Holmes And The Cads Diary Ch 02

In deference to my friend's unrivalled history of aiding the Yard we were not subjected to the humiliation of handcuffs nor were we taken directly to Scotland Yard, but instead taken to a town house in a once-fashionable area of the city that was now, like the house, looking less than its best.

'This is the scene of the crime?' asked Holmes.

'It is, and I'm breaking all the rules bringing you here Holmes so no funny business else it will be all three of us in the dock.' Replied Lestrade, holding the door of the enclosed four-wheeler open for us.

This was no act of respect, although we had not been cuffed, the four wheeler we had been travelling in was fully enclosed and had no handles on the inside of the locked doors. Lestrade had ridden ahead of us in his retained hansom and without outside aid we would not have been able to exit the carriage.

'Well, I haven't been to this part of the city for some time Lestrade, when did the murder occur?'

'The Police Surgeon reckons late last night.'

'Well, we were clear on the other side of the city last night. A cabbie by the name of Jeffers can attest to that.'

'It is Jeffers who says that one of you two may be the murderer. He says that he dropped you off here just before midnight after you asked him to follow a carriage here. One man got out of the carriage and went into the house. You and Watson alighted and followed him in after dismissing Jeffers for the night, paying him a generous tip.'

'That's simply not true. We used Jeffers last night on an investigation but he left us at the House of the Minister for European Trade around eleven o'clock and we had to find another cabbie to take us back to Baker Street. That cabbie was called Harrison and works out of the Carrow yard. He will corroborate our story.'

Lestrade turned to one of the constables at his side.

'Check that out, take my Hansom.'

The constable nodded and rushed over to Lestrade's waiting cab which clattered off down the street.

'To be fair Holmes, Jeffers did say that it was dark and you and Watson were wearing hats and face masks but he said it sounded like you and the gentlemen were the right height and build.'

'Jeffers is to be excused Lestrade, he saw and heard what he was expecting to see and hear and the two men in the cab played on that. I'm beginning to suspect what may have occurred here last night. May I go in and examine the scene?'

'Against my better judgement Holmes, I think you should. It looks to me like someone is trying to set you up.' Lestrade stood back and with an outstretched hand showed Holmes down the path to the front door, which stood open.

'Your men have down their usual good job of making it look like a large stampede has progressed down the path Lestrade. You have seen many a time how much data can be gleaned from the very off just by carefully examining the path and yet you continue to let them tramp their regulation boots up and down.'

'Go easy Holmes, until we hear from this fellow you are still officially suspects.' Replied Lestrade defensively.

'Very well,' replied Holmes, bending to examine the grass either side of the door, 'and besides, these footprints here are not police issue boots. Several men, perhaps as many as ten, stood here before the morning frost formed, shuffling their feet. They were either cold, or nervous, or both.'

Holmes indicated a number of footprints in the trampled down grass.

'That is probably why our two impersonators dismissed Jeffers instead of asking him to wait. It wouldn't do to have him witness the arrival of these other men. It wouldn't suit the story they were weaving, and these men wouldn't want witnesses around. May we?'

Holmes indicated inside and Lestrade nodded.

'The body is in the front room just off to your right Holmes. The undertaker hasn't been to collect it yet. We have yet to identify the man so we have no idea of any arrangements he may have made, but also, well, I felt sure there was going to be nothing to this statement from the cabbie and I wanted you to take a look if I'm perfectly honest.'

Holmes stopped short momentarily and looked Lestrade in the eye. For the merest glimpse I thought I saw the tiniest flicker of emotion in my friend's face.

'Thank you Lestrade.' Said Holmes, quietly.

As soon as it was said he snapped quickly back to the case as if the exchange had never happened and entered the room on the right containing the body. He moved only far enough into the room to allow Lestrade and myself to follow him in and stand beside him as he took in the scene. The room was sparsely furnished with only a single large rug on the floor which left a sizeable margin of bare board around the room. There was a pair of mismatched but expensive chairs at the fire place and two or three fine ornaments on the mantle but the painted walls were unadorned. A side table in the Italian style stood beside one of the chairs and upon it was an opened box of what looked to be assorted fine cigars. There was nothing else in the room - nothing that is but the, obviously dead, body of a man, lying in the middle of the floor.

