Sherlock Holmes and the Ghosts of Bly

6

Five minutes later, we were standing in the doorway of the green room. Holmes spoke just loudly enough for me to hear.

“There is a limit to the wanderings of a man standing in the Royal Herculaneum with thirty minutes or so at his disposal. My topographical knowledge of this area of London is extensive. I have hunted over it a good deal. You will recall that we used the Lowther Arcade as an escape route in our final encounter with the late Professor Moriarty. After chasing ‘Poodle’ Benson round the Charing Cross Hotel and its neighbourhood during the Turf frauds, Villiers Street and its surroundings remain detailed in my memory.”

“Do you have somewhere in mind?”

“If I were Jenks and proposed to build my defence upon an alibi at the last moment, I should not do so if the theatre was my location. It is too uncertain and people might easily confuse one day with another. Where was he then, during his respite of half an hour or so? A man with half an hour to spare will not risk a walk of more than ten minutes or so in each direction. That reduces our area of search considerably. At nine o’clock in the evening, where could one be certain of having being seen and remembered? The number of places open at that hour of night will not be many. Offices, banks and commercial premises will be closed. It must also be somewhere he goes to in theatrical costume. That limits it severely.”

“A public house?”

“Indeed, but which one will accept actors in costume?”

“How many are there within ten or fifteen minutes’ walk?”

Holmes chuckled at his own cleverness.

“There is only one for an actor—where his profession gathers, even in its stage finery. The old Garrick’s Head in Bow Street, the assembly room where the late ‘Baron Renton Nicolson’ of blessed memory was accustomed to stage his disreputable ‘Judge and Jury Show’ in defiance of the magistrates and the police. It has always been a favourite with the theatrical fraternity, even in my day.”

We put a best foot forward and reached the old hostelry in good time. Even at this hour of night, the long bar was crowded like a fancy-dress ball with the costumes and talk of actors who had fled the theatre for the tavern. We were the only two in mufti. Holmes shouldered his way through the noisy crowd and accosted the landlord, who knew him at once.

“Evening, Mr Holmes, sir.”

“Compliments of the season, Mr Roscoe. You have not by any chance seen our friend Mr Carnaby Jenks tonight? My colleague and I appear to have missed our rendezvous with him.”

Roscoe’s face split into a humorous beam.

“I should say you have! He was away from here by nine or just after. Hamlet he is tonight. He was over here for his interval as usual. Mr Jenks doesn’t care for the way the old ‘Herc.’ is going. The less he sees of the place and its governor, the better he feels.”

“How long was he here?”

The man gave half his attention to us, the rest to the glass he was filling.

“Ten minutes at least, perhaps fifteen. Not more. Just his usual glass of mild and bitter.”

“He never meets his sister here, does he?”

The landlord stopped filling the glass and shook his head.

“Not that I know of, sir. Comes alone. Goes alone.”

Holmes held a gold sovereign between finger and thumb.

“You may drink our health, Mr Roscoe, when you are less occupied.”

“God bless you, Mr Holmes, sir. Indeed I shall. Much obliged, gentlemen.”

We walked back to the Herculaneum stage-door. In the cold New Year of the darkened street I said, “That is surely just about as complete an alibi for the so-called poisoning of the wine as he could wish. It is almost too good to be true.”

“At the time, Watson, I believe he did not know that he would ever need an alibi. When Caradoc was found dead, however, he saw that he could build a defence upon it. Let us see just how strong that defence may be.”