Sherlock Holmes: The Alder King Mystery Ch 4

Holmes remarked that the Savages would not be home, as their occupations drive them away for most of the day, leaving only Mrs. Robin to talk to. I had formed an image in my head from the meager descriptions of a bereaved house mother who was pining away from worry of her daughter. However, I did not expect the pale, wry figure which greeted us on the street just outside her house.

Mrs. Robin was certainly a pale shaken woman; that much was apparent just by viewing the way she stared absentmindedly across the street, wringing her hands as though forever caught up in some urgent worry. She was also a rare Anglo-Saxon beauty with light blond hair and cold blue eyes that mirrored the sky on that clear summer day. Though her eyes were marred with tears and eclipsed by dark circles, there was a queenly grace in the way she kept vigil outside of her house.

When she caught sight of us strolling down the street she stood up and quickly intercepted us with an urgent demeanor which instantly captured our attention.
She held out her slender hand "Mr. Holmes and Inspector Lestrade; it's good to see you again. I'm afraid I wasn't myself the night of your inquiries and I think I may have some information pertaining to Susan's disappearance."

Holmes and Lestrade took turns shaking her hand, their eyes suddenly gleaming with intrigue. Greedy for the new possible clues.

The fair woman turned to me and faltered for a moment. "Is this Doctor Watson?" She seemed uncertain.

"Yes I am." I replied somewhat confused.

She sighed and held out her hand to be shaken "I apologize but last week I mistook someone else for you, it was a rather embarrassing mix up and I would rather be certain from now on. I apologize; this is still a rather embarrassing situation."

"Not at all." Holmes said nodding. "Watson has weathered far worse. Haven't you?"

"Yes, far worse." I said, having no doubt that on this particular occasion he and I had the same instance come to mind.

"Mrs. Robin, would you be so kind as to show us inside where we might speak?" Lestrade injected wiping his face with a filthy handkerchief. I wondered why he would interpose so rudely when I realized he must have been perspiring heavily beneath his thick, dark Scotland Yard uniform. He certainly looked uncomfortable.

"Oh, of course. I wasn't thinking Inspector; come in right away." Our fair host abandoned her vigil and beckoned us into a small but well-kept flat. She implored us to sit down while she made us some drinks, though both Holmes and Lestrade refused them when offered.
She disappeared through the kitchen door and I took an opportunity to glance around the small room. The furniture was neat and simple with the occasional woman's furnishing such as an embroidered cushion or knitted lace to give the home a cozy feel. With a pang of sadness I noticed a little doll propped against the wall in the corner of the room, a remnant of little Susan that her mother couldn't put away out of grief.

I saw Holmes' gray eyes darting around the flat, absorbing information and working what he saw into his calculation of the crime.

"What do you make of Mrs. Robin anyhow?" Lestrade interjected a thoughtless question to force a conversation and I saw all of the whirring, clicking gears in Holmes' mind that had been firing like a piston suddenly grind to a wrenching halt as he was jarred out of intense focus by what he felt was an anal question, no doubt.

"She's a fine woman, hard working with few vices and fewer ambitions who lived for her child, bought second hand dresses and who sometimes entertains a gentleman who smokes."
"How can you tell it's a gentleman?" Lestrade said, oblivious to the great annoyance he was causing to great detective.

"The ashes on her floor come from a mix of tobacco popular among soldiers from Afghanistan, It is some of the only tobacco available to soldiers in the war and therefore they develop a habit of it and continue to seek it when they return. I recall Watson partaking of some upon first meeting him. It is, however, very rare here in London and the excessive rarity causes the price to rise beyond what most meager soldiers can afford. The price is probably what weaned Watson of it and caused him to seek a more local mix. Therefore we must assume that if the ash of this tobacco is here, the only smoker can be a man fresh from the war and affluent enough to afford his preferred blend."

Holmes, feeling he had justified himself enough to try and slip into deep thought shot me a quick glance.

