Third Collection E-Book

Francis London

• Herausgeber: via tolino media
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

The Jewels of Bishopgate: In the spring of 1886, a memorable encounter takes place in Bishop Auckland in the northwestern corner of England between Inspector Athelney Jones and Sherlock Holmes, later described by Watson in "The Sign of Four" as the case of the Jewels of Bishopgate. Sir Redmond discovers, upon opening his safe, that his wife's jewels are missing. Still in progress, he encounters the burglar, who manages to escape. He calls Inspector Athelney Jones for assistance, and fortunately, Sherlock Holmes also intervenes in the investigation. During the nocturnal inquiries, the detectives come across a corpse, but additional peculiar events in the night provide Holmes with initial clues to the solution. The Military Conference: After the investigations into the missing naval treaty and the second stain, Dr. Watson finds himself in July 1887 by the side of his friend Sherlock Holmes in a third major case that determines the fate of war and peace in the Empire. From the theft in a luxurious lodge in Sussex unfolds a politically explosive search for clues, where two additional deaths quickly unsettle Scotland Yard and the political arena. Sherlock Holmes attempts to counter the constraints of politics with his rational mind. Then, another power enters the stage. The French Securities: The visit of a book collector to Baker Street proves to be the prelude to an exciting case in the late summer of 1888. In a parallel investigation, Holmes is asked to assist Inspector MacDonald in the Foreign Office. While initially failing to connect the right threads, a calamity looms, which holds a great defeat for the famous detective. Holmes finds himself compelled to accept the help of his brother Mycroft. However, Mycroft abandons him at a crucial moment.

Leseprobe

“I think you must recollect me, Mr. Athelney Jones,” said Holmes, quietly.

"Why, of course I do!" he wheezed. "It’s Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the theorist. Remember you! I’ll never forget how you lectured us all on causes and inferences and effects in the Bishopgate jewel case. It’s true you set us on the right track; but you’ll own now that it was more by good luck than good guidance.”

“It was a piece of very simple reasoning.”

Sherlock Holmes, The Sign of the Four, September 1886

The Jewels of Bishopgate

In the spring of 1886, shortly after Holmes, in his own unique way, prevented an unpleasant scandal for the British royal family in the case of the Beryll Crown, we found ourselves in the northern town of Bishop Auckland.

At that time, Bishop was a significant coal town, and it was precisely these coal discoveries that had drawn Holmes here. More specifically, it was the losses in coal deliveries that filled Malcolm Hogg, the owner of Canary Coal Delivery, with both immense concern and understandable worry. The diminishing coal shipments were causing substantial financial losses to his coal business, prompting him to seek the assistance of the masterful detective from Baker Street.

We arrived in the town late in the afternoon, having taken the new Tees Valley Line, and settled into two rooms at the Crooked Billet, a small inn on the outskirts of town, not far from the train station. After unpacking my suitcase, I made my way down to the taproom, where Holmes was already waiting for me. He sat at a table, had an ale in front of him, and appeared eager and alert.

"I note with astonishment that Scotland Yard seems to be as interested in this area as we are," he greeted me, his eyes sparkling.

I hung my coat over a chair, pulled out the adjacent seat, and joined him at the heavy wooden table. Carefully, I let my gaze wander around the room to see what had prompted my friend's surprising assumption. "How do you come to that conclusion, Holmes?"

"Pay attention to the man sitting there in that dark corner. The man who indulges in his late Sunday roast with barely concealed delight. No doubt an inspector from the Yard," he replied.

The man who had fallen under Holmes' attentive observation was a plump, round-faced gentleman in a dark suit. During his meal, he repeatedly cast quick, suspicious glances around the room, only to return to his plate with a joyful, expectant smile, giving his full attention to the meat and potatoes.

"Now I'm curious to hear a coherent explanation," I challenged Holmes. "However, the fact that he's wearing a modern London street suit isn't enough justification for me," I preemptively corrected him.

He leaned back, took his pipe out of his mouth, and slowly exhaled the smoke through his lips. I saw his eyes become thoughtful, and I heard him speak in a soft voice, "It's the somewhat shrewd face of a man who always sees himself on duty, always trying to pursue someone. Do you see his restless glances interrupting his meal? Have you ever had the opportunity to observe the tension with which a predator devours its prey?"

I nodded, having had the chance to observe many wild animals in Afghanistan, knowing the struggle even the strongest creatures face when it comes to their food and the treacherous attacks of smaller competitors. So, this is what Holmes had noticed here?

