Now there are quite singular differences between the physical trauma resulting from a judicial hanging, in which the victim drops a precisely calculated distance through a trapdoor, carefully computed according to body-weight, thus effecting virtually instantaneous death through massive dislocation of the upper vertebrae and severance of the spinal cord – and self-murder by hanging, whereby the suicide excruciatingly strangles to death by slow agonising degrees – typically perhaps ten or fifteen ghastly minutes may pass before death finally occurs.
The post-mortem differences between the two instances are so marked as to be immediately recognisable; in the former case, the cadaver will typically exhibit a substantially normal visage, a slight elongation of the neck, with the accompanying unnatural lack of upper vertebrae rigidity that follows such a severe dislocation.
By marked contrast, a suicide by strangulation exhibits a countenance distorted in agony, darkly suffused with blood, eyes bulging wide, and a swollen tongue protruding to an extreme degree, resulting from a long, slow and painful throttling.
It was certainly the latter which confronted us that gloomy winter afternoon, and as a medical man having viewed examples of both types of cadavers post-mortem, I had no doubt in my mind that this was a suicide by strangling.
I doubted that there was much more to be learned in this sad room beyond that which Lestrade had already gleaned, except perhaps for the unfortunate woman’s motive.
“Good God Holmes – whatever the woman’s past sins and errors, what manner of desperate circumstances could possibly have driven her to take her own life in such horrid a way?”
Holmes made no reply, but gestured for me to remain at the doorway; slowly, almost balletically, he walked the perimeter of the room minutely examining the three large casement windows, the small fireplace, the wardrobe and its meagre contents; on a brass hook upon the wall hung an overcoat, which Holmes felt with his fingertips; next he explored the heavy mahogany table, the key thereupon at some length with his lens, the few papers lying there, and then with his back to me, the mean little bed. I was amazed that he yet appeared to pay little or no regard to the most grotesque occupant of the room – still almost imperceptibly moving as if reluctant to relinquish the last signs of life.
“Surely Holmes there is little more to be learned here except...” Like an owl, without moving his torso, he rotated his head almost half around in an instant and placed one finger to his lips. Gravely he said “You could not be further from the truth Watson; there is everything to be learned here!” Meticulously he examined the rest of the room, particularly the wood floor between the door and the table, until finally he went to gaze up at the now, mercifully, immobile body.
After minutely scrutinising the hands and the feet – where he took particular notice of the soles of the shoes – he positioned a chair close to the awful object and stepped up, from which elevated viewpoint – he being over six feet in height – made the closest and most microscopic examination with his lens of the face and neck, paying particular regard to the gaping mouth and distended tongue, or so it seemed to me. Using his Penang Lawyer, he appeared to take approximate measurements of the body and the rope, and the gap between the feet and the wooden floor.
Frowning, he leapt down and darted directly to a far dark corner of the room where he examined closely a red woollen scarf apparently discarded on the floor and hitherto unnoticed by me. With a single sharp ejaculation “Aha!” he straightened and then, with no heed for his attire, kneeled among the cold ashes in the small fireplace and proceeded to rake through them minutely with his bony fingers, winnowing out fragments of ash and other charred detritus which appeared much to interest him, then laid them carefully within his folded white kerchief.
Finally, he peered up the chimney flue, then turned and beckoned me to join him at the table where Lestrade had arranged some small scraps alongside the key from the entrance hall floor. “What do you make of that Watson?” He passed me his lens and I scrutinised the scorched fragments as arranged by Lestrade, some almost illegible. With some difficulty I made out:
“Good Lord above Holmes! It certainly looks like a suicide note does it not? I can decipher most of it but what of this ‘A HUN CHASES M’ – surely that ‘M’ must have been ‘ME’!” Or might it perhaps have been... MORIARTY?” And then it struck me! “ ‘A HUN’ – Bormanstein? Or von Huntziger – surely it must be one of the pair Holmes? And ‘DULC’ ‘OBBS’ is without a doubt the remains of her signature!”
