The young man shook his head, then met our eyes. ‘Sir, I see you are here on serious business. What?’
‘Sit down again, Mr Eden-Summers, and put that cup on the table.’
‘I prefer to stand.’
‘Very well. Miss Odelia Wyndham was found drowned some four hours ago.’
The boy dropped the cup with a clatter. His face went white.
‘Dillie! But … but I was with her just yesterday. She …’ His voice trailed off as he focused on an image which seemed in the far distance. His face clouded, and he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and gave a long, shuddering sigh.
Holmes glanced at me in frustration. After a moment, Eden-Summers opened his eyes and stared at Holmes, all traces of the night’s debauchery gone. ‘Has her body been … er … are they sure that it is her?’ he asked in a new, serious voice.
‘Yes,’ said Holmes.
‘Found by whom?’
‘A baker passing the location.’
‘Where?’
‘You tell me.’
‘What? You think that I—? Why would—?’ Eden-Summers scowled. ‘My father will have something to say about this!’
‘Threats will get you nowhere, Mr Eden-Summers. The police are soon to arrive and will take you in for questioning. They’ll be considerably less patient than I.’
‘How do they know this drowned … person … is Dillie?’
‘Watson attended the post-mortem and confirmed the identity,’ said Holmes.
‘It was she,’ I said.
Eden-Summers nodded. ‘My God. That is a shame. A shame and a loss. She was—’ Here he paused. ‘She was … a fine girl. A very fine girl indeed.’ I saw no trace of tears. And an odd turn of phrase for one’s fiancée, I thought.
Holmes smiled. ‘I will need the names of your “Dalliers”. Everyone who was here and could vouch for you. I will, of course, have to confirm your presence here during the time of her death.’
‘Then you believe it was murder!’
Holmes said nothing.
‘You must believe so, else why be here? What makes you think it was a murder and not some kind of terrible accident? You said “drowned”. Where? Might she have fallen into—’
‘Fallen in? No.’
‘Dillie was an adventurous girl.’
‘There were marks. She struggled with someone.’
The boy shook his head. ‘But Dillie was a formidable young lady. Strong. Unafraid. I cannot imagine her being easily overcome.’
‘She was not easily overcome.’
These words hit their target. ‘Oh, my God! Dillie! I must wire my father. He – he – he will be …’ The boy paused. ‘But my mother will be relieved, I suppose.’
‘Relieved that your fiancée was murdered?’ I could not hold back this exclamation.
‘Then it was a murder! No, of course not relieved about that. But relieved that the wedding is off. She did not like Odelia. Our marriage was my father’s idea.’ He paused, his eyes going glassy once more. ‘Although no one would have wished … Dillie,’ he said softly. ‘Oh, Dillie.’ He looked up sharply. ‘And the scandal. What of the ring? The ring I gave her?’
‘There was no ring on the body,’ I said.
‘No ring! Perhaps in her rooms?’
‘No. What did it look like?’ asked Holmes.
‘A … an enormous diamond. Several smaller ones, and two serious emeralds. My aunt’s ring. Family heirloom. My father will have my head.’
‘Why your aunt’s ring, and not your mother’s?’
Eden-Summers shook his head, attempting to clear it. He looked up suddenly at his interlocutor with a new resolve. ‘Because she is still wearing it, old boy. What of my other ring? Gold. No jewels but a simple golden arrow? I gave it to her a month ago. Though she never wore it.’
‘No ring of any sort was found.’
The boy’s face fell, and his eyes filled with tears. ‘Dillie.’
Holmes stared at him a moment, then said to my surprise, ‘I believe you are innocent, Mr Eden-Summers. Let us help to prove it. Dr Watson can examine you in private and confirm there are no signs of a struggle.’
Freddie Eden-Summers frowned, and I sensed a certain belligerence.
‘Whoever killed Dillie will bear marks of the fight,’ said Holmes. ‘This can be done here, or more publicly at the police station, if you so choose.’
