It was a Monday evening and I had arrived home after spending the afternoon with my fiancée, Mary Morsden. A smile always adorns my face at the thought of her and I was in the best of moods. Our rooms at 221b were quiet, a deathly silence. Not a fire to be heard crackling, or Mrs. Hudson hurrying about, not even Holmes practising his violin as he was inclined to do at this hour. It was a most unusual silence, I quivered and a nameless dread swept over me as I ascended the staircase. My worries were all for naught, as I found Holmes seated in his chair knees against his chest, eyes closed and his brow furrowed in the most intense strain of concentration. I feared he had been at the cocaine. He had become more and more prone to it, cases had been few and far between in recent months and I had been spending more and more time with Mary. Not wishing to disturb him I stepped into the living room and purposefully took a seat at the dining table, perfectly positioning myself behind Holmes, next to the work desk. The drawer was were he kept his cocaine supply. I opened the newspaper and skim read a few of the headlines, the most notable being that of two men who had been murdered in a meagre residence in Whitechapel. The article went on to include a police statement connecting the two men with the, as yet unsolved, robbery of the Whitechapel Street bank. I noted with significant interest that the two crimes had occurred within exactly one year of each other.
Holmes had not moved an inch the whole time. I glanced up and peered over the newspaper, satisfied that I wouldn't disturb him, I reached for the drawer...
``You need not worry, my dear friend.'' Holmes exclaimed. ``Your concerns are unfounded.''
``Concerns?'' I asked, innocently. Holmes turned to face me, examining me with a harsh glare for a long unsettling moment. Relief washed over me when a smile crept across his face. ``You have a case?'' Holmes nodded. ``These recent Whitechapel murders?'' I said, pointing out the headline in the Times.
``An admirable attempt, Watson. But, alas, completely erroneous.'' And he plucked an envelop from his jacket pocket. ``Something much more intriguing. Tell me what you make of it. Deduce.'' He tossed the envelop across the room and it landed quite neatly on the dining room table amongst the as yet cleared away cutlery from dinner.
Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes
I am much maligned and greatly in need of your help. Please come at your earliest convenience.
Yours
Ms. Angela Downing
``Well Holmes, there's really not much to conclude, other than this woman is in need of your help.''
``You disappoint me, Watson. Look closer, observe, evaluate... there's everything to conclude!''
I examined the letter once more. ``She is obviously ill-educated or is only now learning how to read and write. Perhaps she is a child, the handwriting is atrocious.''
``Anything else?'' Holmes asked and he lit his pipe, got up and began pacing the room.
``It's written on hotel stationary, so therefore she has recently spend some time there. And the Northumberland Hotel is some distance across London from her current address. Written with a fountain pen. Other than that, I am at a loss.''
``Perhaps your mind has been dwelling too much on Mary of late. You do disappoint and here I thought I'd taught you well in my methods.''
Mrs. Hudson entered and she cleared up the cutlery and plates left over from Holmes' recent dinner. He snatched the letter from my grasp.
``The dear 'Miss' Downing is writing with her wrong hand, the left. Note the heavier indent and ink bleeding on the right edge of the downward strokes. I hardly believe a women learning to read and and write could fashion a note of such eloquent language, although in itself, quite brief. And the date, Watson, note the date. Three weeks ago. Why, only now, has she posted the letter? I conjecture that she has a lack of courage, and has recently moved residencies. She has suffered a loss, and a devastating downturn in her fortunes. The address is not the most affluent, and that particular area of London is being bought up by property entrepreneurs, the house has been refurbished. This conflicts with the fact that the Northumberland Hotel requires a high level of income. She is nervous and anxious, but her problem is not of a criminal nature, at the moment, which explains her hesitancy and the fact she has not contacted the police, or she has, and they have ignored her.''
``But what is the nature of her her problem, Holmes?''
``That is the mystery and one that intrigues me.''
``Then why are you still standing around here, conjecturing. Go and help the poor women.'' Mrs Hudson said as she left the room.
``Quite right, Mrs. Hudson, quite right.'' Holmes grabbed his jacket and I followed him.
The activity on reaching the area of Whitechapel was astounding, even in the dimness of the twilight hour. In my previous, but few visits to the east end I had found it somewhat painful, my occupation affords me an empathy with the sick and there are a great many sick and destitute in London's east end. The forgotten classes, for which government and policy provides little solace. The pain which I felt was out of a need to help them all, but one's capacities are severely limited, for I am just one man. It cheered me that the activity was primarily of rebuilding and many a workman was gainfully occupied in the restoration of the area. Scaffolding framed the houses and our cab had much difficulty in navigating the workers, and members of the public. The cab was diverted several times so to avoid streets that had been blocked off where more complex building was taking place, a safety measure no doubt. Nevertheless we reached Miss Downing's house on the corner of Bucks Row and Whitechapel Street. Its gardens were a pale affair and the construction work and many boot-steps had ruined its once flourishing gardens and greenery. Holmes' conclusion was painfully obvious. Only one of its room had any light, it was on the ground floor. We approached the door and knocked. It was answered by a young nurse maid.
