The Case Of The Mysterious Corpse
My friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe, has always considered himself as a puzzle solver. Nothing intrigued him more than his puzzles and he decided to dedicate his entire life to solve them and by doing so, uphold the law and order of our nation and many others, which I cannot name even after my own demise. Things which appeared trivial to others were of great significance to him. He always believed in his postulate, "Nothing is more deceptive than an obvious fact". And as it often turned out, these little trivial things turned out to have great depth such as in the case of The Blue Carbuncle and The Case Of The Red Headed League which I have recounted in the past. I am able to narrate this case as the leader of the group, whom I shall call , although I'm afraid that is not his real name, can no longer cause any harm to either my friend or me. It is only due to this assurance from my friend, I can finally bring this draft out to the public, no longer fearing about our rooms being burnt. The first time the group, or organization would be a better word, I believe, was brought into Holmes' attention was due to the murder of a man, whose body was found in a place which had some features of interest.
It was during the time I had returned to my rooms at Baker Street after selling my practice. Stormy clouds darkened London and the entire city was empty and lifeless. It was snowing slightly and the chilly gusts of wind have long hastened people to their homes. My friend and I locked ourselves in our rooms, me because of the cold, and he for lack of a case. The weather did not daunt him in the slightest, nothing really did when he was on a case. He did not seem to be in the mood to talk and courtesy made me seat myself in the chair opposite to the window and look out, for lack of things to do otherwise. The roads were empty, the shops closed. All the trees had shed their leaves and added to the gloom and despair. I was caught up in the melancholy of the scene in front of me, thinking about all the people who are not so fortunate as to be able to sit a warm room with leisure, when I noticed a woman wrapped in a brown coat walking in the cold, clearly not daunted by the cold which had chased the other inhabitants away from the streets. She seemed to be making way to our rooms. I deduced that she might be a client, given her resolve. I turned to my friend to point this out but:
"So, we have a client Watson?" Holmes inquired. I confess I had been startled, both by his suddenness and his inquiry, as he was seated on the other end of the room, and had been reading the paper from the past hour, which now lay on the table. I tried to find out how he had deduced that using his methods but it was of no avail.
"My dear Watson" he said and smiled, no doubt upon my flustered expression, "I do not wish to make a mystery out of this. The sudden tilt of your head brought me out of my reverie. If it were an ordinary Londoner, you would have merely resumed your business of staring at the sky. But, you continued to stare. It implied that whoever caught your attention still had it. Most probably because of the cold the person had to endure. From, the speed of the tilt of your head, I deduced he was walking at a normal pace. Not an emergency, then. Either, the person is too determined for the cold, or the person is limping. But, who would willingly walk out in this weather with a limp? You yourself know Doctor, what pain it causes. So, a person of determination it is. Your head turned towards the general direction of our front door. This was because he was headed towards our rooms. So, it is a person who requires either your or my services. But, a very few people know your area of residence. Also, the person is walking at a normal pace, not hurrying. Therefore, there is nothing that can be done immediately that could help him. Clearly, he has come for me. A simple process of elimination"
"But Holmes, what if it had been something else I saw outside? An animal or a homeless beggar?"
"Then you would have gone out and helped them. My dear fellow, your doctor instincts would have never let a poor animal or man in your sight die of cold or starvation. Yes, I hear the footsteps. A woman's, judging by the lightness of the tread. Please do not leave. I would be delighted to have your help."Holmes said, sitting in his armchair. I took my usual place and waited for the woman.
The door opened to reveal a woman, whose skin had gone very pale. She was blonde and was probably younger than what she looked now. She was shivering but I could see firm resolution in her eyes. She halted in the doorway, clearly not knowing whom to address.
"Madam, I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my friend and colleague Dr. John Watson. I would be delighted to help you but first please warm yourself by the fire. I will send for Mrs. Hudson to bring some tea."Holmes said, ringing the bell.
"Sir, you are very kind but I care not for such trivialities presently. My husband has been murdered and I wish to bring the people who did this to justice!" she exclaimed, her eyes blazing with emotion. She was quite an ordinary woman, one you could easily picture being a maid or of some such profession, but her will had impressed both me and my friend. I offered my condolences but she shook them away saying "Justice, . I want justice."However, she accepted the tea and some color returned to her cheeks.
"Madam, if you are well enough now, we would like you to explain to us why you are here."Holmes said, kindly.
"Many apologies for my outburst Mr. Holmes but it is only you who could help me. Mr. Lestrade has suggested I take your help. These last few weeks have taken their toll on me and now the thing I feared the most has happened. Oh! Only if I understood!" She looked as if she were about to cry, but then she shook herself, and said in a normal voice:
"Again, my apologies Mr. Holmes. I am not myself. Let me tell you what happened from the beginning." She said, her voice completely morphed into a dead, dull monotone.
