The Case of the Gila Monster

by Stephen Herczeg

During my friendship with Sherlock Holmes, I have, on numerous occasions, found myself over-awed by the breadth of knowledge that resides behind those aquiline features, and also been humbled by his immense understanding of all things medical. At times I have been left mouth agape in surprise as some esoteric piece of information springs forth from that immense intelligence.

These incidents have been quite frequent and ego shattering, but none so much as the time Holmes solved the mystery surrounding a death from the bite of a Gila Monster.

It was a wonderful spring day and I was enjoying a late afternoon cup of tea in the back garden behind my Kensington practice. I had seen numerous patients all day and rewarded myself with some peace and quiet. The serenity was sadly broken by the appearance of my beautiful wife, Mary, at the rear door.

“Sorry to bother you, John, but we’ve received a late patient. I suggested that she return in the morning, but her manner was ever so compelling that I thought it best if you see her now,” she said.

I stood up and replied, “Quite alright, dear. It will probably be nothing, but I would rather quieten her fears now than allow any to develop further overnight.”

I moved to the door, but Mary placed a hand upon my chest stopping me short. She glanced over her shoulder then leaned in close to me, whispering, “She’s a formidable lady. If I was to have an opinion, I would think that her problems are all in her mind. But of course, you are the doctor.”

I smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “I’m sure they are, but I’ve never met a patient that could pull the wool over my eyes.”

Mary allowed me to pass and I stepped through into my consulting room. My patient spied me and immediately stood up to greet me.

My wife was right. The lady before me was an astounding specimen. She stood just short of six-foot high and was quite rotund as well. She wore an extremely tight-fitting black tulip skirt and a matching black blouse wrenched over her enormous bosom and brought in tight at the waist. Her hair was pulled back into a high bun, giving her face a fierce expression, even at rest.

She had the look and presence of a private school governess. My only thought was pity for her students.

Her face split into a fierce smile and she said, “Dr. Watson, thank you so much for seeing me at such short notice. I have to apologise, but I didn’t know where else to go.”

I bade her to sit and took my seat behind my desk.

“What is it I can help you with Mrs., ah...?”

“Bell,” she answered, “Mrs. Moira Bell. I live not far from here on the edge of Regents Park with my son.”

It was then that this remarkable woman lost all composure and showed that underneath her gruff exterior was someone full of emotion and love. As soon as she mentioned her son, a torrent of tears poured forth from her eyes and she sobbed uncontrollably into her sleeve.

I jumped up, raced around the desk, pulled a clean kerchief from my breast pocket, and offered it to the distraught woman. She took it, wiped her eyes, and then blew her nose into it. As it was an inexpensive silk kerchief, I decided to let her keep it.

I quickly found Mary and asked her to brew some tea while I attended Mrs. Bell.

The troubled woman finally calmed down once the offer of a cup of hot tea was made. She began to tell me her tale whilst sipping the brew.

She was a local resident who lived in a line of properties that edged onto a lovely part of Regents Park, not far from the London University College. Her family had possessed one of the three-storey Georgian houses for well over a hundred years, and she had inherited the lease on the passing of her father almost thirty years previously.

She lived alone with her grown son, Julius, as her husband had died in the Afghan war. I told her my own war tale and was able to provide a larger level of empathy towards her because of it.

She went on to explain that her son was a Professor of Zoology working at the University College. He possessed a rather large and exotic collection of snakes and reptiles, which he kept in a room on the second floor.

“A herpetologist?” I asked.

“If you insist,” she answered, indicating to me that she had no real interest in her son’s profession. “It was those damnable lizards that caused all this trouble.”

I pushed her for more information and was finally told that her son had been arrested for manslaughter. A man named Hyram Shrubb had forced his way into their home and had died as a result of being bitten by one of her son’s lizards, a Gila Monster from America.

I frowned internally at this revelation. Gila Monsters are venomous, but to my knowledge are they rarely deadly. Most victims are usually left with horrid wounds caused by the strength of the jaws rather than from the venom.

At the remembrance of her son’s current whereabouts, she began to sob all over again without revealing any other pertinent details. I quickly went to her aid to calm her once more and prescribed a relaxant to help her sleep that evening. I also suggested that a friend of mine might be able to shed more light on the facts of the case and help to unearth the true nature of this horrid affair. She then admitted that it was my friendship with Holmes that had led her across town to see me.

Once she was calm again, I helped her out of my rooms after securing her address and said that I would bring Holmes to her home at precisely eleven o’clock the next day.

Through a veil of drying tears she agreed, thanked me for my service, and marched off home.

As I watched her go a small thrill went through me. I know that my good friend Holmes requires constant stimulation of his mind to keep the ennui at bay, but during these quiet times I find myself in such a need as well.

This case also promised the need for a high level of medical knowledge, and there was hope that the depth of my experience would be of use to Holmes.

Sadly, that was not to be.

I arrived at the front door step of Mrs. Bell’s home on Cumberland Terrace at a few minutes of eleven. The day was quite warm and I found that I had underestimated the walk and was awash with perspiration.

