The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

The Adventure of the Minor Canon

The month of June is a time of long evenings and sunny weather, and a popular choice for weddings and other festivities. Yet, in England at least, the pleasant, balmy days of June are not infrequently punctuated by days of cooler, showery weather. Such days are but a fleeting annoyance to most people, forgotten almost as soon as they have passed; but a rainy day in June never fails to stir up memories for me, for it was on just such a day that the curious case of Martin Zennor was first brought to the attention of my friend, Sherlock Holmes.

Holmes had been busy for several weeks with a singular succession of cases, including the puzzling theft of the Bolingbroke miniature, the strange mystery surrounding ‘The Deeping Question’, and the sensational murder at the Nonpareil Club, and the unremitting effort he had put into these cases had at last taken its toll upon his strong and resilient constitution. On the morning in question, having finished his breakfast, he stood up from the table, stared out of the window for a moment at the rain-soaked street below, then announced that he was returning to his bed for an hour or two, as was his habit when he was exhausted. Scarcely had these words left his lips, however, when there came a strident peal at the front-door bell.

‘Now, who is this,’ said he with a weary sigh, ‘come to plague us with his problems?’

A moment later, his question was answered. A young man in clerical garb was shown into the room and announced as Mr Martin Zennor. His thin, pale face showed signs of great anxiety and the dark shadows about his eyes suggested that he had slept little the previous night. I hung up his wet hat and coat, as Holmes waved him to a chair by the hearth and took his pipe from the mantelpiece. ‘How can we help you, Mr Zennor?’ said he. ‘You have, I see, recently arrived in London from the south-east.’

‘That is true,’ returned the other. ‘I caught a train about seven this morning, arrived about ten minutes ago and have come here directly from the station. But how do you know?’

‘They have taken up most of the paving stones outside the eastern front of Victoria station in the past few days, exposing the clay beneath. The rain has made this sticky, and it is difficult to avoid getting a little of it on one’s instep when passing from the station exit to the cab-stand.’ Holmes indicated his visitor’s shoes, as he put a match to his pipe and seated himself in the vacant armchair by the hearth. ‘Now,’ he continued after a moment, puffing gently at his pipe; ‘pray give us the details of what has brought you here.’

The young man did not reply at once, but fidgeted with his collar for a moment, then took out a handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. Holmes leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, his face a placid mask of patience and calmness. Above his head, the blue wraiths of tobacco-smoke twisted and spiralled.

‘My situation is a miserable one,’ began his visitor at last, passing his hand across his brow, ‘almost, one might say, a desperate one. I am accused – and practically condemned already, without a fair hearing – of attempting to steal a sum of money belonging to the cathedral at which I am one of the minor canons.’

‘Which is, of course, Canterbury Cathedral.’

‘What! You know already? May I ask who told you?’

‘You did, Mr Zennor. We know that you have come up from the south-east and you stated that it has taken you about two hours to do so, so clearly the cathedral in question can only be Canterbury. But come, these are mere trifles; let us get down to the matter! You are quite innocent, I take it, of the charge laid against you?’

‘Utterly so.’

‘Then why are you accused?’

‘The money – in the form of a cheque from a wealthy benefactor – was discovered to be in my possession, shortly after it was found to be missing.’

‘A circumstance for which you no doubt have a perfectly good explanation.’

‘Unfortunately not.’

‘Dear, dear!’

‘The cheque was in an envelope in my coat-pocket, but how it came to be there, I have no idea.’

‘How very interesting! If you did not put it there, then, presumably, someone else did. Hum! The cheque disappeared, I take it, from the cathedral offices?’

‘That is so.’

‘And the discovery of it in your possession: did that also take place at the cathedral, or in your lodgings?’

‘Neither. It occurred here in London, just yesterday. I had come up to town on a couple of errands, one of which was to convey some papers to Canon Seagrave, one of the Archbishop’s clerks at Lambeth Palace. I had also volunteered to bring with me an urgent letter from the Dean of the cathedral to the Archbishop. It was whilst I was there, at Lambeth Palace, that news of the cheque’s disappearance reached London and also that the discovery was made that I had it in my possession. The general belief, I imagine, is that I was intending to exchange the cheque for cash at Sir Anthony Ingoldsby’s bank, which is at Charing Cross.’

‘He being the benefactor you referred to?’

‘Precisely. He had made out the cheque for a hundred pounds, and had signed and dated it, but had been unsure to whom the cheque should be addressed, so had left that part of it blank.’

‘Tut tut! A most inadvisable procedure! What a temptation such an unfinished cheque left lying about must present to the unscrupulous!’

‘Well, the office in which it was left “lying about”, as you put it, was, after all, in the cathedral precincts. One might perhaps be forgiven for believing that in such a place, the temptation to which you refer would be negligible.’

‘Perhaps one might; but it is still unwise to leave such a temptation unguarded. It is generally a mistake to rely too heavily upon the innate virtue of those with whom you have dealings. It is always more agreeable to be pleasantly surprised by the appearance of virtue than to be disappointed by its absence. However, leaving such general considerations aside, the fact remains that the cheque vanished from the cathedral precincts in Canterbury and reappeared in your coat pocket in London. Could this not have been simply a mistake of some kind? Could the cheque not simply have been put in the wrong coat pocket?’

‘That would, I agree, be the obvious conclusion; but it does not seem possible in this instance. It is not simply that the cheque should not have been in my pocket, it should not have been in anyone’s pocket. It was in a tray on a shelf in the office, awaiting the arrival of the Dean’s secretary, who would deal with it.’

‘Who has access to this office you refer to?’

‘Anyone, really. The door is never closed.’

‘Is there always someone present in the office?’

‘No, not always. It is the centre of activities for the minor canons, and people are coming in and out of it all day; but quite often, when we are all busy elsewhere in the cathedral, it is left unoccupied.’

‘I see. And is it anywhere near where you hang your coat up?’

‘Yes. There is a short corridor just outside the office, leading to the cathedral yard, in which there is a row of coat-hooks. All the minor canons hang their coats up there.’

‘I suppose the coats all appear very similar,’ remarked Holmes after a moment. ‘Do they ever get muddled up?’

‘It does happen occasionally. Of course, the coats are all marked somewhere with their owners’ names or initials, but these marks are not all in the same place and sometimes, when people are in a hurry, they don’t trouble to look for the mark, but just guess which coat is which.’

‘I see. So, if, as you say, there was no legitimate reason for the cheque to be in anyone’s pocket, it could not have been a simple accident, but must have been put there deliberately, for some reason. Do you consider you have any enemies, Mr Zennor, anyone who might wish to incriminate you?’

Our visitor shook his head. ‘I am absolutely sure I do not. Of course, there is sometimes a certain degree of mild rivalry among the minor canons, but on the whole, I believe, we rub along very well together. No one could possibly gain anything by trying to besmirch my reputation.’

Holmes frowned and sat in silence for several minutes. Then he put down his pipe and took out his note-book. ‘Perhaps,’ said he, ‘you could give me a list of all the minor canons at the cathedral. I think I shall have to speak to them, for it may be that, although innocent of any direct involvement in this puzzling matter, one or more of them may have seen or heard something which could cast a little light on it.’

‘Certainly,’ replied our visitor. ‘There are six of us altogether. Apart from myself, these are Stafford Nugent, Wallace Wakefield, Hubert Bebington, Michael Earley and Henry Jeavons. We are all under the supervision of Dr Glimper, who is in overall charge of most day-to-day matters at the cathedral and who answers directly to the Dean himself.’

‘Is there any seniority among the minor canons?’

‘No. Except, of course, for Dr Glimper, we are all on a level footing.’

