The Adventure of the Abbey Grange: Part Two

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Welcome to Sherlock Holmes Short Stories.

I'm Hugh Bonneville and from the Noiser Podcast Network, this is The Adventure of the Abbey Grange, Part 2.

Last time, Holmes and Watson were summoned to investigate the brutal murder of Sir Eustace Brackenstall in Kent.

Brackenstall, a wealthy aristocrat, was well known in the community as a violent drunkard.

He had been found dead in his dining room, bludgeoned over the head with a fire poker.

His wife, Lady Brackenstall, was present during the attack, but survived.

She told a harrowing tale of three burglars who broke in, tied her to a chair, struck her when she tried to scream, and killed her husband when he came to investigate.

Her loyal maid, Teresa Wright, corroborated her story.

Based on her description of the attackers, the police were convinced that the culprits were the notorious Randall gang who had committed a robbery nearby.

Holmes and Watson left, thinking the case was already solved.

But something troubled Holmes about the crime scene.

Particularly, three wine glasses the culprits had supposedly used and left on a sideboard.

On the way back to London, Holmes suddenly pulled Watson off the train and made his suspicions known.

Now the mystery-solving duo have returned to Abbey Grange to question Lady Brackenstall and her maid.

The household at the Abbey Grange were much surprised at our return, but Sherlock Holmes, finding that Stanley Hopkins had gone off to report to headquarters, took possession of the dining dining room, locked the door upon the inside, and devoted himself for two hours to one of those minute and laborious investigations which formed the solid basis on which his brilliant edifices of deduction were reared.

Seated in a corner like an interested student who observes the demonstration of his professor, I followed every step of that remarkable research.

The window, the curtains, the carpet, the chair, the rope.

Each in turn was minutely examined and duly pondered.

The body of the unfortunate baronet had been removed, and all else remained as we had seen it in the morning.

Finally, to my astonishment, Holmes climbed up onto the massive mantelpiece.

Far above his head hung the few inches of red cord which were still attached to the wire.

For a long time he gazed upward at it, and then, in an attempt to get nearer to it, he rested his knee upon a wooden bracket on the wall.

This brought his hand within a few inches of the broken end of the rope.

But it was not this so much as the bracket itself which seemed to engage his attention.

Finally, he sprang down with satisfaction.

It's all right, Watson, said he.

We have got our case, one of the most remarkable in in our collection.

But, dear me, how slow witted I have been, and how nearly I have committed the blunder of my lifetime Now I think that with a few missing links my chain is almost complete.

You have got your men?

Man, Watson, man

Only one, but a very formidable person, strong as a lion, witnessed the blow that bent that poker.

Six foot three in height, active as a squirrel, dexterous with his fingers, finally, remarkably quick-witted.

For this whole ingenious story is of his concoction.

Yes, Watson, we have come upon the handiwork of a very remarkable individual, and yet in that bell-rope, he has given us a clue which should not have left us a doubt.

Where was the clue?

Well, if you were to pull down a bell-rope, Watson, where would you expect it to break?

Surely at the spot where it is attached to the wire.

Why should it break three inches from the top as this one has done?

Because it is frayed there?

Exactly.

This end, which we can examine, is frayed.

He was cunning enough to do that with his knife.

But the other end is not frayed.

You could not observe that from here, but if you were on the mantelpiece, you would see that it is cut clean off, without any mark of fraying whatever.

You can reconstruct what occurred.

The man needed the rope.

He would not tear it down for fear of giving the alarm by ringing the bell.

What did he do?

He sprang up on the mantelpiece, could not quite reach it, put his knee on the bracket, you will see the impression in the dust, and so got his knife to bear upon the cord.

I could not reach the place by at least three inches, from which I infer that he is at least three inches a bigger man than I.

Look at that mark upon the seat of the oaken chair.

What is it?

Blood.

Undoubtedly it is blood.

This alone puts the lady's story out of court.

If she was seated on the chair when the crime was done, how comes that mark?

No.

No.

She was placed in the chair after the death of her husband.

I'll wager that the black dress shows a corresponding mark to this.

