" 'Rat poison; how true,' laughed the Italian. And they went into a part of the laboratory that was always kept locked. The Italian was the rich man's cousin; I saw a picture in the paper about the funeral."
"What else do you remember?" pressed Holmes.
"Nothing!" Her fist thumped down upon the deal table in her frustration, making the glassware rattle. "It's just another image with no context."
"It's enough for now." Holmes walked to the center of the room and stood before the fireplace, momentarily indecisive. "I admit, Inspector, to a strong temptation to accompany you up to Liverpool and see the scene first hand. However, Garnett is surely far from there by now. If I could but penetrate his reasoning - but I can't make bricks without straw. Liverpool it must be. I shall be packed in five minutes. Watson," he turned to me, "oblige me by escorting Miss Smith home, will you? I'll get in touch with you tomorrow night. And," he lowered his voice, "don't let her go out alone, my dear fellow."
"You anticipate some danger to her person?" I asked quietly. "I thought it was Sacker who wanted her killed, not Garnett. Is she not safe now?"
"I shouldn't care to put it to an empirical test," he replied. "At least not while I'm gone."
I nodded, and turned to collect my patient and her things. As the two cabs for which we had sent Billy arrived at the front door, Holmes and Lestrade came down the stairs, now equipped for the journey. Lestrade was saying, "I have the schedule. The tram for Liverpool leaves in just under an hour."
"Good," replied Holmes. "It will give us just time to stop at the Wigmore Street Post Office and send a cable to Brazil."
"Brazil! But this case has nothing whatever to do with Brazil," protested Lestrade, getting into their cab. "The United States, yes, but not South America."
"No? I must be mistaken, then," Holmes's voice floated back blandly as the cab bore them away. "Wigmore Street Post Office, cabby."
***
The next evening I received a telephone call in my study from Holmes in Baker Street. This was a rather unusual occurrence, as he was not fond of the instrument, being addicted from long habit to telegrams when in a hurry and a personal visit when not.
"How is Miss Smith today?" was his first question.
"Improved," was my reply. "When she awoke this morning, she was able to recall a great deal about living in Boston and New York. I took her to see Sir Morris Stein, the great neurologist around the corner in Harley Street. I've referred one or two cases to him before. He's a remarkable fellow, semi-retired now to work on his books, but he owes me a favor. He concurs she's not brain damaged - puts her amnesia down to a combination of drugs, post-hypnotic suggestion, and exhaustion from terror. He thinks her loss of memory as to recent events is going to continue to pass off spontaneously over the next few weeks without further treatment."
"And her amnesia about her early life?"
"He beat around the bush about that. Said he wanted to see her once a week for a while. He said a curious thing - that he didn't think this fellow Garnett was capable of building such a wall between her mind and her memory entirely without help. But he wouldn't explain what he meant. Could there be yet another doctor involved in the case?"
"Interesting. No, I don't think that's what he meant. I have a theory about her early life-but this is not the time. My dear fellow, do you suppose you could get your wife and servants out of the house for a few days?"
"Good God, Holmes, why?"
"It has to do with what I didn't find in Liverpool. This has been quite a case for negative data. Of course, I expected not to find Garnett, the excess luggage-if Garnett's the man I think him, it has probably been sent to Wooton-Under-the-Edge or some such place, to be left until called for-or a traceable poison in Sacker's body, and indeed all these things failed to turn up, right on schedule. But the crowning absence, the one I didn't expect, is the absence of motive for the slaying of Sacker. That has proved to be the keystone.
"I've been wrong about Garnett, Watson; wrong from the very beginning. I had assumed, that because he refused to kill Miss Smith or allow her to be killed or otherwise molested, that he was a man of greater moral scruples as well as greater intelligence than his partner; that, in short, he was a sane and rational gentleman, within the limits of his criminality. Wrong.
"Watson, the man is a megalomaniac of the first order. The springs of his actions are not reason and intelligence, but vision and obsession. And the name of his obsession is Cordelia Smith."
"Do you think he will come back to London and try to kill her?" I asked, horrified.
"Not exactly. I think he's going to come back to London and try to kidnap her. And we shall be waiting to take him in the trap. Thus the removal of your wife and servants, both to clear the path and to get them out of harm's way."
"But what about Miss Smith? You can't stake her out like a goat at a tiger hunt!" I protested indignantly.
"I can't spring a trap without bait, either. I think you rather underestimate Miss Smith. I believe she will wish to be in at the kill. She once described herself as the ghost of a murdered woman, as I recall. No, she has no love for Garnett, whatever distorted feelings he may harbor towards her.
"I'm having your place watched as discreetly as I can. I don't think Garnett will strike tonight; he needs a little time to prepare a hiding place, among other things. Inspector Lestrade is cooperating, under protest; he would rather be expending his considerable energies combing Ireland, I understand. I shall be along some time tomorrow to help set up, hopefully without being seen. Give my regards to Mrs. Watson, will you?" He rang off.
I sighed, and steeled myself to break Holmes's news to my wife. She is a patient woman, but turning her out of her home to make way for a midnight visit by a poisoning madman was going rather outside her experience, even for the interests of justice. However, she took it better than I had hoped, and although I suspect it was the cause of some coolness between herself and Holmes for a time thereafter, I was able to see her safely off for a visit to some friends at Greenwich early the next morning. Miss Smith had shown far less alarm than Alicia when Holmes's plan was revealed to her. She merely smiled, and expressed herself willing to cooperate to the best of her abilities. Later in the morning, however, she came down to my study to ask if I had an extra handgun which she might carry upon her person.
"Both Holmes and I shall be armed," I reassured her. "And Inspector Lestrade will have men outside. There will be no need for you to get involved in the unpleasantness." She accepted this after some hesitation. Privately, I breathed a sigh of relief; after her performance in the back garden, I was uncertain of how she would behave if armed.
About three in the afternoon there came a ring at my front door. Answering it of necessity myself, I beheld a thin, bent old man, whose wizened face and rheumy eyes were framed by white side-whiskers.
"Dr. Watson, is it? I was told you was the man to see about the rheumatics," he said in a high, thin quaver.
I had seen the disguise before, but it never ceased to amaze me. However, I kept a straight face, and invited the old man inside. As I closed the door, Holmes straightened up with a sigh of relief.
"It's a good disguise," he remarked, depositing cane, hat, and side-whiskers upon my hall table. "But good heavens, I think I should be seeing you in earnest about the rheumatics if I had to keep it up for very long. I've received answers from Boston and New York. Is your resident patient within?"
"She's reading in the study."
Miss Smith looked up in quick alarm as we entered, but her face relaxed into a smile when she saw Holmes. "Is all prepared, then?" she inquired.