Prompt from sirensbane: That damned gorilla.
AN: At first, I could get no traction with this prompt. It became worse when I learned that gorillas were relatively unknown to Europeans until a skull was found and identified as a new species in 1847. Once I did get some traction, though, the story just would not stop going. It's a bit long and I have not properly edited it, but here it is.
The Case of the Bloodless Ape
One of the strangest cases in which Sherlock Holmes chose to involve me occurred shortly after my marriage. The second day after returning from my honeymoon, in fact. I was installed behind my writing desk in my consulting room when a rapping at my door drew my attention from the patient records I was updating. Looking up, I found my receptionist smiling uncertainly at me.
"Yes, Elsie?" I asked, wondering if she had admitted one last patient in spite of the late hour.
"A gentleman and lady to see you, Doctor," said she, flitting a glance over her shoulder and back to me. "Not a patient, sir. I asked them to wait."
"A tall gentleman?" I asked. "Dark hair, aquiline nose and grey eyes?"
"I didn't notice his eyes," she replied. "He is tall and dark, though."
I immediately closed the folder on my blotter and rose, donning my jacket.
"Show them in, Elsie," said I.
I could already feel the energy coursing through my veins in anticipation of what might come. My high mood dampened slightly when a young woman of twenty odd wearing mourning preceded Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Greeting my old friend in passing, I rushed to offer the young woman a chair and inquired if she would care for refreshment.
"No. Thank you, Doctor," said she, seating herself.
"Watson, forgive me for intruding and for foregoing the usual courtesies," said Holmes, taking station near the young woman. "This is Miss Rebecca Standish. It is on her behalf we are here. Her uncle was slain last evening, and she fears an injustice is about to occur."
"They are going to kill Molly," said the young woman. Behind her dark veil, I could see an expression of great distress. Indeed, tears started from her eyes, which she quickly blotted with a kerchief.
"Molly?" I asked, looking to Holmes.
"You read of the death of Mr. Horatio Standish?" Holmes asked.
"I noted the headline," said I. "I had no time to read the article, though."
"Forgive me Miss Standish. I will be brief," said Holmes to his client. "Watson, Mr. Standish, according to the newspapers, was slain by an ape he had brought back from an African safari. You can imagine, knowing me as you do, that the case took my interest instantly. Sensationalist articles aside, the known facts are that Mr. Standish, while on safari, shot a chimpanzee, intending to bring it back to England and have it mounted as a trophy. When he realized the ape was female and held an infant in its arms, he was horrified and took it upon himself to see to it the little creature was cared for."
"Uncle Horatio never quite forgave himself, Doctor," inserted Rebecca Standish.
"I see," I said. "And it killed him?"
"No!" I was shocked at the vehemence in Miss Standish's voice as she shot to her feet, standing rigid as a statue before me. "Molly loved Uncle Horatio! She is gentle and as caring as any human might be. She and I played together as children. Molly would never harm anyone intentionally, though with her strength, she has surprised several of us over the years. Never out of malice. Accidentally."
"Please, Miss Standish," Holmes said soothingly.
Rebecca Standish glanced at Holmes and shook herself, as if needing a physical act to subdue her emotions. She resumed her seat, and I turned my attention back to Holmes.
"Last evening, some hours after the household retired, a ruckus was heard. The son, Lloyd Standish, states he followed the sounds of a struggle to his father's trophy room where he discovered the ape attacking his father. He says he went to his father's aid immediately, driving the creature off with a Maasai spear, eventually returning it to its enclosure."
"Mr. Holmes," Rebecca interrupted. "Please, Molly is not an it."
An apologetic expression suffused my friend's face and he bowed slightly to his client.
"Molly," he said carefully, "was driven back to her enclosure. The enclosure is a large conservatory at the back of the house, styled to resemble the habitat in which chimpanzees are wont to live. While he was so occupied, Mrs. Standish, wife of the deceased, came down and found her husband barely clinging to life. The servants soon arrived and a footman was sent to summon a doctor and police. Before the doctor could arrive, Mr. Standish succumbed to his injuries."
"I understand," I said. "What do you need of me?"
"I require a medical expert to examine Mr. Standish," said Holmes.
"We must hurry," Rebecca said.
"Indeed we must," said Holmes. "Clues have already been lost. A coroner has performed a preliminary examination. You know Dr. Haze?"
I nodded. Dr. Sebastian Haze was well known among the small community of police surgeons as a man who was too ready to put his name to whatever form was placed in front of him. He made a tidy living by toeing the official line and never challenging evidence.
