The Sherlock Holmes Megapack: 25 Modern Tales by Masters. Michael Kurland
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have been torn out.”
“Excellent, Watson! Why don’t you and Nicholson examine the rest of it, while I have a look around.”
“Good luck, Holmes. The ground is as hard as a rock out there,” replied Nicholson.
Actually, I had almost been able to forget the cold while we were busy in our investigations, but now, I was grateful when Holmes, crawling around on all fours behind the desk, finally made his way onto the patio and closed the French doors behind him. While Nicholson and I paged through Lord Morris’s appointment book, I would glance up occasionally to see how Holmes progressed in his search, crawling upon the frozen ground outside, in ever-widening semi-circles. When he returned, I could have sworn he had found some clue.
“What did you find, Holmes?” I asked.
“Nothing whatever,” he replied with an odd note of triumph in his voice. “How does your research progress?”
“I told you that you wouldn’t find anything out there,” said Nicholson. “There’s very little of interest in here—mostly Parliamentary meetings and lunch dates with his Bagatelle Club companions. It’s all rather pedestrian.”
“With whom was the last appointment?”
“His wife,” I answered, “for their anniversary dinner.”
“I see. May I have a look at it, please?”
Holmes flipped through the book for some time without expressing an interest in any of the entries and then handed it back to the inspector.
“Thank you. I think I am finished with this room for now. Would it be possible for me to interview the rest of the household, Inspector?”
“Certainly. I have already done some preliminary questioning, and it seems that, since only Lady Morris and the butler were in the central part of the house, only they heard a shot. The other servants were asleep in the wings and have been able to add nothing to the account.”
“Then it is to Lady Morris and the butler I would speak. Before we go, however, have you been able to determine who benefits directly from the lord’s death?”
“Lady Morris has already been kind enough to show me Lord Morris’s will, Holmes. She and their only daughter are the two principal heirs, but I would add that, as things stand, these two ladies are already quite well off.”
“Excellent work, Nicholson,” commented Holmes, as the inspector led us to the sitting room where Lady Morris was waiting. She was an elegant and stately woman, only just beginning to approach middle-age, and dressed in a rather simple black dress. Though she had obviously been crying, she had regained her composure enough to speak and, at Nicholson’s request, dispatched her maid in order to fetch Perkins, the butler. After the introductions, Holmes took a seat in the chair opposite the one in which she sat and assumed his most comforting tone.
“Madam, you do us a great kindness in agreeing to speak with us, and I promise I shall be as brief as possible.”
“Mr Holmes, I shall answer as many questions as you like, if they should aid you in catching my husband’s killer.”
“Thank you. Lady Morris, could you please recount the events of last night, omitting nothing, no matter how seemingly insignificant.”
“Yes. I had retired early, before my husband returned from his club, in fact, and awoke to a loud noise. I heard a door open and close in the hall below and began to hurriedly dress myself. Upon lighting the lamp beside the bed, I noticed that the time was approximately 12:45. Within a few minutes, I descended the stairs and saw Perkins stepping out of the room. I could tell from the expression on his face that something was horribly wrong. Perkins’s family has been attached to my husband for three generations, and I know him almost as well as I know anyone. He tried to stop me from entering, but I forced my way over the threshold. I saw my lifeless husband slumped over his desk and immediately fainted. After summoning the maid to take care of me, Perkins called the police from the telephone in the hall.”
“Lady Morris, are you positive that you heard only one shot?” asked Holmes.
“A loud noise woke me up, and I heard Perkins enter the study. If there were any sounds before those, I slept through them.”
“How long an interval had passed between your waking and your descending the stairs?”
“I did not look at the clock again, but it could have been no more than two minutes.”
“Did you notice anything about the state of the room when you entered it?”
“I noticed several papers lying upon the floor and that the French doors behind my husband’s desk were wide open.”
“The derringer in the study—did it belong to your husband?”
“Yes. My husband was never fond of hunting. It was the only gun in the house.”
“Which club did your husband attend that evening?”
“The only club he ever attended: the Bagatelle Club, in Regent Street. He loved both cards and billiards.”
“You have a daughter?”
“Yes, she is married to an American railroad owner and lives in San Francisco. She is pregnant with our first grandchild.”
“With your permission, Lady Morris, I would like to ask you some more general questions. Can you think of anyone who would want to kill your husband?”
“My husband’s affairs were largely his own, but no, I can think of no one. There was, however, someone unknown to me.”
“Pray, continue,” Holmes said, as he leaned forward, steepling the tips of his fingers.
“Three days ago, on Wednesday evening, I was passing my husband’s study on my way to the stairs, and I heard him speaking with another man. I could not make out what was being said, but my husband was definitely talking to someone whose voice I had never heard before. I thought this odd, as no visitor had called upon us, so I entered the dining room beside the study and kept watch at the window, waiting for the stranger to appear. I assumed he had entered the study through the French doors, since he hadn’t rung at the front door. I was confirmed in this a few minutes later when a tall man, wearing a black overcoat and a broad-brimmed hat, emerged onto the terrace. I had never seen him before, but he was about your height, with a full beard and a slight limp. I am sorry that I cannot tell you more, but it was too dark.
“After that meeting, my husband was a changed man. He did not come to bed that night or any succeeding night, for that matter. I couldn’t get more than a few words out of him at a time, and once, when I looked in upon him in his study, he looked as though he had been weeping. The only excuse he would give was that he was concerned over a friend of his at the club, Sampson, I believe, who was gravely ill. This was all he offered, and most of the time, I could barely make eye-contact with him.”
“I am sorry,” said Holmes. “I have only one more question. Do you remember at what time you came across your husband’s meeting with this stranger?”
“Yes, it was almost 9:30 when he left.”
“Thank you, Lady Morris. I shall let you know as soon as I have any information.”
“Thank you, Mr Holmes, Dr Watson,” said Lady Morris, as she and her maid left the room. “Please let me know if I can provide you with anything further.”
As soon as she departed, the butler entered the sitting-room. He was slim and in his fifties, with long and greying sideburns.
“Hello, Perkins. I am Mr Sherlock Holmes and this is Dr Watson. I have just a few questions for you.”
“I shall try my best to answer them, sir,” replied the butler.
“What were you doing when you heard the shot?”
“I was at the other end of the hall, making sure all of the candles