Sherlock Holmes and the Shakespeare Globe Murders Read online

  “Evening, gentlemen,” said Lestrade, clearly relieved to see us. Then, taking in my apparel—“Glad to see somebody’s enjoyed a good dinner this evening.” Holmes was clearly in no mood for such jocularity. “Perhaps you will be so good as to show us where the body was found?”

  Lestrade proceeded to lead us up a narrow staircase to the third floor and indicated a door where yet another constable stood guard. A moment later Holmes was inside what the establishment undoubtedly referred to as a suite but which was, in effect, little more than one large room with a kitchen alcove and a tiny bathroom opening off it. It was the bathroom that drew my friend’s attention. Although someone had now turned the tap off, it was clear that at some point in the recent past water from the tub had overflowed. Tentacles of black reached into the green of the living room carpet.

  “It was the water coming through the ceiling that alerted Mrs Harris here.” It was Lestrade, now just behind us with the chubby proprietress straining to look over his shoulder. “We have a special sign in all the bathrooms about not letting the tub overflow,” said that good lady primly.

  “And I’m sure under normal circumstances she would have observed it most meticulously,” said Holmes from the bathroom door. “Unfortunately, on this occasion I’m afraid she had very little say in the matter. This way, Watson, if you please. The final curtain of the late Dame Ivy Fosdyke …”

  As I squeezed past Holmes, I was greeted by the kind of sight that never fails to remind me how tentative is our tenure on this planet. The bath was of the large old-fashioned variety. Above it and set into the wall was a shower head and around the bath was a shower rail to hold a curtain to contain the flow of water. Now the rail was buckled with just a few of the rings in place. The curtain itself had been torn free and now acted as a sort of improvised shroud for the figure lying in the bath.

  Dame Ivy looked more angry than afraid as she faced her last audience. It was as though she felt some incompetent extra had given her her cue before she had arranged her costume properly. The ‘costume’ was made of some sort of heavy material of the tarpaulin variety—originally an unattractive shade of green, now made even uglier by the bloodstained slashes that criss-crossed it.

  “My God, Holmes, whoever killed her must have stabbed her at least a dozen times,” I whispered, wishing that I now had the brandy that Holmes had interrupted. For all the times I’ve witnessed it, sudden violent death never fails to turn my stomach.

  “Indeed, Watson, there is hysteria at work here, since any one of these blows would have been sufficient to dispatch someone so frail.”

  “I suppose we don’t need to ask who …?”

  “No, I’m afraid that’s all too obvious. And although he didn’t choose to leave us the murder weapon as a present, he did leave us his calling card.” And Holmes indicated the bathroom mirror behind me. There, finger painted in the lady’s blood, were the words …

  “THOU WRETCHED, RASH INTRUDING FOOL, FAREWELL.”

  and beneath them the crude drawing of a rose. “Hamlet to the dead Polonius when he’s stabbed him through the curtain in his mother’s room,” Holmes mused. “Another Shakespearean method of death. And now ‘we three’ are two.”

  Lestrade had now joined us in the doorway and was doing his best to shield the inquisitive Mrs Harris from the contents of the room. “But why would our man kill her, Mr Holmes? According to your theory, they was on the same side, surely?”

  “Were, Lestrade. ‘Were’ being the operative word. But the Rose Killer—as I’m beginning to think of him—sees treachery everywhere and plots in profusion. Perhaps he felt Dame Ivy was starting to lose her nerve …” I thought back to the scene by the gates of the Globe and could well believe that interpretation. “Perhaps, on the other hand, she was up to her old blackmailing tricks and pushed up the price of her loyalty. Either way, I’m afraid she got more than she bargained for.”

  “Well, Watson,” turning to me, “there’s nothing more we can do here and Lestrade seems to have his hands full …” And, indeed, as we left Lestrade was calling for the constable to help him with the recumbent Mrs Harris, who had managed to get a glimpse of her late guest and promptly fainted clean away.

  As I followed my friend down the stairs. I heard him say to himself—“I am in blood stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o’er.”

