A Biased Judgement Page 26

  “No time,” I said.

  I sank into his armchair by the fire and took off my scarf. It had begun to rain and was very cold. I longed for the hot cup of tea promised by Gillespie.

  Mycroft continued to work at his papers for a few minutes, then he came and joined my at the fire.

  “You look done in, my dear brother,” he said. “You’ll wear yourself out with all this running around, you mark my words.”

  “Needs must, Mycroft,” I said, rousing from my doze. “May I use your telephone?”

  He nodded and I dialled Scotland Yard’s number. After some moments an irritated Lestrade said, “Yes, yes? Who is it?”

  “It is Sherlock Holmes,” I replied. “I understand you were successful in Southampton?”

  “Yes, we have the bird here, but I do not know how long we can keep him. We really do not have too much to go on with. Young Hill’s managed to put the wind up him proper though, sort of hinting that we know all sorts about the man’s dealings. And his brother, Sir Christopher... well, that’s a man to make you long to see the end of the nobility and no mistake.”

  “I shall be along in an hour, Lestrade. You can keep them there for that long, can you not?”

  “Yes, I think we can just about manage that. I’d be obliged if you’d make haste, though, Mr Holmes. We’re really about out of ideas.”

  “Well, ask young Wallace to tell you about the Piccadilly Club. Imply your investigation is related to his gambling debts. Tell him a number of people have filed complaints against him; you do not need to give him names. That should keep him occupied until I arrive.”

  I sat back by the fire with Mycroft and felt my eyes close. I could not remember a time when I was so tired. There was a tap on the door and Gillespie brought in a tray.

  “This’ll keep the cold out, gentlemen,” he said. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  “Thank you, Gillespie,” Mycroft said. “This will suffice, I think.”

  The old man left and Mycroft poured the tea. I held the hot cup between my freezing hands and sipped. Once I was sufficiently warmed and my thirst quenched I reviewed the events of the day. Mycroft listened in silence. He kept his eyes closed and tented his fingers; it struck me, not for the first time, that we employ the same methods of concentration.

  When I finished he said, “What was in the letters?”

  I handed them to him. “Just requests for money, as you see. The last one is the most interesting: Wallace talks about his house in Canada. I suspect the three Summervilles will be going together, and soon, if the housemaid is correct.”

  “It might not be a bad thing to let them go,” Mycroft said. “This land will be better for their absence.”

  “It will be hard for Beatrice though to be without her aunt.”

  Mycroft gave me a look but only said, “What of the newspaper, the one you found in Summerville junior’s bag: was there anything of interest in it?”

  “I didn’t think so, at first. Then I found this-” I pointed at an article that had been circled in pencil. It was a story about the Queen’s scheduled return to Osbourne House for Christmas. I see that the date has been underlined...

  “It may be nothing,” I said. “But it tallies with the information Smiley gave me. I understand Bigge still refuses to alert the queen to her danger?”

  “I’m afraid so. No, you need not explain to me again why it is a bad idea. You know I agree with you. Even I can be overruled on rare occasions, Sherlock, and this happens to be one of those times. Bigge has the Prime Minister in his corner. There is nothing I can do. At least they’ve increased the security at the Castle quite considerably.” He sighed, then said, “Summerville is being questioned? I wish it was anyone other than Lestrade. That man does not fill me with much confidence.”

  “He has his strengths: a rare tenacity being foremost. It doesn’t make up for his lack of imagination, but I suppose he can’t help that. Anyway, young Tavistock Hill is with him. He’s a newly promoted inspector, Mycroft, and is one of the best I’ve seen. You might want to keep your eye on him. All the same, I do not expect much from their interrogation. We would have more leverage if we could charge Summerville with treason.”

  “Out of the question, I’m afraid, Sherlock. I’ve spoken with the DPP and he points out, quite rightly, that there just isn’t enough hard evidence. I’d go so far as to say there is no hard evidence whatever.”

