The Adventure Of Holland Park
A/N A first go at writing Holmes. For the pleasure in ACD and the memory of Jeremy Brett.
The ability of my friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes to completely immerse himself within a case, is one I both admire and fear. When the pursuit of truth and justice overtakes him to such a degree, he may go for days barely sleeping or eating. His already gaunt features pinch inwards, yet the light dances from his quick eyes. Such a period occurred in the early spring of '8_ when I was working for a few weeks as Locum for a colleague in Great Portland Street. During the hours I spent within 221b, I was privy to bangs from his room, paper rustles, endless pacing and occasional snatches of violin at odd hours. But I scarcely saw Holmes at all, for he would often depart near dawn and return late. When he did keep me company, any attempt to engage in conversation proved futile.
"I shall not trouble you Watson with half a problem," he said, "especially as you have labours of your own to fulfil. When the clouds part and I can see potential for one of your narratives then you will be the first to know."
Late Friday afternoon, having completed my administrations I sat in my chair, warmed by the fire and must have fallen asleep, for the next thing I knew was the distant knock of the front door, followed by the tread of two persons on the stair. Mrs Hudson led a dirty and dishevelled creature into my presence.
"A visitor, Doctor. I'm afraid I cannot say Gentleman." The lady withdrew.
I looked upon this caller, stooping and shaking. Trying to apply some of Holmes' own methods I surmised from his clothing and demeanour that he was rough working man, once strong but brought down and broken by hard graft, poor living conditions and very likely alcohol.
"Where is he? Mr.'Olmes," the man barked.
"I am afraid Mr Holmes is engaged elsewhere, but if you have information for him pray give it to me. I am Dr John Watson his close confident."
"Nah! I need the organ grinder, not the monkey."
I must admit to being a little put out by this remark, but common decency precluded any riposte. "Then perhaps you would prefer to leave a note, or advise of an address where you may be contacted."
"Leave a note. When do you think I've had time for reading and writing? Digging and ditchin' man and boy that's me. You tell Mr 'Olmes if he wants to solve his riddle then to find old 'arry at the Three Bells. You got that?"
Knowing that this strange visitor may prove to be the key to the case so troubling Holmes, I found my heart softening towards him. "Certainly I shall. I am sorry that I do not know when he will return, but you are welcome to wait here while I organise refreshment." But my companion had already turned his back to me and was heading for the door.
"That will not be necessary Watson," Holmes said in his usual voice and turned back to face me, suddenly upright and proud. "I do hope I have not hurt your feelings too badly, you must forgive my little charade, it has been an intense time and I simply could not resist carrying my disguise into our chambers."
"Well you certainly had me fooled."
Holmes looked upon me kindly. "In this light for a short period, maybe," he replied, "though I cannot claim the same success with the redoubtable Mrs Hudson, who had me to rights instantly; and is at this very moment preparing 'tea things.' For we have a long night ahead of ourselves Watson, assuming you are happy to join me."
"Always," said I.
"Excellent, allow me to wash away the worst of this grime and I will then explain."
A short while later we sat at the table overlooking Baker Street and Holmes put the facts before me.
"Nine days ago I was visited by Lady T_," and here I trust the reader will understand my discretion, "regarding an incident of stolen jewellery, precious to her and not without monitory value." He paused to sup allowing me to interject.
"So that is what has been concerning you. Though I do not understand why this lady came to you and not the regular police."
"The matter is, ha, somewhat delicate. The jewels were taken from a house in Holland Park, in the early hours of Wednesday. The property is not owned by the Lady's husband.
"Ah," I said, "I see."
"Lady T_ was, shall we say, residing with Mr Horace Carlyle, a professional card player and gambler of the turf, and as I have discovered a rather successful one. It was he in fact who suggested she consult me. The outline of the case is straightforward enough. The lady kept the jewels in her own room, that evening she had complained of feeling unwell and extreme tiredness at dinner and retired early. On waking at 9am the next morning the jewels were missing. Suspicion fell upon Carlyle's maidservant, but on a thorough search of her and her room nothing was found. When I visited the property I too drew blank, both in the servant's quarters and, after ill grace, Carlyle's own room and safe. The only other relevant facts are that I found plain foot marks on the back lawn (the night as you will recall was damp) and that work is being undertaken nearby on an extension of the underground railway line. So what do you yourself make of the case?"
I sucked on a cigar for a moment. "Well, construction work would suggest a large number of poorer young men in the neighbourhood than is usually found. As the maid seems to be innocent then it seems likely temptation got the better of one of these fellows. So I suppose you affected the disguise to track him down."
"Excellent Watson, you have outlined succinctly, exactly what one is meant to think. But ask yourself this, why would an opportunist burglar strike a second bedroom of what should be a bachelor's residence and what caused Lady C_ to seek her bed so early?"