Eden-Summers’ jaw clenched, but he acquiesced and collapsed onto a worn velvet chair near the window, where I made quick work of the examination. In rapid succession I searched his hands, arms and torso thoroughly for signs of bruises, scratches, blood, or any indications that he had fought physically with the victim.
To my considerable surprise he did indeed bear the marks of a fight. He had a deep bruise under the left ribs, as though from a hard right punch, and, perhaps more telling, his own right knuckles were bruised and abraded, which I pointed out to Holmes. The young man angrily pulled down his tennis sweater and said, ‘I punched a fellow in the stairwell last night. A bit drunk, he wanted to barge into our private party.’ Holmes looked at him askance, and the boy added, chin jutting in anger, ‘This was seen by several of my Dalliers. They will vouch for me.’
‘What is this man’s name?’
Eden-Summers hesitated just a moment too long. He shrugged. ‘He had never been seen here before.’
Holmes and I exchanged a look. Undoubtedly prevarication. But before we could pursue this line of inquiry, the porter knocked crisply and opened the door without waiting.
‘Mr Eden-Summers,’ he said formally. ‘The police are downstairs. They wish to have a word.’
In a moment, Holmes and I had escaped down a back staircase and were outside in the late afternoon heat, keeping to alleys and vigilant for the police.
‘Your thoughts, Holmes?’ I asked.
‘Inconclusive. Those knuckles. And the odd story of the second ring. I wonder where it went?’
‘In the lock perhaps,’ I offered.
‘Even if his fisticuffs are verified, Eden-Summers has the financial means to have hired Dillie’s killer, if that were his intention. And his reaction was most odd.’
‘You told Eden-Summers you thought he was innocent,’ I said.
Holmes shook his head. ‘To put him at ease so that you could examine him. He is enormously entitled.’
‘That is putting it mildly, Holmes. Where next?’
‘We must see Leo Vitale before the police get to him.’
CHAPTER 31
Leo Vitale
Vitale was lodged in the second court at St Cedd’s not far from the Cavendish Laboratory. At the entrance to this large court, in which several buildings faced a plain green, we were confronted by a porter. A small, grizzled man, his upturned nose and large teeth putting me in mind of a hungry squirrel, he sat in a cubbyhole off the arched stone entrance. The porter set down the Illustrated Police News to demand our business. Intuiting instantly that the Wyndham name would not impress this man, Holmes mentioned that he was investigating an exciting murder, and time was of the essence! He explained that a young woman had been killed, implying that he was an official on the case, and that he needed to speak to Leo Vitale urgently.
‘Murder, you say! Well, that is fascinating. Leo Vitale! Now there’s a strange fellow. Well, these scientists are a queer lot. They are all clustered in staircase K and L, across the green there. Do you suspect him?’
‘No, but he may be a witness. Our business is urgent, sir! His room, please?’ said Holmes.
‘Odd, folks, these science fellows, I tell you. Strange smells. They set their rooms afire – exploding things. And always wanting coffee, coffee, coffee.’
‘His room, please?’ I said, before Holmes lost his temper.
‘Room Five. Top of staircase K. You’ll tell me what you find, then? So’s I can be prepared?’
‘Certainly,’ lied Holmes.
We found K and were up the stairs in a trice. By contrast to those o
f Eden-Summers’ lodgings, this staircase was dark and shabby, the wooden treads deeply scuffed, and the outer doors to all the rooms were all pockmarked and firmly closed. As we ascended, the heat grew oppressive.
The outer door to Room Five was ajar. We were in luck – Vitale, too, was in. Holmes knocked and opened the inner door to discover a single room, low ceilinged and dark.
Leo Vitale was seated at a desk, sweltering under the eaves, once again poring over a single sheet of paper, his head in his hands. He did not look up. Stacks of books, papers, and the odd bit of laboratory paraphernalia were piled high on every available surface. Two valises with a jumble of clothing and linens poked out from under the narrow bed, and the young man’s student gown, jacket and hat were hung from pegs all over the room. Even within the hallowed halls of Cambridge, our British class system made itself precisely known. Vitale looked up at us, his face devoid of expression. I noted dark circles under his eyes and a kind of sadness reflected there.
