The Lambs Lane Affair (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale Book 5)

by Steven Ehrman

  “As you can see, Mr. Holmes, the lady has been murdered in a most violent fashion,” said Hopkins.

  Holmes knelt by the body and began to examine it closely. The wound on the head drew his attention first. He pulled his glass from his pocket and employed it upon the wound area. I heard a satisfied grunt from him, and he turned his attention to the knife wound. The room was well lit, and despite the dark color of the woman’s shirt, I could see that the area around the wound was still wet with what must have been blood. This meant, of course, that the crime was a recent one. I noted that Holmes delicately placed his finger on the shirt next to the wound and brought it to his nose. I could not ascertain what he hoped to accomplish with this, but I watched him closely as did the young Inspector.

  The detective then placed a finger to the woman’s closed eyelids and raised one gently. Rigor had not yet set in, and the lid lifted easily in his grasp. He performed this same operation on the other eye. I could see that both eyes were shot through with blood.

  Holmes next turned his attention to the hands of the woman. He again employed the magnifying glass, turning the hands over several times, and he seemed particularly interested in her fingers. Holmes finally seemed satisfied that the body had given up what clues it contained, and he arose slowly from the corpse.

  “You have noted the hands of the woman, of course,” he said to Hopkins.

  “Why, nothing out of the ordinary, Mr. Holmes,” said Hopkins. “She has no defensive wounds, if that is what you mean.”

  I bent down to take a close look at the woman’s hands myself. They were small and without blemish. They were the hands of a woman at leisure for certain. The nails were well manicured. They were, however, much shorter than I preferred on a woman, but they were perfectly rounded as women learn to do from childhood. As I arose Holmes continued his conversation with the Inspector.

  “I take it that the police surgeon has examined the body,” said he, as he absentmindedly picked up the lamp for a moment.

  “That is so, sir,” replied Hopkins. “He would not commit himself to cause of death. Either injury may have been fatal. It will all come out in the coroner’s inquest though it has little impact upon our investigation. It was obviously murder in any case.”

  “Pray give me all the details, Hopkins,” ordered Holmes, as he sat the lamp back down on the table. “Begin with the identity of the woman.”

  Hopkins pulled a battered notebook from his jacket and opened it.

  “The lady is Miss Anne Benton,” began Hopkins in an officious manner. “She is 31 years of age and lives in this cottage with her brother, a Mr. William Benton. The two are leasing this house through the spring from Harold Highlander.”

  “The shipping magnate?” I inquired.

  “The very one, Doctor,” said Hopkins with a smile. “That is the man himself in the sitting room.”

  Hopkins gestured towards a grey-haired man standing erect by the fireplace. The light from the flames cast a shadow across one half of his face. He was a very tall and slender man that I estimated to be in his mid-sixties. He was clean shaven and looked to be well composed despite the death of his tenant.

  “The others are the nearest neighbors of the dead woman,” said Hopkins. “The elderly gentleman is Simon Langston. He is a retired tailor. I understand he had a very nice business, when he sold out and bought the cottage across the street.”

  I was momentarily shocked that anyone was presently residing in the dilapidated cottage I had seen on the way in. Whatever fortune the old man had had upon retirement had certainly not gone into home upkeep. I glanced into the sitting room again and saw a wizened old man seated in an armchair, paying attention to no one. He appeared to be almost asleep and was leaning slightly to one side.

  “The woman is Elizabeth Woodbury. She lives next door to the deceased woman. She was the second person on the scene after Mr. Highlander.”

  Again Hopkins nodded towards the knot of people in the next room. As the others were all men, there was no mystery as to the identity of Elizabeth Woodbury. She was a tall woman with striking red hair. I judged her to be thirty, but she was well preserved and indeed a fine figure of a woman. She had alabaster skin and was wearing a grey blouse with a plaid skirt. It was an odd combination, but was pleasing to the eye for some reason. I perceived that Holmes’s eyes were upon me. He followed my gaze and smiled.

