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Sherlock Holmes: The Adventure of the Abandoned Abbey
- Sherlock Holmes: The Adventure of the Abandoned Abbey -
It was not uncommon for me to check the mail and correspondences when my friend and colleague, the consulting detective Sherlock Holmes, was otherwise unable to do so for whatever the reason. But on one occasion, it was singular to mention because I found among the usual something a bit strange. It was a sealed letter sent from someone with only the initials V.M. The address connected to it was one I recognized, and that was what made it strange. It was the location of an abandoned abbey from the past century. A location in Ireland, of all the odd places to receive a letter from. But, perhaps someone had indeed purchased the property, I mused, although it was a very odd choice for any reasonable person to choose for a dwelling. I gave the stack of letters, correspondences, and bills to my friend, and he being as he was of a want to be looked through each and every single one with care. Even the way he used his letter opener was mechanical in its' efficiency and swiftness. Whatever he so thought of the contents of these various things, he did keep to himself. He got at last, saving it for last, the letter from V.M. And upon opening it and reading through it with care, he did say aloud: “Madness! This is absolute insanity, and nothing less.” I asked him what was the matter, and he showed me the letter. “Read this, Watson!” he commanded, for that was the tone of his voice at that moment. And I did so. This was the contents of the letter, and I have to admit that Holmes was not at all overacting by saying this was entirely lunacy...
“Dear mister Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street. I have, recently, come into possession of the old Finn Abbey that sits in lonely majesty in County Clare, in Ireland. Prior to the present century... there was an order of monks who still maintained this place, but they maintain it no longer. Regrettably, the only odd part of the old place that is structurally sound seems to be the tower. That is where I have made well my living place. I doubt, however, that I shall remain here long and may be forced to sell the abbey soon. I am beset with terrors when I try to sleep at night in this place, and I swear that I have seen shadows that move which are not my own but which are human in shape nonetheless. I know that you tend to take on cases of a rational, logical, grounded sort but please bear with me! There is a logic at work, even if it be a logic beyond my own mind's understanding. Whenever I have gone to any of the local towns, villages, and cities for supplies, or for practically anything, I have been followed by strange men in black robes with hoods that obscure their features. I am certain they could only be either the ghosts of the monks, or men of flesh and blood who are their descendants that are hoping to scare me away from the abbey that was once their home. I was not born in Ireland, but rather hail from Shropshire in England originally. I do know that not all from England are typically welcomed with open arms exactly in Ireland... but I did rather expect more outright harassment and threats rather than this strangely ethereal sort of attempts to scare me off. If these are men, they are rather juvenile to behave in this way. They follow me, but they do nothing more than that... and they keep to the shadows, out of sight, and others I have questioned do claim not to have seen them at all. I do not drink, nor do I have any other vices aside from women. But I do fear I may be going mad if this should prove to be my mind playing tricks on me. But if I am NOT mad, and if these are men of flesh and blood... I worry they might mean me harm. The police laughed at me when I turned to them to report my being followed. Perhaps you might be interested in coming over to the abbey to meet with me, that we might together unravel this mystery? That is my hope, however foolish it may seem. My full name... is Vernon Marley. Give my regards to your assistant, Watson. The good doctor served with my late brother Johnathan during his time in the military. Even if you do not in the end decide to take up my case, I shall understand. But please read my letter and show it to Watson. In closing, know that you will be paid the rate it is said you prefer upon our meeting in person should it be that you do decide to pursue the matter of my peculiar stalking. Give Watson my best, and tell him I am proud that he stood by my brother in the moments leading up to his death. The memory is likely to be an unpleasant one for the good doctor, just as the death of my brother itself was unpleasant for me.”
And that was all there was to it, though that was enough. I did know Johnathan Marley quite well. His death was sudden and tragic, as deaths that often happen during times of war or conflict can be. He did his duty for his country, and paid the highest of costs for it. I tried to save him, but there was nothing at all to be done for the man. I lost not just a comrade with his passing, but a good friend as well. I told all of this to Holmes, and he for a brief moment appeared sad before his face returned to it's usual cold and unknowable mask, the face he most preferred to display to the world. “I do fear, Holmes, that Vernon... he may be suffering from his brother's loss even all this time after. The solitude of his present residence and its' ruinous state could well be having an adverse effect upon his mind. He could be imagining, just a bit, these black-robed monks that he believes are following him... but what if he is not! I was far from able to save his brother years ago, but if he has made enemies that mean him harm I would not want to abandon him to them. What say you, Homes? As mad as it seems, I think we should take on this case.”
Holmes stared at me, studying my features, and then said: “Very well! We shall, since it means much to you that we should do so. But it will be a long trip, and we must prepare for it accordingly. Also, we will make certain to let Mrs. Hudson know that we will be gone for some time. I will pay her the rent in advance for this month, so that we are not late on it. But I will do that when we are about to leave, and not a moment sooner. I do not doubt she will likely enjoy the peace and quiet whilst we are gone.” To which I replied somewhat humorously: “Especially given your penchant for sometimes firing bullets at dead animals at odd hours of the night.” I was referring, to several incidents involving Holmes and his testing of bullets and their effects on living things using deceased animals as preserved with taxidermy. The poor lifeless creatures met their ends a second time, all in the name of criminal science. That was not the maddest thing my friend and colleague ever did, but it was one of the things that never failed to bring our landlady running to see whatever it was that was going on. Good thing we paid her double the rent sometimes, or I should not doubt a proper complaint would have been forthcoming. Holmes, for his part, smiled at my joke but he did not laugh. The smile almost appeared to be a mocking one, rather.
I shall spare the details of our trip itself, and simply get to the point where we arrived at last at the old ruined abbey by way of carriage. The driver was very apprehensive about taking us there, and he said to us at one point, as our conveyance clattered its' way along the old roads that ran across the beautiful Irish countryside: “You two gents should've picked a better spot to visit... Ireland's got plenty of grand places to see, places where folks from England are better liked too. Mind you... I'm only taking you to the old abbey because you paid me twice my normal rate to do so... but I have to be warning you, it's not a decent place for any man. They say the old place is haunted, you know! Haunted by the ghosts of the monks what used to live there. I never saw anything of the sort, myself, but still I prefer to remain far from the old abbey's crumbling walls. But I suppose you gents know your business, whatever it is that you are doing, going to that godforsaken place. I'll not try to dissuade you further! On our way...” And after that his booming voice trailed off into what sounded like muttering complaints of every sort. “Not exactly a warm welcome to this part of Ireland, is it Holmes?” I asked my friend, and he said to me in a near-monotone: “Watson... it is surely no worse than the looks we were given by the people at the inn where we purchased our lodgings for the next week or two. However long it will take to see to mister Marley's troubles and determine the cause of them.” And I had to admit, he was right! Had eyes the means to slay a person, we should both have been dead long before we ever left the village wherein that inn was located. I shall not even name it, because I do not want to remember it when we get back to England after all is said and done. I said to Holmes of the incident he was speaking of: “I think they did not want to make our stay a comfortable one, Holmes, and on that account I daresay they seem to have succeeded already. I can only imagine as things will get worse, before all is said and done for Vernon.”
The abbey was as ruinous and miserable looking as you can imagine. It sat in an open space, craggy and stony in its' facade, where grass grew and green bushes and trees cropped up here and there. But, as it was, otherwise there was nothing remarkable about the land thereabout. It was green and lovely, the day was pleasant and sunny, but otherwise had I closed my eyes and opened them again... with a bit of imagination applied... it would not have taken much, to imagine that this same place or one similar at the very least could be found in any rural part of England or even Scotland. The drive out was not far at all from the village, but still far enough that we could not have walked it nearly as quickly as it takes to drive by carriage. The lonely gray road we were on now grew more and more messy as we neared our destination, with wild grass in many places growing up through the broken parts of the road, along with wildflower and weeds of varying descriptions. This was... indeed... a place that had one foot in the past. The driver let us know when it was time to get out of the carriage, and it was good to stretch my feet as we closed the carriage door and took our bags in our hands. Nothing heavy, just what we might need to work the case should this or that about it arise. Holmes, however, seemed physically unbothered by the trip and appeared eager to get things over with as quickly as possible. He pointed to the square tower as we made our way to the abbey. “That is where mister Marley is living?” he asked, though it was not a question really, more an accusation. He then concluded: “The man has to be mad! That is not a home at all, dear Watson, but a tomb. Hardly a proper place for the living at all.” I could not have agreed more.
