“The footprints are not the problem, Lestrade. It is but a simple matter to pick out the footmarks of a London policeman from those of any others. It is the minute traces of evidence, of which there may be any number that concerns me.”
Holmes turned his back on the official detective and took out his magnifying lens. In a moment he was down on all fours examining every inch of the floor. Nothing escaped his attention not the windows, not the few pieces of furniture not even the droppings left by the rats. It was only then that he turned his attention to the dead man.
“Come, Watson. With your assistance and Lestrade’s permission we shall turn him over,” said Holmes.
“By all means, Mr. Holmes I should welcome your opinion,” said Lestrade.
“Steady yourself old man the sight will not be a pretty one,” Holmes whispered to me.
We turned the body over. Holmes heard my sharp intake of breath.
“My word Holmes, he has been nearly decapitated.”
“It is your neighbour then, Doctor Watson?” asked Lestrade.
I looked at the distorted face, and despite the fact that the features had already begun to swell they were still quite recognizable.
“Yes, Lestrade,” I said pointing to the body. “Doctor Anstruther had this identical small crescent shaped mark on the back of his hand. I have noticed it on a number of occasions when Mary and I would play whist with them during the long winter evenings.”
Holmes and I returned the body to its former position.
“What do you make of it, Watson?” asked my friend.
“He has obviously been dead for some time,” I said quietly. Death had seldom struck so close to home. “The blood is certainly not fresh and rigor mortis is no longer present. There is also a greenish color on the abdomen which usually begins to appear about forty eight hours after death. The smell also seems to indicate that the body has begun the process of putrefaction.”
“Yes I believe that you are right as to the approximate time of death,” said Holmes.
“There also appears to be a bullet wound in his shoulder,” I said taking a drink of brandy from my hip flask, “although I doubt if such a wound would prove fatal. I imagine that he was killed right after being taken from his house.”
“You are no doubt correct Doctor; nevertheless I wish to be thorough. The actual time and cause of death will, have to await the outcome of an autopsy,” said Lestrade.
“Of course,” said Holmes.
“Does it not seem strange that he would have been killed in this room, a room in which there is an unshuttered window facing the street?” remarked Lestrade.
“I don’t think......,” began Holmes.
I was familiar enough with my friend’s methods to venture an opinion and I interrupted him. “Perhaps he needed the light given off by the moon or possibly a nearby street light to help him in his task.”
“I think that Dr. Watson is onto something, Mr. Holmes,” replied Lestrade.
“No, Lestrade,” said Holmes. “If the Doctor or yourself had taken the trouble to observe our surroundings when we entered this lonesome and derelict place you would have seen that there are no street lights close enough to be of any help and any outside light which entered the room would have been of little help. Besides, at this time of year there is a good chance that it may still have been light outside.
“Also this assault was a singularly brutal and violent one and the victim most certainly would have cried out. As the murderer would not wish to be observed in his ghastly task by a curious passerby I am given to think that the assault must have taken place in a different room. It could not have been otherwise.
“There is something else Lestrade. As I have pointed out the body has had its throat cut from ear to ear and yet there is only the one small pool of blood.”
“His name was Mortimer,” I said.
“What’s that, Watson?” replied Holmes.
“His name was Mortimer and he was my friend. He was a kind man and a fine neighbour and physician. His wife will be inconsolable and I would prefer that you do not treat him as one of those nameless dregs of society which normally inhabit Whitechapel or Limehouse,” I said turning away.
“Forgive me old friend, I meant no disrespect,” my friend responded kindly.
“You were speaking of the blood, Mr. Holmes,” interjected Lestrade quietly.
“It is my experience Lestrade,” said Holmes, his moment of compassion fleeting, “that when one of the major arteries, such as the carotid artery, is cut, there is a great spurting of blood and it is not unusual to have the walls and even the ceiling covered in it. There is no evidence of such an occurrence here. Aside from the one small pool of blood beside the body there is only the telltale trail of minute blood droplets leading away from the body.”
“I did not see any trail of blood,” I said.
“The traces are barely noticeable and I saw them only because I was looking for them,” said Holmes. “Have your men been through the rest of the premises Lestrade?”
“Only the immediate room, Mr. Holmes; once I identified the body I posted a constable outside the door and came over to Baker Street immediately, knowing your interest in the case.”
Holmes again went down on all fours, and here his resemblance to a bloodhound was more physical than figurative. He applied his lens and began crawling about on the floor, his nose but an inch from the floor. The trail of blood was all but invisible in the dim light, and it was little wonder that Lestrade and I had overlooked it. It was quickly apparent where the trail must lead but Holmes followed every twist and turn, always on the lookout for any clues which may prove important. We followed my friend up the stairs and into a room which had probably once been used as a bedroom. Holmes’ lens was now unnecessary; there was dried blood in appalling quantities, covering the walls, ceiling and floor.
“My God, Holmes, it is a slaughterhouse,” I whispered.
“This is most certainly where your unfortunate neighbour met his untimely demise,” replied Holmes, his voice no more than a whisper.
“But why should the murderer do the killing here and then drag or carry the body to the room downstairs where it would more readily be discovered?” asked Lestrade.