``Good evening ma'am. We are here at the request of a Miss Downing.''
``She is currently settling down for the night, she is in great pain and cannot take any visitors at this hour I'm afraid.'' At this, I produced the letter.
``We came, as the letter suggests, at our earliest convenience. I'm sure Miss Downing would make exception to the late hour.''
The Nurse maid examined the letter, peered at us briefly and returned into the house. A few moments later and we were permitted into the house and Miss Downing's lodgings.
``Miss Downing? I am Mr. Sherlock Holmes and this is my friend and colleague Dr. Watson.''
``Oh... Mr. Holmes I thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming on such short notice, I can't tell you what a relief it is.''
``But I believe this is only momentary.'' Miss Downing remained silent. She was a most fair and delicate creature, long and thick dark hair fell about her shoulders, and heavily on the right side of her face. It marked a weary paled complexion. She looked older than her years, which I guessed at around her middle twenties.
``Your problem, Miss Downing, other than the fact that you were in a Hansom Cab accident some months ago that has left you bedridden and paralysed on your right side. That and the fact that you were recently engaged to be married, but your husband-to-be broke off the engagement. He has or had, left you significant finances to be going on with, but they are now dwindling.'' Holmes stated as he took the only available seat by her bedside.
``Good Lord Mr. Holmes, you have the advantage of me. How could you know such significant details?''
``It is simplicity itself. All your essentials, the book shelf, the wash basin, the chamber pot, your writing pen, stationary and bedside table are all placed on the left side of your bed, within easy reach. There is nothing on this side. That and the letter. Which I noted earlier to Dr. Watson here, was written with your left hand. The very same letter was written on hotel stationary some three weeks ago. You saved the paper and brought it with you when you relocated. The rents here are a mere trifle when compared with those of the Northumberland Hotel, thus you have since sought cheaper accommodation. Your dwindling finances wouldn't allow any further time at the Northumberland.''
``But my marriage, Mr Holmes?''
``Ahh, the engagement ring. A very fine and expensive diamond.'' said he, and to my surprise he took her limp hand, and I noted him stroke her palm with a delicacy that showed an affection that went beyond the professional distance he usually afforded our clients. ``You have yet to sell it, but you still wear it as a painful reminder, or you are still holding onto the loose thread of hope that he will return. And incapacitated as you are, I don't imagine you are afforded an income, the only money available to you is that which your ex-fiancee left you. And I theorise he gave it to you out of noble guilt.''
``But how did you know it was broken off?''
``If it hadn't you'd still be with him. Whomever this cruel man is. I would advise you to expel him from your memory.'' She gazed into Holmes' eyes and a single tear trickled down her cheek. She promptly wiped it away and briefly I saw the scaring on her face.
``And my accident?'' She continued, boldly and I sensed she was trying to change the subject as quickly as possible.
``It was reported in the news, once I saw you, and the design of your room, it instantly flashed forward into my memory. A most brutal and unfortunate thing to happen to a woman of such grace and beauty. Now, you must tell us of your problem and the facts, which surround it, even if they seem minor.'' He positioned himself acutely, closed his eyes and clasped his fingertips together. Miss Downing took a great deal of time in beginning her tale. She gathered herself and sat up in her bed.
``There is a man. I don't know who he is or what he wants. He waits outside this house and that very corner there.'' She pointed toward the window and the street corner beyond the gardens. ``He waits at random hours of the day and evening, and I have even awoken in the early hours of the morning and seen him there. Initially and rather hopefully I thought it might have been my fiancée, but he is a lot shorter and not as well dressed, I even entertained the romantic idea that he may be an agent of my fiancée keeping a watchful eye over me.'' She paused briefly and looked at both myself and Holmes.
``Have you made any other enquires as to his identity.'' I asked.
``Yes, and all have brought nothing. I have asked both my nurse maid and the landlord to approach him and ask. He merely walks, or runs away, saying nothing. I am greatly conflicted and my nerves put on edge. So many mixed feelings. It vexes me, it wears me out. He peers into my rooms as if to purposefully disturb my very soul.''
``Have you noted any details, the way he dresses, anything significant?''
``He wears a top hat, and he is neatly presented in black suit and overcoat.''
``Any change in his attire?''
