The Redacted Sherlock Holmes - Volume 4 Read online

  I gave Holmes an account of the lunch at the Lyons, the precipitation of Peers Baskerville from the wagonette, the fall of his father from the tower, the moonlit walk, Baskerville’s attack on Mortimer, and the latter’s unwillingness to press charges against his attacker. Holmes listened - I think more respectfully than he was normally inclined to do - and then sat back in his seat.

  “The easy solution,” he said at length, “is that there is a streak of mental instability in the Baskerville family and that even the most disturbed mind will have what it sees as a logical reason for its actions. But that does not explain Mortimer’s actions, unless he is of an even more kindly disposition than he appeared twenty years ago.”

  “May Mortimer feel that the conditions of the two Baskervilles are a reproach to his professional care of them and he does not want this to be exposed?”

  “Your explanation, of course, fits all the facts, but while I can accept one person behaving in an unlikely fashion, to have three doing so is too far-fetched to be a satisfactory solution to the case.”

  “What have been the results of the researches you have carried out in London and Exeter?”

  “I researched Seamus Lyons in London.”

  “I cannot believe he made a significant income from his paintings,” I commented. “They are crude and vulgar. I have an idea he might be Stapleton. His arrival at Mrs Lyons’s side just after the departure from the area of Stapleton’s wife - the person who was likeliest to recognise him - struck me as a significant sequence of events.”

  “Our thoughts have obviously been running on parallel lines, but Lyons as an artist is almost as easy to trace as Stapleton was as a teacher. There is unquestionably an artist called Seamus Lyons who was born in the 1850s - I was able to go through records of his sales at auctions. The Paris-based school of artists called Fauvists, to which Lyons referred, really exists, and the fact that the term means ‘wild beasts’ is irrelevant to our investigation. Art of the kind Lyons produces is at the peak of fashion at the moment. That there are so many of Lyons’ works at Lafter Hall authenticates the man presenting himself as Seamus Lyons.”

  “So what were you doing in Exeter?”

  “I wanted to talk to some shepherds and had lured them there by putting word about that great opportunities for shepherds were to be had in Australia.”

  “What did you want to talk to them about?”

  “The moor is a vast place and I have no time to search for a beast on it. I felt that by talking to them, they might provide me with information.”

  “And did your discussions with them help your investigation?”

  “They are a dour and superstitious lot. They talked about lights appearing above the mires, they talked of distant howling, which they attributed to a ghostly beast, but which might equally be the wind. But none had had any sheep savaged. I think we must treat the idea that there is some mythical creature loose on the moor with great caution.”

  “Garside is dead and we cannot prove that he was unlawfully killed,” I said, and lit a cigar. “Sir Henry Baskerville fell from the tower, but he was not pushed. Mortimer does not want to bring a charge against Peers Baskerville and, from what you say, Lyons is excluded from our enquiry. What about Michaels?”

  “Good Doctor, as you demonstrated with Mortimer twenty years ago, tracing a brother physic of yours and authenticating his background is the work of a moment. Michaels has no case to answer except his lack of financial awareness if he thinks he can buy Mortimer’s practice from what Mortimer pays him.”

  “So, is there a case to examine at all?”

  “Excellent, Watson. Your last remark is extremely astute and our discussions have provided me with much new information. I would beg you not to speak to me while I think.”

  I left Holmes’s side and went to sit with the driver.

  I suspect that drivers at Coombe Tracey station are used to telling travellers about the scenery through which they are passing. At any event, as we approached Baskerville Hall, unbidden, the driver started to give much the same commentary as Perkins had done the previous Friday.

  “Great Broken Tor there,” he said, “is the highest point round here, but beyond those minor tors in front of you, you can see High Peak and the Rath Coombe, which are even higher.”

  I heard Holmes stir on his seat and expected him to ask the driver to be quiet. Instead, he asked the driver to repeat what he had said and then sat back on his seat. There was a gleam in his eye - something which I always took as a sign to leave him well alone. I heard a noise behind us and turned to see a horse on which was sitting Dr Mortimer.