We have not yet met our Waterloo Watson, but this is our Marengo, for it begins in defeat and ends in victory.

I should like now to have a few words with the nurse, Teresa.

We must be wary for a while if we are to get the information which we want.

She was an interesting person, this stern Australian nurse, taciturn, suspicious, ungracious.

It took some time before Holmes's pleasant manner and frank acceptance of all that she said thawed her into a corresponding amiability.

She did not attempt to conceal her hatred for her late employer.

Yes, sir, it is true that he threw the decanter at me.

I heard him call my mistress a name, and I told him that he would not dare to speak so if her brother had been there.

Then it was that he threw it at me.

He might have thrown a dozen if he had but left my bonny bird alone.

He was forever ill-treating her, and she too proud to complain.

She will not even tell me all that he has done to her.

She never told me of those marks on her arm that you saw this morning, but I know very well that they came from a stab with a hat-pin.

The sly devil.

God forgive me that I should speak of him so now that he is dead, but a devil he was, if ever one walked the earth.

He was all honey when we first met him, only eighteen months ago, and we both feel as if it were eighteen years.

She had only just arrived in London.

Yes, it was her first voyage.

She had never been from home before.

He won her with his title and his money and his false London ways.

If she made a mistake, she has paid for it if ever a woman did.

What month did we meet him?

Well, I'll tell you it was just after we arrived.

We arrived in June, and it was July.

They were married in January of last year.

Yes, she is down in the morning-room again, and I have no doubt she will see you, but you must not ask too much of her, for she has gone through all that flesh and blood will stand.

Lady Brackenstall was reclining on the same couch, but looked brighter than before.

The maid had entered with us and began once more to ferment the bruise upon her mistress's brow.

I hope, said the lady, that you have not come to cross-examine me again.

No,

Holmes answered in his gentlest voice.

I will will not cause you any unnecessary trouble, Lady Brackenstall, and my whole desire is to make things easy for you, for I am convinced that you are a much tried woman.

If you will treat me as a friend and trust me, you may find that I will justify your trust.

What do you want me to do?

To tell me the truth.

Mr.

Holmes.

No, no, Lady Brackenstall, it is no use.

You may have heard of any little reputation which I possess.

I will stake it all on the fact that your story is an absolute fabrication.

Mistress and maid were both staring at Holmes with pale faces and frightened eyes.

You are an impudent fellow, cried Theresa.

Do you mean to say that my mistress has told a lie?

Holmes rose from his chair.

Have you nothing to tell me?

I have told you everything.

Think once more, Lady Brackenstall, would it not be better to be frank?

For an instant there was hesitation in her beautiful face.

Then some new strong thought caused it to set like a mask.

I have told you all I know.

Holmes took his hat and shrugged his shoulders.

I am sorry, he said.

And without another word, we left the room and the house.

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There was a pond in the park, and to this my friend led the way.

It was frozen over, but a single hole was left for the convenience of a solitary swan.

Holmes gazed at it and then passed on to the lodge gate.

There he scribbled a short note for Stanley Hopkins and left it with the lodge keeper.

It may be a hit or it may be a miss, but we are bound to do something for friend Hopkins just to justify this second visit, said he.

I will not quite take him into my confidence yet.

I think our next scene of operations must be the shipping office of the Adelaide-Southampton line, which stands at the end of Pall Mall, if I remember right.

There is a second line of steamers which connects South Australia with England, but we will draw the larger cover first.

Holmes's card sent in to the manager ensured instant attention, and he was not long in acquiring all the information he needed.

In June of 95, only one of their line had reached a home port.

It was the Rock of Gibraltar, their largest and best boat.

A reference to the passenger list showed that Miss Fraser of Adelaide, with her maid, had made the voyage in her.

The boat was now somewhere south of the Suez Canal on her way to Australia.

Her officers were the same as in 1995, with one exception.

The first officer, Mr.

Jack Crocker, had been made a captain and was to take charge of their new ship, the Base Rock, sailing in two days' time from Southampton.

He lived at Sydenham, but he was likely to be in that morning for instructions if we cared to wait for him.

No, Mr.