"Do you see the slight arrogance in his eyes?" Holmes continued. "It reflects a mindset that shows he considers himself informed and knowledgeable. His posture, which tries to convey absolute superiority, stems from the knowledge that he can lock someone up at any time, to have them come into contact with the whip in our prisons."

Holmes relaxed, his eyes now fixed on me with a cheerful expression, and he added, "And, of course, I also see his fear that there may not be enough capable constables available to protect him at the right moment. He gives the impression of a man who constantly ventures too far and is at least vaguely aware of it."

"It wouldn't surprise me if he were to seek my help today," Holmes said with such casual calmness that I couldn't help but admire him. Continuing amidst my speechless astonishment, he went on, "However, I can't see that he's carrying a revolver, and that, my dear Watson, is the difference between him and you. Do you really think it's necessary?"

I blushed and stammered, "Well, Holmes, experience has taught me that unexpected things can happen on an outing with you. During my military service in foreign lands, I haven't feared surprises any more than I do during our adventures in familiar England."

"Are you referring to the recent incident with George Burnwell?" Holmes asked.

I nodded. "I learned from you that it's better to carry a pistol when confronting a suspect. I assume that's something we'll need within the next few days."

"At that time, there was good reason for it. After all, I was already familiar with Burnwell before the case, and I had a clear idea of my opponent. He has now made it into my compilation of London's criminals, by the way. I wouldn't be surprised if we were to cross paths with him again."

At that moment, from the corner of my eye, I saw the gentleman we had previously discussed place his knife and fork decisively on the large plate, remove the napkin from his lap, and rise with a surprisingly swift motion for his corpulence. With a few quick steps, accompanied by a snorting sound resembling a steam engine, he traversed the room and positioned himself directly in front of our table. He placed his hands on his ample hips and boomed with a deep voice, "So, gentlemen, you're interested in me, it seems?"

Seeing my bewildered expression, he let out a half-loud, superior laugh. "Ha, ha, gentlemen, you didn't expect that, did you? You should know that nothing escapes my gaze!"

Then he leaned over our table, resting both arms on it, and threatened, "If you're planning to cause trouble, consider yourselves warned!" He then stepped back to assess whether his martial appearance had achieved the desired effect.

Holmes waited for a brief moment, taking a long, deliberate puff from his pipe with an air of utmost indifference. "So, you're an inspector from the Yard," he said, examining the tabletop with a satisfied smile on his lips. Then, he jerked his head up abruptly and looked directly into the opponent's face, acknowledging the forcefulness of his well-placed words.

The features of our counterpart assumed an expression of utmost astonishment, as if struck by thunder. He extended his hands helplessly on either side of his belly, expressing his surprise. "Who are you?" he exclaimed. "How do you know me?"

"My name is Holmes," my friend replied dutifully and left it at that.

"Holmes? I've heard that name somewhere before," our interlocutor commented on my friend's response. "You see, I have an extraordinarily good memory for names, so to speak, it's part of my profession." He scratched his head with an energetic gesture for a moment. Then, recognition flickered across his face. "Ah, now I remember. You're one of the new colleagues at the Yard, aren't you?"

He was visibly pleased and proud of his deduction, oblivious to the horrified expression in Holmes' eyes. I saw that Holmes was about to respond but was interrupted by a completely unexpected event that abruptly changed the course of the evening.

"Inspector Jones, Inspector!" rang out a loud shout from the door. It had been thrown open, and a half-grown child rushed in.

The countenance of the one called upon immediately assumed dutifulness and lofty dignity. He turned gravely and greeted the newcomer with the words, "What's the matter, lad?"

"A burglary!" the boy exclaimed loudly. "At Bishopgate Court! Sir Redmond demands your immediate presence!"

"Ah," Inspector Jones acknowledged with satisfaction, "the strong arm of the law is needed! I shall come at once, of course!" Then he turned back to us. "You see, I am already known here as well. Well then, colleagues, will you accompany me? It's always enlightening to follow a good criminal case, even when, like you both, one is on vacation!"

He looked pleased at the questioning expressions on our faces. "How do I know you're on vacation? Well, gentlemen, I'll explain that to you later. Now, let's hurry, the crime scene is still warm and fresh, which brings out the best clues."

He returned to his table, grabbed his hat and coat, tossed a few coins onto the table with a jingling sound, and quickly made his way toward the door. I was still undecided but immediately felt the sharp pain of my friend's elbow in my side. "What are you waiting for, Inspector Watson? Hurry, follow Inspector Jones!"

