“How shall we test it?” Joanna asked eagerly.
After a moment’s thought, I replied, “I will hand a sample of the blood to one of our very fine chemists at St. Bartholomew’s and see if he can detect any foreign substances that should not be present.”
“That may prove difficult and time-consuming,” my father said.
“I know, Father. That is why I shall extract the serum from this blood sample and inject it into laboratory mice. If the animals become sick and die, we shall be certain a very toxic substance was circulating in Benjamin Levy’s blood.”
“Well thought out,” my father said with pride. “That would be a much shorter route to take.”
“I know an even quicker test,” Joanna said. “And it is waiting outside for us.”
We hurried through the waiting room and past Mr. Greenbaum and the rabbi, pausing only long enough for Joanna to assure them briefly, “All is in order.”
Approaching the carriage that held Toby Two, Joanna made a most peculiar request. “Watson, I will require you to prick my finger and draw blood.”
“For what purpose?” my father asked.
“You will see shortly,” she said, and extended her hand, palm up. “I trust you also carry glass slides in your medical kit.”
“I do.”
“Then proceed with the pricking.”
My father expertly pierced her fingertip with a needle, then gave her a glass slide upon which Joanna smeared her blood. “Now, John, I would like you to remove a drop of Mr. Levy’s blood and spread it thinly across a fresh glass slide that your father will hand you.”
Once the task was done, Joanna placed the slides on the sidewalk and separated them by twenty feet. Somehow Toby Two anticipated what was coming and already had her head out of the carriage window to sample the newly arrived scents.
“What are we about to do?” I asked.
“A test,” Joanna said, and rubbed her hands together expectantly. “And we shall use one of the most sensitive instruments in all of nature, which is the nose of a hound. According to a monograph written by a group of German scientists, a dog’s sense of smell is a hundred thousand times superior to that of humans. If a trace of a given aromatic chemical is diluted a billionfold in water, the dog could still identify it.”
“Can they detect poisons as well?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. They can sniff out a remarkable number of toxins and poisons.”
“But will not the various scents present in decaying blood interfere?”
“Not in the least. Dogs can easily discriminate between a hundred different odors at the same time, according to the scientists at Munich University.”
“But how are we to know that Toby Two has detected a poison?”
“She will tell us,” Joanna said. “If a scent is agreeable, the dog will dwell on it, perhaps to store the information in its memory. If it is a toxin or poison, they quickly bring their heads up and back away. This trait is believed to be inbred in them to prevent the animal from consuming tainted or poisoned food.”
“Perhaps the dog will find the smell of death in Levy’s blood disagreeable,” my father suggested.
“Not at all,” Joanna rebutted. “The German monograph specifically states that hounds find the scent of cadavers interesting and they tend to hover over it. So death presents no problem.”
With that explanation, Joanna led Toby Two over to the glass slide that was smeared with her blood. The dog sniffed the blood at length, displaying moderate interest but no excitement or displeasure. Then the pair moved to the slide containing Benjamin Levy’s blood. Toby Two lowered her snout to the slide and in an instant raised her head and backed away. Joanna gently pulled on the leash in an attempt to bring Toby Two back to Levy’s blood, but the dog sat on her haunches and resisted.
“There is a toxin in Benjamin Levy’s blood that no doubt was injected into him by Moran,” Joanna announced.
“But the evidence to show Moran as the culprit is circumstantial at best,” my father argued. “It would never stand up in a British court of law. In all likelihood, a jury would never hear it.”
“Then we shall have to dig deeper.”
“And what shall we specifically look for?”
“A way to entice Moran to put the noose around his own neck.”
11
Moran’s Secretary
Mr. Martin Morris, the former secretary for Christopher Moran, had rooms in a pleasant, middle-class neighborhood located at the north section of Edgware Road. He greeted us at the door with warmth and no suspicion whatsoever.
“Oh, I recall you,” he said cordially. “You were with the inspectors at Dr. Moran’s house.”
“You have a good memory,” Joanna told him. “We were with Inspector Lestrade, who requires a bit more information to bring the investigation to a close.”
“Of course,” Morris said with no hesitation, and stepped back. “Please come in.”
We entered a large parlor that appeared to be in total disarray. Boxes, some packed, others not, were everywhere. Furniture was covered with white sheets, while fixtures and vases were securely wrapped in paper. Books were strewn about and stacked in a haphazard manner. We had to step over an opened map on the floor to reach a cleared area. It was obvious Morris was in the process of moving.
“You will have to excuse the untidiness, but the movers are due here tomorrow and I must be prepared for them.”
“Where do you move to?” Joanna asked.
“A house on the east coast of Spain that I was fortunate enough to inherit from a very kind uncle,” Morris answered.
“Was there something that precipitated your departure?” Joanna asked innocently.
“My asthma,” Morris replied. “The polluted air of London is worsening my condition, so the fine air of Spain will be most welcome.”
