Chapter 12 - Misdirection
Sherlock Holmes' confidence in his abilities was sometimes perceived as
arrogance or even as indignation. Oftentimes Holmes would make a simple
statement of fact concerning his faculties that would give the impression of
boasting. This apparent conceit was in fact an objective self-esteem and a
rational evaluation of his talents. His genius was revealed through his logical
mind and through his powers more than by any distorted perception of his ego.
Holmes and Watson left the Opera House and returned to their Baker Street
rooms. Watson was still excited from the magic show. Holmes was in a
contemplative mood. He barely listened while Watson kept talking about the
various illusions Kellar had performed. When they reached the top of the
stairs, Holmes started to unlock the door. Suddenly he stopped.
"Halloa! What's this?" exclaimed he.
"What is it Holmes?"
The detective knelt down on one knee and examined the lock on the door. Then he
put his nose down to the floor and ran the tips of his fingers across the edge
of the carpet.
"Someone has been in our rooms. Stay where you are Watson there may be a trap."
Holmes stood up, slipped his revolver out from beneath his dress coat, opened
the door and cautiously stepped into the sitting room. First he checked the
adjoining rooms to ensure the intruder was not about. Then he examined the
sideboard and Watson's desk, before turning his attentions to his own desk. It
was still locked. Holmes inspected the breakfront and the chemistry table then
he slowly walked around the dining table. He thoughtfully considered each
object upon the table before turning his powers of observation to the
fireplace. Finally he picked up his morocco case where he kept his hypodermic
syringe and gave Watson a knowing smile.
"All is safe Watson. The mischief has been prepared in a fixed-point fashion.
Our saboteur has clearly set the trap to injure only myself," remarked the
detective as he set his revolver down on the mantelpiece.
"How can anyone set a trap and be sure who falls victim?"
"By knowing the habits of his prey."
Holmes picked up his bottle of seven-percent solution and held it up to the
light. Then he walked over to the lab table, picked up a test tube of white
powder and tapped some of the crystals into the bottle. The solution instantly
turned dark brown. Watson was beginning to understand.
"Well Holmes, it seems Menton has attempted an attack at your Achilles' heel.
"A most annoying analogy Watson."
Watson smiled. "How did you know Menton was here earlier? I do not see any
evidence to give clue."
"There are no less than seven separate signs of intrusion not including the
position of your chair."
"My chair?" repeated Watson.
Holmes set down the opiate bottle and walked over to Watson's armchair.
"If you recall, I used this chair as a target for my experiment with the
blowgun. The legs were set on these marks on the floor which I carved using my
penknife. They measure exactly twelve feet from the footstool by the lab
table. As you can now see the chair has been pushed aside."
Watson walked over and looked at the floor as Holmes continued.
"Before we left for the Opera House, I happened to notice the chair was still on
the marks. I wondered to myself how much longer it would be before Mrs. Hudson
noticed my crude handiwork on her nice rug."
"It seems Menton has underestimated you Holmes."
Holmes ignored Watson's compliment. He wrinkled his brow and paced around the
room. He walked back and forth between the fireplace, the front door and
Watson's chair.
"Something is still amiss Watson. Menton left an obvious trail of disruption
from the scratched lock on the door to the pulled stitch of my morocco case. He
carelessly bumped the dining table causing the saltshaker to spill and scuffed
the rug several times with the heels of his boots as he walked. Then he
proceeded to kick the coal scuttle from its black dust outline on the floor as
he rearranged my belongings on the mantelpiece."
"Perhaps such a trail of clues is obvious to you Holmes however..."
"You're missing my point Watson," interrupted Holmes. The path from the door to
the fireplace is a straight one. "Your chair should not have been in his way
yet it has obviously been moved."
Holmes tapped his bottom lip with his forefinger and paced the floor twice
more. Then he stopped and looked up at Watson with a gleam in his eye. Watson
had witnessed that spark in his friend's eyes on several other occasions. It
was always a sign that Holmes had just discovered the missing piece to complete
whatever criminal puzzle was at hand.
