THE DENTIST, by Magda Jozsa

I.

It was mid-October of the year 1883. Life was comfortable. I had recovered from my war wounds (except for the occasional twinge), and was now doing locum work to supplement my meager pension.

I took over the practice of Dr. Peter Morley while he was away on holidays. His practice was located in Epping, and, as part of the deal, I was to live in his house—to save commuting daily. It also made me more readily available for his patients after hours.

To familiarize myself with the clients of his practice, I made a habit of reading up on his case notes of past patients. I don’t know what it was that made me delve into his deceased files, perhaps it was just the desire to see if there had been any epidemics in the area, or perhaps it was the unwitting influence of my friend Sherlock Holmes. No one could live with such a man and not lose some of his naiveté with regard to human nature. Whatever the reason, I made a curious discovery.

His case histories were filed in order of year. I began with checking the deaths for the past year. There had been three deaths in the last six months. One was Dr. Morley’s own wife, Beatrice, and two other ladies—a Mrs. Kate Boyce, and a widow, Mrs. Elsie Presnell. Dr. Morley—in their case notes—had described all three as presenting with acute nausea, vomiting and impaired respiration. Rapid in onset, culminating in heart failure and death. All three were in their late thirties to early forties. They had died within hours of the first symptom. I found this rather singular. What disease would cause such symptoms? In the back of my mind I could hear Holmes’s clipped tones saying: “Poison, Watson, poison.”

Could it be? Surely an experienced doctor of Morley’s years would have been able to detect if the victims had been poisoned—especially as one was his own wife? I wished Holmes were here. It would be good to talk to him about this. My tenure here was only for eight weeks. I had already served four and hadn’t seen Holmes since. I had invited him to come visit me in Epping; only he was in one of his lethargic moods and could not bestir himself.

I was disturbed from my ruminations by the arrival of a patient, and found myself busy for the next two hours. Just as I was thinking of having some lunch, a maidservant came hurrying in.

“Doctor, you’re urgently needed at the Hurley house—Mrs. Hurley is ill something dreadful!” she cried.

I grabbed my bag and followed her. She had a carriage waiting. At the house, the sick woman’s sister, Gloria Hobson, met me. As she hurriedly led me to the sick woman’s bedroom, she explained that Mr. Hurley was out of town on business.

We entered the tastefully decorated room, but I must confess I did not pay much attention to my surrounds. The woman in the bed caught my attention immediately. I surmised that she was a fairly attractive woman under normal circumstances. Now she bore the waxy pallor of the very ill.

“Mrs. Hurley, I’m Dr. Watson,” I said, taking her hand and automatically checking her pulse. It was rapid. “Can you tell me your symptoms, please?”

Her voice was weak and barely audible. I had to lean close to hear her.

“And I can’t see clearly,” she said. “Things are blurry, and can’t keep anything down. I feel so sick.” She stopped talking to catch her breath, which was coming in short, rapid gasps. “M-my tongue’s numb.”

“What have you eaten today?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing,” she muttered softly.

“We were on our way home from the dentist when she started feeling sick,” said Miss Hobson. “I helped her home and sent for you.”

I must confess I was rather mystified. What struck me as most significant was the similarity between this lady’s symptoms and those of the three cases I had read about earlier. Could she have been poisoned? The sister seemed genuinely concerned for her welfare and I thought it unlikely that she was the culprit. Dr. Morley had not recorded numbness or blurred vision in the other cases, but the speed of the patient’s deterioration was the same. I was highly suspicious. It was fortunate the husband was away, or he would have been my first suspect.

