Текст книги "A Farewell to Baker Street"

Автор книги: Mark Mower

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4. The Case of the Cuneiform Suicide Note

It was towards the end of July 1903 that I returned from a short break in Ireland; a trip occasioned by the death of a close medical colleague who had established a successful medical practice in Cork some ten years earlier. Relieved to be home, I paid the cab driver and dropped my heavy bags and cases in the hallway. A quick tour of the house suggested that everything was as I had left it, and satisfied that my sanctuary was still secure and free from leaks, wind damage and insect infestations, I took a seat in the front parlour to catch my breath. Scarcely had I time to sit back on the comfortable bergère when my repose was cut short by a loud and distinctive rap on the front door. It was clear that my colleague had timed his visit to perfection.

When I opened the door, Sherlock Holmes stood before me in a fashionable tweed suit and wide blue necktie. He gave me a broad grin and tipped the peak of his deerstalker with the top of a thin walking stick. “Welcome back, Watson. Or, should I say, ‘a top o’ the mornin’ to ya’?”

“Holmes, you must be very well informed about my comings and goings, for I have only just this minute returned.”

The smile did not diminish. “Truth be told, my friend, I had completely forgotten when you were due back and wrongly believed you had made the crossing from Ireland yesterday. You must therefore forgive the intrusion, but I just wanted to be sure that you were still free to come with me this evening to the Library of the British Museum.”

Never one to hide an indiscretion, I felt it best to acknowledge that I had absolutely no recollection of any such appointment.

“Tut, tut, old man, it seems that I am not the only one prone to periodic memory loss,” Holmes retorted. “A little over a month ago, I mentioned to you that Dr Henry Canham-Page, the celebrated archaeologist, was due to give a lecture on the subject of the Cuneiform Records of Mesopotamia and you readily agreed that we ought to attend. His talk is at seven o’clock this evening. If you do still wish to come along, I can call for you at six-thirty.”

Feeling somewhat embarrassed at my faux pas, I acquiesced and said that I would be pleased to accompany him. With a distinct spring in his step, Holmes then turned and headed off with a cheery, “Farewell then, Doctor – until this evening.”

When the hansom arrived at the agreed time I was hovering on the doorstep, loath to keep Holmes waiting and knowing full well how much he liked to get front row seats at any academic lecture so as not to be disturbed or distracted by others in the audience. After a brief ride, we pulled up to the venue in good time and with just a short queue outside were ushered into the British Museum Reading Room with ten minutes to spare.

The reading room provided the perfect setting for the lecture. Situated in the centre of the building, it had an impressive domed ceiling some 140 feet in diameter, modelled, we were told, on the great Pantheon of Rome. And all around us were book stacks, providing over twenty-four miles of shelving for the hundreds of thousands of books housed in the library. It was therefore with some anticipation that we settled down only a few feet from the small raised stage, blackboard and lectern and awaited the arrival of Dr Henry Canham-Page.

Amid the general chit chat of the expectant audience, I took the opportunity to ask Holmes a discreet question. “Holmes. I do not wish to sound ill-informed, but having had little time to think about the nature of the lecture this evening, I find myself in the unenviable position of having no idea what the Cuneiform Records of Mesopotamia actually are.”

Rather to my surprise, Holmes did not tease or reproach me for the admission, but sought, in hushed tones, to provide me with a succinct explanation. “My dear friend, there is no shame in admitting that one lacks knowledge of such a specialist subject. In fact, there are only a handful of academics across the planet that have a full understanding of both the history and significance of cuneiform records. Around five thousand years ago, the Sumerian people of the Mesopotamian region developed an early form of writing which used pictures and symbols to convey information about their everyday social and economic affairs, like the harvesting of crops or the taxes that had to be paid by citizens. Through time, this developed into a more sophisticated script of signs and characters which we now call cuneiform. The ancient scribes used clay tablets on which to record their trade and community affairs and even chronicled their observations on astronomy. Their records and those of similar civilisations laid the very foundations on which many of today’s Asian and Indo-European languages are based. For that reason, I have developed a fair working knowledge of cuneiform, but would not profess to be an expert by any means. Let us hope that our speaker can enlighten us further.”