A new door had been installed to replace the original door that had led into the tower, but that was a very small improvement overall. A bit like adding curtains to the windows of a burned out castle, that. We knocked upon it, and soon a short little man with wide round glasses and sharp features answered. He was wearing a business suit and a bowler hat. The same style of hat that I myself often favored. But the suit was a bit too severe looking for my tastes. It gave the man the look of a mortician. He said to us in a somewhat nasally voice: “Ah! Might you be Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, then? Come on in, make yourselves comfortable. I know things are a little rough here right now, but I mean to see that it is improved over time.” The man looked nothing at all like his brother. Definitely, they had not been twins. Holmes and I introduced ourselves properly to Vernon, and he to us... and we sat at a table in a very gloomy and dimly lit chamber of the tower where he presented us with some meager food and a bit of wine to drink. We refused the wine, for we preferred to keep our wits about us during investigations, and I daresay Holmes liked to keep his wits sharp always. Instead, we had only water to drink and as I said it was all meager fare. “No tea then, I suppose.” complained Holmes, before he dove straight into asking Vernon for details surrounding his troubles. “Mister Marley...” he began in earnest: “You said to us in your letter that these... monks, we shall call them... followed you into several different places. If I may ask, was it always the same places or different places each and every time it happened?” The small man nervously answered: “It was just as I said in the letter, but to clarify... yes, it was always the same locations they followed me into, appearing from the same places each time I noticed them.” Holmes did then inquired: “What sort of places did they appear from when first you noticed them each time?” The man then thought for a moment before answering, at length saying: “It was the woods, each and every single time the men in the black robes emerged from the woods, keeping out of sight as they followed me. In the towns, villages, and cities wherein I noticed them, they always kept to side alleys being very careful to stay out of sight of everyone save for myself it seems.” Holmes then lit his pipe, took a puff or two, and then said to Vernon quite in a matter of fact manner: “Ghosts, sir, would not need to hide in alleys nor keep to the woods to avoid being seen. So right away I can assure you, these are men and not spirits. That much is evident. Perhaps they are locals trying to scare you off is all... Watson and I had a rather miserable time of it at the inn we are presently staying at, and the driver of our carriage tried to basically frighten us regarding this abbey. Perhaps it may be prudent to return to England with us, sir.”
But Vernon was quite stubborn and insisted he should stay and weather this present storm. “I put a lot of money into this project of mine... namely making this place a proper home and proving old sites such as this can be restored to a semblance of their former glory. If I give up now, I stand to lose a great deal. I am not a wealthy man, mister Holmes, and doubt that I should make up for such a loss easily.” But for his part Holmes was adamant in his opinion and said calmly: “But, mister Marley, you could still make up for it nonetheless. For you are... clearly... just wealthy enough to purchase such an expensive to buy place such as this is! I should very much, be interested in learning what it is that you actually do for a living.” to which Vernon said in a rude fashion: “I'll just bet you would, mister Holmes! I'll just bet you would at that. But it has no bearing on the matter at hand.” I then waited for the inevitable reply from my colleague, which came as expected when Sherlock declared: “On the contrary, Vernon, I am afraid it does have bearing on it. You could have enemies perhaps due to your profession, if these men prove not to be local lads with a grudge against having people from England coming in and setting up shop in their old historic and quintessentially Irish landmarks. If we can rule out one possibility, then the other becomes that much more probable as the answer we seek. But I cannot do this, without your help. And if you tell me what your job is exactly, then it would help me immensely. I know you do not like me... your manner towards me makes that obvious... but if I am do my job, then I need to know about yours.”
The little man then said finally: “Oh, very well! I am a solicitor, one of the dullest and most common of professions for a man such as myself. I have had no previous cases involving Ireland in any manner, and made no enemies that I have ever been aware of. I have lived a boring life, and it was only when I came into some money recently that the idea came to me to buy up some old property and see what in the world could be done with it. I should have chosen some old manor house in Wales, had I common sense... but this seemed a challenge and I thought I was up for it. It seems I was not, sadly.” I thought it curious that he said he came into money but appeared reluctant to tell us how. Holmes clearly did also, as he stated as much aloud when he said: “Mister Marley, although your job may be a common one, the sticky part could be tied up with how you came by that money you spoke of. Tell me, how actually was it that you did come by such a grand amount?” And there was a silence so utterly long and deep that I could tell it was becoming a genuine annoyance for Sherlock. “Just tell us, Vernon.” I suggested, after which I added: “If there is a problem related to it, mister Holmes can likely help you solve it.” Holmes rolled his eyes a bit at that, but said nothing. Then, Vernon finally opened up and told us: “I found the money on a dead man near the docks in London after I spent a night drinking a bit too much. I am not proud of that fact, but truly sirs it is not as if he was going to be needing the money himself.” That did elicit a sigh from Holmes, who then proclaimed: “And therein lies the root of your troubles, Vernon! If you truly did indeed rob the dead of such a sum... do you not think that perhaps the man might have had family who could well have known of the loss and assumed that robbery had been a motive in the man's death? If you were as drunk as you claim to have been, you cannot be certain you were not seen taking the dead man's money. Whilst the police might have deigned to overlook a drunk stealing from a dead man, surely the man's family or other loved ones be they by marriage or blood kin would not nearly be quite so forgiving. Who else might have known of your purchase of this place and your trip to Ireland?” Again, an all too lengthy silence ensured followed by Vernon confessing: “The help wanted ads I put up for workers to help me with the restoration... none of which have been answered yet save one, and that fellow is the one who has been helping me with my labors here. Anyone might have been able read any one of those ads and know about my purchase of the abbey. But unless they knew my face or that I had frequented a pub on the docks as much as I did... and been able to connect my face to my name... there is little reason to believe I could have been tracked down because of those ads alone.” Sherlock then did state: “There is a very specific possibility, but I am certain you are not going to like it when I tell you.”
Holmes then cleared his throat and explained: “If the police had difficulty determining who murdered the dead man, then it is likely his family might have procured the services of a private detective, such as myself. It is an uncommon profession, some believe, but if I have chosen it for my own then there have to be others also who have done similarly with their lives. The detective would have questioned, even if the police had omitted to, everyone present at the pub. Tracked down anyone who had been there on the night of the man's murder. I am assuming he was murdered, that his death was unnatural. I do not know this for a fact, after all. But in my line of work... foul play is always a safe assumption when a man dies in as suspect as place as a pub on the docks of London. Someone had to have seen you rob the man of his money, assumed you killed him, and simply said as much. Even if they did not know your name, it stands to reason they could have given a useful description of you. Which could then be used to figure out your identity. You can see how that might have led to their ability to follow you here and, learning of this abbey's haunted reputation, begun to frighten you into leaving its' confines in the hope of, perish the thought, doing you some grim mischief. Did you notice anything, Vernon, that could indicate at all whether the dead man had died of natural causes... or by someone's hand?” Mister Marley than tried to think back to that fateful night, and after a moment's recollection he said: “He was murdered, I believe, sir... he had a lot of bruises about his face, and there was a bloody wound in his chest possibly caused by a blade of some kind. Probably a knife.” Holmes then said mirthlessly: “Murdered he was, then. It is as I suspected in that case. And you are surprised that suddenly you are being followed? I am, to be very honest with you, surprised that the police never bothered to question you. I shall assume they were lax in doing their job at the crime scene and wrote the matter off as the result of a drunken brawl. Which it almost certainly was! But I would have tracked you down and questioned you first, mister Marley. And only after that, declared the case solved. And not before. This bodes ill for you! For whilst the police, as difficult as they can be at times, have at least the letter of the law on their minds... a vengeful family is typically mindful of only one thing when in the pursuit of justice. That being vengeance, more of than not. And vengeance, Vernon... has nothing whatsoever, to do with justice! I hope you understand me.”
Vernon then shot up from his chair and said to us: “I hope you two will excuse me, but there is a bit of something I need to check on. I shall be right back momentarily. I will bear in mind all that you have told me, mister Holmes. You are a highly intelligent man.” Holmes then looked out the window, and he noticed something that caught his attention. “What seems to have caught your eye, Holmes?” I asked, to which he told me: “There is a group of about seven or eight men all dressed in black robes moving in broad daylight very carefully towards the abbey. They are doing so in a way that says they do not wish to be noticed, and if that is indeed their goal they picked the worst time of day to be moving about in. One can deduce that they wish to make haste with whatever it is they are planning to do, and that they do not intend to wait until nightfall to do it. Unless the dead man had eight brothers, I highly doubt they are related to him by blood. Associates or friends, perhaps. Whatever the case may be, we need to be ready for their arrival. Did you bring my pistol, John?” I checked our bags, which I had sat down near the table we were seated at. Then I reported: “Both are here, Holmes, your pistol as well as mine. Along with plenty of ammunition if it should come down to it. But surely...” which was thereon interrupted by Sherlock warning me: “Surely, if they are in such a hurry it cannot be for anything good. Me must not discard the possibility that these men mean violence, my dear Watson, and we should be prepared for it accordingly.” Load the pistols, and let us keep them concealed on our persons for the time being. I did as he suggested, and we placed our pistols in our coats for the moment. “I find it strange that as soon as Vernon decided to make himself scarce, these men show up as if on cue. I like that not at all.” Holmes confided in me quietly and conspiratorially. I had to admit, it was far too convenient for my liking also. “This whole thing reeks of a setup of some sort.” I whispered... and Homes nodded his head, agreeing.