If it was poison, how was it administered? She had not ingested it. I examined her arms for signs of a needle prick, but her skin was blemish free. I was baffled. This bemusement did not stop me from acting though. I considered using an emetic on her, but decided against it. She was too weak and had already been vomiting. Any digested substance would have been evacuated long before now. Instead, with the help of her sister, we forced her to drink charcoal. This substance has a highly absorbent quality and is especially good for neutralizing noxious substances in the stomach. It was all to no avail. I tried everything I could think of, yet her condition continued to decline. Without actually knowing what the substance was I could hardly administer an antidote, even if I had a supply of it. In the end, in desperation, I called in the housemaid who had fetched me and wrote out a telegram to Holmes, asking her to dispatch it immediately. After which I returned to my patient.

II.

Holmes arrived within the hour. His eyes were bright with curiosity and the eagerness of a bloodhound about to be given a scent. His prominent nose and long, lean torso seemed to quiver in anticipation of this scent. He arrived ten minutes before Mrs. Hurley died.

“So, what is the emergency, Watson?” he asked, his eyes going to my patient.

‘She’s dying, Holmes, and there is nothing I can do. I think she’s been poisoned. She hasn’t ingested anything. There are no needle marks on her arms, yet to all intents and purposes she has the symptoms of poisoning. I would bet every penny I had on it.”

Holmes moved across to the woman, whose breathing now came in ragged gasps. “How long has she been like this?”

“The first symptoms started three hours ago. I’ve been here for two of them. She lapsed into a coma within the last half hour.”

“What was she doing prior to her collapse?”

“Nothing. She was on her way home from the dentist. She hadn’t stopped to eat anything. Her sister was with her. She collapsed when she was halfway home.”

“The dentist?” Holmes leaned forward eagerly and opened the woman’s mouth. He studied her intensely. “Looks like two fillings.”

“Surely you don’t think it’s from the dentist?”

“I don’t think anything yet, Watson. I’m just gathering data.” Holmes examined her arms, and also her feet and in between her toes.

“What are you looking for?”

“Injection marks. If you inject someone between the toes no one will ever think to look there. There are none though.” He sniffed the air and asked: “Did you keep some of her emesis?”

“Yes, in a jar. I meant to have it tested later.”

“Good. I can do that. There are various alkaloids around that can cause similar symptoms to what she is exhibiting. You should read my monograph on poisons.” He stepped away from her. She had not responded to his examination. Indeed, she was not conscious of his presence.

“Holmes, the reason I called you so promptly is that this is the fourth case in the last six months.”

“What?” Holmes turned a surprised face to me.

“I was reading some of Dr. Morley’s past histories and came across three similar cases to this. One was Morley’s own wife. All three died rapidly.”

“Had they been to the dentist?” asked Holmes with interest.

“The notes didn’t say.”

“I want to talk to the sister. Where’s the husband?”

“Away on business. Not expected back until tomorrow. Husbands are always the first to be suspected, but he’s in the clear this time.”

“Hmm.” Holmes looked at my patient, his eyes thoughtful. At that moment the sister entered. She looked askance at Holmes.

“Miss Hobson, this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” I introduced.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Sherlock Holmes, the detective?”

“Yes,” said Holmes. “Can you tell me exactly what happened today—from the moment you arose until her collapse?”

She appeared startled, but answered readily enough. “Not a lot happened. We had breakfast at seven. Dorothy always invites me to stay over when her husband is away. She feels scared when she’s alone.”

“Why?”

“Oh, ever since some burglars broke in and attacked her. Fortunately there was a constable passing the house. He heard her screams and came to the rescue.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Six, maybe seven months ago.”

“Continue.”

“Well, like I said, we had breakfast, then we went into town. We did a little shopping, filling in time until it was time for Dorothy’s dentist appointment. She’d been troubled with toothache lately. The dentist—Mr. Carlyle is new to the area, but I hear he is very good.”

“Did you both eat the same food for breakfast?”

“Yes. It is served on a platter and we just helped ourselves.”

“Who made the appointment for the dentist?”

“Her husband.”

“What does Mr. Hurley do for a living?”

“He is an insurance investigator. That is why he has to travel occasionally.”

“I see. She was well until she visited the dentist?’

“Never better.”

“How long was she with him?”