Holmes had no desire to see him, but would be glad to know more about his record and character.

His record was magnificent.

There was not an officer in the fleet to touch him.

As to his character, he was reliable on duty.

but a wild, desperate fellow off the deck of his ship.

Hot-headed, excitable, but loyal, honest, and kind-hearted.

That was the pith of the information with which Holmes left the office of the Adelaide Southampton Company.

Thence he drove to Scotland Yard, but instead of entering, he sat in his cab with his brows drawn down, lost in profound thought.

Finally, he drove round to the Charing Cross Telegraph Office, sent off a message, and then, at last, we made for Baker Street once more.

No, I couldn't do it, Watson, said he, as we re-entered our room.

Once that Warren was made out, nothing on earth would save him.

Once or twice in my career, I feel that I have done more real harm by my discovery of the criminal than ever he had done by his crime.

I have learned caution now, and I had rather played tricks with the law of England than with my own conscience.

Let us know a little more before we act.

Before evening, we had a visit from Inspector Stanley Hopkins.

Things were not going very well with him.

I believe that you are a wizard, Mr.

Holmes.

I really do sometimes think that you have powers that are not human.

Now, how on earth could you know that the stolen silver was at the bottom of that pond?

I didn't know it.

But you told me to examine it.

You got it, then?

Yes, I got it.

I am very glad if I have helped you.

But you haven't helped me.

You have made the affair far more difficult.

What sort of burglars are they who steal silver and then throw it into the nearest pond?

It was certainly rather eccentric behaviour.

I was merely going on the idea that if the silver had been taken by persons who did not want it, who merely took it for a blind, as it were, then they would naturally be anxious to get rid of it.

But why should such an idea cross your mind?

Well, I thought it was possible.

When they came out through the French window, there was the pond, with one tempting little hole in the ice right in front of their noses.

Could there be a better hiding place?

Ah, a hiding place.

That is better, cried Stanley Hopkins.

Yes, yes, I see it all now.

It was early.

There were folk upon the roads.

They were afraid of being seen with the silver, so they sank it in the pond, intending to return for it when the coast was clear.

Excellent, Mr.

Holmes.

That is better than your idea of a blind.

Quite so.

You have got an admirable theory.

I have no doubt that my own ideas were quite wild, but you must admit that they have ended in discovering the silver.

Yes, sir.

Yes.

It was all your doing.

But I have had a bad setback.

A setback?

Yes, Mr.

Holmes.

The Randall gang were arrested in New York this morning.

Dear me, Hopkins, that is certainly rather against your theory that they committed a murder in Kent last night.

It is fatal, Mr.

Holmes.

Absolutely fatal.

Still, there are other gangs of three beside the Randalls, or it may be some new gang of which the police have never heard.

Quite so.

It is perfectly possible.

What, are you off?

Yes, Mr.

Holmes, there is no rest for me until I have got to the bottom of the business.

I suppose you have no hint to give me?

I have given you one.

Which?

Well, I suggested a blind

but why, Mr.

Holmes?

Why?

Ah, that's the question, of course.

But I commend the idea to your mind.

You might possibly find that there was something in it.

You won't stop for dinner?

Well, good-bye, and let us know how you get on.

Dinner was over and the table cleared before Holmes alluded to the matter again.

He had lit his pipe and held his slippered feet to the cheerful blaze of the fire.

Suddenly he looked at his watch.

I expect developments, Watson.

When?

Within a few minutes.

I dare say you thought I acted rather badly to Stanley Hopkins just now.

I trust your judgment.

A very sensible reply, Watson.

You must look at it this way.

What I know is unofficial.

What he knows is official.

I have the right to private judgment, but he has none.

He must disclose all, or he is a traitor to his service.

In a doubtful case I would not put him in so painful a position, and so I reserve my information until my own mind is clear upon the matter.

But when will that be?

The time has come.

You will now be present at the last scene of a remarkable little drama.

There was a sound upon the stairs, and our door was opened to admit as fine a specimen of manhood as ever passed through it.

He was a very tall young man, golden moustached, blue-eyed, with a skin which had been burned by tropical suns, and a springy step which showed that the huge frame was as active as it was strong.