  “What’s the point in creating a department of Public Prosecution if the Director is going to impede our efforts? Have you told him the particulars?”

  “In great detail, I assure you. If Summerville was a grocer or even a bank clerk we might not have a problem, but he has powerful friends. The Department is too new for them to take these sort of risks, Sherlock. I’m sorry. Get some evidence and he will be glad to act.”

  “What about Frobisher? There’s plenty of evidence against him.”

  “Yes, but only against him. His link to Porlock is tenuous. No, I don’t doubt its existence, Sherlock, but unless he talks we have nothing. We can put the noose around Frobisher’s neck and let the bigger fish escape, or we can be patient.”

  “He might talk, though. If he’s frightened enough.”

  “Is that a risk you are willing to take, brother? Possibly losing all chance of capturing Porlock, of ending his organisation...”

  He waited while I thought about it. He’s very patient, Mycroft. Far more so than I. Finally, though, I was forced to concede his point. “We shall wait for now. Perhaps I shall get what I need from Summerville.”

  With that, Mycroft yawned and stretched then he rose from his seat. “Time for me to head home, my dear brother. Are you going back to Baker Street now?”

  “No, I need to go to Scotland Yard and see if I can squeeze any information out of Summerville.”

  He teased the crease between his brows with his thumbnail, a sure sign that he was troubled. “We are no further along than we were before, Sherlock,” he said. “If Summerville refuses to talk...”

  “I have one other option. It is dangerous and I really do not wish to put it into action, but if Summerville fails us we may have no other choice.”

  “Indeed. I do not have to tell you what is at stake, do I? The queen’s very life; the collapse of the Empire. I assure you, brother, it is worth any sacrifice we have to make.”

  23

  Even late at night, Scotland Yard stays open. Although it was almost midnight, the building hummed with conversations over long tables, muffled oaths and slamming doors, and, from somewhere far below, a repeated wail of despair.

  Several of the policemen greeted me as I made my way to the Inspector’s Division on the third floor. Lestrade was at his desk and looked as weary as I felt.

  “Well, Lestrade,” I said. “What progress have you made?”

  He peered up at me with drooping eyes. “None at all, Mr Holmes. It’s been a devil of a job to keep him here. We really don’t have anything to hold him on. It’s a pity you could not get here sooner.”

  “I have not been idle, I assure you,” I replied. Really, the man should be grateful I had gone out of my way to change my clothes at Jermyn Street. Still, I suppose he wasn’t to know that. Instead I said, “I am here now, in any case. Where is Summerville?”

  “In the interview room. Hill’s really been laying it on him, but the man hasn’t budged yet.”

  “Can you call Hill? I’d like to hear his report before I begin my own questioning.”

  A few minutes later, a bright and energetic Tavistock Hill bounded into the office.

  “Mr Holmes, sir,” he said warmly. I shook his proffered hand and tried not to growl at his enthusiasm.

  “Good to see you again, Hill,” I said. “A shame about Hacker and Smiley evading the courts, but at least the streets are sa
fer without them. Now, tell me how you got on with the delightful Mr Summerville.”

  “Not well, I’m afraid, Mr Holmes. The difficulty is it’s a man called Winters who ran up these gambling debts and the late Mr Smiley was the only one who could identify him and Summerville as one and the same. I’ve made a production of having witnesses brought in, but he still insists he’s not the man we’re looking for.”

  “This matter doesn’t really seem to be worth all the effort, Mr Holmes,” Lestrade said. “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what your real interest in Summerville is?” His sharp little eyes glinted and I smiled.

  “You’re right of course, Lestrade. The gambling debts are merely a ruse to detain him. You’ll forgive me, I’m sure, but I cannot divulge the true nature of his crimes. All I can tell you is they are deeper and muddier than you can imagine. May I see him?”

  “Of course, Mr Holmes. This way.”