We began to search about the tower to try and discover mister Marley's whereabouts. Eventually, we discovered a trapdoor with a ladder leading down into a dimly lit cellar. “Look, Holmes! That had to be where Vernon went. He certainly did not leave by the tower door else we would have noticed.” It was time to climb down and see what was really going on here. “More and more, I get the impression that our host has not been precisely forthcoming with us.” my colleague explained. The cellar was large, as it was clearly once used to store supplies and goods for the abbey back when the monks still lived at it. Most of the old things appeared untouched. There were crosses and statues in places, most tipped over. Some broken and showing the telltale signs of their great age. In one corner of the cellar, Vernon was at a hole dug into one of the walls, clearing away debris. A lantern sat on some rubble nearby, along with a shovel, a mining pick, and various other digging tools. There was also a gold locket. We approached as quietly as we could, and when we came upon mister Marley... Holmes seized the locket in his hand. He then proceeded to open it. “Strange, mister Marley, that you should keep such a trinket as this! The man in it is not you. Watson, have a look here! Does the man in the picture within the locket look like Vernon's brother, the man who was your friend back in the military?” It was no one I recognized at all. The man had a rough look about him, but dignified in a way that was nothing at all like my old friend. “I have never seen that man before in all my life, Holmes! But he definitely looks much like he may be someone of some importance.” to which Holmes then asked of Vernon: “How did you come by this? If you say you found it in this place... I shall have to call you a liar, for the man in the picture contained in this locket is neither a monk nor a priest of any kind. Also, if I may indulge my curiosity... why are you digging a hole in the wall of this tower's cellar? What do you hope to discover here!” Mister Marley did look about him this way and that, a frightened expression on his face. He was sweating so much that he had taken off his suit jacket and wore only a white shirt tucked into his pants. His sleeves were rolled up and his arms were covered in scars. Some appeared to have been not very old, and Holmes' eyes at once were drawn to them, studying them as he waited for Vernon to answer him. Vernon then said in a visibly annoyed tone of voice: “Oh very bloody well! I took that locket off the dead man when I stole his money. At the time, I thought it might be worth something but then I realized it had his picture in it. I'd have to break the locket to remove it, and I dare not sell it to any decent pawnshop because it is after all stolen and can be tied to the man's murder. I don't know any fences offhand, so I've had to keep it.”
Holmes chuckled a bit as he said: “I still say you are a liar, sir. Even if you did decide to keep it, why would you value it so highly that you would keep it near you or on your person at all times? There are other means of storing valuables after all, especially stolen ones. Also, those cuts on your arms tell me a great deal, and what they tell me most of all is that someone tried to do you violence not too long ago. Deep cuts, slashes like those that would be made by a knife with a thin but sharp blade. Not a kitchen knife, so clearly not made by accident when washing dishes and silverware in the kitchen sink. This is more like a knife made for stabbing but used for slashing. A weapon, rather than an eating tool. Also, you have very strong arms by the look of your muscles, but you try to conceal this fact normally I think. Hence why you wear the types of clothing that you do. Further, you still have not told me what it is you hope to discover in this place... likely the real reason for your purchase of this abbey, and also the true reason why those man in black robes are after you. And, why you are so loathe to abandon it in order to return to England despite your safety and possibly your life being in jeopardy.” I gazed into the hole in the wall, and saw a small square chamber beyond it. I could not make out what was within it though. At once, mister Marley said... his voice betraying how out of breath he was from his physical labors: “Fine then, fine! I am not a solicitor by trade... I am an adventurer of sorts. I travel to places like this and then liberate them of anything valuable in the way of antiquities that they might contain. I work alone, now... but I didn't used to. I had a party of men who used to assist me, and whom I paid well for their service.”
“Those men in black who have been pretending to be the ghosts of monks.” Holmes said aloud. And at which Vernon nodded in the affirmative before explaining further: “I paid them more than what was fair, and never left them messed over! Never. We had been planning this job for years, to tell the truth. I had purchased this place, as there was no other way to get close to it otherwise, legally and properly. It was with the money we made from our last job, one in Italy where we made a princely sum. Everything seemed all set, until this one fellow... he was the leader of our little party and half the time he was the one who told me what to do... we stopped being equal partners after a while and he sort of took over as the one I was working for. When in the beginning, it was the other way around. We had a disagreement one night, at the pub we all used to meet up at when planning our... expeditions. Things turned ugly, as the man I am talking about attacked me. We took it outside, and he had a knife on him. He tried to kill me, but I wrestled the blade from his hands and turned it on him instead. I killed him, and decided that I had better make it look like a robbery so that they police would dismiss the case as a drunken brawl that was over money. The police took the bait, like the fools they so often are... and after that, I cut tied with my former partners and decided to proceed with this job on my own. Speaking of cuts, these... are from that night. So no, the locket is far from dear to me but it is evidence and I cannot afford for it to end up tied to me so I have become somewhat paranoid about never letting it out of my sight. As for what it is I am hoping to find here... there is a hidden chamber containing some solid gold cups and plates, and a lot of quality silver ones too, dating all the way back to the Middle Ages. A sack filled with jewels too, according to local legend, that was hidden away by a highwayman who sought sanctuary at this abbey. He gave a share of his plunder to the monks, who helped him to hide a good deal of it in a chamber in this tower's cellar. How I was able to discover all of this, is less important than the fact that as you can see... the chamber is real. And within it, a goodly fortune! Enough wealth to make up for what I paid to purchase this abbey, and then some. Well worth all of the blood, sweat, and trouble spent to unearth it.”
Holmes then stated: “I doubt that anyone shall mourn the death of a thief, and you lot were all clearly nothing but glorified thieves. The only adventures you undertook, were adventures in crime. But it was unwise of you to cut out your former partners, and I suspect they are on their way here right now. This time, to claim the treasure you are seeking to unearth for themselves. And probably to deal with you, in revenge for your killing of the man they clearly saw as their leader. You were sloppy, mister Marley. A great deal too sloppy to be the adventuring thief you thought yourself to be! Your brother would not be proud to see what has become of you in life. He died a hero, whereas you... if your former associates do catch up with you, you shall die as you have lived. A greedy criminal of the lowest sort.” This enraged the little man, who grabbed the locket out of Holmes' hands and threw it against the wall, smashing it with great force. The glass behind which the picture in the locket sat shattered, and the picture flew out. Vernon then angrily tore the picture to pieces. The locket was otherwise intact despite this ill treatment. “And what do you know of my brother, Holmes?” he shouted, tears in his eyes. “He only had to join up with the military at all because our family was so poor and it was the only job he could get. He was, as you noted, a hero in the end. A good man. And his death was what showed me that good men, as well as heroes, do not always get what they deserve out of life. His death is what pushed me into the life that I live now... because I wanted it to be that when my time came to start a family, I should be able to do right and provide by them as they deserve. So that they need not ever need to turn to crime like I did.” I was deeply sad for him, far more so than I thought I would be, and I asked him in a caring manner: “Sir, do you have a family then that you are attempting to provide for in this way?” Vernon then admitted: “I do not, but I met someone... a lady... and I knew where things were headed with her. I wanted to be able to give her, and any child or children that might be born to us, a better life than I and my brother had. Is that so wrong, doctor? A pity... she will probably never see me alive again, if things go too badly here.”
And things seemed about to go very badly indeed! I could hear the sound of men talking coming from upstairs, and I knew that the men in the black robes had managed to get into the tower after all. I darted to the ladder and had a look about. They were not in this part of the tower yet, but would be soon. As if by instinct, I closed the trapdoor, and hurried back to Holmes and Vernon. I said very worriedly: “They are here! And there seems not any means of escape should they find the trapdoor and get down here. If you ever had a plan for a hopeless situation Holmes, now would be a great time to implement it.” And I was shocked to see that my friend did indeed have a plan in mind. “They are thieves, are they not? Then let us give them what they desire... but not quite in the way they are expecting.” Holmes suggested. He then clambered into the chamber that Vernon unearthed... and came back dragging with him a large and heavy looking sack. He looked in it, and nodded his head in approval. “It is all in here, the treasure that Vernon described.... just as he described it perfectly. Come, both of you! I have an idea. Not a wise one, but it could work.” We followed Sherlock to the ladder, and he ascended it. He opened the trapdoor just a tiny bit and after peering out... he then opened it fully, and climbed up as noiselessly as he could. He asked me to fetch for him the heavy sack, which Vernon and I manged somehow to accomplish at the last by working together to get it up the ladder. As soon as Holmes got hold of the sack and dragged it aside with a bit of an effort, he called for us to climb up, and to join him. He listened carefully, for the sound of the intruders, and he whispered to us: “They seem to be lingering in the entrance room, if one were to judge by where the sound of their voices is coming from. They'll not hear us if we are quiet, as they are being quite loud.” and, surely enough, their boisterous mutterings met my ears as roughly as a mail dragged across a chalkboard. They were the sort of men I most disliked... although Vernon clearly by the look of it was used to such individuals. Holmes said to Vernon: “I want you to distract those men just a bit, so that I can place a trail of jewels leading to the trapdoor. Then, I am going to throw the sack down the ladder, but leave the trapdoor open. If your associates are all greedier than they are smart, they will try to snatch up the jewels and become preoccupied trying to figure out a way to get the sack up the ladder. Watson, you hide in that storage room over there. I will join you there in a bit.” Vernon looked quite frightened as he said: “What sort of distraction?” to which Holmes answered: “Anything will do! Be creative... as creative as you were when you were lying to us.” The storage room was near the open archway that led to a short hallway that itself led to the entrance room. It was one of four that were off of the chamber that contained the trapdoor itself. It had a crude looking old door, which was open. The hallway was the same means by which we got to this part of the tower to begin with. Sherlock busily set about with his plan of creating that trail of shiny jewels, and I urged Vernon to wait in the storage room with me until Holmes was through before doing anything at all. The only part my colleague could not complete was the placing of some jewels in the hallway, which would alert the men if he attempted it. I said to Vernon: “It looks like it all depends upon you now. You don't have to be a hero, but you can still make your brother proud of you! Whatever you can do, now is the time to do it.” Vernon then asked me for my pistol and I handed it to him somewhat hesitantly. Then, he darted down the hallway firing it in the direction of the black-robed thieves. So focused on him were they, that they did not notice Holmes throwing and scattering more of the jewels into the hallway. He called for me to help him, and together we managed to knock the sack down the ladder. It lander with a clatter, which was covered by the loud noise of further pistol fire. Vernon was making quite the racket with the weapon, covering for us quite heroically. Holmes and I hurried to the storage room and closed the door. Suddenly... Vernon ran back, still discharging the pistol as he fired it at the increasingly angry men, and he made his way towards the trapdoor. His former associates followed him, making threats on his life as they gave chase. They were distracted only momentarily in order to snatch up the jewels that were all over the hallway and the trail of them that led to the trapdoor. Vernon then clambered down the trapdoor hastily and shouted that if the men wanted it, there was a great deal more of the treasure down below, but that they should hurry.
