The Riverfront Affair

It was a glorious day in mid-July, and having been virtually driven from our rooms by my friend Sherlock Holmes’s restless mood, I had spent the morning strolling aimlessly over Hampstead Heath. I had been endeavouring to record the events of the case of the lonely soldier, but with Holmes peering over my shoulder with a flow of carping criticism I had finally lost patience.

“Confound it, Holmes!” I had snapped, “I am merely rounding the facts in order to pay tribute to your perspicacity, not writing a text-book on the art of detection! Allow me my methods as I allow you yours, I beg you.” With that I had seized my hat and stick to storm from the room. My return at noon coincided with the advent of a cab from which alighted a petite, slim young lady attired in what appeared to be deep mourning.

As I inserted my key, I was aware that the lady had followed on my heels.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” she said in a low, musical voice. “Is this where I may find Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”

I turned and raised my boater. “Indeed it is, Madam. Have you an appointment with him?”

“No, but I’m praying that he will see me. I believe him to be the only man in London who can help me.”

I examined the pale features beneath the light veil and saw strain and anxiety. “I’m sure he will see you,” I replied stoutly. “I’m his colleague, Dr. John Watson. Follow me and I will announce you.”

“I am grateful, sir. I’m Miss Caroline Masters, but the name will mean nothing to either of you.” Her relief was most pitiful to see.

When we entered the sitting room, Holmes was standing squarely before the empty grate, his eyes glinting and his hands clasped behind his back.

“Welcome back, Watson!” he cried heartily. “And welcome to you. I trust you have brought me a problem to dispel my ennui. Pray be seated.”

Miss Masters took the chair indicated facing the window. She raised her veil to reveal a beauty that even the pallor of grief could not mar. Beneath her bonnet strands of brown hair escaped, and large luminous eyes of the same colour with dark smudges below looked out at us hopefully. Her lips, under a retroussé nose, were full and red, while the small rounded chin was indicative of great determination. She was little more than five-feet-four in height, and I gauged her to be in her mid-twenties.

Holmes acknowledged my introduction briefly and looked keenly at her. “So, Miss Masters, tell me in what way we may serve you.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“It concerns the death of my sister, Mrs. Jonas Prentiss,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “My half-sister, in reality, but Alice and I were so close as to regard ourselves as sisters.”

Holmes stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Ah, I recall the name from a report in The Evening News. Did she not suffer an unfortunate accident close by St. Katharine’s Dock?”

“It was no accident!” she said vehemently. “Nothing will persuade me otherwise. Neither was it suicide, as was suggested in some quarters.”

“Then we are left only with natural causes or – murder.” My companion met the lady’s eyes. “Natural causes wouldn’t bring you to me.”

Miss Masters returned his look squarely. “Then you understand why I’m here, sir. I truly believe that Alice was murdered, yet no one will listen to me. Will you do so, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”

He nodded gravely. “Indeed I shall, and with an open mind. Give me your story, omitting no detail however small. The good Dr. Watson, who has my complete confidence, will make notes. But first, may I offer you some refreshment?”

She expressed a wish for a cup of tea and a biscuit, but nothing more. I summoned Mrs. Hudson, and a tray arrived within minutes.

“Now, Madam,” said Holmes when we were settled, “I’m at your disposal. Pray commence.”

Our client folded her hands on her lap before starting to speak calmly and rationally. “My name you already know. Alice was the daughter of our father’s first marriage, her mother having died in giving her birth. When my father remarried, Alice was five years of age. I was born a year later, but at no time did my mother treat Alice other than as her own. Thus in all respects we were really sisters, sharing a happy home life until my parents died so tragically in the Princess Alice disaster. I was sixteen then.” Here her voice faltered but she recovered swiftly. “It had been a special treat for my mother to revive memories of an earlier time. You see, gentlemen, Father began life as a jobbing builder, but by dint of hard work and honest dealing, established a thriving business. He died a fairly wealthy man, yet he never lost the common touch, nor did he forget his roots. If only he had lived to retire and enjoy the fruits of his labours!”

“You said you were sixteen when you were orphaned,” Holmes put in quickly as tears sprang to her eyes. “Your half-sister would have been what – twenty-two? She was unattached at that time?”

“Oh, yes. We resided at Brockley then, and she took charge of the household and became both mother and sister to me. It was three years later when she met Mr. Prentiss, whom she married within a year.”

“I see.” My colleague steepled his fingers to his lips. “There are questions I must ask if I’m to have a clear picture. Will you answer me frankly in all respects?”

“Of course. I place myself entirely in your hands.” She managed a weak smile. “Please feel free to smoke if you so wish. Father was an inveterate smoker, and I love the smell of tobacco.”

There was an interval while we charged our pipes. Presently Holmes studied the client over the flame of his match. “You say your late father was wealthy. How was his fortune distributed?”

“After a few bequests to loyal servants, the whole of it came equally and unconditionally to Alice and me. We shared more than fourteen-thousand pounds between us. Alice took her portion to her marriage, enabling Mr. Prentiss to begin his business as a sugar importer. After the marriage, the house at Brockley was sold and I purchased a small villa at Tulse Hill. I don’t have an extravagant mode of life, finding myself well able to exist comfortably on the interest from the capital.”

She looked at Holmes who was lying back with closed eyes, tendrils of smoke curling up from the pipe clenched between his teeth. “Am I boring you, sir?” she asked with some asperity.

“Far from it,” he responded. “I find the background to your problem most informative.” He sat up suddenly, “Tell me, why do you dislike your brother-in-law?”

“Is it so obvious?” she said, colour touching the pale cheeks. “But yes, you are right. I loathe and detest Jonas Prentiss with all my heart, and with good cause, for soon after his marriage he made improper and unwelcome suggestions to me. Since then, I have avoided him as far as I can without giving Alice cause to inquire the reason.”

“So your prejudice leads you to doubt the nature of your sister’s death, is that not so?” He held up a placatory hand as she bridled. “Please, do not take offence. I’m sure you have reasons as yet unvoiced. Tell me more of Mr. Jonas Prentiss, I beg you.”