  I was annoyed to see Summerville had not been separated from his brother. From the look that exchanged between the two policemen, I perceived this was something they had discussed and, I surmised, Hill had been overruled. Well, it couldn’t be helped.

  I said, “I’d be obliged if you would take Sir Christopher to another room, Lestrade. See if you can get him to give you a formal statement about his brother’s activities for the past... oh, let’s say three months. That should keep him busy for a while.”

  Lestrade went off to do as I asked. One thing about the man, he’s no respecter of persons. Lord or street sweeper will receive precisely the same response from him.

  Hill unlocked the door and said, “Do you want me to come in, Mr Holmes?”

  “No, thank you, Inspector. I’m afraid I must do this task alone.”

  Summerville looked up in alarm as I entered the room. The bravado and arrogance he displayed at Bitterne was all but gone. The man who faced me was terrified.

  Good. I could use that.

  I sat down facing him and said, “This is a bad business, Mr Summerville. Your best bet, if I may use that word, is to make a clean breast of it.”

  “I told those gentlemen,” he said, still striving to sound assured. “That I am not this Winters person they are looking for.”

  “Oh come, Mr Summerville, you and I both know that is not true. But it is not your gambling debts that interest me. It is your relationship with Albrecht Porlock.”

  The colour slid from his cheeks leaving him ashen. For a moment I feared he would fall into a faint. I waited and watched him squirm.

  “I’ve met Herr Porlock,” he said at last. “In fact, I owe him money. Ours is purely a business relationship.”

  I remained silent for several minutes but he did not fall into the trap of filling in the silence with more information. I said, “Your engaging Porlock to kill Lady Beatrice: was that merely a business arrangement?”

  “No!” His pallor had gained a greenish tinge. He now seemed more likely to vomit than to faint. It could go either way.

  “I have witnesses, Mr Summerville. You were heard.” I gave him a moment to digest that before adding, “Your entire conversation was heard.”

  I could see him calculate the odds. He had two choices: he could admit his involvement in a plot to murder the queen, or he could say nothing. I was counting on his fear, or on some deeply buried sense of patriotism and decency.

  “Bring forward your witnesses,” he said, folding his arms and glaring. “I have done nothing wrong. Either charge me or release me.”

  “Whatever this business is, Mr Holmes,” Hill said, later. “It seems to be worrying you considerably. Is there anything we can do?”

  “Thank you, Hill. I confess I am very disappointed. I had hoped Summerville might have cracked after your lengthy questioning and my own but he’s a tougher bird than I thought.

  “Well, there’s no help for it. Release him. But if you could arrange to keep him under close watch for the next... well, we’d best say for the next three weeks, I would be grateful. You need not be subtle about following him, either. There’s a chance, a very slender chance, that fear may yet lead him to panic.”

  “You alarm me, Mr Holmes,” said Lestrade, joining us. “But as my young friend says, we will do our part.”

  “I know I can count on you, both of you,” I said. “I don’t suppose you got anything more out of Sir Christopher?”

  “Nothing, Mr Holmes. Man claims his brother has been unwell and staying with him for the past several weeks. He made a point of reminding me that he’s one of the gentry. He thinks I really had some neck by even speaking to him.”

  “I don’t doubt it. As to his giving an alibi for his brother, well, he’d swear on holy writ that the sun rises in the west too, if it suited him. It’s no more than I expected.

  “One last thing and then I must get back to Baker Street: Can you keep tonight’s interrogation quiet from your colleagues? You know I would not ask if the matter were not a very grave one indeed. The fewer people who know of this the better.”

  “If you think it’s important,” said Lestrade. “Then certainly.”

  Hill added, “What should we tell the officers who follow Summerville?”

  “Tell them he’s suspected in the assault of the queen’s goddaughter.”

  “But if that’s the case, Mr Holmes,” spluttered Lestrade. “Surely we have grounds to arrest him?”