I quickly moved aside, grabbed my coat, heard the coins fall as Holmes, too, tossed them onto the table, and managed to say, "Aye, aye, Inspector Holmes," before feeling pushed aside and having to run to avoid being left behind at the Crooked Billet. Outside, in the darkness of the night, a Brougham was already waiting, and the inspector held the door open for us. "You must learn to be faster, colleagues," he reprimanded, slipping into the cabin behind us and instructing the coachman to set off. The carriage swiftly traversed the town, reached the vast, dark fields, and hastened toward the scene of the crime.

"Now that the excitement of our hasty departure has subsided," Holmes spoke up, "I feel compelled to inform you that we are by no means inspectors from the Yard."

"What?" The inspector widened his eyes. "But then, how do I recognize you?"

"I have the pleasure of occasionally discussing minor cases with your colleagues," Holmes replied cautiously, "so it's possible that you may have heard my name in that context. I am Sherlock Holmes, to introduce myself properly, and my friend here is Dr. John Watson."

"Pleasure to meet you, pleasure indeed. I'm Inspector Athelney Jones," he tried to play down his embarrassment, "which of my colleagues are you already familiar with?"

"Lestrade, for example, or Tobias Gregson," Holmes explained. "It hasn't been long since I assisted Inspector Lanner regarding the Worthingdon bank robbers. You may recall the case that was reported in the newspapers as the Brook Street Mystery?"

"Ah, yes," Jones affirmed, "that's why I know your names! That case involved the murder of Sutton, who tried to hide under the name Blessington from his accomplices whom he had betrayed at the time?"

"The unsuccessfully attempted hideout," Holmes dryly commented. "The perpetrators are still at large, as far as I know."

"They won't succeed in escaping. The Yard is hot on their trail," Inspector Jones added with a confident voice.

"But do tell us about what awaits us here," Holmes endeavored to steer the conversation in a direction that would provide the desired inspiration to his restless mind.

"Of course, we shouldn't forget our duties! The gentleman who summoned us is Sir Redmond, the owner of Bishopgate Court, a large estate on the other side of the Wear, a few miles outside the city," Inspector Jones informed us. "Everyone in the area knows him. Regarding what apparently happened there this evening, I know no more than what you've just heard. So, we'll encounter a burglary. The investigations I'll conduct will provide you with plenty of good ideas for your conversations with my colleagues. You'll see!"

After a short while, the carriage passed through a small grove, and as we emerged from it, we could see that the road crossed the Wear on a bridge. On the other side stood the grand mansion known as Bishopgate Court. The pale glow of the moon offered only a vague overview of the scene, but the brightly lit windows clearly marked the destination of our journey in the gloomy night.

Then the carriage wheels rattled over the cobblestones of the stone bridge. As we approached, we recognized a two-story mansion built of light-colored stone, flanked by two towers. We stopped before the magnificent entrance, and a servant hurried to the carriage, illuminating our exit with his lantern. Following him was the master of the house, Sir Winston Redmond, who tried to disguise the excitement that had seized him with an appropriately dignified gait.

Athelney Jones quickly opened the door of the Brougham and, as gracefully as his portly figure allowed, leaped onto the paved courtyard. He hastened towards the homeowner, who greeted him with relief. "Inspector Jones! Glad you made it so quickly!"

Then he looked at us, who were following at a slower pace. Jones introduced us, but avoided any explanation, clearly unsure himself about how to proceed with us. However, Holmes preempted any decision by joining the gentlemen as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and began inquiring about the circumstances of the distress call.

"It concerns the theft of my wife's jewels," Sir Redmond explained excitedly. "The culprit is on the run, I almost caught him myself!"

"My goodness!" the inspector responded to this information. "Then let us get to work immediately! Lead us into the house, to the crime scene!"

"Is it possible that the culprit is still inside the house?" Holmes cautiously tried to gather important information without offending the inspector's eagerness.

"No, he escaped through one of the first-floor windows," Sir Redmond looked at Holmes seriously and somewhat sheepishly. "He fled through my wife's bedroom."

Then he turned around, motioned for us to follow him, and hurried up the steps to the imposing entrance door. We quickly followed him and were led into the grand hall on the ground floor. There he stopped and waited for us to gather around him. Then he began to explain, "Just like you gentlemen, I arrived at Bishopgate Court this evening in my carriage. That was just an hour ago. I left the carriage and immediately went to my study, which is one floor above. There, I intended to place the documents I had with me in the safe. You see, I had returned from Crook, where I work for the district administration. Crook is located approximately three miles north of here. Come with me, I'll show you the room with the safe."