“I think you may have answered your own question Lestrade.”
“How is that Mr. Holmes?”
“I believe that the murderers, for there were two of them, wanted the body to be found. We must only ascertain the reason.”
“You say that there were two men involved, Mr. Holmes?”
“Yes, Inspector, you can see here in the dust the unmistakable indication of footmarks made by a second individual. You will notice a small horizontal cut across the heel of one left boot,” he said pointing with his stick, “while this left boot has a small nail imbedded in the sole. Another indication of a second person is a more practical one. Dr. Anstruther was not a small man.....”
“About sixteen stone,” I added.
“How do you know that, Doctor?” asked Lestrade.
“I was his personal physician and had recently examined him as regards to a minor ailment.”
“It would certainly have taken more than one man to carry him, unless that man was a Hercules,” said Holmes. “As you may have noticed, the blood on the stairs consisted of small droplets and not smears. Droplets would indicate that the blood fell from a distance whereas smeared blood would indicate that the body has been dragged. Also there are no heel marks on the floor as one might expect to see from a dragged body.”
Without another word Holmes turned on his heel and left that place of carnage. Lestrade and I followed.
“There is something about this which puzzles me,” said Holmes as we were sitting in the cab.
“What is that, Mr. Holmes?” asked Lestrade.
“The extra set of clothes, Lestrade,” said Holmes.
“I saw no extra set of clothes, Mr. Holmes.”
“Of course not Lestrade, for the simple reas
on that there weren’t any,” replied my friend.
“You have lost me there.”
“I think that you would agree Lestrade that even in the very worst parts of the city two men covered head to toe in blood, walking down the street would not go unnoticed. Our two men would have needed to change their bloodstained clothing before leaving the premises and entering the cab which they would assuredly have waiting. Even the ever imperturbable English cabby would look twice at a fare whose clothing is covered in blood.”
“A point well made, Mr. Holmes,” said Lestrade.
“Perhaps under the circumstances they chose to depart on foot rather than risk revealing their actions to another,” I pointed out.
To my surprise he did not immediately dismiss my conclusion. “Normally I would agree with you Watson, however if they already employed a cab to get to Clarence Road, as I believe they did, I think there is a good chance that they would have retained it’s services. After all they must have used some type of vehicle to transport the injured Dr. Anstruther to that place.”
“Perhaps they live in the area and had no need of a cab to go anywhere, they did after all know of this empty house,” I remarked.
“You scintillate today Watson and perhaps you are right,” replied my friend. “It is a possibility which had already occurred to me and is something which will bear further investigation. However that abandoned dwelling was probably well known to the pair before hand. Criminals have much need for such places.”
“Holmes,” I said, “if Doctor Anstruther was murdered right after being taken from his home, what was done with Mary? You must have some theory.”
“You know Watson that it is a capital mistake to theorize without being in possession of all of the facts,” Holmes said with extraordinary patience.
“I have formed a theory which I think fits most of the facts,” said Lestrade.
“All of the facts must fit the theory Lestrade not just some of them,” said Holmes sternly. “You cannot alter nor omit facts to fit a theory you can only change a theory to fit the facts. If the facts do not all fit then the theory is in some way wrong.”
“Well let us hear your theory then, Mr. Holmes,” said Lestrade.
Holmes sighed. He was usually uncommunicative during a case, preferring instead to play his own game until he was sure of his facts. However he probably sensed my anxiety.
“I rather suspect that these two ‘gentlemen’ did in fact use a private carriage to travel to Kensington. They had expected to leave your neighbor’s premises with only Mrs. Watson, alive and unharmed. However once Dr. Anstruther was wounded they must have felt that they could not proceed with their original plans. I believe that they would have sent Mrs. Watson with the private carriage, no doubt rendered helpless in some manner. Dr. Anstruther, they would have transferred to a cab, and then taken ultimately to his death.”
“You remarked earlier,” said Lestrade with a trace of humour, “that any respectable cabby would hesitate to pick up a fare who happened to be covered in blood, would they not also hesitate to give a ride to someone who has been shot?”
“I am sure that any criminal worth his salt could come up with a convincing story to cover such a situation.”
“But why take him at all?” I asked. “Being wounded he could have only been a burden to them.”
“Possibly because they were known to him and he could describe them to the police,” replied Holmes.
“But could not Mrs. Dobson and Mrs. Anstruther also identify them?”
“No doubt, however the average eye witness to a crime is a very unreliable source of information. More often than not the description that they provide to the police tends to be filled with inaccuracies. Besides even among the lowest of the criminal class killing women does not come easily,” replied my friend.
“Except for that Whitechapel butcher,” commented Lestrade quietly.
“Quite,” replied Holmes simply.
As if in reverence a silence fell over us as we remembered the events from three years previous which had cast a pall over all of London. The failure to solve the murders was a blot on Holmes’ career and remained one of the detective’s few failures.
It was not until the four wheeler had pulled up to my friend’s lodgings that we were shaken from our reverie. Holmes tossed some coins to the driver and instructed him to wait.