I had removed my hat and was mopping my brow with a fresh kerchief when I noticed Holmes walking towards me. He was elegantly dressed as always and tapped along with his cane. He had left his hat at home and showed no sign of being overheated.

“Good morning, Watson, and what a wonderful morning it is!” he said, admiring the building before us. “Poisoning by venomous lizard. Not a regular occurrence in London, one would think.”

“Indeed.”

We both studied the house before us. It was part of a long series of terraces flanking this side of the park.

“I took the liberty of walking around the back of the houses. There’s an alleyway running along the buildings used by the night soil men and a gate through which one can access the park. Very convenient for a quiet evening stroll or for accessing the rear doorway unseen,” he said.

I nodded in agreement, unsure of what he meant.

We turned to mount the steps to the front door but were disturbed by a commotion next door. Two men were struggling to manhandle a settee down the steps and into a large cart parked by the roadway.

I turned and watched their antics just as the lead man slipped off a step and tumbled to the pavement below, bellowing in pain. By the time I reached him, he was sitting up and holding his right ankle.

“I’m a doctor. I can help if you like,” I said.

“Ow! It’s my ankle! I nearly broke it!” he cried.

I gently pulled his hands away from his foot and straightened his leg out. The ankle was certainly swollen. I moved the foot about, which elicited more howls of pain. To stop his moaning, I lowered his foot and spoke to him.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” I said as I reached into my pocket for a card, “but you certainly won’t be doing any more furniture moving today. I suggest you make your way home, rest, and put some ice on it to take away the swelling,”

He took the card and I continued. “Come and see me tomorrow - or better yet, the next day. I’ll be able to tell how badly damaged it is by then. Meanwhile, stay off it.”

“I’ll ’elp ’im get ’ome,” his friend offered.

Another man emerged from the doorway with an angry expression on his face.

“Here, what’s all this laying about then?” he asked.

I stood up and addressed him.

“I’m afraid your man has had a rather nasty tumble. He’s sprained his ankle or worse. I’m a doctor, and I’ve told him to rest up for a couple of days before coming to see me about it.”

The man was indignant.

“I can’t wait up for him to get better. I need this place emptied today,” he said.

He pointed to the man on the ground, “Get up, Harry, or you’re fired!”

Harry’s eyes lit up in fear. He tried to pull himself up, but screamed in pain as he put weight on his leg and collapsed again.

“I think that answers that question, then,” said Holmes.

The angry man turned to face the detective.

“And what do you care?” he asked.

“Nothing, really. I’m just a casual observer, but anyone can see that if this man is not fit to work, then the work will not get done.”

The angry man turned back to Harry, ready to blast him again.

“And why are you in such a hurry?” asked Holmes.

The angry man turned once more, “What’s it to you?” he said.

“Just a casual observer,” repeated Holmes evenly.

“Well, if you have to know, this whole place,” he indicated the line of terraced houses, “Is going to be pulled down and replaced by nice, new, modern houses.”

I was horrified.

“Why destroy these wonderful buildings? Who would do such a thing?” I asked.

“I think the answer to that, Watson, is pretty much under your nose,” said Holmes.

I looked at him and saw that he was staring at the wagon behind me. I turned and read the side board of the cart. Shrubb Brothers.

“I’ve never heard of them,” I said.

Holmes smiled at me, that smile I had seen far too often for my own liking. I’d missed something again.

“I think you’ll find, Watson, that one of those brothers is exactly why we are here.”

I once again urged the injured man to rest, much to the annoyance of his employer, and then joined Holmes on the neighbouring door step. Holmes smiled at me and indicated the door.

“Well, it’s your case so far, Doctor,” he said.

I stepped up and lifted the heavy knocker. I rapped only once before the door was unlocked and opened. It revealed a sallow-faced young maid. She looked at us wide-eyed through the crack in the door.

“Can I ‘elp you, sirs?” she asked.

“Yes. Dr. Watson and Mr. Sherlock Holmes, to see Mrs. Bell. We are expected,” I said.

“Oh, yes, sirs. Please come in,” she said as she backed away and opened the door for us to enter.

We stepped into a small entry hall that proved a little too tight for both Holmes and I together. The maid squeezed past us, locked the door, and withdrew the heavy iron key. She moved to a nearby wall stand and hung the key on a hook next to its twin. A third hook remained empty, so I placed my hat upon it. The maid once again moved past and motioned for us to follow her into a room off to the right.

“Does that key unlock the rear door as well?” Holmes asked.

The maid was surprised by the question and shrank back slightly. “Yes. Yes, it does,” she said.

Holmes simply nodded.

We entered the small reception room and found Mrs. Bell sitting by the window, reading the day’s newspapers. She looked up and brightened when she saw me, and then eyed Holmes with a curious lift of her eyebrow.

“Mrs. Bell, I’d like to introduce my good friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I’ve described the scant details of your son’s case to him, and he is very interested in hearing more to see if he can indeed provide help.”

