The Whole Art of Detection Read online

  “ ‘Charlie, it was horrible,’ she cried, running to him. ‘Uncle Patrick tore out of the house and collapsed. This is Dr. John Watson. He has been so helpful and sympathetic that I was telling him all about Uncle’s condition.’

  “Charles Warburton shook my hand readily. ‘Very sorry to have troubled you, Doctor, but as you can see, we are in something of a mess. If Uncle Patrick grows any worse, I hate to think what—’

  “Just then a great roar echoed from the morning room, followed by a shattering crash. The three of us rushed into the hallway and found Colonel Warburton staring wildly about him, a vase broken into shards at his feet.

  “ ‘I left this house once,’ he swore, ‘and by the devil I will do it again. It’s full of vengeful spirits, and I will see you all in Hell for keeping me here!’

  “The niece and nephew did their utmost to calm the colonel, but he grew even more enraged at the sight of them. In fact, he was so violently agitated that only Sam Jefferson could coax him, with my help, toward his bedroom, and once we had reached it, the colonel slammed the door shut in the faces of his kinfolk.

  “By sheer good fortune, after some cajoling I persuaded him to take a sedative, and when he fell back in a daze on his bed, I stood up and looked about me. His room was quite Spartan, with hardly anything on the white walls, in a simple style I supposed was a relic of his days in Texas. I have told you that the remainder of the house also reflected his disdain for frippery. The wall-facing bed rested under a pleasant open window, and as it was on the ground floor, one could look directly out at the gardens after turning about and blinking oneself awake.

  “I had turned to rejoin my hosts when Sam Jefferson cleared his throat behind me.

  “ ‘You believe he’ll be all right, sir?’

  “He spoke with the slow, deep tones of a man born on the other side of the Mississippi. I had not noticed it before, but a thick knot of scarring ran across his dark temple, which led me to believe he had done quite as much fighting in his youth as his employer—or worse, been somehow brutalized during the period before the harrowing conflict which ripped the nation asunder to end the slave trade.

  “ ‘I hope he will recover from his present attack quite soon, but his family would do well to consult a specialist,’ I replied. ‘He is on the brink of a nervous collapse. Was the colonel so fanciful in his younger days?’

  “ ‘I don’t rightly know about ‘fanciful,’ sir. He’s as superstitious a man as ever I knew, and more afeared of spirits than most. Always has been. But sir, I got a mind to tell you something else about these spells the colonel been having.’

  “ ‘Yes?’

  “ ‘Only this, Doctor,’ and his low voice sank to a whisper. ‘That first time as he had a vision, I set it down for a dream. Mister Patrick’s always been more keen on the bogeymen than I have, sir, and I paid it no mind. But after the second bad spell—the one where he saw the Tejano stabbing the soldier—he went and showed me something that he didn’t show the others.’

  “ ‘What was it?’

  “He walked over to where the colonel now slept and pointed at a gash in the old uniform’s breast, where the garment had been carefully mended.

  “ ‘The day Mister Patrick told me about that dream was the same day I mended this here hole in his shirt. Thought himself crazy, he did, and I can’t say as I blame him. Because this hole is in exactly the spot where he dreamed the Tejano stabbed the Texian the night before. What do you think of that, sir?’

  “ ‘I’ve no idea what to think of it,’ I replied. ‘It is most peculiar, but surely it must prove to be a coincidence.’

  “ ‘Then there’s this third vision,’ he went on patiently. ‘The one he had last night. Says he saw a band of ’em with torches, marching toward him like a pack of demons. I don’t know about that. But I sure know that yesterday morning, when I went to start the fire in the library, half our kindling was missing. Clean gone, sir. Didn’t make much of it at the time, but this puts it in another light.”

  Sherlock Holmes, who had changed postures a gratifying number of times during my account, rubbed his long hands together avidly before clapping them.

  “It’s splendid, my dear fellow. Positively first-class. The room was very bare indeed, you say?”

  “Yes. Even in the midst of wealth, he lived like a soldier.”

