I waited for any updates
to scroll across the bottom of the page but when none appeared,
I set the paper aside and looked up expectantly at Krane.
“I received this paper letter
via special delivery this morning,” he said, holding up
the note he had recently been absorbed in.
“Let me deduce who it was
written by,” I interjected. “I see cheap paper, and the
hurried scrawls of an antique ink pen. Even from where
I sit across the room I can tell that the letter’s author
harbors feelings of both reverence and dare I say, desire
for at least half of the present occupants of this address.
Therefore, the letter must have come from a female admirer.”
Krane gazed at me steadily.
I snickered at my own joke. His brows were furrowed in
disapproval, but the corners of his mouth twitched slightly
as if he were holding back a smile.
“The letter is from an Inspector
Crittenden,” Krane revealed. “He has solicited my assistance
in the case you have just read.”
“I see.”
“I plan to leave shortly
to meet Inspector Crittenden at the scene of the crime,” my
friend continued. “Would you care to accompany me?”
“It is such a hot day and
I have to catch up on my own correspondence,” I began.
Krane held up a hand.
“Don’t make me beg, Grant,” he
chided me lightly. “You have proven the worth of your companionship
on numerous similar occasions.”
I searched his face for some
trace of mockery but found none. Finally I rose and followed
Krane out the door.
A replica hansom cab was
waiting for us as we exited Krane’s quarters and we immediately
climbed aboard. Gears engaged, hidden clockwork relays
turned and we jolted on our way. Steam issued from the
mechanical horses’ nostrils. The journey was a predominantly
silent one as we each dealt with the oppressive heat in
our own way. I believe my past law enforcement service
in Australia gave me a slight advantage. I sat fairly comfortably,
mopping my brow only occasionally. Krane wilted beside
me, his eyes closed.
At last we arrived at Biggin
Hill. The weather was slightly cooler in this southern
borough. I don’t know if it was the drop to a more favorable
temperature or the impending examination of the scene that
revived Krane, but he disembarked from the cab with newfound
alacrity.
Krane and I descended a gentle
slope of grass toward a gnarled and imposing oak. At the
foot of the oak stood a stocky man I took to be Inspector
Crittenden. He stepped forward as we approached.
“Herbert Krane? It is my
pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The man made a small
bow and held out his hand. “I am Inspector Crittenden of
New Scotland Yard.”
Krane took the proffered
hand and looked around distractedly. Crittenden then turned
to me. “You must be Kendrick Grant,” he said, “A pleasure,
sir.”
“Thank you,” I said and we
shook hands. The inspector’s grip was viselike. I wondered
if he’d undergone some internal mechanical enhancements.
“Where was the late Mr. Evans
employed?” Krane asked.
“He clerked and apprenticed
at a haberdashery,” Crittenden revealed. “An authentic
haberdashery. We’ve already visited his employer. The fellow
was shocked; couldn’t believe what has happened.”
Krane pursed his lips, “So
he hadn’t worked there long enough to be a victim of the
sickness.”
The inspector shook his head. “The
owner exhibited a bit of mental instability, but I am certain
it was more affectation on his part than anything. Haberdasher’s
Lament takes time; one does not earn it overnight.”
“Of course,” Krane nodded.
He turned and wandered toward a spot approximately two
meters from the oak and crouched down. Crittenden hurried
over to join him and I followed suit at a leisurely pace.
“I see you have already discerned
where the body was found, Mr. Krane,” Crittenden said. “As
I wrote in my letter, two pistols were found at the scene.
One was still clutched in the victim’s hand, the other
lay less than half a meter away.”
Krane scanned the ground
in all directions. “Was the victim right or left-handed?”
“The pistol was gripped in
his left hand, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s not,” Krane replied
matter-of-factly. “But it does lead to my next question:
where did the bullet enter Evans’ skull?”
“The right eye socket, near
the bridge of the nose.”
Krane had stood back up. “Were
both weapons discharged?”
“Yes,” Crittenden responded
promptly.
“Were both slugs recovered?”
“One was retrieved from inside
the victim, of course. It successfully dispensed its vial
of acid. We have not recovered the other slug however,” the
inspector admitted. “We surmise the shot went wild and
could be anywhere.” He made a sweeping gesture over the
vast expanse of brown grass surrounding us.
“It would be prudent to locate
the slug before any children discover it,” I interjected. “If
the acid vial has not shattered, a further tragedy could
yet unfold.”
