CHAPTER TWO

All crime is a disease and should be treated as such. – Mahatma Gandhi

Dr. Ives had aged noticeably in the sixteen years since last I saw him – and he had been close to sixty then -- but he still retained his ramrod-straight carriage, bristling caterpillars of eyebrows, and gaze that shows slight contempt at the world in general. His hair was all iron-grey and white but his eyes were still that fierce blue I remembered from my time in Peshawar. He had lost the deep tan bestowed by the Indian sun and his face was innumerably lined and creased from decades of working in tropical army field hospitals. Though Ives was not a tall man – barely four inches over five feet – his presence was that of a man far larger. All in all, I was left with the impression that the man had changed little physically. And I had no doubt time had not softened his brusque and imperial nature either.

When he opened his mouth my suspicions were confirmed. "I trust I am not interrupting anything of great importance, Mr. Holmes?" asked Ives although the tone of his voice indicated he did not much care if he were.

"Certainly not, Doctor. In point of fact, I had only just commented that your mystery might be an interesting diversion from what has been a rather tedious and overdrawn problem. Pray take a seat" – Holmes waved a hand towards the couch – "and give me the full account, omitting no details, however inconsequential they may seem."

Until this point Ives had not so much as glanced my way. As he sat, however, his gaze raked over me from head to toe in a most unsettling appraisal.

Holmes watched out interplay with interest. "Dr. Ives, my friend and colleague –"

"Dr. John Watson," Ives broke in. He smile a trifle tightly. "I thought it was you when I read those stories in the Strand. You're looking far better than last I saw you. Kindly refrain from offering me the same sentiment lest I lose respect for your diagnostic abilities."

I felt myself smile in return even as I began to chafe already under the roughness of Ives's speech. "Given those circumstances, I could not have been much worse off the last time you saw me so nearly anything would be an improvement. As for yourself . . . well, sixteen years can do much to a man. At any rate, you have not yet 'paid your debt to nature.'"

"No, but it is the interest on that debt that will wreck a man," returned Ives. "Which reminds me: was I right, about that 'barometer'?"

It took me a moment to understand what he was asking. "We both were," I conceded.

Ives barked a short laugh more a cough than mirth and turned his attention back to my friend. "Well, Mr. Holmes, I confess I am slightly disappointed. You have not yet offered to dazzle me with deductions about where I have come from and what my business is. Have you had adequate time to observe me or would you care for a few minutes more?"

I could have laughed aloud as Holmes stared at him a moment in silence. We had seen our share of imposing clients but usually theirs was a position of desperateness. Ives appeared to have none such urgency behind his visit that might temper or make bearable his curt mannerisms.

Recovering his presence of mind quickly, Holmes leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "Since you expressed such interest, I can tell you that you have spent the majority of your life in the service of the British Army, much of it spent as head surgeon of various field hospitals. You were stationed in Peshawar in 1880 and discharged from the army around 1891. Since returning to England you have neither retired nor bought a practice but instead have been working at a clinic specializing in treating members of the lower classes. You live alone save for a housekeeper of inconsistent habits, shun all but the strongest tobaccos, rarely touch spirits, and have come to ask me to investigate the murder of one Dr. Douglas Chamberlain."

I observed Ives closely during this delivery. I have heard Holmes's deductions met with abject astonishment and also dismissed as mere "parlour tricks." Ives responded by raising one of his grizzled eyebrows in mild appreciation.

"Spot on, Mr. Holmes. However, I would be far more impressed if you can tell me that which I do not already know."

Holmes flashed him a brief smile. "Certainly, Doctor. What precisely is it you wish to know?"

"You are aware that poor Chamberlain was murdered last night," Ives replied. "Perhaps you are of the events leading up to it?"

To my surprise, Holmes looked somewhat discomforted by the question. His eyes flicked to me so quickly I could barely credit it. Then he nodded abruptly. "I am."

"I wish to know who is behind this, and why, and how to prevent the next murder."

"The next murder?" I asked, unable to help myself.

