Chapter Eight

The news of the attack on John Legg which had filtered down the whole length and breadth of the town had obviously now come to the attention of Holmes for he arrived at Jacobs’s Monmouth Street house and surgery just some twenty minutes after Miss Beth Markey’s arrival. He neither disturbed Miss Markey’s vigil nor examined Legg, but took me to one side in order to listen to my account of how we found the constable.

Succinctly as I could I apprised Holmes of the afternoon’s events leading up to the discovery of the unfortunate man and the nature of his injuries.

“Have you questioned him as regards the attack?”

“He is no state to be questioned nor will he be for some while yet I fear. Sergeant Street has asked Josey Farmer what she remembers about the man who gave her the message, but to no avail, she barely seems to have noticed him at all. I did find these at the scene of the crime,” I said, and handed Holmes the cigarette ends I had gathered up.

Holmes took these over to the light and examined them closely, pausing only to bring each one to his hawk-like nose. Satisfied with whatever these remnants had told him, he promptly threw them on the floor. I duly picked them up not wishing to incur the wrath of Sarah Jacobs who I reckoned would not take to kindly to having her floor used as some kind of receptacle for the detritus of Holmes’s evidence. I knew Holmes had made a special study of cigar ash, tobacco and cigarettes, indeed he had written a monograph upon the subject so I was tolerably sure that these fragments had yielded something of their origin to his trained eye.

“What do they tell you?”

“The brand of cigarette is one that goes by the name of, ‘Wincanton’ for it was in that town that it originated. The banding and

flavour is quite distinct. Its distribution is not nationwide however and tends to be confined to an area spanning the east of Devon, through Dorset to Wiltshire. It is perhaps an acquired taste rather like the area’s cider!”

“Can you deduce anything regarding the smoker?”

“If I was truly a wizard that your readers may imagine me to be after devouring your embellished tales all these years, then I would no doubt be able to furnish you with the man’s age, his height, his weight, his shoe size and more importantly, his whereabouts. Alas, I can do none of those things except tell you that he uses ‘Parisienne’ cologne which is hardly a surprise to either one of us.”

Holmes swept into the surgery proper and with a cursory glance at Miss Markey, he proceeded to spread out Legg’s clothes on the floor and ran his fingers through the pockets and folds of his uniform.

“What have we here?” he cried to himself as he withdrew a slip of paper which had been in the inner pocket of Legg’s jacket.

“Why don’t you bring it into the hallway?” I asked as casually as I could, motioning Holmes to look at the stricken face of young Beth.

“What? Oh yes, of course.”

The message we read on this piece of paper was stark and uncompromising for it said: John Legg-Killer no more.

“A very thorough man this would be killer of ours. This note was prepared some time before the event, note the creases which are hardly fresh, but indicative of having been carried around for some little time, perhaps being transferred between garments.”

“What worries me, Holmes is that this man will seek to finish off what he has started with regard to Legg,” I said, in a whisper, not wishing my words to carry to the surgery, “and further, that this man is carrying around with him a similar note bearing your name.”

“Your worries are well founded, Watson. We must take steps to protect Constable Legg and keep him safe from further harm.”

“That protection can only take place here for I do not propose he be moved for some little time yet.”

“Very well, can he be moved safely to a room at the rear of the house? I believe there is such a room in that area with no outside access, if I recall correctly.”

“I see no reason why not and yes you do recall correctly, but before we go any further with our plans, we should be inviting the views of Dr Jacobs and his family, after all this is their home and their safety is paramount too.”

We went through to the family quarters where we found Godfrey, Sarah and the children, Arthur, Cecil and Violet who had just returned home from their respective schools. Arthur and Cecil were now fast approaching becoming young men and were as sturdily built as their father with whom I had played rugby for Blackheath many, many years ago. Violet was now seven years old and as delightful as ever.

Holmes detailed the situation to them and pulled no punches when outlining how Legg could be subject to another attack which may imperil the whole household. The Jacobs family stood firm and left us in no uncertain terms that Legg was under their protection from now on.

A spare room, formerly the nursery, was made ready for its new incumbent and it was agreed to move Legg that evening. We had no doubts that we could devise a rota whereby he would not be left unattended at any time of the day or night.

“I will go and tell Miss Markey that we need to move him, without telling her the reasons for so doing,” I said.

Young Beth looked scarcely to have moved; she was still holding Legg’s left hand tightly and still talking to him in a soft whisper. His eyelids were fluttering and although he had not yet recovered the powers of communication, I believed he heard and understood every word. I explained to her that we needed to move him to a more comfortable bed and to render the surgery free for the doctor’s patients the following morning.

“Will I be able to come back later?” she entreated.

“Yes of course, Beth. Why don’t you give us an hour to put the arrangements into force and come back then?”

“Thank you, Doctor and thank you for finding and saving him.”

She passed Sergeant Street in the hall as she exited and he entered. He laid a kindly hand upon her shoulder and whispered in her ear, words of encouragement and comfort too no doubt. We outlined to Street the measures we were taking and he seemed satisfied with those steps.

“I will spend the night here, if that is acceptable to you and your family, Doctor Jacobs?” Street announced.

“Perfectly so,” replied Jacobs, “as long as it is all right with Belinda, Joe!”

“It will be, she is as concerned as I am, John is like family. Tell me though, Mr Holmes, who protects you?”

“I assure you, Sergeant that I would not have survived as long as I did in my chosen profession without knowing a thing or two about protecting myself. For instance, I have some knowledge of baritsu, or the Japanese style of wrestling, which has more than once been very useful to me. Besides, I have no doubts that Watson will be good enough to offer me the use of his old service revolver which I am confident he packed along with his spare collars.”