Mrs. Bell began to rise from her seat. Holmes gallantly tried to stop her with a gesture, but was too slow. He was taken aback when she rose to full height and met him almost eye-to-eye, something that happens rarely for Holmes, especially with women.

Mrs. Bell held out her hand and said, “Mr. Holmes, I am very pleased to meet you. I am Moira, but I do prefer Mrs. Bell in deference to my late husband.”

A small grin came to Holmes’s mouth as he shook hands with the dominating presence that was Mrs. Moira Bell.

“Please tell me all about your son’s troubles, Mrs. Bell,” he said, indicating her chair. Holmes and I took seats on the small settee nearby. My friend sat back and steepled his hands before his face, his standard pose when absorbing facts provided to him.

Mrs. Bell began her tale.

“My son has been charged with the manslaughter of a very nasty man, Mr. Hyram Shrubb. My son, Julius, lives here with me and is a Professor of Zoology at the University College, just down the road. He specialises in the study of lizards and snakes.”

“Herpetology,” Holmes said, “Yes, Dr. Watson informed me. To be honest, that was probably what piqued my interest the most. I have heard a lot about your son and would dearly love to meet him. I can assure you that I will do all I can to clear this little matter up for him.”

Mrs. Bell continued, “Oh, thank you. Well, this Mr. Shrubb turned up on our door step one day and barged past my poor Milly uninvited.”

“Your maid, I presume?” asked Holmes.

“Why, yes. I’m sorry. He stormed into this room and blurted out his introductions, and then laid out an offer to buy the lease on my house. I was far too perplexed at his gruff manner to even consider such a request unannounced. I sent him away without another word, but he didn’t leave it there. He turned up several days in a row, but Milly, God bless her, held her ground and wouldn’t let him in. After the seventh time, he arrived when Julius was home, so I agreed to meet him again and hear him out.”

She took a deep breath before returning to her story.

“We met in here with tea and biscuits to present an amiable setting. Mr. Shrubb called himself a ‘property developer’. He is purchasing all the houses along this street with the idea of demolishing them and building a new set of larger terraces to serve the officers of the nearby Regents Park barracks. Julius became very nervous at this talk. Our house has been in my family for over a hundred years. Julius was born here. He’s never known another home. He’s a good boy and would never hurt a fly. He needs this house, as it’s near to the University which is his life, and he needs the space to store his collection.”

Holmes sat forward, a slight glint in his eye, “I take that to be his collection of reptiles,” he said.

“Yes,” she continued, “My Julius has a large collection of reptiles upstairs, with some very rare breeds that even the London Zoo doesn’t possess.” She made a slightly disgusted face. “I never go in there myself. Dreadful things,” she finished.

“And that’s where the Gila Monster is housed,” asked Holmes, sitting back and resuming his contemplative pose.

“Oh, yes. That’s also where everything went wrong.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I told Mr. Shrubb that there was no way that I would even contemplate selling. Julius was much relieved. Mr. Shrubb tried to offer more money to persuade us, but my mind was made up. I don’t need any money, as my poor unfortunate father, God bless him, was well invested. I shan’t be in need for the rest of my life and neither will Julius. Mr. Shrubb left in quite an angry mood and I hoped that would be the last we saw of him.”

“But it wasn’t,” I said.

“No. Not at all. That meeting was a fortnight ago. Earlier this week, I was at my bridge club, Milly was out at the grocer, and Julius came home early to feed his collection. He stepped in through the front door and heard screams coming from the second floor. He ran upstairs and found Mr. Shrubb lying on the floor with Julius’ favourite - his Gila Monster - clinging to his arm. Julius went to his aid and managed to pry the lizard away from Mr. Shrubb’s arm. He then put the reptile away, latched up the case, and then attended to Mr. Shrubb. My dear boy managed to bring the man down to this room just as Milly returned. They both helped to tend his wound and call him a hansom. He kept blubbing that he found the door unlocked and was looking for me. He stumbled into the reptile room and was attacked by the lizard. The last they saw was his slumped form in the seat of a hansom, taking him to Dr. Brown’s surgery around the corner in Robert Street. Frankly, no one thought any more of it until the police came two days ago and took my poor boy away. Manslaughter, they said, caused by the lizard bite. They blamed Julius for leaving the cage open.”

“Hmm,” said Holmes, “I think I’d like to see this reptile room and then, Watson, I think we should pay a visit to Dr. Brown.”

The reptile room was more crowded than I had presumed. It was located in what was a rather large second floor bedroom, but it seemed to shrink when filled with a dozen or so large wooden framed enclosures with glass sides. Each had a glass lid and held a single specimen.

Holmes moved around the room, a look of delight on his face as he stared into each of the reptile tanks. He stopped by one and studied it.

“Ah,” he said, “Vipera berus. The common adder. The kingdom’s only venomous snake, but really quite shy and harmless.”

He moved on to another that contained a brown snake lying on a flat rock.

