The Adventure of Marcus Davery

by Arthur Hall

As I review my notes, I see that it was no more than a few weeks after the trial of Colonel Moran in 1894 that another extraordinary affair was placed before my friend Sherlock Holmes.

There had been little to occupy Holmes in recent days, and as Christmas approached I saw the signs of boredom that had once driven him to the cocaine bottle slowly reappearing. We were about to repair to the fireside armchairs when his keen ears detected a coach sliding to a halt in the piled snow beneath our window. At once, he dropped his newspaper and stared down into Baker Street. Instantly, and I thought a little desperately, he adopted his habit of rubbing his hands together in anticipation of a visit from a new client. A moment later the door-bell rang, and we heard Mrs. Hudson descend the stairs. After a brief discussion she returned with a gentleman of normal height, but who was made to appear taller by the high top hat he wore. His black moustache seemed to bristle as he took in first the room, and then Holmes and myself.

“Which of you is Mr. Sherlock Holmes?” He asked in a rather clipped tone.

“It is I that you seek,” said my friend, before introducing me. He called to our landlady, who was closing the door as she retreated. “Tea, please, Mrs. Hudson, for our guest and ourselves.”

“Not for me,” our visitor responded as he removed his hat. “Thank you, but I have little time.”

“Very well.” Holmes gestured to tell her to disregard his request. “But pray sit down, my good sir, and tell us how we can be of assistance.”

“You have not seen the papers?”

“We were about to peruse the morning editions, as you arrived.”

Our visitor sighed, and lowered himself into the empty chair. “Then what I have to say will mean nothing to you.”

Holmes looked at him carefully. “Let us first ascertain the subject of our discussion, before we decide on our understanding of it. I know nothing of you, sir. You have not yet given your name, or it would have been announced as you entered. Apart from the facts that you are not long out of the army, have been roughly handled recently, and suffered great distress, I can deduce little, save that you left your home rather hurriedly.”

It did not surprise me that our client showed some astonishment. Holmes’s deductions always had a confusing and puzzling effect on those unaccustomed to his methods.

“How the deuce do you know these things, sir? Have I been spied upon, in addition to all else?”

“Not by us,” my friend assured him. “All my conclusions were based on the most casual observations, and are easily explained. Your excessively brisk manner and movements betray the fact that you have recently seen military service, as does the emblem forming the handle of your walking-cane. The discolouration around your eyes and mouth indicate that you have recently been beaten, since your general appearance does not suggest boxing or similar sporting activities. Your distress, which I presume to be the reason for consulting me, is evident from the grief in your eyes, and I know you rushed out of your house because your cravat is badly askew.”

Our client bent forward in his seat, placing a hand over his eyes. “I see that your reputation is not exaggerated, Mr. Holmes. Forgive me for not introducing myself, and for my brusque manner. My name is Caine Barnett, and I referred to the newspapers because my son’s death is on the front pages of them all.”

Holmes and I expressed our sympathy, and Mr. Barnett nodded a grim acknowledgement.

“Suicide, I know, is deeply hurtful to those left behind,” I said after a glance at the newspaper on the side-table before me. “I have seen it before. The pain lessens with time, but you must endure and exercise patience.”

“Suicide?” Mr. Barnett fixed me with a fierce, direct stare. “Yes, that is what the newspapers are saying. Gentlemen, my son, Stephen, was murdered yesterday!”

“Have you consulted Scotland Yard with this claim?” Holmes asked.

“I have come directly from there. Inspector Lestrade has told me that the case will be fully investigated, but I am not satisfied.”

Holmes showed no surprise. “Mr. Barnett, pray take a few moments to compose yourself, and then tell us of these events from the beginning. If it is at all possible, I will do all that I can to help you.”

Mr. Barnett sat with his head bowed, but when he lifted it I saw at once the emptiness from which Holmes had deduced his loss.

“Six months has passed since I left the army,” he began. “I had fulfilled my commission and wanted no more of the life. On returning to Essex, I found my wife glad to see me, of course, but my son was strangely remote and indifferent. I soon discovered that his surly attitude sprang from an association he had recently formed. Although our conversations were sparse, I managed to drag out of him that he was spending much time in the company of one Marcus Davery, a disreputable character who is well-known on the gambling and horse-racing circuits. He is apparently quite notorious. Perhaps you have heard of him, Mr. Holmes?” The name was unknown to me, but my friend answered without hesitation. “I have. He is the discredited son of the Marquis of Langandale. His history is colourful.”

