Unknown (22 page)

"We're agreed that your
uncle's death was not a sui
cide.
I'm not of a mood to accept it as accidental ei
ther."

There was a pause broken by the
sound of Gridley's tumbler coming down on the table.

"Finally, somebody with a
smidgen o' sense. I've
been
tellin' 'em old Amos would never ha' been on that
roof."

"I heard about your testimony
at the inquest. Now
your
ship did not make port till after the fact, but do
you
have any thought regarding the matter?"

The man's truculence had
disappeared and his man
ner
seemed frank and open. "Someone done fer him,
'tis
a fact. I be hearin' talk 'bout some Chinee nosing
around
the shop but, of a sudden, they come out with
the
accidental death palaver and everybody's hushed
up,
mum as oysters."

"Strange." Holmes sat in
silence for a moment. "Save
for
mischance, you might have joined your uncle in his business."

The sailor regarded Holmes as
though he had lost his
senses.
"Business? If you be meanin' the shop, you're
off
course fer fair, matey. Amos needed no help from
me."

Holmes kept probing. "There
were those trips." His
tone
was casual but I knew where he was leading the
conversation.

Gridley shook his head. "I'll
nay be knowin' 'bout
that,
but then St. Aubrey has seen little o' me. 'Twill be
seein'
less when the estate's settled. They do say he hied off at times,
lookin' fer antiques but that's bilge water. Whose to buy 'em if he
had 'em?"

I found the conversation of the
deceased's nephew a
series
of contradictions but Holmes indicated intense interest in his
words.

"You have," he
persisted, "no inkling as to who did
your
uncle harm?"

" 'Twas no one from these
parts," replied the seaman.
"They
could nay ha' handled him fer he was a tough
old
marlin spike. 'Tis me thought that in his youth he
was
a wild one fer fair."

"Ahh," said Holmes,
"that long scar on his right
arm."

"How be yuh knowin' o' that?"

"I think the medical examiner
mentioned it."

I was glad that Holmes and Gridley
were intent on each other for I must have registered some surprise
knowing full well
that Holmes's statement was pure fab
rication."

The door to the pub creaked open
again and I was
vaguely
conscious of another man entering the estab
lishment
as my friend turned to me with satisfaction.

"Well, Watson, we'd best be
back to town now."

"Watson, he said!" It
was the newcomer's voice that
rang
out in the dim interior. It was harsh with anger
and
grew in volume as he continued.

"That's him fer sure. The
prince of nosey Parkers. Sherlock Holmes, the detective."

The two customers in the corner
pivoted toward us
and
moved closer. The fat barkeep reached for a bung starter.

"So, Dave 'the Dirk'
Buckholtz," said Holmes. I
noted
that he gathered his legs under the table, ready
for
action. "Somewhat removed from your haunts,
aren't
you, Dave?"

"As be you, Holmes." The
newcomer's gaze included
the
others in the tap room. "Not a year since he sent me
brother,
Mack, to Princetown. Here's a chance I canna'
miss."

The man's right hand was moving
toward his belt as
he
rushed toward our table. Judging from his name, I
felt
he was reaching for a knife, but did not wait to have
the
matter proven. Jumping to my feet, I swept my
chair
aloft and swung it in a half-circle, aiming the legs
at
the oncoming man. They caught him full on the shins
and
his feet came out from under him but his rush car
ried
his body forward and his chin came down on the
table
top with an alarming sound. I was staggering off
balance,
the chair still in my hands, and the bottom of
one
of its legs caught the fat barkeep full in the throat.
Dropping
his bung starter, the man wheezed in pain and fell to the floor
clawing at his windpipe. Thrown further
off
balance by this completely accidental collision and
still
clutching the chair for what reason I know not, I
spun
to my left on one leg and the wooden seat of the
chair
caught one of the two customers full in the jaw.
He
fell like a log. His companion, who had been closing
in
on us as well, suddenly backed off as I regained my
balance
with a desperate effort and stood breathing
heavily
in the middle of the room.

"Hold on, man, fer I'm
wantin' no part of the likes of
you,"
he shouted and suddenly turned and bolted
through
the front door. Not knowing quite what to
think,
I turned and surveyed a stark tableau.