‘What sort of a rule does Dr Glimper exercise over you?’

‘When I was first there,’ replied Zennor after a moment, ‘I heard how ferocious and harsh he was to those under him; but in fact I have not really found him so. He is certainly strict, with regard to adherence to rules and regulations, and an absolute stickler for the observance of all formalities, both great and small, but behind his rather forbidding exterior, I believe he is quite kind and understanding of one’s occasional failings.’

‘What is his view of the present business?’

‘He is convinced that it must be some kind of bizarre accident or mischance, although he can suggest no convincing explanation for it.’

‘He believes in your innocence?’

Our visitor hesitated. ‘I think so,’ he replied after a moment, ‘but I am not certain of it. I was interviewed on the matter late last night by the Dean’s private secretary, Dr Wallis, with Dr Glimper in attendance. Dr Wallis was very sharp in his questioning, I must say. “This is a very serious matter, Zennor,” said he, “and if you do not tell the truth, the consequences may be disastrous for you.” I insisted that I was telling the truth and knew no more about the matter than anyone else; but he did not appear satisfied. Dr Glimper suggested that one of the cleaners might have accidentally knocked the envelope containing the cheque off the shelf and into a dustpan, and then, not noticing it until in the corridor outside the room, might have believed it had just fallen from one of the coats and thus – erroneously – replaced it in a random overcoat pocket.’

‘How did Dr Wallis respond to that suggestion?’

‘He described it as the least convincing explanation he had ever heard for anything in his life. Later, Dr Glimper told me that he could not protect me unless I told the absolute unvarnished truth. I do not wish to do my superior an injustice,’ Zennor added after a moment, ‘but there was an expression on his face that suggested to me that he is more concerned with protecting his own office, and the good name of the minor canons in general, than with my own personal fate. I saw a similar expression on the features of my colleagues, yesterday evening. No one will say to my face that they think I am guilty, but it is clear that most of them feel that I have brought shame on them all, unjust though that is. I thus find myself, through no fault of my own, utterly friendless in my hour of greatest need.’

‘That is unfortunate,’ responded Holmes. ‘It is certainly one of the most desolate of experiences, to be accused – or even suspected – of something of which one is perfectly innocent. But, why does anyone suppose you would commit such a crime, Mr Zennor? What do they believe you intended to do with the money?’

‘Unfortunately for my case, I have spoken once or twice recently of the somewhat straitened circumstances in which my mother and sister find themselves since my father died, and it is believed by some, I think, that I intended to give the money to them. Of course, it is absurd to suppose that I should steal money belonging to the cathedral to give to my relatives, and just as absurd to suppose that, were I to do so, my relatives would accept it.’

Holmes nodded. ‘But if people are determined to find an innocent man guilty, they will always manage to find some plausible motive to ascribe to him. Now,’ he continued, with a glance at the clock, ‘there are other questions I wish to ask you, but I also wish to interview your colleagues while the events of yesterday are still fresh in their minds. Do you think I will be able to see them today?’

‘Yes, that should be possible. Almost everyone was out on some business or other yesterday, but – apart from Jeavons, who is away all week – everyone should be there today.’

‘Excellent!’ cried Holmes, whose energy and enthusiasm appeared to have returned in full measure at the prospect of an interesting case. ‘What I suggest, then, is that we catch the next train down to Kent and continue this discussion as we travel.’

Thus it was, that, forty minutes later, the three of us were seated in a fast train, as it made its way down through the damp-looking Kent countryside.

‘If you would tell us everything that happened to you yesterday,’ said Holmes, ‘and everything of which you are aware that happened to your colleagues, then we might be able to form a mental picture of how Sir Anthony Ingoldsby’s cheque came to be in your pocket. Omit nothing, however trivial, which might conceivably have a bearing on the matter.’

‘Very well,’ said Zennor. ‘Probably the first notable thing that happened was that Jeavons left for the railway station very early – about seven o’clock – as he was travelling up to Grantham in Lincolnshire, where his parents live. His father has been ill recently and he was given special permission to take a week’s leave of absence to visit him. You have asked me about the overcoats and whether they ever get muddled up, and, oddly enough, such a mistake did occur yesterday morning, for, about an hour after Jeavons left, I heard Earley saying that he thought Jeavons must have taken his coat, as he couldn’t find it anywhere.

‘At about half past eight, Earley and Wakefield left together for the railway station. The former was going to see someone in Ramsgate, the latter was travelling to Rochester, where he was to be interviewed for a vacant position.’

‘One moment,’ interrupted Holmes. ‘If Jeavons had taken Earley’s coat, then whose coat was Earley wearing?’

Zennor shook his head. ‘I don’t know for certain,’ said he. ‘I didn’t hear him make any further remark on the matter, so I suppose I just assumed he had found Jeavons’s coat and gone off in that.’

‘Are their coats of a similar size?’

‘Yes, they are. As a matter of fact, all the coats are practically identical, except for Wakefield’s, which is a size larger. Shortly after Wakefield and Earley left, I saw Bebington going off into town. I believe he was going to the stationer’s shop, to purchase ink or nibs, or something of the sort, and didn’t intend to be out for very long. A few minutes later, I went to get my own hat and coat, before leaving for the railway station.’

‘Did you verify that the coat you took was your own?’

‘ Not then, although I did later, as I shall explain in a moment. At the time, I was in too much of a hurry and I can’t remember giving the matter any thought. I just assumed the coat was mine. There were only two coats still hanging in the corridor then – it was raining quite heavily yesterday morning and everyone who had gone out had put a coat on – and the other one had a frayed lapel and didn’t look like mine. Anyway, I put my coat on and set off. A couple of minutes later, I was caught up in the street by Stafford Nugent, who informed me he was intending to catch the same train. We walked on together for a few minutes, then he stopped and said he’d just realised that he’d forgotten the book he had intended to take back to the library at Lambeth Palace. “You go on to the station, Zennor,” he said, “and I’ll catch you up later.” With that, he turned and hurried back to the cathedral. I continued to the station, where I caught the 9.05 to London. At that time, Nugent had not reappeared, and I assumed he had been delayed for some reason and would catch the next train.

‘At eleven o’clock, my train reached Victoria. I knew that the person I had to see at Lambeth Palace would not be there until the afternoon, so I went down to Brixton to see my mother and sister, and took lunch with them there. I eventually reached Lambeth Palace at about two o’clock, hung up my hat and coat, and went in to see Canon Seagrave at the appointed time.’

‘Where did you leave your coat?’ interrupted Holmes.

‘I don’t imagine you are familiar with Lambeth Palace,’ responded Zennor, ‘so I will describe the relevant part to you. There is a side-door from the garden, which is the one we always use. On the outside of it, against the wall of the building, is a glass-enclosed verandah, in which there is a row of coat-hooks, hat-stand and so on, and a large bench – like a settle, but with a lower back – on which visitors can sit and wait if they have arrived early for their appointment. I hung my coat up there and proceeded in through the door, to where Canon Seagrave’s secretary has a desk.’

‘One moment,’ said Holmes. ‘Were there any coats already there, when you hung up your own coat?’

‘No, the coat-hooks were empty.’

‘And when you came out?’

‘When I came out,’ responded Zennor, ‘which was at about ten past three, there at first appeared to be no coats there at all and for a moment I was nonplussed as to what had become of my own coat. Then I leaned over and looked behind the bench, and saw that my coat was there, in a heap on the ground. It had obviously slipped from its peg. I picked it up, dusted it off with my hand and put it on. Outside, in the garden, I paused a moment, to neaten myself up a bit, when I felt something in the inside pocket of the coat. I unbuttoned my coat, put my hand in the pocket and pulled out a long envelope. It wasn’t sealed and I was just opening it to see what was in it when someone spoke, just behind me. I turned, to see that it was Canon Seagrave and his secretary.

