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

‘I see,’ said Holmes in a dry tone. ‘That is an example of what I classify as a non-helpful hypothesis. Did anyone else see this apparition?’

‘No,’ replied Gregson. ‘So, of course, we have only the girl’s word for it. But both the cook and Mrs Arbuthnot had heard the door-bell.’

‘It seems odd that Mrs Arbuthnot saw the man with the note, but not this woman in black,’ observed Holmes.

‘It might have been odd, had she been in the drawing-room at the time; but in fact she wasn’t. After finishing her tea, at about half past five, she had gone upstairs to her bedroom, which is at the back of the house, to change for the evening, and was up there for about forty-five minutes. She says that she heard the door-bell, and supposed that it was Dr Zyss arriving. Of course, when she came downstairs, she saw that there was no one there. She was standing at the drawing-room window, in the act of drawing the curtains – for the light had almost gone, and night was setting in – when the messenger opened the gate and walked up the path, which is why she happened to see him before he rang at the bell.’

‘I see,’ said Holmes. ‘What sort of a lock is on the front door? Is it possible to open it without a key?’

Gregson shook his head. ‘It is a modern sprung lock, which engages every time the door is closed. No one could get in that way without a key.’

‘So we must assume as a working hypothesis that whoever killed Professor Arbuthnot entered his study by the French windows.’

‘So I concluded, Mr Holmes. Unless, of course, he was murdered by his wife, or by one of the two domestic servants. But that is practically unthinkable. Besides, all three of them are small women, and none of them looks powerful enough to have engaged in the struggle which there must have been in the study to disarrange it so much.’

Holmes nodded. ‘Very well,’ said he. ‘Pray proceed with your account!’

‘I interviewed Mrs Arbuthnot, and elicited all the facts I have mentioned, as to her whereabouts and those of her husband at the time of the tragedy, and also confirmed with her that nothing appeared to have been stolen. Then, having concluded, as you say, that the murderer must have gained access to the house by way of the French windows in the study, I made a preliminary examination of the ground outside. The night was a dark one, though, and I couldn’t really see anything, so I instructed the constable to make sure that the ground remained undisturbed until I had had a chance to examine it properly. I then left the house in the care of the constable, and made my way into town, to the Belvedere Hotel, with the intention of interviewing Dr Zyss. My view, you see, was that it seemed something of an odd coincidence that he should have abruptly cancelled his visit to the Arbuthnots’ house on the very day that the professor was murdered. Of course, I realised that there might be nothing in it, but it was a little odd, anyway, so I intended to ask Dr Zyss why exactly he had decided to cancel his visit.

‘It was half past ten by the time I reached the hotel, so I was not very surprised to be informed that Dr Zyss had already retired for the night. The night porter who was on duty told me that he had seen Dr Zyss earlier in the evening, and that he hadn’t looked at all well. He had apparently left the hotel at some time in the afternoon – the porter could not say when, exactly, as he had not been on duty then – and had returned at about seven in the evening, in the company of a lady who was dressed all in black, and who wore a heavy black veil over her face. On entering the hotel, Dr Zyss immediately sat down heavily on a chair by the door. He was breathing in a laboured manner, and appeared, said the porter, as if he could hardly stand without assistance. His companion approached the porter’s desk and asked for the doctor’s room-key, saying that the gentleman felt a little ill, and would not be requiring dinner that evening. The porter asked if she wished a medical man to be called, but she declined the offer, saying that Dr Zyss had simply over-taxed himself during the day, and would probably feel adequately restored after a good night’s rest. The lady then assisted Dr Zyss to his room and, about twenty minutes later, returned to the porter’s desk with the information that Dr Zyss was very tired and did not wish to be disturbed, but that if he had not risen by nine o’clock the following morning, he would appreciate a call then and a cup of tea. After the lady had passed on this message, the porter informed me, she did not leave immediately, but sat for a while near the door, looking out through the glass panel at the street outside, and glancing at the clock from time to time, as if waiting for someone. She was there seven or eight minutes, he says, but then he was called away from his desk for a couple of minutes and when he returned she had gone.

‘I thanked him for this information, wrote a note for Dr Zyss, to say that I should call in the morning, and left it at that. I couldn’t see that there was much else I could do. The following morning, I called round at the hotel at half past nine, but when I enquired for Dr Zyss the porter on duty gave me an odd look and suggested I speak to the manager. I explained my purpose in being there to that gentleman, at which he shook his head.

‘“I’m afraid it will not be possible for you to speak to Dr Zyss,” said he.

‘“Why?” said I. “Has something happened to him?” In truth I feared, from what I had heard of his condition, that he had died in the night.

‘“I can tell you nothing about him,” said the manager, “for he has vanished into thin air.” He explained to me that as Dr Zyss had not come down for breakfast, a cup of tea had been taken to his room as requested, but the chambermaid who took it had found the room empty and its occupant gone. It appeared, said the manager, that Dr Zyss had risen much earlier than usual and left the hotel before breakfast.

‘“Did no one see him go?” I asked.

‘The manager shook his head. “We were very busy for a while this morning,” he said, “dealing with a large party who had arrived in London on the overnight train from Edinburgh. Dr Zyss did not hand in his room-key at the desk, but simply left it in his room, and nor did he pick up the note you had left him, so I suppose he just stepped out without speaking to anybody.”

‘I at once ascended to Dr Zyss’s room. There were numerous heaps of documents and books on a side table, but, apart from that, and the bed, the covers of which had been thrown back, the room was in fairly good order. I decided to get as much information as I could from the hotel staff, and hoped that while I was doing so Dr Zyss would return. What I learnt was that Dr Zyss had been staying at the Belvedere Hotel for six days, during which time he had generally worked in his room in the mornings, and then gone out shortly after lunch and returned about tea-time – that is to say, between about four o’clock and five o’clock. The porter on duty at the desk was my chief source of information. He had seen Dr Zyss go out every afternoon and, except for the previous day, had never known him not to return by five at the latest. He was able to give me a description of the missing man, which I have since circulated to all the police stations in London, so I am very hopeful of finding him somewhere. He is apparently quite a thin man, of medium height, with a trimmed grey beard and thick spectacles. The porter informed me that his eyesight is very poor, as is his hearing. His customary outdoor garb is a grey woollen overcoat, and soft felt hat, also in grey. This description tallies with that given to me by the night porter the previous evening, and as these garments are not in his room, that is certainly what he was wearing when he left the hotel in the morning.