A Subdued Affair

It was a subdued affair, but then my friend of longstanding, the celebrated detective Sherlock Holmes, was celebrating his retirement. He looked well. As his Physician Dr. Watson, now retiring as well, I was one of the guests at the party. For many years now, wherever Holmes went, I followed. More than one of my patients could attest to that. My medical career was close to shambles, from my first meeting with Holmes many years ago, until our retirement.

I had become well known from early on, through my association with the superlative detective. I contributed to his success, as best I could, but my abilities compared to his were virtually always of a secondary nature. Some of his more interesting cases, I chronicled in written form, as the years went by, much to the delight of more than one publisher and avid readers everywhere.

The reason for his retirement was he claimed that

He wasn’t quite as nimble as before, and that his immense mental faculties had slowed, but not much more than a trifle. I could vouch for that. I was a few years his junior and my years had caught up to me, as well.

For the last brief while we had been looked after by our new domestic, Hughena Hillier. We recently had procured the service of a young jack of all trades Michael Brennan. He did what Hughena was not physically capable of doing.

He was third generation Irish and doing better than the masses that came over to seek the construction jobs available when Holmes and I were still children at home with our families.

Hughena had helped Holmes with his grooming to prepare him for the festive affair at hand. He’d napped just after his wash and appeared quite energetic.

I looked at my friend of many years, and considering what we had gone through during our career I felt satisfied. He, the Detective and I, his assistant had both weathered the storm worn years of our lives well enough. On too many occasions we had both found ourselves under the most harrowing of circumstances. More than once our lives were at stake.

Tea was being poured by young Hughena for all, except for a few well wishers who wanted only to extend their congratulations and with all due courtesy, left our gathering shortly after. Even the councilman for our district, had dropped by to wish Holmes a happy retirement, only to depart shortly after. He had garnered a vote or two for himself while here, I daresay. Holmes, running true to course, lit up one of his infrequent smokes. Holmes had cut back on his tobacco habit, on the advice of a surprisingly young doctor. It was duly noted that this young doctor exercised more influence than I could ever bring to bear on Holmes. But then, he and I had never made a fuss over any of our differences.

As I looked discreetly about our comfortable, well furbished sitting room, used for the occasion, there was a peaceful hum of best wishes, light laughter, and words of praise, all in honour of the occasion of our friend as he said goodbye to a most fruitful career. He had been a marvel. As for me a lot of the ambience of the moment reflected its glow on me. There were those who said their goodbyes to me as well. I was most contented because I had been recognized by one and all as a man deserving to bask in the warm glow of the afternoon’s festivities. Being older does bring an array of blessings.

It was but three p.m. when the pace of the party seemed to decline slightly. That was soon changed when Inspector Hartigan, the successor to Inspector Lestrade, who had arrived later than most, had one more honour to bestow on one of the world’s most brilliant investigative minds.

In the inspector’s possession, was a certificate of high merit from Scotland Yard for my dear friend, Sherlock Holmes, to thank him and to praise him for his help in solving many cases over the years. The award was to double as a retirement present.

One of the invited guests a friend of our MP walked up to Holmes and said, “Detective Holmes, not all of us ever saw your brilliant mind at work in person. Is there perhaps a way you could talk at some length of one of your lesser known cases and how you solved it.”

Holmes said, “I was just thinking of such a case a few days ago, when I was having trouble sleeping. Even the press did not quite jump on board. It was scandalous what happened.”

A brother of the Anglican deacon asked, “Can you elaborate on what must have happened?”

“I can and will” Holmes replied.

“It all started with the embezzlement of one hundred and sixty thousand pounds from a British Bank. The crook turned out to be one of their own accountants. To complicate matters he also murdered his girlfriend. She knew too much.

I soon recovered the money and not long afterwards I solved the murder of his girlfriend. The wretched crooks name is Willard Tyler.

The thief turned murderer received his final denouement from me and my dedicated pursuit. I did not give up until the successful conclusion of the case. Mr. Trainor asked, once again, “Did you have good help?”