  “She is a lovely woman, Doctor,” he said.

  “What’s that, Holmes?” I asked. “Oh, yes. Miss Woodbury is quite lovely.”

  “This lady must have been thought of as beautiful as well.”

  I looked down at the body of Miss Benton and grimaced. Holmes believed, or pretended to believe, that I was easily led astray by a pretty face and a pleasing figure. Normally I would admonish him for such thinking and protest my innocence, but I regretted that it was true in this instance. The figure of Miss Woodbury had, in fact, temporarily driven the murder from my mind in spite of the fact that the corpse lay within sight. I hoped that no one save Holmes had noticed. With a slight cough Hopkins proceeded.

  “At any rate, Mr. Highlander came by the cottage at five o’clock and no one answered his knock. He was alarmed and tried to enter, but found that the door was bolted. He created enough ruckus that Miss Woodbury became alarmed at the noise and joined him. Together they found the side door open. They entered and found the deceased.”

  He halted for a moment and I saw the shrewd eyes of Sherlock Holmes upon him.

  “I have two questions, Hopkins,” he began. “Firstly, why did Mr. Highlander become so concerned so quickly when no one answered the door? And secondly, why did you call me in so quickly on what seems to be a very ordinary crime?”

  Hopkins met Holmes’s eyes and answered directly.

  “The answer to each question is the same, sir,” he said. “Mr. Highlander had received a note informing him that Miss Benton would be murdered at five o’clock today.”

  Chapter Three

  In spite of my long association with Holmes, and the association with crime that had come with it, I found myself shocked at the words of the Inspector and a thrill ran through me.

  “What’s this you say?” exclaimed Holmes.

  “Most extraordinary,” said I.

  “It is so,” stated Hopkins with a bit of a smile on his face. As the student, he was enjoying surprising the master. “Mr. Highlander has testified that he received this note at just on five today.”

  Hopkins pulled a small sheet of notepaper from his pocket and handed it to Holmes.

  “Five o’clock, you say, and it is just on seven right now,” said Holmes, peering at the note.

  As I was standing next to him, I could see it easily. It was written in pencil in a masculine hand. It read as follows:

  You can’t save her. Anne Benton dies at five for her sins.

  Holmes looked grimly from the note to the Inspector.

  “You say Mr. Highlander received this note. In what manner did he receive it?”

  “He declares that it was pushed through the mail slot with the rest of his correspondence. It was sitting atop the pile.”

  “And what of the post mark on the envelope?”

  “There was no envelope, Mr. Holmes. The sheet of paper was merely on the floor with the rest of the mail.”

  “So it is possible that it was placed there later, though certainly not earlier if it was on top of the other mail.”

  “Yes, that would follow,” said Hopkins thoughtfully.

  “Has the postman been questioned as of yet?” asked Holmes.

  “Not as of yet, Mr. Holmes. The murder is only two hours old, and I have been on the scene for less than an hour myself. I have sent instructions to have the man located, though.”

  “That is well,” said Holmes. “How many entrances are there to the cottage?”

  “Three, sir,” replied Hopkins. “The front door and the rear door were both bolted. Miss Woodbury and Mr. Highlander came in through the side
door, as I have said. That door was open.”

  “And that door faces Miss Woodbury’s cottage, I take it.”

  “That is so.”

  “That seems clear.”

  “I know your methods, Mr. Holmes, and I have preserved the scene as much as possible for your inspection.”

  “Capital, Hopkins! Let us then examine the side door for clues. If the other two doors were bolted from the inside, then the killer must have escaped through that door.”

  Hopkins saw the logic of that immediately, and he ushered Holmes and myself towards the sitting room. Hopkins gave a nod to those seated and standing in the room and swept past them. The doorway that we were seeking ran off of a small anteroom that was adjacent to the sitting room.

