AN: Prompt at end of chapter
The Case of Bartholomew Lansdale
It was late December of 1887. I had spent most of my morning at my club, enjoying the company of my various acquaintances and the tales of army life they told. After tea, though, I returned to Baker Street, as I desired to organize the notes of Holmes's most recent case in preparation for submitting it to my publisher. Approaching Mrs. Hudson's house, I took note of a four-wheeler parked on the street and a short man I took to be someone's servant, perhaps a butler standing beside it, talking with the driver. The pair nodded to me in greeting as I passed them on the way to the front door.
"Ah! Watson," said Holmes when I entered our flat a minute later. "Excellent timing."
Looking to the hearth, I saw Holmes rising from his usual chair and two young people, perhaps brother and sister, in their mid-teens also rising from the settee. Hanging my bowler and ulster on a peg, I crossed the room.
"Doctor, allow me to introduce Carl and Rachel Lansdale," said Holmes, indicating the young gentleman and lady. Turning to them, he said, "This is my friend and associate, Doctor Watson."
"How do you do, sir," the pair said almost in unison, she curtseying and he bowing.
"I hope I am not interrupting," said I.
"Not at all, Doctor," Holmes said. "Your timing is perfect. We have only just introduced ourselves. Won't you join us?"
I took my seat while Holmes went through his usual preliminaries, asking the children why they had come.
"It is our brother we are concerned with, Mr. Holmes," said Carl Lansdale.
"And our mother," said Rachel Lansdale.
"Yes. I suppose her, too," agreed Carl.
"Definitely her," said Rachel.
"What about them?" Holmes asked, scrutinizing the pair.
"Mother says Bartholomew is going mad," said Carl.
"I don't think so," said Rachel.
"I think he is just very tired and overworked," the brother added.
"Ever since father died, Bartholomew has been spending long hours at the firm," the girl said.
"He comes home very late some days and is up to all hours dealing with paperwork," said Carl. "You see, he has taken on what father did and still has his own work to complete."
"It sounds quite stressful," I observed. "He does not rest? Has he any days when he does not work?"
"No," said Rachel. "Even Sundays he locks himself away in the library for hours."
"Why does your mother think Bartholomew is going mad?" asked Holmes.
The siblings looked at each other as if uncertain they should say.
"Come now," said Holmes. "If you wish us to help, you must trust us."
"Mother has a doctor," said Rachel after a moment.
"He isn't like you, Dr. Watson," said Carl.
"Not really a medical doctor." Rachel fidgeted and looked down at her hands. "He talks. He asks questions. Says odd things."
"And makes strange pronouncements," added her brother. "He told me I was too aggressive, and I don't know what that means. He told mother I should not ride horses because they are too dangerous and unpredictable, but I like riding horses. I want to be a cavalry officer."
"He told me I should eat more corn and less meat," said Rachel, making a face. "He says it will improve my intelligence. And he convinced mother to take away my bicycle because the feminine body is not meant for such strenuous exercise."
"You seem perfectly fine to me, my dear," I said, giving her an encouraging smile. "The man sounds like a crank."
"What is this doctor's name and what does he say about your elder brother?" Holmes asked, leaning back in his chair and taking up his pipe.
"Bartholomew is only our half-brother, Mr. Holmes," said Rachel.
"Doctor Hadley," said Carl. "He thinks Bartholomew needs to get away from London. He thinks Bartholomew should spend time at his clinic near Luton."
"I think it's some sort of farm," Rachel said. "He told me I should visit there to get some good country air and sleep on the porch. Wants me to feed chickens and sheep. He said that if I did that, I wouldn't want to eat meat anymore."
"Watson, ever heard of this Doctor Hadley?" asked Holmes.
I retrieved my registry, paging through it until I found the 'H' listing.
"No Hadleys in Luton," I reported. "Several scattered about, but none there."
"How many in London?" Holmes asked.