‘Mr Vitale,’ said Holmes. ‘Forgive the interruption. We are here on a matter of utmost urgency.’
The young scientist inhaled and sat up straight. ‘You again. What is this about now?’
‘A crime has been committed against a certain young lady. The police will be arriving shortly to question you,’ said Holmes.
‘What young lady? What crime?’
‘You are a suspect, Mr Vitale,’ said Holmes. ‘Now listen carefully. I am a scientist like yourself, and inclined to trust what you say. The police will look at you as an exotic bird, believe me, I know about this. There is evidence against you, and they will arrest you without hesitation.’
‘Be clear, sir! Arrest me for what?’
‘You were seen and heard outside the Cross and Anchor, having a shouting argument with Miss Dillie Wyndham at about two o’clock this morning.’
Two spots of colour appeared on the young man’s white cheeks.
‘How is that anyone’s business? What crime? Is Dillie all right?’
‘I need to know the subject of that argument.’
Vitale stared at Holmes. ‘Miss Wyndham has taken flight again? Is that it?’
‘Mr Vitale, tell me now, and I may be able to help you. What was the subject of your argument?’
I volunteered, ‘Mr Holmes is trying to help you, young man.’
Vitale blinked, thinking quickly. ‘I asked Dillie for my ring back. She refused.’
‘A ring you gave to her? What kind of ring?’
‘My mother’s ring: a small sapphire with two diamonds. A family heirloom. Please tell me what has happened.’
‘I see. You proposed marriage, then? She accepted you?’
The young man nodded.
‘But then you saw that Miss Wyndham’s engagement to Freddie Eden-Summers was announced in the papers,’ said Holmes.
Vitale stiffened. ‘Eden-Summers is a damned fool. That foppish idiot could never make her happy! And she had already …’ His eyes glazed over, and he blinked rapidly.
‘She had accepted you?’ Holmes murmured.
Leo Vitale nodded, back in control.
‘But last night, when Miss Wyndham refused to give you back the ring, you lost your temper. Shouts were heard. What happened after your argument?’
‘I left. I walked the streets for a while,’ said Vitale.
‘You did not go up to her room?’
‘No.’
‘Not to retrieve your mother’s ring?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I was more upset about the … about her … not the ring.’
‘Even so, why did you not go up and see her?’ persisted Holmes.
‘Have you met Dillie?’
‘Yes, I see. Did you encounter anyone while walking in the streets? Anyone who might remember you?’
The young man leaped to his feet. ‘Tell me what has happened. Why are the police involved? Is Dillie all right?’
Holmes was silent. Vitale looked from one of us to the other.
‘She is dead, isn’t she? Dillie Wyndham. Is she dead?’
Holmes nodded.
Vitale inhaled sharply as though someone had punched him in the stomach, but only a flicker of emotion reached his face. There was much of Sherlock Holmes in this boy.
Just then I heard a noise in the hallway. ‘Police!’ we heard a gruff voice bellow nearby. This was followed by a furious knocking on a nearby door.
Holmes glanced at the window. ‘The fire escape. Now!’ he barked.
The young man hesitated.
‘We are trying to help you,’ said Holmes. ‘Act quickly!’
‘I’ll go first,’ said Leo Vitale, opening the window and stepping through it onto something. ‘There is a trick to it. You must be careful.’
We followed the young man and clambered out of the window and onto a rickety iron construction. I wondered what had occasioned Vitale to exit this way before.
The spidery, long-limbed student and the always spry Holmes had no trouble navigating the rickety ladders heading to the ground, despite a railing that had come loose and two missing steps. I struggled but managed to follow.
We found ourselves in an alley behind St Cedd’s court, safe but only for the moment. The oppressive heat seemed to settle into the grime and rubbish around us and be reflected back from it.
‘I am going to the laboratory,’ said Vitale.
‘They will soon look for you there,’ said Holmes. ‘Is there no other place we can take refuge?’
Vitale shook his head. ‘If I am to be arrested, I must secure my papers, first. Do what you like, but that is where I am going.’
