‘He considers the likeliest suspect, despite his denials, to be Michael Shaxby, or possibly one of his brothers. The fact that the burglar resorted to such extreme violence against Crompton suggests, he argues, someone of a brutal character, and the Shaxby family seems to have had more than its fair share of those. But he also considers the farmer, Pigge, a possible suspect, bearing in mind the enmity that existed between him and Crompton. He was, the author says, a big strong man, and could easily have inflicted the savage blow that struck Crompton down.’
‘That is true, and there had certainly been a very public dispute between the two men over the finding of the Roman coin. But why does your author think that Pigge might have been attempting to break into Stainforth’s house?’
‘He gives some detail on the economic circumstances of the period, and explains that many of the farmers in those parts had made practically no profit at all for several years and were in severe financial difficulties. He thinks this may well have been the case with Pigge, and that he might have been driven in desperation to find something of value in Stainforth’s house that he could sell, no doubt inspired to do so by the burglary at the rectory – which, incidentally, he believes was almost certainly committed by Shaxby, as the police alleged. One point against Pigge’s involvement in these crimes, however, is that entry to Crompton’s house was effected through a small pantry window, and the author thinks it doubtful that Pigge could have squeezed his massive frame through such a narrow space.’
Holmes nodded. ‘Any more possible suspects?’
‘The author mentions also the animosity between Crompton and Clashbury Staunton, and is aware of the latter’s quarrelsome nature, and of his antecedents in general – although not, I think, of his slight connection with the household at The Highlands via Mr Hemming. How maddening it must have been, he suggests, for a man of such learning and scholarship, so jealous of his own qualifications and his standing at Cambridge, to have to put up with a rural figure such as Crompton crowing about his discoveries and being so highly esteemed in the district. His annoyance at this, and the general bitterness of his disposition, the author suggests, might have led him, in a moment of anger, to resort to violence against the other man.’
‘Does your author suggest what Staunton might have been doing at Stainforth’s house?’
‘Not really, except that Stainforth was to some extent a friend and ally of Crompton’s. But Stainforth was also, of course, a collector of works of art, some of them very valuable, a fact of which Staunton was aware, as he had visited Stainforth’s house once or twice, before the two of them fell out. The author speculates that there was perhaps something in Stainforth’s house that Staunton wished to get his hands on, but he cannot suggest what that might have been.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Nothing much. The author remarks that the household at The Highlands decamped fairly quickly after the terrible events that had so disturbed the district, but, as he himself observes, that was not, under the circumstances, so very surprising.’
‘Very well,’ said Holmes after a moment. ‘I shall tell you now what happened next. I have mentioned that Sylvie and I had made an expedition in the morning to look for evidence. That same day, just after lunch, I asked Uncle Moreton if I might have a private word with him. He was naturally surprised at this request, but acceded to it and the two of us withdrew to the study.
‘“Now,” said he, as he closed the door. “What is all this about, Sherlock?”
‘“I was wondering,” I replied, “what you should do if you know something about a crime that’s been committed: if, for instance, everybody is puzzled about it and you think you know the truth.”
‘“Strictly speaking,” said Uncle Moreton, “I think the correct procedure is to inform the local Justice of the Peace, but in practice the easiest thing is to tell the police. They will look into what you have told them and decide whether to bring the matter before the J.P. or not. What is it that’s on your mind?”
‘“The recent burglaries and the death of Mr Crompton.”
‘“I don’t think anyone has the slightest idea about those things,” said Uncle Moreton, shaking his head.
‘“I do,” I said.
‘Uncle Moreton’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “You?” he asked in a tone of disbelief. “What can you possibly know?” He sat down in the chair by the desk and pulled another chair forward for me. “These are very serious matters, Sherlock. Someone has been killed. Someone else could be hanged for it. It is not something that can be treated as a game, or as an exciting opportunity for amateur detective-work.”
‘I assured him that I appreciated the gravity of the circumstances. “Sylvie has seen what I have seen,” I continued, “and she agrees with me.”
‘Again he looked astounded and shook his head dubiously. But he could see I was in earnest. “Very well,” said he after a moment. “Tell me what you know.”
‘“First of all,” I began, “you remember that Mr Crompton was right-handed?”
‘“I don’t think I ever noticed whether he was or wasn’t,” responded Uncle Moreton in surprise.
‘“He polished his boots with his right hand, if you recall,” I said: “the smear of boot-polish was along the side of his right thumb. Also, on one of the occasions he took tea with us, he made a note about something in his pocket-book and wrote with his right hand.”
‘Uncle Moreton closed his eyes and concentrated, as if picturing to himself the scene I had described. “Yes,” said he at length, opening his eyes. “I believe you are right. As to the boot-polish,” he added, “I will have to take your word for that, as I didn’t notice it. But what does it matter whether he was right-handed or left-handed?”
‘“The cut from the knife was across his right palm.”
‘“Yes, as you would expect. If someone was attacking you with a knife, it would naturally be your stronger hand you would use to defend yourself.”
