P. Elrod: The Hanged Man

He shot her a suspicious glare, as though expecting a trick, then bent and breathed in.

He snorted, but not dismissively. “Now that is interesting. Let’s have another opinion, just to be sure. Brook! Up here on the double!”

Brook must have been at the foot of the stairs. He charged up in quick response to Lennon’s bellow, but stopped short in the doorway to stare at the corpse, and lost much of his color.

“In here, man,” Lennon snapped. “That beggar’s past harming aught.”

Brook visibly braced himself, assuming the carefully blank expression again, and came forward.

“Put your beezer to that pillow and tell me what’s there.”

With puzzled reluctance, Brook did so, then straightened. “It’s … like a hospital?” he hazarded.

“Yes, something you might notice in a hospital,” Lennon prompted.

“Not carbolic or vinegar.… Pungent stuff.”

“You’d think so. Ever have surgery? Of course not. I have, and when you’re facing a jolly fellow in a black coat with a knife in his hand you’ll bless the stink of this poison. It’ll turn your belly over after, but better than being awake when the cuttin’ starts.”

“Ether,” Brook said. “Of course.”

“Just so.” The two of them looked at the body and back to the pillow. No need to explain to Brook; he’d clearly grasped that foul play had been involved.

Lennon said, “Once they clean him up, they’ll find ether still trapped in his lungs. Anyone will be smelling that off him for days. When I come back from getting cut, my missus had the windows up, complaining how it filled the house just from my breathing.”

Lennon’s emotions were starting to contaminate the scene. He was excited, interested, and eager to press forward, having embraced Alex’s conclusion as his own. Nothing left but to find the murderer so far as he was concerned. She was pleased with the validation but resisted the temptation to thank him for it.

He opened the drawer and fingered the deceased’s pocket watch, showing its face to Brook. “Make a note of the time and that the smell of ether was detected on the pillow by the three of us. Then make an inventory of all the items in here, starting with this bauble. Mind you get everything down. I won’t have some sticky-fingered servant claiming anything went missing while I was on duty.”

Brook produced a notebook and a pencil and wrote as instructed.

“Did the butler find the body?” she asked.

“The valet,” said Lennon. “He was doing the last rounds before turning in, making sure the windows were shut and the gas off, saw the light under the door, and looked in. Apparently it was unusual for his master to be up so late.”

“A steady fellow?”

“Seems steady enough. What’s that to do with anything?”

“You can thank him for keeping the room untouched. I should think he may have had some police training at some point.”

“We’ll stand him a drink at the nearest pub, then. Brook, make a sketch of the room while you’re at it. Come along, ghost-catcher.” Lennon went out.

“Sketch?” Brook echoed. “I’m no artist.” He looked at Alex a little helplessly. “Do you draw, miss?”

“Not that sort of sketch,” Alex said kindly. “He wants a map of the room, approximate dimensions, placement of furnishings, window, door, and the body.”

“Oh. I can do that. Thank you, miss.”

“Two copies, if you please. One for the Yard, another for the Service. As identical as possible.”

Alex caught up with Lennon at the far end of the hall. He held a lantern and had a door open. Narrow stairs lay beyond. He bulled up, the lantern’s pale light dancing drunkenly on the plain walls. She knew what would be next and cursed him. He’d take great enjoyment grumbling about the delay if she went to fetch her coat, and she refused to give him the satisfaction. She followed him to the servants’ floor. To judge by the clothing left out, the females of the household had the whole of it, and it was quite nice. Only two to a room and at one end was the unheard-of luxury of a water closet. That must have cost a few pennies.

Lennon searched with no regard for the occupants’ privacy until he found a bolted door that opened to the roof. Any other time of the year Alex would have delighted in such a lofty expedition, but not now.

She eased out in Lennon’s wake, shrinking from the cold despite her woolens.

Ice coated everything and the wind cut like a fury.

Directly opposite was a low wall that divided this house from its neighbor. To the left was a flat space with lines strung between a braced pole and hooks piercing the main chimney. Such washing as was done on the premises would be hung here in the more clement months. Alex stepped carefully across to the low wall that overlooked the back. Below were the mews and an enclosed extension leading from them to the house, its windows lighted, probably the kitchen and quarters for the male servants. A constable paced back and forth in the small yard below.

She oriented toward Harley Street. The roof over the servants’ rooms slanted up and blocked the view. Above its line, oppressive gray clouds reflected back what little glow the city possessed. The smoke from countless fires rose to combat the falling sleet, sinuous black and translucent silver writhing and twisting about each other in the sky like silk rags.

Footing was slippery. Lennon proceeded with much care toward the house’s main chimney, which stood out from the lesser ones like a brick obelisk.

Alex tottered toward him and found it necessary to grab his arm to keep from falling. He glanced down at her with amusement and held the lantern so the light fell on one corner of the structure.

The chimney was black with years of soot from London’s thick air. No need to clean something only the servants would see. The corners, though, had some interesting blemishes.

“Rope marks,” said Alex, forgetting the cold for a moment. “There are fibers caught in the brickwork.”

“I’ll have a man collect ’em. Mind your feet.” He made his way toward the low slanting roof, dragging her along, since she still had hold of his arm. He seemed unaware of her weight. He peered at the roof, which had a dusting of ice over its dark surface.

“Someone’s been here, I think,” she said.

“Let’s be certain.” He held the lantern out.

She took it, thinking he wanted his hands free for climbing.

“Your pardon, I’m sure,” he said, grasping her around the waist and lifting.

Alex yelped.

“Never mind that, what d’ye see?”

Far too much. Until now she’d never minded heights. “The other side of the roof, the dormers coming out from it-” The street far, far below.

“Any tracks?”

She made herself hold the lantern steady. “Yes, someone’s been here. No boot prints, but lots of smears in the soot between the dormers.”

“Good enough.” He shifted and set her down. She staggered a bit. “Steady now, you’re just startin’ to be useful. I couldn’t have boosted Brook up like that.”

“I’d have paid to see you try.”

He snorted and took back the lantern. “It seems we are after a human spider. He tied a rope to the chimney, went up, over, and down to the window. That’s a lot of effort even without ice. Why not break through a door during supper? With everyone in the kitchen no one would have heard. He could have hidden until the place was quiet, done the deed, then nipped downstairs and out to the street afterward when they were asleep.”

“He may have been unwilling to wait all night. He might not have a familiarity with the routine of the house. He left the gas on in the master’s room, too. Forgetful, or did he want the body to be found more quickly?”