After a quick and frantic run through Cambridge’s back alleys, we arrived, drenched in perspiration, at a back door of the Cavendish Laboratory. Once inside, we raced down a cool hallway and into the large room where we had first encountered Vitale. The windows of this laboratory were now strangely blacked out with thick fabric. Vitale threw a switch and electric light flooded the room.
Holmes looked around. ‘No way out. I don’t like it. Is there another egress, Vitale?’
The boy did not answer but focused on his business. He opened a desk drawer, reached deeply in it to the back and removed a stack of papers. He hesitated, looking around the room, evidently for a place to hide them.
‘There.’ Holmes pointed to a ventilator grate high on a wall near the sink.
Vitale nodded, clambered onto the stone counter nearby and stuffed them inside the vent, where they could not be seen.
As he did so, I noticed that in addition to the covered windows, something else had changed in the laboratory since our last visit. Rows of glass tubes shaped like long, thin sausages now crisscrossed along the walls, all dangling by wires and making long patterns of what looked like random, gigantic ant trails.
‘Aha’ said Holmes regarding this same display. ‘This is interesting.’
‘Pah!’ said Vitale. ‘This is Cosimo’s work. My senior lab partner has lost the story!’
What, I wondered, did that mean?
Satisfied that he had secured his research notes, Vitale leaped nimbly down from the counter and approached us.
‘And now, Mr Holmes,’ he said. ‘I … I will wait no longer. Tell me all, sir. What happened to Dillie? Please. How did she die?’ He swallowed, his face hardened, and he placed a hand on the stone counter, bracing himself for the news.
‘Watson attended the post-mortem. Explain, Doctor.’
I could only presume that he wanted to observe the boy’s reactions. ‘Her body was found trapped underwater in the Jesus Lock,’ I said. ‘Her hair was entangled in the mechanism.’
‘Dillie drowned?’
‘Officially, yes. But there was a concussion and it is likely that she was unconscious when she entered the water. Then she was sucked under.’
Vitale’s eyes glistened though he remained stiff. I could see he was holding back. Was it possible that this young man had more feeling for the dead girl
than her wealthy fiancé did?
‘Other signs revealed that Miss Wyndham fought someone before entering the water,’ I said.
‘That does not surprise me. Dillie was … quick to anger,’ said he, sadly. ‘I worried about her. It took little to provoke her.’
‘Indeed,’ said Holmes. He prowled the laboratory, glancing up at the glass tubing. ‘Interesting. These will light up, in sequence.’ He pulled at the blackout curtains but they had been nailed in place. He looked about for an exit. ‘Ah, a cupboard. Mr Vitale, if the police come I suggest you – we all – hide for the moment. He returned to face Vitale.
‘I will not hide. I am innocent.’
‘It looks bad for you, Mr Vitale. You would be wise to buy yourself some time.’
The young man looked stricken. ‘I would never harm a hair … She … I wonder about the ring.’
Yet another young man worried more about his token?
‘What about the ring?’ asked Holmes, gently. He was, I thought, providing the boy rope with which to hang himself. Both of Miss Wyndham’s betrothed were suspects, I decided. I was now beginning to sense something odd, held back, about Leo Vitale’s manner.
‘Why would she accept me, take my ring, and then accept another the next day? None of this makes sense. Oh, Dillie, I …’ The boy’s eyes moistened.
‘I need two things from you, Mr Vitale,’ said Holmes. ‘First, your exact whereabouts, hour by hour, between your argument outside the Cross and Anchor and this morning at six a.m. And I need you to allow Dr Watson to examine you.’
‘Examine me?’
‘Whoever did this received a beating. She fought back.’
A wave of grief contorted his features and then in an instant was gone. ‘Yes. She would, of course. But I … oh, no, this will only make it worse. I … well, you see …’ He unbuttoned his shirt. Several bright bruises and abrasions were visible. Vitale brushed a long lock of dark hair that hung down over his forehead and onto his cheek. There, next to the left eye, was another recent bruise and a small cut. I felt Holmes stiffen beside me. Neither of us had expected this.
The Three Locks Page 20
