PINNACLE BOOKS NEW YORK (15 page)

"I
wish I was sure," replied the inspector. "'Tis
the
matter of Ramsey Michael."

At
the sideboard, replenishing my drink, I heard
Holmes'
glass come in contact with the desktop
forcibly.
As I turned at this unusual sound, I found
the
sleuth regarding MacDonald intently.

"The
so-called art critic," said the sleuth. "What
problem
involves him?"

"Ah
then, you haven't heard. He was shot to death this very evening."

"Good
heavens!" I exclaimed involuntarily,
though
I did not know the man referred to.

Something
was bothering Holmes, but his la
conic
comment was unrevealing.
"The
gentleman was not popular. Do we face one
of
those cases devoid of clues?"

"Few
needed," said MacDonald somewhat bitter
ly.
"We have one suspect and what looks like an
airtight
case. And yet there's something about it that doesn't sit
comfortable." He glanced at
me
shamefaced, then centered on Holmes again.
"You'll
make sport of me for saying it, but the taste
isn't
right."

Holmes
was gazing at the inspector with added
respect.
"After a lengthy career in the field of
criminology,
it would be strange indeed if you did not possess a distinct feel for
such matters. My
congratulations, Mr.
Mac. Now do tell us of the
affair and
what specifically wrinkles your nose with doubt."

MacDonald
had a wary look, as if suspecting that
he
was being twitted, but the great consulting
detective
was completely serious so the Aberdonian
plunged
into his tale.

"Michael's
body was found by his butler at six this evening in the upstairs
study of his home on
Belgrave Square. A
bullet from an Adams .450
revolver
caught him right between the eyes and
was
lodged in his brain. Death was instantaneous."

"You
established the make and caliber of the
murder
weapon with admirable promptness,"
commented
Holmes.

"And
without difficulty, since the gun was on the
floor
of the room." MacDonald exhibited a sly
smile.
"Before you ask, we did check the weapon for
fingerprints,
and there were none."

"None
at all, or none that could be identified?"

"The
gun had been wiped clean." At a nod from
Holmes,
the inspector continued. "Besides Michael,
there
were three other occupants of the house. Herndon, the butler, and his
wife, Matilda, who is
cook-housekeeper.
Also a Miss Vanessa Claremont,
who was
Michael's ward."

"Something
was nagging at me and now I have
it,"
I ventured. "Miss Claremont is a patient of Dr. Vernier. He has
spoken to me of her." Inasmuch as
the
inspector and Holmes were regarding me with
considerable
interest, I continued.
"Miss
Claremont is but twenty-three and suffers
from
pernicious anemia. Vernier has her on a
special
diet fortified with liver, but the case bothers
him.
She weighs but seven stone and is a frail reed
indeed."

MacDonald
had a sour look about his mouth.
"I'm
told that Michael did not treat the poor thing at all well. Perhaps
that has colored my thinking.
But let me
conclude this strange tale," he said with
a
sigh.

"Michael
was not outside his house the entire
day.
The mansion itself has a bearing on the case. It
contains
art objects of considerable value and is
something
of a fortress. Bars on all the windows
and
secure locks on stout doors. It was the habit of the household to
make sure everything was bolted
up come
nightfall."

"Shortly
after five this time of year." Holmes'
eyes
were dreamy with thought.

MacDonald
nodded in agreement. "It was the
sound
of the firearm that alarmed the butler,
Herndon.
He came from the servants' quarters on the run to find Vanessa
Claremont on the stairs leading to the upstairs study. She said that
she had been in her ground-floor quarters when she heard
the
shot and had started up instinctively but had
become
frightened."

"Whereas
she might well have fired the gun and
started
down, for all the butler knew," suggested
Holmes.

"Indeed,
sir. In any case, Herndon discovered the body and raced downstairs to
summon a constable.
Rushing by Miss
Claremont, he shouted that the
master
was dead, at which point she fainted.
Fortunately
there was an officer close by on the
Square
and he returned with the butler. Herndon
and
his wife revived Miss Claremont while the
constable
notified the Yard and there you are."

The
inspector leaned back in his chair as if
relieved
to have gotten the main narrative out of
the
way. He knew that pertinent questions would be asked.

Holmes
was regarding the dancing flames in the
hearth
fire thoughtfully.
"You said there
was but one suspect and a
seemingly
airtight case. Let me see. The house was
securely
locked about an hour before the fatal shot.
I
assume that is confirmed by direct testimony?"