Krane forgave me for stating
the obvious by ignoring me. “Would you humor us by walking
through the events as the authorities believe they unfolded?” Krane
asked Crittenden.
“Certainly,” the brawny man
agreed. “We believe that Evans and another man met here
by prearrangement. One of them brought a wooden box that
held the two pistols; probably Evans since the items were
left behind when the killer fled.”
Crittenden paused, waiting
for Krane to make a judgment on this statement. When my
friend only gazed up at the sky, the inspector continued.
“We believe the men stood
back to back as is customary in a duel and walked their
twenty paces. Both men turned and fired. Evans’ bullet
missed its mark while his assailant’s bullet flew true.
Evans fell to the ground. His killer approached the body
and, upon finding him dead, tossed away his pistol and
fled the scene.”
Krane looked at me. “What
do you make of it, Grant?”
“Sounds like a solid appraisal
of the events,” I allowed.
“And yet only one sentence
the Inspector uttered is true; at least in a literal sense,” my
friend announced.
Crittenden gaped at Krane.
His jaw hung open for so long that I had to resist the
urge to reach out a hand and gently close it myself.
“B-b-but Mr. Krane, h-h-how…?” Inspector
Crittenden finally stammered. He reminded me of a mechanical
minstrel with a scratched song cylinder.
“You said ‘Evans fell to
the ground’ and in that statement you are correct,” Krane
said. He strode about halfway back to our waiting replica
hansom and knelt. “See here.”
Inspector Crittenden knelt
beside Krane while I stationed myself between them and
looked over their shoulders. Krane dug with his fingers
into the sun-baked ground. In moments he withdrew a misshapen
chunk of lead. Tiny shards of glass protruded from the
tip. The acid had been safely absorbed into the earth.
“The second slug,” my friend
announced and held it out to Crittenden. The inspector
took it in amazement, examined it briefly and then made
it disappear into a pocket.
Krane stood and brushed loose
brown grass from his knees. “I believe that Evans was taken
by surprise and was shot pointblank. With that in mind,
it was easy to deduce that when the fatal bullet struck
him, his fingers clenched reflexively and he pulled the
trigger while the gun was still pointed in the air.”
“But how the deuce did you
know where the slug would have landed?” Crittenden sputtered. “Was
it a mathematical formula of trajectory?”
“It could have been, but
not this time,” Krane admitted mildly. “I simply felt the
hole in the ground under my shoe as we approached you.”
“You just happened to step
on the hole,” the inspector repeated incredulously.
“Sometimes luck factors in,” our
companion said blandly. Crittenden and I exchanged dubious
glances as Krane continued. “Now then, I believe I have
solved the case but should like to examine the quarters
of the deceased. There are a few particulars that I am
still in the dark about.”
Inspector Crittenden grabbed
Krane by the shoulders. “Good Heavens, man! You know where
the shooter is, then?”
“Beyond your reach I’m afraid,” Krane
said soberly. “Now then, may we visit Evans’ quarters?”
“Yes, of course,” Crittenden
replied, “But—”
“In due time, Inspector,” Krane
said as he turned and strode toward our gently rumbling
hansom. “In due time.”
The drive to Lewisham from
adjacent Bromley was considerably shorter than our first
trip of the day. Krane had ordered our driver to follow
Inspector Crittenden’s sleeker ethyl-powered conveyance
and settled back in his seat. I looked at passing scenery
and was left alone with my thoughts. It was only as we
approached the former residence of the late Mr. Evans that
Krane roused himself.
“Now then, Grant, we shall
have a firsthand look at how a singular man like Denis
Evans lived,” my companion said. His eyes glittered with
hilarity over some secret joke that I confess I could not
fathom. The building itself looked similar to the others
in the area, and—except for the fact that Evans had perished
in a duel—I could ascertain nothing remarkable about the
man or his situation.
Krane and I disembarked and
strode toward Inspector Crittenden, who was already standing
at the foot of the building’s front steps. Inside, on the
first floor, we found the dwelling of the building’s superintendent.
The inspector rapped sharply on the door, which quickly
swung open to reveal a wispy little man with disheveled
white hair and a pince-nez clipped to the bridge of a surprisingly
bold nose.
Inspector Crittenden introduced
himself and the little superintendent responded in kind.
His name, he told us, was Eustace Lyons.
“We would like to examine
the residence of Denis Evans,” Crittenden said.
“Yes, of course,” Mr. Lyons
acquiesced. “A terrible business. He’s in two-oh-four.
