Children's Whims (working title)
Chapter 4
By Imp
A/N: This is a longer chapter, and it has taken some time longer to work out. I will again thank my reviewers – in particular A Whimsical Bystander. Such high praise! Thank you.
And now to continue the narrative.
~
It was quite some time later than the predicted time, when my companion finally returned. In the interval, and interval of nearly ten hours at the least, and a time of distinct irritation and unsatisfied curiosity for myself, I contemplated the case.
What facts I had were not terribly conclusive, and if they presented anything telling to Holmes it was beyond me to see it. However, as the day drew on – outside the fog thickening – and my companion continued to remain absent, I fell upon attempting to reason out the mystery myself. With some hours of brooding and a brief spell of skimming the papers, which I read with some suspicion, I came to what I believe was quite a plausible solution.
The facts as I gathered them – and without the aid of whatever knowledge Sherlock Holmes possessed, were these – and I fear that though they were quite clear, no motive for crime was at all apparent.
Six children had died. To all appearances their demise had been entirely, though tragically accidental. A one Master James Terrence had been locked inside a game shed upon his family's country estate – the most suspicious of all the happenings, and had been pronounced dead of starvation. Yet the circumstances of the situation had been perfectly explained and painfully clear, and so accident it appeared. Two small girls had been found, drowned in separate lakes. And a fourth child had fallen from a balcony and broken his neck. The fifth – a girl of only three years of age – had run beneath a hansom cab. The sixth – the oldest of all of these unfortunate young ones and eleven years of age – had fallen down a stairwell, and it was supposed that his neck had been broken at the landing. All of these events had occurred in less than a fortnight and within some few days of each other. Yet no pattern could I fathom in the random and accidental deaths of so many small children. They had come from different parts of England, though granted all but one had been in the country, and none had had – as far as was apparent – any contact with the other. In attempting my companion's manner and process of reasoning, I went over names, places, dates. But not a clue did I divine, or inconsistency uncover. There was no apparent pattern or suspicion in the manner, or place, or time of death. It seemed only too obvious that it was merely a tragic coincidence, and in spite of my companion's remonstrance to the contrary, I was prepared to believe that it really could not possibly be anything else.
And yet, there was some insidious thread beneath these innocuous accidents. There was a plainly grotesque aspect to it all. I felt clearly that by no means could such things be contrived by the mere whims of Fate.
I have to admit I fell into rather a melancholy, stretched on the sofa with all such thoughts in my head. The strange and inextricable manner of the case which seemed so clear and yet remained perplexing, sent me into a brooding quiet. I began upon another chain of deduction, assuming outright that there was some criminal motive – though what it might be was still obscure – and weaving the inexplicable Van Sarn into my reasoning.
I must confess that I had almost begun to imitate my companion's idiosyncratic habits and attitude along with his thought process. For I found that I had smoked an amazing amount of cigarettes during my introspection, and a pipe, and that I had not moved from the sofa for nearly five hours. This observation irritated me, as I have never been too fond of the atmosphere which my companion created under such circumstances, and have admonished him to that point.
It was then nearing quite a late hour in the evening – Holmes having yet neglected to appear at the appointed time – when I came to my conclusion. A rather clever one I thought it – forgetting my annoyance with myself - and I had risen and begun to work out the more precise points upon some notepaper, when a distinct noise below arrested my attention. It was certainly the door – and there, I thought I heard footsteps upon the stair.
Outside the door there was the distinct and measured footfall, which I have come to recognize in most any circumstance. And then the door was shoved opened, and my inimitable companion stood erect in the aperture. His face was somewhat pale, and his overcoat rumpled and creased; the hat, which he held in his hand looked quite a different shape from my remembrance of it. Despite all this he appeared in amazing good spirits, but for the world I could not have said why. For if his clothing were somewhat out of place and his hat misshapen, the state of his features and the tear in his trouser leg was certainly enough to put the crowning glory upon his unusual appearance.
"My dear Holmes!" I cried, starting up.
An ugly cut ran along his face and above his left eyebrow. And below his other eye a great, ugly bruise disfigured his cheek, standing out sharply against the pale skin and hard cheekbone. Yet for all this a smile was playing about his pale lips, and the gleam in his eyes told clearly of some new addition to the state of his case.
"Good evening, Watson," said he with the most ordinary courtesy. "Don't look so very anxious – surely there is yet time for some supper?"
