The Investigations of Sherlock Holmes Read online

  People do not always take kindly to a stranger buying his way in to them, my informant told me, to which I could not but agree. Fitt assured me, however, that any resentment in the village towards the newcomer had not lasted long. The new chandler of Hyde showed himself from the first willing to fit in with the village as he found it. He even left the name of Meredith over the door, adopting, for simplicity’s sake, the name of Meredith for himself. Lacking experience in the business, he kept Mr Fitt on, appointing him manager, with an increase in salary. At the same time he engaged Mrs Fitt to come in twice a day as housekeeper. Meredith né Timney proved to be a most considerate employer and colleague, and came to be universally accepted and respected in the village.

  I considered that I had been given a pretty good account of Meredith, but, mindful of Holmes’s injunction to leave no stone unturned, I asked if Fitt had noticed in his employer any peculiarities, anything out of the way in his behaviour or manner. Not at all, came the answer. Mr Meredith was a straightforward fellow as you were likely to meet, and, in his quiet way, friendly to all. To all except maybe the holiday folk, amended Fitt; his employer was somewhat uneasy with the crowds who came down in the Summer. But then, he added, most of the Hyde folk were of a like persuasion, himself included.

  It only remained to ask if Fitt had any objection to my talking to his wife about the matter. He had none, but asked if I would forgive him if he continued his work and left me to go to the house alone and make my own introductions to Mrs Fitt. He pointed out to me his house, which was only a minute’s walk away. I set off, and when I glanced back through the window I saw him take a pencil stub from behind his ear, lick it, and return to the ledger, the very picture of a village shopkeeper.

  A few steps across the sunny street brought me to the house I had been shown. I pulled at the door-bell, and was answered by a matron in about her fiftieth year, of a dark, italianate colouring, with neatly dressed silver hair.

  “Dr Watson, madam,” I said, removing my hat. “Have I the pleasure of addressing Mrs. Josiah Fitt?”

  “Oh,’ she gasped, “What has happened to Mr Meredith, pray?”

  “No, Mrs Fitt, I bring no news of Mr Meredith,” I answered. “But I am enquiring into the circumstances of his recent accident, and your help would be inestimable. I have just spoken with your husband at the shop. Would you have the kindness to spare me a few moments yourself?”

  “You’d better come in, sir. In here, if you please,” she added, opening the door of the parlour. Noticing her apron and her busy air, I suggested that if she preferred to continue with her work, I would be happy to sit in the kitchen with her. “If you wouldn’t mind, sir. Then I can carry on with the peas as we talk.” So into the kitchen we went. I sat on a wooden chair in the corner, and Mrs Fitt resumed her seat at the table. Before her on the table stood a large pile of full pea-pods and a basin.

  She leaned forward, with a smile on her kindly face and a pea-pod in her hand:

  “Now, Dr Watkins, what do you want to know about poor Mr Meredith?”

  I asked her if there had been anything out of the ordinary in Meredith’s behaviour in the days before his mishap.

  She shook her head. “No, sir. Nothing of that sort, I’m sure.”

  “And sea-bathing - is that an unusual thing for him to do?”

  “Oh no, bless you. Mr Meredith is not a man to sit all day at his desk. Every morning he takes his constitutional before opening the shop, and likewise in the evening. Rain or shine, it makes no difference to him. Many is the time I’ve seen him at evening after his work is done striding out into the rain in his oilskins, and he’ll come back hale as you like, ready for a good hot supper.”

  “And he is an habitual swimmer in the sea too?”

  “He is. Not every day, and not in the winter months, of course, though there are some who do, but on a summer’s day he would think nothing of swimming in the sea an hour or half-an-hour, perhaps, in the morning, or especially he likes to bathe in the heat of the day while Josiah keeps shop.”

  “He is a strong swimmer, then?”

  “Yes - not when we first came here, mind you; in those days I would look out the back window and there he was, poor man, splashing and floundering in the waves like a fish in a landing-net!” Mrs Fitt smiled at the memory. “But he persevered, and now he slips through the water like an eel.”