He hurried up the stairs, with Jones close on his heels, and only Holmes took the time to let his gaze wander over the staircase and the rooms. As always, he was eager to take in every detail. Suddenly, I saw him nod and followed his gaze. A housekeeper stood on the first-floor gallery, silent and discreet in a corner. She appeared embarrassed when Holmes's gaze met hers, greeted him in return, lowered her head, and stepped back into the room behind her.

We followed the homeowner up the stairs at a brisk pace, and just in time, we saw him disappear into one of the many rooms with Jones in tow. Holmes gave me a despairing look, and I sensed his annoyance at the inspector's careless movement, although he deemed it inappropriate to protest. And so, we reached the open door of Sir Redmond's study. Holmes paused before entering, examining the floor of the room closely. He briefly inspected the frame, the handle, and the wood of the door before stepping inside and slowly approaching the open safe, where Jones was already discussing the circumstances of the theft.

"Well, this is a fine mess!" exclaimed Jones. "Take a look, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, there's no trace of the jewels in the safe! It's been a truly clever theft from such a safe!"

"In what condition did you find the safe, Sir Redmond? Was it open or closed?" Holmes tried to ascertain.

"What an unnecessary question," Jones complained loudly. "If something was stolen from it, then, of course, the safe was open!"

"But no," Sir Redmond shyly interjected, "that's what's strange about it. The safe was securely locked!"

"That makes our job easier," the inspector exclaimed excitedly. "Because it proves that the culprit is an experienced safe cracker. We're familiar with all these guys, we won't have any trouble figuring out the right one. It's just a matter of a missing alibi or a proven presence in the area!"

While Jones was still basking in his success, Holmes pushed himself between him and the safe and examined the heavy metal door more closely. "Indeed, there don't seem to be any signs of forced entry. The safe has a combination lock and an additional lock for a key. Sir Redmond, who knows the combination, and who has access to the key?"

"I'm the only one who knows the combination, and I guard that secret carefully," replied Sir Redmond.

"And the key?" Holmes repeated his second question.

Sir Redmond looked around furtively. Then he went to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that filled the entire wall and pulled out a thick volume bound in greasy leather. He opened the book and retrieved a key from a recess between the pages. "I keep the key hidden in this secret compartment. No one but me knows about it!"

"Ha!" interjected the inspector, "then the burglar must have first searched for the key and used it to crack the safe!"

"But Inspector," protested Sir Redmond, "the key is still here." He held the book out to the inspector, inviting him to see for himself.

"It would be rather unusual for a safe cracker to first go on a search for a key. That would imply a lack of expertise," Holmes remarked, clearly unimpressed with Athelney Jones's hasty conclusions and striving to steer the investigation in an orderly manner. "Perhaps we should focus on the remarkable incident you reported, Sir Redmond. Namely, the fact that you almost caught the burglar."

"Well, it happened like this," Sir Redmond explained, "after I opened the safe here, I immediately noticed that my wife's jewelry box was missing. Once I had overcome the initial shock, I wanted to rush to the room where my wife sleeps. Come along!"

He walked to the door and left the study. We followed him out into the hallway. He turned left and returned to the grand staircase we had climbed shortly before.

"At this point, I heard a rustling sound from over there," he pointed to a corridor branching off from the gallery. "Then I heard footsteps, running, fast footsteps!"

He looked at us meaningfully. "It was clear to me right away that someone was trying to hide from me. So I ran as well, along this gallery and into the corridor! I was filled with fear and concern because this is the corridor that also leads to my wife's room. I ran as fast as I could!"

Sir Redmond hurried ahead, into the described turn, with the inspector following him, and I joined them too. Only Holmes hesitated for a moment, and I remember looking back and seeing him standing outside the room where the housekeeper had disappeared. We stopped at the end of the corridor in front of a door.

"This is my wife's bedroom," Sir Redmond explained.

"Is your wife still inside?" Jones confirmed.

After the homeowner denied it, the inspector decisively grabbed the handle and stepped quickly into the room. The air in the room was cool, and a window was open. "Ah," exclaimed Jones excitedly, "the escape route is evident!"

Sir Redmond and I followed behind him. The room was illuminated by a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and two large bedside lamps with fabric shades provided additional light on either side of the stately four-poster bed. The room was not overly spacious and sparsely furnished. Heavy curtains hung on the opposite wall, and at one point, they were untidily pulled back, revealing an open window. Peering through it, I saw the darkness of the night.

