The House Of Silk

page.
    ‘Cornelius Stillman had been shot dead whilst walking in the rose garden of his home in Providence. With a shaking hand, I purchased a copy of the newspaper and read that the attack had happened the day before; that a young man wearing a twill jacket, scarf and flat cap had been seen fleeing from the scene. A manhunt had already begun and would spread all over New England, for this was the murder of a Boston Brahmin and no effort could be spared in bringing the perpetrator to justice. According to the report, Bill McParland was assisting the police and there was a certain irony in this, as he and Stillman had fallen out in the days before Stillman’s death. Stillman had held back half the fee that he had agreed with the Pinkerton man, arguing that the job would not have been fully completed until the last body had been recovered. Well, that last body was up and walking, for there could be no doubt at all as to the identity of Stillman’s assailant.
    ‘I read the newspaper and then climbed the gangplank. I went directly to my cabin and remained there until six o’clock in the evening when there was a tremendous hoot and the
Catalonia
lifted its moorings and slipped out of port. Only then did I return to the deck and watch as Boston disappeared behind me. I was hugely relieved to be away.
    ‘That, gentlemen, is the story of the lost Constables and my visit to America. I of course told my partner, Mr Finch, what had occurred, and I have spoken of it with my wife. But I have never repeated it to anyone else. It happened more than a year ago. And until the man in the flat cap appeared outside my house in Wimbledon, I thought – I prayed – that I would never have to refer to it again.’

    Holmes had finished his pipe long before the art dealer came to the end of his narration, and had been listening with his long fingers clasped in front of him and a look of intense concentration on his face. There was a lengthy silence. A coal tumbled and the fire sparked. The sound of it seemed to draw him out of his reverie.
    ‘What was the opera you intended to see tonight?’ he asked.
    It was the last question I had expected. It seemed to be of such trivial importance in the light of everything we had just heard that I wondered if he was being deliberately rude.
    Edmund Carstairs must have thought the same. He started back, turned to me, then back to Holmes. ‘I am going to a performance of Wagner – but has nothing I have said made any impression on you?’ he demanded.
    ‘On the contrary, I found it of exceedingly great interest and must compliment you on the clarity and attention to detail with which you told it.’
    ‘And the man in the flat cap …’
    ‘You evidently believe him to be this Keelan O’Donaghue. You think he has followed you to England in order to exact his revenge?’
    ‘What other possible explanation could there be?’
    ‘Offhand, I could perhaps suggest half a dozen. It has always struck me that any interpretation of a series of events is possible until all the evidence says otherwise and even then one should be wary before jumping to a conclusion. In this case, yes, it might be that this young man has crossed the Atlantic and found his way to your Wimbledon home. However, one might ask why it has taken him more than a year to make the journey and what purpose he had in inviting you to a meeting at the church of St Mary. Why not just shoot you down where you stood, if that was his intent? Even more strange is the fact that he failed to turn up.’
    ‘He is trying to terrorise me.’
    ‘And succeeding.’
    ‘Indeed.’ Carstairs bowed his head. ‘Are you saying that you cannot help me, Mr Holmes?’
    ‘At this juncture, I do not see that there is a great deal I can do. Whoever he may be, your unwanted visitor has given us no clue as to how we may find him. If, on the other hand, he should reappear, then I will be pleased to give you what assistance I can. But there is one last thing I
can
tell you, Mr Carstairs. You can enjoy your opera in a tranquil state of mind. I do not believe he intends to do you harm.’
    But Holmes was wrong. At least, that was how it appeared the very next day. For it was then that the man in the flat cap struck again.

THREE
At Ridgeway Hall

    The telegram arrived the next morning, while we were sitting together at breakfast.

O’ DONAGHUE CAME AGAIN LAST NIGHT . MY SAFE BROKEN INTO AND POLICE NOW SUMMONED . CAN YOU COME?

    It was signed, Edmund