Sherlock Holmes In Montague Street Volume 2 (22 page)

“And then?”

“An' thin, sor, he came across, in a sad takin', wid a letther. ‘Take ut,' sez he, ‘an' have ut posted at Cullanin by the first that can get there. Mr. Rewse has the sickness on him awful bad,' he sez, ‘an' ye must not be near the place or ye'll take ut. I have him to bed, an' his clothes I shall burn behin' the cottage,' sez he, ‘so if ye see smoke ye'll know what ut is. There'll be no docthor wanted. I'm wan mesilf, an' I'll do all for 'um.' An' sure I knew him for a docthor ivir since he come. ‘The cottage ye shall not come near,' he sez, 'till ut's over one way or another, an' yez can lave whativir av food an' dhrink we want midbetwixt the houses an' go back, an' I'll come and fetch ut. But have the letther posted,' he sez, 'at wanst. ‘'Tis not contagious,' he sez, ‘bein' as I've dishinfected it mesilf. But kape yez away from the cottage.' An' I kept.”

“And then did he go back to the cottage at once?”

“He did that, sor, an' a sore stew was he in to all seemin' - white as paper, and much need, too, the murtherin' scutt! An' him always so much the jintleman an' all. Well I saw no more av him that day. Next day he laves another letther wid the dirthy plates there mid-betwixt the houses, an' shouts for ut to be posted. ‘'Twas for the poor young jintleman's mother, sure, as was the other wan. An' the day afther there was another letther, an' wan for the undhertaker, too, for he tells me it's all over, an' he's dead. An' they buried him next day followin'.”

“So that from the time you went for the pail and saw Mr. Rewse writing, till after the funeral, you were never at the cottage at all?”

“Nivir, sor; an' can ye blame me? Wid children an' Terence himself sick wid bronchitis in this house?”

“Of course, of course, you did quite right - indeed you only obeyed orders. But now think; do you remember on any one of those three days; hearing a shot, or any other unusual noise in the cottage?”

“Nivir at all, sor. 'Tis that I've been thryin' to bring to mind these four days. Such may have been, but not that I heard.”

“After you went for the pail, and before Mr. Main returned to the house, did Mr. Rewse leave the cottage at all, or might he have done so?”

“He did not lave at all, to my knowledge. Sure he
might
have gone an' he might have come back widout my knowin'. But see him I did not.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hurley. I think we'll go across to the cottage now. If any people come will you send them after us? I suppose a policeman is there?”

“He is, sor. An' the serjint is not far away. They've been in chyarge since Mr. Bowyer wint away last - but shlapin' here.”

Holmes and Mr. Bowyer walked towards the cottage. “Did you notice,” said Mr. Bowyer, “that the woman saw Rewse
writing letters?
Now what were those letters, and where are they? He has no correspondents that I know of but his mother and sister, and they heard nothing from him. Is this something else? - some other plot? There is something very deep here.”

“Yes,” Holmes replied thoughtfully, “I think our inquiries may take us deeper than we have expected; and in the matter of those letters - yes, I think they may lie near the kernel of the mystery.”

Here they arrived at the cottage - an uncommonly substantial structure for the district. It was square, of plain, solid brick, with a slated roof. On the patch of ground behind it there were still signs of the fires, wherein Main had burnt Rewse's clothes and other belongings. And sitting on the window-sill in front was a big member of the R.I.C., soldierly and broad, who rose as they came and saluted Mr. Bowyer.

“Good day constable,” Mr. Bowyer said. “I hope nothing has been disturbed?”

“Not a shtick, sor. Nobody's as much as gone in.”

“Have any of the windows been opened or shut?” Holmes asked.

“This wan was, sor,” the policeman said, indicating the one behind him, “when they took away the corrpse, an' so was the next round the corrner. 'Tis the bedroom windies they are, an' they opened thim to give ut a bit av air. The other windy behin' - sittin-room windy - has not been opened.”

“Very well,” Holmes answered, “we'll take a look at that unopened window from the inside.”

The door was opened and they passed inside. There was a small lobby, and on the left of this was the bedroom with two single beds. The only other room of consequence was the sitting-room, the cottage consisting merely of these, a small scullery and a narrow closet used as a bath-room, wedged between the bedroom and the sitting room.

They made for the single window of the sitting-room at the back. It was an ordinary sash window, and was shut, but the catch was not fastened. Holmes examined the catch, drawing Mr. Bowyer's attention to a bright scratch on the grimy brass. “See,” he said, “that nick in the catch exactly corresponds with the narrow space between the two frames of the window. And look,” - he lifted the bottom sash a little as he spoke - “there is the mark of a knife on the frame of the top sash. Somebody has come in by that window, forcing the catch with a knife.”