"What did Kellar say is a magician's greatest tool Watson?"
"Misdirection?" guessed he.
"Precisely. A magician controls what the audience sees using simple
misdirection and showmanship. While the spectators are watching his right hand,
his left hand does the dirty work."
Holmes reached down and picked up a needle that was secretly lodged, point up,
in the seat cushion of Watson's sitting chair.
"Menton purposely left a trail to my morocco case in an attempt to divert my
attentions from your chair. He apparently wanted to punish me by attacking you
my good fellow."
Watson was both amazed and horrified. He walked over to the breakfront and
nervously poured himself a drink. He drank it standing up.
There was a clumsy knock at the open door and MacDonald stepped in. He was
carrying two large boxes. From the inspector's flushed face and shortness of
breath, Watson figured the boxes to be quite heavy. MacDonald dropped them down
on the floor with a loud thud.
"Well Mr. Holmes, here they be."
"The records from the Liverpool Shipping Office? Excellent."
"These files contain the dock receipts from all the Indian Sea cargo ships for
the past couple of years. It will be a full day's work to look through all of
them."
"More like a full night's work," remarked Holmes as he took off his hat and coat
and rolled up his shirtsleeves.
MacDonald straightened his collar and walked back over to the door.
"If it's alright with ye I'll be turning in. I have to ride to Tunbridge Wells
first thing in the mornin with fresh men to relieve Fisher and Varlander."
"Make sure your men are aware of Menton's capacity to deceive. He may try to
divert your men away from Dr. Kempler. I can tell you from first-hand
experience that Menton is a master of misdirection."
"I'll put me men on guard for any distraction. By the way, I had a wee bit of a
time getting those records. The clerk refused me request to access the files.
He said he didn't care if I was from the Yard and that Customs is an
international body and was not beholding to me laws. So I waited until he went
home for the day, broke into the rooms and lifted the boxes. Try to keep the
files in good order men and I will return them when we have Menton in our
grasp."
Watson was astonished.
"You mean to say you stole the records?" asked he.
"Ye might put it like that."
"Bravo Mr. Mac," praised Holmes. "There is real hope for you."
MacDonald smiled and walked out through the door. Watson hung his hat and coat
on the back of the hall door and walked over to the boxes of papers.
"So what exactly are we looking for?"
Holmes had already ripped the cover off one of the boxes and was eagerly pulling
out files.
"The means by which Menton brought Australian death adder snakes into this
country. I do not believe Customs would approve of such an import. Menton must
have disguised the shipment. Perhaps we can see through his deception and in
the process obtain the fiend's address," explained Holmes.
Watson started a fire while Holmes began sorting the documents. Hours later
after looking over warehouse logs, checking dock receipts and reading packing
lists Watson started to tire. He picked up another batch of papers, stood up
and stretched his back.
"It is horrifying Holmes," stated Watson.
The detective did not look up from the dock receipt he was reading. "What is
horrifying Watson?"
"It is horrifying to imagine Menton becoming so callused as to dig up his wife's
grave, tear off parts of her decayed body, then to send them in the post to his
victims."
Holmes looked up at his companion.
"I have seen crimes of passion surface in a variety of forms Watson. The
greater the love, the more desperate the criminal acts. When the love is
denied, then only hate remains to feed the fire of revenge. The hatred usually
takes the form of a roaring lion or that of a snake. Menton is a snake. His
blowgun is his fang and the decayed corpse of his deceased wife is his rattle.
He warns his victims like an adder by sending parts of her dead body to his prey
before striking."
Holmes lowered his voice to a whisper.
"Then, when all is still, he loads his blowgun and patiently waits in total
darkness until..."
Just then a knot in one of the fireplace logs exploded with an audible POP!
"Whaaat!" cried Watson as he quickly turned around.