Holmes leaned back in his armchair, and closed his eyes.
"My name is Amelia Pesarro. I met my husband Robert Pesarro during my holiday at W- when I was sixteen. His sister, Penelope was a good friend of mine. We were very merry, the three of us, and it saddened us all when I had to leave W-. Penelope wrote to me when I was in London and she invited me to her wedding. She was going to marry Colonel Lawson, a rich and arrogant man, who had been recently discharged from India. He was much feared in the neighborhood due to his violent temper. However, she believed she could change him for the good and help the poor. She had such noble goals, my dear friend Penelope. However, Robert and I did not approve of Colonel Lawson and tried to dissuade her from marrying such a man. However, she was iron-footed in her resolve. It was also during this time I and Robert acknowledged our feelings towards each other. We were soon married after Penelope and all seemed well for some time. However, I and Robert were worried about Penelope as she stopped sending letters to us. I calmed him, despite being worried myself. Then, suddenly out of nowhere, came the news of her death. It came as quite a shock to both of us. I became very ill. I always had a very sensitive mind. Robert was devastated"
"Her death? Pray give me the details." Holmes said, his eyes still closed.
"Yes sir, she had tripped on a staircase and banged her head very hard against the floor. She had died on the spot. There was nothing they could do. Colonel Lawson himself came to us and informed about her death. He invited us to the funeral. I couldn't go for I myself was sick at the time and did not have the strength to endure the stare of her lifeless eyes or accept that her pretty mouth would never smile again. I urged Robert to go, as he was her brother. He did not return for five days, only sending a letter asking me not to worry about him and to take care of myself, promising he would return soon. He soon returned, refusing to explain his absence, only saying that it was important. I could see that he would never tell me this particular secret and thus stopped questioning him. We soon resumed our way of life and I was gaining strength from the love and affection of my husband. Then came the news Colonel Lawson was dead! He was found dead in his bedroom by a servant. Apparently, the Colonel rang the bell a few minutes ago. When the servant arrived, he found the Colonel lying on the floor, unmistakably dead. He seemed to have suffered a heavy blow to the head. The murderer seemed to have escaped from a window."
"Colonel Lawson! Pray tell me, truthfully, was your husband with you when the Colonel was killed?"Holmes inquired, opening his eyes and staring intently at her.
"Yes sir, he was indeed at home when the terrible deed occurred. He was holding my hand and assuring me all would be well and not to worry about Penelope. I am not lying, Mr. Holmes, he was there. My husband would have never killed another man!" she said, the injustice of the accusation rankling in her eyes.
"Love is a very strange thing, Madam. It makes us do things which we would have never thought possible. It is said quite rightly said that love is irrational. My apologies. Please continue" he said, closing his eyes once again.
"I do not blame you as I should Mr. Holmes, for Robert did seem a little different when he heard the news. He scared me. After that dreadful business, things seemed to go back to normal after a few months. Robert seemed to be coming back to normal and I healed as well. He would occasionally leave the house saying that he needed to attend matters of supreme importance. I had learnt to stop asking questions when I realized he would never disclose the reasons for these trips. The days went by slowly and the ghosts of our past seemed to have stopped haunting us. All of this collapsed when one day, Robert approached to me in the middle of the night, fear transparent in his eyes, asking me to pack all our belongings and be ready to leave the house in an hour. I urged him to explain but all he would say was that there were dangerous people after us and we should run away as soon as we could. I complied and we made our flight in the early hours of dawn. After that, we were always on the move. We never stayed anywhere for more than a week. I have always insisted upon him telling me the reason for our flight but all he would say was "I have sinned. My actions have led to this" and would apologize continuously until I stopped him. Then, today…" her voice trailed away, leaving no doubt as to what happened.
"Did your husband tell you where he was going when he left you today?" Holmes inquired.
"No sir. He always said that the less I knew, the better. But, I had an inkling that he used to contact his friends to make sure of our safety. He told me that if the worst came to the worst, and he was killed, I should take the help of a policeman. The murderer would lead the policeman to what had happened. But the police are baffled, and you are the only man who can help me now Mr. Holmes!" she exclaimed, as if the gravity of the situation had struck her again, more hardly this time.
"I shall definitely help you, Mrs. Pesarro. This case indeed proves to be novel. Madam, could you tell us where precisely your husband was killed?" he inquired, his tranquil attitude all gone. He leapt out, no longer a man of thought but a man of action. I could see that this case had aroused his interest and he very much wanted to examine her husband's body.
