Michael Kurland - Professor Moriarty Omnibus

"Very good, sir," Gammidge said, and he fled up the stairs.

"Bah!" Lestrade said. "You expect something to be missing? What?"

"I expect nothing," Holmes said. "But I would like to know."

"But Holmes, how do you expect to learn anything from what isn't here?"

"What is here," Holmes said, carefully extracting a bit of brown matter from the green rug and inserting it into a small envelope, "is suggestive, but what isn't here is even more suggestive, and I expect, with any luck, to learn a great deal from it."

"What isn't here?" Lestrade looked around, baffled. "What on earth are you talking about, Holmes? What isn't here?"

"The victim's shoes, Lestrade. They are missing. Along with his top hat. I have great hopes for the victim's shoes, although, frankly, I don't expect as much from the hat."

"You think the missing shoes are important?"

"Very!"

Lestrade shrugged. "If you say so, Mr. Holmes. But we'll probably find them under the couch, or in the bedroom."

"I've looked under the couch, Lestrade. And he never got up to the bedroom."

"Then why send that valet up there?"

"The murderer may have got to the bedroom."

"Oh." Lestrade thought that over. "Nonsense!" he said. "Missing shoes. Missing hat. I'd say that all that shows is that he had a new pair of shoes. The murderer probably took them for himself."

"Could be, Lestrade," Holmes said. "That's good thinking. Only…"

"Only what, Holmes?" Lestrade asked, looking pleased at the compliment. "Just you ask me. I'll be glad to give you the benefit of my years of professional experience. What's troubling you about this case?"

"Only, Lestrade, if he took Hope's shoes, then what did he do with his own?"

"Well — carried them off with him, I suppose."

"Come now, Lestrade. You think our murderer has developed an acquisitive instinct for his seventh killing? What about all the fine jackets and waistcoats and cravats and assorted men's furnishings at each of the previous victim's abodes?"

"It's just possible the fellow needed a pair of shoes," Lestrade insisted. "Perhaps he suddenly developed a hole in one of his own, or the uppers separated from the lowers. And he didn't leave his own behind because he was afraid of our finding some identifying mark on them."

"So he took them off with him to discard unobtrusively?"

"Right, Mr. Holmes. Like that."

"I don't think so, Lestrade. I think he took the victim's shoes because he wanted the victim's shoes; but not to wear. I think he wanted the shoes themselves, or something concealed in them. But with any luck we may soon find out whether you're right or I'm right. Lestrade, have your men scour the area for ten blocks in every direction. Have them carefully examine gutter drains and dustbins, and any other place of concealment. Instruct them to bring back any article of clothing they find, most especially shoes or parts of shoes."

"Certainly. Mr. Holmes. Whatever shoes they turn out to be, I agree that it will be useful to find them. I'll send to the division station for some large bull's-eye lanterns and put some men right on it."

"Very good. Where is that medical examiner? We've been here half an hour already."

"Dr. Pilschard doesn't like coming out after midnight, Mr. Holmes. We'll have some of our men bring the body in to St. Luke's in a death wagon, and he'll examine it in the morning."

"Is that his standard practice? Well, send somebody after Dr. Pilschard and inform him that I want the body examined in situ, and I want it examined soon. The man gets a two-guinea fee for every body he cuts up; let him do something to earn it!"

Lestrade shook his head. He didn't see what difference a few hours would make, but the commissioners, in their infinite wisdom, had seen fit to put Sherlock Holmes in charge of this investigation, and orders is orders. He left the room and whistled up a pair of his plainclothesmen, and sent them on their way. When he returned to the room, Holmes had reached the victim's head in his crawl across the carpet, and was concentrating his attention on it. It was not an attractive sight, jaws gaping open, eyes staring, lying in a pool of half-clotted blood.

"Help me move the couch, Lestrade," Holmes said, carefully placing the corpse's feet on the floor. "I didn't want to touch the body until the medical examiner had seen it, but time passes and the killer gets farther away. I'll disturb it as little as possible. Let's just take the couch over to the left, along the wall. That's the way. Careful where you step!"

They put the couch down, and Holmes examined the great pool of blood that was now revealed. "As I thought," he said, kneeling and peering through his glass. "The poor man was certainly killed right at this spot. The paucity of blood under and around the head had me worried, considering the depth of the wound. But a slight slope of the floor explains that. It all ran under the couch."

"It certainly did," Lestrade agreed.

There was a disturbance at the front door, and one of the constables stationed outside came in and stopped smartly in front of Inspector Lestrade. "Beg pardon, sir," he said, "but there's a gentleman outside, just pulled up in a carriage, who demands access."

"Ah!" Lestrade said. "Friend of the victim?"

"No, sir," the constable said. "Says he's a friend of the commissioner, sir."

"Is that right?" Lestrade said. "How curious; at one in the morning. Fellow must have a powerful interest. What's his name?"

"He says he's the Count d'Hiver, sir."

Sherlock Holmes looked up from the corpse. "D'Hiver?" he asked. "Show his lordship in, Constable!"

"And just who is 'his lordship'?" Lestrade demanded, as the constable retreated to the front door.

"As it was described to me," Holmes said, "he has a watching brief from the Privy Seal. I'm not sure what that actually signifies, but I assume it covers visiting the scene of the crime."

"He may have a 'watching brief,' " Lestrade said, "but how did he know there was anything to watch? How did he find out about the crime so quickly, and at such an unlikely hour?"

"We shall ask him," Holmes said, getting to his feet. "I myself am curious as to how — and why."

The Count d'Hiver burst through the door with that excess of energy that seems to possess many people who are of less than normal stature. "What's happening here?" he demanded of the empty hall. "Who's in charge? I want to see — Oh, there you are, Holmes. My God! He certainly is dead, whoever he is. Who would have known the human body had so much blood in it?"

"I assume the question is rhetorical, my lord," Holmes said. "Let me introduce Inspector Lestrade, who is in charge of the investigation for Scotland Yard."

"Lestrade," d'Hiver said, nodding slightly. "I have heard the name. You are well thought of."

"Thank you—"

"Which, frankly, I consider astounding: seven corpses and no arrests, barring the idiotic detention of a brace of servants."

"We do our best, my lord, We can't all be Sherlock Holmes," Lestrade said, his face suffusing with the red tint of suppressed anger.

"It seemingly wouldn't be of any great help if you were," d'Hiver commented coldly, fixing his gaze on Holmes. "Well, have you made any progress, Mr. Holmes? Have you found any clues?"

"I have been here only for some thirty minutes, my lord," Holmes said calmly. "The hunt for information — for clues, if you will — is painstaking and time-consuming. Perhaps, if you wish to converse, we had best go out into the entrance 'hall. It is better to disturb the area immediately around the body as little as possible, for fear of destroying possible evidence."

"Destroying evidence?" D'Hiver sniffed. "How can my mere presence in the room destroy any evidence?"