"Four in the metropolitan area," I said. "This one teaches at Bart's. I doubt he is the man in question."
"I should say not," said Carl with a laugh. "Dr. Hadley isn't the sort to teach anywhere, I should think."
"No indeed!" said Rachel.
"What does Dr. Hadley look like?" Holmes asked.
"He's quite tall," Rachel said. "Between you and Dr. Watson."
"Very thin," said Carl. "I should say he isn't half as robust as Dr. Watson. Wears a long, dark coat and has a square beard on his chin. No mustache and no side whiskers."
"That's right," confirmed his sister. "Smokes the most awful cigarettes. He gets them from Germany. Disgusting things. They do not smell like tobacco at all."
"And he never looks straight at you unless he is making one of his pronouncements," said Carl. "Always watches from the corner of his eye and gazes at other things while he listens."
"The color of his hair?" asked Holmes.
"Quite dark, but he oils it, so it is difficult to say," said Carl.
"That's something to start with," Holmes said. "Now, how is your brother behaving? I mean, other than his long hours of work."
"He seems unable to sleep, Mr. Holmes," Rachel said.
"He gets up at all hours of the night," Carl said. "I noticed it about this time last year. He would pace the hallway and when I would ask him what was wrong, Bartholomew would tell me to go back to bed."
"Lately, he has been sleeping in the library," said Rachel, wringing her hands in her lap. "I don't think he rests well, though. He has lost a good deal of weight and there are dark bags under his eyes."
"How old is Bartholomew?" I asked.
"Twenty-seven," they answered in unison.
"His mother died of fever when Bartholomew was only six," Rachel said.
"Was he healthy before his current decline?" Holmes asked.
"Very," Carl said. "He taught me to ride and shoot. We went hunting and fishing every year."
"He bought us bicycles and took us to the park to ride," said Rachel, a whimsical expression on her sweet face. "I do miss that."
"When was it that your mother began her association with this Dr. Hadley?" Holmes asked.
"Some time before father died," Rachel said, her expression falling.
"Father's regular doctor was concerned and suggested father take time away from work," Carl said.
"He had ulcers in his stomach," Rachel added.
"Mother arranged with Dr. Hadley for father to spend time at his clinic," said Carl.
"Did your father's health improve?" I asked.
"For a short while," said Carl. "And then it got worse. Mother insisted father do what Dr. Hadley prescribed and…"
"It didn't help," Rachel said when her brother could not finish. She placed a comforting hand on her brother's arm. "Father got worse and worse. No matter what medicines or changes of diet Dr. Hadley prescribed."
"Your brother is up at all hours," said Holmes. "Does he complain of anything?"
"He says nothing to us, but I have overheard him talking to mother and to Richards, our butler," said Carl. "He told mother he cannot sleep because he hears things. He told Richards there are two voices that speak to him in the middle of the night. They wake him and tell him things."
"Is Richards the man waiting with the four-wheeler?" I asked.
"Yes. We asked mother if we could go shopping for presents and she said we must bring Richards along," said Rachel.
"Is Richards your mother's servant or was he there before your father remarried?" Holmes asked.
"Bartholomew says Richards was father's footman and became the butler when the previous one retired to Kent," Carl said.
"I don't think mother likes Richards. She wanted to replace him," Rachel said. "But Bartholomew has told her Richards will have a position for as long as Richards wants one."
"Do you like Richards?" I asked.
"I suppose I do," said Rachel.
"I do." Carl lifted his chin as if ready to defend their servant. "He has so many stories to tell of when he worked on barges before his uncle got him the position as father's footman. He knows knots and taught me."
"Are there other servants?" Holmes asked.
"We have a cook and a maid," Rachel said. "Mrs. Wendt is ever so good in the kitchen and Mrs. Tetch is nice. She used to sing me to sleep whenever I was sick."
"Have they been with the family long?" Holmes asked.
"Nearly as long as Richards has," Carl said.
