have a moustache, was balding and his hair was different in colour. But any actor worth his salt could easily change all that.'
'But Hugh was a writer, not an actor,' I objected.
'He had been a court advocate,' Holmes said impatiently, 'and few men are better suited to playing a part than barristers. They have the advantage of professional training coupled with constant practice. I once said to you,Watson, that when a doctor goes wrong he is the first of criminals, but I should have added the rider that a practitioner of the law comes a close second.' He gave a grim chuckle. 'I hope I was not unduly prejudiced because I had found his writing slick and meretricious. It puzzled me that, as little better than a hack wordsmith, he had not published a book for some time. With that in mind, I regarded his explanation for haunting his old chambers as less than convincing.'
I raised my eyebrows. 'Surely he was wise to be seeking out fresh stories?'
'If that was so, why had he been silent for so long? I wondered if he was suffering from simple inability to write. It is a curse which, I believe, afflicts many authors. I had rather the impression of a man living on past glories, a pathetic shadow of his former self, hanging around the legal world where he had scored his early successes. A sad man, too, no doubt overtaken by younger men who had not been distracted from their careers by the lure of appearing in print. Did you notice that his cuffs were threadbare?'
'I thought it a Bohemian touch, appropriate enough in a man who had given up his wig for the pen.'
'That is no doubt what he hoped people would think,' Holmes said dismissively. 'He seemed alarmed to see us, which further fuelled my suspicions. Yet he was no fool. How careful he was to portray himself as a man on the brink of renewed success. I could not guess why he would wish harm to his brother – who had, according to Dowling, always envied him. I was concerned for John, but failed to realize that his life was in imminent danger. As soon as he knew of my involvement, Hugh decided that the time had come to perfect his plan.'
'The cold-blooded devil,' I said with a shiver.
'The legal world is small and enclosed. He must have known Bevington and Stewart or known of them and he successfully used them as his dupes. He was intent on creating the impression that his brother was on the downward slope and contemplating suicide. His own visit to Dowling ensured that the calumny seemed credible.Yet in his haste he made a crucial mistake. After he left us, he called on his brother – who had returned home to cool his temper after quitting Essex Street – and pretended to sympathize with him about Dowling's behaviour in calling on my assistance. They had a drink together. When a chance came, he slipped a murderous dose of chloral hydrate into his brother's glass. But in his haste to be away before the poison took effect he forgot to wipe the jar containing the sedative.'
'Leaving his fingerprints on it, then!' I exclaimed.
'As Lestrade has now established, I am glad to say. Do you recall that as recently as last December, Lord Belper's committee of enquiry recommended that Edward Henry's method of identification of criminals by fingerprints be adopted in place of anthropometry and dactylography? The details are in my scrapbook, if you care to consult it. The decision is an excellent one, by the way. Henry is a sound man and he has been kind enough to acknowledge the assistance of a monograph of my own in compiling his textbook for police on the science of fingerprinting. Hugh Abergavenny was back in King's Bench Walk before it occurred to him that it would be prudent to clean the jar. Thankfully, by the time he returned to his brother's rooms, Dowling was on the scene and Hugh had no opportunity to make good his mistake without arousing suspicion.'
'How did you hit upon the truth?'
'By reading the manuscript.The first chapter of the new book was written too beautifully and boasts a plot too original for it to have been the work of a man who could never aspire beyond the pot-boiler. I realized at once that Hugh Abergavenny had lied when he claimed it as his own. It must have been the story which his brother had lent him for an opinion. Hugh told John it was worthless at the same time as he was covertly transcribing it in his own hand.'
Holmes sighed. 'I shall always regret my inability to save John Abergavenny, Watson. There is only the crumb of consolation that his novel will serve as a fitting memorial to him.'
'It is a kind of justice,' I said.
My friend's sallow cheeks flushed. 'And I sincerely trust that Hugh Abergavenny, too, will receive his just deserts when his case comes to trial.
It was a sentiment that I echoed, but the murderer contrived to cheat the law. Five days before his trial, Hugh Abergavenny hanged himself in his prison cell. It emerged that he, rather than his younger brother, had a long history of nervous trouble and he had once before attempted to take his own life, when the last book he managed to complete was rejected by every publisher in London.
The Legacy of Rachel Howells – Michael Doyle
Another very singular case came within my own observation. It was sent to me by an eminent London publisher. This gentleman had in his employment a head of department whose name we shall take as Musgrave. He was a hard-working person, with no special feature in his character. Mr Musgrave died, and several years after his death a letter was received addressed to him, in the care of his employers. It bore the postmark of a tourist resort in the west of Canada, and had the note 'Confl films' upon the outside of the envelope, with the words 'Report Sy' in one corner.
The publishers naturally opened the envelope as they had no note of the dead man's relatives. Inside were two blank sheets of paper. The letter, I may add, was registered. The publisher, being unable to make anything of this, sent it on to me, and I submitted the blank sheets to every possible chemical and heat test, with no result whatever. Beyond the fact that the writing appeared to be that of a woman there is nothing to add to this account. The matter was, and remains, an insoluble mystery. How the correspondent could have something so secret to say to Mr Musgrave and yet not be aware that this person had been dead for several years is very hard to understand – or why blank sheets should be so carefully registered through the mail. I may add that I did not trust the sheets to my own chemical tests, but had the best expert advice without getting any result. Considered as a case it was a failure – and a very tantalizing one.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
'Some personalia about Sherlock Holmes'
Over the years in which I have been associated with Mr Sherlock Holmes many players have appeared on our little stage at 22 lb Baker Street. The appearance of each was, of course, closely scrutinized by Mr Holmes and myself but once the spotlight has shifted these actors have all too often exited through the wings, never to return. I have often wondered what has become of these clients, and those associated with them in the cases which I have recorded – and in the hundreds which still await the attention of a competent biographer.
To this pattern there have been several exceptions. Professor Moriarty is a constant presence: his influence, if not the man himself, is likely to continue; the dark side of human nature will, it seems, be always with us. His colleague Colonel Moran, spectator of the Reichenbach drama, has appeared more than once on our stage as have Inspector Lestrade, his colleagues at Scotland Yard, our dear Mrs Hudson, our page boy Billy, my wife Mary and some few others. Of the majority however we have heard no more. For Sherlock Holmes, whose interest wanes rapidly with the solving of each problem, this is of little moment: friendship, like any other emotion, is to him distractive and to be avoided. To me however the passing of these ephemerae is a matter of regret; I am glad therefore for this opportunity to lay before the public a case which returns to the limelight a woman whose intelligence and avarice – Sherlock Holmes had grievously underrated when he first had occasion to be involved in an investigation in which her wicked hand had played a part. This intriguing affair has not yet been brought to a conclusion. Tracing the final threads, and the identification and arrest of the murderer, whom neither Holmes nor I have yet met face to face, appear likely to provide a bonus: a visit to the Americas, and to the splendid young country of Canada. I have every hope of being accompanied, if the activities of the London criminal permit, by Sherlock Holmes himself.
