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

Holmes did not reply at once, but regarded the dead man and his desk in silence for a minute, as if picturing to himself what had occurred earlier. Then he came round to the front of the desk. ‘And yet,’ said he, ‘the desk is a broad one, from front to back. I am not convinced that an average man could reach across it sufficiently to inflict the wound.’ He picked up a pencil from a tray on top of the desk, then leaned across the desk-top and attempted to touch the side of the dead man’s head with it, but fell short by a good nine inches. ‘Unless you are prepared to put out the description of a seven-foot giant, or a man whose arms are four feet long,’ he remarked, ‘I think we must reject the theory.’

‘But the dead man’s chair is now pushed back a little from the desk,’ Stoddard persisted. ‘It is also the sort of chair which turns on its base and he has turned it so that he is sideways on to the desk. If it were tight up to the desk, and facing forwards, you might be able to reach him.’

‘The chair may have swivelled round as he was attacked,’ Holmes returned, ‘but it was not pushed back then, or since, for there is blood all around the foot of the chair legs, but none beneath them. The base of the chair has not moved since before the attack took place.’

‘What do you suggest, then?’

‘That the assailant was on the same side of the desk as his victim.

What is this cash-box, I wonder? Hum! Two or three drops of blood inside, so it was open before the attack took place. Nothing in it now but a few cheques, made out to Sir Gilbert Cheshire.’

‘All the money has gone,’ said Stoddard. ‘That is evidently the motive for the crime. This is the account-book which relates to the cash-box,’ he continued, lifting a ledger from the desk. ‘I found it in the clerks’ office.’

‘The last entry in the book indicates a credit balance of eighteen pounds, twelve and seven,’ said Holmes, ‘so that is the amount which should be in the box. Hum! It does not seem a very large sum for which to commit murder.’

‘I have known murder committed for less.’

‘That is true. Let us now examine the corridor outside.’

We followed Holmes out into the hallway, where he crouched down and examined the floor closely. A long strip of coconut matting was laid along the length of the corridor. After a moment, he took out his lens and examined a dark smudge more closely.

‘It is blood,’ said he; ‘no doubt left by the passage of Mr Ormerod’s shoe. There is little else visible on this coarse matting. Halloa! What is this?’ Carefully, he picked up a small object which had lain on the bare floor, just to the left of the matting, almost tucked under the edge. He held it out on the palm of his hand and I saw that it was the charred stump of a match.

Stoddard had bent down with interest as Holmes had spoken, but now he straightened up, an expression of disappointment on his features. ‘Someone has used it to light the gas,’ said he in a dismissive tone.

‘But there is no gas-jet near this spot,’ returned Holmes, his eyes darting round the walls of the corridor. ‘There is one near the front door and one at the very back, just outside the door to the clerks’ office, but not just here.’ He turned his attention to the floor once more, his nose scarcely an inch above the matting, as he moved from side to side, like a dog casting about for a scent. In a moment he uttered a low cry of triumph.

‘What is it, Holmes?’ I queried, leaning forward to see what had aroused his interest.

In answer, he pointed with his long thin forefinger to a small, circular greasy mark on the matting, perhaps three-quarters of an inch across.

‘Oh, it’s just an old smear of tallow, dropped from a candle,’ said Stoddard dismissively.

‘On the contrary,’ said Holmes in a severe tone; ‘it is a very fresh smear. See how it shines in the light!’ He took out his lens again and bent very low to the floor. ‘There is not the slightest trace of dust upon its surface. In this foul weather and with the fires smoking away all day,’ he continued, gently passing his finger over the surface of the tallow, ‘this splash could not remain in this state for more than a couple of hours.’

‘You may be right,’ said Stoddard without interest. ‘I think I shall see how my men are getting on.’

Holmes did not reply, but continued his careful examination of the corridor, for all the world like some gaunt bloodhound on the trail. A few feet further on, he stopped once more, his brow furrowed with intense concentration and called me over.

‘Look at this, Watson,’ said he. ‘The candle has dripped again. See how the shape is different.’

‘It is more oval than the previous mark,’ I observed, crouching down.

‘Precisely. What does that tell us?’

‘That the candle from which it fell was moving,’ I suggested.

‘Precisely, the long axis of the splash giving the direction of travel. At the first mark, the candle had just been lit and was stationary. At this point, however, whoever was holding it was moving along the corridor, towards the rear of the chambers.’ He crawled a little further along the corridor, to the point at which a carpeted flight of stairs led off to the left. ‘See if you can find any tallow on the staircase,’ said he; ‘I shall carry on to the end of the corridor.’

I did as he asked and examined each step carefully. The stair-carpet was dark, with an intricate pattern upon it, which made my task the more difficult, but in a few moments, I had discovered a very small blob upon the fourth stair, near the right-hand edge of the carpet. I called to my companion.

‘There is nothing more to be seen in the corridor,’ said he, as he examined with his lens the drip I had found. ‘Another oval,’ he remarked after a moment, ‘but this time, there is also a tiny pin-head of the same substance towards the back of the step. Here, take a look, Watson! The extra drop indicates that the splash occurred when the candle was being carried up the stair rather than down it, and suggests that it was moving at a slightly faster rate than before. Evidently our friend with the candle went upstairs, so let us follow in his footsteps!’

At the top of the staircase was a narrow, dark landing. Holmes struck a match. Immediately ahead of us was a blank wall, on which hung a large painting depicting a full-rigged man-of-war of Nelson’s day. To left and right were doors, both closed. Beside the left-hand door was a gas-jet, which Holmes lit and turned up. The door to the right was locked, but that on the left opened easily and, as it did so, I saw that the wood of the door-jamb was splintered. Holmes bent down and examined this and the edge of the door.

‘Forced open with a flat metal rod,’ he murmured, ‘the end of which was about an inch across. Another drop of tallow on the floor,’ he continued, pointing to a spot slightly to the right of the doorway. ‘Circular this time, indicating that the candle was motionless.’

‘No doubt the candle was placed upon the floor while the door was being forced open,’ I suggested, but my companion shook his head.

‘It is an isolated little gout and perfectly circular,’ said he, ‘which indicates that it dripped from some height. The candle was still being held.’

We pushed the door wide open and entered.

‘This chamber is evidently the private study to which Stoddard referred,’ Holmes observed, as he struck another match and lit the gas which was immediately behind the door. It was a large room, perhaps fifteen feet across from the doorway to the wall opposite, but nearer twenty-five feet from right to left. To the right, by the fireplace, stood tall bookcases and, to the left, a number of tables, cupboards and bureaux. Holmes lit a lamp which stood upon a small writing-table and made a circuit of the chamber with the lamp in his hand, eventually stopping before a large, double-fronted cupboard.