"Have either of you ever heard the voices your brother complains of?" Holmes asked.
Both children shook their heads.
Holmes rose and went to open one of the front windows. Leaning out, he called down to the street, asking Richards to join us. When the butler arrived, Holmes ushered him in and the man took station beside the settee where his charges sat.
"How may I help, sir?" asked Richards.
"Are you aware of the reason Carl and Rachel have come here?" asked Holmes.
"I am, sir," the butler said.
"Richards suggested our visit," Rachel said.
"Indeed? Why?" Holmes asked attentively.
"Forgive me, Mr. Holmes," said the butler. "I'm not sure it is my place to interfere."
"By suggesting this visit, you have already interfered, if that is the way you wish to view it," Holmes said.
A nod from Carl decided Richards and with an uncomfortable sigh, the man said, "Mr. Lansdale, the old Mr. Lansdale I mean, was kind to me, sir. He was a good man and Bartholomew Lansdale has been equally kind and quite generous. All three members of the staff had to watch as old Mr. Lansdale succumbed to his illness and we three fear for the health of his son. As Dr. Hadley seems unable to cure what ails the current Mr. Lansdale, I thought it would be wise to consult someone who might enlighten us on what we might do to rectify whatever afflicts him."
"You do not like Dr. Hadley," observed Holmes.
"It is not my place to voice such opinions, but in point of fact, I think the man holds too much sway over Mrs. Lansdale, sir."
Holmes sat back in his chair and puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. He turned his eyes to me and raised a questioning brow. I nodded, ready to support whatever course of action Holmes chose.
"Mr. Richards," said he, "do you think Mr. Lansdale would be willing to have my associate and myself pay him a visit?"
"I do not know," said the butler. "I am certain Mrs. Lansdale would reject any such suggestion."
"Does she run the house?" Holmes asked.
"She does not, sir," Richards said firmly.
"In that case, Richards, speak to your master while Mrs. Lansdale is not present. Be mindful she cannot hear the discussion. Perhaps it would be best if she were not in the house when you speak to Mr. Lansdale."
"I can do that, sir," Richards assured him.
"Miss Rachel, Mr. Carl, you have acted wisely in listening to Richards," Holmes said to the siblings. "You must continue to act so. Do not, whatever you do, mention this visit to your mother or to Dr. Hadley. In fact, it would be wise not to speak of it at all except to Richards and only when you can be sure no one else can overhear."
Brother and sister both glanced up at their butler then nodded emphatically to Holmes.
"Very well," said Holmes, rising. "Be sure you do your shopping. It would be unwise to return to your home without what you set out to get. Richards, send word to us when you have had an opportunity to speak to Mr. Lansdale. Until then, Watson and I will look into this Dr. Hadley."
When the butler and his charges departed, Holmes went to his shelf of commonplace books and pulled down the 'L' volume.
"Watson," said he, "there is no time to waste."
"What do you want me to do, Holmes?"
"Your connections in the medical field will be most useful in this case," he said, turning pages. "You know men you can trust. Make discrete inquiries among them about this Dr. Hadley. If that is his real name."
"You wish me to find out his real name?" I asked.
"That would be particularly useful but knowing the man's history and whatever you can discover of his supposed clinic in Luton will suffice."
"You wish me to start right away?" I asked.
"Momentarily," he said. He had stopped turning pages and set a long finger midway down one. "First, what do you think of Bartholomew Lansdale's condition? From what the children described, can you draw any conclusion?"
"You wish me to speculate without facts, Holmes," I said.
Holmes smiled and nodded in acknowledgement of my point.
"With so little to go on, I can only tell you there are many cases of people hearing voices," I said slowly, considering my words as I spoke. "It is possible he has developed some condition due to added stress. For instance, I have seen men exposed to the horrors of battle who flinched at any loud noise. Other men were unable to rest. There are too many reports of former soldiers screaming and running outdoors to escape imagined enemies. Some turn to drink."