“Nearly an hour.”

“Was she alone with him?”

“Oh no. I was there. She hates going to the dentist. I always have to go with her. Same with doctors.”

“Did he give her any injections or fluid to drink?”

“No.”

“She had two fillings?”

“Yes. He said he didn’t have to pull the offending tooth out.”

“He was in your sight the whole time?”

“Yes.”

“You saw him mix the fillings?”

“Yes.”

“Did you notice anything unusual during this procedure?”

“No—not really. Why all these questions?”

“Bear with me please, Miss Hobson,” said Holmes. “Dr. Watson here has reason to suspect poison, and I agree with him.”

“Poison!” she gasped, her eyes turning to her sister in horror.

“So you left the dentist after an hour. What happened then?”

“We thought we would walk home, it being such a nice day. We were halfway here when she complained of feeling sick and dizzy. She said her mouth was numb. She couldn’t go on. I hailed a cab, and as soon as we got home I sent for the doctor.”

“What were relations like between your sister and her husband?”

“All right, I suppose. They had their differences, but all married people do.”

“Was she happy?”

The woman’s face clouded a little. “I’m not sure. She really didn’t discuss her married life with me...although, once or twice, she did say that I didn’t know how lucky I was to be single.”

“Did her husband ever physically hurt her?”

“Not that I am aware of.”

“What do you think of him—personally?”

Her lips tightened. “I can’t say I am over fond of him. I only meet Dorothy when he is away, or she visits me. He has always resented our closeness.”

“What company does he work for?”

“United Kingdom Insurance.”

Suddenly the patient convulsed, white froth bubbling from her mouth, and then she became still as she stopped breathing. I hurried forward, but there was nothing I could do.

Miss Hobson let out a wail of distress and ran to her side, clutching her sister’s hand.

I patted her on the shoulder comfortingly. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes burned with grief as she turned to face Holmes. “If Hurley is in any way responsible for her death, I want you to get him, Mr. Holmes. Spare no expense. I want you to get the villain responsible for this.”

“I’ll do my best, Miss Hobson.” Holmes left the room whilst I did my best to comfort the grieving woman. He was outside in the street by the time I joined him nearly half an hour later.

III.

“I’d like to see the records of the other dead women, Watson,” he said, as soon as I joined him.

“Um.... I don’t know if I can do that, Holmes. They’re confidential.”

“But if you suspect poisoning in all four cases, then the law can subpoena those records. I need more information, Watson.”

I hesitated a moment and deliberated. Finally I decided that as the women were dead, quite possibly murdered, then I owed it to them to supply the information to Holmes. “All right, we’ll go back to the clinic.”

As we walked, Holmes said: “I spoke to the servants while you were occupied.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Yes. Seems Mrs. Hurley was not happily married. She and her husband argued often. She was driven to tears many a time.”

“But the husband couldn’t have poisoned her, he is out of town,” I pointed out.

“Hmm,” was his noncommittal reply.

Back at the surgery, Holmes took up the histories and began to study them. After a long while, he said, “I’m surprised Dr. Morley didn’t suspect poison. It is also curious that his own wife died of the same symptoms.”

“Well he couldn’t have poisoned Mrs. Hurley, he’s in Switzerland.”

Did he tell you why he was going there?”

“Yes. He told me his wife had died recently and he needed to get away for a while.”

“I see.” He turned back to the files, then after a moment muttered, “Interesting...I wonder....” His eyes took a faraway introspective look as he became lost in his thoughts.

I was loath to interrupt him so I busied myself with some paperwork.

Abruptly Holmes woke from his reverie and came over to me saying, “Punch me in the jaw will you, Watson.”

“What?” I stared at him, startled by his request.

“Punch me in the jaw. I want to have reason to visit the dentist.”

“Can’t you just pretend to have a toothache?” I asked, reluctant to punch my best friend.

“No. If he is a good dentist, he will know I’m faking it. If I’ve been punched, I can claim I’m worried about a loose tooth.”