There was a short silence, broken only by the sounds from the street below. Eventually Miss Masters continued. “He is a petty-natured man who is arrogant with those dependent on him, but fawning and obsequious with those whose good-will he desires. In all honesty, I have no reason to suspect that my sister was other than happy, but I do know he spends much of his time away from their home at Balham.”

“I take it you didn’t visit on a regular basis?”

“Very seldom, and then only when Jonas was sure to be absent.”

“I see. Proceed now to the circumstances of your sister’s death, as if I have no previous knowledge.”

There was a tremor in her voice that betrayed her emotion, but she began bravely enough. “Shortly before midnight on Thursday of last week, a patrolling constable found Alice’s body at the foot of an iron staircase by her husband’s warehouse at Bobbin’s Wharf, which is below The Tower at St. Katherine Dock. Her skull was fractured and her neck broken. Everything suggested that she had fallen or jumped from the landing at the top of the stairway. The inquest decided she had fallen.”

“But you aren’t satisfied,” stated Holmes. “Why?”

“For several reasons. Why was she at that place? She had never concerned herself with anything to do with her husband’s business. How could she fall from that balcony, which I hear has a four-foot high guard rail round it? It was said she leaned over too far and overbalanced, but she and I are of a height and I cannot envisage that happening. As for suicide – that I discount entirely. She was in high spirits that very morning when she called on me, and moreover, it would have been against her very nature to do such a terrible thing. In any case, would you attempt suicide by plunging over a mere fifteen foot drop?”

“I see, Miss Masters,” said my friend, watching her keenly. “An accident carries no such stigma as suicide, but you will not let the matter lie and wish me to upset the verdict. You understand that I search only for the truth, however unpalatable that may be? Are you prepared for that?”

“It is the truth that I want, sir. I have no fear of it.”

“Then so be it.” He pondered. “Go home now, and then meet me at four o’clock at your solicitor’s office. Who is that?”

“Mr. Popkin, of Kells, Popkin, and Kells in Chancery Lane.”

“I know of them. I must have your permission to ask and receive answers to any questions I deem necessary to my investigation. Do I have that?”

She nodded. “Ask what you will. There is nothing to conceal.”

Holmes stood up. “Then until later. Whistle up a cab for the lady, Watson, and one for us. We have much to do in the time remaining to us today. Good afternoon, Madam.”

Half-an-hour later we were sitting on hard chairs in the dismal office at Scotland Yard that Inspector Gregson shared with Lestrade and others. Today he had the place to himself, and across his scarred and ink-stained desk he surveyed us sourly.

“The Prentiss affair,” he said in reply to my companion’s direct approach. “Yes, I remember it, but it had little to do with me, being on the City Force’s patch. I did make some inquiries on their behalf and conveyed the sad news to the lady’s half-sister, a Miss Caroline Masters. What is your interest in it, Mr. Holmes?”

“Miss Masters isn’t satisfied that her sister’s death was an accident. I have been asked to set her mind at rest, one way or another.”

Gregson threw up his hands. “You are wasting your time. The coroner found for accidental death and that is the end of it.”

Holmes ignored his dismissal of the matter and went on as if the inspector hadn’t spoken. “What inquiries did you make, Gregson, and with what result?”

“That is police business, Mr. Holmes.” He wavered under my friend’s penetrating look. “Well, if you must know, I merely ascertained the whereabouts of Mr. Jonas Prentiss at the time of his wife’s death. You of all people should realize that in the case of an unexpected death, the deceased’s spouse and near relatives are the first to be examined.”

“And Mr. Jonas Prentiss satisfied you of his movements? He produced credible witnesses, I presume?”

“Indeed he did, albeit reluctantly. Don’t take me for a fool, sir.”

“Who were they?” Holmes’s voice crackled.

“Oh, come now, you are surely aware that I cannot reveal that.” Gregson ran his fingers through his flaxen hair. “If you must know, he was at a less-than-respectable club from seven o’clock until past midnight.” He dropped his eyes, and drawing a sheet of paper to him scrawled something on it and slid it across the desk. “These are two of the gentlemen who vouched for him. Both are unmarried, so less likely to be embarrassed. You will remember that the information didn’t come from this office.”

“Trust me, my dear Gregson.” Holmes pocketed the slip of paper. Then retrieved his stick and hat to depart without another word.

“What now?” I asked as we emerged into the sunlight of Whitehall.

“We have an hour in hand before we meet Miss Masterson again. I don’t know about you, but I think that as we missed lunch, a dish of chops wouldn’t come amiss, and I know the very place just off Holborn.”

I agreed most heartily, but despite my curiosity Holmes remained close-lipped regarding the names he had inveigled from Gregson, We reached the dusty offices of Kells, Popkin, and Kells, Attorneys at Law, in Chancery Lane to find our client had preceded us and was waiting to introduce us to Mr. Martin Popkin, who was now the senior partner,

“I know of you by repute, Mr, Holmes,” said he, “And Dr. Watson. Be seated, please.”

The plump little man disposed himself behind his desk, his shrewd blue eyes watching us from behind his gold pince-nez. Folding his hands before him, he opened the conversation. “Miss Masters has requested that I be entirely frank with you in respect of her affairs. However, beyond that I don’t think I can go.

“In short, sir, anything that touches on matters peculiar to Mr. and Mrs. Prentiss I may not ask.” Holmes did not appear discomposed. “What was the position on the death of Mr. and Mrs. Masters? What were the provisions for the daughters’ future?”

“I shall strip away all jargon,” replied Popkin. “In brief, as Miss Alice was of age she had charge of her own portion. Miss Caroline, on the other hand, was a minor, and I, along with Miss Alice, were her trustees. When she reached her majority our duties ended, although both ladies honoured me by seeking my advice in all matters.” He paused to examine his hands. “Until Miss Alice married, when her husband assumed control of her affairs.”

“You didn’t approve of the match?” my colleague murmured.

“It wasn’t my place to approve or disapprove. She made her choice,”

“Oh, come, Mr. Popkin,” cried the lady. “You know very well you begged me to urge caution on my sister before she committed herself!”

The lawyer shifted uneasily in his seat. “We are a cautious profession, my dear. Nevertheless, the lady went ahead, but she did persuade her husband to allow me to continue as legal advisor to them both, although I believe Mr. Prentiss also seeks counsel in other quarters regarding his business.”

