The Beekeeper's Apprentice - Laurie R. King [37]
“This is from a medium-sized man’s boot with a pointed toe and a worn heel on the left foot. The pile of the carpet has lifted off more of an impression than the bare floor. There are also tiny bits of gravel, dark grey and black, or—?”
Holmes materialised at my knee and held out the glass I had neg-lected to bring. Through its lens the three bits of stone came into fo-cus.
“Dark gravel with tar on it, and an overall haze of oil. And down here—is that a bit of reddish soil, rubbed off on the edge of the carpet?”
Holmes took the heavy glass from my hand and retraced my steps on his hands and knees. He made no comment, just handed the glass back to me and gestured that I should continue. He was turning this into an all-too-public viva voce exam.
“Where does red soil come up?” I asked. “There’s a patch where the road dips, south of the village, I remember, and two or three along the river. And wasn’t there some near the Barkers’ house?”
“Not so red, I think,” said Holmes. “And I believe a strong lens might reveal that this has a more claylike texture.” He volunteered nothing more. Fine, I thought, be that way. I turned to Constable Rogers, who was looking uncomfortable.
“The council has been surfacing a number of the roads recently, hasn’t it? Would you happen to know where the crews have been working in the last week or so?”
He shifted, looked to Holmes for advice, and apparently received it, because he looked back at me and answered. “There’s a patch about six miles north, and the mill road they did last week. And a section just east of Warner’s place. Nothing closer since last month.”
“Thank you, that narrows it down a bit. Now, Mrs. Whiteneck, if I might have a word?” I took Patrick’s friend to one side and asked her for a list of the names and addresses of her employees, and told her that as soon as the police inspector had been, he would allow her to use her kitchen. She looked much relieved.
“Did Patrick say the thief took food, too?” I asked her.
“That he did: four beautiful hams I had just taken from the smoke-house; lovely, fat things they were. And three bottles of the best whisky. Set me back a bit, they did, and heaven knows how I’ll replace them, what with the shortages and the rationing. Here, you’re sure he’ll let me use the kitchen?”
“I’m sure he will. Even if he’s struck by a fit of mad efficiency he’ll only want to leave that part of the carpet and the doors for a finger-print expert, but that may be hoping for too much. I will let you know what I’ve found.”
Outside the Monk’s Tun the sun was fully up and the narrow vil-lage lane was hot and bright. I spared a moment’s thought for the work crew I was supposed to be in and pushed it away. I felt Holmes at my elbow.
“I’d like to take a look at your topographical maps, if I may,” I said. This in itself was an admission of failure, that I did not hold the de-tails of the Ordnance Survey for my own district firmly to mind, but he did not comment.
“All the resources of the firm are yours to command,” he said. This proved to include one of the automobiles his neighbour ran as the ru-ral taxi service, which was standing next to the inn. We got in and re-turned to Holmes’ cottage.
I greeted Mrs. Hudson and went through the sitting room to the cabinet where Holmes kept his vast collection of maps. I found the ones I needed and spread them out on the worktable and made notes of the five places that I knew had red clay surfacing from the chalky soil of the downs. Holmes had busied himself with some other project, but when he walked past the table to fetch a book he casually laid a fingertip first at one place on the map, then another, reminding