Sherlock Holmes In Montague Street Volume 2 (17 page)

“But you haven't told me what has happened,” Holmes began, whereat the lady instantly rejoined, with a shrill pretence of a laugh, “Happened? Why what do you suppose has happened after what I have told you over and over again? My precious husband's gone clean away, that's all. He's deserted me and gone nobody knows where. That's what's happened. You said that if he did anything of that sort you'd take the case up; so now I've come to see if you'll keep your promise. Not that it's likely to be of much use
now.
”

We turned back into Holmes's rooms and Mrs. Geldard told her story. Disentangled from irrelevances, repetitions, opinions and incidental observations, it was this. After the quarrel Geldard had gone to business as usual and had not been seen nor heard of since. After her yesterday's interview with Holmes Mrs. Geldard had called at her husband's office and found it shut as before. She went home again and waited, but he never returned home that evening, nor all night. In the morning she had gone to the office once more, and finding it still shut had told the caretaker that her husband was missing and insisted on his bringing his own key and opening it for her inspection. Nobody was there, and Mrs. Geldard was astonished to find folded and laid on a cupboard shelf the entire suit of clothes that her husband had worn when he left home on the morning of the previous day. She also found in the waste paper basket the fragments of two or three envelopes addressed to her husband, which she brought for Holmes's inspection. They were in the handwriting of the girl Trennatt, and with them Mrs. Geldard had discovered a small fragment of one of the letters, a mere scrap, but sufficient to show part of the signature “Emma,” and two or three of a row of crosses running beneath, such as are employed to represent kisses. These things she had brought with her.

Holmes examined them slightly and then asked, “Can I have a photograph of your husband, Mrs. Geldard?”

She immediately produced, not only a photograph of her husband, but also one of the girl Trennatt, which she said belonged to the cook. Holmes complimented her on her foresight. “And now,” he said, “I think we'll go and take a look at Mr. Geldard's office, if we may. Of course I shall follow him up now.” Holmes made a sign to me, which I interpreted as asking whether I would care to accompany him. I assented with a nod, for the case seemed likely to be interesting.

I omit most of Mrs. Geldard's talk by the way, which was almost ceaseless, mostly compounded of useless repetition, and very tiresome.

The office was on a third floor in alarge building in Finsbury Pavement. The caretaker made no difficulty in admitting us. There were two rooms, neither very large, and one of them at the back very small indeed. In this was a small locked door.

“That leads on to the small staircase, sir,” the caretaker said in response to Holmes's inquiry. “The staircase leads down to the basement, and it ain't used much 'cept by the cleaners.”

“If I went down this back staircase,” Holmes pursued, “I suppose I should have no difficulty in gaining the street?”

“Not a bit, sir. You'd have to go a little way round to get into Finsbury Pavement, but there's a passage leads straight from the bottom of the stairs out to Moorfields behind.”

“Yes,” remarked Mrs. Geldard bitterly, when the caretaker had left the room, “that's the way he's been leaving the office every day, and in disguise, too.” She pointed to the cupboard where her husband's clothes lay. “Pretty plain proof that he was ashamed of his doings, whatever they were.”

“Come, come,” Holmes answered deprecatingly, “we'll hope there's nothing to be ashamed of - at any rate till there's proof of it. There's no proof as yet that your husband has been disguising. A great many men who rent offices, I believe, keep dress clothes at them for convenience in case of an unexpected invitation, or such other eventuality. We may find that he returned here last night, put on his evening dress and went somewhere dining. Illness, or fifty accidents, may have kept him from home.”

But Mrs. Geldard was not to be softened by any such suggestion, which I could see Holmes had chiefly thrown out by way of pacifying the lady, and allaying her bitterness as far as he could, in view of a possible reconciliation when things were cleared up.

“That
isn't very likely,” she said. “If he kept a dress suit here openly I should know of it, and if he kept it here unknown to me, what did he want it for? If he went out in dress clothes last night, who did he go with? Who do you suppose, after seeing those envelopes and that piece of the letter?”