“Naja haje, the Egyptian Cobra, also known as the Asp. It was this snake that was thought to have been used by Cleopatra to commit suicide. Very good, very good.”

He moved on and stopped by another enclosure.

“Ah, and here is our little mischief maker himself.”

Inside the glass cage was a fat, squat lizard with a pink and brown mottled body and black face.

“Heloderma suspectum, the Gila Monster. Native to the southwestern United States and northern Mexico. I’m not sure if I’m more impressed in seeing it, or the fact that Professor Bell managed to find one and keep it alive.”

He studied the cage and unlatched two slide bolts near the top which caused the front to fold down. The lizard hardly moved with the door open and simply looked at Holmes for a moment before falling back to sleep.

“Hardly the vicious killer of legend, hey, Watson?”

“Is it still alive?” I asked.

Holmes chuckled and relatched the door.

Just then the room’s door opened and Milly walked in with a tray of food scraps. She saw the two of us and a slight shocked look came to her face.

“Oh, I’m sorry gentlemen. I can come back and feed these beasts later.”

“Never mind that, Milly. Please ignore us, will you. Go about your chore,” said Holmes.

Milly moved to the nearest cage and opened the top. She dropped some scraps inside and the resident lizard wandered over to eat. She replaced the lid and repeated the exercise with the next few tanks.

Holmes watched with interest.

“Milly,” he asked.

The young maid almost dropped the tray in shock. She turned sheepishly to face the detective.

“Yes, sir?”

“I assume that Professor Bell usually feeds the reptiles.”

She nodded.

“Since he’s indisposed you’ve taken up the challenge.”

Again she nodded.

“I noticed that you only feed them through the top of the enclosure. Do you ever need to open the front?”

“Oh, no, sir. Julius, er, the professor always uses the top. ‘E would only open the front if ‘e was moving the animal to another enclosure, and then ‘e would use those.”

She pointed at a pair of thick leather gloves hanging from a peg on the wall.

Holmes studied the gloves, looked back at the Gila Monster sitting on its rock, and then turned to me.

“Watson, it’s time to visit Dr. Brown.”

We were shown into Dr. Brown’s room just as his last patient before lunch left.

Behind the desk sat a man of about sixty years of age with a ramrod-straight posture. He was quite bald but possessing of a luxuriant grey moustache and a monocle held in with his right eyebrow.

A quick look around his room showed the standard paraphernalia of a modern doctor. A full sized human skeleton hung from a frame in one corner. A gurney sat against one wall with a curtained area for undressing next to it. On the wall behind the desk was a small but marvellous collection of artefacts from the east.

A Ghurkha knife stood on a stand in the middle of a mantle-piece that framed the grate of a small fireplace. On the wall to either side were framed copies of the doctor’s professional certificates and a letter with the seal of Her Majesty. I strained to read the letter, but only made out a comment about service to the Crown. It looked very similar to the one that I had received.

“Let me introduce ourselves, Dr. Brown. I am Dr. John Watson, and this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” I said. I pointed to the Ghurka knife and asked, “You served in India?”

He looked around for a moment and turned back with a smile of fond remembrance, “Yes,” he said, “I was an officer in the Indian Army for more than twenty years.” He studied me for a moment, “And yourself? You have the air of a military man as well.”

I nodded with a slight bow. “In Afghanistan, until I was injured.”

He looked at Holmes, taking in my tall companion’s presence for a moment before directing his enquiry at the detective.

“Sherlock Holmes. I have heard of you, sir, but never believed I would find myself in any need of your services, so forgive me if I am surprised to find the reverse.”

A small smile crossed Holmes’s face. “Let us not take up too much of your time,” he said, “A couple of days ago, you received an emergency patient by the name of Hyram Shrubb.”

The doctor nodded, “Yes. Lizard bite. Very strange and nasty.”

“I know it may constitute a breach of privacy, but could I enquire as to how you treated the bite?”

“Well, I don’t wish to let out my secrets, as it wasn’t something well known among British doctors.”

“Could it have been with the administration of a weak mix of strychnine?”

The doctor looked aghast. “How in the blazes would you have known that?” he asked.

I was just as shocked. “Yes, Holmes. How?”

Holmes’s face possessed that smile generally reserved for me when I’ve been surprised by one of his deductions. He took a deep breath and enlightened us.

“Dr. Brown, before you even spoke, your Ghurka knife told me that you lived in India. I presumed that you would have served as a doctor for most of that time.”

“Yes,” said Brown.

“Mr. Shrubb presented to you with a bite from a Gila Monster. He may not have known the actual species, but you would have seen fang marks and much damage caused by the bite. I expect that you would have treated him as if he had been bitten by a venomous animal.”

“Well, yes. Once I treated any infection, I naturally took the precaution to treat for poison.”

“And coming from India, where the standard procedure for cobra bite is to use strychnine, a treatment developed in Australia in the 1850’s to care for bites from their local snake population, as it contains species far deadlier than the cobra of India.”

