Chapter 3 – The Game is Afoot!
Never had a thunderstorm occurred so quickly in London. The sudden, booming thunder caused almost everyone to jump and flee for cover. Coupled with the flashes of lightning that quickly followed, the streets of London were soon thrown into mayhem.
So it was in 221b Baker street, as the clock chimed three times, Doctor Watson ran to and fro trying to tidy the rooms as best as possible, while Holmes made the task all the harder by throwing his clothes everywhere with frenzied excitement, in an attempt to look more presentable.
"Is it a mere coincidence, Watson!" he cried from his bedroom as a shirt flew across the door. "A woman escapes from an asylum, who has lived for a short period of time in Gable Manor and has had relations with the people there; and now, a month later, a murder has been committed in the same place."
"I hardly think so," Watson replied, throwing some newspapers behind a chair, "you don't suppose that your mystery lady was somehow involved?"
"Watson, your asking me theorise without data. All we know is that a murder has been committed, the victim's name is Mr Allan, he is the owner of Gable Manor and that years ago the lady attended a school in the area ran by a Mrs Harrison. What possible theory can be made out of that?"
At that moment, the distinct sound of a carriage could be heard pulling up outside.
"That will be our client," said Sherlock emerging from the room, wearing fresh clothes, his hair brushed and a childlike happiness on his face.
"Watson, be so kind as to hand me my pipe."
Downstairs, Mrs Hudson could be heard talking with another woman and then climbing the stairs.
Watson, gave Sherlock his pipe and was about to sit down when Sherlock grabbed his arm.
"Say nothing about the lady from the asylum and her connection with this case," he whispered as the door opened and a young woman stepped in.
"Miss Judith Allan," Mrs Hudson announced, closing the door behind her.
Sherlock gave a small nod to his visitor.
Miss Allan was dressed regally in a burgundy coloured dress and an elegant feathered bonnet sitting gaily on her head.
She was very beautiful, pale and solemn with thick raven black curls falling gracefully around her face.
"Miss Allan," Doctor Watson shook her hand. "I hope you had no difficulties in finding the place?"
"No, thanks to your directions, doctor." She replied, glancing at Sherlock Holmes who remained silent.
"Please do sit down," said Watson.
She smiled gratefully and took a seat with her back facing the window.
"I am grateful to you both for agreeing to meet me for I must confess; I am quite at my wit's end with this awful business."
"Doctor Watson tells me the matter concerns your brother, who has been murdered, I understand?"
Miss Allan nodded.
"Oh yes. Poor, poor Harry – I can't imagine how this could have happened to him."
"Tell us how we can help you," Said Sherlock sitting across from her, "and leave nothing out."
She took a handkerchief out of her bag and dabbed her eyes with a sniff.
"I am unmarried gentlemen, and I lived with my brother at Gable Manor in Cumbernauld, which we inherited from our father."
"Your father has passed on?" Sherlock asked
"A year ago, yes."
Sherlock nodded. "Pray continue."
"My mother died when I was only five years old, and my brother Harry was eight. It was a terrible blow to my father; he and my mother were very fond of each other.
When Harry was ten he was sent to boarding school. I was sent to the school in the local village, which was run by Mrs Harrison; a dear old lady with a heart of gold – she had lived some time previously in Canada where she had adopted an orphan girl, whom she brought with her to this country.
Well, the girl and I became great friends, and Mrs Harrison would bring her every weekend to the manor where she would teach us music.
When my father realised that they were not very well off, he had a cottage built for them on the estate. We called it Green Gables."
"That was very generous of him," said Watson.
"Indeed," Sherlock added, "uniquely generous."
"Well, my father became particularly fond of the orphan girl," Miss Allan continued, "she was always top of our class at school, for she took an interest in almost everything, even politics! There would be nights when she would sit with my father and they would have such conversations that no woman would ever have! And so wild! She was once dared to walk across the roof top of the school and she did it – nearly broke her neck in the process but she would never back down from anything."
"Indeed," said Sherlock, "the name of this remarkable woman?"
"Anne Summerley," replied Miss Allan, "when Mrs Harrison died five years ago, father set aside some money for her, which accumulated. It's has become quite a fortune now."
"And this Miss Summerley was fond of your father?"