"Do you believe Mr. Lansdale is experiencing such a condition?" asked Holmes.
"Impossible for me to say, Holmes. I would need to examine him at length. Perhaps for several weeks." I considered my friend and asked, "Do you believe he is experiencing such a mental break?"
"I do not," he said, looking thoughtful. "My reason is that Mr. Lansdale is worth nearly ninety thousand pounds, Watson."
"That much?" I was astonished.
"Indeed," said Holmes. "See if you can discover any other patients of Dr. Hadley. It would be helpful to know who and what sort they are."
Donning hat and coat, I set out to return to my club, intent on speaking with Dr. Emmet Brown, a fellow surgeon with whom I had had many interesting discussions. Though he was eccentric, I knew him to be quite discreet and well informed on a broad range of subjects, from the fanciful to the coldly scientific. If he did not personally know of Dr. Hadley, I was sure he would be able to refer me to someone who did.
Around suppertime, I returned to my lodging with a head full of information and a brochure Holmes would be very interested to see.
"Hello, Watson," Holmes said when I entered. He was in the process of hanging up his coat and smiled at me. "Mrs. Hudson said she would have supper ready in a few minutes. Learn much?"
"Take a look at this," I said, handing him the brochure. While he read it, I hung my hat and coat on a peg.
"Excellent, Watson," said Holmes, smiling that predatory smile I had come to know so well. "When Rachel said this clinic of Dr. Hadley's was a farm, she was not wrong."
"There is a school of thought that performing field work and tending livestock is good for the mind," I said. "Apparently, there is something to it. Dr. Brown suggested, though, that the same results could be had from most physical activity and I agree with his reasoning. Exercise can produce wonderful results for body and mind."
"Yes," said Holmes. "I recall your progress through your long recovery. What were you able to learn of Dr. Hadley himself?"
"Not as much as I would like to have learned," said I, going to the mantel to get a cigar. Recalling Mrs. Hudson would soon bring supper, I put it back. "It seems Hadley is from North America. One of my associates was certain he came from somewhere in Wisconsin, USA. Another was equally certain he came from Toronto, Canada. Hadley seems, though, to have sprouted from the woodwork, becoming known only five years ago for his clinic. You said you wanted to know who his patients are. On the list is Sir Derek Jacobi, Dame Judith Dench (If you can believe it.), Mr. Stanley Laurel, Mrs. Linda Redgrave, Miss Edith Evans and a Miss Felicity Jones, recently affianced to Sir Roger Moore."
"An impressive list," said Holmes.
"Rumor says there are more," I said. "Even members of the royal family. I find it difficult to believe, but Dr. Brown says it has to do with Hadley's fad diet of vegetables and soups. He does not believe in consuming meat other than fish or chicken. While I agree both have a place in the diet, Hadley harps on eating various sorts of corn. Especially oats."
"Your researches and mine coincide, Watson," Holmes said, going to the door and opening it just as Mrs. Hudson arrived with our supper, Billy right behind carrying coffee. Once we settled down to our meal, Holmes went on, "A man of Hadley's description was not difficult to run down. I went to only four tobacconists before I found one who knew the man. Mr. Haggard of 'Haggard and Ryder's Fine Imports' informed me Dr. Hadley has frequented his shop for four years, only he does not use the name Hadley."
"You are sure it is the correct man?" I asked.
"As near to sure as I can be without seeing the man myself," said Holmes. "I related the description the Lansdale children gave us and Mr. Haggard was certain his customer was Hadley, only calling himself Daniels. I must say, Mr. Haggard is better informed than most tobacconists. He is a chatty fellow. According to Haggard, Daniels made an effort to impress him with his credentials. Daniels told Haggard he had studied in Vienna and that is where he acquired his taste for the German cigarettes. I tried one, by the way, and I agree with young Rachel. They hardly taste like cigarettes and are most foul smelling."