“Yes. Correct again. Amazing. You got all that from a Ghurka knife?”

“You would be amazed what information Holmes can gather from the smallest of sources,” I said.

“Thank you, Watson,” Holmes said. “By the way, Dr. Brown. Do you know that your patient, Mr. Shrubb, died the very next day?”

Brown’s face dropped in complete shock.

“What? That’s impossible. Once I administered the strychnine and settled him down here for a little while, he was right as rain. I loaded him into a hansom and sent him home. I’m flabbergasted.”

“Quite so, but I would have experienced the same reaction if I were in your place. I do give you my promise that we will return and explain what happened when I have solved it myself, which will be quite soon,” said Holmes, “I thank you for your time, Doctor.”

He spun on his heal and spoke to me.

“Watson, if you will, I think we should take a visit to Scotland Yard. We need to see the unfortunate Mr. Shrubb.”

Martin, the young mortician, looked up as Holmes and I entered. He was just finishing his lunch and had probably expected a little peace and quiet. He stood up quickly and addressed us.

“Dr. Watson, Mr. ‘Olmes. I wasn’t expecting anybody today. What can I do for-”

He was cut off by the arrival of Inspector Lestrade, who seemed a bit flustered. He carried the small note from Holmes that had been passed to him by the desk Sergeant on the floor above.

“Ah, Inspector,” said Holmes, “I believe you will find the following of interest.”

“Why did you drag me away from my luncheon to come down to this God-awful place?” Lestrade asked.

Holmes ignored the question and instead addressed Martin.

“If you would be so kind to please direct us to the corpse of the unfortunate Mr. Hyram Shrubb, Martin.”

Martin put his sandwich down and pulled the napkin from his collar before skirting a few gurneys and stopping before one covering a large bloated body.

“’E’s a big ’un,” he said, before pulling back the sheet to reveal the corpse below.

“Thank you,” said Holmes. He bent forward and looked at the man’s face, studying the mouth and nose while making small humming noises to himself - something to which I have long become accustomed when Holmes investigates. He pulled out his glass and had a closer look at the man’s nose. I did find this particularly odd, as I could see the bite mark on the man’s left forearm quite clearly.

Finally, Holmes moved away from the man’s face and studied the bite. From where I stood, I could see that the flesh on the arm had been ravaged by multiple teeth marks. The lizard had latched on with considerable force and thrashed about before being pulled off. There were two larger holes on opposite sides of the bite which were deeper and more pronounced. I took these to be the venom-bearing teeth.

Holmes’s examination of the bite was remarkably short as he moved away from the area and fixated on the man’s upper forearm. I could see more puncture marks, which I presumed were from the injections administered by Dr. Brown.

Holmes rose and stood staring at Shrubb’s corpse for a moment before turning back to Martin.

“The Coroner hasn’t performed an autopsy,” he said.

It was more a statement than a question.

Martin replied, “No. No, ‘e ‘asn’t. ‘E said that we know ‘ow the man died, so no need to mess ‘im up any more.”

Holmes’s face screwed up. I knew that he viewed such actions and sloppy, as they restricted the amount of information that could be gleaned.

“Why do you think that would be important?” Lestrade asked, “We know it was the lizard, and we know that this professor was the lizard’s owner. Case closed.”

A short flash of fury leapt to Holmes’s face before he replaced it with calm. I believe that Lestrade barely missed a thorough lecture.

“Because, Inspector, this man is extremely obese. I dare say a good shock of any sort could have caused him to keel over. Also, do you not think it would be a good idea to ascertain the amount of venom in his system? I’ve seen the lizard in question. Unless it had friends working with it, then it wouldn’t have been able to generate enough venom to kill a man of this size.”

With that, he placed his lens back in his pocket and abruptly departed, speaking over his shoulder as he did.

“Thank you, Martin. Your help has been admirable. Inspector, I think you should meet Watson and me at the house of Mr. Hyram Shrubb and his brother in two hours. I will announce my findings there forthwith. Please bring Professor Bell, for he has nothing at all to do with this unfortunate event and you can release him afterwards.”

I gave thanks and said my goodbyes before following after Holmes.

We took luncheon in The Rag nearby in Pall Mall. My status as an ex-serviceman held me good stead amongst the military folk that inhabited the place, and Holmes was always welcome once his identity was known, even though he’d never served Her Majesty in the armed services.

Throughout the meal, I kept prodding him about the solution to the case. His only answer was to smile, nod, and say, “All will become clear.” A most infuriating affair it was. He seemed more intent on studying the diners at several other tables, most of whom wore very high-ranking insignia on their jackets.

“My word, this is a very prominent gathering for this time of day,” I remarked.

“Yes,” said Holmes, “One would almost imagine that we are centralising some of our garrisons in preparation for another campaign.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing to do with war, Holmes. Just a gathering of officers.”

Holmes simply smiled.

At a little after two, we were the first to arrive. Holmes went straight to the door and knocked. It was opened by a pasty-faced doorman, who eyed us with slight suspicion.