Holmes laughed out-loud as the papers Watson was holding flew into the air. The
doctor held his chest and breathed deeply as he caught his breath. A minute
later, without saying a word, he sat back down and started to work again. He
was too embarrassed to voice any objections to Holmes' snickering glances. It
was almost an hour later before Watson broke the silence.
"Here's a possibility," suggested the doctor. "It is from December of last
year... a 'large tin' marked 'DANGEROUS TOXINS' delivered to a post office box
in Sunbury."
Holmes sat up a little and thought for moment.
"It seems suspect Watson however I am afraid that avenue of investigation may
only lead us to crimes not related to our present endeavor. Here is another of
the same sort... delivered two years ago last month... a 'large wooden box
sealed with wax containing medical supplies' which was delivered to the London
Zoo. Let us set them aside for now. If we find no other shed skins in the pit
then we may pursue these."
It was about three o'clock in the morning when Watson fell asleep in the bed of
papers. Holmes was determined to work through the night. He read paper after
paper until he too nodded off around dawn. Both men awoke several hours later.
Watson rubbed his eyes. He was not sure which papers he had checked and which
were still to be read. Holmes grabbed another handful of dock receipts from a
stack to his left and started reading again. Watson threw his hands in the air.
"This is hopeless Holmes."
"Be a good chap and ring for breakfast will you? We could both do with a hot
meal," said he.
Watson stood up and stretched his legs and back. He grumbled something about
the hardness of the floor and walked over to the bell rope. Just then Holmes
jumped up from his heap of papers.
"Hulloa? What have we here? Watson!"
"What is it Holmes?"
"Two large wooden crates from the Australian voyage of the Aberdeen steamer the
Southern Star three months ago. They were noted as having small air
holes and the words 'LABORATORY MICE' stamped on the top and sides."
Watson recalled the box in which Dr. Sanders kept the hospital records, was
marked identically.
"Could Menton have used the same method of bringing venomous snakes into the
country as the research team did three years ago?" suggested he.
"It is quite possible Watson, those mice had a stormy voyage. The crates were
delivered to 110 Brixton Avenue, Blackwall. If you recall, Menton contacted
Bennett in a Blackwall pub to assist in my ambush at Waterloo Station. It is
circumstantial at best but it is all we have. I'll wire Mac and have him bring
his men. We must find Menton before it is too late."
A knock on the door presented Mrs. Hudson with a telegram. After thanking the
woman and opening the dispatch, Holmes turned to Watson.
"Charles Menton has been spotted in the Kent area. He and his sister were seen
last night driving past Kempler's estate by Mac's men. The inspector has not
yet found where Menton is hiding but the fiend must be planning his next attack
on Dr. Kempler. Our presence in Kent is both requested and required. It is
imperative Watson that we assist Mac at once."
"We need to keep Menton from firing his blowgun again."
"On the contrary my good fellow, we need to give him a target."
Holmes stepped into his room and emerged several minutes later carrying a
carpetbag containing costumes and make-up materials.
"Just as a magician will switch one card for another without the spectator being
aware, I will switch with Dr. Kempler and draw Menton from his lair."
"It is too risky Holmes. A poisonous dart in your neck and he will have won."
"I will take precautions Watson. A thick layer of spirit-gum and grease paint
will go far to stop an assault. If we are diligent, we will have our man before
he gets a shot off. Grab your revolver and your medical bag if you would
Watson. We can dine en-route."
An hour-and-a-half later after a light breakfast during the train ride, Holmes
and Watson stepped onto the station platform at Tunbridge Wells. Inspector
MacDonald was there to meet them.
"Kempler is next on his list alright," declared the inspector as he led Holmes
and Watson down the steps to the road leading to town. "Me men have been hidin'
about the area and have spotted the fiend and his sister on several occasions.
The men did not however have the opportunity to get a shot off."
"I pray the police presence has not been detected by the Mentons. It would
destroy our plans to deceive him."