  Shakespeare once again, of course, but I hadn’t the heart to ask him the source. We made our way home in virtual silence and said our goodnights. We both had much on our minds.

  I have to confess it was late morning before I put in an appearance in our sitting room to find Holmes enrobed in his favourite old dressing gown and looking remarkably cheerful, I thought.

  He seemed to read my mind and my mood. “My dear fellow, it doesn’t take a private investigator with the eye of the proverbial hawk and deductive powers as yet unmatched in his profession to tell that a cup of coffee would make the difference between life and death. I believe there may be one left in the pot. Business has been brisk this morning.”

  He didn’t elucidate on the last point and I must admit I was preoccupied with the proffered coffee pot. He had in no way understated its recuperative properties. A few minutes later I felt strong enough to bring up the subject of the case. Holmes’s expression grew serious.

  “I’m very much afraid our friend has crossed his own personal Rubicon. What began as a rather malicious game has now turned deadly earnest, as he sees that, not only is Adler not to be bullied into capitulation but that he himself is in danger. Last night something in him clearly snapped. He feared Dame Ivy was about to give him away and yet, ironically, while he might have been unmasked, it would have been hard to accuse him of anything. The worst that could have happened would be that he could no longer pursue his plan—and to him, I suspect, that is everything. So he killed Dame Ivy … and by doing so, changed the rules of the game.”

  “In what way, Holmes?”

  “In the first place, we are now pursuing a murderer not a prankster and in the second, I have determined that we shall no longer be hostage to events of his creation but devise our own final act—an act in which your own part will be crucial.” I knew him too well to bother to ask precisely what that part might be. He would tell me in his own way and in his own good time.

  But Holmes’s mind had already moved on to other matters. “Tonight, for instance, I want you to go to Adler’s dinner first to represent us both. I may be a little delayed, so you will make my apologies. The guests will naturally try to use my absence to pump you about the progress we are making on the case.”

  “But what shall I say?” It was one thing to act in Holmes’s stead but quite another to have to speak for him. “You will say that I have solved matters to my satisfaction and that an announcement is imminent.”

  “But is that true?” “Nor entirely but our man is not to know that and this will put him off balance for the time we need to finish weaving our net. Already he will feel it tightening around him.”

  Remembering the exploits I had been discussing the night before, I threw my shoulders smartly back, which immediately revealed itself to be a mistake. “You can count on me, Holmes.”

  “I know that, old fellow. You are the needle of my compass.” His smile was momentarily boyish and the years rolled away. Then he was back to business. “Since last we spoke the odds have shortened in our favour. We have two new allies.”

  “And who might they be?” I asked puzzled.

  “The first is under this cloth,” Holmes replied. He moved across the room towards a large rectangular object covered by a dust sheet. “Meet the Gentleman from Dulwich.” And he whisked the cloth away to reveal a large oil portrait of a tall, austere man in noble regalia. Something in the eye suggested that he was enjoying the moment, almost as though he were acting the part of a gentleman. “Doctor John H. Watson, may I introduce Edward Alleyn, founder of Dulwich College, formerly gentleman actor with the Rose—othe
rwise known as Doctor Faustus, the Jew of Malta and Tamburlaine the Great, among his many other incarnations.”

  “Alleyn? So this is the fellow old Bryson was talking about yesterday?”

  “Quite right, Watson. And as much a character in the story of the new Globe as any of the actors on that stage. Although Alleyn himself had left any stage before the first Globe was even built, someone considers himself bound to defend the reputation he feels was eclipsed and with it that of the theatre he graced for so long.”

  “But this is madness, Holmes!”

  “I must say there are certain elements of dementia here that are concerning, if only because it is impossible to predict what may seem logical and eminently reasonable to the skewed mind. Which is why we must proceed with caution and seek to disconcert that mind until we can neutralise it. And with that in mind, let me introduce you to the second gentleman I have recruited to our cause. He is waiting in the hallway.”