“Yes, yes!” cried Mr. Bowyer, greatly excited, “and he has gone out that way too, else why is the window shut and the catch not fastened? Why should he do that? What in the world does
this
thing mean?”

Before Holmes could reply the constable put his head into the room and announced that one Larry Shanahan was at the door, and had been promised half-a-sovereign.

“One of the men who heard a shot,” Holmes said to Mr. Bowyer.

“Bring him in, constable.”

The constable brought in Larry Shanahan, and Larry Shanahan brought in a strong smell of whisky. He was an extremely ragged person, with only one eye, which caused him to hold his head aside as he regarded Holmes, much as a parrot does. On his face sun-scorched brown and fiery red struggled for mastery, and his voice was none of the clearest. He held his hat against his stomach with one hand and with the other pulled his forelock.

“An' which is the honorable jintleman,”he said, “as do be burrnin' to prisint me wid a bit o' goold?”

“Here I am,” said Holmes, jingling money in his pocket, “and here is the half-sovereign. It's only waiting where it is till you have answered a few questions. They say you heard a shot fired hereabout?”

“Faith, an' that I did, sor. ‘'Twas a shot in this house, indade, no other.”

“And when was it?”

“Sure, 'twas in the afthernoon.”

“But on what day?”

“Last Tuesday sivin-noight, sor, as I know by rayson av Ballyshiel fair that I wint to.”

“Tell me all about it.”

“I will, sor. 'Twas pigs I was dhrivin' that day, sor, to Ballyshiel fair from just beyond Cullanin. At Cullanin, sor, I dhropped in wid Danny Mulcahy, that intintioned thravellin' the same way, an' while we tuk a thrifle av a dhrink in comes Dennis Grady, that was to go to Ballyshiel similiarously. An' so we had another thrifle av a dhrin' or maybe a thrifle more, an' we wint togedther, passin' this way, as ye may not know, bein' likely a shtranger. Well, sor, ut was as we were just forninst this place that there came a divil av a bang that makes us shtop simultaneous. ‘What's that?' sez Dan. 'Tis a gunshot,' sez I, ‘an' 'tis in the brick house too.' ‘That is so,' sez Dennis; ‘nowhere else.' And we lukt at wan another. ‘An' what'll we do?' sez I. ‘What would yez?' sez Dan; ‘'tis non av our business.' ‘That is so,' sez Dennis again, and we wint on. Ut was quare, maybe, but it might aisily be wan av the jintlemen emptyin' a barr'l out o' windy or what not. An' - an' so - an' so - ” Mr. Shanahan scratched his ear, “an' so - we wint.”

“And do you know at what time this was?”

Larry Shanahan ceased scratching, and seized his ear between thumb and forefinger, gazing severely at the floor with his one eye as he did so, plunged in computation. “Sure,” he said, “'twould be - 'twould be - let's see - 'twould be - ” he looked up, “'twould be half-past two maybe, or maybe a thrifle nearer three.”

“And Main was in the place all the time after two,” Mr. Bowyer said, bringing down his fist on his open hand. “That finishes it. We've nailed him to the minute.”

“Had you a watch with you?” asked Holmes.

“Divil of a watch in the company, sor. I made an internal calculation. ‘'Tis foive mile from Cullanin, and we never lift till near half an hour after the Town Hall clock had struck twelve. 'Twould take us two hours and a thrifle more, considherin' the pigs an' the rough road, an' the distance, an' - an' the thrifle of dhrink.” His eye rolled slyly as he said it. “That was my calculation, sor.”

Here the constable appeared with two more men. Each had the usual number of eyes, but in other respects they were very good copies of Mr. Shanahan. They were both ragged, and neither bore any violent likeness to a teetotaler. “Dan Mulcahy and Dennis Grady,” announced the constable.

Mr. Dan Mulcahy's tale was of a piece with Mr. Larry Shanahan's, and Mr. Dennis Grady's was the same. They had all hear the shot it was plain. What Dan had said to Dennis and what Dennis had said to Larry mattered little. Also they were all agreed that the day was Tuesday by token of the fair. But as to the time of day there arose a disagreement.

“'Twas nigh soon afther wan o'clock,” said Dan Mulcahy.

“Soon afther wan!” exclaimed Larry Shanahan with scorn. “Soon afther your grandmother's pig! 'Twas half afther two at laste. Ut sthruck twelve nigh 'alf an hour before we lift Cullanin. Why, yez heard ut!”