Holmes replied, “Well of course there was Dr. Watson but in the end it came down to me and Bob Twiggs. This Bob Twiggs, was a London cab driver and the son of Billie Twiggs, one of Watson’s and my own favourite hansom operators, who had delivered us safely, back home to Baker Street, after more than one hair - raising escapade. Ask Watson, he will soon tell you.” Then Holmes turned his attention to his tea.

When I took over Holmes first contacted Bob Twiggs, young Bob immediately recognized the name, and could hardly wait to shuttle Holmes about, in the pursuit of one more victory over the criminal element. I remember this case well. It was all so sordid it is hard for me to recount it all. However it was interesting to relive that sordid mess. I shall try to recite what I can since we are all in agreement to hear about one of my less famous triumphs over crime. You may see my essence in what you are going to hear.”

The murderer was a bank accountant and therefore the theft was a considerable amount of money. His method, he being Willard Tyler, was to deliberately reduce the addition of certain amounts of money entering the bank’s system through accounts receivable and as such became deposited in the bank. He manipulated the false amounts of cash in such a way that every week during that particular business quarter he walked out of the bank with a packet of stolen bank notes. There are three months in a business quarter and after that Tyler knew that if he didn’t run and hide, then he would likely be arrested. The bank audits all their business accounts every three months. His covert banking irregularities had a very short lifespan, but he was prepared for the end result of this foul deed.

Then came a serious crimp in his plans. For reasons known to the bank, and because the bank president was soon retiring and the new man was already chosen, the new head wanted a full accounting of the books, before he took charge of the bank. He had asked for a thorough review of the bank’s quarterly statement six days earlier than originally scheduled. Those numbers he would attribute to his predecessor’s reign, those following, to his own. At the completion of the audit, the bank was to go back to its regular routine. The new president wanted to develop a clear understanding of current business practices within the bank.

This upset the skilfully arranged plans of the bank embezzler and he had to disappear from the bank close to a week earlier than scheduled.

Willard Tyler needed a new plan, but it would have to be one put together in a hurry. There was much to do, and all of it under the cover of secrecy, and away from the eyes of the law. Soon they would be on to him but he felt as though he could avoid detection until he soon left the country. His ship would be sailing in another week. Without knowing it at the time, this delay gave me time to pursue the case at hand and make my deductions.

After the story came out, including the story of the murder of the crook’s girlfriend by the aforementioned embezzler, the BBC radio and the daily papers carried all available information. I wondered till near the end if some of this foul deed would be suppressed, but it was not.

Apparently, before Tyler murdered his girlfriend they had gotten into an argument. The stress of criminal activity took its toll on the couple. The apartment walls were thin and people could hear bits and pieces of the rather loud argument. Holmes could easily see the underlying undercurrents between the theft and the murder immediately. Tyler had obviously told the girlfriend too much while drunk. He immediately saw the danger and killed her to shut her up. Liquor was just one of his weaknesses. He consumed it in large quantities. Indolence was another.

Dr. Watson joined the story telling.

Because of all this preliminary information, Holmes had a head start. Helping the police find the murder weapon, one could say, was but one more candle on his retirement cake.

Hughena asked, “Do you mean Dr. Watson that he had practically had it solved already?”

I replied, “What you do not know is that the retiring detective has incredible powers of deduction. A few scraps of information was all he needed quite often.” Hughena replied, “And he is hardly any bother at all much like you.”

I said, “Another noteworthy matter I must share with you people, and our young friend, is a letter arrived yesterday addressed to Detective Sherlock Holmes from one of Europe’s crowned heads.”

On opening the letter a little earlier, I was aware it contained best retirement wishes from the King of Bohemia, a royal personage Holmes and I were of some service as called upon. What a case that was, and so charming of the King to remember our service after all this time. Hughena smiled as I read the warm wishes from the King, enclosed in the card. To Holmes and I, it brought back poignant memories, especially of Irene Alder. She was a woman that Holmes respected. There was a valid reason for Holme’s high regard for her.

