hotel."

"The Grand Hotel, Holmes? What the devil would the killer be doing there?"

"Ah, you shall see my reasoning in due time Inspector. Come. Oh, and Watson, it may be prudent for you to bring your revolver. I highly doubt it, but there is a chance that we may run into violence on our excursion tonight." Taking his advice, I grabbed my revolver from my room and descended the stairs to enter the cab my friend had called.

In a matter of minutes, we had arrived outside the hotel. We followed him to the front desk, where he had an amiable chat with the clerk. "Do you have the number of the room I asked for?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. Room 212, and here's the key." He dropped the key into my friend's hand.

"Thank you Charles, it has been a pleasure working with you."

"Nay, it's been a pleasure working with you once again. I'm glad that I could be of assistance." Following this conversation, we headed for the stairs.

"That was an old friend of mine, Charles Astor. He's worked with me on a number of cases that have involved this hotel before, and Charles has been instrumental in procuring me materials to help me solve those cases."

Holmes paced the halls, before arriving at the room Charles had designated. "Watson, ready your revolver." I did so, preparing for the worst.

Holmes quickly turned the key and opened the door, and the three of us barged into the room. Needless to say Lestrade and I were both bewildered.

In the room were both a man unknown to myself and Miss Victoria Turner, lying together in the room's bed, clearly having engaged in adulterous behavior.

"Who are you, and how did you get in here?"

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, and it really wasn't quite hard to track you down, Doctor Allen Johnstone."

"Holmes!" exclaimed Lestrade, "You mean to tell me that this is Doctor Allen Johnstone, and that no one has been murdered?"

"Not a soul."

"I must regrettably applaud your detective skills, Mr. Holmes, but the question remains: how did you know we were here?"

"It was quite elementary. My first suspicion came when we first entered the house. Miss Turner here was quite eager to leave. If she were really that traumatized by the incident, we should have found that she had fainted, and would be overcome with grief at the death. Instead, she merely wanted to distance herself from the household as quickly as possible, and of the fact that she was in some way connected to the supposed murder I was then certain. However, I at present had no idea what role she played.

"The next clue presented itself in Doctor Johnstone's study. You will recall that the smear of blood on the wall went all the way to the floor, when in reality, if someone falls backwards against the wall and collapses, their head would not descend that far, for clearly the head would have been the only place for him to have been shot, as it corresponded to the height at which the large splash of blood was found. At that point, I had certainly ruled out murder, and began turning my mind towards the possibility of kidnapping. But there another problem arose: where did the kidnappers procure the blood necessary to fake the murder of the good Doctor? It then came to my mind that Doctor Johnstone was a hematologist. As such, he would have had access to the blood necessary to produce such a ruse.

"My suspicions were confirmed upon the examination of the footprints on the lawn. As the Inspector had been so kind to inform me of the Doctor's approximate weight, I was able to deduce from the depth of the footprints on the lawn that it was you, Doctor Johnstone, who had strode across the lawn.

"In short, at this time I knew that Doctor Johnstone had smeared blood on the wall, and presumably shot the remaining bag, in order to create that large splash where the bullet hole in the wall was. Beforehand, he had made it appear that someone had picked the lock on the window. He then proceeded to climb out of the study and flee across his lawn towards Chatham.

"The interviews further confirmed my suspicions. All three members of the household confirmed that Doctor Johnstone's behavior suddenly changed approximately a year before the incident, and the change in his behavior was limited to his wife. It struck me that the change in the Doctor's behavior, being limited to spurning his wife, was for the purpose of attempting to rid himself of her. In addition, the only event that could be linked to this change in behavior was the arrival of Miss Victoria Turner. Therefore, I could assume that the two events were related.

"So, I now had a theory that all of Doctor Johnstone's attempts to spurn his wife had failed, and he had faked being murdered in order to escape his wife and run away to be with Miss Turner, which accounted as well for her attempts to leave the household as soon as possible.

"Now, all I had to do in order to confirm my theory was to telegram the Doctor's hospital, Chatham General, in order to ascertain whether they had bags of blood unaccounted for, and to discover where the Doctor had hidden himself. To that end, I convinced Mrs. Johnstone to allow Miss Turner to leave. I then tailed her until she stopped at this hotel. I then had my friend Charlie find for me what room she had gone to. As I returned to Baker Street, I received my telegram from the hospital, confirming that they had two bags of blood unaccounted for. Thus, I had sewn up the holes in my theory, and all that was left was to discover what room Doctor Johnstone and Miss Turner were in. Upon our arrival here, Charles provided me with the information I required.

"And so, here we are, Doctor Johnstone. Am I correct in my reasoning?"

"You are correct in every way, Mr. Holmes, and I am ashamed to say it. Please, I never meant to harm anyone."

"Except your wife. And your poor brother has been relentlessly pursued by the police in connection with your supposed murder. And once this affair of yours comes out, it will be the end of you."

Doctor Johnstone leaped out the bed and prostrated himself. "Please, Mr. Holmes! Have some humanity!"

"Well," interrupted the Inspector, "As morally appalling as it is, adultery is not a legally punishable crime in England."

"You are quite correct, Inspector. I believe it could be arranged that this little affair be swept under the rug. You can report that you found him in a back alley, and that he had been kidnapped."

"Quite so, Mr. Holmes. I can go and make the report now." He dashed off, leaving the four of us in the room.

"Unfortunately, for appearance's sake, you must not return to the Johnstone household Miss Turner. People will start to ask questions."

She nodded. "I understand. I will do what is required so long as my love's reputation and livelihood are safe."

The cab ride back to Baker Street was the first real opportunity since the conclusion of the case that I had had to speak with Holmes. "Really Holmes, you've outdone yourself this time."

Holmes smiled to himself. "Yes, I suppose I have. And while I have no doubt that you'll write one of your appallingly dramatic stories about this case, I do ask you refrain from publishing it until Dr. Johnstone is dead, for the sake of his reputation. We wouldn't want to cause any undue damage to the reputation of this man who dared to attempt to outsmart me."