A Perpetrator in a Pear Tree

by Roger Riccard

Chapter I

As we sat in our rooms at 221b Baker Street on that cold winter day, Sherlock Holmes lit his churchwarden pipe with a hot coal he had retrieved with the fireplace tongs. The city had been snowbound for several days, a condition which curtailed my friend’s profession as the world’s first consulting detective.

Having finished the breakfast provided by our landlady, Mrs. Hudson, we were indulging in our pipes and reading the morning papers when there came to our ears the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs.

Before the knock came to our door, my companion cried out, “Come in, Inspector Lestrade!”

Slowly the door opened and the Scotland Yard Inspector entered with a quizzical look upon his face. “How’d you know..?” he started to ask, then changed his mind, remembering that Holmes had done this to him before.

“It’s the footsteps again, isn’t it? It’s devilish, I say! I don’t know how you can distinguish mine from anyone else’s.”

Holmes smiled and waved the man to a seat by the fire, for his coat was quite damp and snow still clung to his bowler.

“Your footsteps were heavier this morning,” Holmes admitted.

“However, the pattern was its usual cadence. Combining that with this headline from The Times, I was able to logically expect a visit from one of our friends at the Yard.”

He held up the front page with his finger pointed at the first column, which read:

IMPOSSIBLE MURDER IN MUSWELL!

The Honorable Judge Jameson Mason, of

Fortis Keep in Muswell Hill, was found dead

yesterday under mysterious circumstances.

Upon receiving no answer when called upon

for breakfast, the Judge’s son, Edgar Mason,

sent for assistance. Servants were required to

open the tower room where the retired Judge

had retreated the night before to work upon his memoirs.

The Judge appeared to have a mortal

wound to the heart. However, no weapon has

been identified and no trace of an intruder has presented itself.

Sergeant Mossgarden has ordered an

exhaustive search of the area for any persons

of interest or clues to the manner of death.

The story went on with more details and some speculation as to the possibility of former convicts who may have sought revenge upon the Judge, who was known for his strict sentencing.

“Yes,” replied the inspector. “The reports from Sergeant Mossgarden indicate some unusual aspects that I believe you would find to be of interest.”

Holmes leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his chin, gazing intently at our visitor.

“I shall be happy to accompany you, Lestrade,” he responded after a few moments. “If you will explain the real reason you wish my presence on this case.”

The Scotland Yarder feigned ignorance and started to protest, but Holmes cut him off.

“No, no, my friend. Do not deny it. You have another motive for wanting me along.”

Lestrade’s shoulders sagged in defeat. Finally he cast his eyes down and made his admission.

“Sergeant Mossgarden is a very formidable individual, Mr. Holmes. He is stubborn and bitter that he has not yet received a promotion to become an inspector at Scotland Yard. He will do all he can to take the credit for this case and attempt to make anyone from the Yard look foolish, to prove he is more worthy than they.”

I could not believe my ears and spoke up at this confession. “Surely, Inspector, you are not afraid of such an individual? I’ve seen you in action on many occasions and you are one of the bravest men I’ve met. I’ve never

known you to kowtow to anyone. Even in those instances when Holmes disproves your own methods or theories, you accept them with grudging respect, without apology.”

Lestrade looked me in the eye and answered, “It’s kind of you to say, Doctor, and normally I believe I can stand up to most any man alive. But this fellow...” He shook his head in exasperation. “This fellow has the most irritating character that I’ve ever come across. He’s a conceited, arrogant bully who won’t listen to reason if it contradicts his own thoughts. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he was a descendant of Captain Bligh himself!” [1]

Holmes stood and announced, “Then we shall gladly accompany you, old friend. For we cannot have you so exasperated that you break the law yourself by throttling such a lout.”

We bundled ourselves against the weather and the three of us caught a train for East Finchley. From there, we acquired a trap and set off for Fortis Keep. The weather was cooperating, for there had been no snow for twenty-four hours, but the temperature was still frigid.

Thus, it was that less than two hours from Lestrade’s knock on our door that we arrived at the scene of the crime. Fortis Keep is an ancient castle with a single tower and high walls surrounding the living quarters, courtyard, and stables. At some point in its past, an adjacent stream was partially diverted to create a moat some twenty feet wide surrounding the structure. The drawbridge we crossed over appeared to have not been raised for decades. judging by the rust on the chains.

A groom took charge of our trap and led the horse to the stables while we advanced upon the main door. Lestrade announced us to the butler, Carson by name, and requested to see Edgar Mason.

After allowing us in from the cold, Carson turned to us, hesitating as to his next action. He was an elderly gentleman, tall with a full head of wavy grey hair. A pair of silver rimmed spectacles protruded from his breast pocket. Finally he spoke.

“I am afraid Master Edgar is unavailable, Inspector. Your man, Mossgarden, came and arrested him this morning for murdering his father.”