"I shall take you there myself Mr. Holmes as I am headed there. There is no place for me in this world now that my husband has left me. My only wish is to bring the people who have done this to justice and then join my husband. I am very ill myself and shall perish very soon. My last wish Mr. Holmes, is that my husband's death must be avenged!" she cried out, her face contorted in misery. I could see that the mental stress she had faced might soon lead to brain fever. She seemed to have read my assessment in my eyes for she said:
"Dr. Watson, as a medical man, I am sure you might have deduced what I know myself. I shall soon succumb to a mental illness and it is only my fury upon the people who have caused my husband this fate that still keeps me sane. I shall wait downstairs, Mr. Holmes." She said, and left us to wrap ourselves in out coats and scarves.
"Quite a remarkable woman, don't you think Watson? After all, the fair sex is your department" Holmes said, pulling on his gloves.
"Her resolve, I must say, is quite impressive Holmes. What do you make of this mysterious affair?" I inquired, wishing to know if this narrative had struck any past cases in his mind.
"Like I have said before Watson, this case is indeed novel. The murder of that Colonel, although expected, has some curious elements. Now, hurry man before the snow removes all the evidence!" he remarked.
Mrs. Pesarro was waiting for us downstairs, pacing up and down the road, clearly impatient. We walked to the end of the streets and hailed a cab, which I assume had something to do with my friend, for no sensible cab driver would let his horses endure such cold and ride on the slippery roads of London. The ride was silent, all of us stuck in our own contemplations. London whirred past us and we soon found ourselves in the station where we proceeded to buy tickets and board the carriage to D-.
"Mrs. Pesarro" Holmes said suddenly, after three hours of complete silence, "Do you have any reason to believe Mrs. Lawson's death was not accidental?"
"No, sir. I imagine you believe that Colonel Lawson is responsible for my sister-in-law's death. Even though I have expressed my dislike towards Colonel Lawson, I cannot imagine him being so cruel. His grief was evident when he came to us to tell the news." she said.
"And did the Colonel have a lot of enemies?"
"I wouldn't call them enemies, sir. Like I've said before, the Colonel is known to have a very violent temper. People are scared of him and yes, he is disliked by most of the people there. But, all these people are in the order of servants. It is possible that they might have collectively revolted against the Colonel but the Colonel pays them very well, sir, to make up for his temper. The servants wouldn't want to lose that."
"Did your husband remark anything about his death? You said he scared you."
"Well sir, Robert was a very kind man who never showed any cruelty upon any human, even if they were inferior to him. He never wished ill of anyone, no matter what they did. This was one of the reasons I loved him so. Well, when we heard news of the Colonel's death, he expressed no emotion resembling grief. His eyes were cold and he seemed very distant to me, as if it were another unknown human I was suddenly seeing. I expected him to be shocked and offer his condolences, but he did neither. Rather, he just stood there, lifeless like a statue. I assumed he was surprised that both the Lawsons seemed to have died the same way. The next minute, however, he seemed to have come back to normal and expressed his regret and we both attended his funeral a few days later."
"Madam, could you give me the precise dates of the Lawson's deaths?"
"Sir, my sister-in-law died on November, the twentieth. Colonel Lawson was killed on the third of December."
I noted the dates of their deaths whilst Holmes merely nodded and sunk back into his reverie. Mrs. Pesarro continued to stare outside the window and I was left to ponder over the problem she brought us. How did Mrs. Lawson die? Was it really an accident? Were the deaths of both the Lawsons connected? If not, the gap between their deaths, thirteen days, was merely coincidental? Where did Mr. Pesarro come into this? Were we dealing with a single case or three different cases? What did Mr. Pesarro do to instill such fear in his wife and himself? Who were these powerful enemies who found them even after they've fled? The more I thought about it, the more confused I was. I remembered my friend's remark on how the cases with more evidence tend out to be more complicated to solve because one has to sift through the evidence and find out what actually mattered.
We reached D- and we had a carriage waiting for us. D- was quite warm compared to chilly streets of London. We made our way to the carriage, our boots digging into wet earth, making a slight squelching noise. For some reason, this seemed to delight Holmes for he gave an exclamation of delight when our boots first touched the ground.
We boarded the carriage and soon, we found ourselves entering a huge mansion, which the lady informed us, belonged to Mr. Pesarro's aunt Mrs. Ashcroft. Our carriage stopped at the gates where she said:
"My apologies Mr. Holmes. Mrs. Ashcroft cannot wish you at the front door as she has been away on a World Tour for the past few weeks. We persuaded her to go, telling her we would take care of the place so that Mrs. Ashcroft would never be in danger or get to know that we do not go out, but rather try to hide ourselves inside the house. Mr. Lestrade is waiting for you inside, . Your rooms, should you wish to rest now, are ready."
"No, Madam, I must be a fool to not examine the scene of murder now. You rest Madam, you've had a very long day. I shall be returning soon after our examination and bring you news"
"Bless you, Mr. Holmes! But, I shall not be able to rest until I've heard something. I shall inform Mr. Lestrade of your arrival" She said, and walked into the manor.