“I don’t want to punch you Holmes,” I replied.

His lips quirked into a grin. “I am glad about that, but for art’s sake, realism and all that sort of thing, I beseech you to do it. Otherwise, I will have to go out and start a brawl with some innocent.”

I sighed, drew back my fist and punched him. The hit turned his head slightly.

“Call that a punch?” he jibed. “A five-year-old girl could hit harder than that. Call yourself a man? You really are a pathetic excuse for a....”

I struck again, much harder this time. Holmes took several steps back from it I was pleased to note.

He rubbed his jaw. “That’s better. I don’t know that I’d really want to get on your bad side, old chap. You’ve got a punch like a mule kick.” He was still feeling at his jaw, and then checked his teeth. “I’ll be damned!” he exclaimed.

“What?”

“I think you really have loosened a tooth.”

My eyes widened. “Oh, I am so sorry, Holmes. You shouldn’t have said those things.”

“That was the whole idea.”

I shook my head. Who could ever figure Holmes? Anyone else would have been furious. He was happy.

“Well—I’m off to the dentist, after having been attacked by a brute of a doctor.” He grinned at me.

I would have liked to have gone with him, but there were patients in the waiting room.

IV.

After Holmes left, I had little time to fret, as I was busy attending to the patients. The last left by half past five and I was becoming rather anxious. What was keeping Holmes? I wondered if I should close the office and go home, or wait here for him. Also, my belly was growling. I had missed lunch. I decided to wait another half hour, and then return to the Morley residence. Holmes could always find me there.

I was just locking the door when I heard Holmes’s voice. “Have you got the vomit, Watson?”

“The...?” I turned around in surprise. Then it clicked. “Oh, in the office.” I unlocked the door again and collected Mrs. Hurley’s specimen.

“Feel like some dinner, Watson,” he asked, rather cheerily I thought.

“Well and truly,” I handed Holmes the jar.

He looked at it and added, “Perhaps you could put it in a bag? I don’t think the restaurant would approve our having a jar of vomit on the table.”

“I don’t think I am much taken with the idea, either,” I said, finding a paper bag.

* * * *

We discovered a quaint little Italian restaurant, found a table by the window and ordered. As we sat sipping our aperitifs, I said, “So how did it go? From your manner I am assuming you have had a successful day.”

“It certainly wasn’t a waste,” he agreed.

“So?” I prodded.

He smiled. “Well, I went to the dentist holding my poor aching jaw and told the receptionist it was an emergency. I got in to see him fairly quickly. Dr. Thomas Carlyle is a rather personable man and skilled at his work. He fixed my tooth quite expertly.

“‘So, Mr. Witherspoon,’ said he, ‘how did you loosen your tooth?’ I looked up and told him I’d had an encounter with a tradesman when he tried to overcharge me. The lout had struck me when I was unprepared, I said. He commiserated with me. We had a nice little chat. He told me he used to have a practice in Hampstead, but wanted to live closer to London. He’s been in practice in Epping for the last six months. I asked him if he had settled in and made friends in the area and he said he had—other professional gentlemen. He asked me what I did. I told him I was a jeweler. That was pretty much it. He was very quick in his ministrations. Gave me a large bill and sent me on my way.”

“Is that all?” I asked, surprised. This seemed rather paltry. Hardly worth being punched in the jaw.

“Almost. As I was paying my bill, I chatted with the receptionist. I asked her if Mrs. Morley, Mrs. Boyce, and Mrs. Presnell had visited the dentist in the last six months. She was surprised by the question but answered yes to it anyway. I mentioned, just in passing what a nice fellow Mr. Carlyle seemed to be, and how I hoped he wasn’t too lonely settling into a new territory. She told me that he wasn’t in the least bit lonely as he had been keeping company with Mrs. Presnell quite a bit—she was a widow.”

