Murder at the matinée – Part 9

Sherlock:

Arriving at Baker Street, I ran straight into the arms of my landlady.

"Is there something the matter, Mrs Hudson?" I asked her, seeing the relief on her face.

"No, I am just surprised that my telegram reached you so quickly," she told me, wiping her hands on her apron.

"It has not, but I take it is a matter of importance?"

"Oh yes! There has been a man here very early this morning, wanting to speak to you, Mr Holmes, but when I told him you were not at home, he left again, leaving his card and said he would return at around eleven. He seemed very agitated and all the while walked up and down as if he could not bear to sit still."

Looking at my watch I saw that the man would be here in about one hour.

"Did he say, why he wanted to see me?"

"He said it was about a murder at a theatre on Friday. Said he had some important information but could or would not go to the police and hence wanted to employ you," she replied. "I have put the card on the dining table, sir."

I gaped at her in surprise. Was this a coincidence or had young Mr Thompson sent the man here? Or perhaps Lestrade?

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson." I acknowledged before remembering something else: "By the way, did Watson say, when his wife will return? I believe he has told me, but I cannot remember."

Shaking her head in exasperated amusement, she told me that Mary Watson would return next Saturday. Thanking her, I walked up the thirteen steps to my living room and hanging up my coat and hat, I took the card from the table to have a look at it.

William Atkins

Architectural Engineering

38 Tollington Road

Holloway

Recalling one letter of business amongst Thompson's correspondence, I was sure I had come across the name before.

Asking Mrs Hudson for a cup of tea, I went to find out about the paper by digging through my extensive archive, only to find, that the particular brand I had had in mind, was distributed across the whole of the empire and thus proved to be a dead end. The glue, however, was a different matter, as I had expected. I found an old newspaper clipping about a new kind of resin-based glue that had been developed by a scientist in Auckland, who had been working on finding actual uses for sawdust and thought that this might be the answer. As a product, it had never reached England, but for a while had been popular in New Zealand for its cheapness. Eventually, it had been discontinued about five years ago, as it lost its property too quickly and whatever had been glued together with it, fell apart after a relatively short amount of time.

So, what could I conclude from this? That the letters had been written in New Zealand, and as they had not been sent by post, they must have been delivered to an address there as well. Thompson had left the country about fifteen years ago, so the letters must pre-date this time. Which in turn meant, that between the second bundle of letters and the first one, was a gap of at least fourteen years. Did it take this long for W. W. to find out where Thompson had disappeared to? It was possible.

Looking at the clock on the mantelpiece I saw that my mysterious visitor was almost due to arrive. Clearing the second armchair from the papers I had strewn across it, I straightened my appearance and waited, my thoughts wandering off to my wife. I was still slightly unsettled by her bleeding this morning and my heart clenched at the thought, that… - No, I would not go there. Not yet anyway.

When William Atkins was led into my room, my jaw dropped. I had seen this man before, seen him stare angrily at the Thompson's. He was the gentleman that had caught my attention because of his fierce expression. Now, that he stood before me, he looked tired and worn, he held out his hand, smiling apologetically.

"I am very sorry, Mr Holmes, to disturb you on a Sunday morning. I would not have done so, had it not been important. Last night, I have received this letter from my friend – my late friend, I should say – Charles Thompson, who had left it with his lawyer to be sent to me upon his death. I am not sure if you are aware that there has been a murder down at the Lyceum Theatre last Friday. - But I am rambling..." he looked around him and took off his coat, which gave me the opportunity to see, that his left hand, appeared to be in an unnatural position, stiff and almost claw-like. And while on his left, he was wearing a tan coloured leather glove, that he did not attempt to take off, the right, was bare, the fingers calloused and the palm rough as if he was used to working with it heavily, compensating for the loss of his other hand.

"I am aware of that, I was there," I answered dryly.

His eyes widened, as he looked at me more closely, then he smiled in recognition.

"Oh yes, I remember, you were with that pretty lady in the blue dress."

I was slightly taken aback but had to agree, I had been and he had seen me with Harriet, what was there to deny?

"Yes, that was me," I answered evasively, not very keen on attracting attention the fact, that I was married to said pretty lady. One never knew this might still be a ruse.

"Then you know about how he died? That is just as well, as it saves me from a lot of explaining." he sighed, sitting down.

"Now, I think, before I start rambling again, I should first read Charles' letter to you and then you can ask, whatever you want. I want to find my friends killer. He has been most abominably used."

"Have you known Charles Thompson for long?" I asked, lighting a pipe.

"For the better part of my life. I was born and raised on a sheep farm near Wellington in New Zealand. I met with Charles when we were both in our early twenties. He worked as a stonemason and I had just begun to work for the government to oversee any public building projects. He was a nice enough chap and over the years we became close friends. His first wife was my sister. Laura died in childbed along with her daughter. She had been so young, so sweet, but it was not to be."

"So the mother of Charles junior was already his second wife?"

"Yes. She gave him comfort and love, being a young widow herself and he married her as soon as he was out of mourning." If it bothered the man that his sister had been replaced this easily, he did not show it.