Inspector Hartigan asked, “Please, if I may Detective, getting back to the case at hand, how did you manage to so much as get your feet wet in such an investigation?”

Holmes replied, “When the bank asked me to investigate for them, I could hardly wait. It was the murder of his girlfriend that turned out to make the case. That murder helped enlighten me early on. The theft and murder fit together like hand and glove. It was the murder victim’s mother who first enlightened me enough to consider the small, but helpful, body of evidence as worth examining more fully. The police were more neutral than anything else. From there I but followed my instincts or ‘gut feelings’ one could say. I mean that more literally than figuratively, Inspector. There was much information that reached me by the way of excellent newspaper accounts and the thorough news announcers on the BBC radio. It was mainly the local London Town news report on the hour that I waited for. The story, as you know, spread nationwide so there was no shortage of coverage, at times in the most minute of detail.

Some wanted this matter hushed up out of respect for a family that this Willard Tyler was related to. Willard was soon disowned by them.”

“Well I will be.”

I remarked to Holmes, “But the money, quite often isn’t recovered. You not only found the full amount, but it was found hidden away in a valise with Tyler’s own private monogram on it. That helped convince the jury. It also made an opportune getaway impossible.”

Holmes replied, “Again the victim’s mother, she was a fount of information early on. During a series of interviews by professional news reporters especially the first few days immediately following this tragic incident, she gave her account of the murder and spared none of even the most minor details of the homicide so close to her home and heart. Her first-hand commentary included a description of the murderer’s condition at the time.”

I asked, “Would this perhaps be her way of trying to aid the police in their pursuit of the interloper”? I was not that active in the ongoing details of the case.”

Holmes replied, “My dear Watson, you’re not far wrong, but barring some of these new-fangled psychiatrists and psychologists coming to your aid you’ve just barely passed first year detective school on this matter. Apparently, there is such a thing now as a ‘detective school’. The mother found talking about the murder a catharsis that helped soothe her troubled emotions.”

Inspector Hartigan, chuckling, said “You and I both”.

Holmes replied, “The afternoon is young yet. As for the crooked accountant, he had the opportunity and the motive. The motive being the life of ease and luxury, the bank’s money would buy him. He, from what I could gather, wasn’t much more than a drunkard who used women of easy virtue. As for the murder, again, he had a motive but no opportunity. The more successful murderers plan the act in advance. Willard Tyler was caught, not quite in the act, but in the cover up. As for the theft, he used the bank as the means for his opportunity.”

“I risk sounding pretentious here, but to some extent, and I’ve studied this matter at some length, there is no such thing as non-premeditated murder. Then again, this Tyler man was very drunk and he was also quite frustrated. The bank had just put a huge dent in his plans.

I looked over at Holmes and he was still enjoying himself. The extra effort of story telling gave him a good energy and he carried on.

“One frustration was that Tyler missed the chance to steal another large sum of currency. He wanted it all. To make matters worse, in his drunken, perhaps partially insane frame of mind, he couldn’t think straight. When he gave his girlfriend too much information about this nefarious deed of his and at the time, not quite capable of thinking clearly, the simple solution was to kill this young Noreen Boutilier. It may only have taken him a few moments to decide to murder the poor woman, but by my standards that was enough thought to make the murder a planned killing, premeditated, in other words.” Hartigan entered, “Instead Detective, I would hardly call a few moments as premeditation.”

Holmes replied, “Once the murder act is decided on, there is no law that says he has to philosophize on the sordid enough act as it is.

Instead, he would run towards the light. The light has always been safer. It was like a statement of innocence to him. It was an attempt to cleanse his conscience.

I checked and saw where there was a brightly lit fish and chips wagon not far from this Boutilier woman’s apartment. Next to the chip wagon was a billiard academy, it as well, with outside lighting.”

