My Sherlock Holmes Part 19

"We talked for a while about her sister. That is, she tried to talk about Andrea, but she kept breaking down and crying before she could finish a thought."

"Not surprising," I said.

"She asked me if I thought Professor Maples was guilty," Holmes told me. "I said I was convinced he was not. She asked me if I thought he would be convicted if he came to trial. I thought I'd better be honest. I told her it seemed likely."

"You told her true," I commented.

"She is convinced of his innocence, even though it is her own sister who was killed. Many-most-people would allow emotion to override logic. And she wants to help him. She said, 'Then I know what I must do,' and she went off to see about hiring a lawyer."

"She said that?" I asked.

"She did."

"Holmes, think carefully. Did she say she was going to hire a lawyer?" Holmes was momentarily startled at my question. "Well, let's see. She said she knew what she must do, and I said he's going to need the best lawyer and the best barrister around to clear himself of this, for all that we know he is not guilty."

"And?"

"And then she said she would not allow him to be convicted. And she-well-she kissed me on the cheek, and she said, 'Good-bye, Mr. Holmes, you have been a good friend.' And she hurried off."

"How long ago did she leave you?"

"Possibly an hour, perhaps a bit longer."

I jumped to my feet. "Come, Holmes," I said, "we must stop her."

"Stop her?"

"Before she does something foolish. Come, there's no time to waste!"

"Does what?" he asked, hurrying after me as I hastened down the hall, pulling my coat on.

"Just come!" I said. "Perhaps I'm wrong."

We raced out of the college and over to Barleymore Road, and continued in the direction of the Mapleses' house at a fast walk. It took about ten minutes to get there, and I pushed through the front door without bothering to knock.

Mr. Crisboy was sitting in the parlor, staring at the wall opposite, a study in suspended motion. In one hand was a spoon, in the other a small bottle. When we entered the room he slowly put both objects down. "Professor Maples depends on this fluid," he said. "Two spoons full before each meal." He held the bottle up for our inspection. The label read: Peals Patented Magical Elixir of Health. "Do you think they'd let me bring him a few bottles?"

"I'm sure they would," I told him. "Do you know where Lucy is?"

"She's upstairs in her room," Crisboy told me. "She is quite upset. But of course, we're all quite upset. She asked not to be disturbed."

I made for the staircase, Holmes close behind me. "Why this rush?" he demanded. "We can't just barge in on her."

"We must," I said. I pounded at her door, but there was no answer. The door was locked. I put my shoulder against it. After the third push it gave, and I stumbled into the room, Holmes close behind me.

There was an overturned chair in the middle of the room. From a hook in the ceiling that had once held a chandelier dangled the body of Lucy Moys.

"My G.o.d!" Holmes exclaimed.

Holmes righted the chair and pulled a small clasp knife from his pocket. I held the body steady while Holmes leaped up on the chair and sawed at the rope until it parted. We laid her carefully on the bed. It was clear from her white face and bulging, sightless eyes that she was beyond reviving. Holmes nonetheless cut the loop from around her neck. "Horrible," he said. "And you knew this was going to happen? But why? There's no reason-"

"Every reason," I said. "No, I didn't predict this, certainly not this quickly, but I did think she might do something foolish."

"But-"

"She must have left a note," I said.

We covered her body with a blanket, and Holmes went over to the writing desk. "Yes," he said. "There's an envelope here addressed to 'The Police.' And a second one-it's addressed to me!"

He ripped it open. After a few seconds he handed it to me.

Sherlock,

It could have been different

had I been different,

I like you tremendously,

Think well of me

I'm so sorry.

Lucy "I don't understand," Sherlock Holmes said. "What does it mean? Why did she do this?"

"The letter to the police," I said, "what does it say?"

He opened it.

To whoever reads this- I am responsible for the death of my sister Andrea. I killed her in a jealous rage. I cannot live with myself, and I cannot allow Professor Maples, a sweet and innocent man, to suffer for my crime. This is best for all concerned.

Lucinda Movs "I don't understand," Holmes said. "She was jealous of Faulting? But I didn't think she even knew Faulting very well."

"She kept her secrets," I said, "even unto death."

"What secrets?"

"This household," I said, gesturing around me, "holds one big secret that is, you might say, made up of several smaller secrets."

"You knew that she had done it-that she had killed her sister?"

"I thought so, yes." I patted him on the shoulder, and he flinched as though my touch were painful. "Let us go downstairs now," I said.

