Part 6

Sherlock Holmes never dwelt on the particulars of one case when he was engaged in another. Unfortunately, the very night after we had apprehended Benigan and Lawrence, another case involving a stolen cameo attracted his attention, and his amazing chain of deduction was left unexplained. It was not until the end of November, when his mind was relatively free, that he began to clear up the murky parts of this unusual adventure.

"Well, I didn't catch either Benigan or Lawrence before the day was out," he said dejectedly, as he sat reading by the fire.

"Whatever do you mean?" I asked, looking up from writing in my journal with astonishment.

"Don't you remember, Watson? When I agreed to meet Miss Viola Burgess at her apartment, I told her I would solve the mystery that day. And I did not."

"Oh, Holmes," I said, reproachfully. "You must not think – "

"It is rather unusual for me," he said, meditating.

"Well, at least you knew what you were doing," I remarked. "I was really rather confused for the most part."

"You were? Ha! How odd. I will explain what I did, if you like."

I told him I certainly would.

"Well," he began, settling himself in his favourite part of the settee, "it is all quite easy, if you think about it.

"I admit I first suspected Miss Burgess. The fact that she knew not to touch the knife, as she would leave fingerprints, is an unusual deduction on the client's part, unless she thinks she has the possibility to be incriminated. Of course we later realised she was just a conscientious young lady, as proven in her various descriptions, and this also makes sense, as an artist would have to possess a keen eye for detail. But when we learned she had attended the art show, I was even more inclined to mistrust her. But of course that was cleared up when she actually fainted upon receiving the box with her broken sculpture. A woman cannot fake a fainting spell such as that, and she certainly cannot accelerate her heart to the rate that young lady's was beating. Of course, Miss Burgess might not have expected her sculpture to be broken, but I determined the two defacements were related by the way they were opened and stored – you were present for that explanation, assuming you were listening. Therefore, I knew Miss Burgess was truly shocked and therefore in the clear.

"Knowing Miss Burgess was not the criminal, I had reasonable enough data to determine that Miss Ainsley was also exonerated – I now had to wonder about those third parties I had mentioned. The obvious one was, of course, the unfortunate Mr. Benigan. I was unsure, in the beginning, why he would go to such trouble for a rather hidden motive. I have since learned, after Lestrade questioned the Irishman, that he had been promised by his uncle the admission to an art school. He hated the framing shop at which he worked, but he did not have the means to get out into a new profession. Art is what he was truly interested in, and he had studied and been around it so much he was easily able to fool Miss Burgess. He might have gotten away with it, if he hadn't left his business card. It was intended as misleading information that would serve to cover up his tracks. Regrettably, it did just the opposite – I was able to obtain information both about Benigan and where he lived, which was confirmed upon our visit to the framing shop.

"But one thing still puzzled me – you will remember, I was brooding over it on the ride home.

I knew Miss Margaret Ainsley would not just give her painting over to anybody. She did not attend the art exhibit, of course, so she had not met any art dealers. She certainly didn't know Benigan well enough to trust him with her masterpiece. But there was one person she did know, and as Miss Burgess informed me, the two girls placed full confidence in. That was Mr. Lawrence. Inspector Lestrade, the senseless fellow, did manage to learn in his questioning that sometime during Miss Burgess' week-long absence, Mr. Lawrence came over to deliver the allowance cheque and Miss Ainsley charged him with the care of her masterpiece, which he was supposed to enter in the exhibition. He already had a clear motive – he was jealous of his friend, Professor Burgess, and his envy turned to mania, in which he decided to kill him. He hatched a plan, beginning with the destruction of Miss Ainsley's painting. This was not only intended to be malicious, but it also helped him to get the attention he craved; for some criminals, all the fun is in leaving unusual clues and believing they have outwitted the authorities. Mr. Lawrence is one of these – that is why he went on to shatter Miss Burgess' bust, then to smash the doll heads. But I still knew he could be dangerous, because he had sort of a mad satisfaction in all this."

"Where did Benigan come in?" I wondered.

"That was the tipping point, Watson. I knew Benigan was a criminal, and I suspected Mr. Lawrence – then, with the clue of the smashed doll heads I realised they were accomplices. But Mr. Lawrence was forced to execute the last job of his mission himself. Of course it was easy enough – the landlady knew him because he brings the allowance cheque – but he spent too much time waiting for his nephew, who was busy with us, to arrive. He became late. Miss Burgess, who can be seen from the cotton-curtained window, was probably coming up as soon as he was finished smashing the dolls, and he hurried, leaving the door open and his note in an atypically unnoticeable place: the floor."

"Why was he waiting for Benigan? What use was the Irishman to him?" I asked with interest.

"To answer your first question, I believe Benigan would make his appearance along with Lawrence. How else could they obtain the key to the apartment, if the landlady didn't know the Irishman? To answer the second question, Benigan was indispensable to Lawrence – he could not obtain Miss Burgess' sculpture without obvious recognition; his nephew's fingerprints, if any, would be found in the house, and the poor chap was so caught up in everything he didn't even realise that Lawrence would remain in the clear. But the third reason, however, is the most important – Benigan is tall."

"What difference does that make?"

"Do you remember when I opened the closet and we looked at Miss Burgess' doll heads? They were on an exceptionally high shelf. I had a bit of difficulty reaching them. If Benigan were there, he could simply reach up and take them, like myself. But Mr. Lawrence, being short, would have to bring a chair or climb up on something, risking a footprint and disturbing the arrangement of the house. I daresay, if Lestrade had paid attention, there would be a chair out of place."

"So – "

"So Professor Lawrence's unnecessary theatrics led me to determine the deductions I formed, and ultimately allowed for our capture of the criminals."