He closed the door behind him, and then he stood with clenched hands and heaving breast, choking down some overmastering emotion.

Sit down, Captain Crocker.

You got my telegram.

Our visitor sank into an armchair and looked from one to the other of us with questioning eyes.

I got your telegram, and I came at the hour you said I heard that you had been down to the office.

There was no getting away from you.

Let's hear the worst.

What are you going to do with me?

Arrest me?

Speak out, man.

You can't sit there and play with me like a cat with a mouse.

Give him a cigar, said Holmes.

Bite on that, Captain Crocker, and don't let your nerves run away with you.

I should not sit here smoking with you if I thought that you were a common criminal.

You may be sure of that.

Be frank with me, and we may do some good.

Play tricks with me, and I'll crush you.

What do you wish me to do?

To give me a true account of all that happened at the Abbey Grange last night.

A true account, mind you, with nothing added and nothing taken off.

I know so much already that if you go one inch off the strait, I'll blow this police whistle from my window, and the affair goes out of my hands forever.

The sailor thought for a little.

Then he struck his leg with his great sunburned hand.

I'll chance it, he cried.

I believe you are a man of your word, and I'll tell you the whole story.

But one thing I will say first.

So far as I am concerned, I regret nothing, and I fear nothing, and I would do it all again and be proud of the job.

Damn the beast!

If he had as many lives as a cat, he would owe them all to me.

But it's the lady, Mary,

Mary Fraser, for never will I call her by that accursed name.

When I think of getting her into trouble, I

who would give my life just to bring one smile to her dear face, it's that that turns my soul into water.

And yet,

and yet, what less could I do?

I'll tell you my story, gentlemen, and then I'll ask you as man to man,

what less could I do?

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I must go back a bit.

You seem to know everything, so I expect that you know that I met her when she was a passenger and I was first officer of the Rock of Gibraltar.

From the first day I met her, she was the only woman to me.

Every day of that voyage, I loved her more.

And many a time since have I kneeled down in the darkness of the night watch and kissed the deck of that ship because I knew her dear feet had trod it.

She was never engaged to me.

She treated me as fairly as ever a woman treated a man.

I have no complaint to make.

It was all love on my side and all good comradeship and friendship on hers.

When we parted, she was a free woman.

But I could never again be a free man.

Next time I came back from sea, I heard of her marriage.

Well, why shouldn't she marry whom she liked, title and money who could carry them better than she?

She was born for all that is beautiful and dainty.

I didn't grieve over her marriage.

I was not such a selfish hound as that.

I just rejoiced that good luck had come her way.

and that she had not thrown herself away on a penniless sailor.

That's how I loved Mary Fraser.

Well, I never thought to see her again, but last voyage I was promoted, and the new boat was not yet launched, so I had to wait for a couple of months with my people at Sydenham.

One day, out in a country lane, I met Theresa Wright, her old maid.

She told me all about her about him

about everything.

I tell you, gentlemen, it nearly drove me mad.

This drunken hound that he should dare to raise his hand to her, whose boots he was not worthy to lick.

I met Theresa again.

Then I met Mary herself and met her again.

Then she would meet me no more.

But the other day I had a notice that I was was to start on my voyage within a week, and I determined that I would see her once before I left.

Teresa was always my friend, for she loved Mary and hated this villain almost as much as I did.

From her, I learned the ways of the house.

Mary used to sit up reading in her own little room downstairs.

I crept round there last night and scratched at the window.

At first she would not open to me but in her heart I know that now she loves me and she could not leave me in the frosty night.

She whispered to me to come round to the big front window and I found it open before me so as to let me into the dining room.

Again I heard from her own lips things that made my blood boil and again I cursed this brute who mishandled the woman I loved.

Well, gentlemen, I was standing with her just inside the window, in all innocence as God is my judge, when he rushed like a madman into the room, called her the vilest name that a man could use to a woman, and welted her across the face with the stick he had in his hand.

I had sprung for the poker, and it was a fair fight between us.

See, here on my arm, where his first blow fell.

Then it was my turn, and I went through him as if he'd been a a rotten pumpkin.