"When I entered my wife's room, she was sleeping in bed. But, of course, I immediately noticed the open window." Sir Redmond guided us towards it. "I rushed over, leaned out, and immediately looked to the left towards the river. It's brighter over there than on the other side! To my great disappointment, I couldn't see anyone. The view to the right yielded just as little result, but it's so dark there that my eyes, accustomed to the bright light inside the house, couldn't make out anything."

The inspector curiously approached the open window. He leaned far out and turned his head from side to side. He exclaimed, "Yes, you can see the river on the left side, there's little to see on the right, it's too dark due to the trees. We should go outside and examine the ground. That's where we'll find more clues!"

Jones seemed visibly satisfied with his investigation so far and turned back to the homeowner. "So, the window was still open when you entered the room in pursuit of the culprit?" he double-checked.

Sir Redmond nodded.

"Are you absolutely certain that the culprit fled into this room through that door?" Holmes' voice suddenly came from the corridor. He had now caught up with our group and was standing in the doorway, with the housekeeper in tow.

"Without a doubt," affirmed the homeowner. "Although I didn't see it directly, I know the sounds in my house very well!"

Holmes nodded and stepped inside. He examined the room, walked along the walls, took a long, scrutinizing look at the disheveled, dark satin bed linen, stooped down, and looked under the bed frame. He even heaved one of the bedside lamps onto the floor to shed light and see better.

"So, Mr. Holmes," mocked Athelney Jones, "the burglar would be truly audacious if he were still hiding under the bed an hour later. No, you can trust the evidence we have found here. The open window is the escape route. We should go downstairs now!"

"Did you make the bed tonight?" my friend asked the housekeeper, who had shyly remained at the entrance.

She nodded in confirmation. "Yes, of course, like every evening."

"This room is unusually small for a lady's bedroom," Holmes remarked thoughtfully, "if I may comment on it."

"My wife only recently started using it," Sir Redmond responded very hesitantly. "A spontaneous whim, I suppose," he added by way of explanation.

"And for tonight, she is back in the main bedroom, I mean, our shared bedroom?" Holmes cautiously inquired.

"No, there is another room prepared as the master bedroom. It is right next to mine, pardon me, our shared bedroom, and is connected by a door."

"May I take a look inside that wardrobe?"

"Please, go ahead."

The wardrobe in this bedroom was also smaller than befitting a lady. The whole room gave an overall impression of improvisation, indicating that the Redmonds' marital rest was not in the best condition. Holmes only briefly opened the two doors, glanced at the few hanging garments, and then closed the doors again.

The inspector looked disapprovingly at Holmes, shook his head in annoyance, and hurriedly made his way to the door.

As Jones stormed out of the room and Sir Redmond followed him hesitantly, I saw Holmes part the closed curtains on the right side of the exterior wall. Behind them was another window, which was locked. However, he only cast a quick, examining glance through it, let the curtains fall back, and quickly followed the inspector. I joined him, as the brevity and haste of the investigation had not provided me with any insights into what had actually occurred. I was surprised that Holmes seemed to be influenced by the inspector's sense of urgency. His slim, powerful figure allowed him to catch up quickly with Jones, who was already thundering down the stairs and heading towards the exit.

We left the building, the homeowner, the inspector, Holmes, and myself. In the garden, we turned right to reach the side of the house where Lady Redmond's bedroom windows were located. With the river and the faint glow of the moon behind us, we walked along the cool darkness of the night, next to the imposing stone wall.

Beneath Lady Redmond's bedroom, we made a surprising discovery. A rope ladder lay on the grass, in a disheveled manner, as if someone had dropped it hastily.

"There we have the way the intruder entered the building," Jones exclaimed, lifting the ladder. "We'll take it inside the house to preserve any traces on it!"

"May I draw your attention," Holmes calmly interjected, tilting his head back and gesturing with his arm towards the wall. The two windows of the bedroom were visible, but the window under which we stood was closed. I was always amazed when, amidst the chaos of examining a crime scene and the confusion of those involved, Holmes effortlessly grasped the essential connections. I admired his composure and his ability to maintain an overview; he had once explained to me that it was a simple skill to remember the geometry of a place.

"Hmm," the inspector scratched his head thoughtfully with his left hand while still holding the ladder with his right. "That is indeed an oddity you've discovered, Mr. Holmes." He paused briefly, looking somewhat embarrassed. Then, he had an unexpected moment of inspiration, which brought a hopeful smile to his bewildered face. "What would you suggest as our next course of action?"

I was taken aback by Jones' audacity in simply handing over the responsibility of the complicated situation to my friend. However, Holmes already had the appropriate response ready. "Above all, we should avoid trampling more clues in the dark of night," he replied with a grumpy expression. He paused, however, appearing uncertain, creating a moment of perplexity that caught me off guard.