Was, I should say. If you gentlemen will follow me…”
Lyons led the way to the
moving stairs, followed by Crittenden and then Krane. I
brought up the rear. The little man threw a lever. Hidden
wheels turned and gears engaged. The ascent was a remarkably
smooth one, which is not always the case in these poorer
neighborhoods.
“How long had Mr. Evans been
a tenant?” Krane asked the white-haired man, above the
hum of machinery.
“I’d say two years, give
or take a month,” Lyons responded.
“Did you know him well?”
“I knew him well enough to
nod hello whenever I saw him,” the superintendent said. “He
was a pleasant fellow most days, although he had his quiet
moments as well.”
“Oh?”
“You know how young clerks
sometimes are,” Lyons confided. “One day they seem like
they’re on top of the world, the next it’s as if they’re
carrying a large chip on their shoulder.”
“That’s the way it was with
Evans then?” Crittenden asked.
“Yes, you never knew if he
was running hot or cold. Always very courtly in his manners,
though. He was a bit old-fashioned in that regard.” Lyons
had stopped before the outer door of the apartment Evans
had rented. He withdrew a gold key, inserted it into the
lock and turned it. The outer door slid into the wall revealing
the apartment’s vault door. The superintendent twisted
the knob right, left and right as he consulted a series
of numbers displayed on tiny squares of paper under the
glass of a converted timepiece. The ingenuity of his invention
convinced me the little landlord was also to thank for
the perfect operation of the moving stairs. A hollow thud
told us the apartment was now unlocked. Lyons pressed his
palm against the door and made as if to enter but Krane
stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.
“I should prefer to enter
first,” my friend confided gravely.
The smaller man looked
affronted and opened his mouth to reply but Krane spoke
first. “For investigative purposes, of course; I have
reason to believe the killer may have been on the premises
recently.”
The superintendent jerked
backward in such surprise that the pince-nez popped off
his nose. Inspector Crittenden also cast a startled look
in Krane’s direction. Lyons kept my attention. His pince-nez
swung from its black ribbon like a man from a noose.
This sobering image returned my thoughts immediately
to the matter at hand.
Krane had already entered
Evans’ former quarters. I could see his silhouette outlined
in the window as he moved about the interior. Krane disappeared
down a short hall, which presumably led to sleeping quarters
and the bath. Moments later he returned to the door.
“It is just as I suspected,” Krane
said blandly. My friend stood aside and we all entered.
The young bachelor was by turns tidy and slovenly. Dirty
clothing had been thrown helter-skelter across the floor
in the sitting room, while in the bedroom all the clothing
hung neatly pressed on hangers. Polished black shoes
and dirty brown boots stood side by side in the tiny
foyer. The bed was neatly made, yet the couch in the
sitting room was in disarray. I thought this odd and
after we had perused the rooms, I approached my friend.
“What do you make of it,
Grant?” he asked me.
“It looks as if two people
lived here,” I volunteered. The wispy little superintendent
shook his head as if to argue, but Inspector Crittenden
nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“On what do you base this
assessment?” Krane inquired.
“The clothing and other
household items,” I responded. “Some are put in their
proper places while others are strewn about carelessly.”
“Did any of you gentlemen
happen to notice the pictograph on that wall?” Krane
asked with a long arm outstretched and his index finger
pointing.
We all turned and moved
in for closer examination. The framed pictograph showed
a rather beautiful young woman turning and gazing precociously
at the camera. Her dark hair hung in ringlets and she
flashed a marvelous smile and blinked long eyelashes.
She looked to me like a woman who could steal hearts
on a whim. As we watched, the scene started over. I confess
I nearly fell in love all over again as she turned her
gaze upon the camera. After her third glance over her
shoulder, I tore myself away and turned back to Krane.
“Am I correct in my assessment
that this young lady could be considered quite attractive?” Krane
asked us. We all nodded and chorused our assent.
“Did any of you look close
enough to make out the inscription?” Krane pressed.
Lyons and I both turned
back to the pictograph in surprise but Inspector Crittenden
nodded. I removed the item from the wall and tilted it
slightly for better viewing.
“For Denis and Ralph
with all my love, Charlotte. ” I read aloud.
“Good heavens,” Lyons exclaimed. “A
proclamation of love directed at two men?”
“Perhaps it is just a friendly
term of endearment,” I suggested. “They may all be old
school chums.”
“Regardless, we now have
a solid lead on a suspect,” Crittenden said.
I nodded my assent and
passed the pictograph to the inspector.