Holmes was standing behind the
table, his back to
the
window, with as close to a startled expression on his
thin,
aquiline features as I had ever seen. Beside him,
Lothar
Gridley was regarding me with a slack jaw.
Dave
the Dirk had fallen half under the table and was motionless. The
bartender still lay on the floor gasping, his legs twitching
spasmodically. The unidentified cus
tomer
was on his back, inert, a thin trickle of blood
coming
from his open mouth. Possible concussion, I
thought
automatically.

"I've always said, "
muttered Lothar Gridley, " 'Tis
the
quiet ones you watch fer."

Still breathing heavily, I
regarded him with, I hope,
some
dignity. "I beg your pardon?"

His face turned toward Holmes.
"Not a word has he said since I come in and of a sudden there's
three men laid out."

"Quite," replied the
sleuth. "My associate, Watson, is a famous chair fighter, you
know. A method of mayhem much practiced in the Andaman Islands."

"I've never sailed to the
Andamans," said Gridley.

I found myself most grateful for
this information.
Holmes,
possibly because he could think of nothing else
to
say, was indulging in one of his little jokes and I
speared
him with a glance of reproof. My censure
seemed
to curb his impish humor.

"Prior to this brief
interruption, we were ready to
leave.
I see no reason to delay, do you?"

Holmes was looking at Gridley who
shook his head, indicating the bodies on the floor.

"What they got, they asked
fer. Are you really, that
detective,
Sherlock Holmes?"

Holmes indicated this was so.
"Currently conducting
an
investigation for the Trans-Continental Insurance
Company."

Gridley was regarding me with a
wary air.

"Well, I'm not knowin' much
about detectives, Mr.
Holmes.
But it's happy I am that your associate here
seems
kindly disposed toward me."

I could hardly contain myself as
we left The Haven
and
resumed the road back to St. Aubrey.

"Really, Holmes. Chair
fighting! The Andaman Is
lands!
Such nonsense. How shall I ever face my pa
tients
or dear Mrs. Hudson again with a reputation as a
barroom
brawler?"

"My dear Watson, I doubt if
this tale will spread be
yond
The Haven and you were quite magnificent, you
know.
It is the result that counts and you certainly ex
tricated
us from a sticky wicket in there. Now let us
hasten
our steps back to St. Aubrey, for there are some
fish
that must be swept into the net."

Holmes set a brisk pace back
toward the town and, though pressed to keep up with him, my natural
curiosity would give me no peace.

"But of what use was this
foray into that shoddy
pub?
Lothar Gridley's words did not jibe with the
facts."

Holmes's lips were compressed in a
thin line. "It de
pends
on what facts you accept. The nephew was most
casual
about the insurance money, which leads me to believe that Amos
Gridley had income other than his
antique
shop. Penurious he might have been but not without assets. Lothar
also admitted that the old man took trips, a fact not brought to our
attention before.
Therefore
he could have been the man in Constantino
ple
and at the Nonpareil Club as well. Also we know
that
the deceased had a scar on his arm."

"What prompted you to guess
that?"

"It pays to be well-versed in
the history of crime. A
retentive
memory is also of assistance."

Though I made several more
overtures, I could not extract further information from my friend who
seemed to be intent on planning his course of action. Frankly, I had
had enough of action for the time.

* * *

When we reached the head of the
town's main street,
tree
naved with ancient oaks, the porch of The Cross
bow
was visible. I noted Witherspoon and Constable Dankers standing there
evidently watching for us.
Witherspoon
acknowledged our arrival with a wave of his hand and the two local
residents descended to the
street
and walked to meet us.

"We were beginning to worry
about you," said the
medical
examiner.

"Watson and I took time to
admire the countryside," replied Holmes. "Now if I can view
Gridley's place of business, we might close the book on the late
antique dealer."

"We are almost opposite it."
Constable Dankers indi
cated
an early Georgian edifice on the other side of the
street.
He seemed grumpy and sleepy-eyed but made for the door, beneath an
antiques and refurnishing sign, readily enough, extracting a key from
his pocket.

As we entered a large, dark room,
Dankers crossed
with
familiar steps to open the curtains of the two deep
bay
windows, which faced onto the street. The after
noon
sun revealed cabinets and cupboards that seemed repositories for a
goodly collection of tools. I noted an
absence
of period pieces, knickknacks and bric-a-brac and wondered if the
antique dealer had kept his inven
tory
elsewhere.

Holmes gave the room no more than
a brief glance
and
then turned to face the constable and medical ex
aminer.
There was a crispness in his manner, previously
unrevealed.