“I am Sherlock Holmes and this is Dr. John Watson. We should be expected.”

The doorman nodded and replied, “Yes, sirs. Mr. Shrubb was informed of your imminent arrival. He has seen fit to meet with you in the parlour.”

He stepped back and allowed us to enter. The foyer was quite luxuriant with deep-grained woods and leather. The doorman led us down a short corridor and into a spectacular room lined along every wall with book cases, each crammed with leather-bound volumes in nearly perfect condition, and a small number of display cases holding an assortment of bric-a-brac.

Both Holmes and I were quite taken aback by this room. Neither of us has any expectations of such a place in a house occupied by a pair of bachelor property developers.

It was then I noticed a man sitting in a high backed chair towards the far end of the room. He was the spitting image of his brother, but lacking most of the weight. For a split second, I imagined the Holmes brothers, with Mycroft lying in the Scotland Yard morgue and Sherlock sitting before me.

“Gentlemen,” he began, “Welcome to my home.”

He rose and stood a good two inches higher than Holmes. He made his way towards us and held out his hand to me first.

“I am Aubrey Shrubb,” he said and took my hand.

“John Watson,” I replied.

He turned to Holmes and repeated the action, remarking, “And you would be the famous Sherlock Holmes.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to your brother,” said Holmes, shaking and finally releasing Shrubb’s hand.

“Yes, damnable strange way to die, that. Who would have thought such an intelligent man would allow his creatures to run free and attack any innocent person who happened upon them? Very negligent, it would seem.”

“That is partly why we are here. Mrs. Bell has asked me to investigate a little further and determine just how your brother came into contact with the lizard, and what happened afterwards.”

“I think the police have worked all that out, haven’t they? He was bitten by a venomous lizard and it killed him. Case closed.”

“Forgive my cynicism, but the police are likely to take the most obvious answer when investigating a strange case such as this. I much prefer to look at all the facts and evidence before jumping to conclusions.”

The sound of the door knocker filtered in as the second group of guests arrived at the Shrubb residence.

“Ah, speaking of the police,” said Holmes.

Moments later, the doorman showed a slightly aggrieved Lestrade and a very perplexed and dour looking man, who I assumed was Professor Bell, into the parlour.

Shrubb took one look at Bell and asked, “What is he doing here?”

“I thought it best to have the professor here to provide any expert information concerning the Gila Monster, and to be on hand to defend himself if required,” said Holmes.

“Hmm. I only agreed to this because your note said that you had new information that would shed light on Hyram’s death. I was hoping that you would find something to convict this man with murder rather than manslaughter,” Aubrey said, his contempt for Bell on show as he spat out the word man.

“Well, it could go either way,” said Holmes, “To move things along, would it be possible to see your brother’s rooms? My understanding is that he had a suite of apartments on the second floor, and that he was found in his own drawing room.”

“Yes. The rooms are as he left them. I haven’t had the heart to let the help tidy up yet.”

The second floor was a large and sumptuous collection of rooms styled in a more minimalistic way than the parlour below. I assumed that they reflected the less austere tastes of the younger and larger of the Shrubb brothers.

The climb up the stairs also left me a little breathless and I wondered how a man of Hyram Shrubb’s girth would have found the journey. It was later that I discovered there was a lift, which explained quite a lot.

Aubrey Shrubb led us down a short corridor and into a large but modestly decorated drawing room. There was a sizeable wooden desk at one end, with a small collection of leather bound volumes on a set of shelves behind it. I pulled a book down and looked closer. They were mostly books relating to the history of London’s property transactions. It seemed this room doubled as Hyram Shrubb’s office, or else his work was also his hobby.

I turned back from the shelf and found Aubrey directing Holmes to a large chair in the far corner. The elder Shrubb brother pointed to a stain on the carpet and spoke.

“My poor unfortunate brother was found face down here. His last act was to expel his luncheon - hence the stain. I did allow the maid to clean the results after the police allowed it.”

Holmes turned to Lestrade and said, “Did your men take samples for examination?”

“Why?” Lestrade asked.

Holmes closed his eyes for a second, pursed his lips, and said, “Because it would have been a trivial exercise to determine the contents of his stomach, revealing how much venom was in his system, and also what else may have been ingested.”

“Right,” said Lestrade.

Holmes turned back to the scene and moved to a small table next to the sitting chair. Opening the drawer, he pulled out a bottle of white powder and a half-full syringe containing a clear liquid. Holmes picked up the bottle, uncorked it, and dabbed a small amount of the powder on his finger. He tasted it, nodded, and smiled. I questioned him as he put the bottle down.

“What is that?”

“My old friend - though a lot more concentrated than my favoured seven-per-cent solution,” he said.

“Cocaine?” I remarked.

Aubrey piped up with a hint of offence. “What my brother did in his own house is none of your business!”

“Indeed,” said Holmes. “But it must be taken into consideration with all the other evidence.”