"Robert Dunn is the Standish family solicitor and the executor of Horatio Standish's estate," Holmes said. "Through him, we have obtain authority to examine Mr. Standish and put a hold on the euthanization of Molly. In the event of her uncle's demise or incapacity, Miss Standish was to take charge of the long term care of Molly. A stay has been placed on all actions taken towards the ape for the next two days."
"You see, Doctor, we must act quickly," Rebecca said, wringing her hands in her lap. "Uncle Horatio would not want Molly killed, even if she did what the police think she did."
"I understand," I said. "A moment and I will be with you."
I arranged for a message to be sent to my home informing Mary that Holmes had need of me and that I would be late, and promising to tell her everything once I arrived. That attended to, I put a few extra things in my bag, threw on my ulster and hat and rushed to join Holmes and our client in the four-wheeler in front of my practice.
Twenty minutes later Holmes and I were conducted into the coroner's tile lined examination room. Upon the table lay a man's body, covered in a white sheet.
"It is not a pretty sight, Watson," said Holmes as I reached to draw the sheet away.
"I can say it is not," said a blustery voice from behind us. "Heard you were interfering, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. The man was beaten to death by an ape, Doctor. That's all there is to it."
Turning, we found Dr. Sebastian Haze in the doorway. Though tall, he was rather porcine with dark eyes behind undersized pince-nez. His white laboratory coat was immaculate and the clipboard under his arm was thick with forms.
"You won't find anything I didn't," said Haze. "You're wasting your time, Doctor."
"It may be that I will find no more than you," said I, and I had to work to keep the contempt from my words. "What I make of it, though, is another matter."
Haze snorted derisively, turned away and shut the door behind himself.
Stripping to my waistcoat, I donned my apron and began my examination. Pulling back the sheet, I was horrified and fascinated to see the injuries inflicted upon the victim. I had seen their like before, I am sad to say.
"The body has already been washed," I observed.
"Clues lost," Holmes said. His tone was mild, but I detected a trace of irritation.
"You have not already examined him?" I asked, surprised.
"I was permitted to view the body," Holmes said bitterly. "I was not permitted to examine it. Do you note anything peculiar? The bruising on the abdomen, for instance."
"The injuries are entirely consistent," I said, focusing on the body. "Two, perhaps three blows. Such bruising is typical in a beating. These occurred perimortem. The bruising would be more extensive otherwise. The facial lacerations are unusual."
"Yes," said Holmes, leaning in close with his magnifying lens. "Not done with fists. Watson, have you forceps?"
I produce a pair from my bag and Holmes directed me in extracting a black object no larger than a nail clipping from a cut near Horatio Standish's hairline.
"Bark?" I asked, holding the object out for Holmes to examine it.
"Bark," he confirmed and held a small envelope open, tucking it in his pocket after I placed the evidence in it.
"The beast beat him with a length of wood?" I asked.
"Not according to Lestrade," said Holmes gravely. "Lloyd Standish stated that Molly was standing upon Mr. Standish's chest, raining blows down on his head with both hands. Note, Watson, that he said both hands."
"Possibly he did not see the club," I said. "Or the ape might have dropped it before he entered the room."
"The latter is more likely."
I nodded and went back to my examination.
"Holmes," I said after several intense minutes, "the injuries to this man's face were not inflicted by fists."
"I agree," he said.
"Even an ape's hands would not be hard enough to split the skin in this manner." I indicated a number of wounds. "Moreover, here are two wounds to the side of his head and one on his pate. Clearly inflicted by a weapon."
"A length of wood?"
"Possibly," I said nodding. "That bit of bark suggests it."
There was little more to glean from the body and Holmes and I departed to rejoin our client in the cab. She sat pensively, wringing her hands and looking about, unable to settle. Holmes assured her we were doing all that could be done and that Molly was safe for the moment.
"But she's in that house," protested Miss Standish. "She is not safe!"
"You said there is a constable on guard outside the conservatory," said Holmes. "I do not believe anyone will attempt harm to Molly while he is there. And, speaking of Molly, do you believe it would be safe for me to examine her? I would also like to examine the trophy room. Could that be arranged?"
"She may be distressed, Mr. Holmes," Miss Standish said. "It would be best if I were with you. Mr. Dunn agreed to meet us at the house and has agreed to allow you whatever access you require."
"Your aunt does not object?" Holmes asked.
"She did, but Mr. Dunn talked some sense into her."