"Supper!" I exclaimed. "My dear fellow, you need a doctor I should think, more than your evening meal. And besides that, someone who might keep you from making such foolish escapades."
He raised his hand to his face. "Ah, you evidently refer to this. It is the result, or a result, of my most delightful excursion. But as to a doctor, my dear Watson, I am very rarely without one owing to your pertinacious goodness in remaining a lodger of 221b Baker Street."
He entered, pulling off his coat and tossing the disfigured hat into a corner. In a moment he had procured his long-used dressing gown and had fallen back comfortably into his chair.
"If you would kindly toss over the tobacco slipper, dear fellow, I will be much more amiable when it comes to being questioned," said he, reaching languidly for his pipe, a smile still creasing his lips.
"I should think that a bandage and some other such things, would do you better than your pipe," I replied, feeling both amused and anxious at my companion's good humour in spite of his injuries and evident weariness. And with my curiosity somewhat dampened by his state, I fell back into my seat.
Never the less I tossed the slipper across the room, and he caught it, brushing his cheek ruefully with the other hand.
"Perhaps a bandage would do me good," remarked he. "But the tobacco is infinitely more welcome. I am certain, that you have absolutely no idea of how I spent my day."
"Indeed." said I, moving to sit across from him. "I shall refrain then, from making erroneous guesses and listen to your exploits if you would be kind enough to expound them."
"Quite so," said he. "Guessing is an ill habit – and I should be glad to keep you from it. But you also must postpone any irritating medical examination, my good doctor – " he continued, having seen the move I made towards him.
"But you're bleeding!" I cried in exasperation.
With the manner of a scientist examining a rather vaguely interesting object, he raised his handkerchief to his brow.
"Ah, so I am," he said thoughtfully, glancing at the stained white cloth. "But it is quite superficial. Really Watson, I wonder at your anxiety."
I fell back into my chair. The situation was quite impossible, and I realized that my companion in no way would have his will changed by any insistence upon my part.
"You haven't, I suppose, fallen under a hansom cab, or off a balcony?"
Holmes's eyes glittered in the light and his lips quivered with a widening smile. "Not even remotely," said he. "I should have thought that your observational abilities and your medical training could not overlook the obvious causes of my injuries."
"I would again be spared the evil of guessing, if you would kindly tell me,"
"A man's knuckles to the right side of my face, my dear Watson, and the mark of a stone-slate floor to my brow."
I was, as I have said, somewhat accustomed to my companion's odd manner. And I do believe I surprised myself more by remaining unsurprised, than by this actual and rather amazing pronouncement. Indeed, I was rather more irritated with the cavalier way in which he proclaimed his reckless errand, than I was amazed.
"And the rather ragged hole in your right trouser leg?"
" – Comes from scrambling somewhat too swiftly over a wall." said he, looking as pleased as a child in a toy shoppe. "And the parallel marks near my throat come from a man's fingernails in his attempt to strangle to me from behind." he added.
I fell back, staring helplessly across at the pale, sharp-eyed man who told me so calmly – indeed, quite happily – that a man had tried to strangle him from behind. And that the marks upon his throat were from the aforementioned assailant, who also it seemed, had left the mark of his fist upon my friend's face.
"And that was your delightful evening?"
"Quite, Watson. A most invigorating and useful evening indeed."
"Honestly, Holmes; you return late –" I began in exasperation.
"Late?" he echoed.
"You enter with all signs upon your person of having been assaulted. And you tell me with a smile that a man evidently tried to kill you and that you had somehow neglected to contemplate such a possibility!"
"You sum up the facts as far as your knowledge permits, rather succinctly, my good doctor."
"I'm afraid I remain as bewildered as before. Especially as I should think you might expect that there are men in London who would wish you dead."
Holmes appeared for a moment, somewhat irritated. But he relapsed swiftly back into good humour, seeming rather too abstracted to focus upon my admonishments.
"Naturally," replied he. "Though I do admit to having been rather lax in my thoughts as to those who might resent my presence about London. But I owe you an apology. I am beginning to take up the habit of telling my tale wrong end foremost."
"Then, in your words, may I ask you to kindly come to the point and be precise?"
He laughed merrily at my rather displeased imitation of his manner, and leaned further back into his velvet-lined armchair.
"Gladly Watson, if you would kindly be more precise in your inquiry."
"Van Sarn?"
"Ah…" murmured my companion, falling invariably back into mental abstraction. "You hit upon the point with some precision indeed, Watson. I have come upon some very suggestive clues, and have, in fact, managed another brief interview with the good Van Sarn. It was in consequence of that, that I received such careful attentions from the man whose finger marks you see upon my neck."