Together, Jacobs, Street and I shifted John Legg to his temporary new quarters. I was pleased to see how the swelling had subsided around the area of his injuries. I was able to cleanse the knife wound once more whilst marvelling again just how fortunate he had been. I had hopes that by the morning he may be recovered enough to give an account of what had befallen him and who his assailant was. Holmes and I left the constable to his new charges and walked back to Coombe Street.

“Are you joining us for an evening meal, Holmes or does the Admiralty have call on you tonight?”

“If I am welcome, then yes, I will spend the evening with you.”

“It goes without saying that you are welcome. What news from the launch of the submarine?”

“All went well as far as I could ascertain. The finest binoculars in the world would only be useful up to the point where the vessel disappeared beneath the waves. I lost a certain amount of interest after that despite the best efforts of various Navy officials who sought to engage me with tales of the submarine’s alleged prowess. They were at great pains to point out to me how naval warfare becomes impossible within the radius of an A-class submarine. When I pointed out to them that much the same was said about the Bruce-Partington submarine, then they tried to persuade me no more!”

“So, no sign of agents or spies on the horizon then?”

“None whatsoever, the more I consider it the more I am inclined to the view that I have been assigned a wild-goose chase either by design or by accident I do not know.”

“Are you saying then, that in spite of the Admiralty seeking your assistance through Mycroft, their fears are unfounded and they know so?”

“I do not rule that out, Watson.”

“If that should prove to be the case then why all this rigmarole of having you here? It makes no sense to me.”

“We may yet see light where there is no light presently,” Homes replied laconically.

“You do seem particularly bothered, Holmes I have to say.”

“What will be, will be, Watson, but I have to say that retirement seems to be a particularly busy state for me. Not only do I find myself embroiled in God knows what here, but my services are requested by all and sundry to investigate perceived miscarriages of justice and what have you.”

“Do any of these requests interest you to any great extent?”

“Some have points of interest, others I would not waste my precious time on. The latest entreaty for help has come from the family of Mrs Jane Cox.”

“I am not familiar with the name.”

“There is no reason why you should be unless you are a student of crime. She was a witness who testified at the inquest into the death by poisoning of the young barrister, Charles Bravo in 1876. Her family believe that she was hard done by and was left with suspicion attached to her that she had not been entirely honest in her testimony.”

“The case does ring a bell with me, was not Bravo’s wife acquitted of his murder?”

“No, Watson, for the simple reason there was no trial, just two inquests.”

“And is there any foundation to her family’s grievances?”

“Well, yes, but not quite in the way that they believe for it is obvious to me that Jane Cox did indeed lie under oath at the inquests and for perhaps, the best possible reason.”

“Which was?”

“She was guilty of the crime herself, there can be no doubt of that.”

“Will you communicate this to her family?”

“I think not, Watson. I will let sleeping dogs lie and politely turn down their request.”

By this time we had reached Nathaniel and Elizabeth’s cottage and as I stepped into the hall I was accosted by a shaggy mass which hurtled out of nowhere like an errant cannonball.

“Isn’t she an angel, Uncle John?” shrilled Elizabeth.

I must admit it was not a view I felt I could subscribe to wholly. To my mind the dog displayed far too healthy an interest in my boots and trouser turn-ups to warrant an epithet of ‘angel’.

“Where has she appeared from?” I asked, trying to keep any note of displeasure out of my voice.

“The family Nathaniel was working for today, on their garden, you know, gave him this lovely angelic creature,” she replied, far too excitedly in my opinion. “We have named her Angel!”

“They just handed the dog over? Perhaps they had a good reason for doing so. She may be overly aggressive for instance. Any more of her attentions and I will be needing a new pair of boots!”

“Sorry, Uncle John,” and with that she dragged the beast away.

“I see you have been making the acquaintance of Angel, John,” laughed Beatrice as I entered the parlour.

“Somehow I sense she may struggle to live up to her name, she is somewhat perky if not downright mischievous.”

“She will settle down and become part of the family,” Nathaniel said.

I harrumphed as loudly as I could under the circumstances which had already dictated I was to be the villain of the day. I have never looked kindly on another dog since being forced to part with my bull-pup some twenty-two years ago.

Holmes and I sat down and filled our pipes in comparative peace as we brought everybody up to date on all the events of the day and the state of John Legg’s health. The whole house, including Angel fortunately, was silenced by the enormity of what could have happened. Instead of sitting comfortably discussing Legg’s recovery, we could well have been mourning his loss. We busied ourselves with laying the table for the evening meal and an unusually sombre affair it promised to be. Just as we declared ourselves ready to eat, there was a knock at the door, as I was closest to the hall I went to open the door.

“Ah, Lydia!”

“Doctor Watson! Hullo.”

Lyme regis news

Although as far as we can ascertain there has been no progress in arresting anyone for the assault on John Legg, we are pleased to have received news of his continuing recovery from the injuries he sustained. It may be noted that the celebrated detective, Mr Sherlock Holmes is in Lyme at present and it is to be hoped that police will look to him for aid in solving this heinous crime.

It has been announced that the next show at the Victoria Hall is to be a musical celebration of the world of nursery rhymes. This will be brought to us by the well known impresarios, Harold Long and Timothy Bell.

With the closure of Miss Lydia Hutching’s show it is to be hoped there will be no more talk of ghosts and phantoms abroad in the town.