The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [61]
“That seems eminently reasonable, if a trifle mundane,” said Holmes. “What makes you so positive that your maid is innocent?”
“Mr Holmes, Sarah has been with me for several years, and I know she would never do such a thing. The policeman thinks me foolish, I am sure, but I know that she is innocent, and I will not see her subjected to any indignities. The poor girl is very upset, and is terrified that she will lose her position, or worse.”
“What, pray, is your husband’s reaction?”
“Cecil does not want to see her prosecuted as a thief, and seems to feel that it will be difficult to prove the case against her conclusively. However, he seems convinced of Sarah’s guilt, and is urging me to dismiss her. This I shall not do until I have proof one way or the other. That is why I have come to you for help.”
I could not help but admire the woman for her compassion, and her staunch defence of her maid. My friend, however, merely shrugged and said, “The police case seems fairly clear. What exactly is it that you would have me do?”
“I would like you to come to the house and see what you can find. It is well known that you can see things which remain hidden to others. I am sure that you will find evidence which the police have overlooked or misconstrued. Please say you will help!”
Holmes thought for a moment, then said quietly, “Yes. I will help.”
Our client gave a sigh of relief, and a smile erased some of the strain from her features. “Thank you, Mr Holmes. Will you come back to Camberwell with me now?”
“No,” said Holmes. Noting her look of surprise and disappointment, he added, “I have a pressing engagement in an hour’s time, but I shall be at your disposal after that. If you will leave your address with us, we shall be out to see you no later than three o’clock.”
After our client had left, Holmes sat musing for some minutes, while I sat quietly, waiting. Much as I wished to know his thoughts, I refrained from interrupting his reverie, knowing his dislike of being disturbed. Finally he sprang from his chair and picked up his hat and stick.
“Off to your appointment?” I asked.
“Yes, Watson, and it is one to which you might be interested in accompanying me. I am off to see Mr Cecil Forrester, of the firm of Williams and Co.”
“I was not aware that you had an appointment with him.”
“Nor was I, until a few minutes ago, when I excused myself from accompanying Mrs Forrester. The truth is, Watson, that I wish to see Mr Forrester before examining the house.”
We hailed a cab, and eventually found ourselves deposited in a small square off Threadneedle Street, in the shadow of the Royal Exchange. The office of Williams and Co. appeared to be prosperous, judging by the hum of activity which greeted us as we entered. Holmes explained to a clerk that we were there to see Mr Forrester on urgent business, and the emphasis placed on the word “urgent” caused the man to hurry off. He returned with the news that Mr Forrester would see us in a moment. Holmes, whose keen eye had been noting down details of the office, commented on the activity.
“We’re no busier than usual,” replied the clerk. “We did have another chap employed for a few months, to help us with some extra business, but we let him go three months ago. Ah, Mr Forrester will see you now.”
We were ushered into his office, and the clerk left, closing the door behind him. Our client’s husband was a man of about five-and forty, although his pale and somewhat haggard face made him seem older. He gazed at us in puzzlement.
“My clerk said you had urgent business with me, gentlemen, but I am afraid I cannot place your faces.”
“Perhaps you can place our names,” said my friend smoothly. “I am Sherlock Holmes, and this gentleman is my colleague, Dr Watson.