For one fraction of a moment there was complete silence. The four figures in the doorway gaped mutely at the scene before them while the doctor looked at us in total confusion. Suddenly he dropped the weapon onto the rug and stepped back, away from the body.
‘Holmes,’ he cried desperately. ‘Holmes, what has happened?’
Seeing the gun fall, Gregory moved forward smartly and picked it up while Holmes followed Mrs Hudson to the stricken doctor. While Gregory tried to find a pulse in Moran, Mrs Hudson pulled out a chair and with Mr Holmes’s help lowered the doctor into it.
‘Watson, my dear friend!’ he whispered. ‘Speak to us. Tell us what has passed here.’
But while Watson was still shaking his head silently we were joined by the uniformed force in the shape of the constable we had spoken to earlier. Close behind him, from his vantage point across the road and still breathing heavily, came O’Donnell, the much put-upon plain clothes man.
Gregory, still kneeling by the body, was quick to take charge. ‘Search these rooms, men! I want to know for certain if anyone is concealed here.’ They leapt to the task with alacrity but Watson, watching them go, continued to shake his head.
‘It’s no good, Gregory. There’s no-one else here. It was just Moran and me.’
‘Hush, sir,’ responded Mrs Hudson soothingly. ‘You’ve had a shock and you should just take a moment to recover.’
‘Quite right,’ agreed Holmes, who remained crouched anxiously by his friend, his hand on the doctor’s arm, while the search of the flat was carried out around them.
My experience at the St James Hotel on the night Carruthers died must have taken a deep hold, for while the others looked to Mr Moran or Dr Watson, I found myself taking a detached inventory of the room where the body lay. It was furnished as a dining room and one half of the room was taken up by a dining table and its attendant chairs. The table was laid with the remains of a meal for two, dirty plates and crockery still lying where they had been abandoned. A bottle of claret stood half full in the centre of the table and an empty glass stood by each place. The other half of the room was spread with a dark rug, where Moran now lay dead. Two further doors opened from the room, one apparently to the bedrooms where the searches of both policemen were now concentrated. The other, standing open, revealed a tiny, rudimentary kitchen and a window facing out to the back of the building. The position of the kitchen meant the dining room had no window of its own, relying for light on a dirty skylight above our heads. Heat from the kitchen range filled the room, making the atmosphere doubly oppressive.
Any further study of my surroundings was halted by the return of the two policemen.
‘There’s no-one here excepting ourselves, sir,’ reported O’Donnell. ‘We’ve been through the place inch by inch, like. There’s nowhere much to hide though. There’s no attics or trapdoors, nothing.’
‘Very well.’ Gregory was again displaying the energy that I had witnessed at the scene of Carruthers’s murder. ‘O’Donnell, I want you to check the flats below. The doors should have been secured. Go and take a good look at them and see if they’ve been touched or tampered with.’
As O’Donnell parted with a salute, Gregory rose and went into the little kitchen that looked over the blind alley at the back of the building. The window was open and, leaning out, he scrutinised the scene below. Then he joined us again and addressed the remaining policeman with crisp decisiveness.
‘Jenkins, this afternoon I placed a man at the entrance to the alley behind this building. Fetch him up here as quickly as you can.’
While this exchange was taking place, Mrs Hudson left Dr Watson to Holmes’s ministrations and took a shrewd, appraising look around her. I watched her repeat Gregory’s visit to the kitchen where she too looked out of the window. Her curiosity satisfied she returned to the dining room, but not before she had examined the kitchen thoroughly and had sniffed interestedly at a pile of pans that had been left lying next to the tiny sink. While Gregory returned to his examination of the body and while Holmes and Watson conversed in low tones, she crossed the room and joined me.
‘This is an unusual little apartment,’ she commented. ‘It really is neither one thing nor the other. These are gentlemen’s rooms and it was never intended that there should be a kitchen here at all. At some point someone has seen fit to modernise and at considerable expense has created that cramped and impractical little room. The arrangement is most irregular and I imagine it was intended to allow a gentleman’s gentleman to prepare very simple meals.’
Before I could nod wisely at these domestic observations, the two policemen returned together, accompanied by another uniformed member of the ranks.
