The Dante Club

As for the discovery at Talbot’s church, the Dante Club had decided that the police must uncover for themselves the money buried in the vault. Holmes and Lowell were both against this: Holmes from fear and Lowell from a sense of possessiveness. Longfellow urged his friends not to view the police as rivals, even though knowledge of their activities by the police would be perilous. They were all working toward one end: stopping the murders. Only, the Dante Club was working primarily with what they could find literarily and the police with what they could find physically. So after reburying the pouch with its invaluable one thousand dollars, Longfellow had composed a simple note addressed to the office of the chief of police: Dig deeper… They hoped someone at the police station with a keen eye would see it and understand just enough, and perhaps discover something more of the murder.

When Holmes had finished his study of the insects, Longfellow, Fields, and Lowell met at his house. Though Holmes could see all guests to 21 Charles Street arrive through the window of his study, he liked the formality of having his Irish maid settle visitors in the little reception room and then carry up a name to him. Holmes would then scamper down the stairs.

“Longfellow? Fields? Lowell? Are you here? Come up, come up! Let me show you what I have been at work on.”

The exquisite study was more orderly than most authors’ rooms, with books stretching from floor to ceiling, many—considering Holmes’s height—accessible only by the sliding ladder he had built. Holmes showed them his latest contrivance—a reaching bookcase at the corner of his desk so that one did not have to stand to retrieve something.

“Very good, Holmes,” said Lowell, who was looking toward the microscopes.

Holmes prepared a slide. “Up to the time of the living generation, nature had kept over all her i

He explained that the specimens were maggot-producing blowflies, just as Barnicoat, the city coroner, had pronounced the day the body was discovered. This type of fly lays its eggs on dead tissue. The eggs then became maggots that eat the decomposing flesh, nourishing themselves into flies and begi

Fields, rocking in one of Holmes’s chairs, said, “But Healey cried out before he died, according to that maid. That means he was still alive! Though I suppose only barely hanging to a thread of life. Four days after he was attacked… and he was filled with maggots in every crevice of his body.”

Holmes would have been revolted at the thought of such suffering had the idea not been so fantastic. He shook his head. “Fortunately for Judge Healey and humanity, it can’t be. Either there were only a handful of maggots, four or five perhaps, on the surface of the head wound, where there would have been some dead tissue, or he was not alive. With the maggots feeding inside him in such mass quantities as has been reported, all the tissue would be dead. He would be dead.”

“Perhaps the maid is given to phantasms,” Longfellow suggested, seeing Lowell’s defeated expression.

“If you could see her, Longfellow,” Lowell said. “If you could see the flash in her eyes, Holmes. Fields, you were there!”

Fields nodded, though he was now less sure. “She saw something terrible, or thought she did.”

Lowell crossed his arms disapprovingly, “She is the only one who knows, for God’s sake. I believe her. We must believe her.”

Holmes spoke with authority. His findings at least provided some order—some reason—to their activities. “I’m sorry, Lowell. She certainly saw something horrible: Healey’s condition. But this—this is science.”

Later, Lowell took the horsecars back to Cambridge. He was strolling under a scarlet canopy of maples, frustrated with his inability to prevent the dismissal of the chambermaid’s story, when Phineas Je

“Hullo! Give me your hand!” Je

“My dear Je

“Oh, how good it feels! The hand of an old friend,” Je

Je

“Guilty, my lord,” replied Lowell.

“Tell me, has the accursed Corporation let you be already about that Dante class of yours?” Je

“I suppose they have tapered off a bit, thankfully,” Lowell said, sighing. “I only hope they do not mistake the fact that I have suspended my Dante class as a victory for their side.”

Je

“It has nothing to do with the confounded fellows,” Lowell assured him. “I have something I must sort out at the moment that demands my complete attention, and I ca

“A domestic cat will not answer when one wants a Bengal tiger!” Je

“ ‘Tis not my line, Je

“Is there any other kind in business?” Je

Lowell was tempted for a brief second to tell Je

“No, no, I have recruited more help for my fights than good conscience should allow, but I thank you all the same.” Lowell patted the rich London broadcloth of the millionaire’s shoulder. “Besides, young Mead shall be grateful for the holiday from his Dante.”

“Every good battle needs a strong ally,” Je

Lowell felt a black cloud of irony after speaking about the class he had fought to preserve for so many years. He felt the same awkward confusion later that day when he was passing through the white wooden gates of Elmwood, on his way to Longfellow’s.

“Professor!”

Lowell turned to see a young man, in the collegian’s standard black frock coat, ru