Gaslight Grimoire_ Fantastic Tales of Sherlock Holmes - Barbara Hambly [98]
“Mr. Holmes, is it?” Drayson greeted the detective uncertainly. Despite his immaculate apparel, Mr. Drayson appeared a tired, worn man. His was a thin face with a drooping, grey moustache arranged in a permanent frown. The father’s form betrayed the same slenderness as the daughter’s, and soulful brown eyes peered at us from behind round, wire-rimmed glasses.
Holmes quickly explained our business, handing over the note Drayson’s daughter had prepared. Catherine Drayson’s father read the missive carefully and then pulled a checkbook from the drawer of his desk.
“I do not think you fully understand the implications of your daughter’s message sir,” Holmes said as Drayson readied his pen. “You have not inquired if there is any factual basis to the murders your daughter describes. For all intents and purposes she has confessed to a series of monstrous crimes yet you have not requested any further information from us. You seem remarkably trusting sir, perhaps you’ve heard my name before?”
“I have not,” Drayson said, his pen filling in the cheque as he spoke. “To be honest Mr. Holmes, it makes no difference to me if you are what you say you are or a charlatan. As a father I cannot afford to overlook any action that might result in a betterment of my daughter’s condition. In her note she claims you may be able to help her. Your fee Mr. Holmes? Please.”
Holmes stated a figure.
Drayson’s eyebrows rose and the father looked over the top of his spectacles at the detective. “Is that all Mr. Holmes? May I include an incentive, to insure this matter receives your full attention?”
“Unnecessary,” Holmes assured the man. “My professional charges are upon a fixed scale. In any instance, a trail of five murdered men cannot help but attract the attention of one such as I.”
“There have been murders then?” Drayson inquired as he completed the cheque. “As she describes them?”
“Yes,” Holmes answered. “Though how your daughter knows of them is something of a puzzle. Her confinement is such that she should have no knowledge of such brutality. Unless you know some way by which such news might reach her ears?”
“I do not,” Drayson assured Holmes as he handed the detective his payment. “Had Catherine been outside the asylum she would have told me of it and I know of no one there who would speak of such things to her.”
“Yet she possesses more than a passing knowledge of these deaths,” Holmes observed. “I believe someone connected with these murders has spoken to her about them.”
“I don’t understand,” Drayson said without suspicion. “You suspect a member of the staff?”
“No sir,” Holmes said bluntly. “I do not.”
“Oh,” Drayson said, blinking in surprise as the implication of Holmes’ statement became apparent. “As far as I know, I am the only visitor my daughter receives.”
“That is true,” Holmes said with a pointed stubbornness.
“You think I committed these crimes?” Drayson removed his spectacles and cleaned them thoughtfully. “I see the suggestion does not surprise you. Very well, I keep a diary of my appointments and activities. It reaches back several months and the older ones should still be here someplace. My diary should supply a reasonably complete record of my comings and goings. Would that be helpful to you Mr. Holmes? Is there anything else I can provide you with that may prove my innocence?”
Holmes spent the better part of the next two hours interrogating the unfortunate Mr. Drayson about his whereabouts, his daily practices and the sad history of his family. I listened but had nothing to add to the proceedings. To my ear it sounded as if Drayson was exactly as he seemed to be: A man whose life, through no fault of his own, had been marked by tragedy. A father surviving as best he could in the somewhat desperate hope that his daughter’s health might be restored. As we left the Drayson residence