A Letter of Mary - Laurie R. King [26]
"They?"
"You are looking for at least three individuals," Holmes said absently, his attention again absorbed by the paper. "Two of them stand five feet nine or ten inches, thirteen stone or thereabouts; at least one of them has black hair, both are right-handed, and one of them fancies himself as a flashy dresser, with a tendency towards the extreme in footwear, but betrays himself by purchasing inferior-quality goods— hence the dents in the floor"— he gestured vaguely towards a clear patch of boards—"and by the fact that he bites his fingernails. The other is a man of simpler tastes, wearing new boots with rounded toes, a brown tweed suit, and— kindly note, Russell— a dark blue woollen knit cap. One of them sports a neck scarf of white cashmere and a camel-hair overcoat— probably Pointed Toes. Of the third party, the director of the operation, I can say only that he has unfashionably long grey hair and displayed an entirely unwarranted confidence in the abilities of his confederates by remaining in the car while the house was being ransacked." He rattled off the final information in an uninterested rush and turned to wave the paper at me. "I say, Russell, do you remember that forgery case we handled two years ago? I'm suddenly struck by the fact—"
"Mr Holmes!" Lestrade bristled in irritation, and Holmes looked at him in surprise.
"Yes, Lestrade?"
"Who are these men?"
"I've just told you."
"But who are they?"
"My dear Lestrade, I bowed beneath the concerted authority of the only two people in the world, aside from my sovereign, who have any influence over me, under the insistence that Scotland Yard ought to be given a chance to prove themselves capable of hunting down the murderers of Dorothy Ruskin. I have told you who they are. You need only find them." He turned imperiously away from the near-frantic police detective, shot me a glance that was perilously close to a wink, and dropped to the floor amidst his papers, his right knee tucked under his chin.
Lestrade looked torn between tearing his thinning hair in despair and storming angrily out. I relented and explained what he had seen but not truly observed.
"They were looking for a piece of paper, Inspector Lestrade. When they didn't find it amongst her things, they came here, possibly assuming that she was bringing it to us."
"What sort of paper?"
"That, we don't know yet."
"Then how do you know it was a piece of paper?"
Holmes made a rude noise. I ignored him.
"The way they searched, both here and in her hotel room. The books were shaken out before being dumped, the pictures taken from their frames, carpets pulled up, our various files carefully gone through and a number of pages stolen."
"But you said she left you some papers?"
"A single manuscript page, but it's made of papyrus. It wouldn't have fit into a book without being folded, which would damage it."
"Would they have known that?"
"Lestrade," exclaimed Holmes from his nest of débris on the floor, "that was a most perceptive question. Russell, I do believe a cup of tea would come most welcome to all concerned and that Mr Ellis is finished in the kitchen. Would you be so good ..."
I accepted my charge and waded out to the kitchen, where I scraped a handful of tea leaves and some sugar from the floor, found a kettle, though no lid, and four mostly unbroken cups. By the time I had found the bread under a saucepan and trimmed the grimy outside from a piece of cheese, the situation was beginning to amuse me. I hunted for an unbroken jar of relish or pickle, discovered triumphantly a large bottle of pickled onions, and thus assembled a rather strange but quite edible meal.
"Holmes?" I called.
"Yes, Russell."
"I'd like to get this cleared up before Mrs Hudson returns. She'll be back tomorrow, you said?"
"Yes."
"Shall I ring Tillie and see if she can send over a pair of her girls