“That does not surprise me,” Mr. Barnett said. “For Stephen came to me on returning home one evening, much disturbed and with a tale to tell of how this man had persuaded him to gamble using money he did not possess. Consequently, the house held his notes for a sum he could not possibly repay, and he sought my help.”

“Is yours a wealthy family?” I enquired.

“Not at all. I think that Davery miscalculated here, possibly because my son’s groundless boasting misled him. We live on my army pension and a few small investments, and so I was quite unable to accede to Stephen’s request.”

“Trapped in this way then, it was supposed that he took his own life?” Holmes ventured.

“I have no doubt that Davery seized upon this to his own advantage, to excuse his own actions. Stephen’s last words to me, before he went to confront Davery, were to the effect that the incident was a deliberate ploy. He suspected that Davery and the gambling house were in league, in a scheme to defraud customers that he introduced to the tables.”

“He had proof of this?”

“That is what he told me, the last time I saw him alive.”

“But it was never brought to light?”

“I imagine, whatever its form, it was destroyed after Stephen’s death. It was his intention to expose them all. The gambling house also has gone, the premises abandoned, and the operators and clientele scattered.”

Holmes took on a thoughtful expression. “So, Mr. Barnett, it is your contention that your son was murdered or induced to take his own life by this man Davery, and the given reason was that he found himself inescapably trapped in debt?”

“Debt that he was certain he had not actually incurred.”

“Quite so. Did he indicate to you anything of the nature of this deception?”

“He mentioned only that he had discovered that several others had been trapped similarly.”

“Did he reveal the outcome of these incidents?”

Mr. Barnett nodded, with an expression of despair. “In every case the money was paid. The victims, or their families, wished to avoid the scandal.”

“Did you, yourself, take any action in this matter?” Holmes asked after a short silence.

“As I mentioned, I consulted Scotland Yard earlier. News of Stephen’s death reached me late yesterday morning, and I confess to feeling anger before grief. I went straight round to see Davery - Stephen had mentioned often enough that he lived off Oxford Circus - to confront him. To my surprise, the fellow practically admitted his responsibility for my son’s death, saying that he had become a ‘dangerous liability’. He bragged that he was quite immune to the law and retribution of any kind. I threatened him, and he replied that I would be sorry for doing so, and acted almost as if the whole thing were humorous. At this point I could no longer restrain myself, but my attack was repelled by Davery’s manservant, who is an ex-prize fighter. Last night I went for a short walk to clear my head, and two ruffians attacked me. I gave a good account of myself but,” he indicated his discoloured eyes, “they were too much for me.”

“I have no doubt that they found their task difficult,” Holmes murmured, “and I imagine that Davery’s claim to be beyond retribution is because, although discredited, he has powerful friends. However, we will see if he remains unscathed by the end of my enquiries. Now, Mr. Barnett, is there anything more that you wish to tell us?”

“It remains only for me to say that I am greatly indebted to both you gentlemen, for undertaking to set things right on my behalf.”

“You should hear of the outcome shortly,” Holmes said. “Pray be good enough to write down the address of Mr. Marcus Davery, before you leave.”

Our visitor took the pencil and pad that I produced, and after more expressions of gratitude, he took up his hat and left us.

Holmes sat like a statue for a few moments, and then his expression changed. His eyes glittered, and I saw that he was filled with the extraordinary energy that I knew of old.

“Hand me my index if you please, Watson.”

I extracted the volume from the bookshelf, and he began turning the pages eagerly. He studied an assortment of newspaper cuttings, impatiently dismissing one after another until at last he gave a cry of triumph. “Aha! As I said, his career has been colourful.”

“Is his notoriety as great as Mr. Barnett implied?”

“Most certainly.” Holmes held the sheets up to catch the light. “You will be astonished to hear that this is, in fact, the fifth suicide with which our Mr. Davery has been concerned, apart from the misery he inflicted with the gambling scheme. It appears that anyone who gets in his way chooses it voluntarily, conveniently solving his problems.”