Upon our arrival at the Standish home, we were greeted by a tall, robust man in his mid-twenties. His expression was grave and unwelcoming.
"I am Lloyd Standish and my cousin has no right to dictate what goes on in this household," said he. "I ask you gentlemen to leave immediately."
"Lloyd!" snapped an older man from a doorway several paces away. "None of that. Inspector Lestrade has already agreed to permit Mr. Holmes to view the trophy room."
"Indeed I have," said our old friend, passing the older man as he stepped through the doorway. "Good evening, Miss Standish. Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, good evening to you also. Gentlemen, this is Mr. Sebastian Dunn. The late Mr. Standish's solicitor."
Lestrade's accommodating attitude struck me as highly unusual. While there is no doubt that Lestrade had warmed to Holmes' methods in recent years, he continued to maintain a competitive air when Holmes was involved with a case. Here, Lestrade seemed to view Holmes as nothing less than a fast and close ally.
Civilities observed; we were shown into a stylish parlor where we were introduced to Mrs. Emily Standish. She was a short, stout woman of about fifty. Her attitude was the same as her son's, though she was less overt.
"I cannot understand why you involve these men, Rebecca," said Mrs. Standish in a bereaved tone. "Horatio was murdered by that damned gorilla! That is all there is to it. It needs to be put down. I am sorry, but that is how I feel."
Shocked by her words, I nevertheless noted Holmes narrow his eyes in the manner of a cat spotting prey.
"Molly did no such thing!" Rebecca snapped, rising to the defense of the ape. "She doesn't have a violent bone in her body!"
"She dislocated my shoulder," interrupted Lloyd Standish. He stood beside the red marble fireplace, one hand in his trouser pocket, smoking a slender cigarette. "Or do you forget? And, recall when she threw Thomas on his back? It was days before the man could walk without pain."
"They were playing," Rebecca said. "He never blamed her. Even he said it was only because the way he landed. And you were teasing her with that bit of fruit! You always tormented her!"
"Please!" interrupted Lestrade. "Ladies, gentlemen, there is a proper way to go about these things. I have known Mr. Holmes many years. I have full confidence in him. He will not shield the ape if it is to blame for the death of Mr. Standish. Is that not correct, Mr. Holmes?"
"Entirely correct," said my friend. "My sole interest is to see that no injustice is done."
"Injustice?" Mrs. Standish shot him an incredulous look. "Having that monster in this house is an injustice! That it could inherit half my husband's estate is an injustice!"
"Mother," Lloyd Standish said, taking his hand from his pocket and making a calming gesture.
I saw Holmes' eyes flick in the man's direction and followed his gaze. Perhaps I was mistaken, or did not clearly see due to Mr. Standish moving his hand, but it appeared his knuckles were reddened as if they had scraped over something recently.
"Have you injured your hand, sir?" asked Holmes. "I am sure Dr. Watson would take a look at it."
"What?" Lloyd turn his hand up so that he could look at the back of it. When he did, I noticed a slight swelling in his fingers. "Oh yes. It happened last night. I must have banged it on something."
"When you drove Molly out of the trophy room?" Holmes asked.
"I suppose that must have been it," said Lloyd, slipping his hand back into his pocket. "See here, Holmes. I already said I do not want you here. Since the inspector insists we must allow it, why don't you and your doctor friend get on with whatever it is you are supposed to be doing and stop annoying my mother?"
"Yes!" Mrs. Standish said waspishly. "I want to be alone. Leave me."
Leaving Lloyd and his mother in the parlor, the rest of us exited, shutting the door.
"Holmes," Lestrade said in a low tone, "Something is rotten in Denmark."
"Agreed," said Holmes, nodding. "You suspect what?"
"Those two have been acting peculiar, sir," said Lestrade. "You know I have done this many times in the past. Too many times. Families experiencing a death are always upset. Some are angry. Others are irritated or annoyed with the police. All greave in some way, though. These two, wife and son, are simply angry and annoyed. That's why I agreed so readily to your involvement."
"Perhaps you should examine the trophy room, Mr. Holmes," Robert Dunn suggested.
The butler was summoned and we were escorted to the scene of the crime. Entering, I immediately noticed the striking difference between this room and the parts of the house we had already seen. Well-appointed with comfortable furniture and a billiard table, the walls were hung with a handful of paintings depicting exotic hunt scenes from Africa and India. At least a dozen stag heads crowded one wall. Many fine specimens. Lion and tiger heads flanked the mantelpiece above a hearth, the fire now burned to ash and cold. A jaguar skin was stretched across another wall. In one corner, a rack held several spears from various native cultures. Presumably, it was one of these Lloyd Standish used against Molly.