"Well, you were not without theatrics yourself," I reminded him. "The Brighton College scene – "

"Was in all the newspapers!" Holmes chuckled. "That one was rather comical, from my point of view."

"It was horrible from down in the audience. I thought you had actually been shot!"

"That is a testament to my acting abilities, Dr. Watson. What surprises me most, however, is that you truly believed I had not considered Benigan."

"You mean you had?"

"Of course, Watson! That is, after all, what accomplices are for – if Lawrence was unable to carry out his duties, Benigan would take over. They were determined to have Professor Burgess dead. I am just lucky I resembled him enough that in the heat of the moment they mistook me for the good man. Yes, when I left you in the audience, I lost no time in rushing back behind the stage. Professor Burgess was there, reading over various notes on the speech he was about to make. He looks much like his daughter, only his face is a deal sharper. I quickly explained my motive, but he was loath to let me on the stage in his place – all excellently noble actions aimed at preventing my getting killed. But I have something of a charmed life, Watson; I hardly ever get injured. I eventually resorted to threatening him, and it was only then he allowed me to make my way to the stage, wearing his own jacket so as to disguise myself further.

"I peered out from behind the curtain and saw you, not without talent, imitating an American and distracting Lawrence. But I saw the lithe figure of Benigan in the corner, and kept on my guard. I had made sure to keep my riding whip with me, (that is why I rented a gig, so I could bring my own whip), and stepped out on stage. I heard the first two gunshots, but by the strange noise they made in the air I could tell they missed and you had our villain. But then I heard the other bungled shots from a different pistol, rather carelessly loaded, and so I dropped to the ground with sham injuries, in the hopes that Benigan would, in the irrational, passionate fervor of murder, come to gloat over his victim. Fortunately, he did step up on stage, but he was too quick – he soon regained his senses and managed to escape us. Finally, I was able to corner him in that washerwoman's alley, and using my whip I lashed into his wrist just as he was about to shoot at me, and knocked the pistol from his hand. It was then that you rounded the corner, considerably winded for a man your size, and congratulated me."

"This was one of the more unusual cases I have worked on with you," I noted.

"Not really, Watson. I have worked on many a great deal stranger than this, and I expect to come upon many even more outlandish in the future. That is what makes the business so exciting and unpredictable."

Reflecting upon my friend's last statement, I returned to write all he had told me in my journal, when out of the blue I heard a quiet little tap on the front door.

"Get that, will you?" Holmes asked impatiently. "Unless it is something extremely critical or dangerous, tell them I am busy – I would rather finish this book, you know."

I nodded and went to the door, never liking the business of turning clients away. Therefore I was pleased and surprised to find Miss Burgess on the doorstep, with another fair, and somewhat larger young lady on her arm – Miss Ainsley, I supposed.

"Miss Burgess," I said hospitably. "Come in, please! Who is your guest?"

"This is my cousin Margaret," Miss Burgess verified, introducing us. "Is Mr. Holmes in – "

"I certainly am in, Miss Burgess; forgive my slovenly appearance, but I am only an indolent bachelor, as you know, and my ways are irreparable," Holmes declared, coming up behind me with his book in hand.

"We do not intend to stay long," Miss Burgess explained. "Margaret was released from hospital yesterday, and we are on our way to catch a train."

"I'm sure it is much happier than the train you last caught," Miss Ainsley said in a soft, pleasant voice. "We can never repay you for your wonderful services."

"I don't expect you to," Holmes replied bluntly.

"It is all thanks to you my dear father is safe," Miss Burgess said, beaming. "He was positively glowing with praises of you, and he says he owes his life to you. I must admit, I felt so confident when you and Dr. Watson were on the case. And I was confirmed!"

"Which train are you planning to board?" I asked.

The young ladies looked at each other for a moment before Miss Ainsley answered, "We are returning home to Bristol."

"Whatever for?" Holmes and I protested.

Miss Burgess looked very grave, and rather older when she said, "If we have learned anything in all this, it is to be shrewd in our doings. We have only just turned twenty, and we are a great deal more naïve than either of us first thought. My cousin and I shall return to Bristol, continuing our artistic studies, mind you, until we feel ready to undertake an adventure again. Then we shall come back to London, and hopefully we will still be considered welcome visitors here on Baker Street."

"Most assuredly," I said earnestly. But Sherlock Holmes remained solemn.

"You have had a poor experience," he told them seriously. "But you must not base your opinions of either the city or its people on what you have been through – the good always accompanies the bad. Nor must you think that it was your innocence that caused the crime. That would be giving Mr. Lawrence far too much tribute, don't you think?"

"True," Miss Burgess replied, "but you must agree, Mr. Holmes, everything that my cousin and I ever thought of our guardian was completely mistaken. Our preconceptions of his kindness and generosity, our assurance of his goodwill toward ourselves and our family – all were blatantly shattered before us."

"Ah," Holmes conceded, "you are right. This is all too true; nearly always in crime, and so often in life!"

Miss Burgess nodded, with a not unwise expression on her youthful face. Then she and Miss Ainsley, with many pretty and gracious thanks, bid us good-bye, and to remember them while they were in Bristol. Soon they gathered up their colorful skirts, climbed into the carriage which was waiting for them, and disappeared down the slick, foggy lamp-lit streets.

I shut the door behind them, rubbing my hands from the cold winter air, and had returned to the study and my writings, when I found Sherlock Holmes had abandoned the story he'd been so engrossed with. Instead, he had picked up his violin and was quietly strumming it. As I sat down to record this rather sentimental conclusion of our singular mystery, I couldn't help but notice an unusually pensive expression on his shrewd, perceptive face.