“Clearly he has some sort of strong hold on his acquaintances. Has nothing been done before now?”

“As we have already observed, he has powerful friends.”

“Are they powerful enough to place him above the law?”

“He is not the first to believe that it can be so, but we shall see how things turn out.”

“For how long has this been happening?”

Holmes scanned the pages with a grim expression on his face. “He appears in my index about seven months ago, but I have no doubt that his misdeeds extend back much further. It seems that, at that time, there was some sort of indiscretion involving a Mrs. Elizabeth Velner. Davery somehow discovered and threatened to disclose this to her husband unless she paid him a substantial sum, which she did. Of course, in such situations that is never the end of the matter. After repeated demands, the lady was practically penniless and would have been forced to confess everything, but decided to take her own life instead, or so says the official report. Then we have Mr. Andrew Byncroft, to whom Davery was heavily in debt, until, again, suicide made repayment unnecessary. Next was Mr. George Cornhurst, of whom we have no details other than that he threatened Davery with exposure of some past dishonesty, or worse. Finally, Mr. Benjamin Selter took his own life after discovering Davery in the act of burgling his house. An extraordinary pattern of events, wouldn’t you say, Watson?”

“It is appalling,” I replied in disgust. “What kind of man can he be, Holmes? How does he induce his victims to end their own lives?”

“Perhaps this can be determined, during the investigation.”

“Could it be Mesmerism?”

“There is no mention of Davery possessing hypnotic skills, either in the official report, or elsewhere in my index. Nevertheless, at this stage we cannot rule it out. I know that you have to attend to your patients this morning, Doctor, so I will visit Davery alone. If you would care to hear the outcome of this, I should be back by three.”

At that, we took up our hats and coats and left Baker Street together. Outside, much of the snow had been cleared, but the traffic was heavy, so that Holmes had difficulty in securing a hansom. We were about to separate when a boyish figure emerged from the passing crowds to accost us.

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, I presume?” He said with a humorous air.

“Indeed,” replied Holmes. “And you, sir?”

“You will know of me already, for Mr. Caine Barnett has consulted you. I am Marcus Davery.”

I immediately took stock of him, for he was not in the least as I expected. Dark-skinned and tall, but not of Holmes’s height, and clad in a rather flamboyant morning-coat and narrow-brimmed top hat, he had an engaging smile. His eyes shone with amusement, as if he saw everything before him as some light-hearted jest or schoolboy prank, and my first impression of his youth was contradicted only slightly upon closer inspection.

“Do you wish to discuss your dealings with my client?”

Marcus Davery laughed shortly. “Nothing could be further from my mind, Mr. Holmes. The only reason that I am spending a few minutes of my time here is to do you the service of warning you against wasting yours. You will achieve nothing, sir, with any pursuit of my affairs. What is done is past, to Mr. Barnett’s detriment, but to my advantage. I am a man who makes his way through life without the burdens of regret. I fear nothing, nor any man. You would do well to remember that.”

I felt my temper rising at the man’s impudence, but Holmes put a hand on my arm to indicate that I should stay silent.

“This is not the first time I have heard such words from those who feel they are above the law,” he said then. “I have been threatened often, yet here I am. However, since you had the foresight to follow Mr. Barnett here, Mr. Davery, I acknowledge that you are a force to be reckoned with.”

“You would do well to consider me as such. Mr. Barnett threatened me and was punished for his pains. Naturally I kept track of him to determine his future intentions, and he led me to you.”

“Are you not afraid that such outrageous conduct might attract the attention of Scotland Yard?”

Marcus Davery gave a contemptuous snort. “That place exists to keep the little men and women, the inconsequential rabble of the capital, in order. It is a protection for the ruling class against the legions of the unwashed. No sir, I am unafraid of these blundering oafs who are employed to restrain their peers.”

“Thank you, Mr. Davery,” Holmes stare was expressionless. “You have made things very clear.”

“See that you remember my warning. Be aware that my vengeance comes from high places.”

“I assure you that I will forget nothing about you.”

Davery gave us a long cold look, and I saw that his eyes were blank like those of a mannequin and without sentiment or feeling. Abruptly he turned and walked away, swinging his cane and singing softly to himself.