Soon, I could see the ferret-faced detective Mr. Lestrade, whose raise to fame was mainly due to my friend, although the Inspector would never admit it to the public. He seemed relieved to see my friend and boarded the carriage without a word. The country looked very bare in this season, and I found myself staring at vast expanses of barren land, contemplating the insignificance of our existence.
We soon reached the spot of murder, or so I presumed, as the carriage came to a stop. Mr. Lestrade pointed towards our right, which I recognized, with a chill of horror on my spine, to be a graveyard. It was particularly eerie at this time, the grey clouds in the sky giving it a very haunted look. I was not a man who believed in the supernatural, but the place slightly scared me. Old and weathered crosses ejected out from the face of the Earth and the overall effect was quite daunting. I could vaguely see a body lying face down, some fifteen feet away from the small fence which separated us and the vast expanse of wet earth. We got down, and my friend was transformed, as he usually was, in these occasions. He completely ignored us and rather than heading towards the body, he made very minute observations of the road with his magnifying glass. I now understood his delight upon the wet roads- he had a lot of evidence. He muttered continuously under his breath while I was left to observe that my friend had struck a scent. He soon ended his examination of the roads and made way towards the field. I and Mr. Lestrade followed. Holmes first went to the body and gave an exclamation of delight as soon as he began examining the body. I could not deduce the reason for his happiness, for there was nothing remarkable in the way he was lying. He soon began rummaging his pockets which were followed by an exclamation of surprise, then a mutter which sounded like"I hope he was clever" and finally an exclamation of delight. I did not understand as there was nothing to be found in his pockets. My friend eagerly searched the surroundings for what I assumed to be footprints. I could myself see a bunch of prints going towards and away the body. I myself could make out some sets of prints which were going to the body and returned from the body. The prints were very clear, due to the fact that the mud was wet but the footprints were obscured due to the overlapping of footprints.
"Footprints, Lestrade! Haven't I demonstrated to you, many times over the course of years, the importance of footprints? Yet here you are, approaching the body not once, not twice, but three times! The lady has approached him once and who is this? Ah, yes the man who discovered him. A farmer, I presume? And, I assume the country policeman was here? What has he done? He seems to have felt the need to return five times."He said, clearly seeing a lot more in the muddle of prints than I did.
"The man who recognized him is indeed a farmer. Apparently, he had come to visit his wife's grave. And yes, country policeman was here. He is an old friend of mine. It was he who requested me to come and take a look for he believed…" the Inspector trailed off, looking embarrassed.
"Yes?" my friend asked impatiently.
"Well, when he was first informed of the murder, he came to look and was surprised at the lack of footprints apart from the farmer's. There were no other prints, not even Mr. Pesarro's. He assumed that the murder was committed before the rain and dismissed the fact until he talked to Mrs. Pesarro. The husband was at home when it rained. So, he could make no sense of it and requested me to take a look. He was rather scared to investigate. He believes that it was the job of a...a ghost."
"Well, I presumed as much and judging by the fact that you had to examine the body three times, you made no headway and thus have decided to call upon me. Well, I must say, if this is the work of the supernatural, there is nothing I can do. But, no I think it is possible that the man has died due to some other cause." he said and returned to the road and continued his examination there. He soon got up, looking satisfied and asked me to examine the body.
I never examine the body before Holmes was done examining it for I feared it would tamper with the evidence. Now, that I had his permission, I eagerly went towards the body. The man was lying such that his arms struck out at weird angles. His legs, however, were quite straight. His body resembled, I shivered slightly at the thought, a cross. The man too, looked quite ordinary, except that he was very thin and looked like he lost a lot of weight in very less time, no doubt due to the anxiety he and his wife shared. Upon closer inspection, I found that the man's body was filled with bruises. There were no major visible wounds but a few his bones appeared to have broken, giving his body a distorted shape. With a thrill of horror, I recognized that the man had sustained a major injury to his head and this was possibly the blow which killed him. I pointed this all out to Holmes and added my surprise about how all the three had died due to a blow on the head.
"Well, Watson I surmised as much. As to the head wound, I believe it is purely a coincidence. Let's rest now Watson, our work here is done." he said, and all of us left and I felt a little glad we were.
We travelled back in the carriage where Holmes continued his thoughts and I too pondered over about the footprints. After an hour of complete silence, save for the rattle of wheels, he said:
"Watson, you are indeed a very patient companion. So, what do you make of the footprints?"
"Well, if what you say is correct I cannot think of a single explanation."