"Quite the sportsman, was Mr. Standish," observed Lestrade admiringly.
"Uncle had given up his safaris," Rebecca said. "He hunted in Europe almost exclusively for the last few years, though he was planning to travel to the western United States. He hoped to bring down one of their grizzly bears."
"Where was Mr. Standish killed?" Holmes asked.
"On the other side of the billiard table," Lestrade said. "To the left of the fireplace."
"Odd," said Holmes. He had not yet moved from where we stood by the door.
"What is?" Lestrade asked.
"A glass on the mantel." Holmes crossed the room. "Empty. Another on the hearthstone. Broken."
"Two glasses?" I said.
"It could be he had company," said Mr. Dunn. "Or perhaps he dropped the broken one and simply got another. Is it important?"
"We shall see," said Holmes. "Miss Standish, was your uncle in the habit of bringing Molly to this room?"
"He never did," she said. "Uncle Horatio felt his trophies might disturb her. She was allowed to go most places on the ground floor and to his library on the first. Aunt Emily forbade him from bringing Molly anywhere else upstairs."
As she said this, Holmes busied himself inspecting the dead fire.
"Lestrade, Watson, come see," he said, waving us over.
"What is it, Holmes?" I asked, looking over his shoulder.
"Ashes and coals," Lestrade murmured.
"Note how the ashes all fall around the andirons, Lestrade," said my friend. "All except for here."
He extended his arm and indicated a row of coals and ash lying at an angle near the back of the hearth.
"What does that suggest to you?"
"A log must have fallen out of place," said I.
"Not a log, Doctor," Lestrade said. "More like a heavy stick. I should have seen that last night."
"Likely the fire masked it," Holmes said. "That and you were preoccupied with the body."
"What's the significance, Holmes?" I asked, knowing he was onto something.
In answer, from his pocket he took the small envelope containing the bit of bark we had removed from Mr. Standish's wound. Holmes briefly explained what it was and passed it to Lestrade who looked at the envelope gravely.
Holmes rose and looked about. He took a moment or two to scrutinize the bloodstain on the floor where the man had been killed and then went to the corner with the rack of spears.
"I should think this is the one," said he, pointing to a weapon with a head nearly as long as a sword blade. This was socketed onto a short length of wood which had a length of tapering iron similarly attached at the butt. Holmes did not take the spear from the rack, but he did use his lens to inspect it. "A trace of blood here, Lestrade."
The inspector went to have a look and nodded.
"Could be a finger or two," he said. "Bit smeared, isn't it?"
"As if it had been wiped with a rag," agreed Holmes.
"It must have come from Lloyd's hand," Rebecca said.
"Why would he wipe it off?" Dunn wondered.
"More importantly," I said. "How did he get blood on his hand in the first place?"
"Good question, Doctor," said Lestrade, nodding.
"Something else about the room," Holmes said, turning to scan our surroundings. "Aside from the bloodstain and the broken glass, everything is quite orderly. Does it not seem queer?"
I had to agree. "Seems to me an animal incensed to violence would be more destructive."
"Molly is never truly violent," Rebecca protested.
"And, your uncle never brought her to this room," Holmes said. "How did she get out of her enclosure? Did she let herself out?"
"She would have needed a key, Mr. Holmes," Rebecca said. "Molly was never allowed to roam on her own. Someone was always with her."
"Who kept the key?" he asked.
"No one. It hangs on a hook beside the enclosure's door."
"Then anyone could have let her out," I said.
"I think I would like to see Molly now," said Holmes. "Miss Standish, would she be comfortable with a stranger?"
"She has met many people over the years, Mr. Holmes. Uncle Horatio often brought her to the music room during parties."
The enclosure was more extravagant than I had imagined from Holmes' brief description. We entered by a rather ordinary looking set of French doors, their large glass panes fortified with wrought iron scrollwork. Inside, it was like stepping into a jungle except for a broad patio of flagstones. High above, blue sky could be seen through a glass roof. All around were substantial trees, some bearing fruit even at that time of cold weather. Vines and long leaved plants sprouted everywhere, and in the middle of this primeval grandeur was a dais on which a large round cushion rested.
"Molly?" called Miss Standish. "Where are you, sweetness?"