“That man is criminally mad,” I said to Holmes. “His impertinence is almost unendurable.”

To my surprise, my friend laughed. “Your diagnosis is doubtlessly correct, Doctor. But we shall see where his view of the world leaves him, in the end.” He signalled a passing hansom. “We have met his kind before.”

We went our separate ways. It was a little after three when I returned to our rooms through a flurry of snow, but there was no sign of Holmes. I settled into an armchair to read when the front door opened and closed noisily, and I heard his familiar tread upon the stairs.

“Ah, Watson!” he cried as he burst into the room. “I have had a most successful day. Kindly ring for Mrs. Hudson, and I will tell you all over tea.”

I had spent a mundane day at my surgery, and so was keen to hear of my friend’s experiences.

“My first destination was the docks,” Holmes began presently as he pushed away his empty cup. “In fact I visited several harbour masters with the same request, until I found a description of a certain voyage in the records.”

“But what has this to do with Davery?” I enquired.

“You will recall that his complexion was rather dark, but not so much so as to be recently returned from the tropics. I deduced from this that he had returned from such a journey some months ago, and postulated that the suicides began since his return.”

“Did you confirm this?”

“I did so by consulting the Port of London journals that are maintained by every harbour master. Marcus Davery returned from East Africa via Mombasa, less than a month before his first victim took her own life. I knew where to look because I noticed his signet ring, which bore a design typical of the native art of that region.”

“You believe that his strange control over others originates there, then?”

“It appears likely, but we shall see. From there, I went to one of those little places I keep around London, where I changed my appearance to that of an unemployed labourer. I then kept a watch on Davery’s house until I was certain that he was still absent, and that the maid had left for the day. The manservant, Manners, is indeed an ex-prize fighter, as Mr. Barnett surmised, but he is not such a bad fellow after all. Pretending to look for work, I engaged him in conversation and managed to learn his hours of service, those of the maid, and about Davery’s regular haunts and movements. I am convinced, however, that Manners knows nothing about his master’s crimes or how they may have been committed. The encounter ended with him recommending another household where he thought there is work to be had.”

“You have done exceedingly well, Holmes, but I fail to see how Davery could have kept his misdeeds a secret from his manservant so successfully.”

“I imagine he would have related the facts to him, if he thought it necessary, justifying his own actions in every case. Davery strikes me as a man who covers his tracks well, but Manners seems to be a man who would leave his position rather than involve himself in anything dishonourable.”

“Did you learn anything further?”

Holmes began to stuff one of the pipes from his rack with coarse black shag. “I did. After resuming my own appearance, my final destination was the British Museum. There I sought out Professor Egbert Faye of the Department of African Studies. I discussed with him several possibilities that have occurred to me, since learning of Davery’s apparent ability to confer suicide on others. As a result, I have eliminated all likely methods but one. Nevertheless, before I proceed, I must have proof that Davery actually works in this way. I propose to obtain such proof tonight.”

“If you need me Holmes, I am with you.”

“As I knew you would be. Where would I be, without my Watson?”

No more snow fell that day, but when darkness fell it was accompanied by a bleak, bitter cold. I kept warm by walking up and down in front of Davery’s house, beating my hands together in their thick leather gloves and watching my cloudy exhalations.

Holmes had assured me that both Davery and his manservant would be absent, and the maid also, as she worked only part-time. My function was to rap upon the door at the sight of a constable or any other threat but, unsurprisingly in this weather, I had seen no one.

The front door opened and the shadowy figure of my friend emerged. He left the house as silently as he had entered it, expertly using his pick-locks, not long before. In moments he was beside me and we were striking out down the gas-lit street.

“You have said before now, that had you not been a consulting detective you might have been a successful cracksman,” I reminded him. “That skill does not seem to have left you.”

“And glad I am of it. I have in my pocket five envelopes, each containing a possible solution to our problem. When I have analysed these, we should know much more.”

“I am relieved that you found what you sought, without leaving Davery any indication of your visit.”

Holmes laughed shortly. “Much to the contrary, Watson. If Davery is at all astute, he will quickly realise that he has been burgled, even if little has apparently been taken. I have left some small indications. It will not take him long, I think, to deduce the identity of his visitor.”