"So Inspector," I said, quickly picking up the meaning in his glance. "I didn't know you were familiar with Don Quixote, it doesn't seem like your preferred reading."

Lestrade at once abandoned his attempts at conversation with Holmes and the mist of nostalgia stole upon his features, relaxing him utterly until he was leaning back comfortably in Mrs. Robin's lace-covered chair.

"It was merely a lingering notion from my priory school days." He said tasting each word as they tumbled out contentedly. "I had almost forgotten, since I joined the force. But every now and again I'll get a memory through the fog that'll ring true and happy."

Mrs. Robin entered the room again with a tray of cold drinks for us. She set these down on a small table and sat in a large plush chair opposite the three of us watching us grimly as we reached for the drinks. It struck me again how sadly beautiful she was, sitting with her hands folded contentedly on her laps like a painting.

Holmes politely sipped his beverage scanning the young woman with his darting eyes before beginning any form of questioning.

"I'm sure the Yard has been over this with you before, but could you perhaps give us a run through your night exactly. Just to make sure we have all of the particulars of the case."

She said quietly "Of course." She put down her own untouched beverage that she had been contemplating drinking.

"That night Susan came in from playing with the other children just before sunset when the shadows begin to creep down Market Street.  She usually romps around with about seven other children before I call her in for dinner. I know a few of them by name; let me see if I can name them all. There was, of course Peter Hill and his brother Patrick Hill then there was also Paul, Taylor and Ted Savage. You know that the McCapery's little girl was Anne and there was one more I think; no two more. I'm sorry. Their names are beyond me at this point. If you look around I have no doubt you will find them with their parents, though I'm not sure their parents will let them out for sometime after all that has happened.

I made some simple broth and we ate as usual with no strange conversation. I asked her what she had played to day with her friends and she said 'Pirate' which was by no means a strange game among such a large and rowdy bunch.

I sent her to bed at about eight and I was surprised to find she was tired. This is one of the peculiarities I wished to discuss with the yard to see what bearing it had, but Susan hadn't been sleeping at night as was usual. She would sometimes stay awake for countless hours, whole sleepless nights spent lying soundlessly in her bed. But other times she would sleep, and she would sleep so deeply I had real trouble rousing her. And when I did rouse her, she wouldn't be herself. She would be listless for hours and she would not remember things that she should know, but sometimes she would know things she could not possibly know!

I've consulted a doctor, but there is nothing medically wrong with her. He recommended that I change her diet and amend her sleeping schedule, but no matter what I changed she was a peculiar sleeper."

"When you say she knew things she could not know, could you give an example?" Holmes asked.

"She somehow knew what my wages were, even though I kept the family money a secret from her. And also she knew when Mr. Jefferson visited, even though he came over when she was away and I thought I had left no trace of him."

"Did she give an explanation as to how she knew?"

"She told me that the eye in the forest showed her. Her friends had been playing magic games, so I thought nothing of it. I thought perhaps she meant a crystal ball of some sort. I never did clear the matter up with her…" Mrs. Robin's face shadowed over with guilt.

"Please continue." Lestrade pressed gently.

"She went to sleep, but I stayed awake until about ten. Before I went to sleep I checked on her and I saw her still in her bed. After that I slept soundly and dreamlessly until about six in the morning when I was awaken by the sound of fists against my front door. I answered it and to my horror it was the Savages, Hills, and McCaperies telling me to check on my daughter, lest she had been taken along with their children.

I remember how I expressed sympathy for their children while telling myself silently that my child must still be safe in her bed. I told myself this almost a dozen times as the crowd made its way up to her room. When I opened the door and saw the covers tossed asunder, but no baby on the bed I fainted and had to be revived. All I remember from that morning was the sudden sickly cold realization as blood rushed like a raging river through my temples and darkness swallowed me away from the horror I could not face. But I'm facing it now gentleman. Oh, God every moment I'm faced with a cold grim dilemma that seems to wrap up this sad story which has been titled My Life that I have had no control over since God knows when."

