Read Online Sherlock Holmes 01: The Breath of God by Guy Adams - Free Book Online Page A

awaiting this cue. “According to Stevens, the butler, his master was often in the habit of going through his correspondence in the evenings. He observed that Ruthvney had not yet done so just prior to dismissing him for the evening. Ruthvney also complained that the chimney was smoking, asking Stevens to remonstrate with Mrs Pritchard, the housekeeper, for what he saw as a lack in her duties. Stevens insists that the chimney was cleaned regularly, indeed it had been done not eight weeks ago. Though he did make the point that as his master insisted on burning a great deal of paper in it, the soot was prone to build up.”
    Mann looked at Holmes and smiled, pleased to have been able to endorse several of the detective’s assumptions.
    “Stevens was dismissed at a quarter past eleven, I estimate Ruthvney was dead only a short time later. Say half past the hour, quarter to twelve at the latest. All evidence points to his being left to his own devices for only a short time. He was a voracious drinker and yet the brandy decanter – filled by Stevens that evening – shows only a fifth consumed. The fire was also not built up beyond the state the butler left it in and, as you rightly say, he had time to consult his correspondence and yet not burn it.
    “It seems to me that he was disturbed in his reading by someone appearing at the patio door. You will note it was opened at some point in the evening as there are leaf fragments blown in from outside, and I am assured that – whatever the opinion of her master – Mrs Pritchard is fastidious in her duties and would certainly not have allowed a maid to leave such detritus on the carpet.”
    “So it must have been blown in later, a fair assumption,” Holmes said. “What was the weather like here last night? Could the doors have blown open of their own volition?”
    “Funny you should ask that,” Mann replied, “it was, by every account, a calm night. My house is in fact not far from here and I can assure you that it was a temperate and gentle evening. However, Stevens commented that he heard no noise coming from here after his retiring but that...” Mann consulted his notes so as to be precise, “‘given the violence of the storm, the master would have had to make a racket worthy of cannon fire in order to be heard over it.’”
    “A storm, eh?” I said. “Not impossible, there could have been a localised bout of bad weather.”
    “The hall is protected on all sides by trees,” Mann said, “plus it is built in a slight dip in the land. If there is a residence more sheltered hereabouts then I don’t know of it.”
    “Your explanation?” Holmes asked.
    “I don’t have one,” Mann admitted. “I’ve asked the rest of the staff and they all confirm that there was a enough of a storm outside to shake the house to its foundations. A walk in the gardens tells an interesting story also.”
    Holmes inclined his head. “You are an intriguing fellow, Inspector! Do you wish me to make my own conclusions before you elaborate?”
    “All the better to ensure your opinion is objective,” Mann said with a broad smile.
    Holmes got to his feet. “Then by all means let us walk!”
    We left the house via the study, striding across the well-kept lawns in the direction of the forest that faced the rear of the house. Either side of the building was built up into terraces of the sort wealthy landowners like to use to host parties. These terraces were lightly gravelled and monitored by mournful statuary wood nymphs and water-bearing maidens whose shrewish countenances made it clear they would brook no ill behaviour. For all its age and architectural beauty, Ruthvney Hall was a house that made an art out of the death of amusement. It was seriousness personified in every brick, every rectangular window, every perfectly shorn privet hedge. One simply couldn’t imagine having a good time there.
    It was this prim neatness that ensured the path we had to follow was obvious. Certainly