‘“What is that you have there, Mr Zennor?” asked Canon Seagrave.

‘“I don’t know,” I replied. “I have just found it in my pocket.”

‘“You had better let me have a look at it, then,” said the canon, holding out his hand.

‘I handed him the envelope, he opened it, and the two of them said, almost together, “It is Sir Anthony Ingoldsby’s cheque!” Apparently, news had reached them just moments earlier that the cheque had disappeared from the cathedral office at Canterbury. “How do you come to have this cheque in your pocket, Zennor?” asked the canon in a grave tone. I told them I had no idea, that I had not even been aware that the envelope was in my pocket until a moment before. This was the gospel truth, but I realise it must have sounded highly improbable. “I think,” said Canon Seagrave, “that we will hold on to this now. It can be deposited in the bank in London just as well as in Canterbury. As for you, Zennor,” he continued, “I think you had best return at once to the cathedral and explain all the circumstances to your superiors there.” In other words, as was obvious, he didn’t believe a word of what I had told him, but he was washing his hands of the matter and consigning me to the mercies of the cathedral authorities.

‘It was as I was walking from Lambeth Palace to the railway station that it suddenly occurred to me that the coat I was wearing was perhaps not my own. With an uprush of hope at the thought that I might have found the explanation for this baffling puzzle, I stopped in the street and pulled out the lining of this right-hand pocket. Alas! my hopes were dashed. The coat was undeniably my own.’ As he spoke, he had suited the action to the word and had pulled out the lining of the pocket to show us. There, written quite clearly in indelible pencil, were the initials ‘M.Z.’.

‘I therefore returned to Kent,’ continued our companion, ‘in a state of complete gloom and mystification. I have since been quizzed repeatedly on the matter, but have been unable to throw any light on it. I think they find the whole business astounding, and cannot entirely bring themselves to believe that one of the canons could be guilty of such a deceitful act, but can see no other explanation. Nor, I admit, can I. But for the fact that I know for certain that I did not take that envelope, and had never even seen it before that moment in the garden of Lambeth Palace, I, too, should be inclined to think I must be guilty! And if that admission sounds slightly insane, then it is no more than a true reflection of my mental state!’

Sherlock Holmes sat in silence for some time, his brow furrowed with thought. ‘It is always a curious thing,’ said he at last, ‘when all the evidence in a case points to one specific conclusion and yet, at the same time, you know for certain that that conclusion is false. It is enough to make anyone feel unhinged, Mr Zennor. However, my dear sir, you must not despair. Let us forget about conclusions for a moment and consider some of the details. It is interesting, for instance, that you did not notice that there was anything in your pocket until that moment in the garden of Lambeth Palace.’

‘I think,’ said Zennor, ‘that when my coat slipped from the peg and fell to the floor, the envelope must have become slightly twisted in the pocket and that that is why I noticed it. It was, after all, only a very slim envelope and if lying flat was probably undetectable.’

‘That is possible,’ said Holmes. ‘What of the other papers and letters you had brought up to London? How had you carried them?’

‘In a small leather case. I don’t generally use the coat pockets for anything, except sometimes for my gloves.’

‘I see. Before you proceed with your account, can you remember the last time you, or any of the others, saw Sir Anthony Ingoldsby’s cheque before it disappeared?’

Zennor thought for a moment. ‘It was certainly on the shelf in the office at twenty past eight in the morning, when the office and the corridor outside it were busy with people coming and going, for Wakefield made some little joke about its being left lying about. A couple of the others laughed and Dr Glimper ticked them all off for what he described as “inappropriate and unseemly levity”. After that, I have no further knowledge of it.’

‘Very well. Let us return once more to Lambeth Palace, then. I am interested in the hat-stand in the verandah. You said that when you arrived, there were no coats hanging on the pegs there; but can you recall if there were any hats on the hat-stand?’

Our companion closed his eyes and frowned, and remained in silent concentration for several minutes. ‘Yes,’ said he at last, ‘there was another hat there. I remember now that I nearly knocked it off as I was hanging up my own.’

Holmes nodded and scribbled something in his note-book. Then, for several minutes, he sat in silence studying his notes and I saw that he had drawn a complex-looking diagram, consisting of dots, arrows, connecting lines and, here and there, little stick-men. For some time he stared at what he had drawn, then he looked up.

‘That looks very complicated,’ I ventured.

‘It may appear so at present,’ he responded; ‘but it will no doubt become clearer when we have spoken to some of those involved. Tell me,’ he continued, turning to Zennor, ‘were you able to see if there was anything beside the cheque in the envelope you found in your pocket – a letter, for instance?’

‘No, there was nothing in it but the cheque itself.’

‘Was anything written on the envelope?’

‘No, it was perfectly blank. I did later find a scrap of paper with a note on it in my pocket,’ added Zennor after a moment. ‘I’d never seen it before and only noticed it when I was travelling back to Canterbury on the train.’

‘Why did you not mention it before?’ asked Holmes in surprise.

‘It did not seem of any importance,’ replied the other. ‘The issue was whether I had stolen Sir Anthony Ingoldsby’s cheque or not. My head was in a whirl from that, so the fact that there was a scrap of paper in my pocket seemed of little consequence. As I mentioned to you earlier, the minor canons are in the habit of borrowing each other’s coats and one does sometimes find odd things left in one’s pocket.’

‘Do you have it with you?’ asked Holmes.

‘Yes, it is here,’ said Zennor. He put his hand in his inside pocket and produced a small square piece of paper, which had clearly been torn from a larger sheet, and passed it over to us. Upon this little sheet was written the following brief message:

‘It appears to be an appointment of some kind,’ said Holmes. ‘Does it mean anything to you, Mr Zennor?’

‘Nothing whatever. Off-hand, I don’t think I even know any church dedicated to St Mark. Nor have I ever been to Ham.’

‘Do you know Ham, Watson?’ Holmes asked me.

I shook my head. ‘As far as I’m aware it lies somewhere on the Thames between Richmond and Kingston, but I don’t think I’ve ever been there.’

‘Of course, this note may not be connected to the disappearance of the cheque,’ said Holmes, ‘but, if not, its appearance in your pocket at the same time as the cheque is something of an odd coincidence. The Thursday it refers to is tomorrow, so if we don’t succeed in getting to the bottom of the matter while we’re in Kent, it may provide us with another line of inquiry.’

The rain was falling in a fine drizzle as we left the station at Canterbury and made our way to the cathedral through the narrow streets of the old town. As we turned a corner, we almost bumped into a stout young man in clerical garb, hurrying in the opposite direction.

‘Hello, Wakefield!’ said Zennor.

‘Hello,’ returned the other, but seemed disinclined to stop.

‘This is Mr Sherlock Holmes,’ said Zennor. ‘He is looking into the matter of Sir Anthony Ingoldsby’s cheque.’

‘Oh, is he?’ said Wakefield in a sarcastic tone. ‘Best of luck with that!’ he continued, turning to Holmes. ‘As I understand it, there’s not much to look into about it! Now,’ he said, pushing past us, ‘I really must be off!’

‘I am sorry he was rude to you,’ said Zennor, as we continued on our way. ‘He can sometimes be a little short in his manner.’

‘No matter,’ said Holmes. ‘I could see all that I wished to know.’

We reached the cathedral precincts in a few minutes, and our guide conducted us through an ancient gateway, round a corner and through a low-arched doorway into a short corridor, along the side of which hung three black raincoats.