‘“But he had a life-preserver attached by a loop of cord to his wrist. As he was right-handed, that would be his right wrist. The point of having something attached to your wrist is so that you can grip it quickly and easily. If, as people suppose, Mr Crompton came upon someone at Mr Stainforth’s upstairs window, trying to force it open, he would have seized his life-preserver and held it at the ready, as he confronted this person. Then, if this person – the burglar – had sprung down and attacked him with the knife he had been using to force the window open, Mr Crompton would have defended himself with the life-preserver and although he might have been cut on the back of the hand, he could not possibly have been cut on the palm.”
‘“Perhaps the other man wrenched the life-preserver from his grasp and he was obliged to use his open hand to defend himself,” suggested Uncle Moreton.
‘“But they say the life-preserver was still attached to Mr Crompton’s wrist when his body was found. So if the other man had seized hold of it, that would, in a sense, have tied Mr Crompton’s right hand down, attached as it was to the life-preserver by the cord. He would have been more likely to have used his left hand to defend himself against the knife. Besides, if the cut had been made that way, I think it would have been quite a savage one, but from what I heard it was only a shallow cut.”
‘“That is true,” said Uncle Moreton. “I saw it. It was certainly a long cut, all across the hand near the base of the fingers, but it was very shallow and had not bled very much. But if you doubt the official opinion of what happened, Sherlock, what is your alternative?”
‘“That Mr Crompton himself caused the cut on his hand by gripping the blade of the knife.”
‘“What! But I thought your whole argument was that he would not have used his right hand to defend himself against the knife.”
‘“He was not defending himself. The knife was already in his possession. I believe he felt it slipping from his grasp and instinctively tightened his grip on it, but in doing so he gripped the blade rather than the handle.”
‘“How could the knife already be in his possession?”
‘“Because it always had been. The knife was not that of some other person, but was Mr Crompton’s own.”
‘“I see. That is possible, I suppose. You think, then, that in the struggle, the knife was knocked from his grasp and, despite still having the life-preserver, he turned and fled?”
‘“No,” I said. “There was no struggle.”
‘“What! How could that be possible?”
‘“Because there was no one else there to struggle with. Mr Crompton was all alone. It was he who was trying to break into Mr Stainforth’s house, using his knife in his right hand as you would expect, the same hand from which the life-preserver was hanging. I believe it had been his aim all along to break into Mr Stainforth’s house, and his talk of patrolling the country lanes was a mere blind, to conceal his real intentions.”
‘“I must say I find that suggestion utterly incredible. Who, then, struck the blow that killed him?”
‘“No one did. I think that when he eventually managed to force open Mr Stainforth’s bedroom window, it probably swung outwards rather suddenly – it was a very windy night and it is a casement window, as you no doubt observed – struck him hard in the face and knocked him from his precarious perch. He would have fallen backwards head first – it is quite a long drop – and in landing struck his head very hard on one of the stones used to edge the flower-bed by the house wall. It must have been then that he instinctively gripped the knife which he felt was slipping from his grasp. I think he then struggled to his feet and made his way to the gate, where, no doubt dazed and in great pain, he tossed the knife away and stepped out into the lane. But he had not gone twenty feet when the effects of his terrible wound overcame him and he dropped down stone dead.”
‘Uncle Moreton sat for some time in silence, considering what I had said.
‘“It is certainly an interesting theory, if a highly improbable one,” he said at length, “and I will treat it with the respect it deserves. But it raises two major questions, Sherlock. First, why on earth should Crompton be trying to break into Stainforth’s house? Second, what proof could there possibly be that you are right? You cannot make such wild claims without good solid evidence.”
‘“I can answer the second question first,” I replied. “I already have the evidence.”
‘“What!”
‘“Sylvie and I went over to Mr Stainforth’s house this morning and found the stone on which Mr Crompton had struck his head. It has a very sharp edge and is covered in blood.”
‘“How is it that the police did not see it, then?”
‘“Because they did not think to look for it and because it is almost completely covered by some thick, low-growing herb – thyme, I believe. It is not thick enough to have softened the blow, but thick enough to conceal the stone from a casual glance.”
‘Uncle Moreton again sat in silence for several minutes, then, abruptly, he sprang to his feet. “I must see this for myself,” said he. “Come along!”
‘In the garden of Stainforth’s house, I showed him the stone, which was almost completely hidden beneath a mat of thyme. For several minutes he examined it with great care, moistening his finger and rubbing it on the top and side of the stone, then he stood up and nodded his head. “I believe you are right,” said he simply. “It is smeared with blood and I can think of no way that that could have happened except as you describe.”
‘As we left Stainforth’s garden, Uncle Moreton suggested we walk a little further along the road and consider the matter further. Presently, we came to a grassy bank, where we sat down. It was a quiet, somewhat dull day and there was no one about.
‘“Now,” said Uncle Moreton, “I think, Sherlock, as your Aunt Phyllis remarked, that you are a very observant boy. But if you are right, as I now feel sure you are, we are still left with several unfathomable mysteries. First, why was Crompton attempting to break into Stainforth’s house? What on earth did he hope to find there? Second, who was it that burgled Crompton’s own house, and took the coins and tiles? And, for that matter, who stole the candlesticks from the rectory?”