  “Mrs Fitt, does it strike you as remarkable that a swimmer as strong as he should have come to difficulties?”

  “It did surprise, me, sir, when I heard. But then the sea roundabout here is so treacherous, even for a strong swimmer, and the Blore Sands is the worst of all.” Mrs Fitt looked me in the eye. “Everybody here knows the Sands for what they are. The tide comes in so fast over the shallows that a soul can find himself marooned, there on a flat with the sea running in all around him. That’s where they drown, you see. With the sea up to their breast and the flat under their feet, they think themselves safe, but when the sea reaches up to their chin, and the waves lift them off their feet, they fall into a panic, and in their fear they strike out to reach the shore. But then off the flat, they find its another matter. Those channels run deep, with the sea rushing along in a flood, and it sweeps them off and away, like a twig down a stream. Why Mr Meredith chose to swim there in the Bay, of all places, I cannot imagine.”

  “Where did he normally swim, then? Did he have a favourite place?”

  “Yes, sir, that he did. He swam here in Hyde; you could see him from the chandlery window. You see, Whitsea itself is so crowded in the summer, and besides, most of the beach there is reserved for the ladies. After Whitsea, and before Hyde, are the Sands - the Blore Sands, I mean - and nobody much will swim there, so here is best, as well as being close.”

  “Yet yesterday he swam in Blore Bay. I wonder why?”

  “Well, as I say, sir, I don’t know why. A breakwater marks off the Sands from the waters of Hyde, and I’ve never before known Mr Meredith swim on the wrong side of it.” For the first time in our interview Mrs Fitt stopped shelling peas. She put her pea-pod down and leaned forward. “This side is the safe side, they say. But I’ve never been so sure of that. The flats and shallows here are so treacherous; a storm may come and shift the sand and make new currents and rip-tides where nobody saw them before. So, you see, where are the safe beaches? There isn’t a furlong of coast from Felixstowe to the Wash that’s truly safe - that’s my opinion.” Mrs Fitt shook her head. “I’ve always worried for Mr Meredith, swimming as he does. And now this happens.” With a sigh she picked up her pod and resumed her work.

  I went on to ask her about the rescue attempt of the previous day, but she had not witnessed anything herself. As far as she had heard, Meredith had gone into the sea at Blore Bay, where there were very few people on the beach, and nobody nearby, except, luckily, Mr Brown. He must have seen Meredith in trouble and had gone in to help him. Meanwhile Mr Meredith’s cries and splashes had drawn the few people walking on the sand into a small crowd at the water’s edge. Eventually the rescuer had had to give up, and swim back to shore. At first he had wished simply to return to his lodgings. He had not wanted any fuss made over what he had done, saying it was no more than any other man would have done. A coastguard soon arrived on the spot, however, and insisted on checking the man was unharmed. His good health established, and his particulars left with the coastguard, the modest Brown retired to his lodgings in Whitsea.

  We had both finished our allotted tasks: my questions were answered, and Mrs Fitt’s peas were shelled. I thanked her for her help and made my farewell. Outside my driver was still waiting in the shade of a tree, and we drove back to Whitsea as briskly as we had come.

  The Swan Hotel, Whitsea, where Holmes and I had arranged to meet, was an old inn furnished with a fine modern portico. On entering, I found myself in a lobby crowded with holiday-makers. Some sat in armchairs and settees, s
ome were booking in or booking out at the mahogany reception desk, and some stood in family groups with their luggage and straw hats and shrimping-nets, while in and out among them scurried maids and waiters and porters. I was a long time seeking Holmes amid the crowd before finally I saw him at the far end of the lobby, behind a veritable jungle of potted palm, fern, and aspidistra, watching like a leopard through the foliage. I made my way through the throng to join him on the settle. As I recounted what I had learned that morning he listened with closed eyes, giving no response save an occasional nod of the head. “All much as I expected,” he said when I had finished my resumé.

  I was not a little disappointed at this reception. “I am glad that my morning’s work has enabled me to tell you what you already knew.”