‘This is Flynn, sir. He’s been on duty in the alley since four o’clock,’ Jenkins reported briskly.
‘Thank you, Jenkins. Now, Flynn, I want you to answer very carefully. Has anyone been in or out of the alley in the last hour?’
‘No-one, sir. I’d stake my life on it.’
‘And could anyone have been concealing themselves there at any point during that time?’
‘No, sir. There’s nowhere to hide, sir.’
‘Did you hear the shot from where you were?’
‘No, sir. I must have been up by the main street, sir, where there’s a bit of noise.’
‘And there has been no other disturbance to divert your attention at any point? I’d rather have the truth, man, even if the truth is that you may be in error.’
‘On my life, sir.’
‘Is there any way anyone could have entered or left the alley without passing you?’
‘No, sir. The facing wall is the back of the old stable block. There was a bad fire there last year, sir, and now all the doors are boarded up. I checked them myself when I came on duty. Apart from these three flats, sir, there’s no other windows or doors opening on to it.’
‘And no-one could possibly have dropped down to the alley from one of these windows without you noticing?’
‘No, sir, most definitely not.’
‘Thank you, Flynn. I want you and Jenkins to go back to that alley and search it again. I want to know of absolutely anything that seems suspicious.’
As the policemen shuffled out, Mrs Hudson watched them thoughtfully.
‘Of course, Flottie,’ she remarked, apparently at random, ‘every cook knows it’s no good boiling the water after you’ve made the tea.’
While she continued to look slightly worried at this perplexing thought, Gregory was carrying on briskly.
‘Now, O’Donnell, tell us about those doors.’
‘Sealed as tight as a Dutch purse, sir. Padlocked from the outside. Police locks. No sign of tampering.’
‘Hmm …’ Gregory began to look worried and he cast a nervous glance in the direction of Dr Watson. ‘Tell me exactly what happened when you heard the shot just now, O’Donnell.’
The policeman contorted his face in thought. ‘Well, sir, from where I was you couldn’t be sure it was a shot. I heard a bang from somewhere and I was just wondering what it was when I saw Jenkins here charging towards the door. He being much nearer to the shot than me, you see, sir.’
‘Yes, quite. Go on.’
‘Then I didn’t waste any time, sir. I rushed over the road, straight through the outer door and up the stairs. I’d caught Jenkins up by the time we got up here, sir.’
‘And did anyone come out of the outer door after the shot?’
‘No, sir.’
‘There’s no possibility you might have missed somebody in the hallway or on the stairs as you came up?’
‘None, sir. You’ve seen it for yourself, sir. There’s nowhere to hide.’
‘Thank you, O’Donnell.’ Gregory paused, at a loss for what to ask next. ‘I’d like you to remain downstairs for now. Don’t let anyone in or out.’
As the policeman departed, a tense hush fell upon the room. Watson, his colour a little returned, was looking at Holmes who had begun to pace the edge of the rug, parallel to where Moran lay. Mrs Hudson, seated beside me near the dining table, appeared to be examining the pattern on the dirty plates.
‘Well, gentlemen,’ Gregory began. ‘It seems the problem is a simple one after all. Since we know there is no-one else in the building, and no-one has left since the shot was fired, it is clear that Moran has taken his own life. He did, after all, have a great deal on his conscience. Presumably, Dr Watson, you came into the room on hearing the shot and picked up the gun from where he had dropped it?’
Dr Watson, still puzzled and anxious, shook his head. ‘I’m sorry to say it, Gregory old man, but there’s one difficulty. As you say, I was seated next door by the fire. Moran had cooked us a bit of supper and had just stepped back in here. He said something about tidying up a few things. I was just thinking that another drop of Scotch would go down well when, blow me, a blasted gunshot goes off next door. Well, I hauled myself out of my seat and got in here as fast as I could and, when I got here, there’s Moran spread out like that and I think to myself, ‘The coward’s shot himself.’ So I got down to see if there was anything I could do to save him for the gallows but it was pretty clear right away that it was all over. It was only then I realised. There was no gun.’
Gregory stared at him, his face a study of mystification. Beside me, Mrs Hudson, after running her forefinger across one of the dinner plates, nodded slightly.
