Disclaimer: usual disclaimers apply, ACD's characters recognised, historical characters are in a fictional but geographically accurate setting.

Chapter 3

We entered Arthur's house, Holmes in a state of evident shock from the lack of recognition he had received. Arthur and I went straight through to the kitchen, whilst Holmes compensated for the slight he had received by spending a few minutes investigating the hallway, lying on the carpeted floor studying blood stains and footprints. After a few minutes he rejoined us, just as the kettle was coming to the boil. Arthur must have seen his somewhat disappointed look, and shortly replaced the teapot with glasses of brandy.

"What strikes you about the case so far?" asked Holmes of us. He eyed us quizzically.

"I think you've already dropped enough bombshells to last me long enough," I replied. "I am quite spent. Why don't you tell us what the interest is?"

"The body or bodies," he replied with agitation. He got up and walked to the kitchen window, looking out over the small but well ordered rear garden. The clear autumn day was starting to cloud over – maybe rain was on its way again. "The two crates did not arrive in London. My study in the station lobby of the railway timetable was most instructive. I can tell you that the train the good doctor saw them being loaded onto – five o'clock from Portsmouth - stops only at Havant, Petersfield, Haslemere, Guildford and Woking. Since they did not arrive at Waterloo Bridge Station, we can therefore safely surmise that they were offloaded at one of those intermediate locations. As we were travelling down I was studying the line of route. Only three of those stations had facilities for luggage handling for the size of container in which we are interested – Havant, Guildford and Woking. So the obvious conclusion is that it was at one of those stations they were offloaded – and with them, in all probability, the two policemen accompanying them."

"Yes, I see," said Arthur, "so the next step would be to telegram those stations and enquire as to what was unloaded off the train."

Again a look of disguised respect seemed to cross Holmes' face for a moment, although he tried to hide it. "Indeed. I have written the required script, and must ask you to have this delivered with haste to the local office."

He tore a page from his notepad and handed it to Arthur, who rose and walked to the front door. Opening it, he put his fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle. In a moment, a young lad stood on the doorstep. Arthur handed him the paper Holmes had written, gave him a coin, and sent him on his way with instructions. Arthur returned to the kitchen.

"Billy is very useful – he will always run my medical errands. It pays to have the ability to provide patients with a fast and efficient service when one is still finding one's feet in a new town." I knew the feeling well, and nodded in agreement.

"Well, we can do no more here," said Holmes with an air of resignation. "Needs must, I presume, to encounter the delights of this fair town. I wonder, Doctor, whether you would give us the benefit of your local knowledge to introduce us to the main points of local interest?"

"Do you have anything in particular in mind?"

"The police station would be a good start."

We were interrupted by the sound of a key in the front door, a creak as it opened, and a woman's scream. We sprinted to the hallway to be greeted by the sight of an older lady, clasping her hand to her mouth, looking intently at the dried blood on the carpet.

"Mrs Evans!" exclaimed Arthur. "A thousand apologies! I had no idea that you were returning today, otherwise I would have cleaned this sooner."

"Not before I had seen it," muttered Holmes under his breath. His face broke into a wide smile and he all but launched himself at the woman. He put his arm around her shoulder and ushered her towards the kitchen to distract her from the appalling sight. He sat her at the table, and seated himself opposite.

"Mrs Evans, I take it that you are my new friend's housekeeper – and owner of this fine property?"

"Yes, that it the case. I'm sorry, you are ….?"

Holmes was visibly taken aback. "My name is Sherlock Holmes." He clearly expected this to result in a reaction, but none came. "This is intolerable…" he muttered under his breath. Nevertheless, he continued valiantly. "Madam, may I ask, have there been any unexpected visitors to the house in the past few days?"

"Not before I went away, there have not. I can't speak for the past week of course."

Holmes considered this and nodded. "Any visitors to adjoining houses? New arrivals? Not..." he quickly added, "that you spy on your neighbours of course. But just in case you have noticed anything."

