It was in the autumn of 1896, at the close of a case that Holmes had found interminably dull, that we became embroiled in another which, I have to say, was perhaps one of the most harrowing and wicked that I have hitherto recorded.
I had risen quite late that fateful morning and, on entering our sitting room, I found myself alone. From the look of our dining table, it would appear that Holmes had had some small semblance of breakfast. The butter dish was awry and his place at the table was covered in crumbs from his toast. His half-drunk cup of tea was in evidence, his chair askew and his napkin tossed roughly aside as though he had left somewhat in haste.
I was but part-way through a fine pair of 'Arbroath Smokies' when I heard our front door slam and the sound of seemingly angry, though familiar, footfalls upon the stairs.
Holmes burst into our rooms, crying, "Utterly incompetent, Watson!" He threw his hat and coat in the general direction of the coat stand before angrily collapsing into his leather armchair. "I am beside myself with contempt for minds that decide to prosecute a clearly innocent man! They may look but they have not an inkling as to what is plainly there before them!"
I put down my knife and fork and regarded Holmes. "Is it the Stanton case?" I asked, hoping for an explanation for his obvious foul mood.
Holmes looked across at me and it was though the mere act of concentrating on something other than his own anger had seemed to calm him. Reaching for his pipe and his Persian slipper pouch, he began to fill the bowl with fresh tobacco.
Now a little more at ease, he answered, "Indeed. I found it necessary to almost drag Lestrade to Hammersmith mortuary to explain to him that, if he continued with the case, Scotland Yard would be made a laughing stock by any half-decent defence counsel. What do you recall of the case, Watson?" asked Holmes as he struck a match against the fender and drew strongly upon his pipe.
I had managed a further mouthful of kipper but again put down my knife and fork. Sitting back, I thought for a moment whilst dabbing the corner of my mouth with one of Mrs Hudson's fine, damask napkins. “Well, let me see… you have been retained by the wife of one Samuel Stanton, a petty larcenist who has been accused of the murder of his drinking companion, Henry Squires. As I remember, Holmes, Stanton had had a drunken altercation with Squires in 'The Moon and Sun' public house one evening. Squires was subsequently found dead with a head wound the following morning in an alley behind the establishment. Murder was presumed and Stanton, who had no alibi, and, indeed, no memory of the evening whatsoever, was found to have blood on his clothes."
Pleased with my résumé of the case, I once more picked up my knife and fork and continued with my breakfast.
Holmes nodded and blew out a thin stream of blue smoke before asking, "And what of this head wound, Watson? It was examined during the post mortem and found to have caused a deadly bleed to the brain. It was assumed to have been caused by some blunt object, wielded by Stanton, though none was found."
I sat forwards, a little alarmed by this new information. "Assumed? Was it not so?" I asked.
Holmes barked out a scornful laugh and then smiled grimly, shaking his head. "No, Watson! After a brief visit to ‘The Moon and Sun’ public house and the most elementary of enquiries at his workplace, I found out that Squires was a sign writer for a local tram company. Two days before the evening of the argument with Stanton, Squires had had an accident at work. A sign that he had just painted became loose from its fixing and had struck him heavily on the back of the head.”
I nodded and considered this, waiting for Holmes to continue. “Based on purely circumstantial evidence and, by association, The Crown, in their wisdom, decided to prosecute Samuel Stanton for murder. It was only after I had examined the head wound that I was able to establish beyond doubt that Stanton was not responsible. However, I found it necessary to demonstrate my findings to Lestrade this morning at the mortuary.”
Holmes sat back and puffed contentedly upon his pipe. I, however, was none the wiser, asking, “Forgive me Holmes, I am still in a fog. What did you show Lestrade?”
Holmes sighed, saying, “Firstly, there was grit within the wound to Squires’ head. In the alleyway at the rear, where the body was found, I discovered a smear of blood where the back of Squires’ head had impacted the cobbles. Secondly, the wound contained a small quantity of white paint… the pigment used in the paint was white lead.”
I jolted upright, saying, “Lead? So, over the two days before the altercation, he was being slowly poisoned by the paint!”
Holmes again nodded. “I believe that, on leaving the public house after his fracas with Stanton, Squires collapsed due to the effects of both the alcohol he had consumed and the lead poisoning from the paint. His subsequent fall caused, I believe, the fatal bleeding to his brain.”
I considered this for a moment before asking, “Was Lestrade convinced by this new evidence?”
Holmes now had a strange, distant look in his eyes as he replied, "Yes, even he could see the truth of the matter and that there was now sufficient doubt to prevent a successful prosecution.”
Holmes then paused before continuing, “It was something that he then showed me that I found quite disturbing. On the mortuary slab next to that occupied by Squires was the body of a young woman, only her head and shoulders were visible. Lestrade reached forward and swept back the mortuary sheet, revealing her body. As he did this, he made a facetious comment that her death, that at least, was a straight-forward suicide, adding that during the post mortem, she was found to be three months pregnant."
I looked at Holmes and he was clearly disturbed by what he had just told me. I pursed my lips as I thought this over, asking, "Was she a street girl?"
Holmes shook his head. "No, I believe not. She seemed quite well-fed and clean. Close to the head of the slab was a small, marble-topped table where the small bundle of her clothes and possessions had been placed. I did not examine them but a cursory glance showed that they seemed quite ordinary...and yet... I felt that something was wrong, Watson. What would drive a young woman not just to take her own life but also that of her unborn child?”
Holmes paused slightly before asking, “I would be most grateful, Watson, if you would accompany me this afternoon as I wish to re-visit the mortuary at Hammersmith?"
Seeing his concern and as I had nothing of great import to do, I readily agreed.