‘Go on, Watson,’ prompted Holmes.
‘Well, Holmes, it all happened a lot quicker than it takes to tell. At first I thought the gun might have fallen from his hand but one glance told me it wasn’t nearby. I stood up and looked around, and there it was – placed carefully on the edge of the dinner table at least three yards away. I’d just picked it up when you came rushing in.’
‘But Dr Watson,’ cried Gregory, ‘how can we possibly explain that?’
‘I’ve no idea, I’m afraid. I may be a bit slow sometimes but I knew straightaway that what I was seeing was impossible. Moran couldn’t have put the gun there after he shot himself. But who else could have done? I’m afraid it will take a better brain than mine to explain it all. I do know it looks dashed black for me, though.’
‘Chin up, Watson!’ Holmes thumped him vigorously on the shoulder. ‘None of that defeatist talk. This has been quite a shock to all of us but I shall now bring my faculties to bear on the problem and I’m sure we shall have an answer in no time.’
There followed half an hour of strange unreality. Mr Holmes produced two magnifying glasses of different sizes and proceeded to subject each room to the most minute scrutiny. Working with only his uninjured arm, he examined each wall from the skirting board to the picture rail, clambered on a chair to study the skylight, and even descending the stairs to check the doors to the lower apartments. He too examined the view from the kitchen window into the alley below. While all this went on, Dr Watson circled around the whisky decanter and occasionally helped himself to another glass of Scotch. Mrs Hudson, after a careful sniff at the decanter, decided to join him and, after some desultory wanderings through the bedrooms returned to her station next to the dinner plates. Gregory, now thoroughly deflated, went through the motions of investigation for a short while and then joined the rest of us in the dining room, staring morosely at the whisky glasses. All this was watched by the sightless eyes of Moran from his final vantage point in the middle of the room. The fire in the kitchen had gone out and the room was beginning to grow cool.
Finally Mr Holmes rejoined us, his eyes still hazy with concentration. He stepped over Moran without apparently noticing him and pulled out a chair from the dinner table. The rest of us watched him settle down and waited in silence.
‘This case presents certain difficulties,’ he announced at last.
‘Well, Holmes?’ asked Watson eagerly. ‘Can you put us all out of our misery?’
Holmes had taken out his pipe and was contemplating it so carefully he appeared not to hear the question.
‘I suppose, Gregory, that all your men are to be trusted.’
‘I can see no reason why not, Mr Holmes. O’Donnell and Jenkins are certainly honest and while I don’t know Flynn so well, all his brothers are in the force and they are all generally well spoken of.’
‘Hmm. I feared as much.’ Holmes took out a small pouch and, holding his pipe between his knees, used his good hand to stuff it with a dark, rather pungent tobacco. ‘As I say, the case presents certain difficulties. Gregory, when you entered the kitchen to look out into the alley, did you happen to notice if the window was already open?’
‘Yes, Mr Holmes, it was. At first that struck me as important. But, on reflection, the heat from the range made that little room uncomfortably hot so the open window was only to be expected.’
‘Hmm. You will notice that the only other windows that give onto the back of the house, those in the bedrooms, are secured from the inside. It would be fanciful to consider the windows at the front of the house as a means of egress as they are high above a busy thoroughfare and, besides, Dr Watson was in the living room from the moment the shot was fired until he entered the dining room and found our assailant vanished. Similarly, my scrutiny of the skylight confirms that it has not been opened or interfered with for many years. We ourselves were at the bottom of the stairs when Moran was shot, so can testify that no-one left the building that way. So we are left with the kitchen window as the only possible means of escape.’
Gregory nodded wearily.
‘Yes, sir. And the drainpipe that runs down the back of the house might be reached from that window. It would be a hazardous descent but a daring man might make it. Yet Flynn was on guard in that alley until some minutes after the shot was fired and the alley offers no place of concealment. I can’t see how the window helps us, sir.’
Again there was a silence. Everyone was looking at Mr Holmes expectantly, with the exception of Mrs Hudson who was licking the tip of her finger thoughtfully.
‘Have you another theory, Gregory?’ Holmes asked.
‘Well, sir, if there was no way in or out, perhaps the shot was fired from outside. The roof of the old stable block across the alley overlooks these rooms and if the window were open …’
Holmes and Watson both sprang to their feet. Holmes took up a position in the centre of the room, his feet on each side of Moran’s body. Holding his pipe at arm’s length and pointing it at the open window, he closed one eye and squinted down the line of his arm. Watson stood slightly behind him, stooping so that he too could follow the direction in which Holmes was pointing.
‘My word, Gregory,’ commented Holmes after a moment of consideration, ‘it is possible that you have excelled yourself. Your colleagues at Scotland Yard are not noted for their imagination but the scenario you suggest, although unlikely, is actually possible. If Moran was of roughly my height and was standing about here, then a marksman hidden beside those chimneys would have a clear line of fire. And, purely by chance, his bullet would pass through the open window.’
‘It would be a damned fine shot, Holmes,’ said Watson, still peering into the dark, ‘but I’ve known Pathans out in Afghanistan who could shoot the face off a penny piece from a distance not much shorter than this one.’
For a moment all three men seemed to swell with shared gratification until a small cough from Mrs Hudson brought them back to the scene of the crime.
‘Excuse me, sir, but how does that theory explain the revolver on the dining table?’ She had risen from her chair and out of polite curiosity was also examining the line through the open window that had so excited Mr Holmes.
‘Well, Mrs Hudson,’ he replied, ‘there is nothing to tell us for certain that the fatal shot came from that gun.’
‘Of course not, Holmes,’ added Watson. ‘If Moran was nervous for his safety it is highly likely that he should have armed himself with a revolver. He might have been carrying it all along and happened to place it on the table the minute before he was shot.’
‘Do you have a better idea, Mrs Hudson?’
‘Well, sir, if I may be so bold I should like to ask Mr Watson a little more about how he spent the evening.’
‘With Moran, you mean, Mrs H? There’s very little to tell. Just sat around and waited for Holmes, don’t you know.’
‘Perhaps if you could indulge me with a little more detail, sir?’
‘Certainly. If I can. Let’s see. When Flotsam left, Moran made another attempt to persuade me to leave. He seemed extraordinarily keen to keep his own company. But he soon saw I was having none of it and he became quite cold. “Am I to understand I am under house arrest?” he asked. Told him not to be so damned silly. Pointed out that he’d asked for our help and now he was jolly well going to get it. Then I turned my back on him and settled down to my newspaper. Fascinating item about a fellow called Phelps who claimed he shot the last quagga in the Cape. Thought he might have been the father of a chap I was at school with. Must have been reading for half an hour or more before I remembered the chap I was at school was called Phillips, not Phelps.’
‘And did Moran stay with you all this time, sir?’
‘Absolutely, Mrs Hudson. He wasn’t happy though. I noticed how jumpy he was, looking around at the slightest sound. I suppose he was still worried about those Sumatrans.’
‘And then what happened?’
‘At about eight o’clock I suppose we were both feeling a bit peckish and Moran suggested he get a bit of supper together. I thought he meant to go out for it at first, but he assured me that if I gave him half an hour or so, he’d see if there was anything in the house he could scrape together. To be honest it was a relief to have him out of the room. Since I’d been shown the true nature of the man, I found it rather uncomfortable sharing a space with him.’
Mrs Hudson was listening very intently now, one round arm folded across her bosom, the other resting on it to support her chin.
‘As you can imagine, I wasn’t particularly looking forward to breaking bread with the blighter, but as it happens he served up a remarkably tasty little meal. Potatoes, greens and the best cheese soufflé I can remember tasting. Good bottle of claret too.’
‘And he produced all this from that kitchen?’ asked Mrs Hudson, pointing.
‘Well, I can’t see where else it could have come from, Mrs H. Obviously I didn’t stand over the fellow while he worked.’
‘Did he serve the food to you while you were seated at the table?’
‘Really, Mrs Hudson!’ interrupted Holmes. ‘I understand your interest in such matters but surely the dead man’s serving arrangements cannot be relevant here?’
Mrs Hudson’s eyes never left Dr Watson. ‘Did he, sir?’
‘No, Mrs Hudson. It was all laid out on the table when he asked me to come through.’
‘Of course it was,’ said Mrs Hudson to no-one in particular. ‘And the kitchen door, Dr Watson, was firmly closed for the entire time you were dining?’
Dr Watson was looking concerned now, as though he feared these questions were designed to undermine the theory that appeared to exonerate him.
‘Yes, Mrs Hudson, it was,’ he admitted after a pause.
Gregory was quick to leap in.
‘I don’t think, Mrs Hudson, that the position of the door while they were eating has any bearing on my suggestion of what happened here. Granted, if the door were shut our marksman would have less opportunity to get Moran in his sights, but when Moran opened the door to begin tidying up, that obstacle was removed.’
‘Ah, yes. “Tidying up …” I believe, Dr Watson, that was the phrase Mr Moran used when he left you in the sitting room shortly before he was shot?’
‘Something like that, Mrs Hudson. “Excuse me while I go and tidy up a few things.” I think those were the words he used.’
‘Mr Moran was clearly something of an ironist, Dr Watson. Thank you, that is all I wished to ask.’ And to everyone’s surprise she lowered herself back into her chair with an air of finality.
Holmes and Gregory exchanged glances.
‘And where exactly does that leave us, Mrs Hudson?’ asked Holmes, his pipe and one eyebrow both raised.
‘The assassin, sir, is a man of more than average height. Earlier today he murdered Mr Neale. This evening he was concealed in the kitchen all the time Dr Watson was dining. He passed the time smoking a rare brand of cigarette. If you want confirmation of this, I suggest that Inspector Gregory sends his men to search directly below the kitchen window. They are likely to find the remains of at least one Egyptian cigarette identical to that found at Neale’s house.’
A silence fell more profound than any that had preceded it. Watson and Holmes both stared at Mrs Hudson in astonishment. Inspector Gregory frankly gaped. I, for all my faith, found myself trembling at the audacity of her assertion. Finally Dr Watson sank back on to his chair with a deep escape of breath.
‘I can’t see how you work all that out, Mrs H, but I’m very pleased to hear you say it.’
Holmes lowered his pipe and smiled quizzically. ‘Mrs Hudson, I confess you astonish me. Could we ask you to share with us the reasoning behind this startling theory?’
‘Indeed, ma’am,’ added Gregory. ‘Until you have explained some very baffling details, you will forgive me if I remain a little sceptical.’
‘Of course, sir. Why don’t you gentlemen sit down. It’s hard to be comfortable seated around the unfortunate gentleman here, especially on these chairs, but there’s no harm in our trying.’
There was a moment of subdued settling down, Gregory clearly still incredulous, Holmes having finally succeeded in lighting his pipe with one good hand, showing in his smile signs of amusement at the policeman’s discomfiture. Watson was leaning forwards intently, his honest face turned hopefully to where Mrs Hudson sat, unperturbed by the attention she suddenly commanded. She gave herself a little shake from side to side as if to form a better contact with the narrow dining chair and, after a little cough to clear her throat, addressed herself to Mr Holmes.
‘There were, sir, two particular things that told me a third person was present in these rooms when Mr Moran met his end. As a housekeeper by profession, I can only sit back and marvel at the way you search so systematically for scientific clues that would mean nothing to me. But in domestic matters I’ve had years of experience that you gentlemen don’t have, so it’s hardly surprising I see things in a kitchen that are beneath the attention of your investigations.’
Holmes nodded slowly as she spoke, his pipe unattended in his hand.
‘And to what particular details do you wish to draw our attention, Mrs Hudson?’
‘If you will allow me, sir, I suggest you take a close look at the state of the oven.’
‘The oven, Mrs Hudson?’
‘Of course, sir. As I pointed out to Flotsam here, the kitchen here is rather an unusual domestic arrangement. These being bachelor’s rooms you wouldn’t expect to find a kitchen here at all. But at some point in the past someone decided it was necessary and created that tiny kitchen as we see it now, in the process robbing this dining room of its only window. A most unsatisfactory arrangement, if I may say so. The range is small and awkward and seems unnecessary for a place like this. Indeed it’s clear that the oven has rarely been used. You can see from a glance inside that, unlike the top of the stove, it shows signs of rust and old marks that suggest it has not been in use – or properly cleaned – for some years before tonight. Penge may have been using this stove to prepare breakfast but his ambition clearly hasn’t extended to baking or roasting.’
‘Mrs Hudson, I fear I’m failing to see the significance of all this. But go on. What is the second detail to which you wish to draw our attention?’
‘To the peculiarity of the cheese soufflé that Dr Watson enjoyed this evening.’
‘But Mrs Hudson,’ exclaimed Watson, ‘there was nothing at all wrong with the cheese soufflé. It was quite perfect.’
‘That, Dr Watson, is the peculiarity I find so interesting.’
A short silence followed this extraordinary utterance. The doctor looked completely baffled and Gregory suddenly tutted impatiently. Holmes however had an eyebrow raised and was eyeing Mrs Hudson with extreme attention, as if her words were opening up important lines of thought in his brain.
‘Indeed, Mrs H. A fascinating concept. I only wish I had thought of it myself.’
‘Eh, Holmes?’ Watson’s perplexity showed no signs of untangling itself. ‘I’m sorry. You’ll have to make it all a great deal clearer for me, I’m afraid.’
‘My apologies, gentlemen.’ Mrs Hudson was leaning back with eyebrows trembling slightly as if she were enjoying herself enormously. ‘I fear I am being quite unnecessarily cryptic. A most objectionable habit, I’m sure. And I am running ahead of myself. I shall return to these details in a moment. I only mention them now because they confirmed for me what I already believed – that there was a third party present here throughout the evening. Since Dr Watson didn’t kill Moran and Moran clearly didn’t kill himself, the murder must either have been done as you suggest, by someone outside the building, or by someone who was here all along. Now you must forgive me if I find your manly grasp of angles and lines of fire magnificent but just a little unlikely. Quite possible, of course, but how much easier if the murderer was simply hidden in the kitchen.’
‘But, Mrs Hudson …!’
‘I know, Inspector. I’m aware of the difficulties. But I look at it like this. There has only been one opportunity this evening for anyone to enter this building without our knowing about it, and that was during the highly contrived disturbance in the street outside. That occurred just before Dr Watson and Flottie’s visit. So anyone who entered then would have been seen by them on the stairs – unless he had already entered these rooms before they arrived.’
Dr Watson raised his hand. ‘But how could he have entered without Moran knowing? It’s simply not possible. Yet when we arrived Moran was adamant that he was alone.’
‘Yes, sir. You made the mistake of assuming that Moran was as afraid of intruders as he pretended. In fact he had no sense of danger. This was a welcome caller, someone he wanted to meet. From his anxiety to be rid of you, it’s clear he was extremely eager to attend to his guest.’
Dr Watson lowered his hand thoughtfully and Mrs Hudson continued.
‘Now, let us imagine events. While those observing the front door are distracted, a mystery visitor – let us call him Melmoth – slips inside. Moran welcomes him in and is eager to speak to him. The pair are, however, almost immediately interrupted by the arrival of Flottie and Dr Watson. There are clearly reasons – almost certainly criminal ones – why Moran and Melmoth do not wish to be found in conference. So Melmoth slips into the dining room and waits for Moran to show you the door. Imagine their consternation when you will not be persuaded to leave at any price. Moran is in a difficult situation but, under the pretence of fetching his newspaper, he is able to appraise Melmoth of the situation. The pair agree to wait until the obstinate guests take their leave.’
Heads were nodding now. Even Gregory seemed to feel this sequence of events made sense.
‘Now if Melmoth had called with the idea of murder already formed – and I believe he had – why did he not do so at that point, when he was briefly alone with Moran? Why wait so tediously? Perhaps he was not yet certain that Moran had to die. Or perhaps a cunning scheme was forming in his brain. When he was informed that the inconvenient visitor was none other than the renowned Dr Watson, what better than to make his mystifying escape in such a way as to throw suspicion onto the doctor? So he waited, sir. And the longer he waited, the more convinced you became that you and Moran were alone.’
By now we were all listening with intense concentration. A little shudder ran through me at the thought of murder so coldly calculated. Mrs Hudson gave another shuffle in her chair.
‘When Moran excused himself on the pretence of investigating supper, he was probably doing no more than looking for an excuse to confer further with his new accomplice. By now Moran may have been worrying, rightly, that your continued presence was the prelude to a visit from Mr Holmes and possibly the police. He left the room to explain his fears to Melmoth.
‘At this point it is only fair to explain that I have my own ideas about Melmoth’s true identity. The man I have in mind is quite capable of seizing upon the opportunity that presented itself. He liked the supper idea. It gave Moran an excuse to absent himself from the sitting room and so enabled the two to talk without arousing Dr Watson’s suspicions. Furthermore, by entertaining in the dining room Moran would cement in Dr Watson’s mind the idea that the rooms beyond the sitting room were unoccupied. So while the two of them got down to the discussions interrupted by Dr Watson, Melmoth prepared supper.’
Gregory opened his mouth to interrupt but Mrs Hudson silenced him with a stern glare.
‘I am aware, Inspector, that this is all speculation, which is why the domestic details are so important. We know the oven was not commonly used. Tonight someone used it. It is possible that Moran, liberated by the absence of Penge, decided to experiment with new levels of culinary creativity. But it is surely unlikely. Dr Watson also testifies to the perfect soufflé. To create such an object on such an awkward range attests to a highly skilled hand. It is possible that Moran has long concealed a talent for soufflé. But again, surely unlikely. These details prove nothing in themselves, you see, but they are enough to convince me of the presence here tonight of one Maurice Orlando Fogarty.’
The effect of this declaration was dramatic, startling her listeners like a sudden flash of lightning. I felt a little surge of pride at their astonishment.
‘Maurice Orlando who?’ muttered Watson.
‘Never heard of him!’ added Gregory.
Mr Holmes laid down his pipe on the dining table.
‘Let me get this clear, Mrs Hudson. You are telling us that as well as knowing how this murder was committed, you also know the identity of the murderer?’
‘Oh yes, sir.’ Mrs Hudson seemed surprised at the question. ‘I’ve known that all along. It was finding ways of demonstrating it that was the difficulty. Even now I’m afraid I don’t have actual proof. Not proof that would hang the man. But enough for my own satisfaction, and that is at least something.’
‘But who is this man Fogarty?’
‘There will be plenty of time to tell you all about Fogarty later, sir. For now, suffice it to say that his soufflés have been praised from Madrid to St Petersburg. His fish soufflé once turned the head of a minor, though quite substantial, Bourbon princess. But tell me, sir, before I go on, don’t you think something should be done for Mr Moran? It seems wrong to leave him here very much longer.’
‘Presently, Mrs Hudson. When you’ve finished.’ Holmes waved aside her query with his pipe. ‘Now let us suppose this Fogarty was here tonight. Let us agree with your remarkable contention that Watson’s supper is itself proof of his presence. Let us even set aside for the time being the question of why he committed this remarkable crime. How do you propose to explain his disappearance into thin air?’
‘But that is surely quite simple, sir. We know he must have left through the kitchen window. There is no alternative. When Dr Watson was seated comfortably next door, Fogarty shot Moran, taking care to place the gun on the table so that a verdict of suicide could not be an option. He was out of the window while Dr Watson was still rising from his armchair. He had of course taken care to plan his escape long before he paid his visit. Mr Fogarty is the sort of man who likes to know the whereabouts of the back door before he calls at the front.’
Inspector Gregory looked as though he was in danger of exploding.
‘But, Mrs Hudson, you heard my man swear that there was no-one in that alley at any time. How could he have escaped?’
‘He simply walked out of the alley, sir. Calmly so as not to excite suspicion, I imagine.’
‘Then you think Flynn was lying?’
‘Oh no, Inspector.’ Mrs Hudson seemed appalled at the thought. ‘Flynn wasn’t there.’
‘But he claims he was there all afternoon and evening.’
‘No, sir. Shortly after the murder you asked him to come up here. I imagine Fogarty anticipated something of the sort. He’s generally clever that way. He knew the chance would arise.’
Gregory’s tone began to contain a hint of desperation.
‘But he was out of that window before Dr Watson could cross the sitting room. Flynn was still there at that point. And he could hardly have failed to notice a man dropping to the alley.’
‘Of course not, sir. But why do you assume he dropped to the alley straightaway? Why do you assume the only way out of the window is down?’
The beginnings of a ghostly pallor began to show in Gregory’s face.
‘You mean he …’
‘Yes, sir. The drainpipe leads up as well as down. Now, it’s not very firmly attached, but if you take another look you will see that a man with a good reach might succeed in clambering from the window up to the roof without relying on it. That is why I suggested he must be above average height. From the roof he would have a good view of the alley. When he saw your man withdrawn, he made his escape. Of course, he was prepared to wait there for as long as it took, guessing rightly that the police would be slow to undertake a search of the rooftops.’
‘But if you knew …’ Gregory seemed lost for words. ‘If you had told us this before, surely his escape could have been prevented?’
‘I did think about that, Inspector. But he is a ruthless man, sir, not afraid of desperate measures. I feared that if I raised the alarm earlier you gentlemen would have insisted on heroic pursuit and he would not have hesitated in shooting at least one of you dead. A very masculine sequence of events but what an unnecessary waste it would have been. Fogarty will not escape forever, sir. For now I thought it better to wait.’
‘Bravo, Mrs Hudson!’ Mr Holmes rose smiling from his seat and slapped the speechless Gregory firmly on the shoulder. ‘Inspector, see what a study of my methods can achieve? I too had wondered about the rooftop. But is it really possible that you withdrew the only observer from the alley?’
Gregory’s face looked grey and his eyes glassy.
‘I’m afraid so, Mr Holmes.’
‘It never occurred to me you would have been so short-sighted. Thankfully Mrs Hudson has less confidence in Scotland Yard than I do.’ He slapped Gregory’s shoulder a second time. ‘Cheer up! Watson is proved innocent and you will be able to show Lestrange and your other colleagues the mechanics of a singularly daring murder. All that remains to us now is to hear from Mrs Hudson about why this Fogarty character was so determined to kill Moran.’
‘Why, yes!’ Some animation began to return to Gregory and he looked eagerly across at Mrs Hudson. ‘And it may not be too late to make an arrest!’
A knock at the door prevented her from replying and the sturdy figure of Jenkins entered the dining room.
‘Please, sir, just to report that Flynn and I have gone through that alley inch by inch. No sign of anyone hiding there, sir.’
‘No, Jenkins, I’m afraid we’re too late for that.’
‘There was one thing, sir. There’s a drainpipe runs down the wall from just about here. Flynn noticed that the section at the bottom has come away from the wall a fraction. He’s not sure, but he doesn’t think it was like that before. We thought we should mention it, sir.’
Gregory looked slightly sick. ‘Good work, Jenkins,’ he muttered. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘Only these, sir.’ He held out his hand and revealed three or four dark objects lying in his large, pink palm. ‘We found them by the drainpipe, sir. Looks like someone was having a smoke.’
We crowded forwards to look closer. The cigarette ends, though damp from the cobbles, were strikingly familiar.
Mrs Hudson picked one up and held it thoughtfully. ‘A number of gentlemen smoke Egyptian cigarettes. And there’s nothing to show these were smoked in this kitchen. I’m afraid, Inspector, there is nothing here to justify an arrest. The man you seek will have taken care there is not.’ She turned to the assembled company.
‘If you will forgive me, gentlemen, I see it is already after midnight. There is nothing I can add to what we’ve all seen tonight and nothing more to be done. Flotsam here has scarcely had a night’s sleep in the last two weeks and Mr Holmes is still pale from his wound. I shall be delighted to explain all my ideas about recent events tomorrow, but now I think it’s time for us to head home. It’s been a difficult day.’
‘Mrs Hudson is right once again, gentlemen,’ Mr Holmes concluded happily. ‘But before we go, Mrs H, I want your promise that tomorrow evening we shall gather at Baker Street to hear what you have to say. That is agreed? Excellent! Very well then. Until tomorrow!’