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Chapter Three - On the Case
There was a tense moment of silence in 221b Baker Street as Mrs Harris finished her story. She had collapsed finally into the tears that had been threatening to spill since she entered. Captain Harris held her hand firmly to try and comfort her, but her misery and her guilt meant that she would not be consoled.
"The police have been informed," Captain Harris said, taking over the narrative from his wife, "but they are at a loss and my wife and I are beginning to despair."
Sherlock Holmes opened his eyes, which had been closed as he sat back in his armchair. He fixed his gaze on Mrs Harris, who was beginning to regain her composure and he watched her intently for a few moments before he turned his grey eyes on Captain Harris.
"How long have you been back in England, Captain?" he asked.
"Since Sunday," he replied, "I came home to find my house crawling with police and my wife and son in hysterics." His voice cracked but he knew better than to lose control of his emotions in front of anyone, let alone to complete strangers. "You must help us Mr Holmes. We are desperate."
"How did your uncle die, Mrs Harris?" Holmes asked.
"Oh, poor man, his heart was weak. He died of a heart attack during dinner," she replied with tears still sparkling in her eyes.
"Was he dining alone?" Holmes asked.
"Yes, I believe so. The servants would be able to answer your questions." Mrs Harris pulled out a pristine handkerchief and dabbed delicately at her eyes, desperate not to smudge her make-up.
"And how long had he been back from India?"
"Only a few years. He was still quite young really, but his bad heart forced him out of the army. I'm afraid I'm not too sure about the exact length of time."
"And where was he stationed?" Holmes continued, much to Mrs Harris' confusion.
"Er, Bengal I think. They had trouble with rebels in that area and his regiment were sent to protect British interests."
Sherlock Holmes watched the couple for a few moments more then he took a deep breath and stood up before them. He pulled himself up to his full height.
"I will of course, give this case my undivided attention," he announced. They looked up at him with relief written all over their ashen faces.
"Thank you, Mr Holmes," Captain Harris said, as he stood and shook Holmes' hand. "I will rest easier knowing that you are on the case."
With a further promise to travel to their home in Brighton the next afternoon, Sherlock Holmes bid the couple farewell and they left with renewed hope.
Watson looked solemnly at his companion, who leant on the mantelpiece, his face a picture of concentration.
"Bad business, Holmes," Watson said rather pointlessly. "The girl must have been kidnapped on her way to the Sir Edward's house."
Holmes turned to him. "Have you heard of Sir Edward Wells before?" he asked.
Watson thought for a moment then replied, "The name does seem familiar, now that you come to mention it."
Holmes crossed the room to his index books and took out the W volume. He flicked through the pages and mumbled the names as he searched until he came to the one in question.
"Sir Edward and Lady Wells," he read, skipping through the first few lines, "married March 1858, moved to India where Sir Edward managed a tea garden in Darjeeling."
"India again," Watson remarked.
"Yes, and Bengal too, it is just possible that Major Morrison and Sir Edward knew of each other."
"I know someone else who was stationed in Bengal," Watson stated conversationally as he pocketed his notebook and sat on the settee that the Harrises had previously occupied. "When I was in Afghanistan I treated a Lieutenant George Grey for gunshot wounds. Anyway, I got to be rather good friends with him but then I was invalided back home and he was promoted to Captain and was transferred to Bengal."
"Where is he now?" Holmes asked, suddenly interested in Watson's army tales.
"I believe he's back in England," Watson replied, lighting a cigarette and sitting back to relax.
"Do you think he would talk to you now?" Holmes inquired.
"Yes, I'm sure he would, if you think it's important," Watson replied, uncertain as to Holmes' reason for asking.
"My dear chap!" Holmes exclaimed, standing and pulling Watson out of his comfortable position on the settee, "I believe it is of the utmost importance. You must send a telegram to Captain Grey at once and ask if you can see him," Holmes continued in a booming voice as he ushered Watson to the desk to write his telegram.
"Well, of course Holmes," Watson agreed, a little flustered by this sudden activity. "But what do I need to see him about?"
The next morning Watson found himself at the home of his old friend Captain Grey. His house was small but luxuriously furnished, showing the Captain to be a man of excellent taste. Grey himself looked very well and just as Watson remembered him. He was still in good shape, his shoulders broad and square and his face still held the same youthful good looks, save for a few wrinkles around his dark eyes.
"My dear, Watson, how good to see you," he said as he shook Watson's hand vigorously with a strong, firm grip. "How have you been keeping?"
George Grey had always been dark skinned, being of Italian decent on his mother's side, but the Indian sun had darkened it further and that coupled with his jet black hair which still had not greyed, gave him a rather mysterious exotic appearance.
"Very well thank you," Watson replied politely and followed the Captain into his study, which was rather dark but nevertheless a comfortable room.
"Yes, I've heard what you've been up too," said Grey with a sly smile as he poured two glasses of whiskey. Before Watson had time to tell the older man that it was a little too early in the day for him to be drinking, the glass was thrust into his hands, leaving him no option but accept the drink politely. "I had no idea life outside the army could be so exciting." He laughed and sat in his chair after he took a large swig of whiskey.
