AN: Prompt at end of chapter.
The Case of the Watford Kidnaping
Holmes had received a caller at midday, a young gentleman hardly more than a boy by name of Anthony Kershaw, son of the shipping magnate Reginald Kershaw. Holmes had called me down from my room to join in the meeting. Anthony Kershaw looked as distressed as ever I have seen a young person, though he bore up well.
"Now, Mr. Kershaw, please explain the reason for your visit," said Holmes.
"My father's home was burgled last evening, Mr. Holmes, and my younger brother Peter was kidnapped," said our guest, sitting on the edge of our settee.
"Kidnapped?" Holmes frowned and set aside his half-loaded pipe. "That is tragic. This has been reported to the police?"
"We called them in last evening," Anthony Kershaw confirmed. "Unfortunately, they arrived too late to capture the thieves."
"Has there been a ransom demand?" I asked.
"No sir," young Mr. Kershaw said. "Though there might be one by the time I return home."
"And home is where?" asked Holmes.
"My family has a small estate in Watford," replied Mr. Kershaw.
"How was your brother kidnapped?" I asked.
"Well, Doctor, it was late in the evening and the entire household was in bed. Noises roused my father and he took his shotgun and went downstairs. He found two men in the dining room, filling a sack with our silverware and whatever else they could find. Father called to me and said I should run to fetch Constable Hardy. Though I wore only my dressing gown and slippers, I obeyed. Apparently, as soon as I went out of the front door, the two men attempted to go out of the back through the kitchen. My father got between them and the door by going through the parlor and blocking the hallway. Blevins, our butler, blocked the way to the servants' quarters. Trapped, the men turned up the stairs and at the head of the stairs was Peter. The first man grabbed him and held a knife to his throat, demanding my father let them pass. Father had no choice. He allowed them to exit the back door."
"Did he pursue?" Holmes asked.
"Both he and Blevins followed," young Kershaw said. "At the back gate where there is little light, the men faded into the shadows and disappeared, calling out warnings that they should not be followed. Is it hopeless, Mr. Holmes?"
"It is grim," said Holmes, taking up his pipe and leaning back in his chair to light it. "I would not yet say it is hopeless. Have you a description of these thieves?"
"All I can tell you is that they were of average height and wore dark clothing," Kershaw said. "Black cloths covered their faces so that I could not even tell whether or not they had beards."
"Eye color?" Holmes asked.
"Really, sir, in all of the excitement, I did not notice."
"Yes. No surprise there," murmured Holmes. "The cloths covered their faces entirely?"
"They were drawn up over their noses." Anthony Kershaw frowned in thought, adding, "They wore woolen watch caps such as seamen often wear. So I cannot even tell you the color of their hair."
"I can see you are distressed, Mr. Kershaw," said Holmes, rising. "You have nothing to reproach yourself for. You acted quickly and did your best. More could be asked of no one."
"Indeed," I said, for I agreed entirely with my friend.
"Watson and I will return with you to Watford by the next train." Holmes was already heading for his room. "Give me a moment to collect a few things and we will be on our way."
A short journey later, we three stood in the dining room of the Kershaw residence with the master of the house who looked much worse for the evening's events. His wife, he explained, remained abed, exhausted from worry.
"You have touched nothing since interrupting the criminals?" Holmes asked our client.
"Nothing," said Mr. Kershaw. "Everyone is quite upset, as you can imagine, Mr. Holmes. Lydia, our housekeeper, has been attending my wife, and Blevins asked permission to join the search along with the grooms."
"It is well nothing has been touched, Mr. Kershaw." Holmes knelt to examine the ornate china cabinet with its doors and drawers still open. "They did not pilfer everything."
From what I assume must have been the silverware drawer, Holmes extracted two knives and a serving spoon.
"Those are from a set my uncle gave us as a wedding gift," Mr. Kershaw said. "All lost now. I would give them ten times what they stole to have my son back. Why have they asked no ransom, Mr. Holmes? I would pay whatever they desire."
"No doubt you would, sir," Holmes said, rising and setting the items on the large dining table. "As to why they have asked no ransom, I can only speculate. Probably it is because they never intended to kidnap anyone and now find themselves in serious difficulty determining what they can do to get clear of it. Thieving is a bad crime with serious consequences. Kidnapping is far worse with commensurately worse consequences."