“My dear fellow!” I cried in astonishment. “I cannot understand you placing yourself in needless danger! Is it wise to invite Davery’s vengeance? Did not Mr. Barnett suffer for doing so?”

“Calm yourself, Doctor, and try to have patience. I intend to force Davery into a position where he can do nothing against me, despite my being a continual trial to him. I have no reason to think that this stratagem will prove difficult but it will be as well if you continue with your practice for the time being, and play no part in this.”

“If that is what you wish, but it does not sit well with me.”

“I know, old friend, but it is for the best. You will see, I promise you.”

Holmes spent most of the following day at his work bench. On returning from my practice, I was greeted with a thick and pungent atmosphere, alleviated only by his cheerful announcement of success.

“I must apologise for the smell in here, Watson, but I have at least opened the window. I can now say that Davery’s extraordinary power to induce suicide is a mystery no more. After testing the contents of my five envelopes, one sample stands out as a drug that dissolves the will-power. Professor Faye was right, in every respect.”

“So, it remains only to prevent Davery from committing more outrages.”

“Indeed, and I shall set out upon that course tomorrow.”

Holmes was as good as his word. His first act was to secure two prize fighters, much larger and uglier brutes than Manners, through McMurdo, whom he knew of old. The three followed Davery’s every move for the next ten days, even watching his house at night. They made no effort to conceal themselves, so that their presence always hung over him. At no time were they approached, although Davery did at first fling a few sneering glances in their direction, and as things progressed Holmes was able to observe repeatedly the absolute arrogance of the man.

His treatment of his tailor, for keeping him waiting for a fitting, bordered on violence, while he actually struck his wine merchant on discovering that his favourite vintage was sold out!

My friend achieved his objective with superlative success. As he had predicted, he had become an inconvenience that Davery could do nothing about.

Then, as we repaired to our armchairs after an evening meal of Mrs. Hudson’s fish pie, a visitor arrived.

“Lestrade!” Holmes cried, as Mrs. Hudson closed our door behind the inspector. “Take a chair and sit with us. Watson, a brandy for the inspector.”

“No, thank you, Mr. Holmes.” Lestrade brushed snow from the shoulders of his greatcoat. “I will stand if you don’t mind.”

“I perceive from your rather glum expression that you are here on official business.”

“I am, and I take no pleasure in it.”

“Pray tell us then.”

I saw that the little detective was clearly embarrassed, as if he were about to deliver a message that he personally disapproved of. He stood for a moment, hat in hand, in silence.

“This afternoon I was called to see the Assistant Commissioner,” he said then. “It seems, Mr. Holmes, that you have been hounding a member of the aristocracy quite without cause. My superiors, in recognition of the help you have given us before now, have instructed me to warn you of the possible consequences, before charges can be laid.”

“Ah, we are talking of Marcus Davery,” my friend responded. “That man has murdered several times, Lestrade, and I believe that you know that as well as I. Did he perhaps send a friend or relative who is acquainted with the Assistant Commissioner to make this request of him?”

“His cousin, Sir Stephen Taranet”.

“To put your superior in a position where it was difficult for him to refuse, obviously. I should think that Sir Stephen is the only member of Davery’s family still in social contact with him, since he was discredited. Come, Inspector, after all these years I know you well. You feel the injustice of allowing the privileged to escape the law as keenly as I.”

“I do, but what am I to say? I am caught between what I feel to be right and my orders.”

“He is trapped in a difficult position, Holmes,” I said.

“He is indeed,” Holmes put a paper spill into the fire and lit his pipe from it, “and I have no wish to add to the situation. Yet I cannot, in good conscience, allow a man who I know to be guilty to escape in such circumstances.”

I nodded thoughtfully. “A dilemma, then?”

Lestrade looked at both of us. “I have to see the Assistant Commissioner tomorrow, with your answer.”

“You may tell him,” Holmes blew out a cloud of fragrant smoke, “that in any case my investigation is almost complete. I do not expect it to extend beyond Christmas. Ask him, for he must feel as you and I, and he is in the same position, to turn a blind eye for the next few days. In exchange, I give my word that I will not lay a finger on Marcus Davery, at any time.”