The lights in the reading room dimmed and the noise within the room subsided to a point where it would have been possible to hear a pin drop. A tall, frail looking man, with wire-framed glasses and a long black gown took to the stage. He was not quite the robust, middle-aged, archeologist I had envisaged Dr Canham-Page to be, and when he introduced himself, it was clear that I was not wrong. “Forgive me, gentlemen. I am Professor Michael Braydon of the Oxford University Archeology Faculty. It was to have been a great honour for me to be able to introduce to you this evening an esteemed colleague, arguably the very best archeologist that this country has ever produced...”

The professor paused at this point and looked visibly shaken. There were tears in his eyes and his hands, which were now firmly clutching the sides of the lectern, had begun to shake. With a deep breath he composed himself and continued. “There is no easy way to say this, but I am afraid that Dr Henry Canham-Page will not be able to speak to us this evening. Only a short while ago he collapsed in a back room of the library and my colleagues were unable to revive him. We have sent for a local doctor and the police, but it is clear that he has passed away.”

There was a degree of pandemonium in the room as everyone began to talk at once with the shock of the announcement. Some attendees got up from their seats and began to saunter quietly towards the exits. Others looked almost angry at the news. A few were overcome with emotion and sat in a stunned silence.

No one seemed to notice the sad figure of Professor Braydon who appeared unable to release his grip on the lectern. In that moment, it was Holmes who stepped forward to assist the aged academic. With a word in his ear, he helped the professor down from the stage and nodded for me to join him. Against the backdrop of noise and confusion, Holmes explained that I was a doctor and could attend to the deceased. Braydon smiled weakly and led us off towards the back room where the earlier drama had occurred.

At the entrance to the room we were introduced to a man called Brendan Stevens, who explained that he was the manager responsible for organising the annual programme of academic lectures at the museum. He seemed relieved to hear that I was a doctor, but somewhat surprised to be introduced to Sherlock Holmes. “Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, this is indeed a pleasure – I just wish it were under more pleasant circumstances. Perhaps I ought to explain the sequence of events and why we felt it was necessary to call for the police in addition to a doctor.”

Holmes was direct in his response. “Yes, Mr Stevens, I would be very grateful if you could outline the pertinent facts. I had already imagined that there might be some unusual or unexpected features when I first heard that the police had been called.”

Stevens continued: “We had shown Dr Canham-Page to the room at about six o’clock this evening. All of our guest lecturers use the room before their talks. It gives them a quiet space in which to prepare themselves, which most seem to value. He had arrived by carriage and, I have to say, did look tired and despondent. I asked him if he wanted anything, like a glass of water or something to eat, but he indicated that he just wanted to be left alone and closed the door after I had left.”

“That could be significant,” mused Holmes.

“You will see when you enter the room that it is bereft of furniture. It has only a small desk and chair and no windows. In everyday use, it acts as a rest room for some of the museum staff. I was content to let the Doctor prepare in solitude, but around six thirty-five thought it wise to remind him of the time and check that he was not in need of anything for the lecture. Miss Prentice, one of our administrative staff, was with me. When we received no response to my knock, I entered the room and was shocked to see him lying on the floor close to the desk.”

“I see. And has the furniture been moved at all since?”

“No, Mr Holmes. I busied myself checking his breathing and pulse and realised then that he was dead. I knew how important it would be to leave everything as it was. It seemed clear to me that he had died as a result of a blow to the back of his head. I could see and feel blood on the back of his skull, you see. What I did not know was whether the blow had been accidently or maliciously inflicted.”

“Agreed. And no one has been in the room since?”

“That is correct. I instructed Miss Prentice to let Professor Braydon know what had happened and to call for a doctor and the police. She did so, and returned to the museum shortly before seven o’clock. Since that time, I have stood guard by the door.”