“A wise move,” Joanna said. “But surely Dr. Moran was not overjoyed at losing such a good secretary on such short notice.”
“To the contrary,” said the very talkative Morris. “He seemed genuinely pleased, and encouraged my move to Spain. He was even generous enough to pay for my moving costs as a parting gift.”
“Most generous,” Joanna agreed. “It must have been very comforting to have such a kind and considerate employer.”
Morris hesitated before speaking again. “I should not be so candid about my experiences with Dr. Moran, but all was not well in that household.” He hesitated once more, this time longer. “I should say no more.”
“We understand your reticence, but please understand this is an official investigation,” Joanna lied. “Thus, all facts related to this case must be revealed openly and honestly. I can assure you that everything and anything said in this room will be held in the utmost confidence.”
“Very well then,” Morris went on, but only after taking a deep breath, as if readying himself. “Dr. Moran could be quite kind and warm on one hand, then in an instant become mean-tempered and angry enough to frighten those around him. And it does not take much to set him off. I can give you two examples, if you would like.”
“Please.”
“The first occurred when I walked into his parlor unannounced to deliver an important message. I found Dr. Moran in the side room where he was in the process of opening his safe. For no apparent reason, he flew into a rage and yelled obscenities at me that I surely did not deserve.”
“Were you able to see what was in the safe?”
“No, madam. I was not,” Morris replied. “Dr. Moran asked me the very same question, and I shall give you the same answer I gave him. The safe was only partially open and was for the most part blocked by Dr. Moran’s body.”
“Did he apologize for his unseemly outburst?”
Morris nodded. “He claimed that I had startled him and that caused an involuntary alarm that he blamed on his experiences in the Second Afghan War.”
“Did you accept his apology?”
“In words I did, but in my heart I did
not, for I could think of nothing that could excuse such outrageous conduct.”
“What was the second example of his ill-tempered behavior?”
“A magician, who was a friend of Dr. Moran’s, came to visit one afternoon. They retired to the parlor where the magician entertained Dr. Moran with a variety of card tricks. I of course remained at my desk, but the door to the parlor was cracked open and I could not help but overhear their conversation. The most amazing trick was the magician showing the doctor how to deal any cards he wished using a special deck. Apparently there was some secret method of performing this trick that I did not understand. In any event I rose to close the door so I could continue my work in silence. Dr. Moran noticed me doing so and became infuriated. His face grew bright red and for a moment I thought he would strike me.”
“What was your response?”
“I ran.”
“But you returned.”
“The very next day,” Morris said. “I was certain to be let go, but again he apologized and explained his rage on the belief I was attempting to overhear a very private conversation between close friends. I assured him I was only closing the door to provide them more privacy and had no interest whatsoever in their conversation.”
“So all was forgiven.”
Morris nodded slowly. “And all was remembered as well.”
“I am surprised you stayed on.”
“My salary was generous and I wished to place as much income as possible in my retirement fund, so I thought it in my best interest to remain. In addition, Dr. Moran had long ago promised me a sizable bonus on my eventual departure.”
“Did this occur?”
Morris nodded again. “On the day I walked out of his office. I had to insist he live up to his promise, however.”
“Good for you,” Joanna approved. “I am glad things worked out to your benefit.”
“Thank you, madam,” Morris said, obviously moved by Joanna’s apparent concern. He suddenly became aware that our conversation had occurred with everyone standing. “Oh, where are my manners? I should have offered you seats. Please rest yourselves on my covered chairs while I make some freshly brewed tea.”
“There is no need,” Joanna declined politely.
“Oh, but there is, for you will no doubt have further questions.”
Joanna waited for the secretary to disappear, then turned to us in a low voice. “What do you make of him?”
My father and I shrugged, for Martin Morris seemed altogether quite ordinary.
“There must be something that catches your eye,” Joanna prompted.
“He is very loquacious,” I commented.
“There is much more to him than that,” Joanna said. “Martin Morris is a bachelor and rarely has visitors. When younger he attended university, but did not complete his studies. He is frugal, yet has money and excellent taste. Traveling is not in his blood as he is moving to a country he has never seen. And he has become a great deal more security-minded since the recent attempted break-in at his rooms.”
“On what do you base these features?” I asked.
“Simple observations,” Joanna said, still glancing around the generously sized parlor. “Did I mention he speaks fluent French?”
I shook my head and smiled. “You investigated Mr. Morris before we came.”
“I did not have to,” Joanna said. “All you need to do is look about and you will see where my information is derived.”
Martin Morris returned with a bounce to his step. “The tea is now brewing. May I offer you cream?”
The three of us nodded at once.
Joanna pointed to the door and asked, “I see that you have had two double locks recently installed. Was there an attempted break-in?”
“Indeed there was. Fortunately the door held while the neighbors notified the police,” Morris replied, then inquired, “How did you know that the break-in was attempted and not successful?”
“I observed the antique clock and delicate figurines on your mantel,” Joanna said. “Had the break-in succeeded, surely the thieves would have taken those exquisite items.”