The men all appeared to be unarmed, and were highly cautious of Vernon because he was armed. But they called his bluff, as expected, and hurried down into the cellar, closing the trapdoor behind them as soon as the last man had begun his downward climb. “Now, Watson! Let us hurry away from this place. Vernon may have paid with his life to buy us a chance to get away safely.” Holmes whispered urgently. We ran out of the abbey as fast as our legs could carry us. There were more sounds of pistol fire, and no more after that. Partway down the road was an abandoned carriage, its' horses looking more than a little on the impatient side as they awaited their masters' return. Some of the men had probably used this very carriage in order to get to the abbey quicker. At least sixteen men in total had rushed into the cellar, and the carriage could seat four, comfortably. Black robes, tucked away inside the carriage itself, confirmed all suspicions in regard to the owners. “Come on, Watson, let us make use of the carriage the thieves so nicely left for us... we will reach the village much quicker, with it, I think.” Holmes said, as he climbed up unto the driver's seat of the carriage, and I sat myself next to him, for it was a seat wide enough to accommodate two. Before much longer, we were on our way back to the village. It was late nightfall by the time we got there, and our first stop was the local police station... where we informed the authorities that a group of thieves could be discovered at Finn Abbey. We presented them with the black cloaks we took from the carriage, and the carriage itself as proof... after we explained what we had been doing out there and how it was we came by the carriage in the first place. They thanked us for the information but insisted we come with them to round up the thieves, in case it should turn out that we were involved in some way with the criminals. Which was a reasonable precaution to take, I suppose. Plus, if none of the thieves were there, they would need to ask us all we could tell them about the men so that it might thus prove easier for them to be caught up with and arrested. Not wishing to appear guilty, we agreed. For it really did seem we had no other choice. And before long, we were once again at the abbey and making our way with the police to the chamber with the trapdoor set into the floor. As soon as the trapdoor was flung open, however, a horrible smell emerged... the unmistakable scent of death. Below, all sixteen of the thieves, all wearing their black robes still, lay dead. Judging by their wounds, they had all been shot to death by a pistol. Vernon was nowhere to be found among the lifeless bodies, and it could only have been that he made his escape. However, the meager amount of ammunition that I had given him that I had in my pockets when I handed him the pistol in no way should have accounted for this massacre. By all logic... the man should have run out of ammunition even attempting to fight off these men with that particular weapon. To say nothing of having to reload the weapon... in between... whenever it was fully spent. But there were shoe prints and boot prints in the dust of the cellar floor that Holmes soon smartly deduced, upon examining them, had come from a group of about twenty other individuals. “It was not a single pistol that felled these men! But many. It seems they had friends... other criminals no doubt, who caught up to them at last. Friends, who held a grudge.” my colleague explained to the policemen at the bloody crime scene. There was nothing more to be done there... even the treasure was gone, taken likely by whoever the men were who had done this terrible deed. We stayed to assist the police how we could.
We were a month in Ireland before returning to England, a month working with the police and trying to track down the treasure of Finn Abbey and the men who had clearly stolen it and murdered the other thieves who had been after it. Every single lead reached dead ends, and though it was easy work being able to identify the victims of that massacre at the abbey... that still revealed nothing at all, about those who had cut their sordid lives short. “I am rarely stumped with a case, Watson.” Holmes admitted to me once our time in Ireland was over and we were on our way back to Baker Street to wrap things up. But, he confessed truthfully: “Rarely, I say! But this time, the truth of the matter eludes me. I can only, from the evidence at hand, conclude that Vernon had either made some very good friends in the realm of the criminal underworld... or some quite terrible enemies. If it be the latter, I doubt we shall see him again.”
We had not been paid by Vernon on our arrival in Ireland as he had promised we would be, and so it was that we went uncompensated for our efforts on his behalf. Neither Holmes nor myself liked taking on cases in which our expenses were not alleviated by proper payment, but it seemed that this one was fated to be chalked up to a charity case after all. Two or three months or so had passed since our return to Baker Street, and by then we had taken on and solves other more lucrative cases. Things got back to a sense of normalcy for us, and I had begun to put out of my mind the frightful events that took place at Finn Abbey. Holmes, for his part, never stopped looking into it further though, and one day he told me: “Watson, I firmly believe that it is entirely possible that Vernon Marley was involved with a group that specialized, in organized crime... an organization, for lack of a better word, based out of Italy. He was in Italy, after all, when he did his last job prior to his attempt to procure for himself the treasure of Finn Abbey. From the little I have been able to learn about this group, I think it is probably for the best that we never did end up crossing paths with them. Vernon did say that when was in Italy... he had made a princely sum. I suspect, with the help of this shadowy organization. Knowing him, he probably tried to find a way to double-cross them and so they in the end tracked him down to Ireland and took him away. Whether to kill him or force him fully into their employ, I cannot say and we shall likely never know.”
Suddenly, immediately after Holmes had finished telling me that, there was a light knock on the door. I went to see who it was, and into the room walked Vernon Marley and a tall woman with long straight black hair and swarthy looking skin, in addition to having eyes so deep a shade of brown that they were almost coal black. By her features, the woman appeared to be from someplace in the Mediterranean. It was shocking to see the pair of them, given we were just discussing Vernon's fate a moment before. He wore the same sort of severely styled black suit that we had seen him in back in Ireland, and the woman herself wore a black gown with red lacy trim. A garment fancy enough to be worn by royalty, so finely and fashionably made was it. She held a purse in her hands tightly, and opened it to present us with the amount of money that Holmes usually took as his fee for taking on cases. The woman said something in Italian, if I was not mistaken on hearing her speak, and Vernon tried to explain things to us: “What it is that my wife is trying tell you gentlemen, is that this is for everything the two of you did on my behalf. We thank you for it, and for solving the case of the men who were after me back in Ireland. In this way, all debts are paid in full... and we can now go our separate ways with no guilt hanging over any of us.” to which Holmes chuckled almost sinister in the manner of it, and remarked: “No guilt at all, Vernon... none, whatsoever you say? That is stretching the truth, just a little bit, I should think.” After that having been said, Vernon turned to Holmes and said to him menacingly: “I like you, Sherlock Holmes. I like you a great deal, in fact. You are truly a great detective, and a good man. That is why I wish to kindly warn you... do not try to find me once I leave here. You either, Watson. Once I leave this room, it shall be as if I had never been involved with you at all... either previously, or today. I have family now, and a new business that pays better than what I used to do for a living. A real family business, you might say. And it is time I was getting back to it! As I said... this pays all debts I owed to you. We are even, now! You tried to help me... and now you know that I am grateful for it. Let is leave things on a good note.” Then, Sherlock said something to Vernon in Sicilian, and the woman clearly understood it. Vernon did laugh a bit, and then replied: “You understand things, I see! Good. A man of true understanding is rare. Good day, Holmes... Watson... neither of you will ever see me again.” Then, the pair left and closed the door behind them as they did so. Holmes, who had been standing, sat down at his desk and breathed a sigh of relief. He then cheerfully said to me: “Well that case is closed! It appears I was right in all that I had suspected... except, for regarding Vernon's ultimate fate. But rest assured... he will eventually meet his end doing work for his new 'family'. Such things are sometimes sadly inevitable. But let us think no further on such dark things, Watson! We have new cases to review, and new adventures to undertake.”