Holmes was warm in his praise. “Thank you, Mr Stevens. Your summary and your actions to this point have been highly commendable. I think we should allow Dr Watson to take a look at the body now. He may be able to offer us some further insights on what may have led to the death.”

As Holmes was about to turn the doorknob, a familiar voice rang out behind us. “Well, if it isn’t my good friends, Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson,” cried Inspector Lestrade. “Now what brings you to these parts? Are you to tell me that there is some great mystery attached to this death?”

Holmes laughed. “Lestrade, my dear fellow. It is good to see you. And no, I am hoping that this will be a straightforward death. Watson and I were here for a lecture that the deceased was due to give this evening.”

“I see. Well, let’s have a look at what we’re dealing with.” He beckoned for Holmes to open the door.

When the three of us entered the room there was little to catch the eye beyond the outstretched body – feet towards us, face up and close to the desk in the left hand corner of the far wall. The room itself was about twelve feet square and the only other item in the space was a small wooden chair which was rested half way along the wall to our left. Holmes took a quick glance around the room and with his magnifying glass to hand began to scan areas of the floor along the left wall. At one point he stopped and using a small set of tweezers picked something from close to the wainscot and placed it in a matchbox he had retrieved from his pocket. Lestrade was content to stand back and allow Holmes to carry out his work. I knelt down and began to examine the body.

It was not difficult to determine how he had died. Dr Canham-Page had fallen back against the edge of the desk and cracked his head. His body lay twisted on the floor and from its position I imagined that his right arm and collarbone were likely to be broken. Underdoing a few of the studs on the front of his dress shirt enabled me to see that there was severe bruising all over his neck and upper arms consistent with a heavy fall. That left only one question – did he fall or was he pushed?

A cursory look over the rest of the body revealed only one other oddity. The archeologist appeared to be wearing black carpet slippers. Holmes had evidently noted my interest. “Yes, Watson. I also thought the footwear to be out of keeping with the formality of his evening attire; the dinner jacket, black trousers and bow tie. The other curious feature you may have noticed is that he still has in his right hand some rolled up sheets of foolscap – most likely the notes he planned to use for the lecture.”

Lestrade interjected at this point. “Yes, Mr Holmes. That is most likely, as he does not seem to have brought anything else with him. If you look around the room, there is no case or bag of any kind.”

“Quite so, Lestrade. But it would be as well to check his pockets.” Holmes stooped to join me on the floor and began to search the pockets of the trousers, finding an assortment of coins and a set of keys. Retrieving only a small jar of pen ink from one of the two outside pockets of the jacket, he then turned his attention to the inside. From one of the hidden pockets he retrieved a black fountain pen, and from the other he pulled out a leather bound wallet, inside of which were two loose and separate pieces of paper.

“What have you found?” I asked.

“A wallet, containing... five pounds, a couple of Drury Lane theatre tickets and what looks like two notes or letters.” He placed the wallet on the desk above us and scrutinised each note in turn. “Now, that is fascinating!”

Both Lestrade and I looked up keenly.

“We have one document which looks to contain a list of strange symbols and signs – probably one of the Doctor’s academic pursuits. But the other document is more significant. At first glance, it appears to be a suicide note.”

“A suicide note!” exclaimed Lestrade. “Now, I thought you said this wouldn’t be an odd or unusual death, Mr Holmes.”

“We will see, my friend. It suggests that there was some degree of mystery attached to this first document.” He passed the note to Lestrade. “But the suicide note is addressed to a ‘Dr Eversley’, possibly one of Canham-Page’s academic colleagues. In it he says, ‘I know I can’t go on like this. At times, the pain is just too acute.’” He passed the second document across to the inspector.

Lestrade studied both documents but looked confused. “Very strange, I’d say. But this list of hieroglyphics means nothing to me. And what does he mean when he talks about the ‘first cuneiform’?”

I smiled and could not help interrupting. “A question similar to the one I asked of Holmes only half an hour ago, Inspector! Cuneiform is a type of symbolic alphabet I’m told.”