  He drew level with us and said, “I felt that as Sir Henry Baskerville’s physician, I should be the one to tell him about last night’s events.”

  “Are you sure this is necessary?” I asked. “I would have thought you should be resting, Dr Mortimer.”

  “I note that you have Mr Holmes in the carriage with you,” replied Mortimer. “I am not sure I would counsel Sir Henry seeing Mr Holmes while the baronet is in his agitated state.”

  Holmes came to and bade Mortimer a good day before saying, “There are so many strange matters afoot, I would welcome the chance to talk to Sir Henry in spite of the strained relations between us. And I concur with Dr Watson, I am not sure you should be out after the assault you have faced.”

  “I am perfectly fine,” replied Mortimer, though his bruised features spoke otherwise. “I will pass you here and look forward to seeing you at Baskerville Hall.”

  He cantered ahead of us and, to my surprise, the canter broke into a gallop. Holmes pushed our driver to one side and took the reins himself.

  We picked up speed and soon we were going faster than I had ever been on a coach. I shouted out loudly in alarm as we approached the section of road where Peers Baskerville had had his fall the previous night, but Holmes’s skill as a coachman meant that the unmade road posed no perils. Even with Holmes at the reins, we were never going to outpace a man on a horse, but the distance to the Hall was a short one and we kept close behind Mortimer as both he and we swept down the hill to Baskerville Hall through the gate and up the gravel drive.

  Mortimer was still outside the door of the Hall waiting for it to open as we came to a halt. Holmes leapt out of the carriage and ran up the stairs to the great door while I followed more sedately.

  The three of us were standing at the entrance when Westmoreland opened the door. “We were wondering where you and young Mr Baskerville were,” he said when he saw me. Then, when he saw Holmes, he said, “I know you, Sir, from the pictures in Dr Watson’s account of the 1889 tragedy.”

  “We have some grave news for Sir Henry,” I said. “We must see him immediately.”

  “I regret to inform you that Sir Henry has given strict instructions that he is not to be disturbed by anyone. Dr Michaels has also confirmed these.”

  “I am Sir Henry’s personal physician and own the practice which employs Dr Michaels. I insist on being the first person to speak to Sir Henry on the events of last night,” interjected Mortimer.

  “Very good, Sir,” replied the butler, “I would ask you all to wait in the study at the end of the hall. Sir Henry has this morning sent for lawyers in Exeter. He has instructed me that he will not see anyone until they arrive.”

  XI. A Familiar Tale

  I could not imagine that the arrival of Sir Henry’s solicitor would take less than several hours and I was wearied from my sleepless night. Holmes sat upright and wordless. Mortimer, by contrast, was in the most sociable of moods. While I spent the time in a sort of half-sleep, Mortimer tried tirelessly to engage us in conversation on a range of the most superficial topics.

  I was pleasantly surprised when at half past eleven the sound of hoofs on the gravel told us of an arrival. Westmoreland and two of the staff brought a small table and some additiona
l chairs into the room. Shortly afterwards, Sir Henry came in and sat down behind the table and was flanked by two lawyers who were introduced to us as Mr Gravenning and Mr Bolus.

  Sir Henry looked as composed as I had seen him and looked steadily at Holmes. “I did not expect to see you again, Mr Holmes, and certainly not in these trying circumstances. I shall speak to you later. Dr Mortimer, what have you to say to me?”

  “You may hear different versions of events from others, but in essence I was the victim of a juvenile prank by your son,” said Mortimer. “The police over-reacted by incarcerating him, but I have no desire to press charges against the young man. I am sure the authorities will soon see sense and release him.”

  Sir Henry looked puzzled by this anodyne explanation of events which had led to the arrest of his son and turned to me: “Dr Watson, what have you to say?”