"You have control now." Lestrade said confidently. "You can help us, and we can get your daughter back."

Mrs. Robin looked at the inspector sadly, as though he were a foolish child with no inkling as to how the real world worked. She looked at him as someone who has had too much experience with disappointment to even accept the hope of strangers.

"That is very nice of you to say Inspector. I wish you the best of luck finding her. I think I might have some things here which could help, but I'm not certain."

She stood up and walked over to a slim chest of drawers and pulled open one particular drawer. With both hands she scooped an armful of papers.

"Susan took up drawing almost exactly a month ago. She would steal my fountain pen and a few sheets of foolscap and draw peculiar things."

Holmes held out his hands for the papers and Mrs. Robin gave him the whole bundle. He balanced these on his lap and flipped through the sheets, scanning each one before handing it to Inspector Lestrade.

"These are fascinating." He said at last. "They look as though they had been copied from a botanical guide. I would hardly expect such a sharp eye, or such a steady hand from one as young as your daughter."

Lestrade passed one paper to me as I tried to peer over his shoulder. It was a detailed drawing of a leaf in the shape of a lopsided oval with a jagged perimeter. Right beside that illustration was another illustration of a long chain of hanging flowers and beside both of these pictures was the strange symbol we had picked up from the McCapery's place, a circle with a cross running through it.

I looked to Holmes to see if he'd taken notice, but if he had no expression had crossed his face to indicate it. Rather he had sunken back into a silent thought while musing over the papers.

He leafed through a small bundle he's been collecting in one of his hands and he showed it to Mrs. Robin. "What do you make of that Mrs. Robin?"

I had a brief glimpse of the page as Mrs. Robin took it from his hand. It looked somewhat like a spider with long spindly legs, but I couldn't be sure.

"I don't know Sir. I've been pouring over these pictures for days, and I can't make hide or hair out of any of them. There are no trees of this nature around here. I've never seen this flower before. This looks like a picture of a man that she has crossed through many times, but it cannot be Jefferson for it looks not a bit like him, and she does not know him well."

"Who is this Jefferson?" Holmes asked.

"He is an old friend from another part of London. We were good friends up until the time I moved away, now we are merely old friends who have come together once again. I'm not ashamed to say he is much better off than I and he has helped in small ways financially."

"How so?"

Mrs. Robin grimaced. "I needed an advance on my wages in order to pay the rent once, my company wouldn't allow it. Jefferson gave me money when no one else would or could and I paid him back. Other times he has done the same for food, but I have always paid him in full."

"What does he look like?"

"Surely you don't believe that he had something to do with Susan's abduction? He's about five foot nine, just a little bit taller than I, with a darkened face from the Afghan sun. He is rather muscular, but he walks with a pronounced limp."

"You're daughter said nothing about being afraid of him?"

"No, never."

"How about any remarks concerning a tall man?"

"Maybe once, when the drawings began, if I'm correct; she mentioned a tall man around Market Street and then she started drawing. Oh, and before it slips my mind, she might have mentioned a tall man once or twice upon awaking after a long bout of deep sleep. "

"Hm. I see." Holmes said nodding. "How old was Susan?"

"She was eleven sir."

"The oldest among her play-group?"

"No sir; Patrick Hill was the oldest. He was almost fourteen."

"Had the family any enemies?"

"None are apparent to me."

"Have you noticed anyone around that has made you feel uneasy?"

"No sir. Everyone has been as good as gold to me. I'm glad too; I might have starved myself at the beginning of the week, for I was too shocked to cook. If Mrs. Hill hadn't sent me something I would have wasted away into oblivion." Mrs. Robin let a smile play on her lips as she pondered oblivion. I became very worried for her at once.

"May we keep the drawings?" Holmes asked.

"Keep them." She said. "If they help keep them."

We stood to leave, but before we left I felt compelled to reassure her we would succeed. She looked uncertain, but I could tell every kindness helped.