It was not uncommon for me to check the mail and correspondences when my friend and colleague, the consulting detective Sherlock Holmes, was otherwise unable to do so for whatever the reason. But on one occasion, it was singular to mention because I found among the usual something a bit strange. It was a sealed letter sent from someone with only the initials V.M. The address connected to it was one I recognized, and that was what made it strange. It was the location of an abandoned abbey from the past century. A location in Ireland, of all the odd places to receive a letter from. But, perhaps someone had indeed purchased the property, I mused, although it was a very odd choice for any reasonable person to choose for a dwelling. I gave the stack of letters, correspondences, and bills to my friend, and he being as he was of a want to be looked through each and every single one with care. Even the way he used his letter opener was mechanical in its' efficiency and swiftness. Whatever he so thought of the contents of these various things, he did keep to himself. He got at last, saving it for last, the letter from V.M. And upon opening it and reading through it with care, he did say aloud: “Madness! This is absolute insanity, and nothing less.” I asked him what was the matter, and he showed me the letter. “Read this, Watson!” he commanded, for that was the tone of his voice at that moment. And I did so. This was the contents of the letter, and I have to admit that Holmes was not at all overacting by saying this was entirely lunacy...
“Dear mister Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street. I have, recently, come into possession of the old Finn Abbey that sits in lonely majesty in County Clare, in Ireland. Prior to the present century... there was an order of monks who still maintained this place, but they maintain it no longer. Regrettably, the only odd part of the old place that is structurally sound seems to be the tower. That is where I have made well my living place. I doubt, however, that I shall remain here long and may be forced to sell the abbey soon. I am beset with terrors when I try to sleep at night in this place, and I swear that I have seen shadows that move which are not my own but which are human in shape nonetheless. I know that you tend to take on cases of a rational, logical, grounded sort but please bear with me! There is a logic at work, even if it be a logic beyond my own mind's understanding. Whenever I have gone to any of the local towns, villages, and cities for supplies, or for practically anything, I have been followed by strange men in black robes with hoods that obscure their features. I am certain they could only be either the ghosts of the monks, or men of flesh and blood who are their descendants that are hoping to scare me away from the abbey that was once their home. I was not born in Ireland, but rather hail from Shropshire in England originally. I do know that not all from England are typically welcomed with open arms exactly in Ireland... but I did rather expect more outright harassment and threats rather than this strangely ethereal sort of attempts to scare me off. If these are men, they are rather juvenile to behave in this way. They follow me, but they do nothing more than that... and they keep to the shadows, out of sight, and others I have questioned do claim not to have seen them at all. I do not drink, nor do I have any other vices aside from women. But I do fear I may be going mad if this should prove to be my mind playing tricks on me. But if I am NOT mad, and if these are men of flesh and blood... I worry they might mean me harm. The police laughed at me when I turned to them to report my being followed. Perhaps you might be interested in coming over to the abbey to meet with me, that we might together unravel this mystery? That is my hope, however foolish it may seem. My full name... is Vernon Marley. Give my regards to your assistant, Watson. The good doctor served with my late brother Johnathan during his time in the military. Even if you do not in the end decide to take up my case, I shall understand. But please read my letter and show it to Watson. In closing, know that you will be paid the rate it is said you prefer upon our meeting in person should it be that you do decide to pursue the matter of my peculiar stalking. Give Watson my best, and tell him I am proud that he stood by my brother in the moments leading up to his death. The memory is likely to be an unpleasant one for the good doctor, just as the death of my brother itself was unpleasant for me.”
And that was all there was to it, though that was enough. I did know Johnathan Marley quite well. His death was sudden and tragic, as deaths that often happen during times of war or conflict can be. He did his duty for his country, and paid the highest of costs for it. I tried to save him, but there was nothing at all to be done for the man. I lost not just a comrade with his passing, but a good friend as well. I told all of this to Holmes, and he for a brief moment appeared sad before his face returned to it's usual cold and unknowable mask, the face he most preferred to display to the world. “I do fear, Holmes, that Vernon... he may be suffering from his brother's loss even all this time after. The solitude of his present residence and its' ruinous state could well be having an adverse effect upon his mind. He could be imagining, just a bit, these black-robed monks that he believes are following him... but what if he is not! I was far from able to save his brother years ago, but if he has made enemies that mean him harm I would not want to abandon him to them. What say you, Homes? As mad as it seems, I think we should take on this case.”
Holmes stared at me, studying my features, and then said: “Very well! We shall, since it means much to you that we should do so. But it will be a long trip, and we must prepare for it accordingly. Also, we will make certain to let Mrs. Hudson know that we will be gone for some time. I will pay her the rent in advance for this month, so that we are not late on it. But I will do that when we are about to leave, and not a moment sooner. I do not doubt she will likely enjoy the peace and quiet whilst we are gone.” To which I replied somewhat humorously: “Especially given your penchant for sometimes firing bullets at dead animals at odd hours of the night.” I was referring, to several incidents involving Holmes and his testing of bullets and their effects on living things using deceased animals as preserved with taxidermy. The poor lifeless creatures met their ends a second time, all in the name of criminal science. That was not the maddest thing my friend and colleague ever did, but it was one of the things that never failed to bring our landlady running to see whatever it was that was going on. Good thing we paid her double the rent sometimes, or I should not doubt a proper complaint would have been forthcoming. Holmes, for his part, smiled at my joke but he did not laugh. The smile almost appeared to be a mocking one, rather.
I shall spare the details of our trip itself, and simply get to the point where we arrived at last at the old ruined abbey by way of carriage. The driver was very apprehensive about taking us there, and he said to us at one point, as our conveyance clattered its' way along the old roads that ran across the beautiful Irish countryside: “You two gents should've picked a better spot to visit... Ireland's got plenty of grand places to see, places where folks from England are better liked too. Mind you... I'm only taking you to the old abbey because you paid me twice my normal rate to do so... but I have to be warning you, it's not a decent place for any man. They say the old place is haunted, you know! Haunted by the ghosts of the monks what used to live there. I never saw anything of the sort, myself, but still I prefer to remain far from the old abbey's crumbling walls. But I suppose you gents know your business, whatever it is that you are doing, going to that godforsaken place. I'll not try to dissuade you further! On our way...” And after that his booming voice trailed off into what sounded like muttering complaints of every sort. “Not exactly a warm welcome to this part of Ireland, is it Holmes?” I asked my friend, and he said to me in a near-monotone: “Watson... it is surely no worse than the looks we were given by the people at the inn where we purchased our lodgings for the next week or two. However long it will take to see to mister Marley's troubles and determine the cause of them.” And I had to admit, he was right! Had eyes the means to slay a person, we should both have been dead long before we ever left the village wherein that inn was located. I shall not even name it, because I do not want to remember it when we get back to England after all is said and done. I said to Holmes of the incident he was speaking of: “I think they did not want to make our stay a comfortable one, Holmes, and on that account I daresay they seem to have succeeded already. I can only imagine as things will get worse, before all is said and done for Vernon.”
The abbey was as ruinous and miserable looking as you can imagine. It sat in an open space, craggy and stony in its' facade, where grass grew and green bushes and trees cropped up here and there. But, as it was, otherwise there was nothing remarkable about the land thereabout. It was green and lovely, the day was pleasant and sunny, but otherwise had I closed my eyes and opened them again... with a bit of imagination applied... it would not have taken much, to imagine that this same place or one similar at the very least could be found in any rural part of England or even Scotland. The drive out was not far at all from the village, but still far enough that we could not have walked it nearly as quickly as it takes to drive by carriage. The lonely gray road we were on now grew more and more messy as we neared our destination, with wild grass in many places growing up through the broken parts of the road, along with wildflower and weeds of varying descriptions. This was... indeed... a place that had one foot in the past. The driver let us know when it was time to get out of the carriage, and it was good to stretch my feet as we closed the carriage door and took our bags in our hands. Nothing heavy, just what we might need to work the case should this or that about it arise. Holmes, however, seemed physically unbothered by the trip and appeared eager to get things over with as quickly as possible. He pointed to the square tower as we made our way to the abbey. “That is where mister Marley is living?” he asked, though it was not a question really, more an accusation. He then concluded: “The man has to be mad! That is not a home at all, dear Watson, but a tomb. Hardly a proper place for the living at all.” I could not have agreed more.