“That I did not. Ut sthruck eleven, an' we wint in foive minutes.”

“What fool-talk ye shpake Dan Mulcahy. 'Twas twelve sthruck; I counted ut.”

“Thin ye counted wrong. I counted ut, an' 'twas elivin.”

“Yez nayther av yez right,” interposed Dennis Grady. “'Twas not elivin when we lift; 'twas not, be the mother av Moses!”

“I wondher at ye, Dennis Grady; ye must have been dhrunk as a Kerry cow,” and both Mulcahy and Shanahan turned upon the obstinate Grady, and the dispute waxed clamorous till Holmes stopped it.

“Come, come,” he said, “never mind the time then. Settle that between you after you've gone. Does either of you remember - not calculate, you know, but
remember
- the time you got to Ballyshiel? - the actual time by a clock - not a guess.”

Not one of the three had looked at a clock at Ballyshiel.

“Do you remember anything about coming home again?”

They did not. They looked furtively at one another and presently broke into a grin.

“Ah! I see how
that
was,” Holmes said good-humouredly. “That's all now, I think. Come, it's ten shillings each, I think.” And he handed over the money. The men touched their forelocks again, stowed away the money and prepared to depart. As they went Larry Shanahan stepped mysteriously back again and said in a whisper, “Maybe the jintlemen wud like me to kiss the book on ut? An' as to the toime - ”

“Oh, no thank you, “Holmes laughed. “We take your word for it Mr. Shanahan.” And Mr. Shanahan pulled his forelock again and vanished.

“There's nothing but confusion to be got from them,” Mr. Bowyer remarked testily. “It's a mere waste of time.”

“No, no, not a waste of time,” Holmes replied, “nor a waste of money. One thing is made pretty plain. That is that the shot was fired on Tuesday. Mrs. Hurley never noticed the report, but these three men were close by, and there is no doubt that they heard it. It's the only single thing they agree about at all. They contradict one another over everything else, but they agree completely in that. Of course I wish we could have got the exact time; but that can't be helped. As it is it is rather fortunate that they disagreed so entirely. Two of them are certainly wrong, and perhaps all three. In any case it wouldn't have been safe to trust to mere computation of time by three men just beginning to get drunk, who had no particular reason for remembering. But if by any chance they had agreed on the time we might have been led into a wrong track altogether by taking the thing as fact. But a gunshot is not such a doubtful thing. When three independent witnesses hear a gunshot together there can be little doubt that a shot has been fired. Now I think you'd better sit down Perhaps you can find something to read. I'm about to make a very minute examination of this place, and it will probably bore you if you've nothing else to do.”

But Mr. Bowyer would think of nothing but the business in hand. “I don't understand that window,” he said, shaking his finger towards it as he spoke. “Not at all. Why should Main want to get in and out by a window? He wasn't a stranger.”

Holmes began a most careful inspection of the whole surface of floor, ceiling, walls and furniture of the sitting-room. At the fireplace he stooped and lifted with great care a few sheets of charred paper from the grate. These he put on the window-ledge. “Will you just bring over that little screen,” he asked, “to keep the draught from this burnt paper? Thank you. It looks like letter paper, and thick letter paper, since the ashes are very little broken. The weather has been fine, and there has been no fire in that grate for a long time. These papers have been carefully burned with a match or a candle.”

“Ah! perhaps the letters poor young Rewse was writing in the morning. But what can they tell us?”

“Perhaps nothing - perhaps a great deal.” Holmes was examining the cinders keenly, holding the surface sideways to the light.

“Come,” he said, “see if I can guess Rewse's address in London. 17 Mountjoy Gardens, Hampstead. Is that it?”

“Yes. Is it there? Can you read it? Show me.” Mr. Bowyer hurried across the room, eager and excited.

“You can sometimes read words on charred paper,” Holmes replied, “as you may have noticed. This has curled and crinkled rather too much in the burning, but it is plainly notepaper with an embossed heading, which stands out rather clearly. He has evidently brought some notepaper with him from home in his trunk. See, you can just see the ink lines crossing out the address; but there's little else. At the beginning of the letter there is ‘My d - ' then a gap, and then the last stroke of ‘M' and the rest of the word ‘mother.' ‘My dear Mother,' or ‘My dearest Mother' evidently. Something follows too in the same line, but that is unreadable. ‘My dear Mother and Sister' perhaps. After that there is nothing recognizable. The first letter looks rather like ‘W,' but even that is indistinct. It seems to be a longish letter - several sheets, but they are stuck together in the charring. Perhaps more than one letter.”