"There was a new family moved in last month – three doors up – the whitewashed one, number sixteen. A young couple, him in the money profession, and working in the Commercial Road. She is quiet, I haven't seen much of her. Otherwise, just the usual comings and goings of this part of town. There's always soldiery on the streets – right on the ramparts, you see."

This was indeed true. The houses only lined one side of the Terrace, the other was laid to a narrow garden behind railings, on the far side of which were the embankments of the town's defences, now being removed and landscaped as methods of warfare changed.

"I wonder …" mused Holmes. He took his leave from Mrs Evans, for whom Arthur was now preparing tea. I followed him at a little distance as he took his leave, walked out onto the street and along a few doors to the newly occupied house. He studied the step and then rang the doorbell. The door was opened by a tall, moustached young man of perhaps twenty and five years of age. Behind him in the hallway stood his wife, a strikingly beautiful woman of perhaps the same age, or a little younger.

Holmes spoke briefly to them, and then bade his leave. "Ah, Watson! They saw and heard nothing. I had hoped, of course, that the property was empty – that would have been too easy a conclusion as to the missing couple's identity, perhaps! So…" he continued, addressing his comments to Arthur, who had now joined us; "I think I have seen all I need to here. By your leave, I would suggest that you two gentlemen walk on and engage rooms at a suitable hotel, where I will join you shortly. What does the good Doctor recommend?"

For a moment I thought Holmes was talking to me, before I remembered Arthur was a medical man too. "Holmes, don't you think you should call Arthur, 'Arthur'? It would be more convenient…"

Holmes gave me one of his 'looks'. "No, Watson, no more than I would call you 'John'. I was not brought up thus, to show disrespect. I am on first name terms with few of my acquaintances."

Arthur broke in. "Queens Hotel, on the Pier Road, alongside the Common. It is rather excellent – and not too pricey. Of course…" he continued, rather sadly I thought, "I haven't actually stayed there, but I hear it well spoken of."

"It is done, then. John, you and Arthur proceed to the Queens Hotel and there catch up on old times. I will make a few further enquiries here – with the leave of the local constabulary of course - and join you shortly." I thought the emphasis he put on our names was rather unnecessary.

I tried suggesting that we remain to help him, but Holmes was quite firm in his assertion that we were to continue without him. We bade adieu to Arthur's landlady, walked down Hampshire Terrace and Landport Terrace towards the sea front, turned left and strolled through the tree-lined paths of the Common – still clinging to a few late autumn leaves – before reaching the Hotel. We quickly engaged two rooms and made our way to my suite, but rather than talk more I suggested he take an opportunity for a rest whilst I went to the lounge for a drink and smoke. I was fully aware of what he needed – a good eight hours' sleep, so I left him with my promise that should anything come to pass he would be the first to know. I retired to the lounge to spend some pleasant moments reflecting on the day's events. By now it was approaching five o'clock in the afternoon and the light was fading.

A knock at the door of the lounge announced the return of Holmes. He strolled in, and threw himself down into the chair by the window. The look on his face said it all.

"Absolutely hopeless!" he exclaimed. "I thought our colleagues in the Metropolitan Force were inept to the point of unreason, but this …..!" He paused for breath. "You know what they have done?" I indicated I did not. "They have done such a good job in the street that they have removed any evidence of the woman's struggle to Doctor Conan Doyle's door. There is nothing for me to trace from whence the woman made her journey."

"It is hardly unexpected, Holmes. Mrs Evans did not react well to the sight of blood. Few do."

"Rubbish!" Holmes was becoming quite animated. "They have a duty to investigate a crime. How can they do it without carefully examining the evidence – all of it? The police ordered the cleaning of the street. Think about it! They can't just go barging in and remove evidence or destroy it. Once it's gone, it's gone. And as for the quality of the local constable – I visited the police station and saw the notes he took when Doctor Conan Doyle visited him earlier this morning. Hopeless and useless."