  The side entrance was a set of French doors that looked strangely ornate for the cottage. They opened outward onto a patio that consisted of a single, very large, flagstone. The stone served as a small patio. The stone butted up directly to the house and was surrounded on the remaining sides by a three foot wide border of earth that gave way to a finely cared for lawn. A rake and a spade were leaning against the home as testament to the work that went into the well-tended grounds.

  Holmes was drawn to the sandy border of the flagstone. Most of it was finely raked and even, but there were footprints clearly visible as well.

  “Have your men been through here, Hopkins?” demanded Holmes.

  “No, sir,” he replied. “They are as you see them now. My men are well trained, and they were careful to preserve this until I arrived. I, in turn, preserved it until you could examine it.”

  Holmes merely nodded in answer. There were two clear sets of footprints going into the house. One set was a large footprint even for a man. As Harold Highlander was a tall man, I took those prints to be his. The other set was much smaller and undoubtedly belonged to Miss Woodbury.

  “What do you see here, Hopkins?” asked Holmes.

  “The footprints of two people entering the cottage,” he said cautiously.

  “Indeed,” replied my friend. “Anything else?”

  “Only that they belong to the two people who discovered the body.”

  “Undoubtedly, but there is also someone leaving as you can see by close study,” said Holmes.

  Hopkins stepped forward and looked to the area Holmes had indicated. For a few moments he was rigidly still as he examined the ground. Presently a low whistle escaped from his lips.

  “I believe you are right, Mr. Holmes,” he said finally. “It is nearly obliterated by the one on top, but I do see it plainly now that you point it out.”

  I followed the man’s eyes and the glint of an outline appeared to me as well. The footprint was somewhat smaller than Harold Highlander’s and much larger than the prints left by Elizabeth Woodbury. The single print was going away from the cottage.

  “As you can see here, Hopkins,” said Holmes in a lecturing tone, “Mr. Highlander has stepped on top of the earlier print. As the earlier print is a bit deeper, the faint outline remains. A pity that it was disturbed, as it may have yielded further clues as to the identity of the person.”

  Hopkins noticed a slight emphasis on the last sentence and pounced.

  “Mr. Holmes, are you implying that Mr. Highlander stepped on the print on purpose?”

  “Nothing of the sort, Hopkins. It was already dark when he arrived and he and Miss Woodbury were hurrying. No, I believe it was happenstance, but unfortunate nonetheless. You have noted that Miss Woodbury left two prints and Mr. Highlander and the other man left only one each.”

  “Yes, sir. You are implying that the fact that there is only one outgoing print means it was left by a man, since the stride of most men is longer than that of most women.”

  “You are coming along, Hopkins. That is well stated, although the depth of the print also shows the weight of a man. I suppose there is a gardener,” said Holmes.

  “There is, sir. I have found that Miss Woodbury and the deceased employed the same man. He comes two days a week. He was last here the day before yesterday.”

  “I find that most interesting,” said Holmes almost to himself.

  The Inspector said nothing in reply and made several notes on his pad.

  “Surely you will wish to speak with Miss Woodbury and Mr. Highlander,” I said to Holmes.

  “Why, Doctor, you have read my very thoughts,” said Holmes. “Hopkins, if you will be so kind as to lead us.”

  We three walked back into the sitting room, and Inspector Hopkins made the introductions. Both men approached us and shook hands with Holmes and myself. The hands of Harold Highlander were large, but soft. These were not hands used to labor. Simon Langston’s grip was surprisingly strong, given his age; his hands were well calloused and his nails were dirty. To my surprise, Miss Woodbury arose at the introduction and also shook hands with the two of us. She had a firm and brisk grip. I saw that her nails were nicely manicured and much longer than the deceased’s, in the style that I preferred for ladies. I also saw upon closer inspection that her alabaster skin was owed, at least partially, to the fact that her face was heavily powdered. Many ladies of the upper crust powdered their faces in that manner, and on her it was quite striking. She, and the elderly tailor, resumed their respective seats following the introduction, while Harold Highlander remained standing. He appeared to be moved to speak. After a moment he did so, although he addressed Holmes directly instead of the Inspector. I had noticed in the past the tendency of people to become overawed in Holmes’s presence, so this came as no surprise to me, and Hopkins showed no offense.