He lay on his back, arms stretched out, and had suffered a number of stab wounds, the consequence of which was that the front of his white dress shirt was now wholly red. A large black stain spread across the rug and still fastened around his throat was a high collared cape.

'The Cad!' I said, quietly.

'Indeed Watson.' Replied Holmes as he proceeded to slowly circle the body, avoiding the large blood stain on the rug, 'What do you make of the stab wounds?'

After receiving a nod of permission from Lestrade I advanced on the body and knelt to examine the ragged holes in his shirt. In my adventures with Holmes I had, sadly, come to learn that much can be gleaned about the murderer from the wounds he inflicts on his victim, such as height, strength, which hand he favours and sometimes, even gender. The wounds on the Cad's body however were confusing. They didn't even appear to be made by the same weapon. I struggled for some minutes trying to knit together some pattern or useful data but failed. My confusion must have been evident from my face.

'Yes, Watson, there is no pattern is there? I would even venture to suggest that of the 10 wounds in the chest, two were made with the left hand while the rest were made with the right hand. And the blade used to finally dispatch the fellow with the wound across the throat was wholly different to any used on the chest.'

'I can't help but agree Holmes.' I said as I stood up, realising that I had now discharged my responsibilities in this part of the investigation.

'May I examine the cloak Lestrade.' Holmes asked.

'You may Mr Holmes, although none of your tricks, I want to see anything you find and keep your front to me at all times, just so that I can see everything's in order!'

Holmes smiled but followed Lestrade's instructions. First he crouched and lifted one side of the cape and felt inside. After a few seconds he found what he was looking for and removed the small leather pouch, holding it up so that Lestrade could see it clearly. He undid the strap and pulled out the ointment jar, the lid of which was still secured. Holmes opened the lid and sniffed the lotion but no expression crossed his face. He replaced the lid and jar then handed the pouch to Lestrade.

'Keep that safe Inspector.'

Lestrade turned the pouch over in his hand and then put it into his deep trenchcoat pocket. Holmes then turned his attention to the other side of the cape but, mindful of Lestrade's request, instead of moving around so that his back would be to the Inspector, he reached across the body and flipped the cape open so that the lining was visible to us all. There was a large pocket sewn into the cape which had been secured with a single button.

'Inspector, would you be so kind as to check that pocket.'

Lestrade bent down and put his hand into the pocket.

'It's empty Holmes,' the Inspector replied then checked himself, 'no, wait, there's something at the bottom.'

The Inspector withdrew his hand and opened it to us.

'What's this? Looks like hair, perhaps a lock of hair come loose or something. Curly and dark, almost like pubic hair.'

Holmes and I shared a look as the Inspector tucked the hair back in the pocket and stood up. 'Have you drawn any conclusions Holmes?' Lestrade asked.

'I have three working hypotheses at present Inspector, though one seems to adhere to the available date more than the other two – may I have a look around the rest of the house?'

'Of course Holmes, but you'll find little of interest. Most of the rooms are empty and a bit derelict, especially upstairs. The room across the hall is set out after the fashion of a bedroom and curiously there is a well tended conservatory out the back with a number of exotic plants. Perhaps this chap was a plant collector and the valuable plants are a motive? The robbers got disturbed before they could load up their treasure and ran off into the night?'

'It is a possibility Lestrade, you have taken all the elements and weaved them into a narrative it is true. But you are on completely the wrong course.'

Holmes was merely stating the facts as he saw them, as usual, but Lestrade gritted his teeth at the rebuke nonetheless and followed Holmes on his inspection of the barely furnished house in a slightly darker temper. After making an especially careful examination of the plants in the conservatory Holmes was heading back to the front door of the house when the constable that Lestrade had dispatched in his Hansom returned with a broad smile on his face.

'I tracked down the cabbie Harrison and he confirms that he took Mr Holmes and Dr Watson home last night and the times agree. The records in Carrow's yard also agree.'