``Now that you mention it, no. He wears the same clothing each time. He comes in the mornings, the afternoon and evenings. Sometimes twice daily. I thought to go to the police, but I felt absurd. For the man is committing no crime that I can think of. He merely stands and waits. Which is why I wrote to you, asking for your assistance in the matter.''
``And why you waited three weeks to have the letter delivered. I do wonder as to why you didn't have the maid write it for you.''
``I take pride in my independence, and I must learn to use my left hand to write. I wrote many drafts of the letter and finally arrived upon one that was legible.'' Holmes remained seated with his eyes closed and fingers clasped in powerful concentration. ``So, that is my sad and silly story, can you, will you help me?''
``Most certainly, Miss Downing. The case intrigues me. We will...'' Holmes stopped abruptly his look fixed upon the window. And there he was, the very same man Miss Downing had described not moments earlier. Holmes leapt up from his seat and charged out of the room, much to both my and Miss Downing's surprise. I was further surprised when Holmes stopped dead in his tracks and peered down at the floor for a considerable moment. I got up with the intention of aiding him.
``Watson, stay here, I will be back in a short time.'' He turned and addressed Miss Downing ``Hopefully with some answers.'' Both myself and Miss Downing looked on out of the window and this mysterious man. It was some minutes later that we saw Holmes come into our field of vision through the window, but he did not stop and challenge him, he merely tipped his hat, wished him a good evening and walked by. This greatly perplexed Miss Downing and she looked to me. Helpless as I was to offer an explanation all I could do was shrug.
``You don't think he has abandoned my case altogether do you?''
``Holmes has his methods, strange as they mat seem. Have faith.'' I looked to the window and the man once more, but found he had gone.
An hour later, Holmes returned.
``I will have some very definitive answers for you within the next two days, possibly hours If the case is as simple as it appears to be.''
``Simple?'' Miss Downing, exclaimed in shock.
``Yes, quite. In the meantime, Miss Downing I ask for your patience. Your ordeal will soon be over and hopefully we can manipulate the situation to your benefit.''
``Holmes, what on earth?''
``Patience, I need to confirm my theories first. For now we must let the lady rest. We will return later with a few requests, they may be a strain, but I assure you they are absolutely essential.''
Holmes remained silent as we travelled back through the London streets. He simply stared ahead in thought. After almost fifteen minutes of this he suddenly exclaimed.
``I've said it before and I'll say it again, Watson, you have the grand gift of respectful silence. I makes you most invaluable as a companion.''
``Indeed. But what of this 'waiting man'?''
``He is unemployed. He works... used to work with numbers. He lives locally, specifically Berry Hill. He has a mark and bruising around his neck. His left hand trembles with a nervous disposition. And he was carrying a revolver. He is obviously unemployed due to the random hours he occupies himself with waiting outside Miss Downing's lodging house. The red tinted mud on his boots indicate that he lives on Berry Hill, the clay is particular to that area and that street and it has rained in the last few days.''
``How did you conclude that he works with numbers?''
``His attires is distinctly of the financial profession. The pen marks on his trembling hand. They were calculations. It doesn't take much of a leap to assume he works the only accountants office on Berry Hill, he has taken to living there.''
``But didn't you say he was unemployed?''
``The office is closed for business and up for sale.''
``Oh.''
``Why on earth would he need to carry a revolver.''
``Got in with the wrong sort. Due to his diminished financial circumstances. The bruising around his neck''
``And you got all that, from just passing him in the street?'' Holmes arched his eyebrow. He didn't say another word until we arrived back at Baker Street and on arriving he immediately sort out a specific filing cabinet, in which he kept and catalogued old newspapers, dating back three years or more. He rifled through the pages in a fevered hunt, tossing aside each newspaper on the floor behind him.
``Mrs Hudson is not going to be pleased at this mess.''
``Pah.'' Holmes continued in his search and knowing better than to interrupt him and his train of thought, I took a seat by the fireplace and continued to read the evening edition of the times. I wasn't thee sentences into an article when Holmes snapped the newspaper out of my hands and exclaimed. ``Ah hah.''
``What is it?''
``Contact Inspector Duke, have him and his officers wait outside Miss Downing's lodging house as soon as humanly possible.''
``Holmes, it's past midnight.''
``Is there some statute of limitation on solving those Whitechapel murders and the bank robbery that has gone unsolved for over a year?''
``You think they're connected to Miss Downing's case.''
``Absolutely sure of it. We just have to catch him red handed, so to speak.'' He said, lighting his pipe, a triumphant expression written across his face. ``Well don't just sit there, have a telegram sent.''