Lestrade looked relieved. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

“Now will you stay for a brandy, or perhaps a cigar?”

For the first time, the inspector smiled. “I regret that I cannot. From here I go to look into a disturbance in Whitechapel.”

“Goodnight then, Inspector.”

Lestrade turned and made for the door. Before he reached it he stopped and faced us again. “Merry Christmas, gentlemen!”

Before we could reply, he had gone out into the snow.

For four days more, Holmes continued his observation of Marcus Davery. It was after that, by the early post on Christmas morning, that the letter arrived.

“A message from Davery,” my friend explained. “He is of stronger stock than I thought, for I had expected something from him before this.”

“He knows now that his attempt to use Scotland Yard against you was not wholly successful,” said I.

“Undoubtedly. He suggests a meeting, tomorrow afternoon at the Agora Club, to set things straight between us. His language is exceedingly polite.”

“The Agora Club? I cannot say that I know it.”

“It is in Pall Mall, at the opposite end to the Diogenes Club, but very different. A meeting-place for political discussion with, I hear, its fair share of lunatics and fanatics. I thought it had closed temporarily, for repairs to its inner structure,”

“So, the building will be deserted? This is a trap, Holmes.”

“Oh, I am quite sure of that,” my friend agreed, “but who will fall into it?”

“You cannot trust that man. It would be tantamount to suicide.”

“You choose your words well, Watson.”

I was obliged to visit an elderly patient, which took up most of the morning. When I returned, Holmes was dragging out a dusty old chest from his room. He opened it near one of the armchairs, where he sat while examining the contents. I saw bundles of papers marked “Montague Street”, a short crowbar, a naval officer’s cap, and several other small items that must have had some significance for him. Finally, he produced a pistol that was much larger than the weapons we usually carried, placed it to one side and returned the chest to whence it came.

Soon after, Mrs. Hudson appeared. As befitted the season, she was full of good cheer as she served our roast duck and plum pudding. Holmes behaved like someone forced into endurance for the sake of propriety, and was clearly glad when the ritual was over.

“Watson,” he said as we sat with glasses of port in our armchairs afterwards, “I fear that I must leave you to enjoy the next glass or two of this excellent vintage alone. However, I will be no further away than my workbench, and it will not be for long.”

With that he drained his glass and went to the far side of the room, taking with him the pistol he had found earlier. He stood thoughtfully among his chemical apparatus, then I saw him raise a hammer and strike several times. I concluded that he had decided to use this weapon against Davery, if it became necessary, and was repairing it.

The remainder of the day was spent talking of our past adventures, and in general conversation. Holmes produced a box of cigars that he had saved, so he said, for a special occasion. We finished the bottle of port, this interrupted by the wine we shared with Mrs. Hudson when she brought a plate of sandwiches in the early evening. We retired early.

The next day saw me complete the responsibilities of my practice with unaccustomed haste. Holmes had mentioned that his appointment with Davery was for three o’clock, but after battling with a new snowfall I arrived back at Baker Street not long after two.

I found him ready to depart, staring from the window. “Halloa, Watson. I trust your morning went well?”

“It was uneventful,” I told him, “but I am more concerned about you. At least take me with you, for there is no telling what this man is capable of.”

Sherlock Holmes turned to me and smiled warmly. “You have always been the best of friends to me, Watson. No man could have expected better. If I am going into mortal danger it is not something new to me, as you know well. I have every reason to believe that I will return here later with this affair completed and Davery unable to continue his callous ways but, in case things should take a different turn, let us shake hands now and always remember the adventures we shared. Goodbye, old friend, for however long.”

With that he turned abruptly and left, leaving me stunned and with my hand still extended. As I looked down through the swirling snow, watching Holmes board a slowly-passing hansom, I was gripped by despair. The memory of his apparent demise at the Reichenbach Falls was still fresh in my memory, and his exit now after refusing my help in the face of danger, and with so little ceremony, caused my spirit to plummet.

I sat in my usual armchair for a little while with my elbows on my knees, staring at the carpet but seeing nothing but the imagined tragedy that I was convinced would shortly take place. A dark depression swept over me.

