The Beekeeper's Apprentice - Laurie R. King [31]
“Merely a ruse, Russell. Is it not nice of the government to arrange this telephone line for the use of the Barkers and myself? To say noth-ing of the birds.” The line overhead was dotted with singing black bodies, and a pointillist line of white defined one edge of the road. I looked at the face of my companion and read satisfaction and not a little mischief.
“I’m sorry, Holmes, but what are we looking for? Did you see some-thing on the roof?”
“Oh, Russell, it is I who should apologise. Of course, you did not see the roof. Had you, you would have found this,” he said, holding out a tiny splinter of black wood, “and half a dozen cigarette ends, which we shall analyse when we get back to the cottage.”
I examined the tiny sliver of wood, but it said nothing. “May I have a hint, please, Holmes?”
“Russell, I am most disappointed. It is really quite simple.”
“Elementary, in fact?”
“Precisely. Consider, then, the following: a chip of treated wood atop an unused tower; market day; bones; Sepik River art; an absence of poison; and the woods that the road cuts through up ahead.”
I stopped dead, my mind working furiously while Holmes leant on his stick and watched with interest. A chip of wood... someone on the tower...we knew that, why should... market day...a set mar-ket day...with bones to feed the dogs while the telephone line that lay along the road—I looked up, affronted.
“Are you telling me the butler did it?”
“I’m afraid it does happen. Shall we search the woods for the débris?”
It took us about ten minutes to find a small clearing strewn with bones. The butcher had been contributing to the dogs’ diet for some months, judging by the age of some of the dry brown knuckle-bones.
“Do you feel like a spot of climbing, Russell? Or shall I?”
“If I might borrow your belt for safety, I should be happy to.” We examined the nearby telephone poles until Holmes gave a low exclamation.
“This one, Russell.” I went over to where he stood and saw the un-mistakable signs of frequent, and recent, climbing spikes.
“I saw no sign of spikes or climbing on his shoes, did you?” I asked as I bent to unlace my own heavy boots.
“No, but I am certain that a search through his room would give us a pair with suggestive scuffs and scratches.”
“Right, I’m ready. Catch me if I fall.” Leaning back against the cir-cle of our combined belts I planted my bare feet firmly onto the rough wood and began slowly to inch my way up: step, step, shift the belt; step, step, shift. I made the top without mishap, hooked myself into greater security, and set to an examination of the wires that were at-tached to the pole. The marks were clear.
“There are signs of a line being tapped in here,” I called down to Holmes. “Someone has been here within the last few days, from the lack of dust at the contact point. Shall we come back with a finger-print kit?” I climbed down and returned to Holmes his belt. He looked dubiously at the bent buckle. “Perhaps a stronger climbing tether would be advised,” I added.
“I think, if the weather holds, we will be able to catch the fingers themselves in action, if not tonight, then certainly tomorrow. Remind me to telephone our good hostess when we get back, to thank her and to enquire as to her husband’s state of health.”
The sun was low when we walked into the cottage, where the air was sweeter now than it had been at midday. Holmes went off to the laboratory with the cigarette ends while I found the cold food Mrs. Hudson had left for us and made coffee. We ate hunched over micro-scopes, though our greasy fingerprints on the slides helped not at all. Finally, Holmes sat back.
“The cigarettes are from a small tobacconist in Portsmouth. I trust the police there could make a few enquiries for us. First, however, Mrs. Barker.”
The telephone was answered by the lady herself. Holmes thanked her again for her hospitality, and I could tell by his subtle reaction to her words that she was not alone.
“Mrs. Barker, I wanted to thank your husband as