Lestrade looked somewhat relieved, Holmes merely nodded.

'There is one other thing Mr Holmes,' said the constable, 'Jeffers asked me to give you his apologies for any trouble he has caused you.'

'A mere trifle,' replied Holmes, 'if my thinking is correct in so far as what lies behind this unhappy situation then he was understandably misdirected by a concerted effort to conceal the actual crime that is taking place as we speak.'

'Taking place Holmes? The man is already dead, are you saying more lives are in danger. Constable, get everyone from the house and get the drivers ready to move.'

'No Lestrade, no, there is no need to prepare a raiding party. Well, not yet anyway. If I am correct this murder was merely a necessary part of a larger and more insidious plot, but there is little we can do now, we will have to wait for circumstances to conspire to give us another opening. For now Lestrade, if you have no objection, may Dr Watson and I return to Baker Street?'

'Of course Holmes, Dr Watson, you are officially no longer suspects in the case, and please, use my Hansom with my apologies.'

'A kind offer Lestrade but I think we would enjoy the walk Watson, eh? ' said Holmes as he walked up the path, with me trailing behind, 'Besides, it makes a strange noise.'

We walked to Baker Street enjoying the heatless winter sunlight and leaving Lestrade looking somewhat perplexed.

Spring was weaving its restorative miracle on the great city of London and, although the full erotic power of the events we had witnessed at the house of the Minister for European Trade just before Christmas was still seared deeply on my mind, Holmes and I had discussed little of the events and his conclusions around the murder of the Cad, in which we had been implicated. If I tried to raise the issue in conversation he would bat it away with a wave of his hand or merely go as far as to say that the trail was cold and that nothing could be done until more data came to light. Lestrade's efforts at identifying either killer or victim had gone unrewarded and the man had been buried in an unmarked grave in an unfashionable cemetery. There had been no mourners.

A number of trifling cases had passed through the cluttered sitting room of 221B Baker Street during the early months of the New Year, none of which either taxed or entertained Holmes. He spent many of the days surveying the newspapers in his ever-present quest for his treasured data, often clipping articles out and filing them in his impenetrable system of books and folders, and then spent as many of the days merely sitting and smoking or scraping on his violin, conserving, he would say, his mental energy for when it was needed the most. For my part, the good health that my patients had enjoyed before Christmas had obviously gone the way of the snow and ice of winter and, bizarrely, now that the weather was improving, so their health was failing and my practice kept me away from Baker Street for long stretches.

One particularly fine morning I found myself calling on a patient within walking distance of Baker Street so, eschewing a cab ride, I decided to call on my friend for some of Mrs Hudson's excellent coffee. After exchanging pleasantries with my former landlady I entered the sitting room on the first floor to find Holmes sat, once more, in his favoured chair, carefully examining a sheet of paper.

'Morning Holmes.'

He didn't reply but handed me the sheet of paper and proceeded to prepare his pipe. The paper appeared to be a page torn from a large notebook. There was a crude sketch of a woman at the top, annotated with descriptions of notable features, almost like autopsy notes. Two birthmarks on her left arm, a mole under her right breast and prominent labia. In neat handwriting below the sketch were the following notes.

'The Lady Fraserburgh

Pleasantly chubby with ponderous hanging breasts which I have coached her to use to quite spectacular effect when encasing my cock. Those fleshy pillows are her most obvious and entertaining feature. She seems to find me splashing them with my seed amusing and has taken to rubbing it in to her skin, commenting that it is her most favourite skin preparation.

She has a willing but unskilled mouth, despite my attempts at improving her skills. I let her suck me off now and again but only because she begs to and never for very long. I'm more interested at getting at those titties myself.

At her age her fanny is getting a little slack, but then I might have had something to do with that! I doubt her husband derives much pleasure from it these days, she says he isn't exactly blessed in the cock stakes. I have forbidden her to entertain him with her titty skills, those are for me only.

As she gets older I will use her less and less but she has been generous in the past and when younger sport is unavailable she is a warm, grateful and comfortable 'bed' for the night.'