A new door had been installed to replace the original door that had led into the tower, but that was a very small improvement overall. A bit like adding curtains to the windows of a burned out castle, that. We knocked upon it, and soon a short little man with wide round glasses and sharp features answered. He was wearing a business suit and a bowler hat. The same style of hat that I myself often favored. But the suit was a bit too severe looking for my tastes. It gave the man the look of a mortician. He said to us in a somewhat nasally voice: “Ah! Might you be Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, then? Come on in, make yourselves comfortable. I know things are a little rough here right now, but I mean to see that it is improved over time.” The man looked nothing at all like his brother. Definitely, they had not been twins. Holmes and I introduced ourselves properly to Vernon, and he to us... and we sat at a table in a very gloomy and dimly lit chamber of the tower where he presented us with some meager food and a bit of wine to drink. We refused the wine, for we preferred to keep our wits about us during investigations, and I daresay Holmes liked to keep his wits sharp always. Instead, we had only water to drink and as I said it was all meager fare. “No tea then, I suppose.” complained Holmes, before he dove straight into asking Vernon for details surrounding his troubles. “Mister Marley...” he began in earnest: “You said to us in your letter that these... monks, we shall call them... followed you into several different places. If I may ask, was it always the same places or different places each and every time it happened?” The small man nervously answered: “It was just as I said in the letter, but to clarify... yes, it was always the same locations they followed me into, appearing from the same places each time I noticed them.” Holmes did then inquired: “What sort of places did they appear from when first you noticed them each time?” The man then thought for a moment before answering, at length saying: “It was the woods, each and every single time the men in the black robes emerged from the woods, keeping out of sight as they followed me. In the towns, villages, and cities wherein I noticed them, they always kept to side alleys being very careful to stay out of sight of everyone save for myself it seems.” Holmes then lit his pipe, took a puff or two, and then said to Vernon quite in a matter of fact manner: “Ghosts, sir, would not need to hide in alleys nor keep to the woods to avoid being seen. So right away I can assure you, these are men and not spirits. That much is evident. Perhaps they are locals trying to scare you off is all... Watson and I had a rather miserable time of it at the inn we are presently staying at, and the driver of our carriage tried to basically frighten us regarding this abbey. Perhaps it may be prudent to return to England with us, sir.”
But Vernon was quite stubborn and insisted he should stay and weather this present storm. “I put a lot of money into this project of mine... namely making this place a proper home and proving old sites such as this can be restored to a semblance of their former glory. If I give up now, I stand to lose a great deal. I am not a wealthy man, mister Holmes, and doubt that I should make up for such a loss easily.” But for his part Holmes was adamant in his opinion and said calmly: “But, mister Marley, you could still make up for it nonetheless. For you are... clearly... just wealthy enough to purchase such an expensive to buy place such as this is! I should very much, be interested in learning what it is that you actually do for a living.” to which Vernon said in a rude fashion: “I'll just bet you would, mister Holmes! I'll just bet you would at that. But it has no bearing on the matter at hand.” I then waited for the inevitable reply from my colleague, which came as expected when Sherlock declared: “On the contrary, Vernon, I am afraid it does have bearing on it. You could have enemies perhaps due to your profession, if these men prove not to be local lads with a grudge against having people from England coming in and setting up shop in their old historic and quintessentially Irish landmarks. If we can rule out one possibility, then the other becomes that much more probable as the answer we seek. But I cannot do this, without your help. And if you tell me what your job is exactly, then it would help me immensely. I know you do not like me... your manner towards me makes that obvious... but if I am do my job, then I need to know about yours.”
The little man then said finally: “Oh, very well! I am a solicitor, one of the dullest and most common of professions for a man such as myself. I have had no previous cases involving Ireland in any manner, and made no enemies that I have ever been aware of. I have lived a boring life, and it was only when I came into some money recently that the idea came to me to buy up some old property and see what in the world could be done with it. I should have chosen some old manor house in Wales, had I common sense... but this seemed a challenge and I thought I was up for it. It seems I was not, sadly.” I thought it curious that he said he came into money but appeared reluctant to tell us how. Holmes clearly did also, as he stated as much aloud when he said: “Mister Marley, although your job may be a common one, the sticky part could be tied up with how you came by that money you spoke of. Tell me, how actually was it that you did come by such a grand amount?” And there was a silence so utterly long and deep that I could tell it was becoming a genuine annoyance for Sherlock. “Just tell us, Vernon.” I suggested, after which I added: “If there is a problem related to it, mister Holmes can likely help you solve it.” Holmes rolled his eyes a bit at that, but said nothing. Then, Vernon finally opened up and told us: “I found the money on a dead man near the docks in London after I spent a night drinking a bit too much. I am not proud of that fact, but truly sirs it is not as if he was going to be needing the money himself.” That did elicit a sigh from Holmes, who then proclaimed: “And therein lies the root of your troubles, Vernon! If you truly did indeed rob the dead of such a sum... do you not think that perhaps the man might have had family who could well have known of the loss and assumed that robbery had been a motive in the man's death? If you were as drunk as you claim to have been, you cannot be certain you were not seen taking the dead man's money. Whilst the police might have deigned to overlook a drunk stealing from a dead man, surely the man's family or other loved ones be they by marriage or blood kin would not nearly be quite so forgiving. Who else might have known of your purchase of this place and your trip to Ireland?” Again, an all too lengthy silence ensured followed by Vernon confessing: “The help wanted ads I put up for workers to help me with the restoration... none of which have been answered yet save one, and that fellow is the one who has been helping me with my labors here. Anyone might have been able read any one of those ads and know about my purchase of the abbey. But unless they knew my face or that I had frequented a pub on the docks as much as I did... and been able to connect my face to my name... there is little reason to believe I could have been tracked down because of those ads alone.” Sherlock then did state: “There is a very specific possibility, but I am certain you are not going to like it when I tell you.”
Holmes then cleared his throat and explained: “If the police had difficulty determining who murdered the dead man, then it is likely his family might have procured the services of a private detective, such as myself. It is an uncommon profession, some believe, but if I have chosen it for my own then there have to be others also who have done similarly with their lives. The detective would have questioned, even if the police had omitted to, everyone present at the pub. Tracked down anyone who had been there on the night of the man's murder. I am assuming he was murdered, that his death was unnatural. I do not know this for a fact, after all. But in my line of work... foul play is always a safe assumption when a man dies in as suspect as place as a pub on the docks of London. Someone had to have seen you rob the man of his money, assumed you killed him, and simply said as much. Even if they did not know your name, it stands to reason they could have given a useful description of you. Which could then be used to figure out your identity. You can see how that might have led to their ability to follow you here and, learning of this abbey's haunted reputation, begun to frighten you into leaving its' confines in the hope of, perish the thought, doing you some grim mischief. Did you notice anything, Vernon, that could indicate at all whether the dead man had died of natural causes... or by someone's hand?” Mister Marley than tried to think back to that fateful night, and after a moment's recollection he said: “He was murdered, I believe, sir... he had a lot of bruises about his face, and there was a bloody wound in his chest possibly caused by a blade of some kind. Probably a knife.” Holmes then said mirthlessly: “Murdered he was, then. It is as I suspected in that case. And you are surprised that suddenly you are being followed? I am, to be very honest with you, surprised that the police never bothered to question you. I shall assume they were lax in doing their job at the crime scene and wrote the matter off as the result of a drunken brawl. Which it almost certainly was! But I would have tracked you down and questioned you first, mister Marley. And only after that, declared the case solved. And not before. This bodes ill for you! For whilst the police, as difficult as they can be at times, have at least the letter of the law on their minds... a vengeful family is typically mindful of only one thing when in the pursuit of justice. That being vengeance, more of than not. And vengeance, Vernon... has nothing whatsoever, to do with justice! I hope you understand me.”
Vernon then shot up from his chair and said to us: “I hope you two will excuse me, but there is a bit of something I need to check on. I shall be right back momentarily. I will bear in mind all that you have told me, mister Holmes. You are a highly intelligent man.” Holmes then looked out the window, and he noticed something that caught his attention. “What seems to have caught your eye, Holmes?” I asked, to which he told me: “There is a group of about seven or eight men all dressed in black robes moving in broad daylight very carefully towards the abbey. They are doing so in a way that says they do not wish to be noticed, and if that is indeed their goal they picked the worst time of day to be moving about in. One can deduce that they wish to make haste with whatever it is they are planning to do, and that they do not intend to wait until nightfall to do it. Unless the dead man had eight brothers, I highly doubt they are related to him by blood. Associates or friends, perhaps. Whatever the case may be, we need to be ready for their arrival. Did you bring my pistol, John?” I checked our bags, which I had sat down near the table we were seated at. Then I reported: “Both are here, Holmes, your pistol as well as mine. Along with plenty of ammunition if it should come down to it. But surely...” which was thereon interrupted by Sherlock warning me: “Surely, if they are in such a hurry it cannot be for anything good. Me must not discard the possibility that these men mean violence, my dear Watson, and we should be prepared for it accordingly.” Load the pistols, and let us keep them concealed on our persons for the time being. I did as he suggested, and we placed our pistols in our coats for the moment. “I find it strange that as soon as Vernon decided to make himself scarce, these men show up as if on cue. I like that not at all.” Holmes confided in me quietly and conspiratorially. I had to admit, it was far too convenient for my liking also. “This whole thing reeks of a setup of some sort.” I whispered... and Homes nodded his head, agreeing.