“As a sugar importer, I understand,” said Holmes casually. “Does his business prosper?”

“Come, sir, you know that is an improper question.” Mr, Popkin looked out of the small window. “A small, newly established venture must always struggle when faced by competition from the large combinations.”

“I see.” Holmes looked pleased. “Miss Masters is comfortably situated?”

“Indeed. When her half-sister married, the house at Brockley was sold and her part of the proceeds more than paid for her present residence. She lives well within her income, and her capital has appreciated considerably over the years.” He looked at the lady. “You enjoined frankness, my dear. I hope I haven’t exceeded my duty.”

“In no measure, sir. It is as I wished.”

“You have been most helpful, Mr. Hopkin,” said Holmes. “Tell me, did Mrs. Prentiss ever bring up the subject of life insurance?”

This time the solicitor visibly squirmed in his chair, but it was Miss Masters who answered.

“Alice and I had a reciprocal arrangement up until the time she married. Since then, my policy remains in her favour, but as was to be expected hers now falls to her husband, as she predeceased him. It provided for a sum of ten-thousand pounds, if it hasn’t been changed.”

“A tempting sum,” said my companion ambiguously. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Popkin. May we drop you anywhere, Miss Masters?”

“I thank you, sir, but no. I still have business with Mr. Popkin.”

The sunlight seemed very bright when we came out of the fusty office. We made our way to a small tea-room, Holmes averring that we had a couple of hours to kill.

“You sailed a bit near the wind with the questions you asked,” I observed. “I was surprised you gleaned so much.”

“Mr, Popkin has neither love nor trust for Jonas Prentiss. He went as far as he could without actually saying so. We move apace, Watson.”

“Tell me, what did Gregson write on that piece of paper which you keep hidden in your pocket?”

“Here, see for yourself. It is only the names of two gentlemen who confirmed Prentiss’s movements on the night in question. And,” he added , “the name of the premises where they were: The Sugar and Spice Club.”

I looked at Gregson’s scrawl, then gave a gasp. “Why, Holmes, I know one of these names: Major John Cradley, of all people, at that den of vice!”

For once my friend shoved himself capable of surprise at one of my pronouncements. “You know him? By Jove! Can you lay hands on him?”

I thought back over the years, recalling the handsome, carefree officer of Horse Artillery with whom I had struck up an acquaintance on the long voyage back from the sub-continent. I had met him a couple of times afterwards, but in my straitened circumstances was unable to move in the circles that an officer of independent means could do and the friendship lapsed. I realized that Holmes was waiting impatiently for my reply.

“If my memory doesn’t fail me,” I began, “I seem to remember that he was a member of the Artillery Club in Pall Mall. Whether that is still so, I cannot say.”

“I leave the matter in your hands. Tomorrow you must make every effort to trace the gallant major and get his story. You know my methods. Every detail, however insignificant, can provide us with valuable data. I rely on you, my dear fellow.”

“I shall do all within my power,” I promised, hiding my delight at being entrusted with something my colleague deemed important. “But what will you be doing?”

“I shall have my hands full, have no fear.” He glanced at his watch. “I think another pot of tea and more of those excellent cream buns, then we shall proceed to St. Katherine’s Docks.”

He seemed in no hurry, lingering inordinately over the tea. By the time we had secured a hansom, the sun was low in the vest. Even then he bade the cabbie to take his time while he sat back apparently lost in thought.

My attempts to draw him out were ignored until I finally lost patience. “Am I to be told nothing?” I asked fractiously.

“Not at this moment, Doctor. I wish you to view the location of the crime with no preconceived ideas in that honest head of yours.”

“You are convinced a crime has been committed?”

“Indubitably.”

“And the culprit? Surely Mr. Jonas Prentiss has had his movements verified by Gregson. The inspector, for all his faults, is a thorough man.”

“Gregson?” My companion snorted. “Diligent he may be, but he lacks that vital spark of imagination to see beyond the end of his nose.” He fell back into silence, only coming to life when we reached the seedy run-down area of the docks. The huge warehouses, stuffed with merchandise from all corners of the earth, looked down on the forest of masts in The Pool, while The Tower of London, untouched by its blood-soaked past, kept a paternal watch over the whole.

“The hub of the greatest empire the world has seen,” said Holmes sombrely as we alighted. “How long will it survive? Wait here, cabbie.” He tossed a coin to the driver who caught it deftly.

“Not too long, Guv’nor,” growled the latter. “This ain’t no place to be ‘anging around after dark.”

His throaty voice faded away behind us as we stepped out smartly, Holmes leading the way through the alleys betwixt the tall buildings as though familiar with every twist and turn. He stopped so abruptly that I almost cannoned into him. We were at the riverside, the oily water of an ebbing tide sucking greedily at the piles of a wooden jetty as if reluctant to return to the sea from whence it came.

“There, Watson: ‘J. Prentiss – Sugar Importer’.” He pointed with his stick at the legend above a large set of double doors. “And there is the fatal staircase.”

The iron structure ran up the side of the building, terminating at a small door some fifteen feet above. There was a landing at the top, and in the fading light I could just discern a guard rail such as our client had described. Holmes moved to stand directly beneath the balcony, his eyes searching the cobbles before looking upwards.

“Have we had any rain recently?” he asked.

“A heavy shower two nights ago, as you well remember. You had been to Bradley’s for tobacco and came back soaked.”

“So I did. Then I fear we will find nothing of use here.”

The words had barely left his mouth when a hoarse shout came from close by. “‘Ere, what’s your game?” A heavily built man in late middle-age was shuffling over the cobbles grasping a cudgel.

“Game?” Holmes’s voice was devoid of guile. “Why, no game, my man. Are you the caretaker here?”

“Night watchman, that’s wot I am.” The fellow eyed us suspiciously. “You ain’t no call to be ‘ere.”

“You are just the man we were looking for,” my colleague said smoothly. “My friend and I are writing articles on Thames tragedies, and as this was lately the scene of one we thought you could tell us of it.” A coin glinted in his hand and the watchman relaxed.