"Yes. My father died rather suddenly a year ago – a stroke, the doctors say – and Anne was very much upset by the incident. She and I took turns to be his nurse in his last days. She has only now just started to recover."
"And now your brother has been murdered."
"Harry had always been besotted with Mrs Harrison – the two were as thick as thieves. It was through her help he was able to break away from a particularly bad group of people who had started him on a gambling addiction. But when she died, Harry… Harry never quite recovered. He moved to London and very rarely came to the manor except to check on me, but whenever he did, he's always in the blackest of moods and would shut himself in father's library."
"How long would his visits last?" Sherlock asked
"Never more than five days."
"And were there specific dates when he would turn up, say… would he turn up routinely once every two months?"
"Perhaps not as frequent," Miss Judith answered, "but yes his visits were routine, and he always sent word beforehand."
Sherlock's eyes sparkled. "And it was during one of these visits that he was murdered?"
Miss Allan nodded.
"When he arrived, did he appear out of sorts?"
"No more than usual. He did send word to Miss Summerley when he arrived that he would like to speak to her on a pressing matter the next morning…"
"Is that unusual?"
"Well, the two didn't get along very well – clash of personalities – but there was nothing significant between them. But I had never heard of Harry sending for her in the past."
Sherlock looked at Watson, who was taking notes, and signalled to him to make a special note of this.
"What happened after that," he asked.
"Everything went as usual the rest of the day. Harry locked himself up in father's library and that was the last I saw of him – he always has his meals in there and he is the last one to go to bed.
I went to bed as usual at ten o'clock and I heard his footsteps walking at half past midnight. In the morning I was awoken by the most frightful howl from the maid, who had brought Harry his early morning coffee and newspaper.
My poor brother was lying in a heap on the floor in his night gown, his face and body contorted and twisted in pain. I must have fainted, for I am unable to tell you what happened afterwards. When I came to I found I was back in my bed chamber with Miss Summerley and a police inspector watching over me. It was on the inspector's suggestion I came to see you Mr Holmes, for the whole thing is utterly perplexing. Who would want to murder my brother? What possible good could come from it?"
Watson looked at Holmes, who was now standing by the fireplace, smoking thoughtfully.
"Did you happen to notice if your brother's bed had been slept in?" He asked finally.
"No, it had not. I also noticed a glass had smashed beside my brother's body, as though he had been drinking some water before he died."
Sherlock began pacing up and down.
"Does your brother have any enemies?" Watson asked.
"None."
"Do you know of anyone who would benefit from his death?"
"No. My brother was young and stubborn, and he was very much altered by the death of Mrs Harrison; but he was a good man."
"When did this happen?" Sherlock asked.
"Yesterday; Scotland Yard have been informed, but the inspector knew you from the past and said I should ask for your assistance."
"Will you be returning to Cumbernauld?"
"I have some business to settle with our lawyer, Mr Rankelior, but I will be returning this evening."
"Then I suggest you do as you have planned," said Sherlock, striding to the door, "and be prepared to meet with us at Gable Manor early tomorrow morning. Say… about nine o'clock?"
"Of course," replied Miss Allan rising, "I shall have the servants prepare rooms for you both."
"Then until tomorrow, Miss Allan."
Sherlock gestured to the door, and after shaking hands with Doctor Watson and expressing her greatest thanks, she left. She had not gone any more than few steps when Sherlock called her back.
"Just one more thing, Miss Allan. You say that Miss Harrison was well loved by all in your class?"
Miss Allan was taken aback by the question.
"Oh yes; her students all loved her."
"You wouldn't happen to remember a particular student – a girl – who stood out in the class; a girl who would have been classed as perhaps slightly odd?"
"Now that you mention it," she replied thoughtfully, "there was such a girl, her mother had brought her to Cumbernauld and wished her to have an education; but she was only there for a couple of months. Mrs Harrison spent a good deal of time with her, for she seemed quite simple, if I remember right."
"Thank you, Miss Allan," Sherlock said with a smile, "until tomorrow morning."
He closed the door behind her, and rubbed his hands in delight.
"Well Holmes?" the doctor asked.
Sherlock turned to him.
"The game is afoot, Watson," he said softly, "the game is afoot!"