‘Of more interest to me, however, was this individual’s opinion of the lady of the house.’ Holmes paused for a moment to relight his old clay pipe.
‘Really, Holmes!’ I interrupted. ‘It is not like you to have any truck with idle household gossip.’
‘Have I not told you, Watson, on more than one occasion, that a trained student of human nature can glean more relevant information over a pint of ale with the clientele at a saloon bar, than he can from a thousand police reports!’ Holmes retorted, hurling his still lighted match to the floor with a flourish as he spoke.
I mumbled apologetically as I fell to the floor to douse the offending flame.
Having composed himself with a long draw upon his pipe, Holmes resumed.
‘Upon learning that the woman was both vain and cold-hearted in her meanness, I decided that a visit to the newsagent on the Commercial Road might be in order if I was to present a complete picture of the situation to brother Randell. My suspicions were soon borne out as the newsagent recognized at once my description of the banker’s wife of ill-repute. It was she who demanded that the money should now be passed to her and not to old Ben. He was to inform Ben that the money had simply not arrived and to make no mention of her visit.’
‘How do you suppose that she discovered her husband’s little deception?’ I asked, as Holmes paused to re-light his pipe.
‘The servant, whose evidence you valued so contemptuously, thinks that she observed her husband handing the footman an envelope, in a most strange and cautious manner. Interestingly enough this individual was dismissed but a few days ago. I have informed Crosby of this in a brief note and I now fully expect him to arrange a clandestine meeting with his brother. As to its results, I am sure Crosby will inform us of them at some future date,’ Holmes concluded quietly.
Any further thoughts that we might have had on the subject were suddenly dispelled by a disturbance in the passageway below. Even before we could take steps to investigate its cause, an awkward-looking, red-faced young constable burst into our rooms, with an apologetic Mrs Hudson in close attendance.
‘I am so sorry, Mr Holmes …’ she began, before Holmes dismissed her with a wave of his hand.
‘Now, Constable,’ Holmes spoke quietly and with a smile, ‘calm yourself for a moment and then explain the reason behind your clumsy intrusion.’
‘Yes sir. Sorry sir. You see, Inspector Lestrade was most insistent that you come at once. I have never seen him so put out before,’ the lad replied.
‘Where are we to come and with what purpose?’ I asked.
‘To the Kyle and Onstott bank, of Cheapside, although the inspector would rather inform you himself of the reason for the visit once you have arrived. I have a hansom waiting outside,’ he added hopefully.
Holmes gestured for me not to express my astonishment at the mention of the name of the bank.
‘We shall join you outside shortly,’ Holmes informed the relieved young policeman. Then quietly to me he added: ‘We shall learn a lot more from Lestrade for so long as he remains ignorant of our earlier involvement in this matter.’ I nodded my agreement and a moment later we were racing down the stairs to the waiting cab.
We were fortunate in that the driver was none other than an old acquaintance of Holmes. George had assisted Holmes in his enquiries on more than one occasion, most notably during the affair of the Naval Treaty, and his intimate knowledge of London enabled us to answer Lestrade’s request for urgency most promptly.
We made our way through a veritable labyrinth of security systems before we reached the small but very deep main vault. I have seen Lestrade, many times at the scene of a dreadful crime, but never before have I seen his small weaselly face so etched with distress and confusion. Nor have I seen him so pleased upon Holmes’s arrival at the scene.
‘Good of you to come, Mr Holmes. This really is something right up your alley,’ Lestrade said slowly, trying to calm himself.
Holmes paid scant regard to this dubious greeting and was immediately engaged in his initial survey of the room, whilst gesturing to me to examine the bloodied, lifeless form that lay prostrate in the centre of the vault floor. My examination was as brief as it was futile. The police surgeon would be able to supply a far more detailed report than I was capable of providing in these circumstances. However I was able to confirm that the poor fellow had suffered an almighty blow, to the back of the head, and that a large blunt object, evidently removed at the time of the murder, had been the tool of the man’s destruction.
As I gradually stood away from the body I became aware of Holmes slithering across the floor, as if he were a black mamba stalking its prey, with a small magnifying glass protruding from the stalk-like fingers of his left hand. From time to time he would emit a grunt of disappointment. Then he might put a certain object which was invisible to the rest of us under closer examination by raising it to his eye. At last he sprang up from the floor and dusted himself down with a flourish.
‘Any clues?’ Lestrade asked, a note of hope in his voice, quite unlike his usual cynicism.
‘Only three of any real relevance, although I am certain that there would have been considerably more had you and your men not stampeded all over them!’ Holmes glared towards two embarrassed constables who were standing to attention by the door, as he spat out these words.
‘Three?’ Lestrade asked, smiling tentatively.
‘However I shall not be able to determine their true worth until you furnish me with a few facts! For example, have you managed to establish the identity of the victim?’
‘Certainly, it is none other than the bank’s manager himself, one Nathaniel Crosby.’ As Lestrade said this name Holmes shot me a barely discernible glance in the hope that it might prevent me from registering any form of recognition. In this Homes was successful, for Lestrade continued, unaware of our interchange.
‘The facts, as I understand them, are as meagre as they are unusual. Crosby informed his staff that he would be working late this very evening in preparation for the regular quarterly audit. At a quarter past seven his chief clerk, John Clevedon, asked if he could be of any further assistance. Crosby informed him that the remainder of his work would need to be conducted in the vault and was for his eyes alone.
‘You can, therefore, understand Clevedon’s surprise when, upon leaving for the night, he was certain that he heard two agitated voices echoing up from the vault and that one of them was surely that of a woman!’
‘A woman?’ I questioned. ‘Well, perhaps it was that of his wife?’
‘That was Clevedon’s notion, however he felt that it would be indiscreet of him to try to confirm this, and he continued on his way out of the building. It was at this point, as he turned the last key in the main door to the street, that he heard a most terrible cry that also emanated from the vault. His first instinct was to retrace his steps and to discover the cause of this ghastly sound. However, and to his regret, he thought it unwise to return unattended and so he went in search of a constable—’
Holmes slapped his forehead in exasperation. ‘I presume that the search took longer than he had anticipated and that by the time he had returned, policeman in tow, the culprit had long since departed?’
‘You have it in one, Mr Holmes,’ Lestrade confirmed gravely.
‘I presume that your early suspicions have fallen on Crosby’s wife?’ I asked.
Lestrade nodded emphatically. ‘Indeed, Doctor, and I immediately dispatched two men to the Crosby’s address. However no one in their small household had a notion as to her whereabouts, so I left an officer there to await her return. So far I have received no word of her.’