“’Have you seen her around lately?’ I asked. The question made her think. ‘No, not lately,’ she said. At that moment another customer came in and I took the opportunity to leave.”

“Did they die the same day that they visited the dentist?” I asked.

“Not sure. I could hardly ask the girl for the exact dates. I will pay the office a visit later on. Care to join me?”

“If you like,” I agreed. “So is the dentist the murderer, Holmes?”

“If the other three had visited him on the day of their deaths, it will look highly suspicious for him. However, I still need method and motive.”

“Yet, if he did do it, what possible reason could he have for murdering those four women? It is all a mystery to me,” I said.

Holmes smiled faintly. “And a suitable brain teaser for me. Thank you, Watson for bringing it to my attention. I was dying of boredom in Baker Street.”

“That reminds me, what took you so long? I’m sure you weren’t at the dentist’s this whole time.”

“No, I paid a few visits. I once handled an investigation for United Kingdom Insurance. They promised to look up some information for me. They think very highly of Jack Hurley. He is definitely away on business by the way. He sent them a telegram around eleven this morning. His wife took ill around twelve-thirty. There is no way he could come from Dunsmead to here in that time, so he is in the clear as the actual murderer. Certainly in this instance, anyway.”

“In this instance? What do you mean?”

“Watson, Watson, Watson. You have heard what I have heard. You have seen what I have seen. Try and figure it out for yourself,” said Holmes, refusing to say anymore on the subject.

We enjoyed our meal, after which we went to Baker Street so that Holmes could test the specimen. Whilst he set about organizing his equipment, I helped myself to his monograph on poisons, deciding now was as good a time as any to familiarize myself.

V.

Holmes worked quietly for an hour, and then grunted with disgust. He turned off his burner and came over to join me by the fire. “Nothing! Not one ounce of any known poison.”

“Perhaps she expelled it with her first vomit,” I suggested.

“Then she would have recovered. “No,” Holmes shook his head, “there still should have been a trace.” He took up his pipe and threw himself down into his armchair, lapsing into a brooding silence.

“Well, I didn’t think she ingested it anyway. Perhaps we should have taken a blood sample,” I suggested.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if that came up negative as well. After all, she wasn’t injected, either.”

“There are various ways for a person to absorb something,” I began, in my best medical lecturer tone. “Through the skin, the mucous membranes, the....”

“That is it!” cried Holmes; his eyes alight with sudden excitement. “What a sluggish goat I’ve been. She complained of tingling in the mouth did she not?”

“Yes.”

“The mucous membranes in the mouth are amongst the most absorbent in the human body. The poison was in the fillings. We’ll have to get them.”

“Are you mad? You cannot go pulling teeth out of a dead woman—why, that’s sacrilegious!”

“I’m not about to pull all her teeth out—just two,” argued Holmes. “I need them to test. If I hadn’t been so abysmally slow, I could have got them earlier. Do you know which funeral parlor they have taken her to?”

“No.”

“Never mind, it should be easy enough to work out. After all, she is likely to be at the closest one.”

“Are you forgetting you were planning on breaking into the dentist’s office tonight?” I said.

“We can do both.” Holmes’s eyes glinted. “Are you game, Watson?”

Like a fool, I said yes, even though I did not relish the idea of breaking into a funeral parlor.

“Do you have any tooth pulling tools?” asked Holmes.

“No.”

“Never mind, we’ll steal some from the dentist’s while we’re there.”

I sighed. This was getting worse by the minute.

We changed into our burglar clothes—dark trousers, polo neck jumpers and dark coats. Holmes checked his lock picks and dark lantern, whilst I carried a jimmy, just in case force was needed. Holmes was grinning. I secretly thought that he enjoyed these forays to the other side of the law. He loved the thrill and excitement of such nerve-wracking endeavors. There is many the time that he has said that he would have made a good criminal, and I have no doubt of it. He would have been a formidable foe indeed. I sometimes wondered if he ever regretted being on the side of the law. In fact I asked him once.

