Sherlock Holmes: Repeat Business. Lyn McConchie
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true. “Mannison, how could you betray the confidence which this bank has always reposed in you?”
I saw the man’s lips tighten before he replied cautiously. “I, sir?”
“Yes, you have sold information to a newspaper concerning certain clients of the bank. Do not attempt to deny it, I have a confession from your confederate, the bank’s doorman, an ex-army officer with whom you previously served. Furthermore a certain expert identified you and explained what had brought you to him. What prompted you to such folly? You must at least lose your position although the bank is not inclined to press charges on this.”
Mannison seemed to fold in on himself in relief at that last statement.
“I have been a fool, sir. But, as you may have heard, I am accepted in certain circles as something of an authority on Shakespeare. Just on a month ago I was offered two first folios, one of Shakespeare, and the other by a French writer. I examined the works and was convinced both were genuine. I did not have the cash in hand to buy them, nor did I want the second work, however I knew I could dispose of it for far more than I was asked to pay. This would cover my purchase of both, and my retention of the Shakespeare for my own pleasure, so I therefore borrowed the money from a little-used account at this bank and purchased both works.
“What was my horror when the vendor had gone and I took both works to an expert, to be told that both folios were cleverly constructed fakes. I could sell neither to redeem the money I had borrowed, and all too soon I would be found out and disgraced. It was then that I was approached by an old acquaintance who suggested that we could make money by selling information to the reporter who writes the gossip section entitled Tidbits. I was tempted and I fell, sir. And that’s the long and the short of it. How is it that I am found out?”
“Yes,” said Holmes, thoughtfully. “I expected you to ask that question. The matter was quite simple. I heard that a forger had sold two first folios to a collector for a sum that was substantial. I knew you to be a lover and collector of such work. Then I had your wastebasket in the bank searched and a list of everything found there was brought to me.
“One item struck me as interesting. Two halves of a large squeezed lemon. You do not drink your tea with lemon, so for what purpose were you using a quantity of lemon-juice? To me there was one obvious purpose, one known to many schoolboys. You can use the juice as invisible ink.” I heard gasps from the others present and knew this was the first they had heard of the possibility.
“You wrote your information onto a small piece of paper in the lemon juice, let that dry, and once your accomplice had procured your regular cab for you, you pressed the paper into his hand. Anyone seeing this would merely assume that you were tipping him for the service—even supposing they thought of it at all. Once he too departed for the night, he had only to take the paper to the reporter who held it before a flame or fire of some sort. The information would then appear. Have I the truth?”
Mannison stepped backwards by several paces, seeming to feel deeply ashamed. “You have, sir. I am guilty, I will go at once and the bank need never see me again.”
“Not quite yet, Mr. Mannison, there is one more matter. Betraying the owners of this bank who trusted you is something, which could perhaps, be kept silent. Betraying your country for money is not a matter for silence. Yes, I know about that also.” in response to the desperate look flung at him.
“In case you think that I am bluffing, I have only to quote an item. ‘Staff who would care to attend the performance of Shakespeare’s As You Like It, shall write their names on this notice.’”
Mannison’s face twisted in horror. “You know!” He dragged a small pistol from his pocket and held it to his temple, his voice rising to a wail. “It was not for money, I was blackmailed, the devils found out my secret. The doing was mine, but the shame would descend upon those who are blameless.”
“Come, man, there are other ways to deal with this.”
“No, no, I cannot.…” Then came the shot, I had a glimpse of the thing with the ruined head dropping limply to the ground before my friend strode forward, tore down a curtain, and flung it over the body. Lestrade almost fell through the door, his gaze going at once to the motionless covered figure.
“Ah, took the quick way out, did he? Well, enough. It would not have pleased my superiors had we to prosecute the fool openly.”
“Exactly.” Holmes replied coolly, “Which is why when I saw he was armed, I made no attempt to take the pistol from him. I thought he would prefer to die rather than disgrace his daughters, and merely holding us up so that he might flee would have done him no good. I believed he had the sense to see that.
“However, you will have better luck with the man who cleans the bank after everyone else has left each night. He is the real villain. It is he who takes down the notices that Mannison pins up on the bank’s notice-board, replaces them with a spare copy of the first portion of the information, and takes the original notice back to his master where heat is applied as I described to Mannison, and a certain power is enlightened as to our country’s intentions.”
Lestrade smiled grimly. “Wonderful, Mr. Holmes. He arrived only a short time ago and I have the bank sealed off. We have him in the bag and he may even talk.”
Alexander Holder was still looking sadly at the body of his once trusted employee. “What secret can have impelled him to do this?”
Holmes waved his assistants to leave so that only I, the owners of the bank and Lestrade remained to listen. “That secret I suspected as soon as I knew the traitor,” he said. “It took no more than a few questions in the right place. Mannison fell in love while still employed by the army in India. He married a respectable girl of the middle-classes—who was however, by blood, one-quarter of the country. She bore him two daughters before she died and he loved them both passionately.
“He returned to England and no one here knew that to him, the blood of his children carried a taint which would shame them and their own families unbearably if it were generally known. Although he had loved his wife deeply, he was not perhaps entirely rational on the subject, but it is true some would look askance at his daughters, so I hope that it can be kept secret still?” He looked at Lestrade, who nodded.
Alexander Holder stood. “He was a good employee until he was tempted and threatened beyond his bearing,” he said quietly. “And it seems he was a loving husband and father. Let that be his epitaph.”
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