THE TRIPLE CONUNDRUM
Thinking about cases that I have been involved in over the last few years with my friend Sherlock Holmes, none sticks out in my mind so prominently than that of the Lenoir triplets. This was a real conundrum that required all of Sherlock's and my skills acquired over the last few years.
We had been sitting in the living room of our house in Baker Street having a quiet pipe before turning in when our housekeeper Mrs Hudson interrupted us to say that their was a young man from Devon to see us. She explained that he was very insistent and had refused to leave and wait until morning. Neither of us could imagine who could possibly want to see us at such an hour.
His name it turned out was Thomas Lenoir. He had a shock of red hair that made his face look even paler and drawn than it already was. We could tell almost immediately that his face had blanched in such a way due to pure fear. He was dressed in the manner one would expect of a country gentleman - boots, breeches, a frock coat and a top hat. He needed no prompting to tell us the whole story.
"I live in Devon" he explained "on a large and isolated farm far from the nearest town of Tavistock. I used to be one of a set of identical triplets that ran the farm. Last winter was a particularly bad one even by Dartmoor standards and the snow lay a foot thick on the ground. My brother George was forced by necessity to go and check on the sheep on Crossing's Moor. He never came back. It was assumed that he had got lost coming back over Sheep's Tor where he got caught in the blizzard and maybe hearing the wind whistling through the tor thought it was somebody screaming in agony. In a blind panic maybe it was thought that he blundered across the moor and found himself in Great Grimpen mires. He never came back. Now it is winter again and only a month ago an attempt was made on my other brother's life. The person was armed with a knife but James is a strapping lad and he fought off his attacker. Who ran off through the window. James fears that he may make another attempt, but this time maybe he will be successful. Then he will come after me. I hope you can help me. The only description James gave was that his attacker had black hair as black as jet. "
Thomas left then to stay at his club in Piccadilly and Sherlock said to me " Watson pack your toothbrush and your pistol and tomorrow we will set off for Devon ". We then turned in and that morning at quarter past seven Sherlock knocked me up and urged me to hurry, as we had to catch a train from Paddington.
We sat in silence reading the papers and smoking our pipes until we reached Exeter where we disembarked and hired a trap to take us to the Lenoir farm. When we arrived we met James and Thomas and we walked around the farm for a while. James told his version of the night he was attacked. Then Holmes began to question the pair. "Did you actually see the body of your brother buried or was it assumed he had perished?" Questioned Holmes "It was assumed that he had died" answered James "No one of us will benefit from his death as everything is left to the surviving brothers in all our wills. Everything will be shared equally between us. "Are all you triplets identical?" Wondered Holmes "Yes" said Thomas "We are exactly alike from our hair to our feet" "Did your brother like dogs?" "Well no, he hated them, and them he" answered Thomas "One final question" Said Holmes "Are you sure your attacker had black hair "Yes as sure as I ever will be" finished James
At that point Holmes and I retired to he village inn that was over five miles away to deliberate the case. He and I sat in complete silence until Holmes broke it. "Tonight" he said, "I have a feeling that our mysterious attacker will strike again, so James Lenoir will sleep here and we will lie in wait for the perpetrator. Watson, can you still ride?" "Well sort of, I haven't ridden for ages" "We need to hire two horses. I have a feeling that our perpetrator will flee by horse"
That night we sat in a long and silent vigil. Thomas and James had refused to leave us alone and kept a vigil with us. The friendly farm dogs lay at their feet. Fully alert, bodies tense. Thomas and James had brought their Purdeys with them and Holmes and I had our pistols unloaded. About two o'clock the farm dogs rose and prowled around, their hackles rose and growled deep in their throats. Then there was a splintering of glass and a dark figure appeared at the gap and forced his way in. The four of us rose and the brothers shouldered their rifles as we loaded our pistols. Seeing this the perpetrator turned and fled towards the yard where the horses were stabled. Holmes and I followed with Thomas and James in hot pursuit. On reaching the yard the perpetrator entered the stall of George Lenoir's hunter and without saddling or bridling the beast galloped out of the yard. The four of us mounted the four other hunters and set off in pursuit. As his horse jumped a dry stone wall barring his way his black wig fell off to reveal a shock of brilliant red hair. This left no doubt in Holmes mind that this was George Lenoir whom everyone had thought dead. As we headed towards the famous Great Grimpen Mires Holmes let off two shots of his pistol. The four horses we were riding didn't even break stride but George's horse reared up in blind panic. George was unseated and as soon as he hit the ground he began to run. In his panic of being caught he ran straight into the mire and was sucked down in minutes.
As Holmes later commented to me it was an appropriate fate for someone who had pretended to die in the mires to perform the perfect crime with the perfect ending. Well for Holmes and I at least.