‘This is where we generally leave our coats,’ said Zennor.

‘Can you tell to whom these coats belong?’ asked Holmes.

‘They will all be marked somewhere,’ replied Zennor, turning back the cuffs and looking in the pockets. ‘Yes, this one is Nugent’s,’ said he at length, ‘this next one is Bebington’s and this third one is Dr Glimper’s.’

‘You are wearing yours at the moment, as is Wakefield,’ said Holmes in a thoughtful voice. ‘Jeavons has gone off to Grantham wearing Earley’s coat, according to the account you gave us earlier, so where is Jeavons’s own coat?’

Zennor shook his head. ‘Perhaps Earley is wearing it,’ he suggested.

‘No, he isn’t,’ came a voice from an open doorway, a little further along the corridor, and a moment later, a bespectacled young man thrust his head out of the doorway and regarded us for a moment.

‘Hello, Earley,’ said our companion.

‘Hello, Zennor. What’s all this about?’

Zennor introduced us. ‘These gentlemen are trying to help me solve the riddle of how Sir Anthony’s cheque ended up in my pocket. I think Mr Holmes feels that the muddle over the raincoats may have contributed to it.’

‘I never thought of that,’ said Earley in a thoughtful tone, stepping out into the corridor. ‘I don’t know if it could really have affected anything, but the coats certainly got in a muddle yesterday, there’s no denying that!’

‘You went to Ramsgate, I believe,’ said Holmes.

‘That’s right,’ returned the other. ‘I left about half past eight in the morning. I was going to walk to the station with Wakefield, but I couldn’t find my coat. Wakefield got a little impatient and said he couldn’t wait, so he set off without me. I realised at length that Jeavons must have mistakenly taken my coat – he’s done that before – so I took what I thought was his and dashed off to catch Wakefield up. I didn’t come back until about four o’clock in the afternoon and heard then what had happened. Don’t worry, Zennor,’ he added. ‘I’m sure it will all get sorted out. It must just be some silly sort of mix-up.’

‘When you returned,’ said Holmes, ‘you presumably hung your coat up here?’

‘Yes.’

‘But Jeavons’s coat is certainly not here now, so I think you must have been wearing someone else’s coat yesterday.’

‘Yes, I think perhaps I was,’ agreed Earley, looking a little embarrassed. ‘It fitted me well enough, anyway,’ he added with a chuckle.

‘Is there anywhere else that Jeavons might have left his coat?’ Holmes asked.

‘It might be in his room.’

‘Might we see?’

‘Yes; I will show you,’ said Earley. ‘He has the room immediately above my own. It will not be locked and I don’t think he would mind us looking in.’

He turned, led the way further along the corridor and up two flights of a steep stone staircase, until we found ourselves in a narrow corridor with a steeply sloping ceiling.

‘This is Jeavons’s room,’ said Earley, opening one of several doors in the corridor, and we followed him into a small bedroom. In a moment there came a murmur of satisfaction from Holmes, as he found a black raincoat thrown over the back of a chair, and almost hidden under a dressing-gown. For a moment, he searched the coat for some sign of ownership, then pointed to a clear ‘H.J.’ printed on the inside of the left cuff. Again he took out his note-book and made a brief note in it.

We were just leaving Jeavons’s bedroom when we heard rapid footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later a pleasant-faced, dark-haired young man appeared on the landing.

‘Ah, Zennor,’ said he. ‘There you are! Dr Glimper has been looking for you! But who are these gentlemen?’

Zennor introduced the newcomer to us as Stafford Nugent and explained to him our purpose in being there, at which Nugent nodded his head. ‘I’m sure if you wish to ask me any questions about yesterday, I will do my best to answer them,’ he said, addressing us.

‘If you could just give us a brief account of your day,’ said Holmes, ‘from about half past eight in the morning until you arrived back here in the afternoon.’

‘It is soon told,’ said Nugent. ‘I left here about a quarter to nine and got back about five o’clock in the afternoon, and nothing of any significance happened all day.’

‘That’s not quite right, Nugent,’ said Zennor. ‘You walked halfway to the railway station with me, but then came back here for that book and I didn’t see you again.’

‘Oh, of course,’ said the other. ‘I was forgetting that. Besides, I didn’t realise you wanted every little detail. Very well, then. I left here in a hurry, just after quarter to nine, caught Zennor up in the street and we walked on together for a few minutes. Then I remembered that I’d forgotten a book I’d borrowed from the library at Lambeth Palace, which I had intended to take back, so I came back here to get it.’

‘What time was that?’ asked Holmes.

‘About nine o’clock. I got the book from my room, which only took a few moments, and was leaving once more, when I noticed as I passed the coat-pegs downstairs that there was a raincoat hanging there which looked somewhat more like mine than the one I was wearing, which didn’t seem to fit me properly, so I took that one off and put the other on, and dashed off to the station. I was too late to catch the train, however, which had gone at five past nine, so I spent about forty minutes drinking tea and reading, until the next London train came in, at about ten to ten.

‘I reached London shortly before twelve, stood talking for a while to a friend I met in the street outside the station and got to Lambeth Palace just after one o’clock. I concluded my business there quite quickly, but then spent a long time in the library, talking to the chief librarian. I borrowed another book and left about quarter past two. I then got a fast train from Charing Cross and was back here by five.’

‘When you were hanging your coat back up downstairs,’ said Holmes, ‘did you notice whose coat it was?’

Nugent shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said; ‘but I’m not going to apologise for it: if someone hadn’t already taken mine I shouldn’t have had to take someone else’s. That’s the only thing I know for certain about it, that it wasn’t my own.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ asked Holmes.

‘Because one of the buttons on my coat is very loose – hanging by a thread, in fact – and the buttons on the coat I’d been wearing were all firmly attached.’

‘Well, that is very interesting,’ said Holmes.

Nugent looked surprised. ‘I shouldn’t have thought the state of the buttons would be of any great interest,’ said he.

Holmes smiled. ‘Something can be interesting,’ he returned, ‘not because of its own intrinsic qualities, but because of its relation to something else.’

There had come the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs as they had been speaking. Now we all turned, as an older, dignified figure appeared at the head of the staircase. The young men fell silent and still, waiting for the newcomer to speak.

‘What is all this noise up here?’ he asked at length, in a deep, grave voice. ‘And who are these gentlemen?’

‘Dr Glimper,’ said Zennor, taking half a step forward and addressing the older man: ‘this is Mr Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson. They are looking into the mystery of Sir Anthony’s cheque on my behalf.’

‘What!’ cried Dr Glimper, in a voice like thunder. ‘Do you mean to say that you have gone behind our backs and hired some sort of detective? You add the insult of contempt for the Dean and myself to the shame and disgrace of what has already happened? You two,’ he continued, addressing Nugent and Earley, ‘be about your business at once! I am surprised at you, permitting yourselves to be embroiled in such behaviour! As for you, Zennor: be in my office in three minutes’ time! These men have no business here. Visitors are strictly forbidden without express permission, as you are fully aware, and they must leave the premises at once! At once, do you hear?’

‘Yes, Dr Glimper,’ said Zennor in a subdued tone, as the older man turned and descended the stair. Nugent and Earley quickly followed him, and, for a moment, Zennor, Holmes and I were left alone. ‘You had better go at once,’ said Zennor. ‘I seem to have only made everything worse. All this talk of buttons and raincoats has got us nowhere at all. I am still the one in whose pocket the stolen cheque was found. I am still the one condemned, though I am perfectly innocent.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Holmes in a reassuring tone, ‘I now believe I know what happened yesterday, although I cannot yet prove it. Do not permit yourself to become down-hearted or disconsolate, Mr Zennor, for it will achieve nothing. Believe me when I tell you that all will be well! Now, I have three quick points to make to you. First, how can I speak to Hubert Bebington? It is important that I see him. It will complete my investigation here.’