“Well, well, we shall see,” Holmes replied. “May I turn out the pockets of these clothes?”

“Certainly; there's nothing in them of importance,” Mrs. Geldard said. “I looked before I came to you.”

Nevertheless Holmes turned them out. “Here is a check-book with a number of checks remaining. No counterfoils filled in, which is awkward. Bankers, the London Amalgamated. We will call there presently. An ivory pocket paper-knife. A sovereign purse - empty.” Holmes placed the articles on the table as he named them. “Gold pencil case, ivory folding rule, Russia-leather card-case.” He turned to Mrs. Geldard. “There is no pocket-book,” he said, “no pocket-knife and no watch, and there are no keys. Did Mr. Geldard usually carry any of these things?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Geldard replied, “he carried all four.” Holmes's simple methodical calmness, and his plain disregard of her former volubility, appeared by this to have disciplined Mrs. Geldard into a businesslike brevity and directness of utterance.

“As to the watch now. Can you describe it?”

“Oh, it was only a cheap one. He had a gold one stolen - or at any rate he told me so - and since then he has only carried a very common sort of silver one, without a chain.”

“The keys?”

“I only know there
was
a bunch of keys. Some of them fitted drawers and bureaux at home, and others, I suppose, fitted locks in this office.”

“What of the pocket-knife?”

“That was a very uncommon one. It was a present, as a matter of fact, from an engineering friend, who had had it made specially. It was large, with a tortoise-shell handle and a silver plate with his initials. There was only one ordinary knife-blade in it, all the other implements were small tools or things of that kind. There was a small pair of silver calipers, for instance.”

“Like these?” Holmes suggested, producing those he used for measuring drawers and cabinets in search of secret receptacles.

“Yes, like those. And there were folding steel compasses, a tiny flat spanner, a little spirit level, and a number of other small instruments of that sort. It was very well made indeed; he used to say that it could not have been made for five pounds.”

“Indeed?” Holmes cast his eyes about the two rooms. “I see no signs of books here, Mrs. Geldard - account books I mean, of course. Your husband must have kept account books, I take it?”

“Yes, naturally; he must have done. I never saw them, of course, but every business man keeps books.” Then after a pause Mrs. Geldard continued: “And they're gone too. I never thought of
that.
But there, I might have known as much. Who can trust a man safely if his own wife can't? But
I
won't shield him. Whatever he's been doing with his clients' money he'll have to answer for himself. Thank heaven I've enough to live on of my own without being dependent on a creature like him! But think of the disgrace! My husband nothing better than a common thief - swindling his clients and making away with his books when he can't go on any longer! But he shall be punished, oh yes;
I'll
see he's punished, if once I find him!”

Holmes thought for a moment, and then asked: “Do you know any of your husband's clients, Mrs, Geldard?”

“No,” she answered, rather snappishly, “I don't. I've told you he never let me know anything of his business - never anything at all; and very good reason he had too, that's certain.”

“Then probably you do not happen to know the contents of these drawers?” Holmes pursued, tapping the writing-table as be spoke.

“Oh, there's nothing of importance in them - at any rate in the unlocked ones. I looked at all of them this morning when I first came.”

The table was of the ordinary pedestal pattern with four drawers at each side and a ninth in the middle at the top, and of very ordinary quality. The only locked drawer was the third from the top on the left-hand side. Holmes pulled out one drawer after another. In one was a tin half full of tobacco; in another a few cigars at the bottom of a box; in a third a pile of notepaper headed with the address of the office, and rather dusty; another was empty; still another contained a handful of string. The top middle drawer rather reminded me of a similar drawer of my own at my last newspaper office, for it contained several pipes; but my own were mostly briars, whereas these were all clays.

“There's nothing really so satisfactory,” Holmes said, as he lifted and examined each pipe by turn, “to a seasoned smoker as a well used clay. Most such men keep one or more such pipes for strictly private use.” There was nothing noticeable about these pipes except that they were uncommonly dirty, but Holmes scrutinized each before returning it to the drawer. Then he turned to Mrs. Geldard and said: “As to the bank now - the London Amalgamated, Mrs. Geldard. Are you known there personally?”

