Early in the morning, a red-faced Wallace McFadin stormed into my ward, calling my name from afar. I threw my hands up in the air and signalled him to be quiet; one cannot run and shout in a room full of ill and half-asleep patients.
‘My apologies. Me and another student — Farley — we found something,’ he said, a little quieter once he had reached me, then rummaged in his pockets and extracted a small piece of paper.
‘You said we should observe everything to find out about the history. The man you dissected a week ago — Farley and I had his right lower arm and hand for today’s anatomy lesson. The others got the other parts and I saw his head and torso, so I knew it was him.’
McFadin was talking rather fast.
‘So, we started dissecting his hand. He still had it balled up into a fist, and then we found this!’
He waved the piece of paper in front of my nose. The sweet stink of decomposition combined with creosote was wafting off it. I took the note from him; one word was written on it in thick, smudgy letters:
‘He wrote with a piece of charcoal. Very interesting, Mr McFadin, thank you!’
McFadin’s red shade deepened and he smiled confidently. ‘Do you think you can find out where he came from, or who he was?’
I shook my head. ‘Most likely not. I don’t believe he had all his bearings together when he wrote that note. I don’t even know what it could mean. But I’ll give it some thought and let you know if I can find anything of interest.’
Disappointment showed in his face, but he still seemed proud to have found the note. I thanked him again, went to my office and prepared a wire: To Mr Sherlock Holmes, 221B Baker Street: Found something. If interested, meet at seven at Carole’s, The Strand. A.K.
***
I sat at a small table in the back of Carole’s with a candle providing some light. As the time approached twenty past seven, my stomach yowled at me and I decided to order my supper. At that very moment, Holmes swiftly walked in, sat down opposite me, and looked curious.
‘I know you are fairly busy with much more interesting things than this odd case of mine,’ I said. He answered with a frown. ‘Honestly, Mr Holmes, I’m certain the criminal world holds countless more intriguing mysteries than this one. However, this may add some information; provided you have a clue what it could mean.’
I unfolded the note. He took it gingerly and stared down at it with his eyebrows pushed together.
‘A student of mine found it during his anatomy lesson today.’
He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut across him. ‘He and another student dissected Big Boots’s right hand.’
Holmes’s face lit up in excitement and he slapped his hand on the table. Darkness fell. A loud clatter told us that the silverware had jumped off the ledge.
‘My apologies.’ He struck a match and moved the flame towards the wick. I noticed the contrast of warm light against silver-grey eyes and turned my gaze away.
The waiter appeared and I got the impression he moved on small wheels attached to his shoes. He glided away with our orders scribbled on a small notepad.
‘Mr Holmes?’
‘Hmm?’
‘Any clue?’
Silently, he extracted his magnifying glass, moved closer to the candle, and examined the paper.
‘Hmm… No marks. Charcoal, very soft material. No scratch marks. Unintelligible and smudged…’ He straightened up and sat there for a moment, eyes blinking, lips twitching, brow furrowing. I was certain he would talk to himself if he were alone.
The waiter returned and placed our supper on the table. Holmes took no notice of his meal. I had almost finished eating as he seemed to return to the present. ‘Do you think we could hear the oriole’s call in the Berkshire?’
Hastily, I swallowed the last bit of pork before inhaling it accidentally, opened my mouth, and closed it again with a snap. After a moment of consideration, I answered, ‘Broadmoor Lunatic Asylum? I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine…’ I shook my head. ‘The place is enormous and well controlled; you would need to involve a lot of people to hush up a breakout.’
‘Yet, the note reads B…OR,’ he replied. ‘Both men were at Chertsey at a time when one of them was seriously ill and very weak. The distance they travelled could not have been more than twenty miles, I dare say. Within a twenty-mile radius of Chertsey, we have only four places that start with a B: Bracknell, Bagshot, Brookwood, and Broadmoor, and B…OR only fits the last.’
‘What if he wrote down a name?’
‘This is one possibility. For now let us assume two things: one — he knew he was dying and he wished to send a message, some kind of hint that would lead the police to the men who infected him with tetanus, given he had indeed been infected, which is highly likely, if not certain. Our second assumption is that he had enough brains to not write down the name of a person living somewhere in the countryside, for that would be close to impossible to find. If the two men had indeed been in Broadmoor, contracted cholera and tetanus, and broke out without the Yard’s knowledge, then we have an intriguing situation and one must wonder why it has not been reported.’
Holmes was all focus and excitement. He may have appeared calm and even rigid to the onlooker, but the movements of his entire body were many, very quick, and small — eyes narrowing a fraction and opening up again, lips compressing, corners of the mouth pulling up or down very slightly, fingers tapping on the tabletop, breath slowing and speeding up, feet shuffling ever so slightly. He vibrated.
‘It appears that both were victims of medical maltreatment, to say the least,’ he went on. ‘Both had likely been infected with tetanus on purpose, an outrageous act! I think it is time to pay a visit to Broadmoor Lunatic Asylum together with my old acquaintance, Inspector Lestrade.’ He leant back, looking expectantly at me.
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow morning.’
‘I’m sorry; I have to be at the hospital. Besides, you don’t need me there and I’d rather not meet with the police more often than absolutely necessary. But I’m very much interested in the outcome, of course. Shall we meet after the raid?’
‘So it is a raid now,’ he noted.
‘Sounds more exciting than a mere visit.’ I pulled a corner of my mouth up.
‘Very well! We will meet at my quarters at eight, then. Mrs Hudson will provide us with supper.’