  I gave the baronet an abbreviated version of the events of the previous twelve hours, not deviating from what I have written in the foregoing.

  The look of puzzlement on Sir Henry’s face increased and finally he turned to Holmes.

  Before, however, the baronet was able to address any words to Holmes, there was a mighty crash as Peers Baskerville burst through the window and made straight for Mortimer, whom he proceeded to wrestle to the floor. But with the two lawyers, Mortimer, Holmes and myself all against him, the odds were overwhelming and he was swiftly restrained. Soon, for the second time in twelve hours, Peers Baskerville sat before us bound hand and foot.

  And for the second time in twelve hours, Mortimer sought to defend him: “It is just youthful exuberance. I am sure young Master Peers will learn self-control as he grows older.”

  Sir Henry looked at Holmes. “Sir, you are portrayed as one of the great minds of the age. While I have every reason to doubt the validity of that, I would like to hear your insights into events.”

  “I can do so, Sir Henry, but I fear my conclusions may not be to your liking.”

  “To continue in a state of mistrust and fear like this, Mr Holmes, is not a life worth living. I would beg you to be honest, however unwelcome the news may be to me.”

  “The city of Athens, which was then a kingdom, was once obliged to send people as tribute to Crete. Those people were fed to a monster called a Minotaur - half-bull, half-human - which lived in a labyrinth. The Athenian king was called Aegeus.”

  I could tell that everyone in the company was baffled as to where this was leading, but Holmes continued.

  “The king’s son was Theseus, and he vowed to kill the Minotaur. He sailed in a ship with black sails, but promised his father that he would change them to white if he returned safe. His father undertook to stand on a high rock above the sea to look out for the return of his son.”

  “Mr Holmes, my patience is not without limit,” said Sir Henry threateningly.

  “On Crete, the Cretan king’s daughter fell in love with Theseus and gave him a ball of wool to enable him to find his way through the labyrinth and back. The way the story is normally told, Theseus killed the minotaur and then forgot to change his sails. When King Aegeus saw the ships decked out in black, he threw himself off the rock and into the sea, which is now called the Aegean after the king. Personally, I believe that Theseus’s failure to change the sails was a deliberate act as it enabled him to ascend to the Athenian throne more quickly than he would otherwise have done. And I believe that your son hoped that if you saw his place on the wagonette empty, you would precipitate yourself from the tower, and that would result in him ascending to the baronetcy.”

  There was a long silence as the import of the accusation that Holmes was making sank in.

  “So, what of the hound?”

  “Your son will have felt that the threat of a hound would elevate your agitation and make you more susceptible to an extreme reaction to events which had an explicable causation. The involvement of Watson and me, he believed, would heighten this agitation still further.”

  “And what of my son’s attacks on Mortimer?”

  “I believe Dr Mortimer is blackmailing Peers Baskerville by threatening to tell you that he is your son’s natural father. Dr Mortimer has over the last year taken on a new assistant, bought a new carriage, and made plans to extend his house. This level of expenditure must indicate a new source of wealth as he has no new earnings from his practice. I believe your son initially hoped to kill you by falling from the wagonette just before it came within sight of your telescope as you watched in the tower. And, once this failed, he resolved to do away with Dr Mortimer. Dr Mortimer, for his part, realises that your son is only worth blackmailing while he remains at liberty and while you remain alive. If your son is imprisoned or if you die, Dr Mortimer’s source of income will no longer be available. This is why Dr Mortimer declines to press charges against your son.”

  There was a long pause before anyone spoke. Eventually Sir Henry asked:

  “And is my son a murderer as well as a double-attempted murderer? What of the death of Garside? Do you think Garside was chased to his death by a hound?”

  “I have carried out research in London among all the suppliers of large dogs. At my instigation, controls were put in place over the supply of dangerous dogs to private individuals after Stapleton’s attempt on your life, so checking the matter was a simple task. There have been no sales of large dogs sold anywhere in the country in the last few years that are not accounted for, and I do not believe that a ferocious beast is hiding on the moor.”

