Authors: Unknown
Holmes's mercurial mind fastened
on a new topic and
he
proceeded to regale me with facts regarding our des
tination,
St. Aubrey. Really, the man's knowledge of ge
ography
and history was amazing. I was unaware that
the
city was ancient, indeed being built on the site of a Roman camp
which dated back to 40
A.D
.
The area had
once
been rich in tin, which explained the presence of
the
Romans. It boasted some ruins that had provided a tourist attraction
at one time. But this had died out and
the
tin mining had petered out as well.
10
St. Aubrey
97
Instead of contacting the local
authorities upon ar
rival
at St. Aubrey, Holmes marched me to The Cross
bow,
a pub whose fame was more than local. Since
Holmes
was seldom concerned with the inner man, I
was
much surprised at his opening move. However, the
mystery
was rapidly solved when we were taken to a table and greeted by one
Harold Witherspoon, M.D.,
who
was obviously awaiting us. I was not surprised to learn that my
fellow member of the medical profession
served
as the medical examiner of St. Aubrey. Ob
viously,
Holmes had laid the groundwork for our investigation in advance.
After suitable greetings and small
talk, Dr. Wither
spoon
was persuaded to order some bitters and I joined
him
with a draft of stout. Holmes requested a gin and
lime
and guided the conversation to matters of business.
"It is fortunate that you
could join us, Doctor."
Witherspoon waved this aside. "No
problem, Mr. Holmes. In fact, a necessity since I was not only
con
tacted by an
Inspector MacDonald of the Yard, but also
by
an officer of Trans-Continental Insurance.
Le
roi le
vent,"
he continued,
with a smile, but then tempered his statement. "Actually, there
is little official work here in sleepy St. Aubrey. While we are not
far from London, it
would
seem that we are shielded by the veil of years."
He
threw a glance at me. "I retired from my private
practice
before assuming the duties of medical examiner."
"The matter of Amos Gridley
is fresh in your mind?" Holmes was surveying the doctor keenly.
"Indeed, sir. Bit of a
surprise, that. Amos was a
loner.
Ran an antique shop here. Single man all his life.
Parsimonious,
you know, but necessity may have cast
him
in that role. His line of work is not noted for finan
cial
rewards and people don't come to see the Roman
Ruins
as they once did." Witherspoon flicked his eyes
toward
me. "Have you ever visited our local landmarks
of
history, Doctor Watson?"
"As my mouth opened to
respond, Holmes overrode
me.
"Possibly we can both view them, after our business
here."
There was an echo of impatience in his manner.
"The
body was discovered outside his cottage, I be
lieve."
Witherspoon was evidently
sensitive to nuances. Sud
denly,
he did not look as bucolic or benign.
"Right below the porch,
having fallen from the roof of it, you see. Cause of death was a
broken neck. No doubt about that."
"Any bruises or lacerations?"
inquired Holmes.
"A number. It was assumed at
the inquest that Amos
was
on the shingle roof of the porch of his house. A slanting roof, by
the way. A slip, followed by a slide down the incline and over the
edge and . . ." Wither
spoon
spread his hands expressively. "The drop was
certainly
great enough to break his neck." The doctor regarded Holmes for
a brief moment, then continued: "But I did not answer your
question. The body had a
considerable
abrasion on one leg. There were wood splinters indicating that it was
caused by friction with
the
shingles. The top of Amos's head was badly lacer
ated
and bruised, though not as much as might be ex
pected.
Possibly, the fact that his neck snapped cush
ioned
the effect of the fall."
Holmes was still regarding the
medical examiner. Ev
idently,
he did not feel this subject had been exhausted.
Witherspoon shifted uncomfortably
in his chair and, after a pregnant pause, a sigh came from his lips.
"There was one bruise, Mr. Holmes, which puzzled me. Behind the
right ear of the corpse. By its color it was made before death. I
brought this to the attention of the authorities. However, we could
draw no conclusions from it."
"And the verdict of the
inquest was accidental
death,"
concluded Holmes.
At this point, our waiter arrived.
During the discus
sion
we had regarded the menu and Holmes surprised
me
by ordering substantially. He seemed familiar with
the
specialties of the house and requested Eggs Flan
with
a side order of Potatoes Lyonnaise. Doctor Wither
spoon
settled on steak and kidney pie with some peas
and
a bottle of Bass ale. I chose Dover Sole with aspar
agus,
along with a second draft of stout. As our orders
were
completed the table was graced by another pres
ence.