Now it was up to the homeowner to advance the investigation in a different, amateurish, yet not necessarily inferior manner. "My servant will fetch a hunting dog from the kennel," Redmond announced. "It will pick up the trail."

Around the corner of the building, we could already hear enthusiastic barking and excited voices. We saw two of the servants pass by the corner of the building, with one of them struggling to hold a large dog on a leash. He had to exert his entire body weight to control the powerful pull of the dog. Despite Sir Redmond's commanding calls, the dog showed no intention of coming to us but pulled its handler towards the riverbank.

"He's caught a scent," the servant shouted. "Should I let him off the leash?"

Sir Redmond signaled, and the dog was unleashed, sprinting forward in vigorous leaps towards the riverbank. With a few bounds, it disappeared into the dark bushes of the steep shore. Only its barking, howling, and panting could be heard.

"It's always an extraordinarily pleasant thing when the burden of tracking is taken off one's shoulders by a dog," the inspector commented, pleased with the noise the animal was making.

"Although there are moments when a dog's silence can provide the right clue," Holmes replied calmly. "But now, let us cross over and see if the dog's discovery is as gruesome as its barking suggests."

The inspector looked at him with wide eyes, but quickly regained composure and walked ahead with a weighty demeanor towards the banks of the River Wear. Meanwhile, Sir Redmond's dog ran agitatedly back and forth between its owner and the river, trying to urge him on. Sir Redmond spoke soothingly to the dog, but in its excitement, the dog couldn't be restrained.

We followed the frenzied dog and descended the riverbank until we found the horrifying cause of its agitation. The branches hanging from the trees along the river had trapped a human body, immersed in the gurgling water. Illuminated by the pale moonlight, it moved eerily in the river's current.

"Doctor, this seems to be your profession now," Holmes coolly commented, gesturing with an impatient hand for me to join him in the muddy area of the riverbank. I complied with his request and cautiously stepped into the cold, muddy water of the nocturnal river. One of Sir Redmond's servants followed me, obeying his master's command.

The man caught in the branches was undoubtedly dead. The body was held by the branches in the shallow water, while the current tugged at it, causing the water to accumulate in a small wave near its head. The branches had ensnared its shoulders and arms, firmly gripping the corpse. The moonlight gave its skin a pale hue.

It was a cold, wet, and unpleasant task that we had to accomplish in the nighttime river. Working together, we freed the body from the branches, wrestled it against the pull of the water, and struggled with its weight, which was further increased by the soaked clothing. Holmes and another servant of Sir Redmond lent a hand as we reached the shore, collectively hoisting it onto the bank. We had to wait a moment while a cloth was fetched to wrap the body. Finally, the two servants carried the lifeless man into the house and laid him on the floor in the illuminated entrance hall.

I took off my dripping shoes, deciding to ignore my wet trousers, and uncovered the body for a closer examination. Meanwhile, I gratefully noted that one of the staff members took care of my shoes and would likely attempt to restore them to their original shape.

Sir Redmond recoiled abruptly when he saw the face of the deceased. "That's Sir Christopher!" He looked horrified. "Sir Christopher Edmonstoune Muddock is a good neighbor of ours. He owns Thornside House, behind the little woods on the other side of the Wear."

"So it often goes!" lamented Athelney Jones loudly. "A good friend suddenly turns out to be an even better thief and burglar. Humanity has fallen, not just in bustling London but also here in the distant north of England, where one would think the world is still in order."

Sir Redmond reacted with shock to these remarks, tears welling up in his eyes out of disbelief. Holmes, on the other hand, regarded the inspector with a surprised sideways glance in response to his hasty comment. Then he inquired about my expertise, saying, "What is your opinion, Doctor? How did this man die?"

"At first glance, there are wounds on his head, but the lighting here is inadequate," I looked around in search. "Could we perhaps move the deceased to a room where he can be laid on a table? It would make my examination easier," I directed my request to the host.

Upon Sir Redmond's instruction, two servants carried the dripping, wet corpse into a corridor on the ground floor and from there into a small, cold, and dark room. The gas lamps were lit, and the deceased was laid on a large table. I asked for one of the lamps and began a closer examination of the body. "Can you bring me a pair of scissors, two or three knives, and perhaps some towels?"

The requested items were brought, and I set to my somber task. Sir Christopher Muddock had been a young, robust man. He had blond hair and was dressed in thick clothing, appropriately attired for the chilly night.