  “The lady refuses to press charges. I do not wish to embarrass her or the illustrious person who is her godmother. Discretion, gentlemen.”

  “You can count on us and no mistake,” Lestrade said. Perhaps I was fatigued, for I believed him.

  November 28th, 1897

  I slept very late and Watson was already eating the midday meal with Stevens by the time I arose.

  “Ah, Holmes,” he greeted me. “Which would you prefer, breakfast or luncheon?”

  “Neither,” I replied. “Just coffee and tobacco.”

  “You had a late night of it, I’d guess, Mr Holmes,” Stevens said.

  “Late indeed. I’m afraid you weren’t too comfortable on that sofa, Stevens. I perceive you have a crick in your neck.”

  “Just a bit of a pinch, Mr Holmes. You got something for me to do today?”

  “No, I need to go to Windsor. I have another job for you, however. How would you like to visit Daisy?”

  He brightened at her name. “I’d love to, Mr Holmes. What do you need me to do?”

  “Just get the lay of the land. Talk to Daisy and see if she managed to hear anything between the Summervilles after they got home about their plans or anything else. It’s possible there was some discussion about the day’s events and their course of action, or Lady Summerville may have said something. Any information you can glean would be helpful. I shall not need you until Tuesday morning.

  “If there are any significant developments, telephone. If I am not here you may leave a message with either the good doctor or Mrs Hudson.”

  “I shall leave directly,” the young man said.

  “After luncheon will be fine,” Watson said, frowning at me. Then, “Do you have anything for me to do, Holmes?”

  “Yes, indeed. I would be obliged if you would write a reference for a governess...”

  An hour later, Watson had written a glowing reference for a Miss Elizabeth (Betty) Jones, a governess of discretion and many talents.

  Stevens left in high excitement, whether for eagerness to see his fiancée or the thrill of the hunt, I could not say. After he left I told Watson about my visit to Rillington Manor and my conversation with Lady Summerville.

  “Things are in a bad way there, Watson...” I told him about the eerie silence of the place, the destruction of the garden, the appalling state of Summerville’s bank balance. “Can she really be pregnant?” I asked.

  “It
’s possible. She’s in her mid-forties or thereabouts? It could be anything: false pregnancy, the onset of menopause, a tumour... But certainly she may actually be pregnant. Perhaps if she is her husband might modify his behaviour.”

  “You have more faith in humanity than I do, Watson. It’s unfortunate that they plan to leave the country. If Summerville does not mend his ways his wife will be essentially alone in another country, possibly with a child to care for.”

  “It is most unfortunate that the lady means to go with her husband,” Watson agreed. “And will undoubtedly be upsetting to your fiancée. She is very fond of her aunt.”

  “She is indeed.” I lit my cigarette. “I find it incredible that any woman could remain devoted to a man of such little worth. I will never understand...”

  “Women? Or love?” Watson asked.

  “Both.”

  He smiled at me almost as if he had a secret. “You’re probably right about women, Holmes. But, then, why should you have insight that has eluded all men since the beginning of time? As to love, I suspect you know far more than you are willing to admit.”

  With this bewildering comment teasing my thoughts I left to get the train to Windsor.

  Beatrice was decidedly unhappy. The queen had been very vexing. She insisted Beatrice should have a new gown made for the wedding, and demanded considerably more pomp than my future bride wished. “Do you know I was not even permitted to unpack my own bags?” My fiancée seethed. “Such nonsense!”

  The rain beat down on the squat castle and kept us indoors. We were not allowed to be alone together, Lord only knows why, and so had to sit with one of the queen’s ladies as chaperone. She pretended to be busy with her embroidery but her mere presence constricted our conversation. As a result, everything we said had to be in code.

  “I was worried,” Beatrice said. “With not hearing from you. I trust all is well?”

  “Things are progressing rapidly,” I replied. “By the way, that gentleman you encountered in Wimpole Street has met with an unfortunate accident.”