"What I said was indeed correct, Watson. I saw the prints. One of them was almost flat, the crisscross pattern rarely showing. Clearly, he was wearing well worn slippers, suggesting that he was an avid walker or he was too poor to afford new ones or both. But, his pace was slow, judging by the deep print and length of stride. So, it was an old man and a poor one, for he was not able to afford new shoes. An old man who woke up at dawn and had the energy to walk there despite his age. Clearly, someone who did a lot of manual work and had the habit of waking up at dawn. So, my guess was a farmer. I found out he discovered him from the fact that his stride was increased when he moved away from the body. Also, the country policeman's print was over the farmer's, suggesting the farmer was here first. The lady's prints were quite obvious; women's shoes vary very greatly from men's. Also, she seems to have kneeled near the body, the prints of her dress are slightly evident. The country policeman's prints were of regular shoes, nothing special about them. But, it was only he who would be allowed to go there five times. And I've known Lestrade's prints for quite a time now. There were no other prints. I have examined the shoe of the murdered man. No print matches it. So, Watson, what do you think?"
"Then, nothing comes to the mind Holmes. The entire case tends towards the supernatural, Holmes. The thirteen day gap between the deaths of both the Lawson's, Mr. Pesarro dying in a graveyard. Mr. Pesarro's body resembling a cross. All the three deaths happening due to the same cause. But, you surely must have a theory?"
"I do have a theory, Watson." He said and spoke no more until we reached the manor.
The lady was waiting for us at the doors, face filled with anxiety. She invited us both in and said:
"Pray, tell me Mr. Holmes, I need to know, do you believe that a ghost killed my husband?"she said, her face taking in every movement of my friend's face.
"Indeed, I do not, Madam. I believe your husband has been killed by very dangerous people, who are not only powerful and ruthless, but also very cunning."
"You give me hope, Mr. Holmes! Thank the Gods that you are not taken in as well. The country policeman actually had the nerve to ask me if my husband practiced black magic. Now, you must rest, Mr. Holmes. I am forgetting my duties as host, but I hope you will pardon me." she said, and turned a bit paler. She looked sicker than before.
"Madam, you must rest" I said, "for you've had a very long day and look very sick. You must be strong, Madam. Your husband did not give his life to destroy yours" I dared to say, for I was sure that she would soon succumb to an illness if she wasn't strong.
Some emotion returned to her face and her eyes seemed to be filled with tears. We both excused ourselves to our rooms.
"I have been thinking this over Holmes, and it goes against my intuition, but I believe it was the wife who killed him" I said, after a quarter hour of silence during which we had eaten our supper.
"What makes you think so, Watson?"he asked, getting up.
"Well, the footprints! She claims that he was with her when it rained. The only explanation is that she had killed him and placed him there before the rain. The rain covered all her tracks and thus we could find no footprints. The entire story about the dangerous enemies could have been a ruse"
"No, Watson. The man was placed there after it rained. If not, his clothes would still have been wet for it is very cold today. But his clothes were quite dry. Also, consider the wounds. Do you think the lady was capable of wounding him in such a way?" he said, now pulling on his coat.
"Why Holmes, are you headed out somewhere at this time of the night?"I asked, with some surprise.
"Indeed, I am, Watson. I am afraid I have to go alone. I would have been delighted to have your company but this is something I must do alone, Just do not tell anyone that I've left"
"You have my word, Holmes. But pray, tell me, when will you return?"
"I believe it shall take some time, Watson. But, I shall be back before dawn." He said, and left by the means of jumping out of the window. I saw him conversing with the man who drove us and both of them went off soon. I tried very hard to sleep but the mystery was too intriguing for me. I could think of no way for the man to be left there with no footprints at all. I pondered all night and later, unbeknownst to me, fell asleep. I was woken due to a scraping noise as the window was being opened. I woke up at an instant, ready to strike if it were an enemy.
"Ah, you still have your army reflexes, Watson. I am glad you did not hit me before you could see me." Holmes said, straightening himself out of the window.
"My dear Holmes, do you know what time it is? What have you been doing all night?"I asked him. Upon closer inspection I found that he was holding a sheaf of papers and looked delighted, meaning he had done a good night's work.
"I've all the threads in my hand, Watson. But, there are few things I must first do. Do you know where Lestrade is?"
"I believe he must still be sleeping. I shall take you to him." I said, noticing the fact that my friend was hiding the sheaf of papers in his cloak.
"Does this mean you've solved the case then? I asked, whilst waiting outside Lestrade's door.
"I do know who is responsible for the murder. But, catching them is a difficult matter. I already have the thugs who killed him under lock and key." He smiled at this, as if enjoying a private joke. He knocked again.
"Holmes, it's five in the morning" Lestrade said, opening the door, "Has anything happened?"
"I have your ghost locked up. Do you think you can handle taking it back to Scotland Yard?" Holmes said, his eyes twinkling.