‘“I have no idea who took the candlesticks,” I replied. “Perhaps it was Michael Shaxby, as the police suspect. I don’t think that the burglary at the rectory is relevant to any of the other things, except that it was probably the inspiration for them.”
‘“What do you mean?”
‘“I think that the burglary at the rectory gave someone else the idea of doing something similar at Mr Crompton’s house.”
‘“Another member of the Shaxby family?”
‘“No.”
‘“Who, then?”
‘“Mr Crompton himself.”
‘“What! But that is ridiculous! Why should Crompton burgle his own house? And in any case, how could he do it? He was away in Nottingham at the time, on a visit to his sister.”
‘“I think he did it the evening before he left for Nottingham. He could be fairly sure that no one would bother unfastening the tarpaulin to inspect the Roman tiles while he was away, or would notice that the pantry window was unfastened and wedged shut with a small piece of wood. He could then pretend to discover the ‘burglary’ on his return.”
‘“But why should he stage a pretend burglary? What could he possibly hope to achieve by it?”
‘“The removal of things that were a danger to him.”
‘“What ‘things’?”
‘“The tile that had the name of Tacitus on it and the Roman coin he claimed to have found in his garden.” I told Uncle Moreton then of the occasion when I had observed Crompton and Staunton meeting in a nearby lane, and of how angry Crompton had appeared at the other man. “We had heard that the expert on Roman remains was coming soon from Cambridge,” I said. “Perhaps Mr Staunton, who is also something of an expert on the classical period, knew that Mr Crompton’s ‘discoveries’ were fraudulent and had warned him that he would expose him if he persisted in making his claims. There certainly appeared to be great ill-feeling between the two men.” I then described to Uncle Moreton the occasion when Sylvie and I had seen Clashbury Staunton peering through the garden hedge at our relatives. “Mr Staunton seems to have an odd taste for spying on people and prying into other people’s business,” I said. “Perhaps he had observed Mr Crompton making the ‘Tacitus’ tile himself, in the course of those experiments with the local clay deposits that he described to us.”
‘“It is possible, I suppose,” conceded Uncle Moreton in a reluctant tone. “But what, then, of the attempted burglary at Mr Stainforth’s house? What could be the point of that?”
‘“I doubt there was anything there that Mr Crompton wanted. I think that by forcing a window open there, he was just trying to add support to his claim that there were burglars active in the district, and thus make the break-in at his own house seem simply part of a general pattern and not a special case in any way.”
‘Uncle Moreton considered the matter in silence for several minutes. “What you say is certainly plausible, Sherlock, but there seems rather a lot of extravagant speculation in it. Is it not equally possible, considering the ill-feeling between them, that it was Staunton that stole Mr Crompton’s tiles and coins?”
‘I shook my head. “My theory is the only one that can properly account for all the facts. If Mr Staunton – or Mr Pigge, for that matter – had taken the tiles and coins, there would have been no reason for Mr Crompton to have staged the break-in at Mr Stainforth’s, as I’m sure he did. He could not possibly have supposed that his friend, Mr Stainforth, had had anything to do with the theft of his possessions. In any case,” I added, “there is another very good reason to suppose that Mr Crompton took the tile himself.”
‘“Oh? What might that be?”
‘“If anyone else had stolen it, either for gain or simply out of spite, he would only have taken the tile with Tacitus’s name on it. All the other tiles were plain and of no particular interes
t or value. Yet Mr Crompton said that several tiles had been taken, including, of course, the one bearing the name of Tacitus. There would seem no point to that, unless there was also something special about the other, plain tiles that were taken. I think that, like the ‘Tacitus’ tile, they had been made by Mr Crompton himself, probably to surround the ‘Tacitus’ tile, so that the inscribed tile didn’t stand out as obviously different from the tiles next to it. If so, he wouldn’t have wanted the expert from Cambridge to see them.”
‘“You seem to have thought of everything,” remarked Uncle Moreton after a moment. “You have observed things closely that no one else has even noticed at all. But what makes you think that there was anything fraudulent about the coin that Crompton said he had found?”
‘“Chiefly because it was ‘stolen’ along with the tile,” I returned. “If it had been a genuine discovery, Mr Crompton would not have needed to have it disappear.”
‘“I see. That certainly makes sense. But if so, Crompton must have bought not one but two coins from the coin-dealer in London.”
‘“That is what I believe,” I said. “I think it likely he himself damaged and disfigured the coin he claimed to have found, for the same reason, I imagine, that he damaged the ‘Tacitus’ tile: to give it an air of verisimilitude which a ‘perfect’ discovery might not have had. Of course, both of the coins had to be ‘stolen’ together, as a real burglar would not have taken one and left the other. But Mr Crompton was probably reluctant to lose everything, and no doubt it was he himself who threw the ‘purchased’ coin over the hedge into the field, where he could, so he hoped, pretend to find it later.”
The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes Page 53