Sherlock Holmes: The Shadow From Beyond (3 page)

Sure enough the look on Professor Harper’s sunken face spoke volumes; the mouth was open wide as if screaming, the lower lip tightly pulled downward in grimace over yellowing teeth, the eyes were wide, the pupils small and focused stared straight ahead, the brow was pulled back in an expression of shock.

“Excellent work Watson.” Holmes acknowledged. “This dehydration element greatly intrigues me, any signs that the victim may have been poisoned?”

“It is a possibility, but I know not of any symptoms from poison that compare to this. Perhaps some exotic foreign compound, but nothing available locally I’m sure.” replied Watson gesturing to the drained remains of Professor Harper.

“Alright then, we’ll leave the rest for the coroner to figure out. Come let us examine the surrounding areas for other clues.” Holmes rose from the body and moved over to the obvious point of access made by the murderer, the shattered patio doors that lead to and from the rear garden.

Originally this exit from the study to the garden had been sectioned off by two lattice paned French doors that lead out to a small stone landing, a patio of sorts and then to the garden behind the house. Now all that remained of these doors were their shattered wooden frames and the heaps of jagged shards of glass strewn about what remained of them. Holmes eyes scanned attentively over the debris spread out before him.

“Notice that the doors of the patio are still locked together.” He gestured to the brass lock still intact and fastened between the fractured frames. “The doors have been broken from the outside, the glass and frames have shattered inward as if from terrible force, the hinges have been torn right off their wall mounts! Obviously no lock picking skills were needed to gain entry in this case; the intruder was not that subtle.”

“How is it possible then Holmes?” Mumbled Lestrade, through the handkerchief that still covered his nose. “The amount of force that would be needed to blast those doors right off their hinges!” he paused in thought before continuing. “Could the intruder have jumped or smashed through the glass panes to gain entry? Or perhaps a large beast or bird may have lost its way and collided through the lattice work?” the inspector questioned in a puzzled tone.

“The door frames have come right out along with the glass,” the detective pointed out. “They would have remained in place if some person or animal had gone through the glass alone. The fact that there are no feathers or tufts of fur scattered about, let alone any blood or even a corpse of a bird or other animal local to London, probably rules out that possibility.” He turned to his companions. “It took a great amount of power to do such damage and based on the facts at the moment I know no cause that could inflict such force.”

Holmes gazed over the many valuable possessions that filled the room about them; vases, sculptures, books and other artworks that could easily have been looted by thieves remained in place. “Other than the disrepair of these doors and the state of the corpse on the floor, the room and its possessions seem in relative order with nothing of major value missing to the naked eye. Am I at fault in my observation of these facts, Mr. Stinson?” Holmes had directed this last remark toward the butler who stood by patiently at Inspector Lestrade’s side. The steward, Stinson was a man of sixty or so years who stood a good six feet tall with straight back and refined posture. His grey hair and eyes lent him an air of wisdom and his thick mutton chop sideburns framed a deep lined but clean shaven face. Apparently he was the last person to see Professor Harper alive.

“There is only item missing that I notice sir,” replied Stinson as if on cue. “a bottle of port that was on the study desk is now gone. I had personally delivered it to this room at 11 p.m. as I do so each evening as requested by my employer. After leaving the bottle on the desk with a drinking glass beside, I asked Professor Harper if there was anything else he may need of me, and then retired when he replied that all was well for the evening.” Upon this statement the butler pointed to a serving tray that sat on the study desk to his left. A half-filled glass remained, but no bottle was present. A quick examination of the study proved fruitless in locating it.

Holmes wandered over to the desk and took up the glass from the tray; he swished about the remaining contents within and inhaled deeply with his hawk-like nose.

“Stinson, was the brand of the bottle from the Warre’s collection of ports?”

“Yes, it was a Warre’s Vintage, Mr. Holmes.” the manservant confirmed. “The professor fancied it very much and would drink no other. Swore it helped him to fall asleep and avoid the bad dreams that had plagued him of late, nightmares he would say. The nightcap seemed to steady his nerves and calm his thoughts.”

Holmes dipped a finger into the remaining dark liquid and then brought a drop of it to his tongue. “No evidence of poison here Watson.” he stated as he passed the glass of liquor to the doctor, who mimicked Holmes’ actions, nodded in agreement and returned the glass to its original place on the desk.

“I would like to interview the other servants now,” Holmes requested to Lestrade, “Please make them available.”

A Gathering of Facts

The cook and maid, a married couple in their late forties, where soon questioned. Both reported similar facts that in the early morning just around midnight both had felt a sudden hard impact against the house, on the garden side, that awoke them suddenly. They had immediately heard the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass, followed moments later by a high pitched scream.

“It woke us from our sleep sirs, my wife and I that is.” Spoke Johnny Burton, the chubby, red-haired cook in a hurried fashion. “I literally jumped clear outtta me bed at that ‘orrific wail! And the missus had the sheets up to ‘er eyes, she was tremblin’ something frightful my poor Beth.” The cook looked over to his plump wife, a short yet pretty woman in her late forties with tired eyes.

“I was so afraid sirs, I could do not but shake and cower.” she managed.

“We thought at first ‘twas a tree limb broke off and hit the house, but all was calm and there was no storm about.” the cook continued. “Eventually I mustered up the nerve to go out into the hall where Mr. Stinson hurried over and bid me to fetch the constable on duty, so I grabbed me coat and off I went as he wished.”

The butler also noted that it was just after midnight when he was jolted awake; “After the very startling noises woke me, I jumped out of bed where I had fallen asleep while reading, threw on my robe and rushed over to the study to check on Professor Harper.” Stinson explained, “I became concerned when there was no response to my knocking and, at first, I could not gain entry as the door was locked from the inside My master rarely locked the study but did so on certain occasions so I simply retrieved the key ring from my room and then to unlock the door, which took about five minutes or so. I returned to gain entry and as soon as I opened the study door was assailed by the smell that remains here now, only much stronger; an animal scent, musky, with a stench of decay like meat left in the sun too long.

