Denis Smith - The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

‘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.”