We began to search about the tower to try and discover mister Marley's whereabouts. Eventually, we discovered a trapdoor with a ladder leading down into a dimly lit cellar. “Look, Holmes! That had to be where Vernon went. He certainly did not leave by the tower door else we would have noticed.” It was time to climb down and see what was really going on here. “More and more, I get the impression that our host has not been precisely forthcoming with us.” my colleague explained. The cellar was large, as it was clearly once used to store supplies and goods for the abbey back when the monks still lived at it. Most of the old things appeared untouched. There were crosses and statues in places, most tipped over. Some broken and showing the telltale signs of their great age. In one corner of the cellar, Vernon was at a hole dug into one of the walls, clearing away debris. A lantern sat on some rubble nearby, along with a shovel, a mining pick, and various other digging tools. There was also a gold locket. We approached as quietly as we could, and when we came upon mister Marley... Holmes seized the locket in his hand. He then proceeded to open it. “Strange, mister Marley, that you should keep such a trinket as this! The man in it is not you. Watson, have a look here! Does the man in the picture within the locket look like Vernon's brother, the man who was your friend back in the military?” It was no one I recognized at all. The man had a rough look about him, but dignified in a way that was nothing at all like my old friend. “I have never seen that man before in all my life, Holmes! But he definitely looks much like he may be someone of some importance.” to which Holmes then asked of Vernon: “How did you come by this? If you say you found it in this place... I shall have to call you a liar, for the man in the picture contained in this locket is neither a monk nor a priest of any kind. Also, if I may indulge my curiosity... why are you digging a hole in the wall of this tower's cellar? What do you hope to discover here!” Mister Marley did look about him this way and that, a frightened expression on his face. He was sweating so much that he had taken off his suit jacket and wore only a white shirt tucked into his pants. His sleeves were rolled up and his arms were covered in scars. Some appeared to have been not very old, and Holmes' eyes at once were drawn to them, studying them as he waited for Vernon to answer him. Vernon then said in a visibly annoyed tone of voice: “Oh very bloody well! I took that locket off the dead man when I stole his money. At the time, I thought it might be worth something but then I realized it had his picture in it. I'd have to break the locket to remove it, and I dare not sell it to any decent pawnshop because it is after all stolen and can be tied to the man's murder. I don't know any fences offhand, so I've had to keep it.”
Holmes chuckled a bit as he said: “I still say you are a liar, sir. Even if you did decide to keep it, why would you value it so highly that you would keep it near you or on your person at all times? There are other means of storing valuables after all, especially stolen ones. Also, those cuts on your arms tell me a great deal, and what they tell me most of all is that someone tried to do you violence not too long ago. Deep cuts, slashes like those that would be made by a knife with a thin but sharp blade. Not a kitchen knife, so clearly not made by accident when washing dishes and silverware in the kitchen sink. This is more like a knife made for stabbing but used for slashing. A weapon, rather than an eating tool. Also, you have very strong arms by the look of your muscles, but you try to conceal this fact normally I think. Hence why you wear the types of clothing that you do. Further, you still have not told me what it is you hope to discover in this place... likely the real reason for your purchase of this abbey, and also the true reason why those man in black robes are after you. And, why you are so loathe to abandon it in order to return to England despite your safety and possibly your life being in jeopardy.” I gazed into the hole in the wall, and saw a small square chamber beyond it. I could not make out what was within it though. At once, mister Marley said... his voice betraying how out of breath he was from his physical labors: “Fine then, fine! I am not a solicitor by trade... I am an adventurer of sorts. I travel to places like this and then liberate them of anything valuable in the way of antiquities that they might contain. I work alone, now... but I didn't used to. I had a party of men who used to assist me, and whom I paid well for their service.”
“Those men in black who have been pretending to be the ghosts of monks.” Holmes said aloud. And at which Vernon nodded in the affirmative before explaining further: “I paid them more than what was fair, and never left them messed over! Never. We had been planning this job for years, to tell the truth. I had purchased this place, as there was no other way to get close to it otherwise, legally and properly. It was with the money we made from our last job, one in Italy where we made a princely sum. Everything seemed all set, until this one fellow... he was the leader of our little party and half the time he was the one who told me what to do... we stopped being equal partners after a while and he sort of took over as the one I was working for. When in the beginning, it was the other way around. We had a disagreement one night, at the pub we all used to meet up at when planning our... expeditions. Things turned ugly, as the man I am talking about attacked me. We took it outside, and he had a knife on him. He tried to kill me, but I wrestled the blade from his hands and turned it on him instead. I killed him, and decided that I had better make it look like a robbery so that they police would dismiss the case as a drunken brawl that was over money. The police took the bait, like the fools they so often are... and after that, I cut tied with my former partners and decided to proceed with this job on my own. Speaking of cuts, these... are from that night. So no, the locket is far from dear to me but it is evidence and I cannot afford for it to end up tied to me so I have become somewhat paranoid about never letting it out of my sight. As for what it is I am hoping to find here... there is a hidden chamber containing some solid gold cups and plates, and a lot of quality silver ones too, dating all the way back to the Middle Ages. A sack filled with jewels too, according to local legend, that was hidden away by a highwayman who sought sanctuary at this abbey. He gave a share of his plunder to the monks, who helped him to hide a good deal of it in a chamber in this tower's cellar. How I was able to discover all of this, is less important than the fact that as you can see... the chamber is real. And within it, a goodly fortune! Enough wealth to make up for what I paid to purchase this abbey, and then some. Well worth all of the blood, sweat, and trouble spent to unearth it.”
Holmes then stated: “I doubt that anyone shall mourn the death of a thief, and you lot were all clearly nothing but glorified thieves. The only adventures you undertook, were adventures in crime. But it was unwise of you to cut out your former partners, and I suspect they are on their way here right now. This time, to claim the treasure you are seeking to unearth for themselves. And probably to deal with you, in revenge for your killing of the man they clearly saw as their leader. You were sloppy, mister Marley. A great deal too sloppy to be the adventuring thief you thought yourself to be! Your brother would not be proud to see what has become of you in life. He died a hero, whereas you... if your former associates do catch up with you, you shall die as you have lived. A greedy criminal of the lowest sort.” This enraged the little man, who grabbed the locket out of Holmes' hands and threw it against the wall, smashing it with great force. The glass behind which the picture in the locket sat shattered, and the picture flew out. Vernon then angrily tore the picture to pieces. The locket was otherwise intact despite this ill treatment. “And what do you know of my brother, Holmes?” he shouted, tears in his eyes. “He only had to join up with the military at all because our family was so poor and it was the only job he could get. He was, as you noted, a hero in the end. A good man. And his death was what showed me that good men, as well as heroes, do not always get what they deserve out of life. His death is what pushed me into the life that I live now... because I wanted it to be that when my time came to start a family, I should be able to do right and provide by them as they deserve. So that they need not ever need to turn to crime like I did.” I was deeply sad for him, far more so than I thought I would be, and I asked him in a caring manner: “Sir, do you have a family then that you are attempting to provide for in this way?” Vernon then admitted: “I do not, but I met someone... a lady... and I knew where things were headed with her. I wanted to be able to give her, and any child or children that might be born to us, a better life than I and my brother had. Is that so wrong, doctor? A pity... she will probably never see me alive again, if things go too badly here.”
And things seemed about to go very badly indeed! I could hear the sound of men talking coming from upstairs, and I knew that the men in the black robes had managed to get into the tower after all. I darted to the ladder and had a look about. They were not in this part of the tower yet, but would be soon. As if by instinct, I closed the trapdoor, and hurried back to Holmes and Vernon. I said very worriedly: “They are here! And there seems not any means of escape should they find the trapdoor and get down here. If you ever had a plan for a hopeless situation Holmes, now would be a great time to implement it.” And I was shocked to see that my friend did indeed have a plan in mind. “They are thieves, are they not? Then let us give them what they desire... but not quite in the way they are expecting.” Holmes suggested. He then clambered into the chamber that Vernon unearthed... and came back dragging with him a large and heavy looking sack. He looked in it, and nodded his head in approval. “It is all in here, the treasure that Vernon described.... just as he described it perfectly. Come, both of you! I have an idea. Not a wise one, but it could work.” We followed Sherlock to the ladder, and he ascended it. He opened the trapdoor just a tiny bit and after peering out... he then opened it fully, and climbed up as noiselessly as he could. He asked me to fetch for him the heavy sack, which Vernon and I manged somehow to accomplish at the last by working together to get it up the ladder. As soon as Holmes got hold of the sack and dragged it aside with a bit of an effort, he called for us to climb up, and to join him. He listened carefully, for the sound of the intruders, and he whispered to us: “They seem to be lingering in the entrance room, if one were to judge by where the sound of their voices is coming from. They'll not hear us if we are quiet, as they are being quite loud.” and, surely enough, their boisterous mutterings met my ears as roughly as a mail dragged across a chalkboard. They were the sort of men I most disliked... although Vernon clearly by the look of it was used to such individuals. Holmes said to Vernon: “I want you to distract those men just a bit, so that I can place a trail of jewels leading to the trapdoor. Then, I am going to throw the sack down the ladder, but leave the trapdoor open. If your associates are all greedier than they are smart, they will try to snatch up the jewels and become preoccupied trying to figure out a way to get the sack up the ladder. Watson, you hide in that storage room over there. I will join you there in a bit.” Vernon looked quite frightened as he said: “What sort of distraction?” to which Holmes answered: “Anything will do! Be creative... as creative as you were when you were lying to us.” The storage room was near the open archway that led to a short hallway that itself led to the entrance room. It was one of four that were off of the chamber that contained the trapdoor itself. It had a crude looking old door, which was open. The hallway was the same means by which we got to this part of the tower to begin with. Sherlock busily set about with his plan of creating that trail of shiny jewels, and I urged Vernon to wait in the storage room with me until Holmes was through before doing anything at all. The only part my colleague could not complete was the placing of some jewels in the hallway, which would alert the men if he attempted it. I said to Vernon: “It looks like it all depends upon you now. You don't have to be a hero, but you can still make your brother proud of you! Whatever you can do, now is the time to do it.” Vernon then asked me for my pistol and I handed it to him somewhat hesitantly. Then, he darted down the hallway firing it in the direction of the black-robed thieves. So focused on him were they, that they did not notice Holmes throwing and scattering more of the jewels into the hallway. He called for me to help him, and together we managed to knock the sack down the ladder. It lander with a clatter, which was covered by the loud noise of further pistol fire. Vernon was making quite the racket with the weapon, covering for us quite heroically. Holmes and I hurried to the storage room and closed the door. Suddenly... Vernon ran back, still discharging the pistol as he fired it at the increasingly angry men, and he made his way towards the trapdoor. His former associates followed him, making threats on his life as they gave chase. They were distracted only momentarily in order to snatch up the jewels that were all over the hallway and the trail of them that led to the trapdoor. Vernon then clambered down the trapdoor hastily and shouted that if the men wanted it, there was a great deal more of the treasure down below, but that they should hurry.