I noticed injuries on his hands, forearms, and head. I pointed them out to Holmes. "They could either be injuries from a fight or from a fall," I conveyed my assessment to him. Holmes took out his magnifying glass from his coat pocket and leaned over the dead man's head. He carefully examined the wounds there and then those on the extremities.

"Nothing," he said with disappointment in his voice.

"He was in the water," I reminded him. "The wounds have been thoroughly washed out."

"I wonder," mused Holmes, "whether this man was the intruder and drowned while fleeing, or if he encountered the intruder and was injured and killed in a struggle against him."

"If these were injuries from a fight, then based on the nature of these wounds, the man would have been attacked with a weapon. It would have to be a fairly large club, hard but not sharp-edged," I shared my opinion.

"But how did he end up in the river?" Inspector Jones impatiently interjected.

"Either the fight took place directly at the discovery site on the bank, or the man who bludgeoned him dragged or threw him into the river to conceal the crime," speculated Sir Redmond.

"There's much to suggest," added the inspector, "that Sir Muddock became a victim of the intruder. If he were the intruder himself, he would have the jewelry box on him."

"Or he was an accomplice and a dispute arose between the two burglars," I interjected.

"The jewelry box could still be in the river," Sir Redmond considered.

"We won't be able to determine that definitively tonight," Holmes decisively interrupted our agitated conjectures. "Sir Redmond, do you think you could accommodate both of us and Inspector Jones at your place tonight? It would make our work easier in the morning."

We stood together in the corridor in front of the two room doors for a moment.

"Why was it so important for you to stay here, Holmes? It wouldn't have been any trouble to return to the Crooked Billet. I would have appreciated changing into clean and dry trousers," I said.

"As understandable as your wish is, Watson, it is important for me to experience the witching hour here," Holmes replied.

I was taken aback. "Do you think Bishopgate Court is haunted?" I asked.

Holmes laughed. "Perhaps not with white sheets and rattling chains, but yes, I believe someone will be haunting the estate tonight."

I assured Holmes of my willingness to support him. At the same time, I felt relieved and satisfied that I had my old army revolver in my pocket. Being with Holmes on an outing always carried risks that had to be approached with caution.

"I'll wake you up in time," Holmes assured me before bidding farewell with a greeting and retiring to his room. I looked down the dimly lit corridor, illuminated by weak gaslight, for a moment and then entered the room assigned to me for the night. The bed seemed inviting and freshly made. It made a much better impression than the sleeping arrangements I had at the Crooked Billet. However, I knew I wouldn't have much time to contemplate the events of the day and give my tired body and mind some rest.

And true to form, after less rather than more sleep, I was shaken from deep dreams by Holmes. I got up somewhat groggily, put on my dressing gown, and announced my readiness.

His mocking voice brushed aside my drowsiness. "Watson, do you really intend to go on a criminal hunt in that attire?"

Surprised, I looked at him, only now noticing his appearance. He stood before me in a suit, with a neatly tied tie, wide awake and smiling. The only thing missing was a walking stick in his hands, as he looked so eager and alert.

"Come on," he urged me. "Put on something sensible. We represent the dignity of the law."

I nodded submissively. "Do you insist on a tie, Holmes?" I added wearily.

"But of course," I was told. "I'll be waiting for you outside the door!" With his hand already on the doorknob, just before opening it, he turned around once more. "And put your socks over your shoes. It dampens the sound of footsteps."

I nodded submissively, hurried, and soon cautiously stepped towards my friend on the dark, unlit corridor. "Let's position ourselves near the staircase behind the curtains. That way, we'll have the moonlight at our backs and can see what's happening in the hallway. Come!"

Silently, we crept along the corridor, occasionally startled by a softly creaking floorboard. The two curtains hanging in front of the large windows that marked the end of the hallway behind the staircase provided a wonderful hiding place. We chose the right one and concealed ourselves behind the thick fabric. The windowsill offered enough space for a good vantage point. We sat down silently upon it.

Time passed slowly. Holmes sat beside me, his head slightly lowered, hands clasped around his knees. He sat in complete relaxation, yet every fiber of his body was alert. He listened to every sound, felt every change in the house.

I wasn't feeling as well. The windowsill was hard, and I began to restless shuffle back and forth. Fatigue plagued me, and waiting became boring. Suddenly, I felt a gentle pressure on my shoulder. Startled, I jerked, having dozed off a bit, and Holmes' touch brought me back to the reality of my uncomfortable observation post. I perked up my ears and cautiously peered around the curtain. The door to the butler's room had opened. Samuel stepped cautiously into the corridor, paused for a moment to listen, and then tiptoed towards the junction that led to the room where the intruder had sought refuge earlier in the evening.