“Dunno about that, Mister. It weren’t me wot found the poor lady. It were like this: I do my rounds reg’lar every hour, ‘round the outside, then the inside, on all the floors an’ back again.” He stepped close enough for me to smell the beer on his breath and the coin vanished in a grimy hand.

“Well, I’d been round at eleven o’clock an’ ‘Arry Chalmers, the beat copper, makes ‘is point wiv the sergeant at twelve. After the sergeant’s gorn, me an’ ‘Arry ‘as a vet in the warehouse. Well, this pertickler night I’m just goin’ out when I ‘ears ‘Arry blowin’ ‘is whistle fit to bust, so I nips round an’ there ‘e is wiv the lady. I never knew it were the Guv’ner’s missus, did I? Anyways, afore long the sergeant comes galloping back wiv anuvver peeler, so I figgers I orter to leave to them an’ slopes orf.”

“Mrs. Prentiss seemingly fell from the top of those stairs,” Holmes mused. “Can we go up for a look?”

“As long as you don’t fall likewise.” The man chuckled wheezily and led the way to the foot of the steps. “I’d best come wiv yer.”

We mounted the iron treads and found ourselves on the platform. There was indeed a four-foot-high guard rail, and also two other bars beneath it, the top rail resting below Holmes’s ribs as he leant over to look down. He straightened up with a shake of his head.

“If, as Miss Masters says, her sister and she were much of a height, there is no way she could have fallen accidentally,” he said just loudly enough to reach my ears. He rounded suddenly on the watchman. “Is there a way up from inside the warehouse?”

“There is, guv, but that door ain’t never been opened in my mem’ry. It’s allus locked, and Mr. P. is the only one wiv a key.”

Whipping out his lens, Holmes knelt on the cold ironwork to make an intensive scrutiny of the platform. At length he stood up, his face showing satisfaction. “Capital, Watson, capital,” he muttered. “Now, my good man,” he went on, turning to the watchman, “who has access to the building during the hours of darkness?”

“Well, sir, I has a key to the wicket in the main doors, as ‘as Fred ‘Awkins, the foreman, but it’s me wot lets ‘im in at seven in the morning. ‘Course, Mr. Prentiss ‘as a full set of keys, but nobody else ain’t.”

“Thank you.” Another coin went the way of the first. “Say nothing about our visit. We want to be first with the story,”

“Trust me, Mister, and don’t you go falling down these stairs,” The man gave a gap-toothed grin and led the way down, leaving Holmes and me to make our way back to where our cabbie was showing signs of impatience with the approach of darkness.

The ride back to Baker Street was made in silence, with my companion sitting back with closed eyes and fingers tapping nervously on his knee. I knew from long experience that I would get nothing from him in his present mood, so I contented myself with my own speculations, such as they were.

“What next?” I ventured as we sat down to the cold meats left for us by Mrs. Hudson. “Have we made progress? You have the most annoying habit of keeping me in the dark.”

“Bear with me, there’s a good fellow.” He laid down his knife and fork. “Tomorrow you will set about tracing your Major Cradley. You know exactly what is wanted, and I know your tenacity will bear fruit. I have other fish to fry.”

The next morning he left as I was shaving, but conscious of the importance he attached to the mission with which he had entrusted me, I wasn’t long behind him. In the event my task proved easier and more successful than I could have hoped, and it was late afternoon when I returned to our rooms with a feeling of well-being and satisfaction with a job well done. Holmes hadn’t returned, and I lay back in a chair to sift through the information I had secured. It wasn’t long before the fumes of the wine and brandy, on top of the generous lunch pressed on me by John Cradley, took over. The next thing I knew was being shaken roughly by the shoulder.

I opened my eyes to find Holmes standing over me. “I hope you have achieved something,” he said acidly. “Is old age catching up with you?”

I scowled up at him as I collected my fuddled wits. “What time is it?”

“Approaching six o’clock. I have been on the go for nearly ten hours.”

“I haven’t been idle.” I stood up to stretch my cramped limbs. “Do you wish to hear the results of my efforts?”

He smiled suddenly. “I’m sorry, old friend. I should have curbed my tongue. Mrs. Hudson is bringing tea and we can exchange news over it.”

I wasn’t hungry, but the strong tea was welcome and I gulped it down thirstily while Holmes made inroads into a veal-and-ham pie.

“You first,” he said through a mouthful of pie. “I vow it’s a long time since I was so sharp set.”

“As you wish.” I collected my thoughts. “I went to the Artillery Club and had the luck to find that Major Cradley was expected for lunch this very day. Despite the long interval since our last meeting, he gave me a most hearty welcome, and insisted on lunching me while we spoke of old times.”

“Get on with it, man,” said Holmes impatiently.

“You are the one who impressed on me the importance of detail,” I pointed out. “We had reached the coffee and brandy stage before I mentioned The Sugar and Spice Club. He made no secret of his visits to the place, even offering to put me up for membership. I hedged, saying I had heard rumours of the police making inquiries recently about the place. It was then he told me of Gregson’s questions regarding Jonas Prentiss’s movements because of the death of that gentleman’s wife. Affecting ignorance, I pressed him for details, learning that he, Cradley, had confirmed that Prentiss was present at the club throughout the whole evening in question.”

Holmes looked up with a frown. “He was adamant? Confound the man!”

“Wait – there’s more,” I said smugly. “I asked if Prentiss was a clubbable man, and that’s when Cradley seemed puzzled. It seems that in the ordinary way Prentiss is a good mixer, always ready for a game of cards or whatever else is on offer at such a place, but this particular evening he was unsociable to the point of rudeness. He was morose, refused to join in a hand of cards, and ignored men with whom he had been on close terms for several years. He also drank more heavily than was his wont and left with barely a good-night to the company.”

“Oh, you are a gem!” Holmes rubbed his hands together. “Where would I be without you!”

“Thank you,” I said drily. “It means something?”

“It means a lot. One more journey tonight and we are home and dry.”

“Hang it all,” I said in exasperation, “am I not to know what you have been doing all day?”

“I, my dear Doctor, have bounced from one side of London to another with never a bite to eat. I spent several hours in Somerset House, looked up an old friend in The City, and then made my way to Balham.”