The men all appeared to be unarmed, and were highly cautious of Vernon because he was armed. But they called his bluff, as expected, and hurried down into the cellar, closing the trapdoor behind them as soon as the last man had begun his downward climb. “Now, Watson! Let us hurry away from this place. Vernon may have paid with his life to buy us a chance to get away safely.” Holmes whispered urgently. We ran out of the abbey as fast as our legs could carry us. There were more sounds of pistol fire, and no more after that. Partway down the road was an abandoned carriage, its' horses looking more than a little on the impatient side as they awaited their masters' return. Some of the men had probably used this very carriage in order to get to the abbey quicker. At least sixteen men in total had rushed into the cellar, and the carriage could seat four, comfortably. Black robes, tucked away inside the carriage itself, confirmed all suspicions in regard to the owners. “Come on, Watson, let us make use of the carriage the thieves so nicely left for us... we will reach the village much quicker, with it, I think.” Holmes said, as he climbed up unto the driver's seat of the carriage, and I sat myself next to him, for it was a seat wide enough to accommodate two. Before much longer, we were on our way back to the village. It was late nightfall by the time we got there, and our first stop was the local police station... where we informed the authorities that a group of thieves could be discovered at Finn Abbey. We presented them with the black cloaks we took from the carriage, and the carriage itself as proof... after we explained what we had been doing out there and how it was we came by the carriage in the first place. They thanked us for the information but insisted we come with them to round up the thieves, in case it should turn out that we were involved in some way with the criminals. Which was a reasonable precaution to take, I suppose. Plus, if none of the thieves were there, they would need to ask us all we could tell them about the men so that it might thus prove easier for them to be caught up with and arrested. Not wishing to appear guilty, we agreed. For it really did seem we had no other choice. And before long, we were once again at the abbey and making our way with the police to the chamber with the trapdoor set into the floor. As soon as the trapdoor was flung open, however, a horrible smell emerged... the unmistakable scent of death. Below, all sixteen of the thieves, all wearing their black robes still, lay dead. Judging by their wounds, they had all been shot to death by a pistol. Vernon was nowhere to be found among the lifeless bodies, and it could only have been that he made his escape. However, the meager amount of ammunition that I had given him that I had in my pockets when I handed him the pistol in no way should have accounted for this massacre. By all logic... the man should have run out of ammunition even attempting to fight off these men with that particular weapon. To say nothing of having to reload the weapon... in between... whenever it was fully spent. But there were shoe prints and boot prints in the dust of the cellar floor that Holmes soon smartly deduced, upon examining them, had come from a group of about twenty other individuals. “It was not a single pistol that felled these men! But many. It seems they had friends... other criminals no doubt, who caught up to them at last. Friends, who held a grudge.” my colleague explained to the policemen at the bloody crime scene. There was nothing more to be done there... even the treasure was gone, taken likely by whoever the men were who had done this terrible deed. We stayed to assist the police how we could.
We were a month in Ireland before returning to England, a month working with the police and trying to track down the treasure of Finn Abbey and the men who had clearly stolen it and murdered the other thieves who had been after it. Every single lead reached dead ends, and though it was easy work being able to identify the victims of that massacre at the abbey... that still revealed nothing at all, about those who had cut their sordid lives short. “I am rarely stumped with a case, Watson.” Holmes admitted to me once our time in Ireland was over and we were on our way back to Baker Street to wrap things up. But, he confessed truthfully: “Rarely, I say! But this time, the truth of the matter eludes me. I can only, from the evidence at hand, conclude that Vernon had either made some very good friends in the realm of the criminal underworld... or some quite terrible enemies. If it be the latter, I doubt we shall see him again.”
We had not been paid by Vernon on our arrival in Ireland as he had promised we would be, and so it was that we went uncompensated for our efforts on his behalf. Neither Holmes nor myself liked taking on cases in which our expenses were not alleviated by proper payment, but it seemed that this one was fated to be chalked up to a charity case after all. Two or three months or so had passed since our return to Baker Street, and by then we had taken on and solves other more lucrative cases. Things got back to a sense of normalcy for us, and I had begun to put out of my mind the frightful events that took place at Finn Abbey. Holmes, for his part, never stopped looking into it further though, and one day he told me: “Watson, I firmly believe that it is entirely possible that Vernon Marley was involved with a group that specialized, in organized crime... an organization, for lack of a better word, based out of Italy. He was in Italy, after all, when he did his last job prior to his attempt to procure for himself the treasure of Finn Abbey. From the little I have been able to learn about this group, I think it is probably for the best that we never did end up crossing paths with them. Vernon did say that when was in Italy... he had made a princely sum. I suspect, with the help of this shadowy organization. Knowing him, he probably tried to find a way to double-cross them and so they in the end tracked him down to Ireland and took him away. Whether to kill him or force him fully into their employ, I cannot say and we shall likely never know.”
Suddenly, immediately after Holmes had finished telling me that, there was a light knock on the door. I went to see who it was, and into the room walked Vernon Marley and a tall woman with long straight black hair and swarthy looking skin, in addition to having eyes so deep a shade of brown that they were almost coal black. By her features, the woman appeared to be from someplace in the Mediterranean. It was shocking to see the pair of them, given we were just discussing Vernon's fate a moment before. He wore the same sort of severely styled black suit that we had seen him in back in Ireland, and the woman herself wore a black gown with red lacy trim. A garment fancy enough to be worn by royalty, so finely and fashionably made was it. She held a purse in her hands tightly, and opened it to present us with the amount of money that Holmes usually took as his fee for taking on cases. The woman said something in Italian, if I was not mistaken on hearing her speak, and Vernon tried to explain things to us: “What it is that my wife is trying tell you gentlemen, is that this is for everything the two of you did on my behalf. We thank you for it, and for solving the case of the men who were after me back in Ireland. In this way, all debts are paid in full... and we can now go our separate ways with no guilt hanging over any of us.” to which Holmes chuckled almost sinister in the manner of it, and remarked: “No guilt at all, Vernon... none, whatsoever you say? That is stretching the truth, just a little bit, I should think.” After that having been said, Vernon turned to Holmes and said to him menacingly: “I like you, Sherlock Holmes. I like you a great deal, in fact. You are truly a great detective, and a good man. That is why I wish to kindly warn you... do not try to find me once I leave here. You either, Watson. Once I leave this room, it shall be as if I had never been involved with you at all... either previously, or today. I have family now, and a new business that pays better than what I used to do for a living. A real family business, you might say. And it is time I was getting back to it! As I said... this pays all debts I owed to you. We are even, now! You tried to help me... and now you know that I am grateful for it. Let is leave things on a good note.” Then, Sherlock said something to Vernon in Sicilian, and the woman clearly understood it. Vernon did laugh a bit, and then replied: “You understand things, I see! Good. A man of true understanding is rare. Good day, Holmes... Watson... neither of you will ever see me again.” Then, the pair left and closed the door behind them as they did so. Holmes, who had been standing, sat down at his desk and breathed a sigh of relief. He then cheerfully said to me: “Well that case is closed! It appears I was right in all that I had suspected... except, for regarding Vernon's ultimate fate. But rest assured... he will eventually meet his end doing work for his new 'family'. Such things are sometimes sadly inevitable. But let us think no further on such dark things, Watson! We have new cases to review, and new adventures to undertake.”
Published 18th Apr 2023
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