John Hector McFarlane
Holmes was in the habit of not telling me all of the details that were rolling around in his brain. However, at the end of a case he would always ask me about points that I could not conceive or perceived incorrectly. This I think was so that he would have all of the facts. Though; throughout our friendship, his powers of observation where incorrectly challenged. I tell you this point before I continue not only to refresh your memory but to enlighten you that this case was different. There were times he did encourage my independent, if not less intelligent, thoughts.
I was sitting on the couch reading the Daily Telegraph when Holmes handed over my shoulder the three envelopes from the little cottage.
“Read over them dear Watson, what are your thoughts?”
The first letter that I opened just happened to be the marriage contract. “I must say old man; this hurts my head to read.” I laid that page on the couch next to me. “This is terrible.”
“Hmm,” Holmes grunted as he sat in his armchair. “Good. Next.”
The next letter I opened was the second oldest. It was a copy of a will belonging to that of a Mr. James “Jim” Parker. “This one is a little easier to read.”
“Indeed.”
The third letter, the newest one was a will as well. “Holmes,” I shrieked. “This names you as heir to a house in Sussex Downs.”
Holmes was staring at the floor, “yes it does. That charming little cottage that we visited.”
“I must ask who is Araminta Elizabeth Parker?”
Holmes got up out of the chair and went to the fireplace to retrieve a pipe. He rolled it round on his lips but never lit it.
“The little captivating girl and seductive woman from the portraits,” he spoke as he turned his back toward me.
My heart leapt to my throat. “Holmes,” I cried.
“Do you remember reading in the journal, the drawing about the day ‘we first met’?”
“Yes, of course.”
“That sketch you studied as we left, hanging in the front room.”
“The same.”
Holmes was silent.
A knock at the door interrupted our conversation. Holmes opened the door for a young man that I immediately recognized. I rose from the couch as Holmes reintroduced us.
“Watson, I am sure you remember the young Mr. John Hector McFarlane?”
“Of course I do. Please come in and have a seat.”
As the young Mr. McFarlane sat down, there was another knock at the door. Our next visitor was Inspector Hopkins. As we introduced the men to each other; Inspector Hopkins said, “I was surprised to hear from you so soon Mr. Holmes.”
“As I have stated before Inspector, I think it wise to keep you comprised of all that transpires. Before Watson and I left Sussex Downs we made one final search of the house, which produced three letters.” Holmes handed the Inspector a folder. “Inside you will find copies of these letters for your file. I have asked Young McFarlane here to join us to explain the two oldest letters.”
Mr. McFarlane cleared his throat. “We shall start with the oldest letter, dated 31st, August, eighteen-seventy five. This is a marriage contract between Mr. James “Jim” Parker and Mr. Merryweather, first name not given. As to where; Mr. Parker’s daughter is to marry Mr. Merryweather’s son within a month of the signature date of the document. According to the document, Mr. Parker owns a timber mill in America and several pieces of property here in England; all his assets will be given to his daughter upon the event of his death, a one Miss Araminta Elizabeth Parker. Mr. Merryweather is a bank director and has amassed a considerable sum that will go to his only son, a one Mr. Cooper P. Merryweather upon the event of his death. If for any reason the union should end in divorce, neither party will gain what the other had to offer upon entering the contract except in the event of death.” Young Mr. McFarlane sat up straighter on the couch. “Gentlemen, this was written by Justice Burkenstock. He is by far one of the most brilliant justice’s England has ever produced. And he is still practicing. I think only the grip of death will remove his desire to practice his art. This document alone is worth a goodly sum.
We all just stared at each other waiting for someone else to speak first. Except for Holmes, who sat cross-legged, eyes closed in his chair.
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