An Ensuing Evil and Others (33 page)

Inspector Gallagher pointed out that had Holmes consulted him, he would have been informed that this information was already in police hands, having consulted the cardinals secretary. Holmes was too conceited to be abashed by the fact. He believed that nothing was achieved unless he personally achieved it
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Gallagher accompanied Holmes and Watson in a hansom cab to their first port of call: the local mortuary where the body of the cardinal was being preserved, much to the outcry of the Catholic Church, who felt it scandalous that His Eminence was thus prevented a lying in state and burial according to their practices
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Holmes insisted that he and Watson should examine the body, and this was done, after much argument, in the company of the original examining doctor, Thomson, and the coroner, with Gallagher looking on without enthusiasm. In fact, Gallagher found Holmes’s involvement quite objectionable. He seemed to claim authority over the medical experts and leaned over the corpse, using a large magnifying glass as he examined it
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He suddenly let out a hiss of breath and turned to his companions. “Do you not remark on the slight bruising on this neck vein,” he remarked, pointing dramatically, like one who has discovered something unique
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“I did so remark on it, Mr. Holmes,” Dr. Thomson replied patiently. The coroner was clearly displeased
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“If you will read my report, that matter was made clear…,” he began, but Holmes actually waved him into silence
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“But what of the puncture wound which is discernible under my glass. What of that, sir?” he demanded of the doctor
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“I found it irrelevant,” replied Thomson. “A bite of some sort, that is all.”

Holmes turned to his crony, the sycophantic Watson. “Watson, please observe this mark and bear in mind that I have brought it to the attention of these… gentlemen.”

Gallagher thought that he was being quite insulting, and so did Dr. Thomson and the coroner, who waited with unconcealed impatience for Holmes to complete his study
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Finally, Holmes turned to Gallagher and demanded to see the clothes that had been found with His Eminence’s body
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“Is there any question that these clothes found by the body belong to the cardinal?” he asked as the parcel was handed to him
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“None whatsoever,” he was assured. “Father Michael himself examined and identified them.”

The cardinal’s pocketbook, rosary, and pocket missal were all contained in the package
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“I presume that none of this material has been removed or tampered with?” queried Holmes
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Gallagher flushed with mortification. “Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes, is not in the habit of removing or altering evidence, as you well know.”

Holmes seemed oblivious of his insults, and he searched through the pocket book, which contained some banknotes in both French and English currencies and little else apart from two pasteboard visiting cards. They bore the name “T W. Tone” on them and a little harp device surmounted by a crown. Holmes showed them to Watson and said quietly, “Note these well, Watson, old friend.” It was as if Gallagher was not supposed to hear, but he did so and duly reported the fact to me
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Holmes then frowned and peered closely at the bundle of clothes
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“Wasn’t the cardinal supposed to be wearing a nightshirt? Pray, where is that?”

“It was wrapped separately from the other clothing,” Gallagher assured him, producing it. “As this was what the body was clad in, it was considered that it should be kept separate in case it provided any clues.”

The insufferable Holmes took out the nightshirt and started to examine it. A curious expression crossed his features as he sniffed at it. Turning, he picked up the other clothing and sniffed at that. He spent so long smelling each item alternatively that Gallagher thought him mad
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“Where have these been stored during these last several days?”

“They have been placed in sacking and stored in a cupboard here in case they were needed as evidence.”

“In a damp cupboard?”

“Of course not. They have been kept in a dry place.”

Half an hour later saw them at Father Michael’s presbytery, where His Eminence had last been seen alive. He treated the poor priest in the same brusque manner as he had the doctor and coroner. His opening remarks were, apparently, exceedingly offensive
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“Did the cardinal take narcotics, according to your knowledge?” he demanded
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Father Michael looked astounded, so shocked that he could say nothing for a moment and then, having regained control of his sensibilities, after Holmes’s brutal affront, shook his head
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“He was not in the habit of using a needle to inject himself with any noxious substance?” Holmes went on, oblivious of the outrage he had caused
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“He was not—”

“—to your knowledge?” Holmes smiled insultingly. “Did the cardinal receive any letters or messages while he was here?”

Father Michael admitted no knowledge on the matter, but, at Holmes’s insistence, he summoned the housekeeper. She recalled that a man had presented himself at the door of the presbytery demanding to see His Eminence. Furthermore, the housekeeper said the man was well muffled, with hat pulled down and coat collar pulled up, thus presenting no possibility of identification. She did remember that he had spoken with an Irish accent. He had presented a card with a name on it. The housekeeper could not remember the name but recalled that the card had a small device embossed on it, which she thought was a harp
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Gallagher could not forbear to point out that Scotland Yard had asked these questions prior to Holmes’s involvement
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“Except the question of narcotics,” replied Holmes, a patronizing expression on his face
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Holmes then demanded to see the bedroom where Father Michael had bade good night to His Eminence. He carefully examined it
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“I perceive this room is on the third floor of the house. That is irritating in the extreme.”

Father Michael, Gallagher, and even Watson exchanged a puzzled glance with one another as Holmes went darting around the bedroom. In particular, he went through Cardinal Tosca’s remaining clothing, sniffing at it like some dog trying to find a scent
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Holmes then spent a good half an hour examining the presbytery from the outside, much to the irritation of Gallagher and the bemusement of Watson
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From Soho they took a hansom cab to Sir Gibson Glassford’s house in Gayfere Street. Glassford was apparently close to tears when he greeted them in his study
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“My dear Holmes,” he said, holding the Great Detective’s hand as if he were afraid to let go of it. “Holmes, you must help me. No one will believe me; even my wife now thinks that I am not telling her all I know. Truly, Holmes, I never saw this prelate until Hogan showed me the dead body in the room. What does it mean, Holmes? What does it mean? I would resign my office, if that would do any good, but I fear it would not. How can this strange mystery be resolved?”