"Vienna is in Austria," I said.
"An insignificant point." Holmes waved it away with his fork. "Prussia, Bavaria, Austria, all foreign lands with closely related dialects. I asked Haggard what he thought of Daniels and his opinion is that the man is a mountebank. When he first patronized the shop, Daniels wore an ill-fitting foreign suit. Since then, his clothing has improved in both fit and quality."
"A tobacconist that knows clothing?" I interjected.
"Quite!" Holmes chuckled. "A remarkable man is Mr. Haggard."
"Did you learn anything else?" I asked.
"I did," purred Holmes and had he not been engaged with knife and fork, he might have rubbed his palms together in miserly fashion. "I have my sources, you know. As to Sir Derek, Dame Judith and Mr. Laurel, your information is suspect. Apparently, Hadley met Sir Derek at the theatre one evening and has been making much more of the encounter than is true. Dame Judith denies ever having met Dr. Hadley and I have no reason to suppose she has. Mr. Laurel did consult Hadley, even spent a week at the clinic, but will have nothing to do with the man now."
"Curious," I said.
"I have sent a telegram to a friend in the New York police department requesting any information he has regarding Hadley or anyone by his description. I hope to hear from him tomorrow or the next day."
"What is our next step, Holmes?"
"We must wait, Watson," he said. "We cannot simply enter the Lansdale home and look about. Mr. Lansdale must invite us."
"And when he does?" I asked.
"When he does, I want a look at his bedroom."
Two days passed and we had no word from either Holmes's friend in New York or Mr. Lansdale. Holmes and I both grew restless, wanting to come to grips with the case, but as my friend had said, we could not simply enter the Lansdale home without permission.
On the afternoon of the third day following the Lansdale children's visit, I was up in my room when I heard Holmes answer a knock at our door.
"Watson!" he cried a moment later. I immediately went down to the sitting room. Holmes held a telegram form. "This is it! Parker, my friend in New York, says the description of Hadley closely matches a man named Daniels wanted for defrauding a number of wealthy individuals in the eastern United States."
"So, Daniels is our Dr. Hadley," I said.
"I would say it is probable, Watson." Holmes scanned the telegram again before folding it and placing it in his writing desk. "It is encouraging news, though. Now if only Mr. Lansdale will respond."
Some two hours after the telegram arrived, another knock sounded at our door and Holmes answered it. On the landing stood Mrs. Hudson with Mr. Richards beside her. Holmes welcomed the butler in and bade him to have a seat.
"Thank you, no, sir," Richards said. "I have little time as Mrs. Lansdale is due to return home in less than an hour. I spoke with Mr. Lansdale last evening. It was my first opportunity since the other day. He is agreeable to you coming for a visit, sir, and wonders if you could manage it tomorrow at one in the afternoon."
"We shall be there promptly at one, Richards," said Holmes. "Before you go, could you tell us your master's condition?"
"Less tired today than he has been, sir," Richards said gravely. "I fear he will not improve by tomorrow. You see, Mrs. Lansdale is bringing Dr. Hadley to visit again."
"At what time?" Holmes asked, narrowing his eyes.
"I believe they will arrive at two, sir."
Holmes shot me a pleased glance.
"That should do nicely, Richards," said Holmes, accompanying our guest to the door. "You can expect us at one."
Richards thanked us and was on his way.
The following afternoon, Holmes and I arrived at the Lansdale home, a very large, red brick Edwardian house of three stories, promptly at one. Richards greeted us and showed us into the library after taking our coats and hats. The room was a typical example of the sort you would expect in an upper-class home. One wall was dominated by French doors. Opposite from where Holmes and I entered was a double door, and the wall across from the French doors was composed of floor to ceiling bookshelves with an impressive collection. The middle of the room was taken up by two sofas and a pair of comfortable looking wingback chairs. Holmes and I were not kept waiting for long. The double doors opened revealing a gentleman in a dark brown suit and a well-lit hallway beyond.