The reason why this was so important was I know that this sorry excuse for a man would want to hide the murder weapon and as soon as possible. It was his way of cleansing himself, that and his mind had slowly gone out of control from the strain of his emotions and matters pertaining to his crime going against him. I informed the police of the huge metal bucket behind the fish and chips wagon, I had reconnoitred, and it was full of potato peelings and fish scraps. I strongly suspected that they would find the murder weapon there.

This Willard Tyler was frightened and acting irrationally. He felt overly encumbered by this strange turn of fate. He remained rattled throughout this entire incident. He was sobering up by that time and had sense enough to know he may be in trouble.

The inspector interceded briefly and said, “You performed a great victory for jurisprudence. It all went that much better because of your effort.”

I looked at the inspector, and then at Holmes, as he raised his teacup to his lips. I asked of Hughena, “Please, dear woman more tea, and soon”.

“Immediately”, she replied.

I quickly addressed my old friend of many years. I said, “If it’s not too much to ask of you young man-”

“Cease,” interrupted Holmes, “now state your case.”

I replied, “It would make a fitting climax for our delightful afternoon’s affair if you were to grant the Inspector’s wish.”

Holmes replied, “I shall be only too happy to do so, but the tea and more to come, you see, makes a visit to the lavatory the first order of the day.”

Then came the tea.

The inspector addressed me, “Watson dear fellow, have I asked too much of your friend? Am I straining his faculties?”

I replied, “Not at all. He has had a nap and he is quite vigorous yet. He is very alert.”

Mrs. Hudson, she herself looking tired, spoke up. “I can vouch for that Inspector. It was only a year or two ago when he would be on the tear all day and into the evening if it were needed. There was no day of rest for the detective and his fully capable partner.”

Holmes was soon back and immediately set in on the task at hand of unravelling this chain of sordid events that led to the solving of this case to everyone’s satisfaction. Imminent now, was the presentation of a Certificate of Merit, from Scotland Yard. One more honour for this esteemed gentleman.

Holmes cleared his throat and quickly swallowed a drop or two of tea. Then he said, “Ordinarily there would have been no involvement on my part in this matter, I will just mention that the bank was soon in touch with me immediately after Willard did not show up that first day for work. By a fluke chance his carefully laid plans went awry.

Holmes continued to grant their wish. He commenced, “After the murder, the victim’s mother, the Boutilier woman, was interviewed by a couple of reporters from two of the local daily newspapers. Each reporter outdid himself trying to pry loose the whole story. That body of information was a major assist to what soon became my part in solving this shameful affair. Again, I just followed my nose.”

“The victim’s mother described the scene of the murder in such vivid detail, that I soon had enough clues to proceed tentatively into the heart of the matter within the second morning after the fact. It didn’t take long. About the recovered money, I found out early that the money had been previously buried that was a major interest to me. The bank had asked me to try to recover the money. You might say I was soon involved up to my ears. Why not, the first news story gave me enough ammunition to fire up my powers of deduction. Shortly after I had more than an inkling, a solid starting point, as you can understand.

The first round of information gave me what was an approximate idea of where to search for the missing funds. It was a start. The money had obviously been buried before the slaying. That was indirectly caused by a problem that developed concerning his transportation out of the country. But that is another part of the story.

“Of course, Tyler’s native intelligence, not being terribly anaemic, spelled out his need for a hideout. The banks rescheduling had thrown a monkey wrench into his plans. He also needed another place for the cash. If that were found on him, if the law didn’t catch up with him, then the underworld would. I have no doubt the original plan included leaving the country, but he had mistimed his exit.”

“The murder victim’s mother, Anne Boutilier, talked freely and openly about the murder of her daughter Noreen. She also described the murderer, his condition, and his actions, and talked openly about the site of the actual murder describing it well. This information I found invaluable to me. It was a valid start. With no qualms whatsoever, I placed this Tyler monstrosity at the location of the murder. That alone could get him to trial but a good lawyer could reduce the evidence to circumstantial. To be sure of a conviction I needed more proof and with more substance to it. At least the legal authorities had a corpse. Then there was his embezzlement charge. That alone meant a prison sentence.