"Why do you have to make things complicated Holmes," I huffed.
"Because I cannot abide loose ends. To answer your question, I took on the role of a navi in order to obtain more information."
"And what did you learn?"
"Much. That a young man by name of Michael O'Conner had recently begun courting a pretty chamber maid, had gone to the house in question on the relevant night, had thrown gravel up at the maid's window (directly above Lady C_'s) and subsequently left."
"With the stolen goods no doubt."
"No, no, that would have been far too trusting. O'Conner swore to me he left empty handed and I believe him. For the next morning the maid asked him to hide a key, belonging to a left luggage vault at Paddington Station, under the pretext of her master having left a birthday gift there for a friend and was frightened it would be discovered. The key would be reclaimed early Saturday morning to bring about the birthday surprise."
Obviously had I known this part I would not have jumped to my premature conclusion, but I now felt on safer ground. "So trace the keyholder and you find the thief," I said.
"Exactly, and that is what I propose you and I do tonight between say 2am and the opening of Paddington Station."
We took up position in the cold pre-dawn. Hidden behind a hedge we were afforded a view of the shabby workman's hut wherein Holmes assured me the key was hidden.
"It seems a very long winded process," I remarked, "why didn't the maid simply retain the key?"
"Because the key design is very specific to the trained eye," replied Holmes. "I wrote a short monograph on the subject some time ago. Had I spotted it in Holland Park it would have instantly raised my suspicions. No, it was vital that the key was kept away from the property, to maintain the illusion of our housemaid's innocence. For I am certain it was she who administered a sleeping draft in Lady C_'s meal, took the jewels during the night and deposited them at Paddington early that morning."
"But for whom?"
"Who indeed Watson," and I set my mind to this task, the feel of my revolver snug in my pocket giving me comfort in the dankness.
After a few false alarms it was just after 5 am when a shadowy figure approached the hut, setting a dark lantern to the ground he forced the door with his shoulder. In picking up the light again his stocky features became briefly illuminated. As the hut door closed Holmes gave a muted cry of triumph.
"Mr Carlyle I presume," I said.
"Oh very good my dear fellow, your mind is improving. What put you onto the scent?"
I had been thinking the problem over for some considerable time so had my reasons well ordered. "It struck me," I responded, "that any man who has he whit and fortune to make a living from gambling and yet treats the fairer sex as if they were trinkets to be enticed from their husbands' like trout from a lake, is not to be trusted."
"Bravo!" had we not been in such an incongruous position I believe he may have applauded, and I felt little warmer under my collar. "I knew I could rely on you for the human element. I merely considered him the most probable suspect. Through remember, it was Carlyle who suggested engaging me in the first place. I fear darker forces are at work here. The arrogance Watson, the arrogance."
Just then the hut door reopened and Carlyle scurried down the street. When he was almost out of our sight Holmes sprung into action and followed, I tailing behind, stiff from our long wait. We paused in a doorway and Holmes whispered to me. "As there are no enterprising cabmen to be found I'll wager our man is heading for Edgware Road station," and so it proved. The first of the city's workforce were just beginning their journey's and the small knot of people gave us some protection and cover as we watched Carlyle bob restlessly further down the platform, smoking a thin cigarette. Thus when the train pulled in we were able to enter an adjoining carriage undetected.
We pursued our quarry into the waking cathedral of rail that is Paddington station, where as expected Carlyle headed for left luggage.
"I wonder if we will fortunate enough to witness handover of the gems?" Holmes muttered. Horace Carlyle produced a small leather bag from the vault in front of him, and looked about him just at the moment our cover thinned, a group of men concealing us moving towards a platform. In an instant he was running as fast as his heels could carry, Holmes sprinting after crying "Stop Sir." Dodging hand carts and piles of luggage Carlyle left the station building pounding up the road. Somewhere a police whistle shrilled. Holmes' encyclopaedic knowledge of London's street maze afforded us an advantage. On a road bridge we were soon one move from check-mate, blocking the felon's passage forward with a uniformed office approaching from the other direction.
"It is over," cried Holmes, "lay down the bag." Carlyle was breathing deeply, sweat on his face a wild, maniacal look to his eyes. "I have failed Mr Holmes, the consequences of this will not serve me well."
I spoke, in an attempt to reduce his worry. "Give yourself over quietly and the Courts will show mercy."
"There can be no mercy for me," the man responded, "my task was to outplay the great detective Sherlock Holmes and I have been roundly bested. He will not show mercy." Carlyle was climbing on the parapet." Holmes darted forward. "Who man?"
"Moriarty," and Horace Carlyle leaped from the bridge, dropping into the path of a departing express train, hissing and squealing with horrible, unstoppable, mechanical determination.