‘He will be in the library. It is part of his duties. You had better not go along there yourself, but I can ask him to meet you outside the main gate, before I go in to see Dr Glimper.’

‘Very good. Second, do not, under any circumstances, mention to anyone at all that little scrap of paper that you found in your pocket and which is now in my own pocket-book. Not a word, you understand, not a syllable!’

‘I will do as you wish. What is your third point?’

‘That you come to our chambers tomorrow, by lunch-time at the very latest.’

‘That may prove difficult.’

‘But you must, Mr Zennor! The whole future course of your life may depend upon it!’

‘Very well. I will do all I can to be there. Now you must leave and I must face Dr Glimper.’

For several minutes we waited in the street outside the main gateway and were almost on the point of giving it up, thinking that either Zennor had not been able to communicate with Bebington, or Bebington had declined to see us, when, abruptly, a freckled face surmounted by a mop of sandy hair appeared round the corner of the archway and a young clergyman stepped into view.

‘Ah, there you are!’ said he. ‘You are Mr Holmes, I take it. Zennor says you wish to ask me about yesterday. There’s not much to tell,’ he continued, as Holmes nodded. ‘I was in the library most of the day. It was very quiet. Everyone else had gone off somewhere for the day, so I was all by myself.’

‘But I understand you went out to the stationer’s shop,’ said Holmes.

‘Yes, that is so. I went there first thing in the morning, but was out less than fifteen minutes, and after that I never left the cathedral all day.’

‘What time was it that you went to the stationer’s?’

‘A few minutes after half past eight, which is when the shop opens. I was back again by ten to nine.’

‘Do you know whose coat you were wearing when you went out?’

Bebington frowned. ‘What a strange question!’ said he. ‘As a matter of fact, I assumed it was my own when I put it on, but later realised it wasn’t.’

‘Why are you so sure?’

‘It had an ink-mark on the sleeve, which mine certainly does not. When I came down into the corridor where the outdoor coats are hung up, there were two or three of them hanging there and I just took the one I thought was mine. I didn’t think it really mattered whose coat it was, anyway, as I knew I was only going to be out for a few minutes.’

‘And when you returned?’

‘The clothes-pegs were all empty. I remember noticing that. So I just hung up my own hat and coat, and took my stationery supplies off to the library.’

‘Thank you,’ said Holmes. ‘You have been most helpful.’

‘Have I?’ returned the other, a look of curiosity on his features. ‘I’m sure I don’t know how!’

On the train back to London, Holmes was in a state of barely suppressed excitement, and it was clear that he considered that he had made some definite progress in the case. He opened his note-book at the page on which he had drawn numerous lines, arrows and little stick-men, laid it on the seat beside him and pored over it in silence for some time.

‘I don’t know how you can make sense of all those squiggles,’ I said, leaning across and studying it with him. ‘It looks too complex for the human brain to take in!’

‘On the contrary,’ said he; ‘it is, essentially, very simple.’

‘I suppose those little stick-men represent the minor canons.’

My friend shook his head. ‘No,’ said he. ‘The little circles with the initials in them are the minor canons. The stick-men, as you call them, represent their raincoats, which generally followed a different course during the day from that taken by their owners. It would perhaps be clearer if I had had a coloured pencil with which to draw the lines relating to the raincoats. You would then be able to see more clearly the contrast between where the men went and where their coats went. I must remember to carry a red pencil with me in future, to allow for such eventualities!’

After a while, Holmes put away his note-book and replaced it on the seat with the little scrap of paper that Zennor had found in his pocket. For some time he stared at this with a frown of concentration, then with a sigh, he took his watch out.

‘It would be helpful if this train would go a little faster,’ said he in a tone of impatience. ‘I can do nothing more until we return to Baker Street. There, the last but one piece of the puzzle should fall rapidly into place!’

My friend’s progress was destined to be somewhat less rapid than he had hoped, however. By the time we reached London, the rain had stopped, the clouds had begun to break up and the sun was peeping through, but it was evident from his manner that Holmes was perfectly oblivious to this improvement in the weather. Not a word did he speak until we were back in our lodgings, where he placed the scrap of paper on the table, got out a pile of maps and volumes of reference, and for several minutes turned the pages in silence. Then at length, with a groan, he looked up, a crestfallen expression on his face.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘Check number one,’ said he. ‘There is a church at Ham, Watson. Unfortunately, it is not St Mark’s, but St Andrew’s.’

‘Perhaps there are two churches there,’ I suggested, but my friend shook his head.

‘The information in this volume is very detailed, but there is no mention of a St Mark’s. Of course, the word ‘‘Ham’’ on this note is followed by a full stop, so it may be an abbreviation of a longer name.’

‘Hampton,’ I suggested, ‘or Hampton Wick.’

‘Let us see,’ said Holmes, turning the pages rapidly. ‘Hum! No good, I’m afraid. The church at Hampton is St Mary’s. That at Hampton Wick is St John’s. There is also somewhere called New Hampton, but the church there is St James’s. The large “X” on this note puzzles me,’ he continued, looking again at the scrap of paper. ‘Of course, people often write “X” as an abbreviation for “Cross” in place-names such as Charing Cross, but I can’t recall anywhere called “Ham Cross” or anything similar.’

‘What about Hammersmith?’ I suggested. ‘I have never heard anyone speak of “Hammersmith Cross”, but there is certainly a cross-roads there.’

Again Holmes turned the pages over rapidly.

‘No good,’ said he at length. ‘The church at Hammersmith is St Paul’s. Let us see what Hampstead has to offer! No, that is St John’s.’

‘West Ham or East Ham, in the East End,’ I suggested.

‘I’m afraid not, Watson,’ said my friend after a moment. ‘The church at East Ham is another St Mary’s, and that at West Ham – in the district of Upton, it says here – is St Peter’s.’ He sighed. ‘This is proving more difficult than I had expected!’

‘Do you not have an alphabetical list of London churches anywhere?’ I asked, but he shook his head.

‘It’s probably too late now to get hold of such a list,’ said he with a glance at the clock. ‘I can make inquiries first thing in the morning, but, as you know, I dislike leaving things to the last minute and had hoped to get the matter settled this evening. Of course, I know of a couple of churches dedicated to St Mark: there is one scarcely a stone’s throw from here, in the Marylebone Road, for instance, and another south of the river – in Kennington, if I recall correctly – but none is in a district which might be known as “Ham”. And then there is this capital “X”. What is the significance of that?’

‘Perhaps it is simply a symbol for a church,’ I suggested, ‘as you sometimes see on maps.’

‘Yes,’ returned my friend, ‘but if so its presence in the note seems completely superfluous; and, in any case, if it were simply an abbreviation for “church”, one would expect to see it after the word “Mark’s” and before the word “Ham”. Let us see if we can find anything on any of these maps,’ he continued, handing one to me, and opening another one out for himself.

‘What am I looking for?’ I asked, as I spread the map out on the hearth-rug.

‘I cannot precisely say,’ returned Holmes: ‘some likely-looking church, some reference to St Mark’s among the street-names, somewhere that might be known as “Ham”.’

‘There are a few streets in Fulham which bear that name,’ I remarked, after several minutes had passed in silence, ‘but I cannot see if there is a church there and, in any case, I can’t imagine that anyone would abbreviate “Fulham” as “Ham”.’