"And the boy is actually his son?"

"Yes, Charley is his son. Greta was a good wife, I liked her. She, too, died too early. It left her son unsettled and he became quite ill and he was almost despaired off. It was a most difficult time for my friend. At long last, Charles decided, that a change of situation might be in order and he returned to England."

"That was fifteen years ago?"

William Atkins looked at me astonished. "Yes, it was."

"Your hand? You have not coincidentally lost it during an accident on one of the building sites?" I dug deeper.

"I have," Atkins answered bewildered. "A newly erected wall fell apart. It buried several men underneath, Charles suffered a severe head wound and I lost my hand." he held up his left.

"Have you ever blamed Charles Thompson for it?"

"No, why would I? He was only there to take measures for the carved cornerstones, he was to supply. He had nothing to do with the building itself. We walked together from one corner to the other and then it happened."

I re-stuffed my pipe, offering Atkins a cigar. He declined politely.

Deciding that a straight approach might be in order I asked him bluntly, whether he knew someone with the initials of W. W. The result was quite extraordinary. First Atkins turned pale, then he shrugged and began chuckling.

"Yes, that would be me, Mr Holmes. My actual name is William Watkins, but I thought it better to drop the W from my surname," he admitted.

"And why would that be?"

"Because, I have been known to do some favours in exchange for a bit of extra cash." he looked defiant now, his chin lifted and his eyes challenging.

"And that, of course, does not sit well with somebody working for the government..." I concluded for him, returning his gaze.

"No." William Watkins replied matter of factly, leaning back in his chair.

"Then, Mr Watkins, may I inquire, what is behind these letters?" I had gotten up and held up the original stack. It now made sense, that they appeared wrinkled. Without the use of his left hand, he might inadvertently crumple the sheet he was writing on, especially as it was such thin paper.

He looked at them, then started laughing. "He has really kept them? Now, that is funny – but it explains what he had meant, last time I've seen him. But first to answer your question, they were a joke between Charles and I. The replies were not any less rough, I can assure you. I had been threatened over an assessment of a building that needed to be pulled down, after I had found it faulty and to laugh it off, we began writing our usual demands like that. I organised him a job – he would pay me. He would do me a favour, I would reward him."

He picked up one of the letters, flattened it on his knees and his eyes filled with tears.

"Mr Holmes, I have told you only half the truth till now, I am afraid," he announced, with the air of a man, willing to come clean and do what was necessary to find his best friends murderer. "Yes, Charley had been very ill, but truth be told, Charles would not have left for England, had the ground not started to be too hot for us, so to speak. He and I had built quite a nice business on the side and we have lived well because of it. And you must understand, that that was outside the obvious favouritism. It was not exactly legal, but we managed to dodge the law for quite a while, till we made a mistake. Due to my position, I was able to warn him and he escaped to England and away from the grasp of jurisdiction. As it had been my initial idea, I took the responsibility and so, to distract the investigators, I travelled a bit and managed to shake them off eventually. I think it must have been in Egypt, that they gave up. You must know, I, as an architectural engineer, could not resist seeing the pyramids."

"I presume that is also, why you came to me and did not go to the police?" I asked, rhetorically.

"Yes, for an official, the statutory limitation is twice the amount as for a private person, when it comes to corruption. I am still liable in the eyes of the law. Going to the police would have brought me into prison, no doubt. All they had to do, was look into our past and I would have been done in."

"You spoke of a letter from Thompson, you have received last night?" I finally steered back to the beginning of the conversation.

"Yes, here it is." he pulled it out from his inner pocket and handed it to me.

Dear Bill, you old codger,

as I have told you, I fear for my life and when you hold this in your hands, my fears will have become reality. I was too proud, I should have asked for help. But alas, I was too proud. I could not go to the police, for fear of endangering you, and I hesitated to go to that detective – Sherlock Holmes – for fear he would laugh at me. If you receive this, I beg you, seek his help. I need my family to be safe, especially my little girl, apple of her father's eye. It is the last thing I can do to protect them.

I implore you, have him find the villain.

Love, your brother

Charles

"Here is a note he showed me when he visited me last. - That was on Wednesday. That was also, when he told me, that he would visit the theatre." again he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a neatly folded sheet of paper with an already familiar handwriting on it. The contents let my blood curdle. The meaning of the message could not be more clear.

You, Sir, are most unreasonable in your insistence not to pay me. Your little note was very touching, begging for your daughter's life. If you had been less defiant, I would have, perhaps, given you the promise, to leave her unharmed, but as it is, you were most disobliging. But I will make it easier for you to bear, by first killing you and then rejoin you with your little princess, shortly after. There, is that not kindness itself?

"Do you know, whether he has spoken to his wife about this?"

"To my knowledge, he has not, he did not want to upset her."

Thinking about this for the duration of another pipe, I suddenly jumped up from my chair, leaving the man opposite of me startled.

"Come, Mr Atkins, we'll need to leave, before it is too late."