“But I never saw anyone
other than Evans enter or leave his quarters,” Lyons
attested. “Who was this Ralph? How could he have been
staying here without my knowledge?”
“Ralph could have been
here with precious few knowing about it,” Krane declared. “I
suspect Charlotte and Denis may have been the only two
persons aware of Ralph’s presence.”
“Then we must make every
effort to locate the woman in the pictograph,” Inspector
Crittenden said, “Perhaps she knows the whereabouts of
the mysterious Ralph. I believe he could very easily
have been the second participant in the duel.”
“I agree with the inspector
in that we must seek out this young lady, albeit with
a different purpose in mind.” Krane said, then he turned
to the inspector. “How soon can you have men making inquiries?”
“Within the hour,” Crittenden
announced after a moment’s consideration. He had turned
the pictograph over and was examining the back. “We can
start with the shop where the pictograph was taken.”
“Capital! Let’s have some
fresh air then,” Krane replied. He strode out of the
room and disappeared in the direction of the moving stairs.
Inspector Crittenden thanked Mr. Lyons for his assistance
and we left the superintendent to lock up and hurried
down after Krane.
Inspector Crittenden and
I found him already seated in our hansom. The driver
had kept the cab running and the mechanical horses had
built up full heads of steam in a very literal sense.
Krane spoke as we approached. “Fourteen blocks south,
we passed a small but serviceable-looking eating establishment
during our journey. Grant and I have breakfasted, but
have not eaten since. I, for one, am famished and would
make the supposition that my friend is as well.”
I nodded in the affirmative
and Krane went on. “I wonder if you would be kind enough,
Inspector, to notify us with any news on the whereabouts
of the lovely Miss Charlotte?”
Inspector Crittenden nodded
and Krane gave him the name of the restaurant where he
intended us to dine. Crittenden returned to his own speedier
conveyance and Krane signaled our driver. Once we were
off, I engaged my friend in a bit of light banter on
a few meaningless topics. I knew better than to press
my companion about the current case. Krane would reveal
all in due time.
Forty minutes later, we
had just pushed back our plates from a exceedingly satisfying
early dinner when a panting youth wearing the insignia
of New Scotland Yard’s Junior Officer Program entered
the establishment and looked around expectantly. My companion
nodded when the newcomer looked our way and the youth
hurried over.
“Mr. Herbert Krane?” he
asked. My friend nodded. The young man removed his starred
cap. “I sure am honored—”
“You needn’t be,” Krane
assured him. Then he asked briskly, “You have a communiqué for
us?”
“Yes, yes!” the young man
said, as if just remembering. He pulled a small ink-stained
cube from his front pocket and placed it carefully on
the table. From his other pocket the lad produced a jar
of liquid. He unscrewed the lid, revealing a brush attached
to the underside of the metal cap. He quickly and carefully
applied a fresh coat of ink to the cube and stepped back.
Krane glanced at the cube and then held it up for me
to read.
Misters
Krane and Grant,
The photographer
remembered her immediately. Miss Charlotte Bennett
resides at 2----Altamont Terrace, also in Lewisham.
Will meet you on site.
Inspector
Crittenden
“I was looking forward
to having a smoke after dinner,” Krane sighed resignedly
as his long fingers tapped his cigar case. “But I suppose
time is of essence.”
I knew Krane well enough
to note the glimmer in his eye and realized that he was
looking forward to an audience with the newly discovered
Miss Bennett.
“Just smoke in the cab
on the way,” I said and rose to pay the bill. The youth
stepped in to retrieve his cube and I paid him a small
tip as well.
Our driver was familiar
with the Altamont Terrace address and indicated that
it was nearby. Krane and I took our seats and in a matter
of minutes our hansom rattled and hissed to a stop in
front of the young woman’s residence.
We waited outside for Inspector
Crittenden to arrive. Krane continued to smoke placidly
while I watched the windows for any sign of movement.
The skies had started to darken, but no lamps had been
lit within Miss Bennett’s dwelling.
I pointed this out to Krane,
saying, “Perhaps she is not at home.”
“She’s home,” my companion
replied, but would say no more.
After another ten minutes,
Crittenden arrived. “I made for New Scotland Yard and
had to double back,” he explained apologetically.
The three of us found ourselves
once again at a stranger’s door. Inspector Crittenden
knocked and we waited. When no one immediately answered,
Crittenden rapped harder. Finally a muffled voice came
from the darkness within.
“Yes?”
