Frank Thomas - Sherlock Holmes and the Treasure Train

The inspector leaned back in his chair as if relieved to have gotten the main narrative out of the way. He knew that pertinent questions would be asked.

Holmes was regarding the dancing flames in the hearth fire thoughtfully. "You said there was but one suspect and a seemingly airtight case. Let me see. The house was securely locked about an hour before the fatal shot. I assume that is confirmed by direct testimony?"

MacDonald nodded. "As was the custom, Herndon checked all the doors and windows shortly after five. Miss Claremont confirms this, since she was cleaning downstairs at the time." Since Holmes made no comment, the inspector continued. "Actually, Miss Claremont was little better than a maid in the establishment. She is the niece of Michael's deceased wife, and the art critic took her in because of a proviso in Mrs. Michael's will. But he did not relish the arrangement and made no effort to conceal his feelings."

"No love lost between the two." Holmes resumed his musings. "I assume the shot that alerted the household was the one that killed Michael."

"We had a pathologist on the scene in short order," replied the inspector. "Just as a matter of procedure, since the corpse was still bleeding when the constable got there. He was shot at six for a fact."

"Your prime suspect is obviously the ward, Vanessa Claremont," stated Holmes. "Motive must point the finger of guilt."

"Indeed, sir. Neither Herndon, the butler, nor his wife had reason to wish their master dead. On the other hand, Miss Claremont stands to inherit Michael's estate. If she evades the gallows for his murder, that is." The Scot was shaking his head.

"Miss Claremont had both motive and opportunity. You are still dissatisfied?"

"Aye, sir. 'Tis the feel."

"I agree completely," was Sherlock Holmes' surprising response.

I rose from my chair with a groan. "So it's off to the scene of the crime, is it? I could wish murders would occur during more clement weather."

My confrere chuckled. "Do resume your seat, old fellow, unless you wish to replenish Mr. Mac's glass. I have no intention of going forth on this night. We shall consider the problem in comfortable surroundings."

"Will you, now?" MacDonald seemed ruffled, but his manner mellowed when I forced a refill on him along with a cigar.

"More questions, of course," stated Holmes. "Ramsey Michael went through the motions of being a busy man and he did not stray from his domicile during the day. I assume there were visitors?"

"Three." The inspector referred to his official notebook. "At one in the afternoon Mr. Ezra Hinshaw consulted with Michael about a lecture at the Tate Museum. He transacted his business rapidly and left in short order. At three, a Vicar Bisbee arrived in hopes of securing a donation for a local charity. Whether Michael complied or not I haven't learned, but the vicar is well known in those parts. He is somewhat deaf and quite nearsighted."

"We can rule out Bisbee for obvious reasons," remarked Holmes.

Aside from the vicar's line of work, I could divine no obvious reasons but withheld comment on the matter.

"Around four-thirty, one Cedric Folks visited Michael. Bit of a ne'er-do-well, that one. Orbits 'round the edge of society as a painter of sorts. Attended Sandhurst but left under something of a cloud. Haven't run him down yet but evidently his visit to Michael was connected with the art world. Folks was not expected at the establishment and Herndon was reluctant to admit him. Folks asked the butler to tell his master that he brought a message from Shadrach."

"Now that's interesting," said Holmes. "Sounds a bit like a code. I assume Michael agreed to see the fellow?"

"He instructed the butler to show Folks up to his first-story study. The artist left shortly before five, slamming the front door forcibly. This sound brought the butler into the hall. Michael appeared at the head of the stairs and directed the servant to secure the doors carefully. Herndon told me that Michael appeared angry. It was the last time he saw the art critic alive."

"Did the butler make any other comment about this incident?"

MacDonald's brow furrowed in thought. "Simply that he went through his regular procedure of shooting the bolts on the front door and then checking the windows. Wait a wee bit," the inspector added. "He did say he heard horses' hooves outside and saw Folks' hansom depart."

Holmes rubbed his hands with satisfaction. "Now, as the butler went about his regular task, Michael returned to his upstairs study I assume?"

"Yes, sir. As the butler completed his security tour, Miss Claremont went to her room on the ground floor. She engaged in needlework, but her door was open. She stated that neither Herndon nor his wife came from the servant quarters before the shot was fired. Because of the layout of the house, they would have had to pass her door."

I was intrigued by this. "The prime suspect gives the servants a foolproof alibi. She might better have kept silent on the matter."

"Incontestable alibis arouse my suspicions," remarked Holmes. "But it is no matter since I have learned what I wish to know. Gentlemen, a prima facie case for your consideration."

The very manner in which he leaned back in his chair told the story. The calm theorist of Baker Street was ready with another tour de force .

"Daily study of the journals makes one privy to seemingly odd incidents which prove helpful in solving puzzles. Cedric Folks is attempting a career in art and had a showing recently. In covering the event, Michael stated in print that the painter was obviously trying to emulate the French Impressionist Pissarro, but that his paintings created naught but a false impression. This acid critique elicited much ribald laughter in art circles, and Folks, I must assume, became livid with rage. Recall his stormy departure from the presence of the art critic. You did mention that he slammed the outer door loudly."

The Scot, his eyes intent on Holmes, nodded briefly.

"Now, Mr. Mac, regarding the upstairs study where Michael met his end. It is sizeable?"

"More than thirty feet in length."

"And the door to the study is adjacent to the staircase?"

"How did you know that?"

"To fit my reconstruction, it had to be."

I thought my friend's smile was somewhat smug but quelled the thought, being on tenterhooks for the denouement.

Holmes resumed his summation. "Three members of the household, not counting the corpse, and three visitors during the day. The man from the museum and the vicar can be ruled out, surely, for complete lack of motive, not to mention means. But Cedric Folks, the irate artist, had motive. Of the others, the servants are given an alibi by Vanessa Claremont. She had motive. They did not. Miss Claremont has an alibi."

"If she does, I canna see it."

"Come now! A frail young woman shoots Michael with a .450 Adams revolver? I doubt she could even manage the trigger pull of such a heavy-caliber weapon. But to expect her to fire it with the accuracy of a marksman over a distance of thirty feet is asking the impossible."

"Could she not have been close to Michael when she shot him?" MacDonald was far from convinced.

"Had Miss Claremont been near the victim, the bullet would have torn through his head. You said it was lodged in his brain. Come, come, Inspector; we are speaking of a heavy piece of ordinance with high muzzle velocity."

MacDonald shot me a sheepish look. "He's right, you know," was his grudging admission.

"He usually is," I replied.

"I ruled out your prime suspect promptly," continued Holmes. "When Cedric Folks rushed down the stairs shortly before five, he opened the front door and then slammed it shut without his leaving the house. Instead, he concealed himself within. Behind a convenient sofa, perhaps. The butler, thinking he had left, locked up the house. Outside there was the sound of the departing hansom. When the time seemed right, Folks stole up the stairs, opened the door to the study and, as Michael turned at the sound, he fired from the doorway. He did attend Sandhurst, you said. I'll wager you will learn that he is an excellent shot. Wiping the gun clean, he threw it into the murder room and raced down the stairs to hide below. The body was discovered, the butler rushed outside, and Miss Claremont fainted. At this point Folks escaped from the house unnoticed, though he might have done so later, when the constable arrived and all attention was directed to the first-floor study, where the victim's body lay. There's your case for you, MacDonald, all tied up neatly." The detective directed a smile at me. "And the resolution did not require Watson's braving the elements after all."