"You spoke again with Van Sarn?"
"Quite so. It was rather an odd twist of fate, for I had conjectured that he would be far out of reach by the time I began my investigation."
He subsided into silence, clearly contemplating more gravely the state of affairs.
"The window?" I inquired, referring to his hasty departure in context to it.
"The man who followed," said my companion. "Surely you had deduced as much?"
I was forced to confess that I had not, and with some mortification. For the vaguely condescending tone in the detective's voice was extraordinarily nettling.
"In all truth, I did not," I responded, "I have been rather occupied with my own surmises –"
"My dear Watson," cried he, "you have come to some theory of your own in my absence?"
I noted that his eye traveled quickly over the crumpled newspaper, the cigarette stubs that I had neglected upon the table-top, and the hasty scratchings of my pen over the notepaper. I handed him this, and he gazed at it intently for a moment. After a brief but minute inspection of my rather hurried notes and handwriting, he handed it carefully back to me, shaking his head.
"Excellent, Watson! Very good." said he. "But sadly, quite inadmissible."
"Inadmissible?"
"Precisely. It is an affair of England and you are quite too imaginative in drawing the Continent into your conclusions.
"But Van Sarn?"
"From the Netherlands – but he has been in England for the last eight years and has no great connection with anything at all foreign. And you must also recall that the one small child who was shoved under the hansom was of an entirely nondescript family."
I shook my head at the quick refutation of my theory that had taken hours to produce. I apologize for having not set it down, but it certainly is not necessary to the case. And surely it should have proved more confusing and of dull character to any reader, when my companion's sharp mind and reasoning had brought it so simply down, and would soon give its own deductions.
"But really Holmes – if not, what? It must surely then be accidental – a series of tragic coincidences."
"Ah, but it is not. There is always some thing criminal behind such coincidences– for really nothing connected can be said to be unconnected, whether one can explain it or not. And as for your theory, my good fellow, it misses every possible suggestive fact."
"Then you must explain," said I. "I can see that you have some certain idea of the whole matter, and you are being quite discourteous in holding out so long in your telling."
Holmes leaned back, glancing with some apparent amusement in my direction. He laughed to himself, fingering the stem of his pipe, and then turned to me, eyes gleaming. His attitude, I noted, remained light and debonair, with only the slightest indication of the hard, rather sardonic humour, which so often took him, beneath. And it was surely in stark contrast to his mood of earlier.
"I followed the man in the street," began he, smoking with that singularly distracted air which he took when it came to such enumerations. "The man, who had taken such great pains to keep our small apartments within view, that he had left himself rather uniquely visible from the window there. He was a wiry fellow, near my own height, but with a distinct stoop and a grim, sullen brow. He appeared, I must say, quite cringing and rather dull. But I soon found to my discomfiture, that he was fleet of foot, and possessed a great knowledge of the London side-alleys and byways, so that I was quite pressed to keep him in sight.
"He led me a pretty chase about the darker lanes and uglier places of the city, and in the end found a small, amazingly filthy public house, which he entered. I followed, taking some cares to rearrange my dress so as to remain inconspicuous, and found that he had shuffled into the darkest corner, where he appeared to wait. I feigned drunkenness, Watson, and collapsed into a most advantageous seat, from which I could watch both the door and my sullen friend. Before this, the man had shown no clear sign of suspicion; at least no more than was natural in such a fellow, but at this point he began to grow quite maddeningly unnerved. And it was evident that he began to suspect something, though his suspicions were fortunately turned to a red-faced, flame-haired gardener slumped at the bar, and not towards me.
"Within thirty minutes of our arrival at that singular place of filth and drink, four men entered. I will not bore you with the description of each, for only the final one was of interest. He was a sturdy fellow, in what seemed the queerest dress I have likely witnessed for some time. It was neither like that of a city dweller, nor of a man of the country, and though I should have said he was a man who had done some manual labor in his life, I could not discern of what trade he was now. At his appearance, my earlier friend started up, and showed all signs of great excitement and distraction. They met, and having settled down at a rather unsteady table of oak in the corner, they set to talking, taking great pains to make certain of their privacy. And the first gradually fell into what was, apparently, his usual attitude and manner. Quite entirely different from his most recent sullenness and such.