“Miss Charlotte Bennett?” Crittenden
inquired.
“Who’s calling?”
“Inspector Crittenden of
New Scotland Yard. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The door opened a crack,
revealing a bloodshot blue eye which otherwise would
have been beautiful if not for the puffiness of recent
tears. Her cheek was flushed and she appraised us all
bleakly.
“What is it that you want,
Inspector?” she asked after several moments of silence.
“We came to offer our condolences,
my dear lady,” Krane surprised me by saying.
Miss Bennett met his gaze,
still holding the door open only a crack. “And you are?”
“Herbert Krane. This is
my friend Kendrick Grant,” he gestured toward me. Her
eyes widened briefly in recognition, then narrowed.
“I see you already know
my situation,” she said to Krane. “Have you come simply
to satisfy your curiosity?”
“We do have some questions,” Inspector
Crittenden began, but Krane cut him off.
“Our aim, Miss Bennett,
is only to put this matter to rest and in so doing, preserve
the honor of the man you cared so deeply for.”
Her eyes met his and after
another pause, her resolve seemed to crumble and she
opened the door wide to admit us into her home. It was
small and old-fashioned, but appeared clean and comfortable.
Miss Bennett lit a lamp on a small end table and sat
down in a nearby chair. Krane perched in the chair opposite
her while Inspector Crittenden stood nearby. I lingered
near the door where I could more easily see the group.
“How long were you acquainted
with Mr. Denis Evans, Miss Bennett?” Krane inquired.
“Over a year,” she replied. “Fifteen
months to be more precise.”
“Very good,” Krane said
and tented his fingers. “And how much time passed before
you became aware of Ralph?”
Miss Bennett flushed slightly. “It
was about four months. I’d noticed a change in Denis’ moods
from time to time but it wasn’t until I’d actually been
a guest inside his home that I realized his situation.”
“And yet you continued
the friendship,” my friend observed.
“Of course,” Miss Bennett
replied, raising her chin. “I had begun to care a great
deal about Denis.”
“And Ralph?”
“Despite their differences,
both Ralph and Denis treated me like complete gentlemen.
In time, they both professed their love for me.”
Inspector Crittenden finally
could stand it no more. “You are obviously aware, Miss
Bennett, that Mr. Evans lost his life in a duel yesterday
morning.”
Miss Bennett nodded and
blinked away fresh tears.
“We believe the fellow
you call Ralph is responsible for the deed,” Crittenden
pressed. “We know this is very difficult for you, but
he must be brought to justice.”
Miss Bennett shrugged her
shoulders and gave the inspector a humorless smile. Crittenden
pounded a fist into the palm of his other hand. “If you
withhold information, you will be obstructing the law,
Miss Bennett,” he warned.
She looked tiredly at Krane. “Do
you wish to tell him or should I?”
I was taken aback when
he reached out and took her hand. “Dear lady, you have
been through so much.”
She lowered her head and
bit her trembling bottom lip in an effort to stave off
the sobs that now wracked her body. Krane looked up and
addressed the inspector and myself. “Miss Bennett loved
two men within the same body.”
Inspector Crittenden scowled,
not understanding, but realization dawned upon me and
I confess that I gasped aloud. The remarkable situation
suddenly became clear and a feeling of sympathy rose
within me for the girl.
“What the devil are you
driving at?” Crittenden finally ejaculated.
“Denis Evans suffered from
multiple personalities,” Krane explained. “Not quite
the madness it was once believed to be, but still a curious
medical condition. Grant may have more knowledge upon
the subject than I.”
I stepped forward. “A contemporary
of mine, Dr. Eugene Azam recently wrote a paper concerning
a woman he called Felinda X,” I began. “Dr. Azam is a
professor of surgery who has a great interest in hypnotism.
While under his care, this Felinda X exhibited three
different, distinct personalities. Even more surprising,
each personality apparently had no knowledge of the others.
Whenever one personality took control, the others experienced
periods of amnesia.”
“Why that sounds preposterous!” Inspector
Crittenden cried. “A child’s fairy tale!”
“Not at all,” Krane said
with quiet authority. “I will explain more outside.” He
turned to our hostess. “Miss Bennett, would you like
us to summon someone to stay with you and attend to your
needs during this difficult time?”
“My mother, Lady Frances
Bennett, should be arriving by zeppelin tomorrow,” Miss
Bennett replied, dabbing at her eyes with a limp handkerchief. “I
sent for her this morning after I read the horrible news
in the morning edition.”