“Balham! To where Prentiss resides? To what purpose?”

“To speak with a butcher’s boy and a milkman. If you want to know what happens in any street, they are the people to ask. Now, I shall smoke a pipe or three, then we may sally forth.”

“You have told me where you have been, but nothing of the results,” I complained in exasperation. “Neither have you said where we go tonight. Really, Holmes, you would try the patience of a saint!”

“You are no saint, Watson, just a good, honest fellow. Allow me my little quirks, I pray you. Now be good enough to remain silent for an hour or so while I search for flaws in my reasoning.” With that he flung himself into the basket chair, laying out a selection of pipes beside him. It was approaching nine o’clock before he moved again, then he uncoiled himself like a steel spring to bounce to his feet. “Come, Watson!” he cried. “Time we were on our way!”

Shaken from a doze I blinked up at him. “Where to?” I asked.

“A brisk walk will do wonders for your sluggish system after your lunch time excesses. No questions yet, old fellow, but see what you can deduce from what I hope will transpire tonight.”

We set off at a smart pace along Marylebone Road before turning into Great Portland Street and thence through various twists and turns, giving me the impression we were making for the Middlesex Hospital. In that I was proved wrong when my companion’s steps slowed as he began scanning the buildings on the other side of the road before stopping to draw me into a darkened doorway.

“What are we doing,?” I asked as patiently as I could.

“Waiting and watching,” he said. “On no account are you to move from here, nor show yourself until I give the word. Do you see that door opposite – the one with the discreet light burning so dimly?” He pointed with his stick. “That, my friend, is the notorious Sugar and Spice Club.”

For one awful moment I thought Holmes was going to drag me into the disreputable place, but his voice held a chuckle when he next spoke.

“Have no fear. Your Calvinist conscience is safe with me. As I said, we merely watch and wait – for how long I cannot surmise.”

“You expect to find Jonas Prentiss paying a visit tonight?” I ventured.

He shrugged. “It matters not either way. It isn’t he I wish to see. I fear we may have a long wait without even the solace of a pipe. On the other hand, we may be fortunate enough…” He broke off as a closed hackney carriage stopped before the narrow front of the building opposite. Two men in evening dress alighted, going up the steps where they were admitted almost immediately to the gloomy interior, and the door shutting firmly behind them.

“Don’t move.” Holmes hurried across the road and engaged the cab-driver in a brief conversation, I saw the man shake his head before mounting to drive away as my colleague returned to me.

“I suppose it was too much to hope to strike lucky at the first attempt,” he said, but the words had barely passed his lips when another cab drew up and the pantomime was repeated. During the next three-quarters-of-an-hour, this happened a further three times. Then with my tolerance wearing thin, I saw Holmes signalling me to join him. The old wound in my leg had begun to protest at the long period of standing in the small doorway and I was glad to get my circulation moving, but no sooner had I crossed the road than Holmes was hustling me into the cab and we set off.

It was a short journey, however, and after doubling ‘round some side streets, we halted beneath the yellow glow of a street lamp. The driver descended and my companion opened the door and beckoned the man to get in.

He did so, taking the seat facing us and eyeing us warily. “Now look here, Mister,” he began aggressively, “I only take people where they want to go. As long they behave themselves I ask no questions, nor do I like having to answer them.” He was a man in his early thirties, clean-shaven, tidy, and less coarsely spoken than many of his calling. “Unless you are police.”

“No, we are not,” said Holmes, offended by being mistaken for the official force. “We merely want a little information, and I promise that once we have it, we shall forget we ever spoke to you.”

The cabbie nodded slowly. “Ask away. I’ll decide how much I can tell you. You wanted to hear about Mr. Prentiss. All I can say about him is that the times I’ve had him aboard, he’s never been any trouble.”

“Where do you take him?”

“Balham, mostly. It’s a good trot out there and pays well.”

“You say mostly, but you have taken him elsewhere then?”

The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Just the once. Last Thursday it was. I remember it well because it was the wife’s birthday and she was a bit upset because I wouldn’t have the night off to take her out. There’s a young’un coming along and we need the money, see.”

“What happened that night that was so different?”

“Well, the gentleman came out about midnight, and as I was there he got straight in without a word. That was queer because he usually remarked on the weather or suchlike. Not exactly friendly, like, but civil. He looked as if he had a drink too many as well and that wasn’t like him. We hadn’t gone above half-a-mile when he stopped me and asked if I knew where I was going. ‘Why, Balham as usual, aren’t we sir?’ I said. ‘No. drop me off at The Oval,’ he said. I did as he asked, and he gave me two whole sovereigns, then off he went without as much as a good-night. Well, on the strength of that I packed it in for the night. The wife was surprised to see me, as I seldom get in before four o’clock.”

“Have you seen him since then?” asked Holmes.

“Last night. Then he was his old self again.” The cabbie lowered his voice. “I did hear his wife had died, but you’d never think it.”

“Thank you, driver. I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention our little chat.” There was a clink of metal and a couple of gold coins gleamed in the lamplight before they vanished.

“Terrible memory I have, sir.” The man grinned. “Can I take you gents somewhere?”

Much to my disgust, Holmes refused the offer, saying as it was a fine night the walk would do us good. He was in an ebullient mood on the way back to Baker Street, twirling his stick and blithely whistling a vulgar music-hall ditty, but despite my probing, it wasn’t until we were indoors with a pot of fragrant coffee before us that he deigned to speak.

“Tomorrow will see the finish of this little problem, my dear Watson. A minor puzzle, but satisfying in its way.”

“You are saying you have the solution?” I said.

“Why, it’s perfectly clear. Come, Doctor, you have as much, if not more information, than I had when I set out this morning. To what use have you put it?”

“Steady on,” I objected. “You told me where you had been, but not a word of the outcome of your inquiries.”

“After what we have learnt this evening, I thought you would be capable of deducing the chain of events. Did nothing strike you as strange?”

I took a sip of coffee, then wiped my moustache as I gave myself time to think. “The behaviour of Jonas Prentiss on the fatal night? It was remarked upon by Major Cradley and again by the jarvey who picked him up at The Sugar and Spice.” I snapped my fingers. “Oh, I think I understand. It was not Prentiss who killed his wife, but someone he had employed to do so. He wasn’t his usual self because of worrying whether or not the murder had been carried out successfully. Am I right?”