“The only problem with my being a criminal is that I would have no incentive. The lure of riches does not appeal to me,” he had said. “It is hardly worth risking life and liberty for material gains if one does not care for them. And to steal for art’s sake is a poor motive for a life of crime. I’m afraid I couldn’t work up the enthusiasm to break the law just for the sake of it. I have to have a reason for my actions.”

We made our way back to Epping, stopped the cab two streets away from our destination, and walked to the dentist’s surgery. At the back door, Holmes made short work of the lock. Inside, I went to the surgery to collect a pair of tooth-pulling forceps, while Holmes examined the appointment book.

“Any luck?” I asked, joining him.

“Yes indeed. All four visited the dentist the same day they died. I would sat that it is more than a coincidence. Now I am even more convinced that the poison is in the fillings.”

“So it’s the funeral home next?”

“Mmm. There are two in this area. The nearest is The Eternal Rest funeral parlor.”

VI.

At The Eternal Rest, we had to take a risk and enter the front door, as the back was barred. I kept lookout while Holmes picked the lock. It was a rather complicated one and he had difficulty with it.

“Why are they so security conscious?” I whispered. “It’s not like anyone would want to steal their merchandise.”

“Not the coffins perhaps, but many customers are buried with jewelry on. They are easy pickings for thieves.”

“How ghoulish.”

“It’s a living,” shrugged Holmes. Considering that he was about to rob the dead woman of her teeth, I supposed that he was hardly in a position to criticize other grave robbers.

I was breathing heavily by the time we entered as I had spotted a constable on his beat up near the end of the street. The last thing I wanted was to be seen breaking in. We passed through the reception area and crept towards the back rooms. There were two empty tables and one that was occupied. Holmes pulled back the sheet—it was Mrs. Hurley. He had guessed right—sorry, deduced correctly. He claimed he never guessed.

“Rip out the teeth, Watson,” ordered Holmes.

“No, I can’t,” I replied, feeling suddenly squeamish despite having seen numerous dead bodies both in my practice and in the army. I just felt that this was a desecration.

Holmes threw me a curious glance, and then took the forceps from me and handed me the dark lantern instead. “You hold the light then.” He bent to his task and located the two teeth with the new fillings.

I grimaced at the noise he made as he wrenched the teeth out. Lucky she was dead, I thought, otherwise she’d be screaming blue murder.

Holmes dropped the teeth into an envelope and pocketed it.

“Shh,” I hissed, just as he was about to speak. “I heard something.” I quickly extinguished the lantern as Holmes moved silently towards the door. He peeked out, then hurriedly closed the door.

“It’s the constable,” he whispered just as softly.

I looked around the barren room with its tiny windows that we could never fit through. We were trapped. Holmes also glanced around, but unlike me, his fertile imagination came up with a solution.

“Quick, up on the tables.”

We grabbed a sheet each and jumped up onto the hard wooden tables, throwing the sheets over us as we lay down. Not a moment too soon, either. I had barely covered myself before I heard the door open. I held my breath, absolutely petrified of being caught.

I could hear his heavy footsteps as he clumped around the room. I saw the light of his lantern through the sheet as he shone it around. It seemed to rest on me for an eternity. I could feel my nose itching and a sneeze startling to well, when suddenly there was the most gosh awful moan.

It was chilling.

It was eerie.

It sounded like a fiend from hell. I nearly leapt up and ran for it, dredging up all my nerve to remain still.

The young constable gave a howl of fright and ran from the room.

I pulled my sheet down to see Holmes sitting up, sheet still over his head, and moaning like a banshee with abdominal pains.

“Holmes!”

He pulled the sheet down and laughed heartily.

“You and your practical jokes,” I said, climbing down from the table. “Honestly, you are worse than a schoolboy sometimes.”

He just grinned at me.

We left by the back door this time and had to walk several blocks before we found a cab willing to take us to Baker Street. Most were on their way home for the night. It was nearly two a.m.