"Yes, my work with Holmes certainly stops me going mad from boredom," Watson replied as he sat in the chair opposite Captain Grey and put his whiskey on the table, untouched. "And it's on that business that I've come to see you today," he continued.
Captain Grey's large black eyebrows shot up in surprise and he leaned forward in anticipation of what his old friend was going to reveal to him. "Oh?" he asked in a whisper.
"Yes, we're on a case...of some delicacy you understand," Watson answered cautiously, concerned that he would reveal too much of this tragic case. "It concerns a...young girl."
Watson needed to say no more. Humans were naturally cautious when it came to young people, and any crime against them was widely considered to be a heinous crime indeed. Unnatural even.
"I understand," Grey answered.
"When you were in India, George, did you serve under a Major Morrison?" he asked, jumping straight in with a pertinent question. Grey smiled with an expression of fond remembrance on his handsome face.
"Good Lord, Major Morrison," he said with affection ringing clear in his voice. "Yes, indeed, fine CO, Major Morrison and very good at Bridge. I was very sad to read about his
death."
"Do you know if he knew Sir Edward Wells?"
Captain Grey's smile faltered as he heard Wells' name mentioned. He seemed to pale visibly in front of Watson's eyes and the doctor watched as he downed the rest of whiskey in one go.
"Oh yes, John," Grey replied after swallowing the bitter liquid. "We all knew of Sir Edward, and his wife."
"Something bad?" Watson question. Captain Grey laughed mirthlessly, stood and crossed the room to his drinks cabinet.
"We were only stationed there to try and control the rebels, make sure they didn't sabotage the plantations and such," Grey said as he poured another unhealthy dose of whiskey into his tumbler. "While we were there three native girls went missing. Command were worried that suspicion might fall on the regiment and it might spark another rebellion so we were ordered to investigate, to see if we could defuse the situation." He turned to face Watson and leant back on the cabinet, swirling the amber liquid around in his glass. "We had no leads though and eventually the poor girls were found in the river, sliced up, mutilated and bloated by the water; horrible sight."
Watson felt his throat tighten and he swallowed to try and relieve it. "Were there any suspects?" Watson asked, wondering how this linked to Sir Edward Wells.
"No," Grey answered sadly, "not at first. If ever anyone was in need of your friend Mr Holmes it was Major Morrison. The sight of those young girls made him mad. He had a heart of gold. Anyway, we all knew about Sir Edward and his wife. The young daughters of the families living out there were very taken with Lady Wells and she was considered a good influence, being from a good family and all. So they would spend a lot of time with them back at their home in Darjeeling." Captain Grey paused to gather his thoughts and took a small sip of whiskey. "One day, one of Sir Edward's workers, a migrant worker from Nepal, came to us, saying he had seen the missing native girls at Sir Edward's house through one of the windows. He said one of the girls looked straight at him and pleaded with her eyes for his help."
"He was suggesting that Sir Edward murdered these girls?" Watson asked incredulously.
"Yes, and we believed him. I've never seen an Indian man so pale, Watson. Major Morrison went up there to ask some questions and I interviewed a few of the other workers. They were terrified of Sir Edward, especially the women and the men were convinced that he was using the young British women for...immoral purposes if you understand me."
Yes, Watson did understand. He gave in and finally took a gulp of the whiskey he'd been given, his mouth suddenly very dry.
"What happened?" Watson asked.
"We were told by command that we were to proceed no further with the investigation and concentrate on the task we'd been set. The worker who came to us mysteriously disappeared
and a few weeks later Sir Edward and his wife left India."
"A cover up?" Watson asked rhetorically. "Are you sure he was guilty?"
"Just to look at him, Watson, and to see the fear in those people's eyes," Grey admitted and downed the rest of his second glass of whiskey. "Sir Edward has friends in high places, friends who hadn't had to drag those poor girls out of the river."
There was a moment of silence almost in respect to the memories of the Indian girls who had who's suffering had been ignored.
"I'm sorry to bring all this back up, George," Watson said softly then finished the rest of his whiskey. "You said that they were popular with the other British families. I expect their daughter made friends with many of the girls her age."
Grey looked at him in confusion. "No, they never had a daughter. There was just the two of them. Although when they left India two of the older girls, who had both come of age went with them."
"Went with them!" Watson exclaimed, his brow furrowed in confusion. Then a thought struck him as he remember Mrs Harris' story and he looked up at his old friend. "Was one of them called Nancy by any chance?"
"Yes, Nancy Harrington. Beautiful girl." Grey tilted his head and gave Watson a questioning look. "Why do you ask?"
"I think she may be connected with the case," Watson answered vaguely. So that girl wasn't their daughter. "Listen George, can you tell me everything you know about Sir Edward and his wife?"
"I'll certainly try," he answered calmly, but Watson noticed that he was pouring another drink. "If you think it will help I will certainly try."
"It will, George. Thank you," Watson replied.
What on Earth had he and Holmes stumbled into?