“Oh, yes; my husband gave them authority to pay checks signed by me up to a certain amount, and I often do it for household expenses, or when he happens to be away.”

“Then perhaps it will be best for you to go alone,” Holmes responded. “Of course they will never, as a general thing, give any person information as to the account of a customer, but perhaps, as you are known to them, and hold your husband's authority to draw checks, they may tell you something. What I want to find out is, of course, whether your husband drew from the bank all his remaining balance yesterday, or any large sum. You must go alone, ask for the manager, and tell him that you have seen nothing of Mr. Geldard since he left for business yesterday morning. Mind, you are not to appear angry, or suspicious, or anything of that sort, and you mustn't say you are employing me to bring him back from an elopement. That will shut up the channel of information at once. Hostile inquiries they'll never answer, even by the smallest hint, except after legal injunction. You can be as distressed and as alarmed as you please. Your husband has disappeared since yesterday morning, and you've no notion what has become of him; that is your tale, and a perfectly true one. You would like to know whether or not he has withdrawn his balance, or a considerable sum, since that would indicate whether or not his absence was intentional and premeditated.”

Mrs. Geldard understood and undertook to make the inquiry with all discretion. The bank was not far, and it was arranged that she should return to the office with the result.

As soon as she had left Holmes turned to the pedestal table and probed the keyhole of the locked drawer with the small stiletto attached to his pen knife. “This seems to be a common sort of lock,” he said. “I could probably open it with a bent nail. But the whole table is a cheap sort of thing. Perhaps there is an easier way.”

He drew the unlocked drawer above completely out, passed his hand into the opening and felt about. “Yes,” he said, “it's just as I hoped - as it usually is in pedestal tables not of the best quality; the partition between the drawers doesn't go more than two-thirds of the way back, and I can drop my hand into the drawer below. But I can't feel anything there - it seems empty.”

He withdrew his hand and we tilted the whole table backward, so as to cause whatever lay in the drawers to slide to the back. This dodge was successful. Holmes reinserted his hand and withdrew it with two orderly heaps of papers, each held together by a metal clip. The papers in each clip, on examination, proved to be all of an identical character, with the exception of dates. They were, in fact, rent receipts. Those for the office, which had been given quarterly, were put back in their place with scarcely a glance, and the others Holmes placed on ‘the table before him. Each ran, apart from dates, in this fashion: “Received from Mr. J. Cookson 15s., one month's rent of stable at 3 Dragon Yard, Benton Street, to,” - here followed the date. “Also rent, feed and care of horse in own stable as agreed, £2. - W. GASK.” The receipts were ill-written, and here and there ill-spelt. Holmes put the last of the receipts in his pocket and returned the others to the drawer. “Either,” he said, “Mr. Cookson is a client who gets Mr. Geldard to hire stables for him, which may not be likely, or Mr. Geldard calls himself Mr. Cookson when he goes driving - possibly with Miss Trennatt. We shall see.”

The pedestal table put in order again, Holmes took the poker and raked in the fireplace. It was summer, and behind the bars was a sort of screen of cartridge paper with a frilled edge, and behind this various odds and ends had been thrown - spent matches, trade-circulars crumpled up, and torn paper. There were also the remains of several cigars, some only half smoked, and one almost whole. The torn paper Holmes examined piece by piece, and finally sorted out a number of pieces which he set to work to arrange on the blotting pad. They formed a complete note, written in the same hand as were the envelopes already found by Mrs. Geldard - that of the girl Emma Trennatt. It corresponded also with the solitary fragment of another letter which had accompanied them, by way of having a number of crosses below the signature, and it ran thus:

Tuesday Night

Dear Sam,

Tomorrow, to carry. Not late because people are coming for flowers. What you did was no good. The smoke leaks worse than ever, and F. thinks you must light a new pipe or else stop smoking altogether for a bit. Uncle is anxious.