There was a loud knock on the door and all three of us turned sharply. Brendan Stevens entered the room and announced, apologetically, that a local doctor had arrived to examine the body. Lestrade took it upon himself to leave the room and explain to the doctor that his services would not be required after all. While he was absent, Holmes was candid in his observations. “I do not know what conclusions you may have drawn, Doctor, but for me, the case seems straightforward until we get to the question of these two notes in the wallet.”

I agreed wholeheartedly and added, “Yes, this does not strike me as any sort of suicide. It is quite clear that he cracked his head on the edge of the desk. There is a mark and a few strands of hair still on the desk to indicate where he fell and I would say that he has broken bones down his right side which suggest that he fell with some force. Do you think he could have been pushed?”

“Not a chance, Watson. You are right – he did fall heavily against the desk. In fact, he fell from the height of the chair. I would suggest that he lost his balance while on the chair and fell backwards.”

“He was on the chair?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, in the process of swatting a bee. Hence the reason he had his lecture notes rolled up in his hand. And it appears that he was successful.” He withdrew from his pocket the small matchbox he had used earlier. Inside I could see the crushed dead body of a honey bee.

“Remarkable! Perhaps he suffered from the effects of bee and wasp stings,” I added. “I seem to remember that last year two physiologists, Paul Portier and Charles Richet, wrote papers describing the phenomenon of anaphylaxis, or the allergic – sometimes life-threatening – reaction that humans can have to foreign proteins they are exposed to. If he did suffer from it, his fear of bees would have been exaggerated. But why would he have fallen? He looks to have been physically fit and of no great age, and I am sure that his archaeological fieldwork would have kept him active. Would he really have lost his balance?”

Holmes was quick to respond. “Yes, Watson. All of what you say is likely to be true, but then you are forgetting the curious feature we both noted earlier.”

“The carpet slippers?”

“Indeed. Now, why would he choose such footwear, not just to travel in, but to deliver a high profile public lecture?”

“It can only be for want of comfort,” I replied, seeing where he was heading.

“Exactly! Now, let us examine his feet to see what may have been ailing him.”

Responding to Holmes’ lead, I knelt once more beside the body and carefully removed the black carpet slippers and the thin pair of black socks underneath. Looking at the two bare feet alongside each other, it was readily apparent that Dr Canham-Page did indeed have a foot condition. While his left foot showed no apparent deformities, the top of his right foot was swollen to an extent which rendered it much larger than the other.

“Interesting, Holmes. See the prominent bump along the top of the arch? Our man was suffering from saddle bone deformity. A condition caused by the excessive growth of bone material on the top of the foot. There is a gradual onset of the deformity which can afflict sufferers from their mid-twenties. Of itself, the condition does not produce much sensitivity, but the excessive rubbing of the skin on the top of stiff shoes would be extremely painful. Looking at the extent of this growth, I would say that Canham-Page has suffered with this for many years, and can only wear loose or soft-fitting footwear.”

“So, potentially, the tightening of the slippers on his feet as he reached up and out to swing at the bee would have been excessively painful, causing his legs to buckle underneath him.”

“I would say that is entirely possible.”

At that point Lestrade re-entered the room and looked at us quizzically. “Now, now, Mr Holmes. You have that look on your face which suggests that you know something I don’t. What have you discovered in my absence?”

Holmes chortled. “There is no keeping anything from you, Lestrade. I was just saying that I am firmly of the belief that this death was an accident. Dr Canham-Page appears to have fallen from the chair while in the process of killing a bee. Watson was suggesting that he may have had a deep-seated fear of bee stings and possibly even a severe medical reaction to them.”

Lestrade looked unconvinced. “I see. But I thought we were talking about a possible suicide. What about this suicide note? It looks pretty convincing to me.”

“Inspector, it strikes me that falling off a chair backwards in an attempt to hit one’s head on the edge of a desk is just too far-fetched for anyone contemplating suicide. And as for the note, I think it has some other meaning or significance which has not yet become clear. I have studied the list of cuneiform symbols and the first in particular. I am not an expert, but this appears to be an obscure offshoot from the primary list of symbols developed over time by the Sumerian people. From the one or two symbols I do recognise, this looks to be a simple list of the key ingredients required for a good harvest – water, barley, long days and warm sunshine.