  “It has done more than that, Watson. It has confirmed what until now I only suspected. Of what use to me is mere suspicion? Knowledge is what I need, and thanks to your researches I have it. My own researches, on the other hand, have not been very fruitful.”

  From the Railway Tavern, Holmes told me, he had gone first to the sexton of St Olaf’s, and was in turn directed to the doctor who had attended upon Meredith. The doctor confirmed that he had been summoned last night to St Olaf’s church hall, where Meredith lay. The patient was exhausted and in a slight fever, but had not in the doctor’s opinion inhaled water or fully lost consciousness for any length of time. The likelihood was therefore that he had been swept out to sea in a weakened condition, and kept himself afloat until the tide and his own efforts had brought him ashore. He had two contusions on the head, probably caused by being dashed against a rock.

  When Meredith’s identity was discovered, early in the morning, Mr and Mrs Fitt, being those who knew him best, were promptly informed. Meredith was not known to have any family. Mrs Fitt came to see him in the church hall, and once it was established that he was out of danger, she returned home to prepare for his return. Shortly after she left, Brown, the rescuer, came in. The churchwarden’s account to Holmes of that meeting, and of Meredith’s strange behaviour, did not differ from that given to me by Mrs Meredith.

  Holmes leaned back on the settle. “We have collected most of the information we can, I think. Brown’s recent visit to the church hall left no trace, beyond the splinters of the lamp flung at him, and naturally two tides have effaced all footprints left in the sand at Blore Bay yesterday. Those footprints may indeed have had a story to tell, Watson. A strange story, of the two men entering the sea and the one returning. However, for all that some gaps in our intelligence remain, little by little the picture becomes clearer.

  “There remain three people who might throw more light on this affair: Byrd, the man who found Meredith lying on the beach; Brown, the rescuer; and Meredith himself. I fancy that Meredith, who knows most, will have least to say. Would you care to pay a visit to the man Byrd who stumbled upon Meredith? In the meantime I shall see if I can find the elusive Mr Brown. Perhaps he will have something interesting to tell us. Then, I think, the time for enquiries will be over, and it will be time for action. This affair is coming to a crisis, Watson. Death has almost struck once, and I have little doubt that it will threaten again. We must be vigilant.”

  I was still unable to follow my friend’s reasoning. “Perhaps the heat is making me more than usually slow, but I cannot see where the dangers and complications lie. Surely the case is quite straightforward: a drowning accident has been narrowly avoided, and the man who had cheated death is now past danger and safely on the way back to health.”

  “You know the facts as well as I do. Do you truly think it all so straightforward? Consider the broken lamp, Watson. Consider Timney’s change of name. Consider his bathing at Blore Bay, and the contusions on his head.

  “I must leave you to ponder these matters at your leisure; for the present, we are not at leisure. We must finish our enquires here post haste and return to Hyde. Meredith must not be left unguarded.”

  “Of course, Holmes. I put myself at your disposal.”

  “Thank you, Watson. Your help is invaluable. Try to locate, if you would, this fellow Byrd. He lives in a cottage by the western end of the jetty, near the fishermen’s chapel. Afterwards, follow on to Hyde, where we shall meet.”

  I had no difficulty in finding Byrd, who was at home in his cottage, but my interview with him added little to what we already knew. He told me that he walked with his dog Dodger across the sands at day-break or earlier every day, and that the previous day, before it was well light, Dodger, running ahead, had found what appeared to be a dead seal washed up on the sand. On coming closer, Byrd saw that it was the body not of a seal, but of a man. He was standing before the corpse, wondering what to do, when it got up onto its hands and knees. This alarming turn of events decided him to call for help, and he hurried along the beach to where some fishermen were preparing their boat for the tide. One of them went into the town for help, while Byrd returned to watch over the drowned man. He was soon relieved of his watch by the fisherman, accompanied by the sexton. The two men took the drowned man away on a makeshift stretcher. He had said nothing, nor made any sign, Byrd assured me in response to my questions. When I was satisfied that there was no further information to be had, I left the old fisherman and his dog in their cottage, and headed back in a four-wheeler to Hyde.

