The Three Locks by Bonnie MacBird (learn to read books txt) 📕

‘It is a bit of a hornet’s nest, Watson. Madame has not been fully forthcoming. I sense an agenda.’

‘A benign agenda, then,’ I said. ‘Madame seems to be a magician’s angel.’

‘By her own description, and yet fickle. The magicians are a tight but jealous community. They steal from each other regularly, and their temperaments are often volatile. When you combine the performer’s ego with the mechanical ability and focus it takes to do stage conjuring, the result can be a dangerous combination.’

‘A magician would make an excellent thief, I would imagine,’ I added.

‘Or murderer,’ said Holmes.

Just then there was the sound of loud knocking downstairs. Who might it be at this hour?

I answered, not wishing to disturb our dedicated landlady. To my great surprise it was Deacon Buttons, returned with a large canvas sack and looking much the worse for wear. His clothes were damp and wrinkled, his hair plastered to his head, his face white, eyes distended in panic. He looked as if he had been dunked in a river before running directly onto a train to London. As it turned out, that was almost exactly what had happened.

‘Calm down, Deacon, and begin again,’ said Holmes in a soothing tone, once the young man was seated before us, panting slightly from exertion and the heat. I handed him a whisky. The fellow took a big gulp, then choked and began coughing violently, his face going bright red.

‘Watson, perhaps some soda, if you would?’ said Holmes.

After a minute or two, the young man had gathered his wits enough to speak.

‘Please, Mr Holmes. It is dire. Dillie … she is in trouble. In danger, I am sure of it. I was walking along … along the river tonight …’

‘Near the Wyndhams’ home, then?’

The young man flushed. ‘Well, yes, actually …’

‘Something you do regularly?’

‘Mr Holmes, please! I was walking along the river. I passed the Jesus Lock and I saw something white floating in the water.’

My stomach lurched.

‘Here it is!’ From his canvas satchel, he pulled a bedraggled object, a lace dress, a tiny hand, a—

‘A baby doll,’ said Holmes. ‘And—?’

‘This is Dillie’s doll. It was specially made to look like her. It normally sits on her bed!’

Holmes’s eyebrow lifted slightly at this, and my own suspicions followed. Had this deacon been in her bedroom?

‘Give it to me,’ said Holmes.

But the deacon clutched it to his chest. ‘The arm is missing,’ he said.

‘May I?’ I asked calmly. ‘It is late.’

Reluctantly, the young man let go of the soggy object. It was twisted, all in a tangle. The head, right arm and legs were hard, the body soft and limp. The doll’s long blonde hair was wet and matted, the head askew.

I handed it to Holmes, who drew a light closer and wiggled the remaining arm. He stared at the doll, intrigued.

Holmes lifted the white lace dress and there on the cloth body was a large stain of dark, purplish blue, spread out from the centre and lighter on the edges. Holmes brought his magnifying glass to the stain. ‘Something has been written here,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately, not in waterproof ink. Too bad. This perpetrator, whomever he might be, is lacking in finesse. Six lines of similar length, aligned on the left but not the right. A poem, perhaps. I can make out only two words on the right. One is either “word” or “Lord”. The other is “page” or perhaps “rage”.’

Holmes set the doll on the table while still gazing at it. It was so soggy that the dress, hanging over the edge, dripped upon the floor. I looked about for something to catch the drips. I located a crystal bowl of peaches on the mantel, removed the fruit, and placed it under the doll.

‘Oh, Mr Holmes,’ said Buttons. ‘I fear this is a sign that there is danger to Dillie, that someone has her and—’

‘What is your theory about this doll’s appearance?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps it is cry for help from Dillie herself.’

‘And so your theory is that she was abducted with her doll and a pen? Carried to the Jesus Lock where she wrote on it, then threw this in—’

‘Or from a boat, going through—’

‘Would she be able to do this, but be unable to scream for help? This makes no sense, Deacon.’

The young man buried his head in his hands and sobbed. Holmes shook his head in frustration, then rose and stepped towards the fireplace where he busied himself with his pipe. He nodded to me, indicating that I could be of help.

I moved to the young man and took Holmes’s chair facing him. ‘Mr Buttons,’ I said gently, ‘look at me.’

The young man did so.

‘We both realize that you are genuinely concerned about Miss Wyndham’s safety. That is not in question. But we need to be assured that yours is a complete and truthful account of how you came upon this object.’

The young man attempted to control his tears, wiping his face with his handkerchief.

‘I did not place the doll in the lock. I saw it floating in there and retrieved it, just as I described. You must believe me. I ran to the Wyndham house with it first. I woke the maid. We both went to Dillie’s room to confirm it was her doll.’

‘But you knew it was her doll before this,’ said Holmes. ‘How?’

‘I – well, I—’

‘You have been in her room?’

‘No. Yes. I … I looked in once.’

‘Under what pretext?’

‘I, er, had been asked to look in on Mrs Wyndham. She was ill. Her room is upstairs—’

‘And you happened to pass Dillie’s room?’

‘The door was open and I … yes, sir, I did look in.’

Holmes looked sharply at the deacon. ‘Continue with recent events.’

‘The maid confirmed the doll was Dillie’s. She begged me to come to you. Really, sirs, it is all true. When I left, the maid was just about to wake the household. I am sure they are all alarmed now. Perhaps they have even called the police!’

‘And yet you took the evidence