“I soon went to work. I found this Tyler’s actions intolerable, and yet he somehow, appearance wise, reminded me of someone I knew.”

“The weapon was believed to be a knife belonging to the victim. It had gone missing, but I had a careful description of it. Where was the knife at now?”

“Tyler was reported to be drunk and bellicose at the time of the murder. The drunken part made it a bit simpler to track down the hidden cash. The mother’s information throughout was invaluable. As for the murder weapon, I soon sent the police off in the right direction.”

“That much was based on a supposition of mine that I had observed in some of my cases, throughout the years. Some murderers are attracted to light but not until after the deed is done.”

“This Willard Tyler was tall and obese. Drunk as he was, he slowly stomped up the staircase to his girlfriend’s second floor apartment. Because he was so heavy footed he dislodged a lot of the muck from his boots. It had been raining in London that day. He had to stop at the second-floor landing to catch his breath. Despite being only in his thirties, he had already gone to seed.

As it turned out he was a son of one of the prominent British families. ‘Formerly was’ would be more appropriate. His photograph that I’d seen in a couple of London Daily’s gave that away. Instead of rising to the advantages of his birthright, he sank further, and further, into depravity. Women and liquor were among two of his vices. He liked to gamble as well, but not always heavily. That paired with a lack of ambition was how he lived his life.

Hartigan interrupted enough to say, “This is sheer brilliance. Others would have been stymied at finding out even half that much information.”

Holmes replied, “There is nothing that brilliant about placing a phone call.”

I remembered Holmes putting a call through to Sir Harry’s private club that Holmes felt sure would impart some information, even in passing, on this Tyler wretch.

The inspector added, “It is amazing what you do.”

I thought surely the Inspector was overdoing his flattery, but Holmes let it pass. This case was the usual result of Holme’s expert sleuthing.

I stated, “I tell you inspector, he’s barely scratched the surface of his involvement. My friend, you see inspector, has this analytic mind and is a very shrewd judge of character. He is rarely fooled, although both he and I remember, ruefully, a few that slipped through our well constructed traps.”

“I see,” replied Inspector Hartigan, “but please do continue.”

Instead I replied, “Firstly inspector, don’t forget the Yards fine work when they finally flushed Tyler out from the opium den. It was in the basement of the Chinaman’s cafe, in one of London’s most notorious districts. Another two and half days without the Yard, and he may have successfully skipped the country. If one facet of a case changes, often other theories and assumptions are affected as well. The world at large is full of such “ifs” in plenteous abundance.”

I studied Holmes’s countenance when I spoke. Rather than tiring he was becoming more and more animated. For now, he was smiling and showing his still healthy teeth. He had a wrinkle. Yet here I was with my slight paunch. Not to be outdone by Holmes, my hair was thinning as well. The problem was Holmes had started out with a more plentiful crop than my own.

The fresh tea had arrived, and Holmes had barely sampled his steaming cup full, before he sallied forth.

“At the murder scene, both mother and daughter lived on the second floor, but in different apartments. Thanks to Mrs. Boutilier, I soon found out that Tyler had tracked in some dark mud. Tyler was the only visitor that day. The building was usually quiet and the weather made it more so. It had been raining. His footsteps were heavy to begin with and coated in a black mud with traces of sand in the mud. A tree leaf was included in this mixture of elements. The mud mixture could potentially be a help in finding the money. But where would you find black mud, and with loose sand being present even that may not be enough. I presumed the wind had blown the leaf free of its branch, either way, for whatever reason, other than an eager radio man wanting as much detail as possible, I had the leaf described to me via the air waves. On listening it was, I presumed, a leaf from a chestnut tree. They are quite common and are different from trees even whose foliage is similar. For example, the leaf itself is a little coarser to the touch than a lot of other tree leaves. The sand could mean that there was a construction site nearby. That helped considerably. There had been sand mixed in with the mud and because my embezzlement suspect was now a murder suspect I could easily see the beauty of investigating the murder as well and all it entailed.