"My goodness Watson! We have a train to catch, don't we?" Holmes exclaimed upon checking his watch once we were once again out on Market Street. By this time in the afternoon the sun had sunk beneath the buildings and had cast shadows across half of the street.
"Why didn't you remind me, now we shall be late!" He said hailing a cab.

Lestrade stuttered and tried to get a word in edgewise, but every time he opened his mouth Holmes was chattering to me (or to himself) about the train and the long trip. Finally the cab pulled up and Holmes climbed in turning to the angry Inspector.

"Lestrade you have been a fair companion, and no doubt you will have much to report at the yard for I am certain that your astute eye has gathered much over these productive few hours."

And with that we left the confused Inspector standing on Market Street, wondering faintly if Holmes was being serious, or if he was exercising his sarcasm.

"I see what you did there." I said motioning to the bundle of papers Holmes still held in his lap that no doubt Lestrade would have wanted for evidence.

He grinned "I couldn't let such an opportunity pass me by. We're about to travel to the country, or at least the near country. Where better to see if the cases are linked?"

"Aren't they linked?" I asked.

"So far all they seem to have in common are similar features, the lack of evidence and the introduction of a 'tall man'. I would be surprised if the London abductions were in anyway related to the one in Bedfordshire, but I am unable to eliminate the possibility."

"I would think all of the data you have gathered so far points to the same person."

"Yes, I can see where you can venture that. Once person, who for reasons unknown has the desire to kidnap children, they painstakingly plan to abduct four children at once over the course of several weeks, stalking and watching them and their families who all live on the same street, luckily enough; but then what? Did the same person kidnap Richard Drake after only a few days of planning? I would think that such a meticulous mind would have taken longer, though the results are the same. And if that same person desired children, why leave the siblings unharmed when it might have been just as easy to snatch them? Something doesn't add up Watson. If I was a gambling man, I would put my money on there being a man in Bedfordshire who had heard of the London abductions, who desired to earn some leverage over the honourable judge and who copied the crime, rather than there being one man who stashed the four children he had, raced to Bedfordshire and snatched one more."

"That sounds reasonable." I said. "But no matter what you say, you're still carrying the bundle of papers and the clues from the other case."

Holmes arched his eyebrow "We must eliminate all possibilities. And, that aside, Lestrade has tied me to this blasted case by stating that I would assist the Yard. I could refuse, but only to the dismay of Mrs. Hill, Mrs. Robin and Mr. McCapery. I might as well work on it, or at least ponder upon it when I have a spare minute. It is a fascinating case in its own right."

Holmes passed me one of the papers "What do you make of that?" he asked.

I recognized the paper as the one he had shown Mrs. Robin, accompanied with the same question. The paper was a fairly childish drawing of a man. He was cartoonish long and excessively lean, as might be viewed through a child's eye. The shape had a rough sketch for a head and little Susan had completely neglected to include a face. From around the man's shoulders and arms I could see where the ink pen had crossed over, leaving a streak of darkness lingering like insect arms awkwardly against the white paper.

"I think this would be Susan's view of the man she had seen. Thin and tall, obviously, dressed in dark clothing. Perhaps she neglected to draw the face in an attempt to hide the stranger's identity from her Mother?"

"Hmm, Perhaps." Holmes said staring thoughtfully at the paper. I highly doubt he was listening to me.

"The long black crosses might indicate that she didn't like him and attempted to cross out her drawing."

"These aren't crosses." Holmes said pointing to the long black limbs emanating from the figure's body. "The ink isn't run over and there are no scrape marks to indicate roughly crossing, as one might do while angry, or in a childish rage. The marks are very deliberately made with a steady light hand. Therefore the extra limbs are on purpose. The only real question now is what purpose?"

"Perhaps what is most noticeable about this man is the way he uses his arms? Or perhaps his clothing is ripped into thin slivers?"

Holmes grunted in acknowledgement that I had spoken and lapsed back into a deep thought until we arrived at Baker Street.