My companion gave me a quizzical look. “Let me say you are on the right lines, but I fear you have been derailed on the way, if I may make use of a railway metaphor. Go to your bed now. I shall be abroad early tomorrow, but I will join you for breakfast at nine o’clock. Goodnight, and sleep well.”

In spite of the thoughts jostling for space in my mind, I did indeed sleep soundly, waking to hear the front door slam when Holmes made his exit. Promptly on the stroke of nine he bounced back in, with Mrs. Hudson on his heels bearing our breakfast.

He tossed a copy of The Morning Post to me. “See, I think of you all the time. I know you like to read the cricket reports and scores – but don’t linger, I beg you. The game’s afoot and we must be out within the hour.” He rubbed his hands together before helping himself to a generous portion of ham and eggs. “By Jove, it’s a beautiful morning!” I knew by his ill-concealed excitement that we were nearing the final act of the drama, but it wasn’t until we were in a four-wheeler and threading our way through the traffic that I dared to ask where we were going.

“First we go to Tulse Hill to collect Miss Masters,” he said. “I sent her a telegram asking her to join us, From there we proceed to Balham, where I hope the lady’s presence may gain us admittance to the house of that evil and calculating murderer, Jonas Prentiss.”

“You are convinced it was he who killed his wife?” I frowned. “You don’t believe his alibi to be sound, then?”

“We shall see. I hope my other telegram will be taken seriously. We may find our hands full otherwise.” We were crossing Vauxhall Bridge as he spoke, and looking out of the window he drew my attention to the river below. “Just think,” he mused, “what stories that great waterway could tell if it had a tongue to speak, yet it flows on as unconcernedly as it has for two-thousand years and more.” With that he closed his eyes and sat back, not speaking until we were in Brixton Road. “Do you remember?” he said, his acute perception telling him where we were.

“Could I forget?” I replied. “Our very first foray together.”

“Which you fancifully called ‘A Study in Scarlet’,” he chuckled. “I only took you along to demonstrate that I wasn’t the charlatan you thought me.”

“Which you did so successfully,” I confessed ruefully,

We both laughed, and the rest of the journey was spent in recalling past cases, some of which, for various reasons, will forever remain untold. Miss Masters lived a neat detached villa a short way from Brockwell Park. No sooner had our carriage stopped than the lady herself came to meet us at the gate, still dressed in black, but with her veil thrown back to show her cheeks to have more colour than at our previous meeting.

“Mr. Holmes! Dr. Watson!” she cried in greeting. “I received your telegram, but I own to some perplexity at its contents. I understand you wish me to accompany you, but that is all.”

“Only if you feel strong enough to meet Mr. Prentiss face to face,” said my companion, his tone grave but gentle. “I know your feelings towards him and realize the very thought must be repellent.”

Her eyes blazed. “Will it serve to bring to book the murderer of my dear Alice? If so, I would face the Devil himself!”

“Your presence may assist us in the essential matter of gaining entry to the premises. Without you, we must resort to other methods.”

“Then I will come, sir. Why do we dally?”

I handed her into the cab, not hiding my admiration for the courage of this young and beautiful lady. After a brief word to the driver, Holmes took his place beside me, facing Miss Masters.

“What must I do, Mr. Holmes?” asked the latter as we moved off.

“Describe to me the interior of the house. I have only seen it from without.”

“Then you will know that it’s of recent construction, built by a coal merchant who was bankrupted by the cost. Jonas bought it at the time of his marriage, doubtless with my sister’s money.” She spoke bitterly.

“But inside – the layout.” Holmes allowed his impatience to show.

She continued unperturbed. “The outer door opens onto a small foyer. Then the main door gives on to a passage running the length of the house. A large drawing room is on the right, and then a staircase leading to the upper floors.” She was speaking as calmly as an estate agent would of a desirable property. “On the left there is a library and a dining room. I should say that upstairs, only the first floor is used. There are three bedrooms, the one used by Alice and her husband being over the library. The second floor is unfurnished. Do you need more?”

“Servants?”

“Very few. A parlour maid living in, a cook, and a woman for the rough work, both of whom come daily. Oh, and an occasional gardener.” She looked at her gloved hands. “The parlour maid has been there only a few months, the previous girl having left in unfortunate circumstances.”

Holmes fingered his long nose thoughtfully. “That is most helpful. Can you devise a reason for calling on this man whom you have avoided so pointedly in the past?”

A small frown creased her smooth brow, then she nodded. “Alice owned a pearl brooch which had been her mother’s. She often said that she would like me to have it should anything happen to her. Could I not ask Jonas to allow me to take it as a memento?”

“Excellent. It will be an opening.” My colleague looked at me with a mocking twinkle in his eye before continuing. “This shall be our ploy. The good doctor will assume the role of your fiancé, Mr. James Weston.” I gasped aloud at his outrageous plan but he continued unabashed. “My part will be that of his brother and business advisor. If that doesn’t do the trick we must take more direct measures, but let us try that first.” For the first time since we had met her, Miss Masters laughed in genuine delight while I strove to keep from showing my disapproval.

“Oh, my poor Dr. Watson!” laughed our client. “Does the idea of being engaged to me hold such terror for you? Am I so unattractive?”

“In no way,” I stammered. “I am dull dog and fear only for your sensibilities. Holmes should display more delicacy, and in any case I hardly think we could be taken for brothers.”

“You think not?” From his pocket he took a small leather case, then turned away to make one of those remarkable transformations to his appearance which had served him so well in the past. Miss Masters’ eyes widened when he next looked at us, and even I was astonished at what he had achieved in so short a time and with so little. He sported a moustache similar to mine, his cheeks were filled out, and by some mysterious means he gave the illusion of being shorter and bulkier than he actually was.

“What is your opinion, Madam?” he asked, and even his voice had a different timbre.

“Why, it’s incredible!” Her amazement was plain. “You resemble the doctor as closely as Alice resembled me!”