Holmes paused for one sip of tea followed by a more robust second taste. I could tell he enjoyed Hughena’s tea. I fancied it myself.

Hughena spoke right up. I could tell she was finally starting to feel at home here on Baker Street. She said then there is Mr. Holmes’ impeccable reputation that stood him in good stead, when he somehow contacted Bob, the son of the retired hansom driver, the same driver known well to Mr. Holmes and his assistant Doctor Watson. Because of that, Bob, if you’ll pardon the pun, went the extra mile for the hopefully, now fully retired, detective. You all must pardon me for going on and on, but I have a slightly older person or two that I enjoy taking care of, and very much so.”

The finding of the murder weapon brought sadness over me. Noreen Boutilier most likely had used the same knife to dissect a chicken, or prepare a ham for the oven.”

“I feel as though I must tell you of another fond memory recently awakened in my being. I feel almost compelled to tell you all”. Today, my only boyhood friend, Harry Mould, wired me. It has been fifty years since we parted company, for the last time.”

“My home, yes, yes...” The detective stopped in midstream. He looked wistful. There had been a mess.

Hughena came to the rescue and said, “Try the tea Holmes dear, you’ll find it comforting, and more than a tiny sip or two.”

Holmes did so, composed himself briefly and continued, “The whole place, the home I had lived in crashed downward, landing on my sore, frustrated plate. I was then sent off to school, a comfortable distance away from my parents and that tragic incident. My friend Harry, I never heard from again, until today. Well yesterday actually. Our last contact was fifty years ago. He apparently recognized me, through a photograph of me, in one of the local papers concerning my retirement. Thence the telegram, once he confirmed my identity.”

Holmes dug into his reserves and continued. I decided not to mention a quick look I had taken at the telegram where I noticed a question mark after the name Sherlock Holmes. But Holmes did express his satisfaction with the telegram.

He said, “I suppose, in a way, it was like I received a little extra dollop of icing on my not quite fully demolished cake.”

“As it turned out, the wretched renegade, Willard Tyler had a very influential father, I shall touch on briefly, by the name of Sir Harry Tyler, a multi millionaire, and an OBE to boot.

I was satisfied somehow, but in a peculiar fashion, Sir Harry handled the matter thoroughly the only possible way he could. He made not the slightest attempt to influence the courts. He didn’t even try to find him a good lawyer. Instead, an advertisement appeared in a London daily newspaper and the personal column of a popular tabloid publication, where Sir Harry publicly disowned this Tyler character.”

Inspector Hartigan added, “Merely conjecture on my part Detective Holmes, but would I be right in saying that the reason why your boyhood friends and acquaintances, perhaps others as well, rarely contacted you is because you may have changed your name at some previous time. I’m sure there were more people in your life at that time, than young Mr. Mould.”

Holmes’ eyebrows rose perceptfully and he said, “It’s not a foreign thought to me Inspector.”

The Inspector’s left shoulder dropped as Hartigan shifted a bit to his left side.

Holmes continued, “I once thought of it when I was a troubled young man. The second, and last time was for security reasons only. My life had been threatened by the Tongs, a vicious Russian mob with considerable influence in the orient.”

“I see.”

The Inspector’s head shifted downward, and I saw where the crown of his head had a pronounced bald spot. He was a husky man but not tall. Unlike Inspector Lestrade, he had no obvious facial hair, but was clean shaven.

Holmes delved deeper and straight ahead, “I have more on the continuing saga of Sir Harry Tyler. The true Harry, as he once was.”

I interrupted Holmes, “Hopefully old friend, with nothing less than kindness. Lest we forget Sir Harry is an OBE.”

Holmes replied, “Yes, but I daresay, Sir Harry, under the circumstances, would easily understand. Our motives are of a benign, concerned nature, after all. And we meant him no ill will. Not only that, but word reached me from my old friend, Henry Gibbons, that Sir Harry was soon to leave the country. The reason why he had chosen Canada is royal titles of any kind, are not welcome there, well at least officially not welcome, and therefore should not be used, no matter what the title. While Canada is a part of the British Empire, despite that, his shame need never be known. His plans were not quite definite but it was certain he would be leaving, if he had not done so already. I say Watson, you can understand what I’m trying to impart here, is that not so? The story everyone wants.”