In a matter of hours we were back at Miss Downing's lodging house. Holmes implored Duke and his officers to remain hidden until he gave the call. ``I will give three long blasts on a whistle'', he said ``and your officers can come blundering in.'' Duke furrowed his brow in protest at the patronisation of his dutiful officers and if it was any other Inspector an argument of ugly proportions may have broken out. Luckily, Jack Duke had been newly promoted to Inspector and he had considerable admiration for Holmes, so was willing to let any insults slide. Holmes' social graces had become considerably rusty over the past year, more so than usual, due to the lack of inactivity and the fact that I was spending more time with Mary. The job at hand was the main concern here. That situation satisfied ,Holmes turned his attentions toward the street and the house on the corner. All was quiet and there was no sign of this waiting man or indeed much sign of life at all at this early hour.
The nurse maid was considerably resistant to letting us in, but I assured her it was of great importance and that this small intrusion would resolve all of Miss Downing's worries. Holmes stood aside, waiting impatiently. Once we were given the all clear, he jumped into action instructing both I and even the nurse maid to move Miss Downing's belongings into the room opposite her own. Not before aiding Miss Downing herself to the nursemaid's lodgings, she slept while we did our work. It was no small task and difficult. Her bed, her considerably large collection of books, her clothes packed in suitcases, indeed almost everything she owned was cleared out of the room, and one could barely believe how much space there was without her things.
``And now... we wait.'' Holmes said.
``Wait for what?'' I asked, unable to form an intelligent thought after all that hard work.
``The waiting man, of course.'' Holmes than strode into the empty room and peered through the window onto the street corner, bathed in gaslight as it was.
``Here?'' I said, following him into the room. Holmes glanced around.
``An inadequate space, I feel.''
``Inadequate space for what?''
``For waiting.'' And he bolted out into the hallway again. His eyes locked on the stairwell leading up to the second floor of the house. ``There!'' He said firmly. He instructed the nursemaid to wait at Miss Downing's bedside and remain as quiet as humanly possible. Holmes and I followed her up the stairwell. He blew out the candle on a table and to my surprise sat down cross legged with his back to the wall his look locked on the ground floor corridor and the front door. ``Watson, go back down stairs.''
``Whatever for?''
``To observe.''
``Observe what?''
``Me.'' He said with a smirk. ``Tell me if you can see me as you enter through the front door?'' Baffled as to his design I did as he asked, exited and re-entered as Holmes had instructed.
``Can you see me?'' His voice came from the shadows..
``Why no, Holmes, you are perfectly hidden from my view.''
``Shadows and darkness, Watson, fantastic things. Join me.'' I ascended the stairs once more and sat down on the floor next to Holmes. His eyes were closed and he had a satisfied smile on his face. I plucked my tobacco pipe from my pocket and struck a match, only for Holmes to stop me.
``You must do nothing that will give us away. Nothing but wait.''
And that we did, for almost an hour. I had dozed off when a noise awoke me, coupled with Holmes shaking my arm. When I gained my bearings and focused my attention I saw in the hallway the very same waiting man step into the house and creep toward Miss Downing's previous room. Holmes bolted upright and ran down the stairs. When I caught up with him I saw the man crouched down on the floor, crowbar in hand he had wrenched the floorboards loose and was lifting out a considerable amount of money stuffed inside a leather satchel. Holmes blew on the whistle three times and the man darted toward the window satchel in hand. He did not reach it for I myself grabbed him and after a brief tussle pinned him to the ground. The police, promoted by the whistle followed soon after. We had caught Miss Downing's oppressor.
``Tediously predictable and simple.'' Holmes said with a smirk as he lit his pipe.
His name was James Harper, the police eventually extracted a confession out of the man, and was one of three men who had successfully robbed the Whitechapel bank a year earlier. In escaping the place he had stolen into the unoccupied house, and hidden his share of of the booty under the floorboards, he had designed to go back and collect it after the heat had died down, but on returning almost nine months later he found Miss Downing had moved in, with little choice other than forcing his way in and giving himself away, all he could do was wait for an opportune moment, but with Miss Downing incapacitated as she was this never happened.
In the days previous to us catching him he had killed his two partners with the revolver after an altercation that got out of hand. James Harper claimed they were pressuring him for his share of the money, threatening to expose him the guilt of such an act and the indefinite waiting had resulted in his nervous disposition, as Holmes noted.
Compelled by Miss Downing's situation I put it upon myself to become her doctor and do as much as I could in helping aid her recovery.
``It's a terrible thing, Watson.'' He said some weeks later as we ate breakfast together. ``Waiting. One must have patience and discipline in order to survive succumbing to the black hole of despair and the illusions of the irrational and the desperate.
``Or the cocaine bottle.'' I replied wryly. Holmes arched his eye brow as he lit the tobacco in his pipe.