I found myself on the receiving end of a gaze I remembered all too well. "Of course there will be another murder!" Ives exclaimed. "Haven't you read of how the harassment has escalated? And now that the blackguard has sunk to murder, surely he will continue down this depraved path. Does this not seem logical, Mr. Holmes?"

Holmes looked more discomforted than before but there was a more pressing point of interest for me that I did not hesitate to voice. "What harassment? Of Chamberlain? If the man is already dead who could possibly be his murderer's next victim?"

Ives gaped at me in what must have been one of the few moments in his life where he was struck dumb. Before he could respond, however, Holmes demanded, "Tell me, Dr. Ives, how you became aware of the pattern."

Ives glanced from Holmes to me and a strange sort of light grew in his eyes. He sat back and sighed with the air of man who sees the way of things and spoke. "Unlike some, I have kept in touch with my colleagues in the army after my discharge. Of course, it is easier when one's colleagues were not massacred almost to a man at Maiwand" – here Ives gave me a sympathetic nod – "but that is neither here nor there. There may have been instances of harassment prior to the visit paid to Dr. Thomas Knopp, but that was the first one I was aware of."

"Early March," Holmes murmured.

"Quite. Knopp is an acquaintance of mine so the article in the Times caught my attention. I contacted him out of curiosity and he told me that this was not an isolated incident. In fact, it was his third. At the time we both considered it odd but attached no significance to it. It was only when I happened to mention it in passing to General Malkin that he told me he had undergone a similar experience nearly three weeks before."

At that Holmes gave a start. "I was unaware of that. He fits the profile?"

"He does indeed. He too thought nothing of it, didn't even bother to report it to the authorities. However, my suspicions had been raised. I sent out word to those I kept in touch with, asking them if they had had similar experiences. A few had." Here Ives paused and gave Holmes a knowing look. "Not all of them reported the harassment to the authorities."

Holmes acknowledged this with a wave of his hand. "The reports were not printed with regularity until early April."

"Yes, part of that is my doing. Once I saw what was happening I sent out word to my acquaintances to be on their guards, and asked them to spread the word as well. Eventually more doctors came forward with their stories and as the violence escalated, I knew it was only a matter of time before the inevitable happened. Now that it has, I wish to prevent another murder. I am surprised, Dr. Watson, that you were unaware of this."

"I have read no account of doctors being harassed," I admitted flatly. A terrible idea was only just blossoming in my mind, one so repugnant I could barely admit it into my consciousness.

"Not doctors!" Ives snapped. "Men who once served as doctors in the British Army who now live in London. There are not that many of us who fit this criteria. How is it you missed those Times articles?"

I had no excuse to offer. How had I missed those articles? Surely I was not as dense as all that. My gaze fell upon Holmes and I felt suddenly sickened. My friend's odd behavior had begun around early April; about that time he had taken to disappearing into his room with newspapers. While both he and the papers had eventually resurfaced, was I willing to swear that the papers had returned to the sitting room wholly intact? I found I was not.

Ives proved just as adept at reading my expression as Holmes was. "Ah. Your friend Holmes has gone out of his way to keep you in the dark." He looked back to Holmes, as did I.

My stomach dropped further when I saw that Holmes had gone quite still and white. "I wanted to be sure of the danger before I burdened Watson with undue concern," he said to Ives. He did not meet my eyes, nor did I wish him to.

"I think the danger has been confirmed," replied the old surgeon, with his most imperial tone. "And now that it has, what is our course of action?"

Holmes sprang from his chair and turned his back to us while he sloughed off his mouse coloured dressing gown. "We shall venture to the morgue and see what can be discovered from examining the body of Dr. Douglas Chamberlain. If you will excuse me, I will hail us a cab."

"Do not trouble yourself, Mr. Holmes," said Ives, also rising. "I shall see to that." He gave me a look that can only be described as sympathetic and left us alone in the sitting room.

Holmes and I stared at each other in silence. Holmes was deathly white and looked more ill at ease than I have ever seen him, save during our mad flight through Europe that ended at Reichenbach. This association only increased my turmoil. Again I was a victim of Holmes's deception.

"So you 'trust me as you trust no other man'?" I asked bitterly.

"Watson . . ."

"Ives is waiting," I interrupted and turned from him.