A visit to Blackheath
‘Tell me, Holmes,’ said Watson when they were alone again, ‘why is it important that Mr Oldacre wrote his will on the train?’
Holmes lit a cigarette. ‘Because it means he wrote it yesterday on his journey to see Mr McFarlane. I think it’s very strange that he worked on these important papers on the train. Perhaps they weren’t so important for him.’
‘What are you thinking, Holmes?’ asked Watson.
‘I’m not yet sure what has happened here, Watson,’ Holmes replied, ‘but give me time, give me time. Now I must leave you and go to Blackheath. I need, I think, to speak to Mr McFarlane’s mother and father.’
Holmes put on his coat. ‘While I am out, Watson, ask yourself this question. Is Mr McFarlane a stupid man? I think not. But does a clever man immediately kill someone who has just promised to leave him everything in his will?’ Holmes gave Watson a long look. ‘Goodbye, Watson. Until later.’
When Sherlock Holmes needed to think, he liked to walk, and this morning he decided to walk all the way from Baker Street to London Bridge. His long legs moved quickly as he crossed the city. A lot of people stopped to look at the tall detective as he made his way to the station, but Holmes didn’t see them. He was thinking about John McFarlane and Jonas Oldacre, and asking himself if McFarlane was a murderer. He really didn’t think so, but he knew that it would be difficult to convince Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. To Lestrade, McFarlane was the murderer of Jonas Oldacre. He had a good motive and he spent the evening at the builder’s house.
Holmes arrived at London Bridge station and found that he had to wait twenty minutes for the next train to Blackheath. He bought the late morning newspaper and read: Norwood Murder. Man arrested. Holmes didn’t read the story, but looked at the end: Says Inspector Lestrade: ‘I think we have our man.’ Holmes bought a ticket and got on the train. Soon he was leaving London and travelling south to Blackheath.
It was a little before eleven thirty when he knocked on the door of the McFarlanes’ house. It was a large house with a long, green garden at the front, and Holmes was a little surprised when Mrs McFarlane herself answered the door.
‘Mrs McFarlane? Good morning. My name is Sherlock Holmes and I am trying to help your son in his time of trouble.’
‘Oh, Mr Holmes, please come in,’ the woman replied.
Holmes followed her into a small room at the back of the house, where a fire was burning brightly. They sat down.
‘John is not a murderer,’ she began immediately. ‘I know my son, Mr Holmes and…’
Holmes held up his hand.
‘Mrs McFarlane,’ he said. ‘I can see you’re very worried, but there are some questions that I must ask you.’
‘Anything,’ she replied. ‘Please ask me anything.’
‘What can you tell me about Mr Jonas Oldacre?’
At this question Mrs McFarlane was suddenly very excited.
‘He is – or was – a very bad man,’ she said. ‘A long time ago he and I were friends. He wanted to marry me, but I found out that he was a cruel man, a dangerous man. I told him that I didn’t want to see him again and six months later I married my husband, John’s father. He wasn’t rich like Oldacre, but he was a good man – he is a good man, Mr Holmes, and a good father to John. We’ve always been a happy family. And now this!’
‘What did Oldacre do when you sent him away?’ Holmes went on.
‘He was angry, very angry. He sent me this in the post.’
Mrs McFarlane got up and took a photograph from the desk in the corner of the room. It was a photograph of her as a young woman. There were black lines across her face, where many years before Oldacre once slashed the photograph with a knife, but Holmes could see that she was a very beautiful woman.
‘It arrived the day that I married my husband.’
Holmes took the photograph from her and looked at it thoughtfully.
‘A dangerous man,’ he said.
‘Oh yes,’ Mrs McFarlane agreed, ‘a very dangerous man.’
‘It is strange then,’ Holmes went on, ‘that in his will he left everything that he had to your son.’
‘We don’t want anything from that man, Mr Holmes. If he’s dead, then I’m happy, but I know that it wasn’t John who killed him.’
Holmes stood up. ‘Mrs McFarlane, thank you. Is Mr McFarlane not at home?’
Mrs McFarlane shook her head. ‘He’s taken the train to London to see if he can help John,’ she explained.
‘Then I won’t stay any longer,’ said Holmes. ‘Try not to worry too much, my good woman. If your son is really innocent, I’m sure we can convince the police. Inspector Lestrade is sometimes a little slow but he is a good detective.’
‘Thank you, Mr Holmes,’ said Mrs McFarlane. ‘I’m sure that you will do everything that you can to help John.’
‘Mrs McFarlane, you can be sure of that,’ Holmes replied with a warm smile.
Mrs McFarlane said goodbye to the great detective at her front door and watched him walk quickly away to the station.