Read Online The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part II by David Marcum - Free Book Online Page B

behind, angled upward to the heart. Hunting knife, seems to me. Other than those of the neighbor that found the body, there was a single set of footprints that led straight to Collier from the road and back. The rains made some of the prints visible in the muck. Sharp new edges on them. Had an imprint on the sole. I could make out the name F. Pine. That and a lion, I believe.”
    â€œF. Pinet. It’s a French brand,” Holmes said.
    â€œRight. Pinet. Well, the tracks went back to the road, then disappeared. Got in a carriage, no doubt. I don’t think we can gather anything from them, though.”
    â€œPray continue,” Holmes said quietly.
    â€œI searched the home and found a business card. Collier owned a bookshop on Uxbridge Road in Southall - a place called Falstaff Books. Near as I can make out from some papers I found in his desk, he left Manchester three years ago. After I finished having a look around the home, I headed for the bookshop.” He sat forward and shook his head. “What I found there was quite odd. The door was unlocked, and the shop appeared open for business. There weren’t any signs of a robbery, though, as the register still had a few pounds in it. But there was no one tending the shop. While we were giving the place a look over, a young boy came in. He said he worked for Collier from time to time, pushing a barrow of books. He confirmed that the place had been opened by Collier that morning, and that he had spoken to him before heading out to push his cart.”
    â€œWhat time did you go to the shop?” Holmes asked.
    â€œI arrived at half past ten.”
    â€œAnd when was the last time someone saw Collier there?”
    â€œA gentleman across the street runs a little haberdashery - a Mr. Arnold George,” Chamberlain said, looking at his notes. “He recalled seeing a postman enter the place around ten. I confirmed this with that postman once I found him.”
    â€œSo this postman saw Collier?”
    â€œWell, according to the postman, he didn’t notice who signed for the package. Seems he was busying himself with a volume about photography. A little hobby of his, he claimed. Now I figure it must have been the murderer who was behind the counter. He obviously went to the store to rob the place with the owner out of the way.”
    â€œWhat of the delivery signature?” Holmes asked.
    â€œUnreadable. Shaky. Seems as though the murderer made a poor attempt at Collier’s signature, for it appeared to read Jack, not Jacob. The two names look enough alike, I guess. Nerves, perhaps.”
    â€œPerhaps. Were there any receipts in the register?”
    â€œNone. The gent across the street said business was slow that morning. Not much foot traffic to speak of.”
    â€œThank you. Please go on,” Holmes said, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples.
    â€œWell, I found nothing at the shop that would indicate what happened to Collier except for this package. It was on the main counter.”
    Holmes handed it to me, and I turned it over in my hands. How many times had I watched Holmes take a mundane object such as this and deduce its history? Sheer repetition should have left an impression, but I was unable to discern anything useful. It was a simply built wooden box wrapped in plain off-white butcher’s paper, tied with twine. The paper had been ripped open, one end of the box was pried off, and any contents had been removed.
    â€œThere was blood on the box,” Chamberlain continued, “as you can see. The blood was far from fresh when I arrived there. Some had dripped down to the papers under it. Inventory papers that were dated from the same day. Someone opened the box and then left it sitting there. I thought it might be important, so I brought it with me. One thing I noticed was that the handwriting on the package matched perfectly with that on the papers under it, and to other papers about the place. The high