Holmes extracted his hand with studied care and removed himself to the far side of the room. “Patience, Minister. Patience. I can proceed only when I have facts. It is a mistake to confound strangeness with mystery. True, the circumstances of this matter are strange, but they only retain their mystery until the facts are explained. Watson, you know my methods. The grand thing is to be able to reason backward.”

Watson nodded, as if he understood, but he looked unhappy. Inspector Gallagher was pretty certain that the bumbling doctor had not a clue of what the arrogant man was saying. Glassford looked equally bewildered and had the courage to say so
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“Facts, my dear sir!” snapped Holmes. “I have no facts yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has facts. Insensibly, one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts.”

He made Glassford, his wife, and all the servants go through the evidence they had already given to the police and then demanded to see the bedchamber in which His Eminence had been found
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“I observe this bedroom is on the fourth floor of your house. How tiresome!”

Once again, he wandered around the bedroom, paying particular attention to the carpeting, exclaiming once or twice as he did so
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“Seven days. I suppose it would have been an impossibility to think anything would have remained undisturbed.”

The note of accusation caused Detective Inspector Gallagher to flush in annoyance. “We did our best to secure the evidence, Mr. Holmes,” he began
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“And your best was to destroy whatever evidence there was,” snapped Holmes conceitedly
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He then led the way outside the house and stood peering around as if searching for something. But he seemed to give up with a shake of his head. He was turning away when his eyes alighted on two men on the opposite side of the road who were peering down an open manhole. From the steps of the house, an elderly woman, clutching a Pekingese dog in her arms, was observing their toil, or rather lack of it, with disapproval
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An expression of interest crossed Holmes’s features, and he went over to them. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he greeted the workmen. “I observe by your expression that something appears amiss here.”

The workmen gaped at him, unused to being addressed as gentlemen
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“Naw, guvnor,” replied one, shaking his head. “We do reckon ain’t naw’fing wrong ‘ere.” He glanced at the elderly lady and said in an aggrieved voice. “But seems we’ve gotta check, ain’t we?”

The elderly lady was peering shortsightedly at Holmes. “Young man!” She accosted him in an imperial tone. “I don’t suppose you are an employee of the local sewerage works?”

Holmes swung round, leaving the two workmen still gazing morbidly down the hole in the road, and he smiled thinly. “Is there some way I can be of assistance, madam?”

“I have not seen eye to eye with your workmen there. They assure me that I have been imagining excavations near my house by the sewerage company. I do not imagine things. However, since these excavations have ceased, or rather the sounds of them, which have been so oppressive to my obtaining a decent night’s repose, I presume that we will no longer be bothered by these nightly disturbances?”

“Nightly disturbances?” Holmes asked with quickening interest
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When she confirmed that she had complained a fortnight prior to the sewerage company of nightly disturbances caused by vibration and muffled banging under the street, causing her house to shake, one of the workmen summoned courage to come forward
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He raised a finger to his cap. “Beggin yer pardon, lady, but wiv all due respect an’ that, ain’t bin none of our lads a digging dahn ‘ere. No work bin done in this ‘ere areafer months naw.”

Holmes stood regarding the old woman and the workmen for a moment, and then with a cry of “Of course!” he bounded back to Glassford’s house, and his knocking brought Hogan, the butler, to the door again
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“Show me your cellar,” he ordered the startled man
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Sir Gibson emerged from his study, disturbed by the noise of Holmes’s reentry into the house, and looked astounded. “Why, what is it, Mr. Holmes?”

“The cellar, man,” snapped Holmes dictatorially, totally disregarding the fact that Glassford was a member of the government
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In a body, they trooped down into the cellar. In fact, several cellars ran under the big house, and Hogan, who had now brought a lamp, was ordered to precede them through the wine racks, a coal storage area, a boiler room, and areas filled with bric-a-brac and assorted discarded furniture along one wall
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“Have any underground excavations disturbed you of late? These would have been during the night,” Holmes asked as he examined the cellar walls. Glassford looked perplexed
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“Not at all,” he replied, and then turned to his butler. ‘Your room is above here at the back of the house, isn’t it, Hogan? Have you been disturbed?”

The butler shook his head
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“Does the Underground railway run in this vicinity?” Holmes pressed
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“We are not disturbed by the Underground here,” replied Sir Gibson. “The Circle Line, which was completed six years ago, is quite a distance to the north of here.”

“That wall would be to the north,” Holmes muttered, and turning to Hogan ordered the man to bring the lamp close while he began examining the wall. He was there fully fifteen minutes before he gave up in irritation. Inspector Gallagher was smiling to himself and could not help making the thrust: “Your theory not turning out as you would hope, Mr. Holmes?”

Holmes scowled at him. “We will return to Father Michaels,” he almost snarled
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At the presbytery, he demanded to see the priest, and being shown into the study asked without preamble: “Do you have a cellar?”

Father Michael nodded
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“Pray precede me to it,” demanded Holmes arrogantly
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The priest did so, with Holmes behind him and Watson and Gallagher trailing in the rear. It was an ordinary cellar, mostly used for the storage of coal and with wine racks along one side. Holmes moved hither and thither through it like a ferret until he came to a rusting iron door
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“Where does this lead?” he demanded
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