Inevitably, my thoughts strayed to the past, to the mysteries we had unravelled together. Was this to be the end, by means of a man like Davery?

Then I saw a light in the blackness! It occurred to me that I had disobeyed Holmes before, sometimes actually helping him towards success. In a moment I had put all doubt out of my mind and, pausing only to collect my service revolver and the crowbar from my friend’s chest, took up my hat and coat and went out.

The inclement weather had greatly reduced the traffic. Both passers-by and horses made their way with difficulty, but a cab put down a fare across the street and I ran for it, slipping and sliding. Progress was naturally slower, through streets with indistinct white figures and the strange quality that snow gives to ordinary sounds.

It was almost a quarter past three, when I stood at last opposite the Agora Club. Pall Mall was all but deserted and I realised then that I had no means of entry, when a short man in the uniform of a waiter came out through the high double-doors and hurried away. When he was lost from my sight I crossed the street. The footprints on the steps showed clearly that the snow had been disturbed three times - by Davery, Holmes, and the departing waiter, I concluded.

The doors, of course, were locked. Regardless of the snow, I considered forcing them, in such an exposed position, to be a last resort. The side of the building seemed a better prospect, having a narrow door which was probably a service entrance, and I used the crowbar after ensuring that I was not observed.

I was faced with a small hallway with two doors leading off, both securely bolted. Before me was a flight of curving stairs, which I ascended with great stealth. They led to a landing on the first floor, from which it was not possible to proceed further because, as Holmes had mentioned, part of the inner structure was under repair.

I peered cautiously over the thick oak bannister. Below was a table, set with white napkins. Holmes and Davery sat on opposite sides, facing each other, under a gas chandelier. A crystal glass stood before each man, half-filled. The waiter had fulfilled his function, and departed.

“Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Holmes.” Even from this distance I recognised the voice and the boyish smile that I remembered. Davery was dressed immaculately, his hat at the side of the table near that of Holmes.

“I was curious to see what it was that you believe we have to discuss.”

“Of course, it is natural that you would be. I am anxious to show you that your recent pursuit of me is without purpose. You are wrong to believe the slanderous things about me that newspapers and others are so quick to lay before the public.”

Holmes looked at him curiously. “Have you forgotten your admissions, when you intercepted Doctor Watson and myself, in Baker Street?”

“Oh, that.” Davery adopted a comic expression, like a disobedient child who tries to make light of his misdemeanours. “There I must apologise. Mr. Barnett had angered me with his accusations, and put me to the inconvenience of following him in order to discover his intentions. But wait, I am being a poor host! Let us drink to misunderstandings, possible reconciliation and, of course, our Queen.”

To my amazement I saw Holmes, without the slightest hesitation, take up his glass and drink. I felt a shudder pass through me, because even with my lesser deductive powers I realised that this was undoubtedly Davery’s way of administering the drug that Holmes had identified.

My conviction was strengthened by the relief that clearly showed in Davery’s expression.

“Mr. Holmes,” he said then, “you really must allow for my point of view.”

“Under the law, we are all equal,” my friend reminded him. “There can be no distinction for position, nor privilege. Are not the higher orders looked upon to set the example? But you, sir, have abused your position in life with murderous intent. Your conduct cannot be excused!”

“I have done only things which I considered necessary for my own continued welfare. You surely cannot equate the obstacles that I have removed with the importance of that?”

I expected a sharp reply to such an outrageous statement, but Holmes was silent. I knew then that the drug had done its work.

“Well, Mr. Holmes, what have you to say to that?” Davery knew the signs, and triumph entered his voice.

Holmes was silent. Davery walked around the table and approached him. For an instant I thought he would strike my friend, but he simply stood gloating and smiling with triumph.

“Ah, yes, this will be useful.” He took Holmes’s pistol, from where it was displayed with curious prominence in the pocket of his ulster, and laid it on the table before my friend.

Holmes sat unmoving, as if he were asleep, although his eyes were open.