"Alright, you've had your fun laughing at my expense. Now, do you really mean you caught the man responsible for this?"Lestrade asked, clearly irritated.
"Well, firstly it's men. And secondly, yes. The people who killed him are locked in their own rooms, presently too sleepy too have even woken, If you would be kind enough to go to The Sleepy Hen along with a few men, a tavern about a mile from here, you'll find that five men have recently been lodging there. Their rooms will be shown to you by a young boy, the son of the inn-keeper. They are the men who killed Mr. Robert Pesarro. However, you'll find that they are only thugs, hired to do this job. You'll be able to find out who hired them by questioning them. If not, you are always welcome to come with us to W- where you could catch them"
The Inspector soon left us to contact the local police force. Holmes however, requested to speak to Mrs. Pesarro and returned after an hour. He then returned to his room and fell asleep, clearly not wanting to explain what was happening yet. It was midday when the Inspector returned. I woke Holmes up, upon his request to be woken up when the Inspector returned. He eagerly faced the Inspector and asked:
"So, have the thugs named the person who hired them yet?"
"No, they have not. They all claim that they know nothing of the murdered man. They insist that they are innocent and have nothing do with it."
Holmes face fell. "Well, you will be pleased to know that I have found some papers in their possession which may help us convict them. There are orders from a higher unknown to a these people to kill Pesarro and their replies. I have a month's worth of correspondence with me. I also have in my possession instructions as to what is to be done by Mr. Pesarro." He said, and ignoring our gasps of surprise, took a long white paper out of his coat with a flourish. He gave it to us and motioned for us to read it:
"IT is hidden, just like humans. Just like humans, IT has a mask, a false exterior that fools everyone. Just like the invisible masks humans wear, IT also wears a mask which is pleasing to my eye, but not to many others. IT is the only thing that will help you. IT will be your salvation. The only reason for my continued survival is to let people know about IT. IT lies hidden, for truth is a very terrible thing and has to be found out by one's own self. IT is along with one of the most valuable possession of man. Brothers and sisters, find IT!"
"What does this mean, Holmes? I can neither make head nor tail of it. " Lestrade inquired.
"It sounds like a biblical reference to me" I said.
"On the contrary, it means everything, "It", as I take it, means some sort of thing which would explain the turn of events. It is of immense value and the thugs, I believe, killed him for him knowing about "It". I have talked to Mrs. Pesarro, to whom Mr. Pesarro had addressed a letter. It took me sometime to calm her, but she seems to be in better spirits now and is in no danger of having a brain-fever. I inquired Mrs. Pesarro about her husband's likes and dislikes. The things he liked included his pipe, a few of his clothes, his wedding ring, and his books. However, no one knew of this past-time of Mr. Pesarro's as his job required him to communicate with the lowest classes of the community who instantly shy away from learned people. It immediately struck a bell. Books would be the best hiding-place. Just write in them, place a cover on them and viola! However, the question remains: Where is the book now? What is the most valuable possession of a man? A book-case, perhaps? Mrs. Pesarro does not seem to know."
"Where did you find this, Holmes? Not with the thugs, surely?" I asked.
"NO, I found it in Mr. Pesarro's coat. The coat was cut open, a small piece of cardboard with this piece of paper was inserted and the coat was sewed back again, I believe the cardboard is to protect the paper from water," he said, and sunk back into his thoughts, the puzzle clearly intriguing him.
We returned to London the very next day, my friend still in deep contemplation. But, as soon as Mrs. Hudson greeted us, Holmes exclaimed with the ecstasy of a child, that he got it. He went to the Scotland Yard Office, and I do not know what transpired next, for we were met with another case as soon as he returned. It was on a rainy evening after a fortnight the case came up, due to the arrival of Lestrade.
"Sir, IT, as you keep calling it, is a confession by . I found it, like you've said, concealed in a book called "The Mysteries Of Life". His friend apparently, is a labourer and cannot read. In the account, Mr. Pesarro describes in great detail as to what happened. Perhaps, it might be better if you read it yourself.