“I still think it chancy,” I grumbled. “Will Prentiss believe in a fiancé suddenly materializing from nowhere?”

“Have you a better suggestion?” he asked frostily, and I had to admit I hadn’t, staying silent until our cab came to a halt before a large double-fronted house.

“Play your parts,” Holmes enjoined us as we alighted. “There may be eyes watching us. Are you prepared?”

“The last time I was here was to visit Alice ten days ago,” she said sadly. “I shall bear up, Mr. Holmes.” She slipped her arm through mine and met my eyes. “I shall lean on you if I may, James.” Her voice was steady.

“That is well done,” nodded Holmes. “Don’t hesitate to show the grief you naturally feel. He let us to precede him along the gravelled drive, and I confess to a fluttering heart as the lovely creature held my arm closely.

I tugged at the bell-pull, hearing the muffled ring from within. There was no immediate response. I rang again and shortly we heard hesitant footsteps. Through the frosted glass, I saw the inner door open to reveal a blurred form. When the outer door eventually opened it was by a tall, sharp-featured man. His black hair was plastered over a narrow skull, and a thin, dark moustache and boot-button eyes gave him a sinister look.

“Caroline!” The reedy voice was lacking in warmth. “This is an unexpected visitation. I will not pretend it is a pleasure, for we were never friends, despite my efforts.”

“It isn’t right to air our differences, Jonas, while we both mourn Alice,” she replied quietly. “I’m here to beg a favour of you.”

“And these gentlemen?” His tone was cold.

“My fiancé, Mr. James Weston, and his brother.”

“Septimus Weston, sir.” Holmes sounded genial. “Miss Masters requested our company.”

“Fiancé?” Prentiss raised his scanty eyebrows. “This is the first I have heard of such an attachment. Alice certainly didn’t speak of it.”

“The engagement is recent, sir,” I said truthfully before improvising. “We have been long acquainted, but with the so tragic death of Mrs. Prentiss, she turned to me for solace. I was proud to offer myself.”

Jonas Prentiss turned his attention back to the lady. “What favour do you seek from me, Caroline? It must hurt your pride to approach me.”

“May we come in, sir?” Holmes put in. “It isn’t usual to conduct family business on the doorstep. Unless you have company,” he added.

Prentiss’s eyes wavered. Then he looked over his shoulder before standing aside to allow us entry. “Come in, but you will be wasting your time,” he said surlily. “And mine too, which is more important.” With ill-grace, he ushered us into the drawing room to the right of the passage, shutting the door firmly once we were in and making no offer of a seat.

“Come to the point, Caroline. What do you want?”

“I will be brief, Jonas. Alice had a small pearl brooch, a legacy from her mother. She knew I admired it and promised it would be mine if anything befell her. Will you follow her wishes in that respect?”

“Do you have it in writing? No, of course not.” An unpleasant smile was directed at our client. “Let me tell you once and for all, Miss High-and-Mighty: Nothing of my late wife’s leaves my possession, least of all to you. We had little to say to each other in the past, and even less now, so I will bid you and your friends good day,”

“You are resolved in your spite, Jonas? You will not reconsider?” Miss Masters flushed with humiliation, and I was about to intervene on her behalf when I intercepted a warning glance from Holmes, who had wandered aimlessly to where a sideboard stood beneath the window.

“You live alone now, Mr. Prentiss?” he said idly,

“Yes, if it is any of your business. I have no need for servants now, except for a woman who comes in daily to clean and prepare a meal.”

“I see.” My colleague parted the curtains to look out, but Prentiss had already opened the door, impatient for us to be gone. “In that case, there is no more to be said. Come, James, Caroline, We aren’t welcome,” Both the lady and I were astounded by his attitude, but I knew better than to dispute his actions. I took my temporary fiancé’s arm in a firm grip to lead her from the room. Prentiss shut the door behind us and went towards the main exit, but my colleague stopped in his tracks, his eyes sweeping the passageway like a gun-dog seeking a pick-up.

With no further warning he exploded into action. Before the owner of the house knew what was happening. Holmes had flung open a door opposite and darted in. There was a loud cry, followed by the sounds of a scuffle. Then, within seconds and before any of us had gathered our wits, he emerged with a vainly-struggling figure in his steely grip.

Miss Masters and I stood speechless, unable to believe what we saw.

“Meet Josiah Prentiss.” Holmes, drawing himself up to his full height, spat the padding from his cheeks and with one swift movement tore off the false moustache. “Astounding, is it not?”

I stared from the man in Holmes’s grasp to the ashen face of Jonas Prentiss. They were mirror images of one another, even to the clothes they wore. Miss Masters gripped my arm, trembling violently as she leant on me for support.

Jonas Prentiss was galvanised into action. With a terrible oath he made a dive for the front door, wrenching it open to be faced by a grim-faced Inspector Gregson with two stalwart constables at his back.

“Not leaving, sir?” he intoned. At his signal the constables advanced, one to clap handcuffs on Jonas Prentiss, and the other, at a nod from Holmes, doing the same for his double who offered no resistance. A low-voiced exchange took place between the inspector and Holmes. Then the former stepped forward.

“Jonas Prentiss,” he said solemnly, “I arrest you for the murder of Alice Prentiss.” He gave the usual caution and then turned the other man. “Josiah Prentiss, I arrest you as an accessory before, to, and after the murder of Alice Prentiss.” He completed the formula, and the two prisoners were led away to a police van which had pulled up before the house as my colleague and Gregson exchanged looks.

Holmes opened the door of the drawing room. “I think it safe to release the lady now,” he said lightly. “It will be more comfortable in here to make explanations.”

We entered the room, bemused by the abrupt and amazing sequence of events. Holmes waved us to chairs, then went to lean negligently against the mantelpiece. He fished in his pocket to produce an amber-stemmed brier which he began to load in a leisurely fashion.

“For Heaven’s sake, Mr. Holmes,” said Gregson, “Will you get on with it?” Not until his pipe was drawing did my friend speak. “Of course, Gregson. You don’t need me to tell you that that pair of scoundrels must be handed over to the City Police. However, a great deal of credit will accrue to you for your smart work in the case.” There was a sardonic gleam in his eye, Gregson having the grace to look sheepish as Holmes continued.