“I know that you hear me, Holmes, because I am familiar with the properties of the compound that I instructed Gibbons, our waiter, to mix with your drink. I shall have no fears of him running to Scotland Yard when your death is discovered, since I intend to arrange a convenient accident for him before then. You are unable to move, as I am sure you have already found, except at my command. The substance responsible is used by witch doctors in East Africa, where I observed its application during my travels. You will have realised that I have used this to remove various impediments from my life, including those you were investigating. I feel that I have been exceedingly patient in your case, since I went to the trouble of warning you through slight acquaintances in the official police.” He raised his hands and shook his head, as if in hopeless resignation. “However, it has all come to this in the end.” He turned abruptly, and resumed his place at the table.

There was a few minutes of absolute silence, save for the faint howl of the wind through the building. I let my hand fall to the pocket of my coat, to feel the reassuring presence of my service revolver, and waited.

Davery drained his glass. “Well, I see no purpose in prolonging the matter. Stand up, Holmes, and face me.”

I watched with a curious fascination, as my friend rose obediently.

“There is a pistol on the table before you. Reach out and pick it up.”

Holmes did so.

“Put it to your head.”

Holmes did not move.

“Put it to your head.” Davery repeated. “I command you.”

Holmes remained still.

“Do as I order,” Davery’s voice was rising and although I could not see from where I stood, I knew that his eyes would now hold the emptiness that I had noticed in Baker Street. I remembered also his instability that Holmes had described witnessing.

Holmes replaced the pistol on the table and turned away.

For a moment Davery stood in amazement, then he brought his fist crashing down on the table. “Obey Me!”

Holmes walked stiffly, like a sleep-walker, towards the door.

“Come Back! Do as I say, this instant!”

Holmes did not falter, but Davery was enraged. He snatched up the pistol and flung the table away from him. I drew my own weapon, but Davery had moved out of my sight. I turned and ran for the stairs, but I knew the situation was hopeless as the report filled the building. I was outside in a moment, running and sliding for the front of the building as I prayed that Holmes’s wound was not fatal. I swore to myself that Davery would not leave this place alive, if he had killed my friend.

I came to an uncertain halt outside the high double-doors. I whipped out the crowbar from my pocket and was about to force my way in, when the doors opened and Holmes stepped out, alert and unscathed.

“Ah, Watson,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I was quite sure that we would meet here”.

“Holmes! What happened in there? Are you injured?

“Not all, old fellow,” he said with a grim smile. “However, I fear the same cannot be said for Mr. Davery.”

Without understanding, I made to enter the building. “I will see if I can do anything for him.”

“I really would not take the trouble. He lies dead on that dusty floor with half his face and a good portion of his right arm missing.”

I stared at my friend in astonishment. “He was about to fire at you. At that distance he could not have missed.”

Holmes closed the doors, took my arm and guided me away. We began to walk along the street with the snow sticking to our coats, watching for a hansom.

“It is very difficult to shoot, with a firearm that has a metal bolt hammered into the barrel,” he explained.

“That was what you did to the pistol, in our rooms? I thought you were repairing it.”

“It was a souvenir from an affair with which I was concerned before your time. I considered it to be more useful used like this, rather than getting rusty in my trunk.”

“But I saw the drug administered to you. How did you escape its effects?”

A cab emerged from a cloud of snow. We climbed aboard and Holmes gave our destination, before he continued as if our conversation had gone uninterrupted.

“You will recall that I first learned of the compound from Professor Faye. He told me also that an antidote was known, and easily obtained. Fortunately, the necessary ingredients were already present among my chemicals, so I was able to mix and test the tincture in advance.”

We lapsed into a short silence as we watched a small crowd, appearing as ghostly figures in the wind-driven snow, enter the lighted doorway of a tavern.

“You do realise, Holmes, that some would consider you a murderer?”

He leaned back in his seat and sighed. “We have had this conversation before, Watson, at the conclusion of the Roylott affair. My answer is unchanged. Davery’s death will rob me of no sleep, I assure you. When he is discovered, it will appear as suicide, which is both appropriate and ironic. It is doubtful that my presence at the Agora Club will come into it since the only witness, the waiter, lived in fear of Davery for some reason and will surely not come forward. Consider also that I was nowhere near either Davery or the gun when he pulled the trigger. But, old friend, on such a grim day let us talk of brighter things. We can certainly look forward to the warmth of a glass of spirits in our stomachs upon our return to Baker Street.”