Lestrade and I followed Holmes up the seventeen steps which led to his rooms. Throwing his hat and stick onto the sofa Holmes made a bee-line to his desk where he took up pen and paper. He scribbled something upon the paper, and called downstairs for the page boy.
“Billy, I have an errand for you,” he said as the lad entered in response to his summons. “I need you to take the cab, which is waiting at the front door, and go down to Willings Advertising Agency in Fleet Street. This message must appear in tomorrow’s papers.” He handed the boy the slip of paper and some coins.
“Which papers, Mr. Holmes?”
“I think The Standard, The Daily News, The Telegraph, and The Times should be sufficient.”
The boy was off like a shot.
“You are advertising in the papers for the cab driver who may have dropped off a fare in Clarence Road?” I asked him.
“Yes, Watson, we will throw our lines in the water and see if we get a bite. If our fish has any brains though he will remain in the weeds.”
“What do you mean, Mr. Holmes?” asked Lestrade. He emptied the tumbler of whisky which I had poured for him.
“Just this, Inspector, if I were a cab driver of the type that was not particular as to where my fares come from, I would certainly be wary of any advertisement appearing in the papers seeking the driver of a cab which delivered a passenger to a particular address on the night a murder occurred.”
“And if he does not show what then?”
“I will then try the cab yard and engage the drivers or liverymen in gossip. Men who work with horses are always free with their conversation and companionship, particularly over a cup of gin.”
At that moment there was a knock at the door and the commissionaire entered. He handed a message to Holmes.
“What is it, man?” I asked.
He was silent for a moment. “There has been another murder.”
CHAPTER 9
I caught my breath.
“Another murder, Mr. Holmes?”
“It appears so, Lestrade,” said Holmes. He crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it across to me. It read as follows:
BODY FOUND AT CHARING CROSS STATION. APPEARS TO BE CHINESE COME AT ONCE. BRADSTREET.
“I had not realized that Bradstreet had been transferred to Westminster,” I remarked.
“A temporary assignment unfortunately,” replied Lestrade with an air of professional jealously.
“I would think that we have enough on our plate without getting mixed up in another murder,” I said.
“Indeed. However if Bradstreet thinks that this murder would be of interest to us, we should not disappoint him.”
“And why should he think that, Mr. Holmes?” asked Lestrade.
“Bradstreet knows of my interest in such things,” he said simply. “A murder in Westminster is after all within his bailiwick.”
“Bradstreet!” exclaimed Lestrade dismissively. “You have forgotten your old friends on the force have you, Mr. Holmes.”
“My dear Inspector, I would never think to lay such a mundane task at your feet,” said Holmes with the easy grace and charm of which he was capable. “You are always much too busy to be bothered with such trifles.”
Lestrade seemed satisfied with this.
“Do you think that this is the same Celestial who was at my neighbour’s house two nights ago?” I asked. I thought it peculiar that the simple murder of an anonymous Oriental would hold my friend’s interest.
“That is a matter which we will have to investigate. Do you still have the cab, Billy?” asked Holmes of the boy who had just returned.
&nbs
p; “Yes sir, I thought that you might want to use it.”
“Good lad,” he said and then whispered something into the boy’s ear.
“You will come with us, Lestrade?” Holmes asked. “No, Mr. Holmes. I shall leave you in the capable hands of Inspector Bradstreet. I have some other matters to look into as to the earlier murder.”
“Are you game, Watson?”
“By all means, Holmes,” it seemed like a lifetime ago that I had caught the train in Brixham. I was weary and hungry, but it seemed like we might be on a hot trail and I was filled with renewed vigor. I would stay on the trail of my wife until my body gave up.
Billy met us at the bottom of the stairway and handed a large paper sack to Holmes.
“Thank you, Billy,” Holmes yelled out to the boy as he slammed the front door. Holmes called out directions to the driver as the hansom pulled away from the kerb.
“What have you in the sack, Holmes? I have seldom seen you bring anything to the scene of an investigation, aside from your magnifying lens and burglar kit.”
“It is neither of those things, Watson. It is our supper. I had Billy ask Mrs. Hudson to put together something for us.”
I laughed for the first time in what seemed like weeks.
He opened the bag and withdrew two thick roast beef sandwiches and two bottles of beer. I devoured my sandwich in an instant. Holmes then handed me some brown butchers paper in which was wrapped some cold pheasant. We shared this and the edge was taken off my appetite.
I was surprised at Holmes’ appetite as he was usually a light eater while involved in a case.
No conversation took place as befits two longtime friends who are comfortable with each other’s company. Holmes was at his taciturn best and I knew better than to try and question him. The long wearying hours and the rocking motion of the coach must have lulled me into a short and welcome sleep. In too short a time Holmes was nudging me awake, his hand shaking my shoulder. The cab was rolling to a stop.
The building, before which we had stopped was the London terminus of the South Eastern Railway, and was as always, teeming with people waiting for the great engines belching smoke, to take them to their varied destinations. A man whom I recognized as Inspector Bradstreet greeted us as we stepped from the cab.
The Adventure of the Tired Captain A Sherlock Holmes Case Page 11