He snorted with derision; “My considered view is that the fragments – a small selection only from those available – there are more in the grate, reference neither of your ‘Huns’.
“I quite agree that when these selected scraps are organised thus they perhaps appear to be the last tragic words of a desperate suicide, but consider Watson what, commonly, is the intended purpose of a suicide’s note?
“Surely you would agree it is intended to announce to an uncaring world the troubled reasoning behind your sad decision to quit this life in total anguish – a last defiant, angry or despairing statement before taking the desperate, final step into eternal oblivion?” I nodded my assent.
“If so, then pray tell me why someone would trouble to write such an anguished note, only to destroy it before committing to the final act?” I was unable to answer. “And what of this Watson?”
He passed me one of the papers from the table; it appeared to be a short letter from the dead woman to one Molly Hobbs, resident in Brightlingsea. “Read it aloud if you will Watson.” The script was not lengthy:
Chiswick, London W
My Dearest Moll,
How much I look forward to seeing you next week dear sister! I have obtained six whole days of leave from my employers, so meet me at the railway station at eleven o’clock on Saturday next and we shall go for gin and water at The Queen’s Arms! What a grand time of it we shall have! Be sure to dress up for the most elegant swells! Afterwards we shall have the finest jellied eels and mash with plenty of liquor!
And as a particular delight I shall treat us both to pretty new bonnets at Hopgoods the milliners, as I expect to be in funds by then to the sum of one hundred pounds! Can you imagine my dearest Sis – I believe I have never seen so large a sum of money in my life!
Your loving sister
Dulce
PS: My best duty to Mum
Holmes raised his eyebrows and fixed me with an inquisitorial look. “Construe, if you please, Watson.”
“I surmise that notwithstanding its cheery tenor, and the optimistic anticipation of somehow coming into a large sum of funds, this unsent letter clearly proves that within hours of writing it some devastating news arrived, or some event must have occurred after she wrote this Holmes, and before she could post it; something so terrifying that she felt compelled to take her own life?”
There was a silence for some moments. Holmes looked up from picking through the scraps of detritus he had gathered in his kerchief.
“Masterly my dear Watson! Quite brilliant; you surpass yourself to the very highest degree.” I basked momentarily in this unaccustomed praise, which helped to take a little of the sting out of some of his more acerbic comments upon my earnest endeavours to record his cases. My pleasure was to be short-lived. After a brief pause, he resumed.
“Indeed, I do believe that had you not so excelled in the medical profession, I declare that you might well have enjoyed a career at the Yard as lamentably undistinguished as that of the blundering Lestrade!
“No, do not look so downcast old friend, but exactly like the meticulous though unimaginative Lestrade outside, even now planning to write a confident report of a suicide you and he, as have I, have seen everything necessary to deduce what truly occurred in this room sometime between ten last night and, most likely, eleven o’clock at the latest, yet you have both signally failed at the last hurdle – that critical final leap of simple scientific deduction. You, like he, have committed that most cardinal of sins
by shaping the significance of the evidence to fit with the apparently obvious end-result, now hanging there before us. However, that she died on a gibbet of her own devising beggars belief, and flies in the face of all the evidence and all reason!
“With a few words I might easily set Lestrade upon the right trail, but as yet I dare not, because such intelligence would alert him to our quarry, and hence directly to this most sensitive investigation.”
I protested “But surely Holmes, the fragments of the suicide note, the cheery letter so soon rescinded by her decision to end her life, the door being locked from within, there is no sign of forced entry, this must...”
Holmes raised his hand to still my remonstrance. “Swiftly now, Watson, we have little time, for Lestrade will certainly return shortly. Allow me to present you with proof positive that this is no suicide, but a cold-blooded execution!
“Estimate for me if you will the height of the wretched young lady yonder.”
“Quite short – perhaps around five feet and an inch or perhaps two inches at most?”
“Just so – I estimate five feet plus two inches. Now approximate the distance between the soles of her shoes and the floor below.”
“I judge it to be a shade over three feet three inches.”