  “I don’t suppose you can tell me what you saw outside the window?”

  I hesitated, reflecting as best I could.

  “Though I wish I could furnish you with a clue of some sort, there was nothing outside the window, for I made certain to look. Jefferson assured me that he examined the grounds near the house after he discovered that the firewood was missing and found no sign of unusual traffic. When I asked after an odd hole, he mentioned that a tall lilac had been torn out from under the window weeks previous because it blocked the sunshine, but that cannot have had any bearing. As I said, the bed faced the wall, not the window.”

  Holmes tilted his head back with a light laugh. “Yes, you did say that, and I assure you I am coming to a greater appreciation of your skills as an investigator. What happened next?”

  “I quit the house soon afterward. The younger Warburtons were anxious to know what had transpired in the sickroom, and I comforted them, saying that their uncle was asleep, and unlikely to suffer another such outburst that day. Then I assured them all, including Jefferson, that I would return the following afternoon to check on my patient.

  “As I departed, I could not help noticing another man walking up the side path leading to the back door. He was very bronzed, with a long handlebar moustache and unkempt black hair, and he was dressed in simple trousers and a colorful but roughly woven linen shirt of the kind that the Mexican laborers wore. This swarthy fellow paid me no mind, but walked straight ahead, and I seized the opportunity to memorize his looks in case he should come to have any bearing on the matter. I did not know what to make of the colonel’s ghostly affliction, or Jefferson’s bizarre account of its two physical manifestations, but I thought it an odd enough coincidence to note.

  “The next day, I saw a patient or two in the afternoon and then locked my practice, this time hailing a hack to take me up Nob Hill. Jefferson greeted me at the door and led me into a study of sorts, its tall shelves stacked with gold-lettered military volumes and historical works. Colonel Warburton stood there dressed quite normally, in a grey summer suit, and he seemed bewildered by his own behavior the day before.

  “ ‘It’s a bona fide curse, I can’t help but think, and I’m suffering to end it,’ he said to me. ‘There are times I know I’m not in my right senses, and other times when I can see those wretched visions before me as clear as your face is now.’

  “ ‘Is there anything else you can tell me which might help in my diagnosis?’

  “ ‘Not that won’t make me out to be cracked in the head, Dr. Watson. After every one of these living nightmares, I’ve awakened with the same pain in my head, and I can’t for the life of me decide whether I’ve imagined the whole thing or if I really am haunted by one of the men I killed during the war in Texas. I can’t pretend as I’d be a lick surprised to learn I’d done someone a terrible wrong back then. Affairs were that muddled, and the lands under such bitter dispute, and for such surefire reasons on both sides, you understand—I’ve no doubt I came out on one or more of the wrong Tejanos, men who were only thinking to protect what was and always had been theirs. So much bloodshed in those days, no man has the luxury of knowing he was always in the right.’

  “ ‘It does indeed sound as if the past preoccupies your thoughts excessively. I am no expert in disorders of the mind,’ I warned him, ‘although I will do all I can for you. You ought to consult a specialist if your symptoms persist or worsen. May I have your permission, however, to ask a seemingly unrelated question?’

  “ ‘By all means.’

  “ ‘H
ave you in your employ, or do any of your servants or gardeners occasionally hire, Mexican workers?’

  “He seemed quite puzzled by the question. ‘I don’t happen to have any Hispanos on my payroll. And when the staff need day labor, they almost always engage Chinese. They’re quick and honest, and they come cheap. Why do you ask?’

  “I convinced him that my question had been purely clinical, congratulated him on his recovery, and made my way to the foyer, mulling several new ideas over in my brain. Jefferson appeared to see me out, handing me my hat and stick.

  “ ‘Where are the other members of the household today?’ I inquired.

  “ ‘Miss Molly is out paying calls, and Mister Charles is working in his darkroom.’

  “ ‘Jefferson, I saw a rather mysterious fellow yesterday as I was leaving. To your knowledge, are any men of Mexican or Chileno descent ever hired by the groundskeeper?’