He turned and scanned the room, seeking out minutiae. His eyes fell on me, and then the desk. He strode over and stood behind it, opening the top drawers and rifling through them.

“Hello, what the blazes do you think you are doing?” yelled Aubrey, “That’s Hyram’s private business!”

He started to move towards Holmes but Lestrade placed a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“I’d let Mr. Holmes finish, sir. If there’s something that we’ve missed, then he is most likely to find it. I’m sure he’s not interested in any private affairs of your brother’s.”

With that, Holmes finished looking through one of the bottom drawers and stood up with holding his prize - a large iron key.

Professor Julius Bell yelled out in surprise, “That’s our missing key! We thought that Milly had lost it. She got a right dressing down from Mother. No wonder she cried so much. I had to console her for hours.”

Lestrade turned to look at the professor, who suddenly realised he’d said too much. A sheepish look came across his face.

“Well, she was very upset,” he added.

All eyes slowly returned to Holmes, who placed the key in the middle of the vacant leather desk pad. He looked around all of the faces full of anticipation and smiled. “This, gentlemen, is the vital clew for which I have been searching.”

“But what does it mean?” I asked.

He ignored me and turned towards Shrubb.

“Mr. Shrubb. You and your brother are highly successful property developers, a new occupation that takes the city’s old and derelict districts and renews them for the next generation and in turn attracts a tidy profit. Is that not right?”

Shrubb nodded, “Yes, why?”

“Your brother wasn’t used to failure, I think. He studied the city and chose the best locations for these developments - hence his detailed volumes of property transactions and locations in London. A well-versed man in that field, I would presume.”

“Yes. He was the educated one. He found the properties and I organised the workmen and ran the operation.”

“So, his latest venture was to revitalise parts of Regents Park, with the view of establishing residencies for the officers of the nearby Regents Park Barracks and the new garrisons that will be moving there soon.”

“We had already convinced most of the residents to depart, and were almost ready to demolish.”

“But one held out.”

“Yes. Mrs. Bell wouldn’t sell. Even when we made a higher offer than to any other resident.”

Holmes held up the iron key.

“And that’s what drove your brother to purloin this key and gain access to the Bell residence when he believed all to be away.”

“How dare you besmirch my brother’s good name!” said Aubrey as he stepped towards Holmes.

Lestrade intercepted him and posed a question of Holmes. “How can you be sure that Shrubb took that key from the Bell residence?” he asked.

“When we arrived, we noticed that there were only two keys on the rack near the front door. Professor Bell has told us that there was a third which seems to have gone missing. Mr. Shrubb was found inside the house when all occupants had left. I would say that his claim that the door was unlocked was a fantasy. With this key, he could have entered from the front or back, as both doors use the same lock.”

“Why did he break in?” asked Lestrade.

“Ah, well, that’s where I must presume a little, until of course more evidence is unearthed that proves me incorrect. The sticking point of the sale of the house was Professor Bell’s residency at the University College. His mother would not have them move. The facts as they stand point to Mr. Shrubb entering the house with the express purpose of removing one of the venomous reptiles and probably placing it in Mrs. Bell’s bedroom.”

“Preposterous!” said Aubrey.

“Possibly, but if Mr. Shrubb could cause a ruction between mother and son because of the reptile collection, then he may have thought he could convince Mrs. Bell to sell up.”

“Yes, Mother is proud of my work, but she doesn’t like my collection,” said Julius.

“But that lizard bit him. It’s obviously vicious and,” Aubrey pointed at Julius, “he is responsible!”

The professor looked shocked at the accusation. “I would never-” he started before Holmes cut him off.

“You have no need to apologise, Professor Bell, I have seen the lizard in question and it is a somewhat sedentary beast. Can you explain to us how and why the Gila Monster in question would act the way it did?”

Julius Bell’s posture changed completely as his professional stature was called upon.

“The Gila Monster, especially the male that I possess, is rather slow and sluggish. They generally don’t attack unless provoked.”

“If someone were to pick one up, would that be enough to elicit an attack?”

“Possibly, especially if it was handled roughly. A Gila Monster will bite and latch on for dear life then thrash around until they subdue their pray,” Julius said, “That was how I found Mr. Shrubb. My lizard had bitten him on the wrist and clamped its mouth shut with some force. I had to remove it with a stick.”

“But it wouldn’t attack unless picked up or moved?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

I felt I had to step in and clarify things. “So, what you’re saying is that Mr. Shrubb stole a key from the Bell’s household, and then came back when they were away and tried to pick up a venomous lizard to put it in Mrs. Bell’s bedroom, but was himself bitten.”

“Precisely. We already heard from the maid that the cases are rarely opened fully, so the lizard had to be extricated from its confinement, which probably aggravated it enough to attack,” said Holmes.

“That doesn’t excuse this man!” said Aubrey Shrubb, pointing at the professor. “He kept dangerous reptiles in his house, waiting to leap on unsuspecting victims and kill them.”

“Yes,” said Lestrade, “Regardless of whether Mr. Shrubb entered illegally, he was still killed by the professor’s lizard, which is manslaughter under the eyes of the law.”