“If that is the case, let
us depart,” Krane instructed. “We have intruded upon
Miss Bennett for too long.”
I glanced at the young
lady who, even in her sorrow, looked exquisite. I offered
my condolences and followed Krane, who had stood and
was ushering the stunned inspector from the room.
Inspector Crittenden kept
silent until we were beside our hansom replica, then
he blurted, “This is really more than I can swallow,
Mr. Krane. I hoped you might discover some overlooked
clue, not put forth a sensationalized and ludicrous theory
about the case!”
Krane only smiled thinly
and raised both hands in a placating gesture. “Give me
only a few moments, Inspector, and I will explain myself
fully.”
Crittenden frowned but
nodded.
“I suspected something
out of the ordinary immediately upon examining the crime
scene,” Krane began. “The earth was dry and the grass
brown from the heat and lack of rain. The blades broke
easily wherever we trod. You and your men stomped most
of the grass between the road and the tree, but I was
still able to distinguish Mr. Evans’ movements. I discerned
right away where the unfortunate young man had initially
paced under the oak tree, waiting for Ralph to arrive.
I saw where Evans turned and counted off his paces, but
I could find no corresponding disturbance in the grass
of anyone walking in the opposite direction. The grass
there was untouched. Moreover, based on the angle Evans
took, his adversary—had there been one—could have taken
only four or five paces before being obstructed by the
large oak tree that stands there. When you described
where the slug had entered the victim, I surmised briefly
that the shooter was standing right next to the victim
when he fired his pistol.”
Krane paused and glanced
at the inspector, who was now nodding solemnly. I myself
had no trouble visualizing the scene at the base of Biggin
Hill as Krane described it, and I’m sure Inspector Crittenden
was mentally doing the same. Evans’ last moments came
to me with startling clarity.
“Evans turned to fire,
only to find that his ‘opponent’ had decided against
the gentlemanly approach,” Krane continued. “I realized
that ‘Ralph’ had crept up on him, so to speak, and pulled
the trigger from the only range possible.”
“Point blank.” Crittenden’s
voice was little more than an awed whisper. He looked
up at Krane. “Pray continue.”
“There’s not much more
to tell about the act itself,” Krane replied. “The Ralph
personality took umbrage to Denis and his interest in
Miss Bennett. Although Denis himself may have been the
dominant personality, Ralph may well have been the more
passionate of the two. They decided on a duel, with the
winner free to advance his relationship with Miss Bennett.
You’ve seen the result.”
“But Krane,” I interjected. “In
nearly all documented cases of split or multiple personalities,
each personality experiences periods of amnesia, or blackouts,
when another side is in control. How in heaven’s name
did Denis learn of Ralph’s presence?”
“Sadly, Miss Bennett is
to blame,” Krane revealed. “Matters came to a head when
she inscribed her photograph to both personalities. Imagine
adjoining rooms. By expressing her affection for both
personalities, Miss Bennett threw open the door connecting
the two rooms and the tenants got a good look at one
another.”
“You mean to say…?” Crittenden
began.
“Yes,” Krane replied somberly. “This
young woman unconditionally loved and accepted Mr. Evans
despite his peculiar condition, but she inadvertently
brought about his death by acknowledging both personalities
in her proclamation of love.”
Crittenden uttered a low
oath. I felt my sympathies rising once again on behalf
of Miss Bennett.
“So in the end, there is
no one to be brought to justice,” the inspector concluded. “It
was a victimless crime.”
“Not at all, Inspector,” Krane
disagreed as he stepped up and settled into our cab. “There
was no crime, but there is a victim.” He glanced
meaningfully up at Miss Bennett’s window.
Crittenden stepped back
and raised one hand in salutation as our driver threw
a lever and the mechanical horses sprang forward. Krane
slumped back against the seat.
“Dreadful business, that,” I
volunteered. “But may I congratulate you on your remarkable
deductions.”
“Thank you, Grant,” my
companion replied flatly. I could see that familiar melancholy
settling upon him. “My findings in this case have left
me in a somber and introspective frame of mind. Pray,
leave me to my thoughts until we have returned to Kater
Street.”
I settled back and tried
to relax, but the hum of the hansom’s wheels and the
clatter of steel hooves on the cobblestones quickly disturbed
my thoughts. The incessant buzzing of the gears and the
squeals of steam ejecting from rubber nostrils reminded
me of voices arguing heatedly with one another and the
drive proved to be a long and uncomfortable one.