* * * *

Back at Baker Street, we fortified ourselves with a sherry, and then I settled down before the fire, while Holmes went to work on the teeth.

I must have dozed off, for the first rays of light were shinning through our window when I woke to the feel of Holmes’s hand on my shoulder. He looked bright-eyed and rested, despite having been awake all night.

“You are right, Watson,” he said. “She was poisoned. I have found traces of Aconitum napellus, or Aconite as it’s known.”

“What is it? I’ve never heard of it?” I blinked the sleep from my eyes and sat up straighter.

“It’s a common garden plant, also known as monk’s blood or wolf’s bane. Its leaves look like parsley and its roots look like horseradish. It’s an alkaloid and extremely poisonous. Symptoms can appear within eight minutes of absorption and death occurs in several hours. A large dose kills instantly.”

“It sounds deadly.”

“It is deadly. It is one of the oldest known poisons. Very popular with the Greeks and Romans of ancient times. Look at this—” Holmes motioned me over to his chemical bench.

He held up a tooth under the light. “See this discoloration, that is the aconite. He cleverly made a paste of it and applied it to the base of the filling so that when pressed down into the tooth, it would be rapidly absorbed into the bloodstream. That’s why I couldn’t find traces in the abdominal contents. That is also why you wouldn’t have been able to save her, even if you had an antidote. Although, to my knowledge, there is no antidote to this poison.”

“What about the other women?”

“I’d say they died the same way. They all visited the dentist on the day of their deaths. No doubt they had fillings. Perhaps we should....”

“No!” I cut in adamantly, reading his mind. “It was bad enough going to the funeral parlor. I am not going to dig up the other ladies and pull their teeth out.”

Holmes smiled faintly and countered, “It would conclusively prove cause of death.”

“But we already have him on one charge of murder. That’s enough to hang him. Besides, once it is brought to their attention, the police can always exhume the bodies legally,” I argued.

Holmes shrugged. “I suppose.”

“No suppose about it.”

“You’re just worried that they’ll rise out of their graves,” he teased.

“With you around, it wouldn’t surprise me,” I rejoined caustically.

He chuckled. “All right, you win.”

“Are you going to report him to the police today?”

“No. I still need a motive. It is easy enough to deduce why he murdered Mrs. Presnell, but....”

“Easy? No it’s not. Why did he kill her?”

“You always want everything handed to you on a platter, Watson. Think. Use your mind. Use your imagination. You said you wanted to become a writer; well, you need imagination for that. Exercise your brain cells.”

I sighed. It was easy for him. “I suppose you’ve got the whole mystery solved already,” I grumbled.

He smiled. “Just about. Still need to tie up a few loose ends. It is one thing to theorize, but one cannot take theories to court. I can convict Carlyle, but not the others.”

“Others?”

Holmes ignored the question. “Still, it is quite an interesting little plot. Thank you for introducing me to it, Watson.”

“You’re welcome. What’s this about the others?”

“Think about it, Watson. It really is too easy. Elementary even.”

It was so irritating when he was being smug. I just sighed with frustration.

VII.

I had breakfast at Baker Street, and then returned to Epping to put in a weary day’s work. By four o’clock, my eyes were drooping. I did not know how Holmes could stay up all night and day and look so chipper. At eight o’clock that evening I was thinking of turning in for an early night, when Holmes turned up.

“Though you might like to know the latest developments,” he said without preamble.

“Yes, of course.” I offered him a cigar and we made ourselves comfortable.

“I went out to Hampstead today. Carlyle told the truth. He did have a practice there. Left after his wife died—suddenly.”

“Oh!” My eyes widened with surprise.

Holmes nodded grimly. “I’d say he perfected his technique on her. Her life was insured with guess who?”

“United Kingdom Insurance?”

“Spot on, and the investigator was none other than Jack Hurley.”