"We have been extremely careful in all regards Mr. Holmes. However, we have a
wee bit of a situation on our hands. Let me begin by telling ye that Dr.
Kempler is a beastly brute of a man. And he is about as stubborn as an Irish
mule. He refuses to hide from Menton or heed any of me advice."
"It is necessary that I meet him in order to prepare my plan of disguise,"
stated Holmes.
"I am afraid that is impossible Mr. Holmes. He made it very clear that he does
not want any policemen around his house and he has threatened to shoot anyone
who comes too close."
"This is most interesting Mr. Mac."
"That's not the worst of it. According to Kempler's neighbor, the man goes to
the Camberwell Episcopal Church every Sunday to listen to his only daughter play
the organ. Kempler's wife died during his daughter's birth twenty-five years
ago. He has no other family."
Inspector MacDonald reached into his upper coat pocket and produced a small
notebook with which he referred.
"His daughter's name is Christina Sellers. She is married, lives in a flat on
Front Street in Camberwell with her husband John. Kempler never misses a Sunday
of Church services and an after-services dinner with his daughter and her
husband. The doctor is extremely proud of his daughter's musical talents. I am
sure no one could stop him from goin' to Church to-morrow to watch her play."
"It's the kind of routine that Menton has capitalized on to attack his victims,"
stated Holmes.
"Is it conceivable to think that he would commit murder in a house of God?"
asked Watson.
"Not only conceivable Watson but probable," replied Holmes.
"What exactly is ye'r plan Mr. Holmes?" asked the inspector.
"I need to get a first hand look at Dr. Kempler. But our first stop is the
telegraph office.
Sherlock Holmes sent two telegrams. The first wire was to Christina Sellers
explaining the danger in which her father was in and explained Holmes' plan to
switch places with Kempler. If she valued her father's life she must play along
with the deception. The second wire was sent to Dr. Kempler disguised as a
telegram from his daughter. She explained that she was invited to play the
pipe-organ at the Episcopal Church in Sunbury and that he was to attend services
there to-morrow to see her play.
Holmes, Watson and MacDonald were hiding in the bushes outside Kempler's house
when the dispatch was delivered. When Kempler came to the door he snatched the
telegram from the delivery boy, looked around the front-yard while he fished in
his pocket, then gave the lad a small tip. It was just enough time for Holmes
to get a good assessment of the man. Kempler was well over six feet in height
and over three hundred pounds in weight. He was bald with a bushy black and
grey beard; bushy black eyebrows and he wore thick spectacles.
The next morning Holmes emerged from his hotel room looking the part.
"Its amazing Mr. Holmes," remarked Inspector MacDonald. Kempler's mother
herself wouldn't be any the wiser."
"Wait until to you see Watson. I had to disguise him as well since Menton knows
us both by sight."
Watson stepped out the room wearing a yellow dress, white shawl and large
bonnet. He wore a gray woman's wig and even shaved his modest mustache for the
occasion. MacDonald laughed out loud.
"In the name of all that is good Doctor ye are truly a man of justice. Or
should I be sayin' a woman of justice."
"Very funny inspector. It was the only other costume which Holmes saw fit to
pack."
"You make a convincing woman Watson," remarked Holmes. "However you need to
work on your walk. Try taking smaller steps and don't move your arms."
Watson walked up and down the hall wearing very tight, high-heeled shoes once to
practice.
"Bravo, my good fellow. I say you have mastered the opposite sex. Let us be on
our way without further delay," stated Holmes.
The three men walked down the steps to the lobby of the hotel. Watson almost
tripped down the stairs walking in heels. All three men looked around
cautiously while Holmes adjusted the bulky padding under his coat. MacDonald
peered outside and noted that it was starting to rain. Then he turned and
nodded to his disguised comrades.
"All clear. Varlander and Fisher who ye already know are dressed in plain
clothes." MacDonald produced his pocket watch from his waistcoat and glanced at
it. "They are by this time at the Church and in place. I also have two more of
me men positioned outside the Church to give ye cover Mr. Holmes. I will
station me-self in the antechamber in the front of the Church."