"I contrived to come somewhat closer to their place than my previous position, and in a better way to overhear their singular dialogue. Much of it was quite obscure, and useless so far to my knowledge, and at times their voices dropped too low to be heard. But they were clearly connected to Van Sarn – and even more clearly they were somehow associated with this present affair of the children.
"They were evidently, merely hired and paid for their services, and at least the second had very little knowledge of the whole affair. But the first – the man I had followed – was much more intriguing. In what he supposed was his unobserved converse with the other, he let fall all pretence of dullness, and his sullen mask was replaced by a most sharp and discerning man. I could not, I must confess, see his face from my position, a fact that greatly nettled me. What indeed, could have been learned had I been able to observe him more closely! But I heard him quite clearly, and his intonation and words were well worth contemplating.
"I shall not repeat their entire dialogue, for I am certain it would do you little good. However, it was nearly twenty minutes into their conference, when they spoke a most useful few words.
" 'Where then, did he get to?' asked the second man.
" 'Van Sarn isn't going anywhere,' said the formerly sullen-faced fellow.
" 'You know what I meant, Tallow,' said the second grimly.
"Now Watson, you may not understand the great importance of the foolishness of dropping that name. Every convict, cheat, thief and murderer in London knows it. For it is the name – or the chief name – of one of the most talented and skilled actors ever to grace the planet."
"Actor?" said I, with some disbelief
"Actor." continued my companion. "If he were to imitate you, my dear Watson, with the precise make-up and costume to assume your features, I assure you, he might very well fool me for an instant. But as you see, the implication that he was the one to follow Van Sarn was a grave one. I had thought that he was still serving his time, as I had got him convicted of murder some few years ago. Before your time, Watson, I see you are somewhat bewildered. He had not been hanged, for the magistrate was certain of his insanity. However, in all honesty, I tell you, a more sane man never stood in the dock. He is twisted; he has used all the skill and talent that he has had the fortune to be blessed with for evil. But – unfortunately – he is quite sane."
It took me some moments to gather all this information into a form of mental neatness. And as I contemplated, my companion fell back, eyes closed, puffing thoughtfully upon his pipe. After a few moments though, he resumed his tale.
"Well, as I said, I listened to that singular dialogue, now with even more fervor for the knowledge of Van Sarn's shadow.
" 'He went to the detective's,' continued Tallow. I could not see the expression upon his face unfortunately.
" 'Sherlock Holmes!' cried the second fiercely, and Tallow hissed him to silence. 'That damned meddler – '
" 'He didn't stay. Saw me and got cold feet.' said Tallow
" 'Do you think that matters?' snapped the other with some emphasis. 'You went for a reason. He didn't recognize you?'
" 'Who?' came Tallow's question.
" 'Holmes!' hissed the other.
"I had some brief feeling of amusement, Watson, for it was quite an odd situation, and rather fortunate to some extent, you must admit. But to hear my name over and over, with such force was both amusing and somewhat unnerving. For the hatred in the second man's tone was far from pleasant.
" Tallow though made a quick and sharp reply, and I stifled any amusement I might have felt.
" 'Not in the least." snapped he 'Why should he?'
" 'If he gets on the case now, 'twill be no good for anyone,' said his companion.
" 'Now? Why now? We've got only three more to go, and the pay is ours,' replied the actor.
" 'Never mind it now.' said he. 'Just you pray it doesn't end with you at the end of a rope.'
" 'And why would it, pray?' came Tallow's voice.
"There was a silence. I strained to pick up any slight communication that might be passing between them, but I could not. One or the other had become more prudently wary, and dropped his voice to the lowest possible level, the other following his example. What I did manage to pick up in the course and continuation of their converse was, seemingly, of the most dire matters. More death, Watson, is to be expected."
"But why? Did you not discover the purpose?"
"If purpose there be…" said my companion vaguely. And then he looked up. "The worst crimes, I think, are the purposeless ones, Watson; the instances in which no possible rational explanation is at hand. This one may or may not end with the realization that there was no clear reason, or intent, but as is clear, I can see no motive. No sane one, at any rate – and there is the definition; but I am certain it is simple. Simple yet so entirely strange and foreign that I cannot fathom it! It is maddening."
He fell into a pensive silence, and I saw that his telling of his experience had tinged his lightened air with a somewhat grim attitude. However, in a moment he went on, speaking evenly, his gaze distinctly distant.
