The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [236]
“I fear not,” said Holmes.
“May I ask why?”
“Well, your suggestion is that he may be able to throw some light on the matter. But what light can he possibly throw?” Holmes paused. He gazed first at the ceiling, as though in concentration, then at me, in a manner reminiscent of my old school master when explaining a complicated matter to his class. “As you say, he once lived in Canada. So do some five million others. And how could this postmark possibly connect with him? Sir Henry’s post office is not at Baskerville, but at Grimpen. You and I have used it frequently, as our Canadian reader of your tales is clearly aware. The seat of the Baskerville family for centuries has been in Devon, not Canada. There is, to the best of my knowledge, no town or village of Baskerville in Canada. No! Sir Henry is not involved here.”
“But if the postmark is not genuine,” said I, “it must be bogus!”
“Your reasoning does you credit, doctor,” said Holmes with an encouraging chuckle. “You are an island of common sense in a bewildering sea of uncertainty!” He took up his lens and examined the postmark with intensity. “See here!” he exclaimed. “See that S in ‘Baskerville’? What do you make of it?” He handed the lens to me.
“It is smudged and indistinct,” said I. “It appears to have been tampered with.”
“Exactly! The letter has been substituted for another. It appears first to have been the letter R.”
I peered through the lens again. “Yes – R,” I agreed.
“So we have not Baskerville but Barkerville. Is there such a place? Make a long arm for our Gazetteer if you please, Watson. Thank you. Now … Baskerville. No. Nothing. But here! ‘Barkerville’,” he read, “and in the west of Canada too! ‘In British Columbia; part of the Cariboo Gold Fields; the site of a major gold strike in 1862, second in importance only to the recent Yukon strike of 1898; a colourful frontier gambling town; an attraction to visitors; a tourist resort.’ ”
“But what could be the sender’s object in tampering with the postmark?”
“To ensure that the envelope, with its striking allusions to Baskerville and Musgrave, would be brought to me. In this she has succeeded. Our correspondent in British Columbia has gone to extraordinary lengths to ensure delivery of this message to us, Watson.”
“But why did she not communicate with you directly?” I asked.
“Why not, indeed!” Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his forefingers together, with Garrison Bolt’s envelope between them, closed his eyes and continued. “Two minds are better than one, Watson. Let us reconsider what we have deduced: This envelope is a message. Its contents are irrelevant. Its sender is an intelligent, imaginative, resourceful and determined woman. She lives in, or within travelling distance of, Barkerville in the west of Canada. She has deliberately sent it to a man she knows to be dead. She has sent it in such a manner, by registering it, by misspelling the dead man’s first name as Norman, and by altering the postmark to ‘Baskerville’ to ensure – nay, to guarantee – that it reaches the hands not of the defunct addressee but of ourselves. She has deferred posting the letter until the occurrence of some event which has removed the reason for her not doing so before.”
“Excellent!” said I.
“Have we reached the limits of what reason and energy can supply?”
“I fear that we have.”
“Surely you do us an injustice. We have further avenues to explore. Do you provide the energy, Watson, and I the reason. Be good enough to make inquiries through the post office as to the origin, and if possible the sender, of this envelope. Records are kept of registered post. Now that we have ascertained the true location from which the letter was dispatched the task may not be an impossible one, especially since the postmaster who registered this envelope in Barkerville is left-handed, and therefore identifiable.”
“Holmes!”
“Well, surely it is self-evident?”
“How?”
“Observe the two circular cancellation