‘There is also a small hospital known as St Mark’s,’ responded my companion, ‘but it is in the City, near Aldersgate station, so I don’t think that that is of any use to us.’

Holmes fell silent again then and when I glanced up I saw that he was studying the little note once more, with the aid of his magnifying lens. Abruptly, he let out a little cry, as of surprise or enlightenment.

‘Watson!’ said he in an urgent tone. ‘I have something of great importance to tell you!’

‘What is it?’ I asked, rising to my feet.

‘That you have, all this time, been sharing rooms with a complete idiot! I deserve to be kicked from here to London Bridge for not seeing the truth earlier! Come and take a look! Do you see?’ he continued, as I bent over the little note. ‘What appeared to be a capital “X” is not that at all! It is in fact a lower-case “t”! It has been written in a great hurry and the vertical stroke is falling over backwards, while the horizontal stroke is rising from left to right. Of course that explains why there is a full stop after it!’

‘What does it mean?’

‘It means I must take a short walk on this beautiful evening,’ said he in a cheery tone, looking out of the window at the cloudless blue sky. ‘Would you care to accompany me?’

‘With pleasure!’ I said, laughing aloud at the sudden improvement in his mood.

‘Good man! Your hat and coat, then, old fellow, and let us be off before the daylight fades! I will explain where we are going as we walk!’

A few moments later, we set off up Baker Street, crossed the Marylebone Road and headed north towards St John’s Wood. At St John’s Wood Church we turned westwards and along past the cricket ground. Now that the rain had passed away and the sky had cleared, it was a warm and pleasant evening.

‘You see,’ said Holmes, ‘as soon as I realised that the letter in the note was not an “X” – which had made no sense to me at all – but a “t”, it at once struck me that it might well be an abbreviation for “terrace”, which supposition was strengthened by the fact that the “t” had a full stop after it. And as soon as that had occurred to me, I at once thought of Hamilton Terrace, which, as you have probably surmised, is our present destination. There are dozens of other street-names in London which begin with the syllable “Ham”, but very few suitable candidates for “Ham-something Terrace”. Now, I know for certain that there is a fairly large church on Hamilton Terrace – a handsome edifice, as I recall. It is not very old, but has a certain solidity and quiet dignity. I have passed it several times in a cab, but have not had reason to stop there and cannot recall what name it bears. If it is St Mark’s, Watson, then I am sure we have solved the riddle of that little note!’

We had turned northwards again as he had been speaking, into Hamilton Terrace itself, and now proceeded in the soft evening sunlight up this very broad road, lined on either side by handsome villas. After a few moments, we could see a church in the distance, on the right, and as we approached it I could sense an increasing tension in my companion’s manner. In a few minutes, we had reached a cross-roads, where Hamilton Terrace is crossed by Abercorn Place, and on the north-east corner of this cross-roads stood the church. Behind the low wall round the churchyard, a large sign proclaimed that this was St Mark’s.

All my friend’s tension seemed in an instant to evaporate and he clapped his hands together in delight. ‘Q.E.D.!’ cried he in triumph. ‘Now, my dear fellow, I suggest we continue our walk down that hill over there to the Edgware Road, where we can probably pick up a cab to take us to a decent restaurant. I think that our efforts today have merited a good supper!’

Our involvement with the case was not yet finished for the day, however, for when we returned to Baker Street, we found a letter from Zennor awaiting us, which had been delivered earlier in the evening by special messenger. With an expression of surprise, Holmes tore open the envelope. The letter within ran as follows:

‘Poor fellow!’ I said, as I finished reading. ‘He must feel that his whole world has collapsed about him.’

‘Let us hope, then,’ said Holmes, ‘that we shall be able to lift his spirits a little tomorrow!’

In the morning, a fresh band of rain had blown in across London and I awoke to the patter of raindrops against my bedroom window. It was clear that it had rained heavily in the night, for the plane tree behind our house had a drenched and bedraggled appearance. By the time we had taken breakfast, however, the rain had stopped, although the sky remained grey and overcast. After breakfast, Holmes’s attempt to return to his bedroom for further rest was this time successful and I did not see him again for two hours. I passed my own morning in writing up the case as I saw it so far, although, in truth, I could make little sense of it. It was clear from what I had seen of the hieroglyphics in Holmes’s own note-book that he regarded the muddle over the minor canons’ overcoats as an important part of the case, but I could not really see how that helped us. The envelope with the cheque in it had undoubtedly been found in Martin Zennor’s own coat, and he had undoubtedly been wearing it at the time, so the fact that some of the other young men had taken the wrong coats did not seem to make any difference. Zennor stated that he had not put the envelope in his pocket, and I saw no reason to doubt that, so therefore someone else had done so, but who, when and why?

When Holmes eventually re-emerged from his bedroom, he appeared refreshed and was clearly in good spirits. He ordered a four-wheeler for three o’clock, remarking that although it would mean a long wait for us at St Mark’s, he wanted to make sure that we arrived there well before anyone else did.

Zennor arrived promptly at lunchtime, and shared our simple meal of cold meats, bread and cheese. He appeared very pale and nervous in his manner, although he cheered up a little as Holmes plied him with questions, about his various duties at the cathedral, about his family and about the families of his colleagues. Whether any of the information Holmes elicited by these questions was of any relevance to his view of the case, or whether he was simply trying to distract, and thus cheer, his client, I could not say, but so lively and enthusiastic was his conversation that the time flew by, until, at five to three, a ring at the front-door bell announced the arrival of our cab.

‘Your hats and coats, gentlemen!’ cried Holmes, springing to his feet. ‘Courage, my dear sir!’ he said to Zennor, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Your ordeal is almost at an end!’

‘I wish I knew what was going to happen,’ returned his client, as he took his hat and coat from the peg.

‘We none of us know precisely what is going to happen, even two minutes in the future,’ said Holmes; ‘but I think I can promise you this, at least, Mr Zennor, that by the end of this week you will have returned to your duties at the cathedral without the slightest stain on your character!’

It took us less than ten minutes to reach our destination. As we approached the cross-roads, Holmes instructed the cabbie to drive slowly past the front of St Mark’s and continue on towards the north end of the road, where it meets Carlton Hill.

‘No sign of anyone at present,’ said Holmes, as we passed the churchyard, ‘but let me know at once if you see anyone loitering about.’

Zennor looked out of one side and I looked out of the other, but there seemed to be no one at all about in the whole of that broad, quiet thoroughfare. When we reached the end of the road, Holmes told the cabbie to turn his cab round, take us halfway back to the church and let us down there. ‘We’ll walk the rest of the way,’ said he, as we alighted and he paid off the cab. ‘It seems to me that the north corner of the building, where there is some projecting masonry and a large laurel bush, will be the best place for us to wait. It is impossible to say from which direction anyone will come, but whichever it is, we should be well-enough hidden there.’

We did as Holmes suggested, positioning ourselves behind a large buttress and, as we did so, a fine drizzle began to fall. This was not very pleasant, but it did not appear to trouble my friend, who kept his eyes fixed on the churchyard before us and the road beyond. In truth, there was little enough to be seen there, for very few people passed by, and I rapidly formed the conclusion that Hamilton Terrace must be one of the quietest large roads in the whole of London. Because of this, our vigil seemed an inordinately long one, although, in reality, it was little more than forty minutes.

