Chapter 9- Mr. Peter Stamford
Kathryn called upon me promptly at 9 o'clock the next morning, just after I had finished my breakfast.
"Our first course of action is to talk to the brother of the dead woman, Peter Stamford," she said without preamble. "I assume that you have taken a great interest in this case and shall want to come with me."
"Of course," I replied, somewhat defensively, "I want to see Holmes out of this predicament as soon as possible. I have known him for nearly twenty years- hopefully, well enough to know that he could not possibly have committed the crime. I don't want to see an innocent man hanged for a crime he did not commit."
Kathryn fixed her stunningly green eyes on to me and with an introspective gaze that would make grown men collapse at her feet. I felt as though she could read my very thoughts and was growing increasingly uncomfortable, when her face broke into a smile, and she said:
"Very well then, doctor. As I see that you have already breakfasted, let us leave at once."
I instructed the landlady, Mrs Hudson to hail a cab, and fifteen minutes later, we were rattling away down Gloucester Road. "What do you plan to ask Stamford?" I asked,
"I plan to do what Holmes did, and ask him what he knew of his sister," replied Kathryn, "It will give me information and a starting point in this investigation."
We did not speak another word until we reached my old friend's Kensington home situated in a quiet neighbourhood. It has always been my opinion, that everything from the Victorian veranda in the front, to the elegantly arched eaves on the roof, that the Stamford house was a very cosy and pleasing home. The maid, an old, deaf little woman with a haggard, lost look on her face and squinted eyes opened the door, and when I gave her my card, she made a silent start of surprise and stared at me with a pair of puckered eyes.
"Dr. Watson," said she, in a husky, Irish-accented voice. "I have not seen you in a long time. Please, come in."
She ushered us to into the house, through a succession of corridors and up two flights of stairs, before stopping at the door of a small study.
"He's in there, Dr. Watson," she announced quietly, before slipping away inconspicuously behind us. After my initial shock at her behaviour had subsided, I stepped forward into the threshold of the tiny room. It was a sparsely furnished, dimly lit room, which was oddly proportioned, with the ceiling being much higher than the length of the walls. There was a man silhouetted against the large French windows behind him with his tall, gaunt back facing towards us. At the sound of our footsteps, he quickly turned around. I could not tell the expression of his face, but when he spoke, it was with a tone of sorrow one associates with someone who has lost much.
"Watson," he said quietly, his ragged voice little more than an audible whisper. "It was very nice of you to come here and visit me. How have you been?"
"Well, thank you," I replied, a little concerned. "Stamford, my friend, let me introduce you to Miss Kathryn Granger. She is my friend, and has come to London on a quick visit."
"Pleased to meet, you, Mr. Stamford," said Kathryn, extending out her hand, "I have heard much of you from Dr. Watson."
"Miss Granger, a pleasure, wondrous pleasure in meeting you, I am sure." muttered Stamford distractedly, ignoring the extended hand.
"Are you all right?" I asked, now very perturbed by the action of my old friend.
"Yes, yes, John, I'm perfectly fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" Stamford answered agitatedly, and now began to pace back and forth across the room, muttering to himself all the while. He then turned suddenly and grabbed Kathryn by the arm, and yelled with a maddened look in his eyes:
"Why? Why did this have to happen to me? Of all the things that could have happened, this had to be it. What did I do wrong to deserve this? Am I that bad of a man?"
"Please compose yourself," said Kathryn firmly yet soothingly, half dragging him to a nearby chair. "Your sister left you on her own will, and her fate was not anything that you could have determined."
She placed Stamford onto an easy chair, and I poured him a glass of brandy. His pale, sallow cheeks now had a touch of colour in it, and his dull, blue eyes regained a little of its old sparkle.
"Thank you both," he said, once he had recovered enough to speak. "The police came and told me the news yesterday, and ever since then, I've been like this.
"I can't believe this has actually happened. I had warned Julie that something like this would happen and she would be sorry, but I never wanted it to occur. The worst thing is that the last time we talked, we had a big quarrel, and I shouted at her. I was too harsh on her, I admit it, but at the time, I thought it was for her sake.
"Now I'll never have a chance to apologize to her and I'll spend the rest of my life knowing that she had hated me when she died."
Unable to control himself any longer, Stamford burst into hysterical tears, and wept on my shoulder.
"Just let him be," whispered Kathryn in my ear. "We can come and see him later. Right now, he needs to be alone."
With that, we quietly walked out of the room and left Stamford sobbing on the chair, trapped in his own agony.