"I was born in the countryside and have always lived there. I have very scarcely been to London, the hustle and bustle is too much for me. However, the cities do have an advantage over the country. The city is full of people. One never feels lonely. The country can feel very desolate when one fears something. Crime is hidden in the countryside! No one knows what happens in the lonely fields, or inside the four walls of one's house. The people are too scared and the law too weak. It is a perfect place to commit a crime and be assured of not being punished by the law. My sister was a victim of such tragedy. She had married a very rich and arrogant man who had never let her leave the house. She was a possession to him, to be displayed and to be envied upon. He never saw her as a human being. He never let her talk to anyone except him and the servants. She longed to run away but always feared to do so. So, one day, she decided to ask my advice and thus wrote a letter to that effect. She was trying to convince the servant to secretly post it, when he caught her doing so. She immediately stashed the letter in her dress, fearing her husband's wrath. However, he had seen the letter and was convinced that the letter was to a secret lover and was enraged. He bellowed at the servant, who had immediately gone out of the room. I do not know what happened next, but my sister was pronounced dead the next day and the cause of death was a heavy blow to the head due to her tripping over the stairs. I found the letter in her person and found out the rest by questioning the servant. However, the servant refused to bear witness. I was enraged! Was there no way I could bring this man to justice? Was there no way for me to make him pay for his sins? Yes, indeed there was, it seemed. For, I was invited to join a group called the Justice League, or J.L, in correspondence, whose goal was the same as mine. To punish those who have successfully escaped the clutches of the law. I was one of the very first recruits. When I had joined, there were only three members: Mr. Donbey, Dr. Oakshott and Mr. Liverby. Mr. Liverby was the brains behind the group and Mr. Donbey, provided the labour, Dr. Oakshott was made responsible for inventing new methods of murder which would look like natural death and also, to pronounce murdered people dead due to natural causes when possible. I was asked to join the group so that I could act as Treasurer, and also to maintain records of all the murdered people and their sins. I was enraged during the time, but I was slightly hesitant to join J.L, since I felt the methods they seemed to take to be very harsh. However, Mr. Liverby had invited me to his home one day, and explained to me how J.L was a necessary evil. He talked for hours, explaining how his father was killed several years ago and how he could do nothing about it. He sympathized with me, told me the horrors that took place in 's and Mr. Donbey's lives, which would make anyone's blood boil. His words soon empowered me and I, in a state of anger and grief, joined them. They helped me kill Colonel Lawson. Mr. Donbey entered the Colonel's bedroom at night and killed him, as is our way, the same way he had killed my sister. We soon grew in numbers, as I've told you, there is a lot of crime that takes place in the country which goes unheard of. However, we did not recruit a lot of people, fearing that our secret would be out. But, we did recruit a lot of thugs under Mr. Donbey's command. We were a network of some two and twenty people (including the thugs), all of us angered upon the weakness of the law in the country. However, we did help a lot of people who came to seek our aid, no matter where they came from. The client would contact us via Mr. Liverby or Mr. Donbey. We would listen to their case, investigate ourselves and then carry out justice. All of this was done anonymously. We don't know who the client is (Although, it is easy to guess) and the client does not know who we are. Also, as we grew, Mr. Liverby or Mr. Donbey themselves would present a case. We were very careful, we left no written evidence anywhere, and the only evidence that exists is that of the accounts I've made of people who were made to suffer for their sins and what they had done to deserve their fate. Although, I had concerns in the beginning, and I still did, I never tried to leave J.L for I was happy that we were ensuring that their sins did not go unpunished, it felt like we were restoring some balance in the chaos. Every time I doubted my job, Mr. Liverby would ask me to write a report on a person who committed very heinous crimes that I felt compelled to help J.L. in their mission. One day, while I was writing up a case which Mr. Liverby handled, I had forgotten the name of the man the victim killed. I went to Mr. Liverby's house to inquire, for it has been a long-time policy of mine to complete the documents as soon as possible and hide them away. Mr. Liverby, it transpired, had gone out, and I was made to wait the waiting-room for two hours. I was sweating and very impatient- what if my wife glimpsed at the documents on my table? In my desperation, I went inside Mr. Liverby's study, hoping his correspondence would give me the answer I wanted. Imagine my horror, when I found out a list of names and crimes in his desk, judging by the scratches and the comments like "Needs to be more heinous" or "A child ensures rage" seemed to be of his own creation. Upon further search, I found the letters I came searching for and a few others. One of them read:
"Mr. Shelby, to be killed by the end of the month. Payment of four hundred pounds will be given after the murder. Send proof for money. A.L"
I was surprised, for the Justice League never took money from its clients. We only accepted donations, which had been plentiful, but never demanded money. Soon, I pieced everything in my head. Mr. Liverby took money from clients to kill someone, and then he would fabricate a story which would enrage us, thus ensuring we would kill him. Mr. Liverby would then pocket all the money. I was horrified. How many innocent people have we killed? I returned all the papers to their respective places and then hastened to leave. That very night, while returning to my home after taking care of all my businesses there (for I intended to leave the country for I could not leave the League without being killed). I was almost killed due to a carriage whose horses had gone wild. I knew it was no coincidence. We had killed a man using this very method. Soon, I hastened to my home and me and my wife made our escape. The evidence you'll need is in this book. The book can be read by reading every fifth page."
