The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [206]
“Of course, sir, of course. Well, my maid, Robinson, called me at seven o’clock this morning, rather earlier than usual, and she was in a most agitated state. Rather than trust to her somewhat incoherent account, I went myself directly to my study, where I found that the safe door stood open and that the study window was broken. Here, plainly, the miscreant had gained entrance, inserting his hand through the broken pane and unlocking the casement. I observed also a double line of footsteps running across the bare, damp earth from the high garden wall, and returning thither.”
This case presents some curious features,” remarked Sherlock Holmes, glancing intently at our client. “Are we to understand that your study overlooks bare ground?”
Staunton permitted himself a pained chuckle. “No doubt it seems odd to you, sir,” said he, “but the matter is simply explained: the ground has been prepared for the laying of a new lawn, and the turves have not yet been laid. A fortunate thing, as I am sure you will agree, sir! Most fortunate, for now we have the clearest clues to the thief’s means of entrance and egress. Naturally, I have left strict instructions that the footsteps are to be left untouched.”
“Naturally,” agreed Sherlock Holmes. “Very well, Mr Staunton. I think that we had better come at once and investigate the scene of the crime. Watson, will you call a cab?”
On the short journey to Hampstead, we learned that our client was a bachelor, living quietly with the immediate household of a maid, a cook and a single manservant. He kept no dog, for he disliked the creatures, and his only recreation was to play cards twice a week – for money, he admitted with candour – with a cousin, a retired gunsmith named George Cresswell, who lived at Mill Hill. Under Holmes’s determined questioning, he further confessed that although none of his servants knew of his remarkable purchase he had mentioned it to his cousin. “But you may dismiss any suspicion of George,” said he, “for he remarked only that I ought to deposit the cup in a bank-vault as soon as possible. Besides, sir, my cousin would have no cause to steal from me. I should tell you that as a result of our card-playing I am in his debt for a tidy sum.”
At The Elms, which struck me as a large house to be run by a staff of only three, we were first shown the windows of the upper rooms where the servants slept and then led to the far side of the building, where the crime had been committed. It was plain that if the burglar were sufficiently quiet the servants need have heard nothing. Staunton himself admitted to being a very heavy sleeper.
Holmes made a minute examination of the very clear footsteps that ran, just as we had been told, directly from the high garden wall to the study window and back. The damp earth had preserved the impressions wonderfully, and since no one had had occasion to trespass upon this smooth, bare patch there were no other prints to be seen.
“Our burglar could hardly have left plainer traces if he had intended to,” remarked Holmes to me. “There are two very singular features here, however. For instance, it would appear that our man let himself down from the wall with commendable delicacy, for there is no indication that he jumped, and we look in vain for the marks of a ladder. Hum – size ten boots, new or recently soled. A long stride. Just so! Mr Staunton, describe your cousin, if you please.”
Our client looked up hastily from a self-conscious glance at his own small feet. “Really, sir!” said he. “I fail to … Oh, very well! George Cresswell is a large and strong man, quite as tall as yourself, Mr Holmes. He is fifty-four years of age, with thick hair, still dark brown, a heavy brown moustache and – er – somewhat faded blue eyes. And – oh, dear! Yes, I do believe that he takes a size ten in boots.”
“Quite so,” replied my friend. “Now, let us turn our attention to the study. Ha! This window has been broken in a most professional manner, with the noise muffled