"Inspector Ross from the Yard said as much, Mr. Holmes." Reginald Kershaw wrung his hands in his agitation. "He has posted a man at the train station while he, himself leads a party about the countryside, searching barns and out of the way places."
"Why?" Holmes asked.
"He believes these men are from some other village. Perhaps from London," said our client.
Holmes glanced at me with that gleam in his eye that let me know what he thought of the inspector's reasoning.
"Mr. Kershaw, if you will allow Watson and me to change our clothes, I will endeavor to locate your young son." Holmes picked up the large, battered Gladstone bag he had packed before we departed our rooms in Baker Street.
Minutes later, Holmes and I were dressed as workmen and with the loan of a gardener's spade, we tramped out of the back gate of the Kershaw estate and down the lane, deeper into the village.
"You clearly have something in mind, Holmes," said I, propping the spade on my as we negotiated the frost-crusted lane. "You do not agree with the inspector that the kidnappers fled into the countryside."
"Ask yourself, Watson, why the thieves wore cloths over their faces," said he.
"Obviously, they did not wish to be recognized," I said.
"If they were from elsewhere, would they have covered their faces entirely?"
"Perhaps," I said. "A balaclava might protect them from the cold, as well. That could be why they chose that disguise over simple masks."
"It could be," Holmes allowed. "If that is the case, the inspector and his men will have as good a chance as we to find Peter Kershaw."
"You do not believe they will find him, though."
"I do not," Holmes confirmed.
"So while they search the countryside, you intend searching the village," I said.
"Exactly, Watson."
"Thus the disguises," I said.
"Better to look like common laborers for this purpose," said he. "Given that this is the lane they chose for their escape, would you not agree it is the best place to begin our search?"
"But it is so well traveled, Holmes. How will we determine where they went?" Scanning our surroundings, I could make little of the many tracks in the snow. I knew Holmes was vastly skilled, far more so than I, but he would need to be a magician to distinguish which two pair of tracks would lead us to the kidnapped boy.
"It looks bad, I know," he admitted. "Had the inspector and his men not made a mess of the only certain tracks, our task would not be nearly as difficult. Nevertheless, Watson, it is far better to start from a known location than to flit about like a wren building a nest. I suspect we will not go far before something presents itself."
So, in the cold of a December afternoon, Holmes and I trod the lane as if in search of work or on some errand for an employer. We had covered more than a mile in our quest before Holmes tugged at my sleeve.
"Do not stop, Watson, but tell me what you see there, ahead." He spoke in a low tone, loud enough for only me to hear.
Looking, I saw nothing save more tracks in the snow and the glitter of sunlight from the ice. I shook my head.
"Look to the left, Watson," said he. "At the upper window of that house."
"Seems one of the panes is knocked out," I said. "That would explain why the curtains are drawn."
"It might," said Holmes. "We shall pass the house, but do not you spare it a glance. Down at the next cross street we shall turn our course back towards the Kershaw residence. The official police will now be of greater use."
Though I wished to question my friend, I did not. As had occurred so many times in my long association with Holmes, he had deduced something that I had completely missed I trusted all would be made clear soon enough.
As Holmes had indicated we should do, he and I turned left onto the next cross street, maintaining our leisurely gait until we had crossed two more lanes and then Holmes picked up the pace so that I had to trot after him. At the Kershaw home, our lungs burning with the cold air we had breathed, Holmes asked young Kershaw to fetch the inspector and as many constables as the man had available. It took half an hour for the inspector to return with six men, only two of which were constables. The others being house staff and three local volunteers, variously armed with improvised truncheons.
"Now what's this all about, Mr. Holmes?" demanded Inspector Ross, an active man of forty odd years.
"I am all but certain I know where Peter Kershaw is secreted," Holmes said without preamble.
"We've searched all morning," grumbled Ross. "The constables searched all last evening until they were too weary to continue. How can you have discovered the boy's whereabouts in only a few hours' time?"
"Inspector Ross," Mr. Kershaw said, coming into the foyer dressed for the weather and bearing a shotgun, "Mr. Holmes has explained his intentions to me and I will trust his judgement in this. I suggest you do the same."
"Inspector," Holmes said seriously. "All of your searching has yielded nothing. Correct?"
"True, but I suspect the men have fled the area," said Ross. "I have notified the surrounding villages to be on the lookout for two men and a boy, and provided a description of Peter Kershaw."