I thought for a moment. “That doesn’t make sense, Holmes. If Hurley became suspicious of him, why would Carlyle kill his wife? Surely it would be more logical to kill Hurley himself?”

“Oh, Hurley was suspicious all right, but he approved the policy. He had no intention of turning Carlyle in. You are forgetting that other attempt on Mrs. Hurley’s life.”

“What attempt?”

“The burglars, Watson. That wasn’t a random attack. It happened seven months ago. Hurley tried to have his wife killed and make it look like strangers did it. All employees of United Kingdom are given policies for themselves and their spouses. He made a deal with Carlyle when he investigated his claim. ‘Come to Epping and kill my wife, and I’ll approve your policy,’ he probably said.”

“That’s outrageous!”

“But plausible. It also leaves the husband in the clear, as he was out of town when his wife died. He has the perfect alibi.”

“All right, I grant you that your theory works for Hurley and Carlyle’s wife, but what about Mrs. Presnell, Mrs. Boyce, and Mrs. Morley?”

“Ah, that’s a little more complicated. All the ladies had policies on them with United Kingdom. Mrs. Presnell was also independently wealthy. When she died, Carlyle was her beneficiary. Now do you have any guesses as to why she was killed?”

“He wanted her money.”

“Correct. He ingratiated himself with the widow, and then killed her. Probably offered her free dental services.”

“That still doesn’t explain the other two,” I reminded him.

“Surely it is obvious?”

“To you maybe, but not to me.”

“That is because you are too trusting in human nature,” said Holmes, but the way he said it made it sound as if this trait was more a failing than a asset. “Any doctor worth his salt would suspect poison, just as you did. They might miss one patient, but not four. Coincidental deaths would make an honest doctor suspicious. They would report their suspicions to the police, unless....”

“He was in on it too!” I exclaimed excitedly, finally seeing the way Holmes’s reasoning was going.

“Exactly. He certified the deaths as heart failure. Hurley approved the insurance claims, and Boyce, the lawyer, ensured that the wills were in the husband’s favor—or as in Carlyle’s case, in his favor. I’ve seen Mrs. Presnell’s will, it is a forgery and a fairly poor one at that, but as she had no relatives, there was no risk of anyone contesting the will. He probably did it as payment for Carlyle killing his wife. All four were in it together.”

“That’s incredible.” I was shocked by the thought of a group of supposedly respectable men joining forces to murder their wives systematically. “They’re all pillars of the community—a lawyer, doctor, dentist and insurance investigator. Who would have thought?”

“Greed doesn’t discriminate,” replied Holmes a trifle cynically. “The four are good friends, and are often seen together.”

“Have you told the police yet?”

“No, I’ll go tomorrow.”

Congratulations, Holmes,” I said warmly.

“No, it is you who should be congratulated, Watson. If you hadn’t picked up on it and noticed the other details these scoundrels would have got off scot free.”

I smiled. “It’s living with you, Holmes. Your suspicious nature has rubbed off on me.”

“I wish I could say the same. Your trustful nature has not rubbed off on me,” he replied, smiling faintly.

* * * *

Boyce, Hurley, and Carlyle were arrested the next day. The bodies of their wives were exhumed and their teeth checked. All had been killed by aconite poisoning, with the poison secreted in the fillings. I finished my eight-week stint and when Dr. Morley returned home, reported his return to the police. I could barely keep a straight face when he greeted me. It was extremely difficult being civil to the blackguard.

In due course, all four were hung, and Miss Hobson paid us a visit to thank Holmes. The papers made much of the case. I was rather touched when the first story came out. Holmes had been interviewed and he insisted that the case was solved largely due to me. I knew this wasn’t exactly true, but Holmes always was generous, and it made me feel proud to be associated with him.

As to becoming a writer? Well, I have decided that I will set some of Holmes’ extraordinary cases down on paper. It is the least I owe him. The world should be told about this most remarkable man. I will report the facts as I encounter them and let the readers form their own opinion.