"Ah, here's Constable
Dankers," said Witherspoon. "This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes of
London and his associate, Doctor Watson."
As Holmes and I murmured greetings
I sized up the
representative
of the local guardians of the peace.
Dankers
was a portly man with a grizzled face domi
nated
by a thick moustache, which he obviously waxed. He regarded both
Holmes and myself with a frosty glare
and
his manner was almost truculent, fairly shrieking
that
his territory did not need the aid of some consulting
detective
from London, famous or otherwise. Holmes,
who
had dealt with small town officialdom before, was
most
urbane.
"Do sit down, Constable, and
join us in luncheon."
Dankers gave no indication of
accepting this invita
tion.
"I'm a very busy man, Mr. Holmes. My duties . .."
He got no further for the open
palm of Holmes's left hand fell flat on the table with a crack that
made the
condiment
cruets jump.
"Surely this cannot be!"
My friend's voice was as solemn as I had ever heard it, as though he
were announc
ing
the return of the black plague. "Do you mean, Constable
Dankers, that you have allowed the loose ways of
the
metropolis to invade this rural hamlet? What have
we
in this fair garden spot? Crime rampant in the
streets?"
Dankers's ruddy color faded
somewhat and he was
regarding
Holmes with startled eyes. "Why no, sir.
Nothing
like that. A missing bicycle is a big thing here
abouts."
Holmes's stern manner mellowed.
"Capital! With
nothing
but mundane matters on your mind, you will
benefit
by a moment of respite from your duties. Do sit
down,
Constable."
His voice had the steely ring of
authority and Dankers occupied a chair with commendable
alacrity. His bluster having disappeared like air from a punctured
balloon, he became
quite deferential. Holmes signaled
for
the waiter, but Constable Dankers said he could not
take
any food at the moment. The waiter suppressed a
smile
and disappeared only to return shortly with a bottle of
Guinness, which Dankers did not refuse.
"Doctor Witherspoon has been
bringing us up to date
on
the death of Amos Gridley," said Holmes.
"We've gotten as far as the
inquest," confirmed the medical examiner. "Why don't you
take it from there, Dankers?"
The constable obliged. "Accidental
death seemed
pretty
obvious, gentlemen," he said. "Amos's only rela
tive
is a nephew, Lothar Gridley, who is a sailor by
trade."
"And was at sea when his
uncle died, I believe."
"That's right, Mr. Holmes.
Pacific Queen
out
of
Melbourne. She
arrived two days after the death.
Lothar
was willed the antique shop and what money
Amos
had at hand. The total couldn't come to much."
"Lothar Gridley is in line to
receive five hundred
pounds
of insurance money," stated Holmes.
Dankers rubbed his chin
thoughtfully. "That's right,
sir.
A good thing, too. Certainly, the antique shop and
goods
don't amount to much in hard currency."
Since the constable lapsed into
silence, my friend also took a moment for reflection, which resulted
in a nod of approval.
"I can see where you would
abandon the thought of murder for gain. What about the deceased's
relations with others hereabouts?"
"Well," said Dankers
slowly, "I'd never accuse Amos
of
being popular. A loner, you see, and, generally, peo
ple
distrust that kind. A bit gruff but not a mean or
resentful
man. Close with a shilling he was."
"Of necessity,"
interjected Doctor Witherspoon, "as
I've
mentioned. I knew Amos as well as most. He was
in
hopes that his nephew, Lothar, would give up the sea
and
live with him here. He seemed to feel that a
younger
man around the shop might aid business."
"Even had his cottage
painted," added the constable in a reminiscent manner. "I've
no wish to speak ill of
the
dead, gentlemen, but he hired Molton Morris for
the
job. The two of them had some arguments about
price
that might have been heard as far as Kensington.
Finally,
Molton refused to finish the job until he was
paid
the agreed sum. Old Amos came through eventu
ally
but Molton had to walk off the job to get him to
pay
up."
"Bad blood between the two?"
I questioned.
Witherspoon and the constable
exchanged smiles.
"Mostly
talk, Doctor. I think Molton has a mite of
Arab
blood in him somewheres, for he loves to haggle
better
than most."
Dankers centered his gaze again on
Holmes. " 'Twas
at
the inquest that the thought was advanced that Amos
might
have done himself in. Lothar demanded to testify
and
brought out a strange thing."
"The fact that his uncle
suffered from acrophobia,"
said
Holmes, calmly.