We waited until Samuel had disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, then hurried after him. The approach was not without risk, for if the butler feared pursuit, he could simply wait behind the next turn until we collided with him. We peered around the corner. I saw that he had lit a small lantern, which guided his way and also ours. He stopped in front of the door to Lady Redmond's former bedroom. Without even looking around, he pressed the handle and slipped inside. From the diffuse glow, we could see that he hadn't closed the door behind him.

"You stay here," Holmes whispered in my ear before creeping closer to the room. There was no cover at this point in the corridor, so he simply positioned himself against the opposite wall in the darkness and peered into the room. I could only vaguely make out his figure and stared almost fruitlessly down the hallway until my eyes hurt. Suddenly, I thought I saw Holmes make a quick movement to the side, and the light from the butler's lantern fell more strongly on the corridor floor.

Samuel was returning.

I waited for a moment until I saw the man step out into the corridor. He closed the door behind him and aimed the beam of his lantern in my direction. For God's sake, in my concern for Holmes, I had forgotten to take cover myself! I quickly slipped backward around the corner and hid behind a cabinet that stood in the corridor. Shortly afterward, I heard the butler's footsteps approaching me. I pressed my lips together and held my breath. The pounding of my heartbeat resonated in my ears, making me believe the entire house must awaken from it.

Yet Samuel shuffled slowly past me without taking notice. I realized he had something hanging over his arm. Then, as he reached the next corner and entered the part of the corridor illuminated by moonlight, he extinguished his light and vanished from my sight.

I cautiously took a step or two towards the corner to watch him go when suddenly something touched my shoulder. I jerked violently, took a quick step to the side, and bumped into the wall.

The solid stone structure of the old house produced only a faint clapping sound, and on the other side of the wall, nobody would have noticed this impact. I heard a suppressed chuckle. "Holmes!" I exclaimed, relieved and in a hushed voice, "Are you trying to give me a premature heart attack?"

He didn't reply but glided forward to the corner. He peered around and then beckoned me to join him. There was no one in sight, Samuel must have returned to his room. Holmes cautiously stepped around the corner and pulled me along. We sneaked past the door to Samuel's room and returned to the curtains where we had begun our adventure.

Together, we sat silently on the hard stone again, waiting to see what would happen next. A while later, we heard the sound of another opening door. I cautiously gained some visibility. This time, it was Margot, the housekeeper, sneaking out into the corridor. She seemed less concerned than Samuel, walking briskly but very quietly, following the same path Samuel had taken earlier. We followed, just as cautiously as before. I thought we would reach the same room again, but then Holmes surprised me by pulling me into a turn that must lead to the back part of the house. I had already lost track of Margot; she had disappeared so quickly and silently in the darkness that I didn't know where she had gone. So I had to rely on my friend's much keener senses and followed him tensely.

I felt Holmes firmly place my right hand on his right shoulder. In this way, I was forced to walk directly behind him, which was probably what he intended to achieve. He led me safely through the darkness of the corridor until we reached another junction. I thought I had heard the sound of a door before, and indeed, we saw the pale moonlight streaming from an open room door.

This time, Holmes pulled me with him. We peered into the room. Inside was a large four-poster bed, indicating that it was one of the bedrooms. I couldn't make out who was lying in it. Another door was open, presumably leading to the bathroom, from which the glow of a candle was already visible. Margot seemed unconcerned about the sleep of the person in that bed.

"She's carefree," Holmes whispered to me. "I would bet that Margot has given Lady Redmond a sleeping draught to ensure a good night's sleep after the exciting events." He chuckled to himself again. "And, of course, to make her own work easier."

We heard rustling, then we saw Margot emerge from the bathroom and quietly close the door behind her. We scurried to the side and positioned ourselves against the wall, concealed by the moonlight. Margot left the room, holding an object in her hand that appeared to be a cloth in the flickering candlelight. After she disappeared around the corner, we waited a little longer. Then we stealthily made our way back and entered Holmes' room.

Holmes slipped off his socks and shoes, comfortably settling into bed. He piled the large pillow behind his back and propped his feet up on the wrought-iron footboard. He looked almost as if he were lying in a hammock, his body curved between the pillows and bedding. His hands were folded on his stomach, and he appeared content.

"The events of tonight leave me perplexed," I confessed, feeling embarrassed. "If only we could have determined what the two of them stole.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---