"Welcome, Mr. Holmes," said our host, closing the doors behind himself and crossing the room to shake our hands. "And welcome to you, too, Dr. Watson. I am Bartholomew Lansdale."
Mr. Lansdale was an average sized man who was clearly in poor health. In spite of his neat suit and tidily combed hair, his complexion was drawn and there were dark bags under his eyes. He looked as if he had not known a night's rest in weeks.
"Richards explained our coming, Mr. Lansdale?" Homes asked.
"He did," Lansdale said. "It is worth a king's ransom to me if you can put an end to this infernal torment. These voices that spread doubt in my mind. They confuse me, Mr. Holmes. If you can prove to me that I am not mad, I shall ever after be in your debt. I fear you will fail, though. I do fear it."
"Your brother and sister explained to us that you have been hearing voices in your room for some time, sir," I said.
"Not only in my room, Doctor," Lansdale said, shaking his head, his shoulders sagging. "I began sleeping down here to escape them. Now, though, they haunt me here, as well. I wake hearing a woman's voice telling me I have failed. Telling me that my father's death is my fault and that the company is failing in spite of all I can do."
"Is your company failing?" Holmes asked.
"There is money missing, Mr. Holmes. Large sums and the investors are asking questions." Lansdale invited us to sit and sagged into one of the chairs himself. "I have made good the losses from my own accounts, telling the investors I will get to the bottom of the problem. I cannot fathom it, though. All of the books balance and yet the money is gone."
"Mr. Lansdale," said Holmes, "let us deal with the issue of these voices before we approach your other problems."
"Of course, Mr. Holmes," said our client. "Where do we begin?"
"In this room." Holmes rose and walked a slow circuit around the furniture. "You sleep on which sofa, sir?"
"That one nearest the hallway door."
Holmes took position between the sofa and the double doors, peering first at the doors and then at the sofa.
"There is less than six feet separating them," he said. "Where does the hallway lead?"
"It separates the servants' quarters from those of the family," said our host.
"Is there access to the servants' quarters from the family rooms upstairs?"
"Of course. The halls are closed off by doors, but they are never locked."
"Your brother and sister told us you were hearing both a woman's voice and that of a man. Is that correct?"
"Yes. Sometimes I hear both at the same time," Mr. Lansdale said. "It began with only the woman's voice, though. I hear her much more frequently than the man. God! Were that it was not so!"
"Indeed," Holmes said, lightly patting the back of the sofa. "Have you tried sleeping in any other room in the house?"
"I slept in the guest room upstairs and still I heard her speaking. Dr. Hadley is of the opinion it will not matter where I sleep. He suggested I try sleeping here and he has been proved right. I still hear the voices." Mr. Lansdale rubbed his temples, frowning dejectedly. "He insists I should go to his clinic. He is certain the voices will not follow me there, and I tell you, I am sorely tempted."
"You resist the suggestion?" asked Holmes.
"There is simply too much work for me to do in London, Mr. Holmes. I dare not leave. Not until I have gotten to the bottom of the missing money."
"Do you object to showing me your bed chamber, Mr. Lansdale?" Holmes asked.
Our client stood somewhat unsteadily, saying, "I will take you there myself."
He led us up an impressive flight of stairs to the first floor and started down the hallway. I noted the floor was adorned with a long, narrow, deep pile carpet and as we walked, our steps made no sound.
"Quite luxuriant," I said admiringly.
"The carpet, you mean, Doctor?" asked our client. "My mother had it installed. Another of Dr. Hadley's suggestions."
"He makes many of these suggestions?" Holmes asked.
"Too many." There was distinct bitterness in Mr. Lansdale's words.
"Tell me, sir," said Holmes, pausing to look up and down the hall. "These rooms are yours, your brother's and your sister's. Is that correct?"
