Read Online Sherlock Holmes 01: The Breath of God by Guy Adams - Free Book Online
Authors: Guy Adams
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Mystery, Private Investigators, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, British Detectives
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madness and death to those who inhaled it.
“It could certainly have been something along those lines,” Holmes admitted. “Something affected Ruthvney unfavourably enough for him to start dining on his collection.” He poked delicately through the shattered glass with the toe of his boot. “And, given the bloodstains on this glass, numbed his pain sufficiently for him to pay his wounds scant attention.”
“So it’s a matter of poison then you believe, sir?” Mann asked.
Holmes held up his hand. “Please, Inspector, these are initial impressions. While further investigation may prove them to be facts, it would be a grievous mistake to treat them as such for now. Tell me, did you or your men take anything from this room?”
“No sir, I was particularly determined to avoid such a thing, I knew that you would wish to examine everything just as it was.”
“Most kind, and it is immediately useful in that it confirms one thing for us: someone removed something from Ruthvney’s desk after his death.”
“How can you be so sure?” I asked.
“Because there are four letters and five envelopes,” he said, sitting down at the desk. “He was clearly going through his correspondence just prior to his unfortunate attack. The desk is tidy, he is not a man who leaves his letters lying around. Here we have a pile of letters. An invitation to a play and one to a dinner party, a letter concerning his position as governor of a school, and a request for a charity donation. The latter, you will notice, opened first and destined for refusal, filed as it was beneath the five envelopes.” Holmes looked around. “There is no basket for waste paper and yet he is a tidy man so presumably he intended to throw them in the fire. The fact he didn’t do so means that he was interrupted. So where is the fifth letter and what was it?”
“Surely a man would go through his correspondence at the start of the day?” I asked.
“That rather depends whether the man in question cares to respond. Lord Ruthvney clearly felt he could keep people waiting. He was also,” Holmes gestured to the pile, “a man who received exceedingly boring post.”
He lowered his face to the desk, and grinned. “There was also a sixth envelope!” he announced. “And presumably therefore a sixth letter.” He looked to Mann. “He had nothing on him?”
“Not in the sense you mean, sir,” Mann replied. “Certainly he had nothing which could have been posted to him.”
Holmes removed his small leather tool pouch from his jacket pocket, untied it and removed a pair of tweezers. He picked up a small triangle of black paper from the surface of the desk. “A fragment of the envelope. You’ll note he didn’t use a letter opener – one often tears off the first piece of an envelope when one opens it by hand. Black paper, portentous as well as pretentious.”
“Who writes using a black envelope?” I asked.
“Someone wishing to seem satanic!” Holmes dropped the paper fragment into a small envelope of its own, sealed it and placed it in his pocket. It then occurred to him that perhaps, as it was evidence, he should have offered it to Inspector Mann. “Oh,” he said, somewhat awkwardly, “perhaps you should...”
The Inspector smiled. “Consider yourself a specialist drafted in under my authority. All I ask is that you share whatever you learn. I shall, of course, show you the same courtesy, though I suspect you will have more to tell me than I you.”
Holmes clapped his hands and patted the envelope where it rested in his pocket. “I shall wring it dry of all it offers,” he promised, “and send you my findings. He sat back at the desk, spreading out his hands on the soft green leather. He was, I knew, putting himself in the position of the now absent Ruthvney. “So,” he said after a moment, “tell me what you have managed to glean with regard to the chain of events.”
Mann smiled and flipped open his notebook, clearly he had been
“It could certainly have been something along those lines,” Holmes admitted. “Something affected Ruthvney unfavourably enough for him to start dining on his collection.” He poked delicately through the shattered glass with the toe of his boot. “And, given the bloodstains on this glass, numbed his pain sufficiently for him to pay his wounds scant attention.”
“So it’s a matter of poison then you believe, sir?” Mann asked.
Holmes held up his hand. “Please, Inspector, these are initial impressions. While further investigation may prove them to be facts, it would be a grievous mistake to treat them as such for now. Tell me, did you or your men take anything from this room?”
“No sir, I was particularly determined to avoid such a thing, I knew that you would wish to examine everything just as it was.”
“Most kind, and it is immediately useful in that it confirms one thing for us: someone removed something from Ruthvney’s desk after his death.”
“How can you be so sure?” I asked.
“Because there are four letters and five envelopes,” he said, sitting down at the desk. “He was clearly going through his correspondence just prior to his unfortunate attack. The desk is tidy, he is not a man who leaves his letters lying around. Here we have a pile of letters. An invitation to a play and one to a dinner party, a letter concerning his position as governor of a school, and a request for a charity donation. The latter, you will notice, opened first and destined for refusal, filed as it was beneath the five envelopes.” Holmes looked around. “There is no basket for waste paper and yet he is a tidy man so presumably he intended to throw them in the fire. The fact he didn’t do so means that he was interrupted. So where is the fifth letter and what was it?”
“Surely a man would go through his correspondence at the start of the day?” I asked.
“That rather depends whether the man in question cares to respond. Lord Ruthvney clearly felt he could keep people waiting. He was also,” Holmes gestured to the pile, “a man who received exceedingly boring post.”
He lowered his face to the desk, and grinned. “There was also a sixth envelope!” he announced. “And presumably therefore a sixth letter.” He looked to Mann. “He had nothing on him?”
“Not in the sense you mean, sir,” Mann replied. “Certainly he had nothing which could have been posted to him.”
Holmes removed his small leather tool pouch from his jacket pocket, untied it and removed a pair of tweezers. He picked up a small triangle of black paper from the surface of the desk. “A fragment of the envelope. You’ll note he didn’t use a letter opener – one often tears off the first piece of an envelope when one opens it by hand. Black paper, portentous as well as pretentious.”
“Who writes using a black envelope?” I asked.
“Someone wishing to seem satanic!” Holmes dropped the paper fragment into a small envelope of its own, sealed it and placed it in his pocket. It then occurred to him that perhaps, as it was evidence, he should have offered it to Inspector Mann. “Oh,” he said, somewhat awkwardly, “perhaps you should...”
The Inspector smiled. “Consider yourself a specialist drafted in under my authority. All I ask is that you share whatever you learn. I shall, of course, show you the same courtesy, though I suspect you will have more to tell me than I you.”
Holmes clapped his hands and patted the envelope where it rested in his pocket. “I shall wring it dry of all it offers,” he promised, “and send you my findings. He sat back at the desk, spreading out his hands on the soft green leather. He was, I knew, putting himself in the position of the now absent Ruthvney. “So,” he said after a moment, “tell me what you have managed to glean with regard to the chain of events.”
Mann smiled and flipped open his notebook, clearly he had been
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