“Which were quite dear, I might add.”
“I was wondering about that,” Joanna probed gently. “The expense must have strained the income of a secretary.”
“On a secretary’s salary!” Morris forced a laugh. “That money came from the sale of a parcel of the Scottish real estate my family owned.”
“Is that where you attended university?”
Morris squinted an eye suspiciously. “How may I ask did you know I went to university?”
“You have books on your shelf by Shakespeare and Voltaire. Those are works read by the educated.”
“I did indeed attend a fine university, but I foolishly dropped out after my second year to try my hand at business, at which I failed miserably.”
“Well, perhaps your new life in Spain will bring you better fortune. Yet I am surprised that a man who reads and speaks French so well chose the coast of Spain rather than the Mediterranean region of southern France.”
“I do not recall telling you that I am fluent in French.”
Joanna gestured to a stack of books on a nearby table. “Those novels are by French authors, and one can readily see that the titles are written in French. If one can read a novel in French, one obviously must be fluent in that language.”
Morris shook his head in wonderment. “Are all the detectives at Scotland Yard this clever?”
“Some are.”
“Then I must be careful to give the facts as I know them.”
“That would be most helpful.”
I had to admire the manner in which Joanna had used her marvelous skills to ensure that Morris would be straightforward and honest. He would not dare to mislead someone as sharp-minded as Joanna. She had befriended him with her earlier chatter and now she had him mesmerized.
“I shall fetch our tea,” Morris said, and gave Joanna a long, admiring look before leaving.
I leaned in closer to Joanna and whispered, “At times, you are beyond belief. You make so much of so little.”
“Simple observations,” Joanna said again. “Surely you can see how I determined he was a bachelor and rarely had visitors to these rooms.”
Pausing to gather my thoughts, I answered, “It is quite clear that he is a bachelor with no female companion. There is no ring on his finger and nothing in this room shows even a hint of a feminine touch. And his loquaciousness tells us he is alone much of the time and is eager to share his stories with a rare visitor. But how did you predict he had never been to Spain?”
Joanna gestured to the opened map on the floor. “You will note that the map is new and that Mr. Morris has drawn a thick line from London to Southampton, then over to the Atlantic coast of France and southward to Spain. In even broader ink he has traced his route across Spain to Barcelona. This is only done by a man unaccustomed to traveling to Spain.”
“It is so obvious,” I muttered to myself.
“At times the most obvious is the most easily overlooked,” Joanna remarked. “The lesson here, according to Sherlock Holmes’s text on the art of deduction, is to watch for out-of-place objects, such as a map on the floor, that do not belong there. Do not dismiss it out of hand without examination.”
“Finally, what observations told you that he had not completed university?”
“Again, the books he read indicated a higher education, which should have afforded him a better station in life than that of a secretary. Thus, it is safe to assume that his university days were numbered and so were his work opportunities.”
I sighed heavily. “I must learn to truly observe.”
“The text I just mentioned will be a most helpful guide in this regard,” Joanna Blalock said, keeping her voice low. “Now, the two of you tell me what you make of Moran’s outbursts. Let us begin with his behavior at the partially opened safe.”
“Obviously there is something in that safe of great value,” I surm
ised.
“Obviously. But what?” Joanna asked.
“Money?”
“Unlikely. Large amounts of money would be placed in banks, where it could draw interest.”
“What if the money were illegally obtained?”
“A clever man could easily spread the money into multiple accounts in Great Britain and on the Continent without arousing suspicion.”
“Stocks and bonds?”
“One must be careful here. Those may be numbered and, if stolen, could be decertified.”
“Gold, then.”
“Moran’s safe is not nearly large enough to hold a fortune in gold.”
I pondered the matter for a moment. “What else could it possibly be?”
“Something so valuable that Moran was more than willing to kill two men over it,” Joanna replied.
“Two, you say?” my father questioned at once. “But we can only connect one death, that of Charles Harrelston, to the contents of the safe. I see no evidence to involve the death of Benjamin Levy to the hidden fortune.”
“One can by inference, Watson,” Joanna explained. “Think of this entire matter as a chain that has Moran at one end and the treasure in the safe at the other. Between the ends are the murders of two of Moran’s close friends, which occurred within days of each other. Now, are you seriously willing to include the death of Charles Harrelston, yet exclude the carefully planned murder of Benjamin Levy? I do not believe so. This pair of murders is tied together as closely as Siamese twins. They were killed by different methods, but for the same reason.”
“The reason being greed over the contents of the safe,” my father agreed.
“Indeed,” Joanna said. “Greed is a strange transformer of the human character. Which also explains Moran’s outburst when the secretary appeared at the door while Moran was conversing with his magician friend. The magician was showing Moran how to use a trick deck of cards, which the doctor wished to keep secret so he could utilize the cards later while gambling with Charles Harrelston. Moran knew he would win from the outset and that too was part of the plan.”
The Daughter of Sherlock Holmes Page 12