“Ah, but did the lizard kill him? What say you, Professor?”

“As I explained to the police, it’s simply not possible for my Gila Monster to inject enough poison into a man of Mr. Shrubb’s size to kill him. Even if he had ingested the entire poison sack, he would simply have been rendered prostrate for a matter of hours and lethargic for a good week.”

“Quite so. That was also my estimation. If the neurotoxic poison of the lizard didn’t kill him, we should then look at the treatment,” Holmes turned and addressed me directly. “Watson, of the doctor’s use of strychnine in treating the lizard’s venom?”

Searching my memories, I stated, “Strychnine is itself a poison, but like many poisons when administered in small doses acts as a stimulant. I’ve never come across its use in this way, but I would assume it is used to stimulate the nervous system to counteract the retardation effect of the neurotoxin.”

“Exactly. And what of cocaine?”

“Again, another stimulant. The two together would engender an extremely vigorous reaction from the heart and respiratory system.” I clicked my fingers as the penny dropped. “By God, Holmes! I see where you are going.”

Lestrade looked as lost, as always. “What are you suggesting?”

I continued, “The dual actions of the strychnine and cocaine on a man of Mr. Shrubb’s size would have put such a strain on his heart that it would have seized, if not burst.”

“And as I found out in the morgue, Mr. Hyram Shrubb was a very habitual cocaine user, with many injection marks in his left forearm.”

Holmes pointed at the syringe.

“I’m sure that if we test the contents of that syringe, it will be a very highly concentrated dose of cocaine. I would presume that Mr. Shrubb was in intense pain from the lizard bite and mixed himself what he thought a heavy dose of pain relief, but to his poor luck, turned out to contain the seeds of his own demise.”

Aubrey Shrubb stepped forward and said, “Are you saying that my brother accidentally did it all to himself?”

“Yes. Through his actions, your brother paid the ultimate price.”

Holmes turned to Lestrade. “I would think that the death should be put down to misadventure. I’m sure that the Bells would be most happy to remain out of any further enquiries.”

Lestrade nodded and gave Aubrey Shrubb a look of contempt which made the taller brother shrink back. “I’ll do that, but I’ll be making some notes about the practices of Shrubb Brothers for future reference.”

He turned and stormed out.

Aubrey Shrubb looked apologetically at Professor Bell and tentatively held out his hand. The professor took it in his own and gave it a perfunctory shake.

“No hard feelings, I hope,” said Shrubb, “I can only apologise for my brother’s actions, but can assure you I knew nothing about them.”

Julius eyed him with suspicion before begrudgingly nodding his acceptance and turning to leave.

“Professor,” Holmes said.

Bell turned and saw Holmes holding the iron key.

“Yours, I believe,” he said.

The professor walked over and took the key, saying, “Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I can’t tell you how much that I’m in your debt. I’m sure my mother has made some recompense offer, but I would be prepared to increase whatever it was.”

Holmes smiled, “No need for that. This has been a most interesting day and has broken the monotony with much verve. There is only one reward I would be most interested in seeking.”

“Name it, sir, please.”

“I would love to return to your reptile room and discuss all things herpetological with you, at your leisure.”

The professor’s face lit up with glee.

“Oh, any time, sir, any time! I would also be delighted for you to attend my lectures at the University College whenever you have the time. From what I’ve seen and heard today, I believe that there are things I can indeed learn from you.”

“I’m sure we can both benefit,” said Holmes, “I will check my calendar and take you up on your offer.”

Still beaming, the professor pocketed the key, turned on his heel, gave one last desultory look at Shrubb, and exited.

Shrubb’s face was aghast with all that had happened. He looked around his brother’s room as if every artefact held a level of danger and betrayal in his mind. He finally stepped towards Holmes.

“I am in awe of your deductive skills, sir, and owe you an apology as well. I truly believed that young man meant ill to Hyram. I was possibly blinded by a brother’s love, but now see what Hyram was up to. Sadly, his actions have left me with several terraced houses that serve no purpose in my business - business that I will need to re-examine in case there are other occurrences of this kind.”

He turned, shoulders slumped, and trudged out of the room. I watched his tall figure reduced by bereavement and betrayal and almost felt a touch of sympathy towards him. I told Holmes as much as we stood alone in the dead man’s parlour.

“I wouldn’t be too sad for him, Watson. His pride has been damaged more than anything else. I don’t think the loss of his brother will affect him too much. It’s more the damage to his reputation that worries him. With all that’s happening in this city at the moment, I’m sure a person like Mr. Shrubb will recover and build an empire with a renewed vigour. I just hope he refrains from utilising the devious methods of his kin.”

I leaned back and took down the great index volume to which he referred. Holmes balanced it on his knee, and his eyes moved slowly and lovingly over the record of old cases, mixed with the accumulated information of a lifetime. “... Venomous lizard or gila. Remarkable case, that!”

Dr. John H. Watson - “The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire”