by David Marcum
Shifting to a slightly more comfortable position, I replied in the negative. “Not at all.”
“Marion Gilkey was a wealthy, elderly woman who occupied the second floor of lodgings in New Princes Street. Her maid, Ellen Whitcomb, went out at the accustomed time to get the evening paper and also some groceries. She returned to find her employer savagely beaten and near death in the dining room.”
“Terrible,” I muttered.
Whirls of blue smoke lazily climbed towards the ceiling. “Yes, indeed, Watson. The woman died within an hour of discovery. Of course, it was in the papers and I asked Trench about it the next day.” More smoke.
“He informed me that the force believed that a missing diamond brooch was at the heart of the matter. Either she interrupted the robbery, or perhaps the thief, believing the flat to be empty, was dismayed to find her there and killed her to protect his identity.”
“Was anything else missing?”
My friend smiled. “Excellent, Watson. Our years together have sharpened your skills. That is the very question which I asked Trench.”
I believe that a flush of red may have suffused my cheeks. Praise from Holmes was always warming to my heart.
“No, Holmes. Only the brooch was taken.” We walked along in the cold air, it being a few days after Christmas. The snow had turned into the soggy slush that nipped at the ankles. Trench, nearly as tall as I, matched my stride with no difficulty.
I pondered this. “The press reports that she kept a great deal of jewelry and lived in fear of intruders. It strikes me as odd that someone would just take the one item. What say you?”
He eyed me. “We’re relying on Ellen Whitcomb, the maid. She said that was the only thing missing.” Trench was a stolid Scotsman and seemed more willing to look beyond the obvious than the average Yard man. But he was still a mostly conventional officer.
After more discussion, I convinced him to let me visit the crime scene. I would most certainly find that more helpful than simply extracting fragments of information from him. He agreed and we set off to the Gilkey residence.
“There are three flats in the building, Holmes. A musician named Adams lives on the ground floor with his sisters, with Miss Gilkey on the first floor. The uppermost rooms are vacant. One street door gives access to Adams’ flat, while another gives onto a stair to the other two. That door is opened by levers in the apartments upstairs.”
“So, no one could gain access from the street without having to ring in first?” I inquired.
“Exactly. And the late Miss Gilkey had two locks on her own door. The old lady was in the habit of peering over the bannister to see who was coming up the stairs after she granted access. That way, she could scurry back inside and bolt her door if the need arose.”
“Sounds as if the woman had installed herself in a fortress.”
“For all the good it did her,” Trench snorted.
He let us in with a key that he had and took me into dining room where she had been killed. It was an elegant room with candles, clocks, and decorative curios throughout. She had been attacked directly in front of the fireplace and savagely beaten, apparently with some type of weapon like a hammer or a crowbar.
“That chair over there was also used.”
He indicated a wooden chair at the dining table. It was still in sound condition, though I noted what appeared to be blood stains along one of the legs.
I stared at it thoughtfully. “Why would someone attack her with one object, then switch to a chair and continue the attack? Or the reverse?”
Trench eyed the chair. “I wondered that myself. Perhaps the killer didn’t want to get additional blood on himself.”
I thought that to be a rather weak speculation, but let it pass. It certainly bore further thought.
I explored the flat, though it looked as if half the Yard had already tramped through the place. A box in the bedroom, containing various papers, had been broken open and its contents scattered. The remainder of the bedroom had been in order, according to Trench - only the decorative wooden box touched.
“What were the papers?”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Mostly personal letters. A few things related to her deceased husband’s affairs. Nothing of interest.”
“Sometimes it is what is not there that we must see, Trench.”
He shook his head and stared at me. “Do you actually believe all those little sayings, Holmes?”
I ignored his comment and continued my examination of the premises. There was a collection of valuable jewelry in another bedroom, but it hadn’t been disturbed. If the maid was to be believed, only the one brooch was missing.
A window in the kitchen, overlooking a small yard, had been found slightly open. Whitcomb had said that was unusual but not unheard of when it became too hot in there from cooking.
I found nothing else of note and we departed. “I wish I could have been here before your colleagues undoubtedly erased many clues,” I told Trench as we walked away.
He glanced askance at me. “Holmes, your social skills could do with some improving.”
I looked at him, surprised. “Whatever do you mean?”
He merely shook his head, told me that he had some things to attend to, and headed off in another direction.
Later that same evening, we were sitting in the threadbare chairs that made up my sitting room in Montague Street.
“Why does the official force believe that this Braunstein is behind the killing, Trench?”
He had informed me that the Yard had arrested a German Jew named Oscar Braunstein. I had been familiarizing myself with the criminal fraternity in London as quickly as I practicably could, but did not know the name.
He took a sip of what I’m sure was a rather uninviting cup of tea. I was forced to make my own tea and I had not quite mastered the practice. I vowed that someday I would have a landlady who would make me a good cup of tea.
“An associate of his told us that Braunstein was trying to get rid of a pawn ticket for a diamond brooch. Braunstein wasn’t unknown to us, as we believe the woman he is living with is an unfortunate. Braunstein is a gambler, and also lives off of the proceeds of her work.’
“If he has pawned the stolen diamond brooch, it would certainly count against him.” I paused. “Though it would not be conclusive.”
“We caught him fleeing the city. He and the woman were taking a ship to America. We nabbed them there yesterday.”
I carelessly flicked cigarette ash onto the worn carpet. Though I preferred a pipe, my earnings were not such that I could afford any but the cheapest tobacco.
“A man went out to the pawn shop today, but I don’t know yet what he found.”
I exhaled and watched the smoke for a moment. “Tell me. What do you make of the brooch?”
He eyed me curiously. “What do you mean, Holmes? He was burgling the place when the old lady caught him or heard him or whatever, so he slipped it in his pocket, attacked her, and fled.”
I nodded dubiously. “Yet he left far more valuable jewelry behind. Why not grab as much as he could? Or at least, the obviously more valuable pieces? Just one brooch?”
“Come now, Holmes. He panicked. Such a savage attack indicates he lost his head.”
“Or had a visceral hatred of the victim.”
He reflected on this but dismissed it with a visible shake of his head. “No, I’ll stick with my theory, thank you.”
Trench struck me as more of a thinker than the average peeler, but he could be as stubborn as any.
“I’m intrigued by the disarrayed papers in the bedroom.”
He looked at me blankly. “What?”
“Looking beyond just one item being stolen, why was the box pried open and the papers strewn about?”
Trench shook his hea
d and chuckled. “Really, Holmes. Who knows? Maybe he thought there was a key to a safe or something valuable in the box. The brooch is the important item. We know he took that.”
“Tut, tut. You don’t ‘know’ that - you suspect it. And even if he did, how do you know he didn’t take something from the box?” I paused. “I assume Braunstein denies everything?”
“Of course. Says he’s never heard of Gilkey, never been to her flat, the whole thing.”
He stood up. “I’ve got to go, Holmes.” He looked at his cup and added dubiously, “Thanks for the tea.”
I grimaced at the wan compliment. “Good evening, Trench. I would appreciate it if you would let me know what is discovered regarding the pawn ticket.”
“Of course.”
The next morning, I traced Ellen Whitcomb’s whereabouts. She was staying with an aunt near Gilkey’s flat. Perhaps leading her to believe I was more than unofficially involved with the investigation, I drew her out about aspects of the fatal evening’s events.
She was a neat young woman in her mid-twenties. Not a brown hair was out of place and her clothes were tidy. I sensed that she enjoyed the attention she was receiving, which is not unusual when a light is shined upon a servant. They are often invisible and have no voice. The press and police were paying plenty of regard to Miss Whitcomb, and she didn’t mind it.
She had already explained it was her regular practice to go out for the evening paper and that Miss Gilkey often had her run some other errand while she was out. Such was the case that evening.
“And when you came back, you let yourself in the downstairs door with your key?”
Her hands, in her lap, were clasped together. “Yes, I always did. I went upstairs and opened the front door as well.”
“And you went in to the kitchen?”
She nodded. “I had cream and butter, so I took them to the kitchen.”
I stared at her, silently, a slight nod indicating that she should continue.
“Then I went back out into the hall and saw a man come out of one of the bedrooms.”
I leaned forward, peering intently at her. “And this was an unexpected encounter?”
She became animated. “Oh, most certainly. Miss Gilkey was alone when I left, I’m certain of that.”
“I see. Did you recognize the man?”
Her eyes moved almost imperceptibly downwards for a fraction of a moment before she replied. “No, the man was unfamiliar to me.”
I nodded, as if in understanding. “What did you do?”
“I was so startled,” At this, she put her hand over her heart as if the latter was fluttering. I was certain that more theatrics lay ahead. “I didn’t get a very good look at him. And he just went down the hall without looking back, opened the door and let himself out.”
“And what did you say?”
“Why, just nothing. Not a word.”
I still find myself in a state of disbelief as I relate this account. “A stranger came out of a bedroom and walked out the front door, and you did not challenge him?”
“I was just so surprised. No, I was dismayed. I used that word with a newspaper man this morning.”
I fear I ground my teeth, but remained silent until I had control of my rising annoyance. “Dismayed. Yes. I can understand that.”
“And then I rushed into the dining room where I had left my mistress. And... there she was... just all dead.”
I knew that Gilkey was not actually dead yet, but it was near enough that I would gain nothing by correcting her.
“And when you saw her lying by the fireplace?”
It took her a few moments to go on. Apparently she needed to recover from the horror of the discovery. “I ran downstairs to the Adams’ and told them what had happened.”
The conversation continued in this vein. I found it nearly impossible to believe that, encountering a total stranger in the flat, she simply watched him depart. I did not believe she could be so addle-headed, though it was conceivable with this one. There was one area of interest in our further discussion, though.
“Does it surprise you that only the one diamond brooch was taken?”
Whatever level of calm and confidence she possessed was shaken by my inquiry.
“Well, you never can tell with the criminal types. I mean, maybe he just grabbed whatever was handy.”
She looked almost pleadingly at me, though I’m sure she had no idea that was so. I stood, extending to my full height and looking down at her. “With all of that jewelry, why do you suppose just that one item?”
She began looking about the room, desperately seeking some help which wasn’t there.
I knew that she was about to end our interview, so I switched the topic.
“Well, as you say, you never can tell. I think that is enough for today.” I moved towards the door and knew that she was mentally sighing in relief. “I thank you for your help.”
At the door, I stopped and turned. “Oh, one more thing. Did Miss Gilkey have a will?”
Whatever anxieties she had had about the brooch turned to confusion at the abrupt change in subject. “A will? Why, yes, of course. I mean, she was old.”
Clearly, prodding was needed. “Do you know the name of her solicitor?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t. But she kept her will here. In the bedroom.”
She pointed towards the same bedroom in which the box had been broken open and papers tossed about. I smiled.
“I see. Well. Again, thank you for your time. You’ve been most informative.”
She was clearly glad to see me go, and I heard the door being locked as soon as it closed. I doubted she would open it for me again, but I had gained some clay with which to make bricks.
I spent the remainder of the day looking into Miss Gilkey’s relations. There were two sides: the Carrs and the Champions. The latter were of higher society, with lawyers, bankers, and professors in the branch. The Carrs were more common folk, without any distinguished members. There seemed to be no great fondness between the two families.
I found Trench on his rounds the following day. He told me that Braunstein had pawned his brooch days before the attack on Gilkey.
“Then you’ve released him?”
The man looked at his boots in embarrassment. “No, not yet. Inspector Jones still has us after him.”
I shook my head. “But it was the pawn ticket that put you onto him. If it has nothing to do with the crime, why would Jones...?” I trailed off.
He continued walking, not replying.
“Jones has a German Jew of questionable character in lockup. He makes an attractive killer. I imagine he has men out looking for witnesses who saw Braunstein near the scene of the crime the night of the murder.”
Trench stopped and looked me in the eyes as few men have before. “We’re also looking for anyone who can say that they saw Braunstein in the area before that night, going back weeks.”
“Jones looks to be searching for evidence to justify his conclusion, rather than following the facts to their justifiable conclusion, Trench.”
He began walking again. “I’ll not argue with you on that, Holmes. It’s a sorry state of affairs.” Realizing that he was criticizing his superiors, he stopped that line of thought and changed direction. “Have you discovered anything?”
I told him of my talk with Ellen Whitcomb and my subsequent efforts. He listened keenly.
“What if Whitcomb took the brooch herself? Could she not have somehow, upon going out, facilitated the entry of someone, perhaps a beau, who was to steal some other jewelry to cover up for the missing brooch?” I paused but continued before Trench commented. “Something went wrong, and instead of just taking the jewelry, the intruder attacked her.”
“And then he just vanished?”
“You’ll recall that the window was slightly open. Quite possibly panicking, he climbed out the window, shimmied down the drainpipe, and fled. He’d be less likely to encounter anyone that way. He could have pulled it almost shut behind him, or Ellen Whitcomb could have done the same, not realizing she didn’t pull it all the way down.”
Trench considered this. “I don’t know, Holmes. That doesn’t seem any more likely than several other solutions.”
I smacked my forehead with my palm. “Think, man! This would explain why only the brooch is missing. It was taken before that night! The burglar panicked after he killed Gilkey and he left the flat.”
“Assuming all is the way you put it, why did he use two different weapons?”
My eyes lit up. “Ah, excellent, my good sergeant. Why, indeed? He didn’t.”
Trench rubbed the back of his neck. “Really, Holmes. I don’t follow.”
“Our burglar was not there alone.”
“Are you writing some lurid novel, Holmes? I mean, where did you come up with that?”
“It’s the will. The will! I told you Whitcomb said that the old woman kept her will there in her rooms.”
I waited until he nodded.
“That was the only copy of the will. And the Carrs say that a few months ago, Gilkey wrote out a new will, cutting out the Champion clan for some slight. From what I’ve learned about the woman, it was just as likely a perceived offense as a real one.”
“I’ve heard she was quite unpleasant as regards her family.”
“Indeed. The broken box; the papers tossed about. The will could well have been kept in that very box. Whitcomb said that when she left, Gilkey was having tea. Did you find a teacup in the dining room?”
He nodded. “Yes, on the table.”
“The Champion family seems to be quite upset about being removed from the will.”
We were nearly run down by a van with “Grosvenor Square Furniture” painted on the side. Trench shook his truncheon and yelled at the driver, who ignored him and continued on.