"They continued some little time, Watson. Yet I was entirely unable to hear their words. At last they both rose, and slipped out the door. I intended to follow, but just moments after their departure, another man entered. Cringing and shuffling, he staggered to a table and collapsed – imagine my surprise at recognizing our singular visitor of the morning! Yet my surprise was greater still, when, I having moved to a seat before him, he glanced up and began crying in the most pitiable voice, 'I'm innocent! I'm innocent!'
"I caught his arm, for he sprang up as if again to flee, and then he recognized me. His face turned white as a sheet, and he began gasping desperately.
" 'I'm innocent, I swear – ' he repeated, yet in an entirely different tone. So very disparate were his intonations, despite the sameness of the words, he seemed to be saying something absolutely different. 'I'm innocent, Mr. Holmes –'
" 'Hush!' I snapped sharply, pushing him back. 'My name is hardly welcomed in such places as this.'
" 'I'm innocent! Oh God help me, - I am…' said he.
" 'Of what?' I asked.
" 'Of the children, Mr –' he began
" 'No mention of name, sir.' I ordered grimly.
" 'I didn't do it!' he cried. 'I'll tell you everything. I didn't mean it. I thought I was helping, but then I saw …'
"Apparently, Watson, he meant to make a clean breast of it there and then. But it was a terribly inconvenient place for such a thing, and already our scene was drawing unwanted attention.
" 'Quietly and calmly, sir,' said I. 'Unless you wish us both dead.'
" 'The children, sir –dead. It's no accident. I know.' gasped he. 'I should have said today. But I was afraid –'
" 'You were followed," I said.
"His eyes widened, and he seemed to choke.
" 'I, I was. But I lost him, coming back here, I'm sure.' said he. 'Oh promise…promise I won't be taken – they'll send me to prison. They'll hang me,'
" 'Come with me,' I ordered, beginning to stand. But he caught at my sleeve, holding me back with a convulsive strength.
" 'You can't. I can't. I have to say it here, now. In Surrey, then in Kent… Near Winchester and…Lee, Mr. Holmes – Lee. You must remember - please –' said he with a most irritating vagary, and then abruptly stopped.
"I do not know what he saw. Yet it must surely have been some terrible sign or warning, for in a moment he had leapt up and fled.
"I pursued him immediately. But in my haste I neglected somewhat, to observe as is my custom. And I found myself behind the seedy public house, in a dark side-alley, making the acquaintance of those lovely individuals whom I had listened to with such fervor. Van Sarn was nowhere to be seen, however it was evident that our meeting had been perceived, at least to some extent. And, my dear Watson, I assure you, they were very eager to have me out of the way.
"I escaped their attentions by clambering over a brick wall into some innocent Londoner's garden. That being somewhere near eight o'clock, I then proceeded to Scotland-Yard, at which point I extracted as much information from Lestrade as would be useful, and received much that would certainly not be.
"And that was the conclusion to my day. You have now, most all the facts which I gathered upon my excursion," he finished, with a short glance in my direction, his eyes glittering. "It has been a much more pleasant evening than I have been fortunate enough to experience for some time, you must admit, Watson."
"Certainly, my dear Holmes, a somewhat more exciting one," I replied, "You have some certain theory then?"
"Not in the least," said he, "It is, as I believe I have told you, a capital mistake to theorize before one has any certain data. I think that perhaps, a visit to one or more of these unfortunate families of the dying children, would be in order. But now I have a few matters to attend to,"
"I think, Holmes, that your bed might need attending to," said I with some insistence. "You have quite neglected it."
He had risen, and was now poring intently over some document upon his desk. He replied without turning, his thin fingers running thoughtfully across the paper.
"Bed! My dear Watson, I have got a thread, and I cannot allow it be yanked away by something so trifling as sleep,"
"Trifling-!" I cried,
"Pray, turn-in if you wish, dear fellow," he interrupted. "I shall be quiet, and I may need you in the morning…"
He trailed off. The vacant, distracted light that showed mental abstraction crept into his certain gaze, and I realized that by no persistence of mine would he take his night's rest. I fear that by this time, I was quite too weary to inquire any further into the case; or truly even to argue any longer with the perversely stubborn detective. With a sigh, I retired, thoughts of the frantic Van Sarn, drowning children and my friend's pensive gaze following me into my dreams.
~
A/N: Comments! Thoughts – certainly even criticisms, please. Por favor. Pu'zhal'sta. Bitte. Etcetera. Even suggestions as to the story's plot, are perfectly acceptable. My tale, I assume, remains to a great extent, consistent.
As always,
Toodles - IMP