  “I would swear to you, Holmes, that a strange glow lit his eyes when I posed that question, but he merely shook his head. ‘Anyone does any hiring, Dr. Watson, I know all about it. And no one of that type been asking after work here for six months and more.’

  “ ‘I was merely curious whether the sight of such a man had upset the colonel,’ I explained, ‘but as you know, he is much better today. I am no closer to tracing the source of his affliction, but I hope that if anything new occurs, or if you are ever in doubt, you will contact me.’

  “ ‘These spells, they come and they go, Dr. Watson,’ Jefferson replied, ‘but if I discover aught, I’ll surely let you know of it.’

  “When I quit the house, I set myself a brisk pace, for I thought to walk down the hill as evening fell. But just as I began my descent, and the wind picked up from the west, I saw not twenty yards ahead of me the same sun-burnished laborer I’d spied the day before, attired in the same fashion, and clearly having emerged from some part of the Warburton residence moments previous. The very sight of him roused my blood; I had not yet met you, of course, and thus knew nothing whatever of detective work, but some instinct told me to follow him to determine whether or not the colonel was the victim of a malignant design.”

  “You followed him?” Holmes interjected with a startled expression. “Whatever for?”

  “I felt I had no choice—the parallels between his presence and Colonel Warburton’s nightmares had to be explained.”

  “Ever the man of action.” My friend shook his head. “Where did he lead you?”

  “When he reached Broadway, where the land flattened and the mansions gave way to grocers, butcheries, and cigar shops, he stopped to mount a streetcar. By a lucky chance, there was a passing hack, which I hailed, and I ordered the driver to follow the streetcar until I called for him to stop.

  “My quarry went nearly as far as the waterfront before he descended, and in a trice I paid my driver and set off in pursuit toward the base of Telegraph Hill. During the Gold Rush days, the ocean-facing slope had been a tent colony of chilenos and peruanos. That settlement intermixed with the lowest hell of them all on its eastern flank: Sydney-Town, where the escaped Australian convicts and ticket-of-leave men ran the vilest public houses imaginable. It is a matter of historical record that the Fierce Grizzly employed a live bear chained outside its door.”

  “I have heard of that district,” Holmes declared keenly. “The whole of it is known as the Barbary Coast, is it not? I confess I should have liked to see it in its prime, although there are any number of streets in London I can visit should I wish to take my life in my hands. You did not yourself encounter any wild beasts?”

  “Not in the strictest sense; but inside of ten minutes, I found myself passing gin palaces that could have rivaled St. Giles for depravity. The gaslights appeared sickly and meager, and riotous men stumbled from one red-curtained den of thieves to the next, either losing their money willingly by gambling it away, or drinking from the wrong glass only to find themselves propped insensate in an alley the next morning without a cent to their name.

  “At one point I thought I had lost sight of him, for a drayman’s cart came between us and at the same moment he ducked into one of the deadfalls. I soon ascertained where he had gone, however, and after a moment’s hesitation entered the place myself.

  “Dull light shone from cheap tallow candles and ancient kerosene lamps with dark purple shades. Losing no time, I approached the man and asked if I could speak with him.

  “He stared at me silently, his dark eyes narrowed into slits. At last, he signaled the barman for a second drink and handed me a small glass of clear liquor.

  “I thanked him, but he remained dumb. ‘Do you speak English?’ I inquired finally.

  “He grinned, and with an easy motion of his wrist flicked back his drink and set the empty glass on the bar. ‘I speak it as well as you, señor. My name is Juan Portillo. What do you want?’

  “ ‘I want to know why you visited the Warburton residence yesterday and again this afternoon.’

  “His smile broadened even further. ‘Ah, now I understand. You follow me?’

  “ ‘There have been suspicious events at that house, ones which I have reason to believe may concern you.’

  “ ‘I know nothing of suspicious events. They hire me to do a job, and to be quiet. So I am quiet.’

  “ ‘I must warn you that if you attempt to harm the colonel in any way, you will answer for it to me.’