  Holmes moved to the door and opened it, addressing someone who, for the moment, was out of my line of vision. “Do come in, Mr Adler—I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I believe you have already met my colleague, Doctor Watson?”

  “Adler?” I said before the young man entered the room. “Perhaps I should have said ‘Tallis’,” said Holmes, closing the door behind them, “since that is the name he chooses to be known by.”

  “No, Adler will do just fine, Mr Holmes,” the young man said, as he came over to shake me by the hand. “Doctor, I owe you an apology for my crass behaviour the other day in my father’s office. I’ve already made my peace with Mr Holmes and now I’d like to do the same with you. You must have thought me—what’s the English phrase?—a damn fool.”

  “I have seen displays of better manners in the young,” I replied, I’m afraid rather pompously. At this Holmes burst out laughing. “Well put, Watson. You really missed your calling. You should have been a school master ordering six of the best.” This made me laugh in turn and with that the ice was broken.

  “As you know, old fellow,” Holmes continued, “I’m not known for my diplomatic skills.” I could have argued the point but didn’t. “But in the light of the facts as we now know them …” and here he gave me a warning glance that said he was referring to only some of the facts that we had discovered—“I felt it was right to try and untangle some of the strands that had no direct bearing on the case but threatened to confuse it. Florenz Adler’s relationship with his son was one of those strands. So last evening, in your absence, I invited them here separately without telling either who they were to meet. However, what I told both of them was that we needed their help in solving the Globe affair…”

  I nodded and at that point Tallis jumped to his feet. “Perhaps I might pick up the story here, Mr Holmes? When I said I’d been a fool, Doctor, I meant just that. I don’t suppose my story’s that uncommon but it’s been none the less painful for that. You see, ever since I found out who he was—and for years my mother wouldn’t discuss the matter—my father has fascinated me and at the same time repelled me. Here he was, this imaginative and wildly successful man and yet, if he knew I existed, he ignored the fact Of course, I’ve found since that he’d tried to find me and failed. I worshiped and hated him at the same time and, of course, my mother’s bitterness was a steady drip of poison in a young mind. For years these feelings of mine festered. It was wasted and negative emotion, I knew that but, like a lot of children of famous and successful parents, I seemed incapable of doing anything about it.

  “Then I took up the law—we were living in England by that time—and soon after my mother died. It was round about the same time—about eighteen months ago—that I heard of my father’s scheme to rebuild the Globe. In fact, it was already quite well along but he’d kept his name out of it until then for obvious reasons. He knew it would create a local furore and it indeed did. Then, when that consortium came to my firm for legal advice in their attempt to take the project over, I volunteered my services to advise them. It seemed nicely ironic at the time. This man had hurt me and now I would have the power to hurt him. He cared more for his damned theatre than he did for his own flesh and blood. Now he’d have to notice me. The funny thing was that the harder I tried—and I should have known that any kind of pressure would only drive him to further efforts—the less satisfaction I derived from the whole business.

  “The silly thing is that I began to realise quite clearly that what he was doing was worth doing, that I should be helping him do it not hindering. And when I met the man and told him who he was dealing with—and saw the hurt in his eyes … well, Doctor, I realised …”

  “Revenge is bitter fruit,” I suggested.

  “Poetically and aptly put, Watson,” said Holmes softly.

  “And that’s literally where you and Mr Holmes came in,” Tallis continued. “Of course, I was too proud and stubborn to admit it then, even to myself. After all, I am Florenz Adler’s son.” He smiled in self mockery. “But when Mr Holmes invited me over to ask for some advice … and then I found my father sitting here … well, I’m afraid we both made fools of ourselves in front of him.” He turned to my friend. “I’d like to say this in front of Doctor Watson, because I’d never be able to say it to you if we were alone. We’re eternally grateful to you, Mr Holmes—and I speak for Adler & Son.”

  “Thank you, Mr Adler or Tallis or … you really must make your mind up what we are to call you. You really can’t expect two middle-aged men to remember all these confusing details.” With his deft mock confusion he caused us all to laugh and lowered the emotional temperature but I knew his expressions well enough to know that what Tallis had said had pleased him mightily. There was a romantic streak not too far below the surface of Mr Sherlock Holmes.