All at once, when my thoughts had drifted far away, a man – a dirty, rough-looking individual – appeared from the right, from the north end of the road. I felt Holmes’s hand on my shoulder, pulling me in a little more behind the laurel bush. We watched as this man glanced furtively this way and that, as he approached the gateway into the churchyard. Then, in one swift movement, he had opened the gate and slipped in; but instead of walking up the short path to the church door, he quickly crouched down behind the low wall, just to the side of the gateway, so that he could not be seen from the road. Moments later, a large delivery van clattered by, and as it did so he raised his head slightly, to see over the wall and watch its progress. Again he looked furtively to left and right, and then bobbed his head down again to hide. Whether this man had anything to do with our reason for being there, I had no idea, but it seemed clear that he was fearful of being discovered by someone. Holmes touched Zennor on the arm and, with a raise of his eyebrow and a nod in the direction of the newcomer, made a silent enquiry; but Zennor shook his head, his features expressing complete ignorance as to who the man might be. Holmes frowned and a variety of emotions passed quickly across his face; but before I had time to consider the matter further, we heard the rapid approach of a cab from along Abercorn Place. It slowed down at the cross-roads, then swung round sharply into Hamilton Terrace and pulled up at the gate of the churchyard.

A moment later, a man stepped down from the cab who was instantly recognisable as Dr Glimper, the supervisor of the minor canons at Canterbury Cathedral. What he might be doing here, I could not imagine, and I wondered if he had followed someone – possibly Holmes’s client – to London. Whatever his purpose in being at St Mark’s, it looked as if he was about to receive an unpleasant surprise, for as soon as he opened the gate, he would see the man hiding behind the wall. He put his hand on the gate and pushed it open, and at that moment the man behind the wall sprang up. Dr Glimper took a step backwards in alarm and I thought for a moment that the other man was about to attack him, but then the two of them began to talk animatedly, walking slowly up the short path towards the church door.

Abruptly, they stopped, evidently as a result of something that Dr Glimper had said, for the other man began to remonstrate with him violently, waving his arms wildly in the air. For several moments they stood there, speaking in raised voices, although I could not catch what they were saying. Then, abruptly, they stopped again, and looked hurriedly this way and that, as if they had heard something.

‘Come on!’ said Holmes. ‘This has gone on long enough!’ He stepped briskly forward, into the open, at which the two men looked round in alarm.

‘You traitor!’ cried the rough-looking man to Glimper. ‘You have betrayed me!’

‘No, no!’ returned Dr Glimper. ‘I assure you, I have no idea who these men are!’ But even as he spoke, he evidently caught sight of Zennor, behind us. ‘Zennor!’ he cried. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘So,’ said the other man, raising his arm aggressively, ‘you do know these people! So you’re a liar as well as a traitor! You stinking, slimy scug!’ He then concluded his remarks with a string of foul oaths.

‘We have come,’ said Holmes, addressing Dr Glimper, and ignoring the other man’s outburst, ‘to learn why you attempted to steal the cathedral’s cheque.’

Dr Glimper’s mouth fell open, his eyes were wide and wild, and his whole expression was one of the utmost terror. Before he could respond, however, there came the most surprising interruption. The rapid clatter of hooves and the jingle of harness came from somewhere to our right, from the north end of Hamilton Terrace, and an instant later, a large police van came into view travelling at tremendous speed. It drew to an abrupt halt at the church gate and three policemen sprang down.

‘You swine!’ cried Dr Glimper’s companion, and, launching himself forward, struck the clergyman full in the face with his fist. Then, as Glimper fell to the ground with a pitiful cry, the other man bolted and sprang over the side-wall of the churchyard into Abercorn Place. Two of the policemen at once gave chase, while the third, in the braided uniform of an inspector, approached us and introduced himself as Inspector Jackett.

‘Are you the vicar of this church, reverend?’ he asked Glimper, as he helped him to his feet.

‘No,’ replied Glimper, touching his cut and bruised face gingerly with his hand. ‘I am the brother of that poor wretch you are chasing.’

‘What!’ cried the policeman in astonishment: ‘the brother of Jake Sligo, the most notorious burglar in north London!’

‘I didn’t know he was using that name. His real name is Jacob Glimper.’

‘Well, well,’ said Inspector Jackett. ‘I know he’s used several aliases, but I’ve never heard that one before! You do know,’ he continued, ‘that we have been on his trail for weeks? No? Well, I can tell you he is wanted for questioning for at least eight burglaries, five violent assaults and two counts of attempted murder. We finally tracked him down to an address in Kilburn, but when we went there this morning, he’d already left. We’ve been hunting for him all day and finally got a tip from a carter that he had seen a suspicious-looking individual hiding in this churchyard.’

‘I swear I knew none of this,’ said Dr Glimper in a tone of utter dejection. ‘I do not live in London, but in Canterbury, where I am connected with the cathedral. I have neither seen nor heard from my brother in many years. But I recently got a letter from him, from an address in Kilburn, telling me that he was in serious trouble and begging me to bring some money to him here today, so that he could get away and start a new life elsewhere. I assumed that he owed money to someone, that is all.’

‘And did you bring him any money?’ asked Inspector Jackett.

‘No,’ said Glimper. ‘I was just telling him that I had been unable to get any, when you arrived.’

‘Who are these gentlemen?’ the inspector asked, turning to us.

‘They have nothing to do with the matter,’ replied Glimper; ‘at least, not directly. I suppose it must all come out,’ he continued after a moment, in a tone of resignation. ‘I attempted – unsuccessfully – to take some money from the cathedral office to give to my brother. He sounded so desperate, and I thought if I didn’t give him something he might come down to Canterbury and ruin my life as he has ruined his own. These men must have been following me, and witnessed what happened here.’

‘Are they inquiry agents?’

‘One is, I believe.’

‘Do you agree with what he says?’ the policeman asked, turning to us.

‘Not exactly,’ said Holmes. ‘This young man here,’ he continued, indicating Zennor, ‘has been falsely accused of trying to steal the money that Dr Glimper mentioned. He asked me to look into the matter, and when I did so, my enquiries led me to suspect that the true culprit was Dr Glimper himself. We also found a note, naming this place and time for a meeting of some kind, so we made sure we arrived here first, so we could see for ourselves what the meeting was about.

‘As for you, sir,’ Holmes continued, turning to Dr Glimper, ‘your behaviour has been disgraceful. Your loyalty to your brother is understandable, even if your chief motive seems to have been to preserve your own position at the cathedral; your succumbing to the temptation to steal the cheque is also understandable, if highly reprehensible in a man of your position and learning; but your treatment of Mr Zennor: that, sir, is unforgivable. To allow a young man you knew to be perfectly innocent to suffer the shame of baseless suspicion, and the scorn and distrust of his companions and superiors, when all the time you had it within your power to free him in an instant from these chains of disgrace: that, sir, is despicable!’

At that moment the two policemen reappeared from the direction of Abercorn Place and between them they held Dr Glimper’s brother. As they approached us, he let out a stream of foul abuse, directed particularly at his brother, who hung his head in shame.

‘Put him in the van,’ said Inspector Jackett.

‘You see a gulf between us,’ said Dr Glimper, looking up abruptly, ‘but it was not always so. It is not I who have risen, but he who has fallen. We are from a good family and I am sure the Glimpers of Newbury are still well spoken of. My brother was educated at one of the finest schools in England, and had all that a good education and a loving family could provide. But his course was set on dishonesty, deceit, debauchery and depravity, and this is where that course has led him. You are right, sir,’ he continued, addressing Holmes, ‘to call me despicable in my treatment of Zennor. It is the lowest, meanest act of my life and I despise myself for it. But I shall make amends at once and tender my resignation this very day. I shall make a full statement of the facts to the Dean this evening, totally exonerating Zennor and confessing my own guilt.’