  “He nodded at me coldly, still smiling. ‘Finish your drink, señor. And then I will show you something.’

  “I had seen the saloon keeper pour my liquor from the same bottle as his, and thus could not object to drinking it. The stuff was as strong as gin, but warmer, and left a fiery burn in the throat. I had barely finished it when Portillo drew out of some hidden sheath a very long, mother-of-pearl-handled knife.

  “ ‘I never harm the colonel. I never even see this colonel. But I tell you something anyway. Men who follow me, they answer to this,’ he said, lifting the knife.

  “He snarled something in Spanish. Three men, who had been sitting at a round table several yards away, stood up and strode toward us. Two carried pistols in their belts, and one tapped a short, stout cudgel in his hand. I was evaluating whether to make do with the bowie knife I kept on my person, or cut my losses and attempt an escape, when one of the men stopped short.

  “ ‘Es el Doctor! Dr. Watson, yes?’ he said eagerly.

  “After a moment’s astonishment, I recognized a patient I had treated not two weeks before even though he could not pay me, a man who had gashed his leg so badly in a fight on the wharf, his friends had carried him to the nearest physician. He was profoundly happy to see me, a torrent of Spanish flowing from his lips, and before two minutes had passed of him gesturing proudly at his wound and pointing at me, Portillo’s dispute had been forgotten. I did not press my luck, but joined them for another glass of that wretched substance and bade them farewell, Portillo’s unblinking black eyes upon me until I was out of the bar and making for Front Street with all speed.

  “The next day I determined to report Portillo’s presence to the colonel, for as little as I understood, I now believed him an even more sinister character than I’d first suspected. To my dismay, however, I found the house in a terrible uproar.”

  “I am not surprised. What had happened?”

  “Sam Jefferson stood accused of breaking into Charles Warburton’s darkroom with the intent to steal his photographic apparatus. The servant who opened the door to me was hardly lucid for her tears, and I heard cruel vituperations even from outside the house. Apparently, or so the downstairs maid said in her state of near-hysterics, Charles had already sacked Jefferson, but the colonel was livid his nephew had acted without his approval, theft or no theft, and at the very moment I arrived they were locked in a violent quarrel. From where I stood, I could hear Colonel Warburton screaming that Jefferson be recalled, and Charles shouting back that
he had already suffered enough indignities in that house to last him a lifetime. Come now, Holmes, admit to me that the tale is entirely unique,” I could not help but add, for the flush of color in my friend’s face told me precisely how deeply he was interested.

  “It is not the ideal word,” he demurred, sipping his wine. “I have not yet heard all, but there were cases in Lisbon and Salzburg within the last fifty years which may possibly have some bearing. Please, finish your story. You left, of course, for what gentleman could remain in such circumstances, and you called the next day upon the colonel.”

  “I did not, as a matter of fact, call upon the colonel.”

  “No? Your natural curiosity did not get the better of you?”

  “When I arrived the following morning, Colonel Warburton as well as Sam Jefferson had vanished into thin air.”

  I expected this revelation to strike like a bolt from the firmament, but was destined for disappointment.

  “Ha,” Holmes said with the trace of a smile. “Had they indeed?”

  “Molly and Charles Warburton were beside themselves with worry. The safe had been opened and many deeds and securities, not to mention paper currency, were missing. There was no sign of force, so they theorized that their uncle had been compelled or persuaded to provide the combination.

  “A search party set out at once, of course, and descriptions of Warburton and Jefferson were circulated, but to no avail. The mad colonel and his servant, either together or separately, voluntarily or against their wills, quit the city without leaving a single clue behind them. Upon my evidence the police brought Portillo in for questioning, but he provided a conclusive alibi and could not be charged. And so Colonel Warburton’s obsession with war, as well as the inscrutable designs of his manservant, remain to this day unexplained.

  “What do you think of it?” I finished triumphantly, for Holmes by this time had leaned forward in his chair, entirely engrossed.

  “I think that Sam Jefferson—apart from you and your noble intentions, my dear fellow—was quite the hero of this tale.”