Underneath, in looser writing, was a later addendum:

'Died, September 18xx, left me a pocket watch. Raised a disappointing amount at auction.'

'The Cad's diary?' I asked

'A page of it, yes. Lord and Lady Fraserburgh are both dead, leaving distant heirs, so that page is of little power now. It's merely an example, proof of ownership as it were.'

'You have the diary?!'

'Unfortunately not, it is proof of ownership sent to me this morning by private messenger. A number of messengers actually; I managed to trace back three of them before the trail went cold.'

'Why now? Months after it was stolen?'

'Because it has taken me this long to work out where it is, who has it, and what they are planning to do with it, and they are trying to warn me off.'

He stood up from his chair and walked over to the table where I was sitting with my coffee, his eyes once again glinting as they only do when, as he puts it, the game is afoot, and reclaimed the page from me. He walked back to the fireplace, folding the page in four and stowing it in his waistcoat pocket.

'Are you ready to enlighten me now then Holmes?' I asked.

'I think it only fair Watson, for when I have put the bones of the case before you I have a favour to ask you that you may find difficult to grant, but I fear that the fate of the country may rest upon it.'

Knowing that my attention was now fully engaged he relit his pipe, took two dramatic puffs to build the tension, then began.

'The Cad's Diary was always something that was at the back of my mind Watson, no student of the criminal and the unusual could fail to be intrigued by it, and of course, there was always the danger of it falling into nefarious possession, like Milverton, but whoever the Cad was, he seemed indisposed to profit from his knowledge through anything as base as blackmail. It was my deduction therefore that he was driven solely by the allure of other, more powerful, men's wives and the Diary, through the rumoured knowledge of its existence, was his protection. His conquests, who followed his wishes slavishly, would supply him with gifts and trinkets enough that he may live as comfortably as he desired in the singular house in which we saw his body and, as a socialite without compare he was able to dine out every evening and, ah, entertain himself shall we say, whenever he chose.'

'I had been collecting oddments of information regarding the Diary and the man himself, but little of any consequence until a few months ago when I received the tip off that led us to our little adventure at the house of the Minister for European Trade. Of that evening I'm sure I do not have to refresh your memory. But what of the killing of the Cad, you will remember that there was a confusion of wounds upon the body.'

'Yes Holmes, it appeared to be a frenzied attack by an assailant using different weapons in each hand.' I had cast my mind back to the sad demise of this arch-seducer.

'Or, as suggested by the footprints of the assembly at the door, a group of men Watson. I surmised that a group of men whose wives all appeared in the pages of the book had been led by one man, who had finally identified the Cad, to wreak the ultimate revenge. All in it together, all with a hand in the murder but led by one particular man.'

'The man who slit his throat?'

'Exactly Watson. The coup de grace which finally dispatched the man that had caused them such trouble. None of them could talk lest they would be implicating themselves in the murder, and as a further muddying of the water, we were implicated by the simple use of body doubles in the darkness of a London night. By the time that confusion was sorted out, they assumed, there would be distance between them and the crime, time enough for alibis and cover stories to be sorted out.'

'A very good plan Holmes, but you said that the crime was ongoing, yet you paint a picture of a complete story, a neatly packaged ending.'

'And so the conspirators probably thought Watson, but the coup de grace was an act of a ruthless but heartless man. One who had plotted far beyond the simple act of murder, one who had seen the crime for the opportunity that it was.'

Holmes was speaking rapidly but with flourish now, carried away by the narrative he was weaving. When he was talking of the events of the night and the murder I was able to compare my own theories with his and keep up but now he was venturing into places unknown and I sat enthralled, my coffee untouched, as Holmes surrendered to his love of the dramatic, pacing the room as he unravelled the strands of the story.

'The ringleader must have been the first to retrieve the Diary, the others, pulled along on the adventure as participants but not instigators would have been naturally reticent after their first hand involvement in the death of the man. I can even imagine him holding it aloft like a trophy and giving it due reverence. But instead of destroying it as he had more than likely promised, he spirited it away, took control of it, and used it for the one thing that the Cad never did – outright and blatant blackmail.'