I remarked, “Indeed, I am enlightened enough Holmes, but Sir Harry, before this sordid odd thing came to be had his heart set on making one last fortune, he was about to buy a hefty sized coal deposit somewhere in North East England. Four hundred million tons of still unmined coal and the price was reasonable enough. As for the price of coal in commodity form, it was appreciating in value on the world markets. A shortage of coal in Russia is adding to the upward pressure of the price per ton. Poor Sir Harry had his heart broken. They say if the deal had gone through Sir Harry would have been the richest man in England.”

Holmes mentioned, “Before that the scandal was kept repressed decently enough. Not much was ever said.”

Holmes added, “A point worth noting was Sir Harry had not been at his club since the incident first came to light. A rushed exit could have easily been made to some other country and for the best. Still his own flesh and blood had been arrested in a London slum, hiding in the Chinaman’s Cafe, a place where opium is sold and imbibed in and many other criminal acts as well.”

“Remarkably this odd character, very strange really, considering his family background, was soon to leave the country and by then, of course, with a few days to spare before the authorities knew the full story. Recovering the monogrammed valise full of money, with even Willard’s middle initial on it, ensured a positive identification. This helped prove positively that he was the thief in question, therefore, the murderer. I knew I needed an extra pair of legs, so I hired young Bob Twiggs, and his motorized hansom, as I called it, to help transport me about. Hard evidence was still needed.”

My first stop was to Noreen’s home. Once I arrived and introduced myself, I was still well known at the time, I asked Mrs. Boutilier if I could look around. There was still a little mud on the steps and I could see traces of sand, none however of the leaf. From there I asked if I may look into Noreens apartment and permission was granted. After a brief look seeing nothing I came across an interesting curio.

On the way to the graveyard I said, “To think he killed her when he was drunk.”

Bob replied, “And left behind some decent clues.”

I said, the mud especially, a common product at gravesites. Once there look for black earth.” It was a Saint Christopher medal. The front of the medal read, “Saint Christopher Safe Voyage.” The obverse side had an inscription which read, “St. Mary’s Graveyard.” It had a little muck on it as well but not quite as dark as the muck on the stairway. I put two and two together and told Bob that we need now to find Saint Mary’s Graveyard.

Bob Twiggs said, “We could go to the arch diocese of London office on Church Street.”

I replied, “Yes they could help. So let us try.”

But we were soon underway and found the diocesan office from which came directions to Saint Mary’s Graveyard.

Holmes replied, “Yes, perhaps he had no plans to kill her, I continued, “Perhaps he had no plans to kill her but in his drunken state, he talked too freely about his fraudulent activities at the bank. He did not know whether that information was safe with her or not, so befuddled as he was, he chose to kill her. In his state, he presumed incorrectly he would get away with it.”

“The fact that the bank may soon have been on to him as far as knew, but not how soon, and his passage out of England delayed due to an unavoidable miscalculation that he had made a few weeks earlier, before the bank had changed around their usual accounting procedures, caught Tyler by surprise. However, he did know that he would be safely out of sight at the Chinaman’s cafe, but that his money wouldn’t be safe on those premises. It was the murder that really ruined him. But the scales of Justice and the masterful British legal system came through and another murderer paid for his crimes.”

Once Bob and I came to Saint Marys we both felt a connection at hand and went in past the gate. We walked straight ahead on well worn path, but there was no trace of black mud. On the corner was a construction site that may have provided the sand. It was a reason to continue our search.

After we walked for a few minutes I saw a pond with a small walking bridge across it. It walked quickly in that direction and was soon on the shoreline of the pond.