Thinking about cases that I have been involved in over the last few years with my friend Sherlock Holmes, none sticks out in my mind so prominently than that of the Lenoir triplets. This was a real conundrum that required all of Sherlock's and my skills acquired over the last few years.
We had been sitting in the living room of our house in Baker Street having a quiet pipe before turning in when our housekeeper Mrs Hudson interrupted us to say that their was a young man from Devon to see us. She explained that he was very insistent and had refused to leave and wait until morning. Neither of us could imagine who could possibly want to see us at such an hour.
His name it turned out was Thomas Lenoir. He had a shock of red hair that made his face look even paler and drawn than it already was. We could tell almost immediately that his face had blanched in such a way due to pure fear. He was dressed in the manner one would expect of a country gentleman - boots, breeches, a frock coat and a top hat. He needed no prompting to tell us the whole story.
"I live in Devon" he explained "on a large and isolated farm far from the nearest town of Tavistock. I used to be one of a set of identical triplets that ran the farm. Last winter was a particularly bad one even by Dartmoor standards and the snow lay a foot thick on the ground. My brother George was forced by necessity to go and check on the sheep on Crossing's Moor. He never came back. It was assumed that he had got lost coming back over Sheep's Tor where he got caught in the blizzard and maybe hearing the wind whistling through the tor thought it was somebody screaming in agony. In a blind panic maybe it was thought that he blundered across the moor and found himself in Great Grimpen mires. He never came back. Now it is winter again and only a month ago an attempt was made on my other brother's life. The person was armed with a knife but James is a strapping lad and he fought off his attacker. Who ran off through the window. James fears that he may make another attempt, but this time maybe he will be successful. Then he will come after me. I hope you can help me. The only description James gave was that his attacker had black hair as black as jet. "
Thomas left then to stay at his club in Piccadilly and Sherlock said to me " Watson pack your toothbrush and your pistol and tomorrow we will set off for Devon ". We then turned in and that morning at quarter past seven Sherlock knocked me up and urged me to hurry, as we had to catch a train from Paddington.
We sat in silence reading the papers and smoking our pipes until we reached Exeter where we disembarked and hired a trap to take us to the Lenoir farm. When we arrived we met James and Thomas and we walked around the farm for a while. James told his version of the night he was attacked. Then Holmes began to question the pair. "Did you actually see the body of your brother buried or was it assumed he had perished?" Questioned Holmes "It was assumed that he had died" answered James "No one of us will benefit from his death as everything is left to the surviving brothers in all our wills. Everything will be shared equally between us. "Are all you triplets identical?" Wondered Holmes "Yes" said Thomas "We are exactly alike from our hair to our feet" "Did your brother like dogs?" "Well no, he hated them, and them he" answered Thomas "One final question" Said Holmes "Are you sure your attacker had black hair "Yes as sure as I ever will be" finished James
At that point Holmes and I retired to he village inn that was over five miles away to deliberate the case. He and I sat in complete silence until Holmes broke it. "Tonight" he said, "I have a feeling that our mysterious attacker will strike again, so James Lenoir will sleep here and we will lie in wait for the perpetrator. Watson, can you still ride?" "Well sort of, I haven't ridden for ages" "We need to hire two horses. I have a feeling that our perpetrator will flee by horse"
That night we sat in a long and silent vigil. Thomas and James had refused to leave us alone and kept a vigil with us. The friendly farm dogs lay at their feet. Fully alert, bodies tense. Thomas and James had brought their Purdeys with them and Holmes and I had our pistols unloaded. About two o'clock the farm dogs rose and prowled around, their hackles rose and growled deep in their throats. Then there was a splintering of glass and a dark figure appeared at the gap and forced his way in. The four of us rose and the brothers shouldered their rifles as we loaded our pistols. Seeing this the perpetrator turned and fled towards the yard where the horses were stabled. Holmes and I followed with Thomas and James in hot pursuit. On reaching the yard the perpetrator entered the stall of George Lenoir's hunter and without saddling or bridling the beast galloped out of the yard. The four of us mounted the four other hunters and set off in pursuit. As his horse jumped a dry stone wall barring his way his black wig fell off to reveal a shock of brilliant red hair. This left no doubt in Holmes mind that this was George Lenoir whom everyone had thought dead. As we headed towards the famous Great Grimpen Mires Holmes let off two shots of his pistol. The four horses we were riding didn't even break stride but George's horse reared up in blind panic. George was unseated and as soon as he hit the ground he began to run. In his panic of being caught he ran straight into the mire and was sucked down in minutes.
As Holmes later commented to me it was an appropriate fate for someone who had pretended to die in the mires to perform the perfect crime with the perfect ending. Well for Holmes and I at least.