On listening to this my curiosity was aroused. “Could I see the notes?” I asked.

“Certainly,” replied Lestrade, and passed both across to me. I laid them out on the desk. The first was the note containing the handwritten list of symbols. It read:

“I take it that this is Canham-Page’s handwritten copy of some of the Mesopotamian cuneiform we would have heard about this evening?”

“Yes,” said Holmes, “the ink is the same as that used on the supposed suicide note, which is actually signed by him and addressed to a Dr Eversley. It appears to make some reference to the first cuneiform symbol, as if that may have been some sort of key to unlock a wider academic mystery.”

I turned my attention to the second note, again laying it out on the desk. This one read:

Dear Dr Eversley,

I have checked the first cuneiform as you suggested, and it does appear to be the key to the mystery. I know I can’t go on like this. At times, the pain is just too acute. Action must be taken.

Yours,

Dr Henry Canham-Page

I smiled broadly as I read the note. “My dear Holmes. For once, I think I can solve this particular mystery for you! This is not a suicide note at all. I thought I recognised the name. Dr Colin Eversley lives and works not half a mile from Baker Street. He is a doctor, but not in an academic sense. Like me, he is a medical practitioner. But, unlike me, he has chosen to concentrate on a very specific area of treatment. Dr Eversley is a chiropodist and has taken a lifelong interest in the treatment of feet. Before his lecture this evening, Dr Canham-Page had clearly penned a quick note to Eversley. The pain he refers to is the result of his saddle bone deformity which has got to the point where treatment is necessary. Dr Eversley had obviously suggested a quick check prior to his client’s first consultation. If I tell you that the medical name for the condition is metatarsal cuneiform exostosis, I think all will become clear.”

Holmes beamed at the pronouncement. “Watson, you have excelled yourself! So, the ‘first cuneiform’ referred to has nothing to do with the second note or any ancient symbolism?”

“Nothing whatsoever. The medial cuneiform – also known as the first cuneiform – is the largest of the foot bones. It is situated at the medial side of the foot, to the front of the navicular bone and at the base of the first metatarsal.”

“Well I never! bellowed Lestrade. “So a case of bad feet caused him to fall off a chair.”

“So it would seem, Inspector – and no great mystery, after all. That said, I think Dr Watson deserves full credit. I was saying earlier that there is no shame in admitting to a lack of knowledge in a specialist subject. Watson’s extensive medical training is way beyond my layman’s understanding and has proved to be conclusive in this case.”

“Hear, hear!” echoed Lestrade. “And thank you, gentlemen. Once again you have helped me to sort out what could have been a tricky case. I will explain to the library staff what has occurred and arrange for the body to be taken away. I am sorry you both missed out on your lecture this evening.”

“There is no need to be concerned, Inspector. It is still early and I feel that Watson deserves a decent meal and a bottle of the finest red Bordeaux. I think we will therefore retire to the Café Royal for some French cuisine. If you are able to finish your shift at a reasonable time this evening, you are more than welcome to join us.”

“That is kind of you, Mr Holmes, but I fear I have a long night ahead. Not that I will be having many more of those beyond this month. It seems only fair to tell you that I am retiring in a few days’ time. I have been with Scotland Yard since I was sixteen and it is now time to call it a day. Mrs Lestrade and I have purchased a small cottage down in Kent, close to her relatives, so I think a country life beckons.”

Both Holmes and I were surprised to hear the news, but pleased for the hard-working detective. We wished him the very best in his retirement and thanked him for his assistance in the many cases we had enjoyed together over two decades.

That evening, as we sat in the elegant interior of the Café Royal, Holmes proposed an unexpected toast. “To Inspector Lestrade – a fine officer and one who will be sorely missed.”

I raised my glass at the worthy tribute. It was just another sign that time was marching on and none of us were getting any younger.