"In that case, what have you to lose by aiding us?" Holmes asked reasonably.
Under the hard gaze of Mr. Kershaw, Inspector Ross relented. Taking the most direct route, Holmes led the way back to the house with the broken upper story window. The volunteers deployed around the yard and we made ready to assist the inspector and his constables as they broke down the door and entered the house. Reginald and Anthony Kershaw were right on their heels with Holmes and me bringing up the rear. Shouts of surprise from the kitchen were followed by Ross ordering the residents to surrender. Our assault had apparently interrupted the criminals in the midst of their supper and the pair could not have looked more surprised.
"We didn't do nothing!" the elder of the two proclaimed, his hands held high above his head.
"We're innocent!" cried the younger.
"Silas Crawford!" shouted Mr. Kershaw, leveling his shotgun. "And you, Jim Crawford! What have you done with my son?"
"Mr. Kershaw?" breathed the younger man, his eyes wide and face pale.
"Speak or so help me I will blow your head clean from your shoulders!" the father roared. His anger was such as to make lions quail.
"He's upstairs!" cried the older man, stepping back and tripping so that he fell into his seat once more.
"We didn't hurt him!" cried the younger man even as one of the constables laid hands upon him.
Before Holmes and I could reach the stairs, Anthony Kershaw sprang up them, calling for his younger brother.
"Peter!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Peter, where are you?"
Muffled bumps and low cries emanated from behind one of three plank doors. Anthony threw his shoulder into it, rebounded and readied to do it again. Holmes pulled him back and tried the latch. The door swung in with a squeak of unoiled hinges. Revealed was a ten-year-old boy in his nightclothes, bound with strips of canvas and gagged. In the corner of the cramped room sat two sacks bulging with loot. Anthony went instantly to his brother and tore off the gag before working on his bonds.
"I knew you would come!" Peter cried excitedly, grinning as if he had just won a game of hide and seek. "Did you find it? I threw it as hard as I could. I was going to throw more but they caught me and tied me up again."
"Find what?" Anthony asked, clearly delighted to have his brother back and safe.
"The fork!" Peter said as his elder brother led him from the room.
"What fork?" Anthony asked.
"The fork I found in the road," said Holmes.
I gaped at my friend for I had seen no fork during our walk.
"I broke the window and threw the fork so you could find me!" Peter said, and spying Reginald Kershaw, he sprang into his father's arms. "I knew you would find me."
Father and son embraced, speaking no further words until we were outside in the frosty air.
"I do not know how you did it, Mr. Holmes," said Mr. Kershaw. "I am profoundly glad you did, though."
"My task was made easier by young Peter, sir," said Holmes, watching as Inspector Ross and the constables frog marched the Crawford brothers up the street. "Follow me and I will show you how clever your son is."
Around the back of the house on the narrow lane Holmes and I had followed earlier that afternoon, Holmes strode directly to a spot near its edge.
"Here it is," said he, pointing at the ice and snow.
"What is it, Holmes?" I asked. "I can see nothing."
Holmes bent and snapped a piece of ice, casting it aside before picking up a silver cake fork. The brightly polished metal sparkled in the sunlight.
"I thought it was no more than ice," said I.
"I untied myself," Peter said as his father wrapped him in his coat. "Jim Crawford doesn't know how to tie knots. He made them loose and I got out of them. It was dark up there but I could see the window and I knew where the sacks were, so I broke one of the panes and threw the fork. I should have thrown one of the ladles. That would have been easier to see."
"You did very well, my boy!" crowed the father, bouncing the lad in his arms and spinning in place, all worry and grief having left him. "And now, we shall return you home and eat a hearty supper. You're hungry. I can hear your tummy rumbling."
"Oh yes, please!" cried Peter.
"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, I beg that you should join us," said Mr. Kershaw. "I am afraid our table setting will be modest, but we will make up for that somehow. Say you will come."
Elated at our success, Holmes and I accompanied the Kershaws back to their home and enjoyed a good supper, though it was somewhat later than we would normally dine. Days later, we learned that the Crawford brothers had done some carpentry in the cellar of the Kershaw home and it was then they had settled on a plan to burgle the place. Being known to the family, they had chosen to wear the balaclavas to conceal their identities. Though this case was not among Holmes's masterpieces, it was certainly one of the most satisfying in his career.
Prompt from Wordwielder: The fork in the road