Do you think I was sorry?

Not I.

It was his life or mine.

But far more than that, it was his life or hers, for how could I leave her in the power of this madman?

That was how I killed him.

Was I wrong?

Well then,

what would either of you gentlemen have done if you had been in my position?

She had screamed when he struck her, and that brought old Teresa down from the room above.

There was a bottle of wine on the sideboard, and I opened it and poured a little between Mary's lips, for she was half dead with shock.

Then I took a drop myself.

Teresa was as as cool as ice, and it was her plot as much as mine.

We must make it appear that burglars had done the thing.

Teresa kept on repeating our story to her mistress while I swarmed up and cut the rope of the bell.

Then I lashed her in her chair and frayed out the end of the rope to make it look natural, else they would wonder how in the world a burglar could have got up there to cut it.

Then I gathered gathered up a few plates and pots of silver to carry out the idea of the robbery, and there I left them, with orders to give the alarm when I had a quarter of an hour's start.

I dropped the silver into the pond and made off for Sydenham, feeling that for once in my life I had done a real good night's work.

And that's the truth, And the whole truth, Mr.

Holmes, if it costs me my neck.

Holmes smoked for some time in silence.

Then he crossed the room and shook our visitor by the hand.

That's what I think, said he.

I know that every word is true, for you have hardly said a word which I did not know.

No one but an acrobat or a sailor could have got up to that bell-rope from the bracket, and no one but a sailor could have made the knots with which the cord was fastened to the chair.

Only once had this lady been brought into contact with sailors, and that was on her voyage, and it was some one of her own class of life, since she was trying hard to shield him, and so showing that she loved him.

You see how easy it was for me to lay my hands upon upon you when once I had started upon the right trail.

I thought the police never could have seen through our dodge.

And the police haven't, nor will they, to the best of my belief.

Now look here, Captain Crocker, this is a very serious matter, though I am willing to admit that you acted under the most extreme provocation to which any man could be subjected.

I am not sure that in defence of your own life your action will not be pronounced legitimate.

However, that is for a British jury to decide.

Meanwhile, I have so much sympathy for you that if you choose to disappear in the next 24 hours,

I will promise you that no one will hinder you.

And then it will all come out?

Certainly it will come out.

The sailor flushed with anger.

What sort of proposal is that to make a man?

I know enough of law to understand that Mary would be held as accomplice.

Do you think I would leave her alone to face the music while I slunk away?

No, sir.

Let them do their worst upon me, but for heaven's sake, mister Holmes, find some way of keeping my poor Mary out of the courts.

Holmes, for a second time, held out his hand to the sailor.

I was only testing you, and you ring true every time.

Well,

it is a great responsibility that I take upon myself.

But I have given Hopkins an excellent hint, and if he can't avail himself of it, I can do no more.

See here, Captain Crocker, we'll do this in due form of law.

You are the prisoner.

Watson, you are a British jury, and I never met a man who was more eminently fitted to represent one.

I am the judge.

Now, gentlemen of the jury, you have heard the evidence.

Do you find the prisoner guilty or not guilty?

Not guilty, my lord, said I.

Vox populi, vox dei.

You are acquitted, Captain Crocker.

So long as the law does not find some other victim, you are safe from me.

Come back to this lady in a year, and may her future and yours justify us in the judgment which we have pronounced this night.

Next time on Sherlock Holmes' short stories, we follow the great detective as he takes on his most consequential case yet, in The Adventure of the Second Stain.

When a letter from a foreign ruler disappears from the European Secretary's dispatch box, the Prime Minister himself turns to Holmes in desperation.

The contents of the letter are so explosive that it could plunge Europe into all-out war should it be made public.

But something about this diplomatic crisis is not what it seems.

Following a trail that leads from the corridors of power to the bloodstained floor of a murdered spy's house, Holmes must unravel a web of political intrigue and deception before catastrophe strikes.

That's next time.

Can't wait a week until the next episode?

Well, listen to it right away by subscribing to Noiser Plus.

Head to www.noiser.com slash subscriptions for more information or click the link in the episode description.

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