“Excellent; I would guess about the same. Now assess the height from the beam to the floor.”
I glanced up. “A shade under eleven feet I imagine?” He nodded. “And the length of the rope?” “I should say two and a half feet?”
“Splendid Watson! You appear to have an assured eye for dimension. Quickly now; the overturned chair and stationery box we may assume to have been the step which she ascended, then put her head in the noose, and finally kicked over the improvised gallows platform – you would agree? Yes?
“Then do me the goodness of placing the box upon the upright chair, and the whole beneath the feet.” In a low murmur he added “Res ipsa loquitur.”
Even as I complied, my entire being reeled in horrified disbelief.
It was manifestly and shockingly plain that the woman, had she climbed upon the makeshift gallows platform, could never have put her head in the noose unaided; the mathematics lacked a full eighteen inches!
No more could she have tied the rope to the beam, for there was no sign of a set of steps in the rooms. As Holmes had told me so many times:
“When you have eliminated the impossible then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” Yet the inevitable, the only remaining alternative was surely too appalling to contemplate... she could only have been forcibly lifted up by other hands and hanged, murdered – by the late-night visitors? I looked at holmes, aghast.
“I see you now perceive the problem inherent in your suicide theory, Watson. You see for yourself the diminutive stature of the woman. To commit self-murder she would have to reach up for the noose and by main strength, lift herself up, at which point her feet would be perhaps one and a half feet off the gallows platform. Having hanged herself, are we to believe that the chair and stationery box then obligingly fell over?” I acknowledged the irrefutable logic of his words.
“Now work swiftly if you please Watson. Do me the service of copying these fragments and phrases here upon the table into your pocket book, along with these which Lestrade inexplicably missed in the fire-grate, that we may leave the evidence as we found it for the police, though I doubt much they will derive any benefit from it. Oh, observe here this slightly charred length of slim wooden dowel; he sniffed one end of it. “Gum Arabic I believe” then made no further comment.
“Now Watson, before we quit this dismal scene, you might perhaps perceive some small significance in the lengths of charred and knotted twine in the grate, the odd circumstance of the key being found on the floor in the entrance hall, the red woollen scarf incongruously and carelessly thrown in that dark corner, so far from both the door, the coat-hook and the wardrobe, further the new position of the table on the rug, and finally the faint cindery footmarks on the table-top. I believe that is all that we may remark here; small details to be sure, but together, they speak to me as eloquently of what occurred here last night just as surely as I had in my hand a detailed, confession from the killers, lacking only their signatures!
“And now let us step outside and speak with the landlady, for it was she who first discovered and reported the crime.”
We encountered the lady in question, a small, neat, fidgety middle-aged woman with greying hair drawn back in a severe bun, pacing nervously up and down the entrance hall, restlessly twisting and untwisting her pinafore ties. Holmes greeted her with a disarming smile.
“I imagine you would be the landlady of this fine establishment Mrs...?”
“Mrs Rose Smith sir and you are...?”
“Ah yes, I am Sherlock Holmes madam and this is my associate, Doctor John Watson.” At this her eyes widened in amazement. “The same Sherlock Holmes whose thrilling adventures I read in The Strand Magazine? My goodness, I shall love to see the look on my Bert’s face when I tell him I have met the great Sherlock Holmes!”
I swear that she made as if to curtsey. Holmes flashed a tiny, impatient smile. “You are very kind madam; as you may know, I have some small experience in these doleful matters. I am present today with the full approval of the very able Inspector Lestrade outside. Please be good enough to tell me how you came to discover the sad circumstances we now find?”
“Well it was this way Mr Holmes. About ten this morning I took some scraps out for the cat, Mr Dickens, as I do each day. I feed him in the little side alleyway on account of him being so nervous and it’s always quiet along there. One side of it is bounded by a plain brick wall and the other is the side of this house, and Miss Hobbs’ rooms; there are no curtains in her window, as passers-by can’t see in anyway.