Inspector Hartigan cleared his throat. I glanced his way and saw where his suit collar was bunched up higher than it should have been on his neck. He needed a better tailor. Still, he was used to being surrounded by subordinates instead of his present, more august company. His shoe wear may have been comfortable but the design of the shoe left something to be desired. Of course, he was, no doubt, on his feet considerably during the day and looking for comfort from a shoe rather than style.

The inspector asked, “Then the money had already been buried by the time he went to this Boutilier woman’s place?”

Holmes replied, “Yes the clues left behind at the murder scene led to enough information for me to start an educated search for the money and once I had the money it led back to the murder scene and more proof that Willard was the murderer. If nothing much else there was the St. Christopher medal to consider.

But allow me continue. There from seven or eight feet to the right of the bridge was a small peat moss deposit left behind from before the graveyard extension when there was enough peat moss left for later harvesters to fertilize their gardens and to use for fuel. Other than here it was completely non-existent. My shoes were soon full of a black mud.

Bob provided me with a spade he kept in his tool kit and despite the mud I soon uncovered a leather valise and with Willards initials on it including his middle initial.

With Willard the sand entered the picture when Willard had to walk to the corner to procure a cab.

I quickly looked at Hughena; her grey uniform reminded me vividly of the nurses I encountered early in life when I practiced at St. John of the Cross Infirmary. My medical career suffered once Holmes and I met.

I asked my old friend, “After you handed the cash to the police what else may you have gained from that experience.”

Holmes answered, “Two things, I did see a change in the city but a change in young people as well, more often they bought their homes rather than rented them.

I looked over at Hughena. She was the only one here who didn’t have grey hair. A few more years of looking after Holmes and that would change, I thought with a smile. For now, I wanted more information to keep the small gathering enlightened and entertained. I left it to Holmes to do both, like he always could and regularly did.

I did ask however, “About the valise full of money what was that like?”

“The money was wrapped loosely and carelessly, suggesting that the money was soon to be dug up by Tyler. He needed only to make the final preparations for his escape. At that time, the “where” of the escape plan was less of a mystery but with an element of uncertainty.”

“But first the money to the police.”

Mrs. Hudson asked, “All well and good, dear man, but how did you find out he was planning on leaving the country, or had he already been arrested. Also, word reached me that you knew if the country of destination was not Argentina then it would be Martinique in the Caribbean. Is that so, pray tell? You claimed those two countries exclusively.”

“It is so,” replied Holmes, “but you see both countries have no extradition treaty with Great Britain. I should also mention, the extradition treaty, means any criminal wanted by the British legal authorities could by Argentina and Martinique law, stay in those countries and be free from any interference from British officialdom. I managed to get the information by calling the passport office. It was that simple. The country of choice before all this was Argentina. The Argentinians would remain uninterested in any crime not committed on their shores.

I could see my friend carefully considering the last lingering piece of his birthday cake. Following the cake he pulled out a tin of Dunhill shag tobacco.

Holmes soon had the bowl of his pipe afire and he puffed contently. As for Holmes, an almost beatific look had come over him. He, for a brief minute or two, looked more like a forty-year-old, rather than someone just retiring. I couldn’t explain it. Here was Holmes going decidedly in a completely different direction from what should be so.

Now however, it was time for the award from Scotland Yard.

The ceremony went well and all were pleased, but shortly thereafter the crowd started to entreat Holmes to get on with the story. He did go forth until near the end.

He said, “In all the excitement of the story, dear man, I forgot to present you with your Certificate of Merit. My word, you are a most fascinating man. For as long as there is a Scotland Yard you shall be remembered. Hartigan shook our hands and left.”

In closing Holmes came out and said, “All that was left was to arrest this Tyler fellow. His picture had been given out frequently. It was no secret that he was a regular at the Chinaman’s café, soon he was flushed out. He was no further trouble and was given severe sentence. However the terms of his parole went easier on him.”

After all of that was concluded and to well wishers thinned out I had a few words with my friend, “It was a danger fraught life Holmes. We are lucky to still be here.”

“In deed” he replied, but if ever a chance I would do it all over again.”

I asked, “Except for?”

“Yes, next time I would be a better violinist.”