"We have caught all of them, and thanks to that book which has proved to be beyond useful, we have no problem of gathering more proof. Without you, I shudder to think as to what the state of our country would be, Mr. Holmes. Are you sure you don't want your name to be involved in this case, sir?" the Inspector asked.
"No, Lestrade. This case has been solved only due to your intelligence and hard-work. For me, the work itself is the reward." said Holmes, sitting on his arm-chair.
"Holmes, now that all of the people responsible have been convicted, could you pray tell us how you have arrived at your conclusions?" I asked. I could never forget the horror I felt on seeing the body in the grave-yard. It had only been courtesy which had restrained me from asking him.
"Definitely, my dear Watson. Well, the case began with the death of the sister, Mrs. Lawson. The way of death, as described by Colonel Lawson was certainly possible, given the delicateness and the attire of the fair sex. However, the sister did not send any letters after her marriage. That sounded very suspicious. Women send a lot of letters to friends immediately after marriage, either for advice on running a household or to describe the new things there. This showed that the Colonel did not permit it. But I dismissed the fact for the time being. Then, came the death of Colonel Lawson. It was improbable it was the servants, like Mrs. Pesarro said, they were paid well. Also, why kill the master then? They had lots of chances when he was a bachelor. Adding to this the fact that Mr. Pesarro loved his sister, it was probable that he killed him. The fact that he was with his wife that night meant nothing. Mr. Pesarro could have easily hired someone to do it for him. Remember, the servant discovered the Colonel's body. The servant came because someone rang the bell. Ringing the bell was a way of assuring that the body was discovered before morning, thus letting Mr. Pesarro have an alibi. So far, it was clear,"
"Extraordinary, Holmes!" I said. It was really amazing how my friend could make obscure events into a chain of well-reasoned series of events, and I, as always, was left wondering how the explanation eluded me.
"Until there, my dear Watson, I had no problems. Hundreds of similar cases come to the mind. However, the flight of Mr. and Mrs. Pesarro was what made the case novel. There could be many reasons, the simplest of ones being that he could not pay the thugs who killed the Colonel. However, this was not the case. He never showed any stress in the matters of money and if matters did come to the worst, his aunt, could have helped him. No, we were dealing with a powerful enemy. An enemy who was capable of sending thugs to so far a place to kill Mr. Pesarro. So much, I had surmised before we left our rooms. Then, the mysterious case of the body. It is quite simple, isn't it?"he asked, looking at us.
Mr. Lestrade and I continued to stare at Holmes, for we still could not see how the body was placed there with no signs of footprints.
"He was thrown over the fence" he said, after a moment's silence.
"Thrown? Through such a distance, Mr. Holmes? Quite impossible!" the Inspector exclaimed.
"When no other explanation is possible, the only possible explanation is the truth. Also, there's the matter of the broken bones. Watson, you may not remember, but I have done a study about how far bruising was possible after death. But, like you've remarked, one man could not have thrown him. So, there had been a group of men who had come to kill him. A group of men who had chased the couple from W-. Therefore, clearly, they were not locals. Thus, the only place where they could reside was in an inn or a farm. An inn was more likely because farms do not generally let five burly men lodge. I chose to visit the taverns first, for I surmised that the men would like to drink after completing their task after much hard-work. I waited till they were too drunk, helped them to their rooms after they collapsed and stole the documents. After everyone returned, I simply locked the door from the outside with the help of the inn-keeper's boy. The only upside was any delay in Mrs. Pesarro's part would have been fatal to our plans, for the thugs had bought tickets to leave the very morning we caught them. The possession part was a bit difficult, for I presumed that the evidence was hidden in a tobacco pipe or his bookcase or some such thing. But no, he said with my possession, not inside my possession. With could have meant that it was human. So, I surmised that the favorite possession of a man could be his friends. I asked Lestarde to find out who his friends were and find out if any of them were handed books for safe-keeping. Anything else?"
"Holmes, why did the thugs throw the man? They could have put him anywhere, why there?"
"That was their mistake, Watson or I would have never been invited to the case. You remember how this group likes to kill people? They make them look like accidents so that nothing could be traced back to them. You see the brilliance in the plan. The body would be thrown in the graveyard. The country people are far more superstitious than us, the city-dwellers. The country policeman actually asked the wife if her husband practiced black magic. The thugs have nothing that can be traced back to them. It was clear that the men were thugs, doing the bidding of a clever leader. In fact, it reminded me of Moriarty. Kill one Moriarty, another one arises" Holmes sighed, sinking back into his chair.
"Well, I hope another Holmes will arise too when you are gone, Sir. The world would be a very bad place to live in, otherwise," Lestrade said, and left.
My friend was often emotionless, for he believed emotion often clouded reason. But, at times like these, his pride in being able to help people would clearly show, and it was easy to believe, that despite his intelligence and habits, he too, was only human.