  “Do you think, then, that my son attacked and killed Garside before throwing him over the cliff edge?”

  “I swear,” broke in Peers Baskerville, finally speaking for the first time, “that I had nothing to do with the death of Garside. I found him at the bottom of that cliff.”

  “I am inclined to believe your son, Sir Henry,” said Holmes, soberly. “The bleeding of the wound to Garside’s head was where he lay, which suggests he fell to his death and was not assaulted elsewhere. I have already indicated that the threat of the hound was not a real one. Therefore, I believe that Garside either jumped himself or that he was pushed. Garside was a strong, hardened countryman. I cannot prove it one way or the other, but I am disinclined to believe that your son would have been able to inveigle him to a cliff edge and then push him over. I would also add that I staged a recruitment drive for shepherds in Australia and, during interviews, they told me that Garside was a troubled individual, and, to a man, they said that they thought his death was suicide rather foul play.”

  Peers Baskerville spoke again. “I confess, father, to hatching a plot against you when I discovered Garside’s still fresh body dressed in your clothes. I heard a scream in the distance and when I got to the bottom of the cliff, I found Garside had already breathed his last. I had already paid out as much as I could of the family funds as I could risk without drawing attention to their depletion. It was Mortimer’s suggestion to get the paintings valued to satisfy his greed.”

  It was strange how, for all the shattering nature of the disclosures that were being made, Sir Henry seemed to be reacting with calm. He turned to Mortimer, whose face bespoke nothing but guilt.

  “I feel that a shadow is lifting from me.” said Sir Henry. “Not only is the hound no more, but I finally have a hold over those who would do me ill. Mortimer, I well remember your work as a chaperone on our voyage around the world. But I also remember your need to dash back from the Azores on the day of my wedding to Letizia because you had received a telegram from your wife seeking your urgent presence, and Peers was born ten months after our wedding. It is a shame,” he said to his son, whose jaw had dropped at this revelation, “that you were not open with me rather than plotting against me. My old age will be lonely indeed if there is no one around, not even my son, whom I can trust.”

  At that moment, a new figure sprang through the shattered window left by Peers Baskerville. To
my astonishment, it was the girl, Arianna, from Merripit House. She ran up to the fettered Peers Baskerville, and embraced him. In a clear voice with a mere trace of a foreign accent she said, “Peers, I heard that, after you visited me yesterday evening, you were arrested, and then escaped from the police station, so I guessed that you would be here. We must face our destiny together.”

  For the first time, Mortimer spoke. There was a note of derision in his voice that I had never heard before. “Mr Holmes, I make no comment on any of your accusations against me other than to say that you have no evidence. But you got your Greek legend wrong when you compared Peers Baskerville to Theseus. I think a son attempting to murder his father has far more to do with the Oedipus legend.”

  “On the contrary, Mortimer,” replied Holmes, “I think that you will find the Theseus legend more apt than ever. Here we have Arianna from Merripit House - the princess who helped Theseus was called Ariadne.”

  “And I see,” retorted Mortimer with a sneer, “that I might have had another reason to blackmail Peers Mortimer. I can see that this gypsy girl Arianna is with child.”

  “Is this true?” asked Sir Henry.

  Peers Baskerville sat with head bowed.

  “I was in the copse with Arianna when she told me the news that she was pregnant,” he said eventually. “That was where we normally met. While we were there, we heard Garside’s scream and when we got to the bottom of the bowl, he was already dead. It was when I saw he was wearing your clothes that I realised I could revive the legend.”

  “But that’s marvellous!” exclaimed his father. “At last I actually do have something to live for! I had brought Messrs. Bolus and Gravenning here to will the estate and my fortune to the National Trust, but now I can will them to my grandchild.”

  “But father, you are aware that Arianna is of gypsy stock. This is a relationship well below the station of our lineage.”