“When Miss Masters appealed to me for help,” he began, “I was impressed by her unshakeable conviction that her step-sister’s death wasn’t an accident, nor was it suicide. You, Inspector, quite rightly maintained that it was outside your jurisdiction, although you had made peripheral inquiries on behalf of the City force. I began by asking myself who would benefit by the death of Mrs. Prentiss. Obviously not Miss Masters, which left only the dead woman’s husband.

“Unfortunately, Jonas Prentiss had witnesses to his actions for the times during which his wife could have been killed, too many for all of them to be in collusion. The question was could they all have been genuinely mistaken? By means which I need not go into – ” Here he exchanged a wink with Gregson. “ – I obtained the names of two of those witnesses, and by a stroke of luck, one of them was an old army comrade of Watson’s. He took it on his shoulders to follow up the matter. No reflection on you, Inspector, but a friendly chat often produces more than the official approach.

“Meanwhile I was chasing other hares, and when the doctor and I compared notes, I knew I was on the right lines, incredible as it seemed. You know my dictum: ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’”

“That’s all very well,” Gregson put in. “You may come and go at will, whereas I’m bound by regulations.”

“And rightly so,” Holmes said primly. “Where would we be without the due form of law and order?”

Gregson looked to see if he was being teased, but Holmes ignored the look and continued.

“Previously Watson and I had visited the scene of the tragedy. Despite being assured that the door leading from the inside of the warehouse to the fatal landing had been locked for years, I found evidence to show that it had been opened very recently. The iron floor of the landing had a semi-circular scrape proving it to be so. I began to form the theory that Mrs. Prentiss had been lured to the building, persuaded to mount the inside stairs, go onto the landing, and from there had been sent to her death.

“Now, with whom would she be most likely to visit the warehouse? Why, who else but her husband? Even though she had never shown a great interest in his business affairs, he could have taken her there under some pretext. I hardly think she would go there with a stranger.”

“So you already had Jonas Prentiss in your sights,” Gregson observed.

“Oh, yes. While Dr. Watson was engaged with his old comrade-in-arms, I was at Somerset House, where I discovered that Prentiss was one of twins. It was obvious that if he wasn’t where he was said to be, then someone was impersonating him, a view that was reinforced when I heard the account Watson had had of his unusual behaviour at the club. That was confirmed last night by another source. It was a long shot, but it hit the target. To proceed: After leaving Somerset House, I looked up an old acquaintance in the City and found that Prentiss’s business was on the point of collapse. Another inquiry revealed that he stood to collect ten-thousand pounds in insurance by his wife’s death.”

“Great Scott! Are no secrets safe from you?” asked Gregson. “Even I would have to obtain a court order to get that kind of information.”

My colleague ignored him. “I also came to Balham, where I was able to trace the butcher’s boy and the milkman who waited on Prentiss. From them I found that he had left home seldom since his wife’s so-called accident, an understandable attitude, but both thought there was another occupant of the house when they made their deliveries, the milkman at six and the boy at eight or eight-thirty. The daily woman had been told the night before not to return, so who else would be there?”

“What, no servants for a place this size?” Gregson showed his surprise.

“They were discharged the morning after Mrs. Prentiss’s body was found. Tell me, Inspector: When did you inform him of her death?”

“Shortly after ten-thirty. He had been expected at Bobbin’s Wharf at his usual time of nine, but when he didn’t appear, Sergeant Lane from the City put in a request for our lot to do it,”

“The servants had already been sent packing by then – a strange state of affairs, was it not?”

“You believe Josiah Prentiss was already in the house? But where?”

“Miss Masters told us that the top floor was unfurnished and never used. He could hide out there with impunity. Probably neither brother trusted the other, and Josiah wanted to be around to be sure of his share of the spoils. But you grow impatient, Gregson. In short, I decided to smoke him out. I sent you a telegram, collected Miss Masters, and bluffed our way in. As soon as we entered this room, I knew I had them. Two partly-empty whisky glasses stood on the sideboard, and I heard the creak of a floor board from across the hall. When I twitched the curtains as a signal, you came up trumps. You will have to pass what you know to your colleagues at Leman Street, but I think Josiah will be ready to turn Queen’s Evidence with a little persuasion.”

I noticed our client showing signs of distress. I decided to intervene.

“Look here, Holmes,” I said, “As a doctor, I say Miss Masters has been subjected to too much strain. Can we not take her away from this place?”

He suddenly became solicitous. “I apologize. I have been remiss. The inspector and I have more to say, so the doctor will take you home and leave me to find my own way. Is that agreeable?”

She accepted gratefully, and I wasn’t averse to such a pleasant task. “I shall call on you when I’m more composed to express my thanks, Mr. Holmes,” she said, offering him her hand. “Come, Doctor, I will hear no more sordid details. My faith was justified, and that is enough,”

She spoke not a word on the journey to Tulse Hill, staring out of the window with blank eyes until we arrived and I escorted her to her door.

“You will be all right?” I asked anxiously. “Is there anything I can do for you professionally?”

“Thank you for the thought, Dr. Watson, but have no fear for me. I’m not one of your vapid females, and my natural grief will pass in time. Now I’m sure you will excuse me, as I would be alone with my memories.” With that she vanished into the house, leaving me with a strange sense of loss.

There was a postscript to the case some three months later. I was at breakfast while Holmes was still abed, and for one I had the newspapers before he could reduce them to an untidy muddle. The main story was the execution of Jonas Prentiss at Pentonville Gaol, but another item made me sit up in shocked surprise. It was a short announcement of the engagement of Miss Caroline Masters to Major John Cradley, late of the Royal Horse Artillery. I dashed into my companion’s room to thrust the paper at him.

“Look at this, Holmes!” I spluttered. “Does she know what she is doing?”

He read the paragraph and looked up at me. “I imagine so. Why not?”

“Good Lord, the fellow’s a rake – a member of that disreputable club!”

“My dear Watson,” he said, “are you such a paragon of virtue? Will your past stand such close scrutiny?” With that he pulled the bedclothes up to his chin and closed his eyes, leaving me to reflect uncomfortably that his words held no more than the truth.