The Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

‘The Lomases do not seem to think so. Indeed they are most anxious for us to stay and help towards securing their father’s release. Now, I am sure that the authorities have a good reason for keeping me ignorant of this affair, equally I am certain that you have your own motives, despite the successful conclusion to the matter of the Egyptian gargoyle. If we work together, though, I am sure we can bring about the release of an innocent man.’

‘You are so certain of his innocence?’ Fowler asked, raising one eyebrow quizzically.

‘As certain as I am that you have no intention of leaving for London today!’ Holmes replied.

‘Ah, your marvellous theories, once again,’ Fowler responded.

‘What might appear to be theories to an untrained and chaotic mind, are, to the logical reasoner, nothing more than simple observations. For example, just one glance at your face and the results of the haphazard use of a blunt razor blade indicates to me that you have no intention of meeting your superiors today, nor, therefore, of leaving Leigh-on-Sea.’ Holmes concluded.

‘That is all very well,’ Fowler responded with some bitterness. ‘However, I see little reason to favour Lomas’s drink-fuelled version of events over that of the redoubtable Nathaniel Garside. Surely a man of logic, such as yourself, must dismiss the idea of a ship, the size of the Alicia, disappearing in a patch of mist!’

Holmes sipped disdainfully from his coffee cup. ‘Inspector Fowler, perhaps you would be better served if you cultivated the ability to isolate the source of your information from the absolute truth. The fact that the source is from the mouth of an elderly seaman with a bent towards drink has clearly prejudiced your judgement. I am certain that you would not be in such a hurry to depart for London, with your work incomplete, if you had met the two witnesses who are both willing and able to corroborate Lomas’s story.’

At these words Fowler leant forward on his desk and now seemed to view Holmes without any of the disdain that he had been displaying so far.

‘Mr Holmes,’ Fowler replied. ‘I must tell you that at the time of our earlier collaboration I viewed your involvement in the case with both scepticism and resentment. However, events and conversations with Inspector Lestrade, have since corrected that point of view. Equally, I am sure that a man of your unique talents and abilities considered me as nothing more than an inefficient oaf, stumbling around blindly in search of my own misguided view of the truth.’

Holmes shuffled uneasily in his chair, never comfortable when confronted with compliments, whilst Fowler continued:

‘However, I must assure you that whatever my shortcomings might be as a detective, I am hard-working and diligent and, above all else, a believer in justice and the truth.’

Clearly moved, by Fowler’s fervent declarations, Holmes bowed his head with a smile and said: ‘I am most reassured to hear you say so, Inspector Fowler.’

‘As to the matter at hand, I must admit that I have been harbouring my own misgivings as to the manner in which this case has been conducted, even before your arrival in Leigh.’ Fowler stated bluntly.

‘Ah! Now to the crux of the matter.’ Holmes now abandoned his attempts to consume his coffee, lighting a cigarette instead whilst that familiar glint lit up his grey eyes once again. ‘Exactly what has caused these feelings of misgiving?’

‘To begin with, my presence here has seemed to be both superfluous and, indeed, unwanted. The searches for the Alicia were conducted prior to my arrival without, I might add, the involvement of the local coastguard, solely at the instigation and under the auspices of Nathaniel Garside. Any attempts I have made at extracting information from the local force have been met with obstructions and my superiors at the Yard have instructed me to tread softly and not to intrude upon the deep sense of loss felt by the whole community. The incarceration of Lomas seems to have been for precisely that reason alone, with only his immediate family raising any objection to this at all!

I could not contain myself for another moment. ‘I simply do not understand! Is there nobody involved, other than the Lomases and yourself, who wants to discover the truth? Surely the families of the lost seamen want to know the true fate of the Alicia?!’ I exclaimed.

‘For many seamen the very nature of their work precludes the comforts of a traditional family life. In the case of the Alicia, neither Captain Johnson nor any of his small crew was married,’ Fowler replied.

‘That is most convenient,’ Holmes mumbled quietly to himself. However, before either Fowler or myself could query Holmes’s strange comment he slapped his palms down hard on the edge of Fowler’s desk, then jumped suddenly to his feet and proclaimed; ‘Gentlemen, we shall have to build this case for ourselves, in spite of any obstructions strewn in our path! Are you up for it Inspector, bearing in mind the detrimental effect it might have on your career?’

‘I should be honoured, Mr Holmes. Just allow me time to shave, please, there was really no incentive whilst I was merely acting as the appearance of officialdom.’ Holmes nodded his agreement.

‘Then I propose a bracing walk by the harbour. Who knows what we might discover by the shore!’

Holmes and I waited enviously in the lobby of Fowler’s hotel while he set urgently about his toilet. We discovered that the original building, the Peter Boat Inn had burnt to the ground in ’92, whereupon it was revealed that its cellar had been used to store the contraband of local smugglers. The inn had been rebuilt as a most splendid hostelry which surely put ours to shame. Perhaps more significantly, we discovered that in the early part of the century, small cutters, otherwise known as ‘Bawleys’, had often been used by smugglers, when not engaged in their lawful employment of cockling.

Within a few minutes, a clean-shaven Inspector Fowler came bounding enthusiastically down the stairs towards us.

‘By the way, Mr Holmes,’ Fowler said hastily as we struck out towards the shoreline, ‘at the time of Lomas’s arrest, there was one dissenting voice, which I omitted to inform you of, namely Edward Burnley, otherwise known throughout the community as “Uncle Ted”. However, I should warn you that his objection to Lomas’s arrest could have had more to do with his opposition to Garside than his belief in Lomas’s innocence.’

‘Which aspect of Garside is Burnley so opposed to?’ Holmes asked, strangely amused by the use of the word ‘opposition’.

‘Oh, the two gentlemen have been rivals for as long as anyone cares to remember. Between them they own and operate nearly every noteworthy business in the area. Garside, for example, is the principal shareholder in the gas company and even instigated the installation of the street lighting. They are for ever running against each other for control of the parish council. However, in all respects, they are as unlike each other as you could ever expect two people to be. Whilst Garside is tall and austere, in his ridiculously high hats, Burnley is short and rotund with a full white beard and a penchant for checked caps and gold watch-chains. Even politically they are fierce opposites. Although held in great affection by the local electorate, Burnley is also regarded by many as being something of an eccentric for holding some of his most liberal opinions, which he is never shy of expressing at every opportunity.’

‘Well,’ I laughed, ‘in some respects you certainly have not wasted your time since you came down here.’

‘Although the relevance of these facts, at this stage, is dubious to say the least.’ Holmes added sternly.

By now we had reached the shore and were strolling along a small beach before reaching the main wharves. As we approached Bell Wharf I was amazed at the volume of traffic that so small a town could generate. The principal supply line, for the area, came by way of barges which were unloaded at Bell Wharf. The supplies were then transported to the town centre by a constant stream of carts and boys with barrows. There was even a small tramline which stretched to the heart of Southend.

We negotiated our way through this traffic with some difficulty, then, having passed a bustling boatyard, found ourselves at the base of the coastguard station.

‘We shall begin our enquiries here!’ Holmes announced.

Fowler and I stared aghast at what Holmes was now proposing. The small wooden office, purporting to be a ‘coastguard station’, was little more than a shack perched on top of a small pier held over the water’s edge by four decaying wooden posts. The staircase, which led to the office door, appeared to be even more precarious, indeed, several missing steps rendered the thing almost impassable and Fowler and I shrugged our shoulders resignedly at the prospect of negotiating them.

To our astonishment Holmes suddenly raced forward and in an instant, was mounting the stairs in just a few