MacDonald
nodded. "As was the custom, Hern
don
checked all the doors and windows shortly
after
five. Miss Claremont confirms this, since she
was
cleaning downstairs at the time." Since
Holmes
made no comment, the inspector con
tinued.
"Actually, Miss Claremont was little better
than
a maid in the establishment. She is the niece
of
Michael's deceased wife, and the art critic took her in because of a
proviso in Mrs. Michael's will. But he did not relish the arrangement
and made no
effort to conceal his
feelings."

"No
love lost between the two." Holmes resumed
his
musings. "I assume the shot that alerted the
household
was the one that killed Michael."

"We
had a pathologist on the scene in short
order,"
replied the inspector. "Just as a matter of
procedure,
since the corpse was still bleeding when
the
constable got there. He was shot at six for a
fact."

"Your
prime suspect is obviously the ward, Va
nessa
Claremont," stated Holmes. "Motive must
point
the finger of guilt."

"Indeed,
sir. Neither Herndon, the butler, nor his
wife
had reason to wish their master dead. On the
other
hand, Miss Claremont stands to inherit
Michael's
estate. If she evades the gallows for his
murder,
that is." The Scot was shaking his head.

"Miss
Claremont had both motive and opportu
nity.
You are still dissatisfied?"

"Aye,
sir. 'Tis the feel."

"I
agree completely," was Sherlock Holmes'
surprising
response.

I
rose from my chair with a groan. "So it's off to
the
scene of the crime, is it? I could wish murders
would
occur during more clement weather."

My
confrere chuckled. "Do resume your seat, old
fellow,
unless you wish to replenish Mr. Mac's glass.
I
have no intention of going forth on this night. We
shall
consider the problem in comfortable sur
roundings."

"Will
you, now?" MacDonald seemed ruffled, but
his
manner mellowed when I forced a refill on him
along
with a cigar.

"More
questions, of course," stated Holmes.
"Ramsey
Michael went through the motions of
being
a busy man and he did not stray from his domicile during the day. I
assume there were
visitors?"

"Three."
The inspector referred to his official notebook. "At one in the
afternoon Mr. Ezra Hinshaw consulted with Michael about a lecture at
the
Tate Museum. He transacted his
business rapidly and left in short order. At three, a Vicar Bisbee
arrived in hopes of securing a donation for a local
charity.
Whether Michael complied or not I haven't
learned,
but the vicar is well known in those parts.
He
is somewhat deaf and quite nearsighted."

"We
can rule out Bisbee for obvious reasons," remarked Holmes.

Aside
from the vicar's line of work, I could divine
no
obvious reasons but withheld comment on the
matter.

"Around
four-thirty, one Cedric Folks visited Michael. Bit of a
ne
'
er-do-well,
that one. Orbits 'round the edge of society as a painter of sorts.
Attended Sandhurst but left under something of a cloud. Haven't run
him down yet but evidently his visit to Michael was connected with
the art world. Folks was not expected at the establishment and
Herndon was reluctant to admit him. Folks asked
the
butler to tell his master that he brought a
message
from Shadrach."

"Now
that's interesting," said Holmes. "Sounds a bit like a
code. I assume Michael agreed to see the
fellow?"

"He
instructed the butler to show Folks up to his first-story study. The
artist left shortly before five, slamming the front door forcibly.
This sound
brought the butler into the
hall. Michael appeared
at the head of
the stairs and directed the servant to
secure
the doors carefully. Herndon told me that
Michael
appeared angry. It was the last time he
saw
the art critic alive."

"Did
the butler make any other comment about
this
incident?"

MacDonald's
brow furrowed in thought. "Simply
that
he went through his regular procedure of
shooting
the bolts on the front door and then
checking
the windows. Wait a wee bit," the inspec
tor
added. "He did say he heard horses' hooves
outside
and saw Folks' hansom depart."

Holmes
rubbed his hands with satisfaction.
"Now,
as the butler went about his regular task, Michael returned to his
upstairs study I assume?"

"Yes,
sir. As the butler completed his security
tour,
Miss Claremont went to her room on the
ground
floor. She engaged in needlework, but her
door
was open. She stated that neither Herndon
nor
his wife came from the servant quarters before
the
shot was fired. Because of the layout of the
house,
they would have had to pass her door."

I
was intrigued by this. "The prime suspect gives
the
servants a foolproof alibi. She might better
have
kept silent on the matter."