"Carl and Rachel are across the hall from mine. This first room is left empty for guests. The door in the middle is my room. The one beyond is my stepmother's." Mr. Lansdale proceeded to his door and pushed it open wide, inviting Holmes and myself with a gesture.
The bedchamber was quite large. Aside from the bed and night table there was an oaken armoire, a dresser, a washstand, a low bookshelf and a writing desk piled with papers and account books. About the ornately papered walls were paintings of pastoral scenes. I would hardly have expected those of a man of business.
Holmes stepped coolly into the room, casting his gaze about much as I had. As is my habit when accompanying Holmes on a case, I took station near the wall while he completed his inspection. Of particular note to me, he spent a prolonged moment examining the painting above the bed, which was situated against the wall this room shared with Mrs. Lansdale's room. Likewise, Holmes inspected the painting on the wall separating this room from the guest bedroom.
"I note these paintings are recent additions, Mr. Lansdale," Holmes said at length. "The wallpaper is less faded around them."
"They are," our host confirmed. "I had a painting of Waterloo above the headboard for many years. It was a gift from my father. On the other wall was a hunt scene I always enjoyed looking at."
"Why did you replace them with these?" Holmes asked.
"I did not," our client said with some ironic bitterness. "Dr. Hadley told my stepmother that Waterloo and hunting were far too violent for my health. Such scenes would excite my temper. He purchased these paintings and while I was out of the house one day, they installed them."
"They nailed them to the walls to prevent you removing them?" asked Holmes, fingering the painting above the bed.
"They did." Mr. Lansdale looked disgusted.
"What is going on here?" demanded a querulous woman's voice from the hallway and a moment later a stately woman of generous proportions entered the bedroom followed closely by a tall man with a square beard. It could only be Mrs. Lansdale and Dr. Hadley. Behind them stood Richards. "Bartholomew, what are these men doing in my home?"
"It is my home, Stepmother." The tension in Mr. Lansdale's frame spoke volumes about his relationship to his stepmother. His hands shook and his jaw clinched tight. "I can invite anyone I choose."
"Mr. Lansdale," said Dr. Hadley in a smooth, oily voice, "you really should confine yourself to as few friends as possible. A man in your state needs to cultivate serenity and peaceful thoughts."
"Peaceful thoughts?" I watched as our client's shoulders sagged and he leaned forward, an expression of disbelief upon his face. "I've had no peace since my father's death!"
"Calm yourself, Mr. Lansdale," crooned Hadley. "Perhaps some of the herbal tea I recommended would be appropriate. Shall I send Richards for some?"
"No. I want Richards to remain."
"You are Dr. Hadley?" Holmes asked before the confrontation could escalate.
"I am," said the doctor.
"Who are you, sir?" Mrs. Lansdale demanded in a cold tone.
"This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes and this other gentleman is Dr. Watson," said our client. "They are both here at my invitation."
"A doctor?" Hadley said and there was a look in his eye that said he was not pleased. "Really, Mr. Lansdale, I am your doctor."
"I very much doubt that, Mr. Daniels," Holmes said.
Dr. Hadley went as still as a statue. Mrs. Lansdale blinked, glancing between my friend and hers.
"That is the name you are known by in the United States," said Holmes.
"That is not my name," Hadley said, though there was no conviction in his tone.
"We shall see," Holmes said with a flicker of a smile.
"Why is this man here, Bartholomew?" Mrs. Lansdale demanded.
"With your permission, Mr. Lansdale, may I explain?" asked Holmes.
"By all means," our client agreed. "I need to sit down. Excuse me."
"We have been informed that your stepson has been hearing voices," Holmes said. "Specifically, while he is attempting to sleep. Primarily in this room, though he tells us that he is having the same difficulty in the guest bedroom and the library."
"Indeed he is, Mr. Holmes," said Hadley. "It is my opinion that he needs to get away from London and all of the stresses inherent in his business. A suitable member of his staff can take over in his absence. Someone reliable."