“As I returned to the back door I glanced in – Miss Hobbs often gives me a cheery wave but at first she seemed not to be at home. Something made me stop and look closer; I thought I saw something moving, high up. It was quite gloomy within so I approached the window and peered more closely.
“You may imagine my fright Mr Holmes, when I realised it was a pair of legs!
“I could not see the upper part of the body on account of it being too high up and out of my view, but it was obviously Miss Hobbs.
“I believe I may have screamed, because a pinched little street urchin appeared from nowhere, to ask me what was wrong, but I chased him off as I thought this not a fit sight for a child. Then I sent my daughter Margaret to the station to alert the police. I durstn’t enter her rooms. And that’s all I can say.”
“That is very helpful Mrs Smith. Tell me if you will, did you speak with Miss Hobbs when she arrived home last night? How did she appear to you?”
“Oh, I always have a little chat with her, for she is my only tenant at present, although I have rooms for five; she was in the very best of spirits Mr Holmes, most cheerful as she had obtained permission for a few days of holiday leave from her employers. She told me of her plans to visit her sister in Brightlingsea shortly, and she was most excited and much anticipating it. Then she bid me goodnight, entered her rooms and locked her door. I always tell my young ladies to leave the key turned in the lock for safety” At this, Holmes shot me a meaningful look.
“Very wise; two final questions, if I may impose a little longer Mrs Smith; when did Miss Hobbs first contract to rent the rooms?”
“It was only last month in November, Mr Holmes, but it was not she who rented them; it was her guardian on her behalf, a Mr Bormanstein; very plainly he doted on her – said she was the apple of his eye. Very handsomely he paid me two months’ rent in advance. He said that the rooms were most conveniently placed for his ward’s new position in Richmond. He required keys for both for himself and his ward.”
Holmes nodded, as if this rather startling information came as no great surprise to him. “I am sure that in your line of business Mrs Smith, you have cultivated a sharp eye for a face, and
I expect you are pretty handy at assessing the character of a prospective tenant; tell me, what manner of a man was Mr Bormanstein?”
“Oh, he was very much a proper gentleman Mr Holmes, no doubt about it. He was of middle-age, tall and muscular with a moustache, polite and very smartly dressed – a businessman I should imagine. Apart from maybe a slight foreign accent, very faint you understand, I noticed his eyes were rather strange; when he fixed you, you almost felt as if you dared not look away.” This of course, matched precisely the description supplied to Holmes by the honest locksmith, MacFadzean, and the shadier Hawes.
“Thank you; and finally, can you recall when the ashes were first strewed upon the front path?”
With an air of puzzlement the landlady replied “Indeed I can Mr Holmes. Miss Hobbs mentioned as she came in last night that the wet sleet and snow on the path was again freezing hard and was becoming wickedly treacherous under-foot, so when Albert – that’s my husband – came back at nine o’clock from the Dog and Rose, he immediately scattered some cinders. That’s why I placed that old cocoanut matting at the door and you can be sure that I made Mr Lestrade clean his shoes very thoroughly. I’m most particular about the hall floor – I polished it only this morning.” Holmes nodded with evident satisfaction. “Indeed, and it does you great credit. Did you observe anything else out of the ordinary – any visitors for example?”
“There was only one Mr Holmes – well, two really; about ten o’clock I heard the front door open and as Bert was already home I thought perhaps Miss Hobbs was going out; I peered down the stairs but it was only Mr Bormanstein and another gentleman visiting Miss Hobbs so I thought no more of it.” Holmes frowned; “Did you greet Mr Bormanstein – was he aware that you saw him arrive? And would you recognise the other gentleman if you saw him again? It may be important.”
“No I did not call down Mr Holmes, and I am certain he did not see me.” Holmes appeared extremely relieved at this news. “As to Mr Bormanstein’s companion, I would certainly recognise him again – he was a very large, heavily-built man and he had a most pronounced squint. I then went quietly back to my room.”
Sherlock Holmes & The Master Engraver (Sherlock Holmes Revival) Page 12