"Excellent Inspector. While you're standing around, you can say a little
prayer."
The trip to the Episcopal Church was uneventful. It started to rain a little
harder. They arrived just before the service began to minimize the risk of
Holmes having to talk to anyone in the congregation who knew Dr. Kempler. It
was most fortunate that Kempler was not well-liked. Most everyone who Holmes
met as he entered the Church did not address him. For the few people who did
converse, Holmes held a handkerchief to his nose and proclaimed to have a cold
to cover his voice. Watson followed a short distance from Holmes to aide in the
illusion. The doctor was still struggling with his high heels as he walked in
and sat on the other side of the main hall from Holmes. There was no sign of
the Mentons.
The Reverend Elias Manchester delivered the invocation; the opening hymns were
sung; and the collection and announcements were made before the sermon began.
The minister then stood behind a pedestal in the bow of the pulpit, opened his
Bible and looked up to his congregation.
"May God help us understand and heed his words this morning. Amen. As many of
you know I attend the New Testament Conference in Birmingham every year.
It commenced this week and I met several clergymen for the first time as well as
seeing many old friends of the cloth. One Lutheran minister, whom I made a new
acquaintance with, wrote to-day's sermon for us and asked that I deliver it this
morning. His name is Reverend Charles Lowerton of Greenwich."
Holmes sat up in his pew and looked over to Watson as the minister continued.
"The passage I will read is from Corinthians II, Chapter 7, Verse 11."
"For behold this selfsame thing, that ye sorrowed after a godly sort, what
carefulness it wrought in you, yea, what clearing of yourselves, yea, what
indignation, yea, what FEAR, yea, what vehement DESIRE, yea, what ZEAL, yea,
what REVENGE!"
Holmes jumped up on the pew and tore off his bald cap, spectacles and over-sized
coat. The padding under his coat flew into the adjacent pew.
"Watson, the game is afoot!"
Watson stood up, pulled off his wig and high heels and tossed them into the
air. Both men ran to the entrance of the Church. All the people in the
congregation sat with their mouths open in shock. Never had they seen such a
spectacle during a sermon. Varlander and Fisher also jumped out of their pews
and followed Holmes and Watson. The four men met up with MacDonald and ran out
of the Church. A police wagon with fresh horses was hidden across the street,
ready for action. Varlander and Fisher climbed onto the top of the wagon while
Holmes, Watson and MacDonald climbed inside. Fisher snapped the reins and they
headed for Greenwich. Watson worked out his dress and into his clothes as
Holmes pulled at his fake beard.
"I pray we are not too late gentlemen."
When they arrived at the Greenwich Home for Women the rain had stopped and the
sun started to peek through the scattering clouds. Varlander and Fisher stayed
with the wagon as Holmes, Watson and MacDonald ran up the stairs to Miss Emily
Lowerton's apartment. There was no reply to a knock on the door and they were
about to force it open when the Landlady appeared with a key. MacDonald
unlocked the door and threw it open. Emily Lowerton's body lay twisted up in a
knot by an open window. It was a most strange and bizarre sight. The poor
woman was holding an open umbrella outside the window when she took the dart in
her cheek. As she fell backwards into the apartment the umbrella caught on her
sleeve and kept her from falling to the floor. She ended up kneeling on one
knee with her hands held up and clasped together. She appeared as if she were
praying.
No one said a word as they repositioned and covered the body. The landlady
sobbed uncontrollably. Watson tried to console her and led her out of the room
and into the parlour. Then the men walked slowly down to the wagon and informed
the others of the tragedy.
"Where to now Mr. Holmes?" asked Mike Fisher.
Holmes produced a dock receipt from his pocket and unfolded it.
"110 Brixton Avenue, Blackwall."
Chapter 11 |
Table of Contents |
Chapter 13
Printer Friendly Version
Rights Reserved