Kathryn called upon me promptly at 9 o'clock the next morning, just after I had finished my breakfast.
"Our first course of action is to talk to the brother of the dead woman, Peter Stamford," she said without preamble. "I assume that you have taken a great interest in this case and shall want to come with me."
"Of course," I replied, somewhat defensively, "I want to see Holmes out of this predicament as soon as possible. I have known him for nearly twenty years- hopefully, well enough to know that he could not possibly have committed the crime. I don't want to see an innocent man hanged for a crime he did not commit."
Kathryn fixed her stunningly green eyes on to me and with an introspective gaze that would make grown men collapse at her feet. I felt as though she could read my very thoughts and was growing increasingly uncomfortable, when her face broke into a smile, and she said:
"Very well then, doctor. As I see that you have already breakfasted, let us leave at once."
I instructed the landlady, Mrs Hudson to hail a cab, and fifteen minutes later, we were rattling away down Gloucester Road. "What do you plan to ask Stamford?" I asked,
"I plan to do what Holmes did, and ask him what he knew of his sister," replied Kathryn, "It will give me information and a starting point in this investigation."
We did not speak another word until we reached my old friend's Kensington home situated in a quiet neighbourhood. It has always been my opinion, that everything from the Victorian veranda in the front, to the elegantly arched eaves on the roof, that the Stamford house was a very cosy and pleasing home. The maid, an old, deaf little woman with a haggard, lost look on her face and squinted eyes opened the door, and when I gave her my card, she made a silent start of surprise and stared at me with a pair of puckered eyes.
"Dr. Watson," said she, in a husky, Irish-accented voice. "I have not seen you in a long time. Please, come in."
She ushered us to into the house, through a succession of corridors and up two flights of stairs, before stopping at the door of a small study.
"He's in there, Dr. Watson," she announced quietly, before slipping away inconspicuously behind us. After my initial shock at her behaviour had subsided, I stepped forward into the threshold of the tiny room. It was a sparsely furnished, dimly lit room, which was oddly proportioned, with the ceiling being much higher than the length of the walls. There was a man silhouetted against the large French windows behind him with his tall, gaunt back facing towards us. At the sound of our footsteps, he quickly turned around. I could not tell the expression of his face, but when he spoke, it was with a tone of sorrow one associates with someone who has lost much.
"Watson," he said quietly, his ragged voice little more than an audible whisper. "It was very nice of you to come here and visit me. How have you been?"
"Well, thank you," I replied, a little concerned. "Stamford, my friend, let me introduce you to Miss Kathryn Granger. She is my friend, and has come to London on a quick visit."
"Pleased to meet, you, Mr. Stamford," said Kathryn, extending out her hand, "I have heard much of you from Dr. Watson."
"Miss Granger, a pleasure, wondrous pleasure in meeting you, I am sure." muttered Stamford distractedly, ignoring the extended hand.
"Are you all right?" I asked, now very perturbed by the action of my old friend.
"Yes, yes, John, I'm perfectly fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" Stamford answered agitatedly, and now began to pace back and forth across the room, muttering to himself all the while. He then turned suddenly and grabbed Kathryn by the arm, and yelled with a maddened look in his eyes:
"Why? Why did this have to happen to me? Of all the things that could have happened, this had to be it. What did I do wrong to deserve this? Am I that bad of a man?"
"Please compose yourself," said Kathryn firmly yet soothingly, half dragging him to a nearby chair. "Your sister left you on her own will, and her fate was not anything that you could have determined."
She placed Stamford onto an easy chair, and I poured him a glass of brandy. His pale, sallow cheeks now had a touch of colour in it, and his dull, blue eyes regained a little of its old sparkle.
"Thank you both," he said, once he had recovered enough to speak. "The police came and told me the news yesterday, and ever since then, I've been like this.
"I can't believe this has actually happened. I had warned Julie that something like this would happen and she would be sorry, but I never wanted it to occur. The worst thing is that the last time we talked, we had a big quarrel, and I shouted at her. I was too harsh on her, I admit it, but at the time, I thought it was for her sake.
"Now I'll never have a chance to apologize to her and I'll spend the rest of my life knowing that she had hated me when she died."
Unable to control himself any longer, Stamford burst into hysterical tears, and wept on my shoulder.
"Just let him be," whispered Kathryn in my ear. "We can come and see him later. Right now, he needs to be alone."
With that, we quietly walked out of the room and left Stamford sobbing on the chair, trapped in his own agony.