The Friendly Inspector
“Indeed.”
“You were right in your assumption, she was writing to me. In a different time, some may even say in a different life. However, the intended reader from the beginning is me.” He took a deep breath. “The outright lie was when I told you that I had never loved. I have loved in my life time. And like the old lion hunter I have to come clean with you. Because if what I fear is happening happens, I will kill someone Watson; if this case kills me not first.”
“Tell me about her.”
“You will learn all in due course of time.”
“Will you at least tell me her name?” I was full of curiosity. There came a knock at the door that interrupted our conversation.
“Good Inspector Hopkins,” Holmes greeted our guest.
“Mr. Holmes, it is good to know that you are feeling better.” Holmes nodded. “Dr. Watson. Mr. Holmes, here are my notes from the gentleman I sent to you the other day. They are very few. To be honest with you gentlemen, he seemed very uninterested to me. I cannot for the life of me understand why you would wait almost thirty years to report that your wife had gone missing?”
“Tell me everything that you perceived.” Holmes sat in his armchair as he motioned the Inspector to the couch and I remained at the table taking notes as it was my custom.
“I will share this with you Mr. Holmes because you are always very honest and straight forward with me. It made me sick to be in his presents. As you know, I am not permitted to write that in my report. I have to stick to the facts not my personal opinion. If it would have been my wife sir, I would have torn all London down in twenty some odd years. He seemed cold almost as if coming to speak with me was a chore. He had no wedding band on. His finger wasn’t even marked by one. That I did put in my report. Something about him just feels all wrong.”
“Watson,” Holmes handed the report to me. Inspector Hopkins was right. There was very little in it. “Upon the Wednesday, 30th of May at 9:45 am Mr. Cooper Merryweather,” I stopped reading. “Merryweather?”
“City and Suburban Bank,” Holmes remarked.
“The same?” I asked.
“Quiet possible.” I continued reading, “Mr. Merryweather was very neat in appearance and calm in manner as he began to tell me that his wife had disappeared on the 15th, March, 1876. She had been ill almost from the start of their short married life. They had not been married a full year. He stated that his wife was extremely jealous of the governess which he had hired, in hopes that children would quickly ensue. Soon after her father left from a week-long visit, she vanished; according to him, ‘into the fog surrounding our home. I have not heard from her since.’ Our interview lasted only half an hour. Home, Caernarfon, Wales. Estate; her father named Wiltshire.’ You are right Inspector. This is a lacking report.” I handed it back to Holmes.
“May I keep this for a while?” Mr. Sherlock Holmes asked.
“That copy is for you sir. I have a really troubling feeling about this one sir. I have passed this onto my supervisors. They will not allow me to act because of the age of the case. If you foresee anything of interest and require help, I will assist in any way I can.”
“I shall take a look and keep you up to date,” Holmes said rising. We bid the inspector good day.
When I came down to breakfast the next morning, Holmes was gone. It was almost noon before he returned. “Watson,” he said almost cheery.
“You seem to be improving in spirits.” I commented.
Holmes had been out working on one of the two remaining cases. I never got to write that one down for a narrative. The subject material is too delicate a matter and would create a great scandal. Holmes allowed no notes to be taken, save those that were of the greatest importants. The few that I did take for the sake of information, he later burned.
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