"Holmes, be steady," I cautioned. His voice was raised and attracting attention – and disapproving glances - from other guests. "Perhaps the ways of the Metropolitan Force have not made their way here yet. Maybe that's why I need to keep my journal – how else will anyone learn of the correct method of investigation?" Holmes 'tutted' but the point was not lost on him, and he visibly swelled with pride in his chair. "And of course, remember what you yourself said back in London this morning. If the local force is implied in the events, might you not expect them to remove evidence?"

Holmes smiled one of his warm but slightly pitying smiles at me. "You are of course absolutely correct, Watson," he replied. "Although, perhaps, not as regards the journal! But, yes, I had considered that possibility. I have interviewed every person I could find who was in the area immediately following the event – police, neighbours, various town servants. No witnesses to the shooting of course, and indeed nothing of any use. You know what this means, of course?"

"They were mistaken."

He sighed impatiently. "It means that your friend is the only witness to every – every, mark you – part of his retelling of the events. There is no other evidence to support his story. No-one heard a gun shot. No-one saw the body being taken away. No-one saw anything other than two cabinets being loaded onto the morning train. No-one saw the men he reports."

"The blood, Holmes!"

"The blood could be anyone's. He is a doctor, after all! Agreed, there were two sets of footprints on the hallway carpet, excluding Doctor Conan Doyle's – his shoes are rather undersize to account for the prints – but again he could have used another person's shoes. It is not hard to come by used footwear for sale."

"Used?"

"Both sets of prints indicated wear on the soles."

"But come, Holmes - you still think he is trustworthy, though?"

To my alarm, Holmes actually took a moment to reply: "For your sake, I hope he is. The alternative – if he is telling the truth - is that we are dealing with some very clever, well connected people at a high level of authority – and that fits with what he reports. People able to manipulate events and remove evidence quickly and thoroughly. But the fact, Watson, remains that the evidence of one man is poor evidence indeed."

I remembered a fact that could support Arthur's version of events. "Surely the footprints you report – does not the Force have a specific issue of footwear?"

"Yes, but just suppose your friend is not being wholly honest with us – however unlikely it may be. It would be easy for him to procure surplus pairs. This is, as you have reminded me more than once, a naval town. As a result, standards in civilian life are lower. Now, Watson, I need to clear this lumber, and I must ask you as a friend and trusted colleague - how well do you know him? Really know him?"

I was doing my best not to become affronted or discouraged by Holmes' doubts. "Well, we have been acquainted on and off for some ten years - well before my military postings. We are not what you would call 'close' friends. But I respect him for his knowledge. He has been there for me when I have needed support, Holmes."

Further conversation was cut short as a knock at the door was followed shortly by Arthur entering the room. "I thought I heard raised voices. What news, Mr Holmes?"

"Nothing of any importance," replied my friend. "A very thorough job has been done of clearing the area so quickly that there is little evidence to find to support your retelling of the events."

Arthur was clearly taken aback by the tone of Holmes' reply, and probably guessed the content of the conversation we were having at the time he walked in. He looked to me for encouragement. "I know you need to have an enquiring mind, Mr Holmes, and it does you credit, but I assure you that I am telling the truth."

"We will follow what little we have in a planned and organised way," replied Holmes. "The outcome of our studies will determine the veracity of your statement. But be warned, sir, I do not take kindly to time wasting."

Arthur's hackles were rising, and I have to admit, mine too. "Holmes!" I said. "Come, man, give him a chance at least."

"That I will do. It all hangs on the results of the telegram I sent earlier this afternoon. Until the reply is in my hands there is nothing else that I can do to further my enquiries. I am suspending my efforts. Now - is there anywhere in this place that offers civilised entertainment?"

"A number of theatres. This Hotel has a good reputation for food." Arthur was quite downcast. "I don't know how any show would compare to what you're used to, I'm afraid."

"So, evening meal, then," said Holmes, "and then … we shall see."