A cry of wild joy rang out and from one of the trees bounded a black furred, long-armed chimpanzee, a wide grin spread across its face. Rebecca stepped forward to meet her and the ape lunged, throwing her powerful arms about the young woman in a heartfelt hug. To any outside observer it would have been obvious the two loved each other. As they embraced, the young woman spoke muffled words of affection and the ape chortled and cooed happily. Finally, Rebecca kissed Molly on top of the head and disengaged herself, taking the smiling brute by the hand and leading her to us.
"Gentlemen," Rebecca said, her cheeks appealingly pink under her veil, "this is Molly. Molly, say hello."
I was uncertain what to expect but Holmes squatted before the ape and she held out her hand as if to shake and introduce herself.
"Hello Molly," said Holmes, taking her by the hand and smiling. "A pleasure to meet you."
I attempted to emulate Holmes and I believe I succeeded sufficiently. Lestrade balked, taking the ape's proffered hand in a perfunctory manner and speaking a curt greeting. Dunn, who had met Molly previously, allowed her to give him a hug and then he shooed her back to Rebecca.
"Lestrade, would you ask your man to get a basin of warm water and a white towel or some other light colored cloth?" asked Holmes, eying the friendly little brute. "Miss Standish, Molly would not mind me giving her something of a bath, would she?"
"I suppose not, Mr. Holmes," Rebecca said with an uncertain glance at the ape. "Normally, she bathes in a washtub. She enjoys being groomed. I think, though, it might be better if I were the one to wash her."
"You need not be too thorough," said Holmes. "A proper bath is unnecessary. I will direct you."
A few minutes transpired while the water and towel were fetched, but when they arrived Molly seemed quite happy and relaxed as, under Holmes' direction, Rebecca Standish used the wet towel to wipe the ape's hands meticulously.
"Note the absence of any sign of blood, Lestrade," said Holmes, holding up the towel.
"I do, sir," Lestrade said seriously.
"Miss Standish, do the same to her face and then her chest, please," directed Holmes.
Again, the towel came away with no sign of blood on it or in the water.
"What does it mean?" Mr. Dunn wondered.
"It means this animal did not kill Mr. Horatio Standish," Lestrade said decisively.
"Indeed," said Holmes. "If Molly had inflicted those wounds on the man, even using a cudgel, she would have blood in her fur somewhere. Also, I have visited the London Zoo and watched the chimpanzees at play. While a man might throw a punch, driving his fist from his shoulder, chimpanzees do not. They flail their arms, delivering overhand blows and striking with the edge of the hand."
"The bruising on Mr. Standish's abdomen was caused by a closed fist driven straight into him," I said, the truth dawning on me in that instant.
"Just so, Watson," Holmes said, nodding seriously. "Molly could not have inflicted such an injury and any she might have delivered would have left bruises of a different shape. Tell me, Mr. Dunn, what precisely did Mrs. Standish mean when she said Molly would inherit half Mr. Standish's estate?"
"In his will, Mr. Standish established a trust to provide a safe place for Molly to spend her life," replied Mr. Dunn. "Half of his fortune was to be set aside for the purpose and it was to be Miss Rebecca who would oversee Molly's care. Any residual after Molly's death would revert to the family, whoever the survivors might be."
Holmes gave Lestrade a meaningful look. Lestrade pursed his lips and nodded.
"I think I better have a long talk with Lloyd Standish," Lestrade said.
"What about Molly?" Rebecca asked, her voice catching with emotion.
"Your Molly is safe," Lestrade said. "I will instruct my constable to allow only you into this place alone. Anyone else will have to have you with them."
Surprising us all, Rebecca Standish lunged across our little group and threw her arms about Lestrade's neck in a hug as fierce as the one Molly had greeted her with. She cried aloud, laughing happily while the chimp capered and shrieked in excitement. I do not think I have ever seen Lestrade blush with pleasure before or since.
For Holmes, the weeks following our investigation were occupied with determining the reason for Horatio Standish's murder at the hands of his own son. His scrutiny revealed a long list of debts the younger Standish had incurred and a bank account nearly drained. Through the servants it was learned that Horatio Standish had paid off similar debts owed by his son several years prior and that he had refused to advance him any more money when Lloyd had asked again. Lloyd was tried, convicted and hanged.
It could not be determined whether or not Mrs. Emily Standish had anything to do with the murder of her husband. It should be noted, however, that immediately after the trial of her son concluded, she purchased a home in Portugal and left England permanently.
Rebecca Standish, I am pleased to report, subsequently moved into the Standish home and cares for Molly to this day.