“There were no lights on within the study but I could see rather well as it was a night of a full moon and it shone brightly through the gaping hole of where the patio doors used to be.” The butler pointed toward the rear of the room and the recent damage. “I thought I saw a shadowy form far off at the end of the garden, a slight movement, but it was only a fleeting glance and I may have been mistaken. I cannot say for certain. When I looked again it was gone.”

“But it was a full moon, of that you are confident?” the detective interjected.

“Yes of that fact I am sure.”

“Thank you, pray continue,” Holmes motioned and Stinson began again.

“It was after I had lit the lamp that I saw Professor Harper laid out on the floor in the exact condition we see him now. I knelt to tend to him but realized by his terrible physical state that he was well deceased and beyond any aid. I then told Burton here to quickly go notify the police and soon after he returned with the constable. I then dismissed Burton and his wife to their quarters, and have remained awake since so as to aid the authorities in any means required of me. I remain at your service sir.”

Sherlock Holmes absorbed all this information with his sponge like mind. He then drew Stinson’s attention to the letter he had found in Harper’s robe. Holmes removed it from his waistcoat and held it up in front of the butler.

“Can you explain this letter I found in your masters robe pocket? Had he any mention of it to you or its contents?

“I know not what it concerns sir, but will confirm that it arrived yesterday in the afternoon via post courier around 4 p.m. I delivered it at once to Professor Harper at around 6 p.m. upon his return from his daily outing. He seemed very happy to receive it and mentioned something like he had been waiting eagerly for its arrival.

“Daily outing?” injected Holmes. “Please elaborate.” “Well, while being employed by the University, Professor Harper was often at the Royal British Museum compiling research on the various topics he taught about. These visits declined after he was removed from his position a few years ago, but lately, after returning from his latest trip abroad, he began to spend time there on daily basis. I assumed that he was probably doing some sort of work for a client that demanded his utmost attention. Of late he had done some consultation assignments as means of added income and spent much attention toward them. He would be out of the house for hours on end but always returned at 6 p.m. sharp.”

Holmes smiled broadly then held up the letter again. “Ahh yes, well,” Stinson continued. “Afterwards he had dinner at 8 p.m. then retired to his study around 9 p.m. as was customary. Considering his earlier enthusiasm I found it odd that he had not yet opened the letter by meal time, as it was still sealed and sitting on top of some other correspondence when I served desert, but had noticed the discarded envelope in the waste basket when I delivered his port later that night.”

“Thank you Stinson those are all the questions I have for you and your staff at the moment, you are dismissed,” replied Holmes politely. And on that note the butler bowed slightly and took his leave, followed by the cook and maid.

There was a letter opener on the desk, and as Stinson had mentioned, a recently opened envelope sat discarded in the waste bin beside. Holmes removed it from the bin, held it up and examined the two addresses that had been written upon it in a fine flowing script. The first of which was to Professor Harper himself at this present location, the return address was that of a residence in Metz, France. Holmes knew the location of the town to be not far from the German border.

The envelope was post marked two weeks prior, the name of the sender was listed as M. A. Lebda, a name the detective was not familiar with. Holmes’ keen eyes noticed that the paper was creased and warped slightly outward, indicating that an object was once held within. At the moment no trace of that possible object was seen on or near the desk. The letter missing from the envelope was most probably the one Holmes removed earlier from Harper’s robe pocket.

Holmes then examined the desk area. He opened drawers and scanned piles of papers, eventually he uncovered a small leather bound journal with the initials T. H. embossed in gold upon its cover. Holmes pocketed these items for later reference before he turned his attention to the rest of the room and its contents.

The study itself was decorated as one would expect from a university scholar and was filled with many oak shelves and cabinets occupied with old books, manuscripts, maps and artifacts dating throughout history, with most seeming to focus on topics related to the Crusades of the Middle East.

Holmes scrutinized the volumes on display, scanning quickly over the various titles.

Included with the various educational texts are two books penned by Professor Harper himself: ‘The Crusades: A Historic Reference’ and ‘A Guide to Pagan Myths and Religious Cults of the Middle East.’ The first was one Holmes had actually read.

On one shelf that seemed to have been perused recently, due to lack of dust, Holmes leafed through a selection of volumes that were well outside the normal reference list offered by the English Education Board, but where none the less related to studies of pagan religions:

‘The Parchments of Pom’, a detailed account of the Hyperborean Gods. ‘The Pnakotic Manuscripts’, supposedly written by the Great Race of Yith. A partial translation of ‘The Eltdown Shards’ by Gordon Whitney, collected via the ancient pottery fragments found in Eltdown South England as recently as 1882. There was a well-worn copy of ‘The Translation of the G’harne Fragments’ by Walmsley & Wendy-Smith, focusing on the pre-human G’harne area of Africa. A very recent copy of ‘The Zanthu Tablets: A Conjectural Translation’ by Harold Hayley Copeland, the same Copeland who was the only survivor of the ill-fated expedition to remote Tibet just a few years prior. Also of note, a rough copy of ‘The Seven Cryptical Books of Hsan’ whose existence was rumored to be a myth.

Holmes scanned these tomes with great interest and awe, handled them with the utmost care and turned their pages as if they were made of thin fragile glass. He noted copies of ‘The Libor Ivonis’ and ‘The Book of Dyzan, alongside some ancient texts that featured titles in script unfamiliar even to himself.

“Very rare indeed.” he muttered lightly to himself, “Too rare for a university professor to afford.”