‘Before you do any of that,’ said Inspector Jackett in a dry tone, ‘I shall need your full name and address, and those of these other gentlemen, too. You may be called as a witness in the criminal proceedings against your brother.’

I asked Holmes that evening, as we discussed the case over supper, whether he had already suspected the truth before Dr Glimper had arrived at St Mark’s.

‘I was tolerably certain of it,’ said he, nodding his head.

‘I don’t see how you could be,’ I responded. ‘When I saw the notes you had made, they appeared to consist chiefly of a series of zigzag lines, interspersed with hieroglyphics! How that could possibly indicate Dr Glimper’s guilt, I cannot imagine!’

Holmes chuckled. He reached for his note-book and opened it at the relevant page. For a moment, he studied it in silence, then he passed it to me. ‘I suppose it does look a confused muddle if you don’t understand what it represents,’ he conceded; ‘but it’s not really quite so complex as you suppose, Watson.

‘To begin with, we were presented with the problem of how the envelope containing the cheque had found its way into Zennor’s coat pocket. He had not placed it there himself and therefore someone else had done so. He also said that it was practically inconceivable that anyone should dislike him so much as to place it there deliberately in order to incriminate him. This I accepted, not simply because it was Zennor’s opinion, but also because such an underhand scheme was very unlikely to be successful. If, for instance, he had noticed the envelope when he first put on his coat at the cathedral, possibly in the company of others, he would never have been suspected of trying to steal it. Suspicions were only aroused because of the somewhat odd circumstances in which the envelope came to light: the hue and cry had already gone up over the theft in Zennor’s absence, and he was then seen, when alone in the garden of Lambeth Palace, to be doing something with an envelope he had just taken from his pocket. This is what roused suspicions against him.

‘So, if the envelope had not been placed in Zennor’s pocket deliberately, either by himself or by someone else, then it had been placed there in error. But what could that mean? Zennor told us that there was no legitimate reason for the envelope to be in anyone’s pocket – the Dean’s secretary was to deal with the cheque later – so the reason was clearly an illegitimate one. In other words, it must be that someone had intended to steal the cheque and had meant to place it in his own pocket, but had made a mistake and put it into Zennor’s pocket instead. How could such a mistake have occurred? Only, surely, if the raincoats had got muddled up. Thus you see, Watson, that even on the most preliminary analysis of the matter, I was drawn to the conclusion that the whereabouts of each of the coats on the day in question was likely to be crucial to the solution of the case.

‘This is where we come to that diagram you see before you. Now, altogether, there are seven overcoats to consider, the six belonging to the minor canons and that of Dr Glimper, which are all customarily hung in the corridor outside the cathedral office. But we can immediately eliminate several of them from our inquiry, which helps us enormously. That is the significance of those little stick figures you see at the top of the page, which have a line through them. Henry Jeavons had left about seven o’clock in the morning, wearing Michael Earley’s coat, so that coat can be removed from the equation. But Jeavons’s own coat was left, not in the corridor, where anyone might use it, but in his bedroom. So that coat, too, can be eliminated. Then there is the coat belonging to Wallace Wakefield: he is a somewhat larger size than anyone else and would very quickly have realised his mistake had he put anyone else’s coat on, so he was undoubtedly wearing his own, which can, therefore, also be eliminated. This leaves us with the coats belonging to Martin Zennor, Stafford Nugent and Hubert Bebington, which are all the same, and that of Dr Glimper, which is slightly larger.

‘Now we know, from the testimony we heard, that Zennor arrived back at Canterbury wearing his own coat, a fact he verified by examining the initials in the pocket, and that Nugent, who had also been up to London, was wearing a coat that fitted him, but which was not his own as it did not have the loose button which he mentioned to us. This coat could only therefore have been Bebington’s. Hence, the coat that Earley was wearing, when he left to go to Ramsgate, which he admitted was not his own, but which he said fitted him perfectly well, must have been that of Nugent. As Earley was away in Ramsgate all day, only arriving back in the late afternoon, Nugent’s coat can therefore also be eliminated from the equation. The only coats which are relevant to our little problem, then, are those of Zennor, Bebington and Glimper.

‘When Nugent was first leaving the cathedral precincts, there was only one coat remaining in the corridor, so he took it and hurried off to catch Zennor up. He had got only halfway to the railway station, however, when he remembered the book he had intended to take back to Lambeth Palace. He therefore returned to the cathedral to get the book, but saw when he did so that there was now another coat hanging in the corridor which looked more like his own, so he took off the one he was wearing and put on the other. It seems certain, then, that the first coat he took was that of Dr Glimper, which is why it didn’t fit him so well, and the second coat either Bebington’s or Zennor’s. Where had this second coat come from? Clearly it had been used by Bebington when he went to the stationer’s. He had gone out five or ten minutes before Zennor and Nugent left, and had returned a few minutes after they had gone, and perhaps seven or eight minutes before Nugent came back to get his book. You will see I have marked all the timings down the edge of the page. But Bebington told us that the coat he was wearing during his brief visit to the stationer’s was not his own. It was, therefore, Zennor’s, and Zennor himself must have gone off to London wearing Bebington’s coat.

‘It was, I believe, during this period of just under ten minutes, when Zennor’s coat was the only one hanging in the corridor outside the cathedral office, after Bebington had brought it back, but before Nugent returned and took it, that Glimper put the envelope, cheque and note in the pocket. He would, under the circumstances, have been in a highly nervous and hurried state, for someone might have come by at any moment and seen what he was doing, so no doubt when he saw a single coat hanging there he assumed it was his own. This is the only explanation that covers all the facts. No doubt Glimper intended to travel up to London later in the day and cash the cheque there, but, shortly afterwards, Nugent came back and, exchanging Glimper’s coat for Zennor’s, therefore went off to London with the stolen cheque in his pocket.’

‘But if Nugent inadvertently brought the cheque up to London,’ I asked, ‘how was it that Zennor ended up with it?’

‘That occurred at Lambeth Palace,’ replied Holmes. ‘You will recall that when Zennor arrived there, he saw a hat on the hat-stand, but no coat on the coat-hooks. But it was a wet day, and anyone arriving there would surely have been wearing a raincoat and would have hung it up with his hat. What must have happened, then, is this: that the earlier visitor – which must have been Nugent – hung his coat up hurriedly and carelessly and as he proceeded into the building it slipped from its peg and fell in a heap on the floor behind the settle. When Zennor arrived, he saw no coat there, hung his own hat and coat up and went into Lambeth Palace to keep his appointment. Some time later, while he was still engaged in there, Nugent came out, took the only coat that was hanging there, which he assumed to be the one he had arrived in and left. When Zennor emerged, he at first saw no coat, then found the one behind the settle and he, likewise, assumed that it was the one he had arrived in. Oddly enough, it was actually his own coat, but that was the first time all day that he had worn it. The remainder of the events you know. Is that all clear, old man? Do you understand now the point of that diagram you are studying?’

‘I believe so,’ I said, with some hesitation. ‘I am sure your analysis is correct, Holmes and, in any case, the arrival of Dr Glimper at St Mark’s confirmed it beyond doubt.’

Holmes nodded. ‘There was one other possibility I considered, which was that Stafford Nugent had stolen the cheque, when he returned to collect his library book. But if he had done so, I argued, he would surely have taken a little more care to ensure he took the correct coat when he left Lambeth Palace and that he still had the cheque with him.

‘Therefore, although it was always possible that no one would turn up today for the meeting at St Mark’s, especially as the stolen cheque had been recovered, it seemed to me that if anyone did so, it would undoubtedly be Dr Glimper.’

‘Amazing!’ I cried.

‘Elementary,’ said Sherlock Holmes.