  There I met Holmes as he arrived on foot, having walked along the shore from Whitsea. As we approached the chandlery, we compared our findings. Holmes’s results were even more meagre than my own. He had failed to find Brown, the man who had tried to save Meredith from the waves; and when I asked him if he had learned anything from his walk along the Blore Sands, he answered only that the entire stretch of coast consisted of a great deal of sand, and nothing else.

  We knocked on the chandlery door, and Mrs Fitt admitted us. Mr Meredith was lying on a wooden chest, fitted out as a kind of day-bed. A thick blanket lay over him, and his temples were bandaged.

  “Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have work to do,” said Mrs Fitt. “I shall be in the scullery if you need me.” The door closed behind her.

  “I am pleased to see you back in your home, Mr Meredith,” said Holmes. “You already appear much improved since this morning in the hospital. This is my friend and colleague Dr Watson, who is assisting me in this matter.”

  Meredith stretched up his hand. “How do you do, Dr Watson? I am grateful to you gentlemen for having taken an interest,” he continued, “and I am relieved that the matter is concluded. I don’t wish to be inhospitable, but complete rest is what I have been prescribed, and I that is what I shall have until my health is returned. My housekeeper will see to that.”

  “Very good, Mr Meredith,” answered Holmes. “There are one or two aspects of this matter which are still unclear to me, however. Will you be kind enough to satisfy my curiosity on a few points before we leave you?”

  “I shall do my best.”

  “What did Brown strike you with?”

  Meredith looked astonished. He opened his mouth but no answer came.

  “Come now, you must surely have noticed.”

  Meredith found his voice, albeit querulous. “I cannot understand you. The gentleman did his best to save me from drowning.” Anger gathered in his pale face, and he pointed a shaking finger at Holmes. “I have a question for you, though. Who are you, you and your friend here? And by what right do you come here and poke your noses in my affairs?”

  Holmes smiled. “I admire your spirit, Mr Samuel Meredith or Timney, but it won’t do. To answer your questions: I am Sherlock Holmes, the private detective, and my friend and colleague here is Dr Watson, late of the Indian Army. We poke our noses into your affairs, my good sir, in order to save either you or your old acquaintance from murdering the other. Before we go any further, Mr Meredith, let me make one thing clear to you. It may help to put your mind at rest. My colleague and I are here as private citizens, no
more. At present the police are not involved, and if this matter is cleared up satisfactorily, there is no reason why they should be.”

  Meredith stared up at Holmes, anger, confusion and fear contending for expression on his face.

  “Do not distress yourself by further denial, I beg you,” continued Holmes. “Perhaps if I put the facts before you, you will understand that the game is up. You will tell me if I go wrong at any point in my account.”

  Holmes drew up a chair close to Meredith’s day-bed and began his narrative, counting off each stage of the story on his fingers.

  “Twelve years ago you came here in an attempt to start your life anew. You were successful. At first you lay low, but as the years went by you began to feel more secure. Then yesterday, as you came out of the sea from your morning swim, you were suddenly confronted by a face from the evil days of your past. This Brown - I shall trouble you for his true name a little later - is a dangerous man, and he was armed. The two of you walked along the shore towards the Blore Sands, he holding his pistol. When you reached the Blore Sands he forced you at pistol-point into those treacherous waters. He followed, and you fought in the waves. Two blows to the head blacked you out, whereupon he pushed you out into a rip-tide. As you were being swept out to sea, Brown swam back to the shore and passed himself off as a would-be rescuer.

  “When you came to, you found yourself out at sea and moving further out in a strong tide. But you had strength enough to save yourself from drowning, and eventually you fetched up on the shore, more dead than alive. They carried you to a sick-bed where you were nursed back to health. But the horrors were not over. As you lay helpless in bed, the man who had tried to kill you came into your room. In fear for your life you threw the lamp to keep him at bay and shouted until someone came in, and he had to leave.