  “This is a terrible tragedy for one so young, Mr. Holmes,” said Highlander. “The poor girl had her entire life before her.”

  “As do we all, Mr. Highlander,” Holmes wryly observed. “Did you know the lady well, sir?”

  “I am afraid I did not,” said the man.

  “Come now, sir. That can hardly be true,” said Holmes.

  “Now just one moment, Mr. Holmes,” said Highlander in protest. “I have some idea of your reputation, but if you are implying an improper relationship with the lady, you are mistaken.”

  “I was implying nothing of the sort, Mr. Highlander.”

  “Well, then, that is all right,” said Highlander gruffly. “I apologize if I lost my temper. I pride myself upon remaining cool under fire, as they say.”

  An uneasy silence grew, as Holmes made no further statement. Hopkins finally stirred himself to address Holmes.

  “Sir, I do not understand this,” he began. “You tell Mr. Highlander that you were not implying an improper relationship, but you state that his denial of knowing the lady well is false. How can both be true?”

  Hopkins had a point, and I looked to the great man for his reply, but none seemed to be forthcoming. Highlander was shaking his head. He had an expression on his face that seemed to say that perhaps the reputation of Sherlock Holmes was overstated. He was obviously dubious of the great detective.

  “There is one point that seems to have been overlooked up until now,” said Holmes. “Mr. Highlander claims only a passing acquaintance with the lady, yet at least one person believes that he knows her well and cares about her.”

  “Why is that?” asked Hopkins mystified.

  “Why else would he have been sent the note?” said Holmes.

  Chapter Four

  “I have been a fool to overlook that, Mr. Holmes,” said Hopkins in a chastened tone. “What of that point, Mr. Highlander?”

  “I don’t quite follow you, Inspector,” said he.

  “Come now, sir. That simply will not do. Why was this note delivered to you?”

  “I suppose that it was delivered to me because this is my cottage,” said Highlander. “It can be for no other reason. I knew very little of the woman or her brother. To my knowledge, they were strangers to England before they let this home.”

  “Someone knew the lady well enough to commit murder,” observed Holmes.

  “Quite, quite,” said
Highlander. “Perhaps her brother can tell you more when he returns.”

  “Where is he?” asked the Inspector. “Does anyone know?”

  “He is away looking for work as an estate agent,” said Elizabeth Woodbury. “Anne told me yesterday that he would be away until tomorrow.”

  “That is so,” chimed in Simon Langston. “I saw the lad leave myself. He has been away often since they have arrived. The poor sister has been alone mostly.”

  I gave the old man a sidelong glance. There was intimation in his voice of something untoward, I thought, but he said nothing else on the subject.

  “Let us leave aside the reason the note was given to you, Mr. Highlander, at least for the moment,” said Holmes. “How exactly did the lady come to lease this particular cottage?”

  “Her brother answered an advertisement some six months ago,” said Highlander. “He came to my home. I reside a mile or so up the lane. I showed him the cottage that same day. He found the home and the terms satisfactory and we signed the necessary paperwork. It was quite ordinary.”

  “Was the sister with him?” asked Holmes.

  “Not at that time. As I understood it Mr. William Benton had recently been invalided out of the army from service in India. He had come over first to arrange housing, and she was to follow after she settled affairs in India.”

  “What of their people? Do they have any relatives in England?”

  “I did not inquire, Mr. Holmes. I admit I assumed that the parents were deceased as he and the sister were living together, but that is mere surmise.”

  I saw Miss Woodbury nodding her head.

  “That is how I understood matters as well,” said she. “Anne said that she and William were alone in the world. They were very attached to one another.”

  “Very well,” said Holmes. “But surely, Mr. Highlander, you at some point met Miss Benton.”