  As if becoming aware of it himself, he brought us back to business. “For this evening—may I call you Henry?—I want you to carry on in public as though nothing has changed. You are Henry Tallis and you represent the interests of those who wish to take over Florenz Adler’s control of the Globe project Tomorrow the story may be different but for tonight’s meeting that is the part you will continue to play.”

  “But where does Florenz Adler fit into all this?” I asked.

  “He, too, has his part but—I hope you will both indulge me in this—I wish each of you to know only what is required of him. In that way the drama I have devised may take its prearranged course. Let us call it ‘improvisational drama’ around a given theme. One day perhaps the theatre will take a lesson from life. Only the two of you—and, of course, your father, Henry—know that there is a theme and a play taking place of our devising.

  “Watson, you may recall that when Professor Bryson was describing to us the staging of Elizabethan plays he mentioned that the actors of the period were never allowed to read the whole play before they performed it. Instead, they were given only their own lines and had no idea which of their fellow actors was to play what part or speak what lines. An interesting concept, which I now intend to revive. From now on the stage is set and we are all merely players.”

  “And now, Henry, if you would be kind enough to accompany Mr Alleyn safely back to Dulwich, I believe he has played his part for now?”

  “Certainly, Mr Holmes. In fact, I kept the cab waiting around the corner. Doctor, I shall see you both this evening. Or rather, you will see the old Henry Tallis. Please don’t be surprised at my chameleon behaviour. And should you need anything, I shall be right there at your command.”

  “I hope I shan’t be in commanding mood,” I smiled as I shook his hand. “Personally, I’m looking forward to an excellent dinner. It’s always a pleasure to dine at the Savoy.” As Holmes helped Tallis take the portrait down the stairs, I couldn’t help wonder whether I’d missed some of the implications of his last remark. What was I supposed to ‘command’?

  When Holmes returned, I was surprised at the gravity of his expression. “If nothing more positive comes out of this whole affair, my dear fellow, I feel the reconcilia
tion of the Adlers will have been worthwhile.” Then, seeing my expression, “Oh, I have few fears that we shall bring things to a satisfactory conclusion. But at what cost? At what cost?”

  Then his expression changed and he was back in the present. Running his hand across his face, he smiled: “Watson, to see you looking so sleek makes me ashamed of my bedraggled appearance. Events have held me captive these last few hours, I’m afraid, but now I must effect some necessary repairs. I can hardly take a young lady for lunch looking like this …”

  And before I could ask the obvious question, he was out of the room, calling over his shoulder—“Oh, and by the way, Watson, if you would be so good as to meet me in the lobby of Brown’s Hotel at 3:00 p.m., there is someone I’d like you to meet …”

  Chapter Ten

  Brown’s Hotel is a small, cosy hotel that resembles the rather overgrown private home it presumably once was. It lies in smug seclusion in a Mayfair back street a short walk from the West End sights and for that reason, I suspect, has been the scene of many a clandestine tryst. It has always amused me to imagine agents of foreign powers slinking furtively in through the Street entrance, exchanging their secret documents and then leaving by the door to Albermarle Street.

  In fact, the first person I spotted as I entered the vestibule could easily have qualified for my little scenario, had he not been talking to my friend Holmes. He was a small neatly dressed man, wearing a suit which looked to be of European cut. A short beard and rimless glasses added to the appearance. When he turned in my direction and spoke, the matter was beyond dispute. The accept was distinctly Middle European. “You I deduce are Doctor Watson, yes?”

  It was Holmes who was the first to respond. “Forgive me, Watson, I was wool-gathering. May I introduce my good friend, Sigmund Freud?” Seeing the puzzlement on my face, he went on. “I had the pleasure of spending time with Doctor—soon, I believe, to be Professor Freud?” The little man inclined his head gravely. “As I say, we spent time together during my post-Reichenbach wanderings.