"Someone Mrs. Lansdale approves of, no doubt," Holmes said.
The lady looked as if she would respond but a light touch on her arm from Dr. Hadley stayed her.
"When I heard the details of his affliction I wondered if Mr. Lansdale were genuinely going mad," Holmes continued. "My friend, Dr. Watson, suggested it was possible."
"It is possible, and it is the very thing I have worked so diligently to prevent!" Dr. Hadley interjected, taking half a step forward. "Rest and peace is what Mr. Lansdale needs. Not you disturbing him and confusing his mind."
"Mr. Daniels, control yourself," said Holmes sedately.
"That is not my name!"
"Before I came here, I looked into a few things, as did Dr. Watson," Holmes said. "Mrs. Lansdale, your stepson is worth nearly ninety thousand pounds. His company is worth even more than that."
"What of it?" the lady demanded.
"It seems a great sum of money," said Holmes. "A very great sum. And it occurred to me that something other than madness might explain the voices Bartholomew Lansdale has been hearing."
"Something?" said Dr. Hadley in a low tone.
"He hears voices in here when he sleeps." Holmes gestured about the room. "When he attempted to sleep in the guest room, he heard voices there. Tell me, Mr. Lansdale, where do the voices emanate from in here?"
Bartholomew Lansdale frowned and shrugged before saying, "They seem to come from above me, Mr. Holmes."
"When you are lying in bed?"
"Yes."
"And when you slept in the guest room?"
"The same."
"And in the library?"
Our client hesitated, then said, "I do not know. They sounded further away, perhaps."
"Perhaps six feet further away?" said Holmes. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his clasp knife, opening it.
"What are you doing?" Hadley said, eyes growing wide.
"This," said Holmes and slashed an 'X' in the canvass above the bed.
Hadley attempted to run but Richards was there. Though the butler was a good deal shorter than faux doctor, he picked him bodily from his feet and slammed him to the carpet, kneeling upon the man's back and twisting an arm up behind his ear. Hadley screamed and kicked but Richards held him in place.
"What have you done?" moaned Mrs. Lansdale, staring at the rent in the painting.
Mr. Lansdale rose and stepped like a man in a dream to gaze upon the sundered painting and what was behind it.
"A hole?" he said, blinked and turned to confront his stepmother. "You did this."
"I…" Mrs. Lansdale put her hands over her mouth and sank to the floor, saying no more.
"How did you know, Mr. Holmes?" our client asked.
"Why else would the paintings be nailed to the walls?" Holmes said and crossed the room to slash the other painting and expose another hole. "When you slept in here, your stepmother or the supposed doctor would speak at the opening between her room and this one. When you slept in the guest room, they would speak from in here."
"And the library?" Lansdale asked.
"The double doors to the hallway," said Holmes. "A slight crack with no light in the hall would go unnoticed and would be sufficient to communicate through."
"Why, though?" Mr. Lansdale turned on his stepmother and demanded again, "Why?"
"Your fortune, sir," said Holmes, not unkindly. "I suggest calling for the police. Dr. Hadley is wanted under the name of Daniels in several states in America. I suspect he could be charged here, also."
"My father?" Mr. Lansdale asked, his voice sounding quite hollow.
"Possibly," said Holmes. "I am sorry, sir."
I took hold of Dr. Hadley, which was no great task, and held him until Richards fetched a pair of constables. Inspector Gregson arrived soon thereafter to take statements and begin the unsavory process of justice. I am pleased I can report that Hadley was convicted of fraud and transported as an undesirable to Her Majesty's colony of Australia. Mrs. Lansdale removed herself from Mr. Lansdale's home soon after Holmes closed this case, though Carl and Rachel remained in the home with their elder brother. The clinic in Luton returned to the farm it had been before the arrival of the quack, Hadley/Daniels.
Prompt from I'm Nova: If the walls could talk…