"You go," Holmes said. "I'll join you in a few minutes."

I left Holmes staring down at the blanket-covered body on the bed, and went down to the parlor. "Lucy has committed suicide," I told Crisboy, who had put the bottle down but was still staring at the wall opposite. "She left a note. She killed Andrea."

"Ahhh!" he said. "Then they'll be letting the professor go."

"Yes," I said.

"She'd been acting strange the past few days. But with what happened, I never thought ... . Hanged herself?"

"Yes," I said. "Someone must go to the police station."

"Of course." Crisboy got up. "I'll go." He went into the hall and took his overcoat off the peg. "Ahhh. Poor thing." He went out the door.

About ten minutes later Holmes came down. "How did you know?" he asked.

"The footsteps that you preserved so carefully," I said. "There were three lines: two going out to the cottage and one coming back. The single one going out was wearing different shoes, and it-she-went first. I could tell because some of the prints from the other set overlapped the first. And it was the second set going out that had the indentations from the walking stick. So someone-some woman-went out after Andrea Maples, and that woman came back. She went out with the walking stick and came back without it."

"I missed that," Holmes said.

"It's easier to tell than to observe," I told him.

"I had made up my mind about what I was going to find before I went to look," he said. "The deductive process suffers from preconceptions."

"It's a matter of eliminating the impossible," I told him. "Then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

"I shall remember that," he said. "I still cannot fathom that Lucy was that jealous of Andrea."

"She was, but not in the way you imagine," I told him.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember that I suggested that you notice Lucinda's ears?"

"Yes." Holmes looked puzzled. "They looked like-ears."

"Their shape was quite distinctive, and quite different from those of Andrea. The basic shape of the ear seems to be constant within a family. This was a reasonable indication that Andrea and Lucinda were not really sisters."

"Not really sisters? Then they were-what?"

"They were lovers," I told him. "There are women who fall in love with other women, just as there are men who fall in love with other men. The ancient Greeks thought it quite normal."

"Lovers?"

"Andrea preferred women to men, and Lucinda was her, ah, mate."

"But-Professor Maples is her husband."

"I a.s.sume it was truly a marriage of convenience. If you look at the bedrooms it is clear that Andrea and Lucy usually shared a bedroom-Lucy's-as they both have quant.i.ties of clothing in it. And I would a.s.sume that Professor Maples and Mr. Crisboy have a similar arrangement."

"You think the professor and Crisboy-but they ..."

"A German professor named Ulrichs has coined a word for such unions; he calls them h.o.m.o-s.e.xual. In some societies they are accepted, and in some they are condemned. We live in the latter."

"Holmes sat down in the straight back chair. "That is so," he said. "So you think they derived this method of keeping their relationships concealed?"

"I imagine the marriage, if there was a marriage, and Andrea's adopting Lucy as her 'sister' was established well before the menage moved here. It was the ideal solution, each protecting the other from the scorn of society and the sting of the laws against sodomy and such behavior."

"But Andrea went to the cottage to have, ah, intimate relations with Faulting."

"She liked to flirt, you must have observed that. And she obviously wasn't picky as to which gender she flirted with, or with which gender she, let us say, consummated her flirting. There are women like that, many of them it seems unusually attractive and, ah, compelling. Augustus Caesar's daughter Julia seems to have been one of them, according to Suetonius. Andrea found Faulting attractive, and was determined to have him. My guess is that she and Lucy had words about it, but Andrea went to meet Faulting anyway, while Lucy remained in her room and worked herself into a jealous rage. She didn't intend to kill Andrea; that's shown by the fact that she didn't open the sword cane, although she must have known about it."

Holmes was silent for a minute, and I could see some powerful emotion growing within him. "You had this all figured out," he said, turning to me, his words tight and controlled.

"Much of it," I admitted. "But don't berate yourself for missing it. I was familiar with the idea of h.o.m.o s.e.xuality through my reading, and several acquaintances of mine have told me of such relationships. I had the knowledge and you didn't."

But I had misjudged the direction of Holmes's thoughts. The fury in him suddenly exploded. "You could have stopped this," he screamed. "You let it happen!"

I backed away to avoid either of us doing something we would later regret. "I knew nothing of Andrea's tryst," I told him, "nor Lucinda's fury."

Holmes took a deep breath. "No," he said, "you couldn't have stopped the murder, but you could have stopped Lucy's suicide. Clearly you knew what she intended."

"You credit me with a prescience I do not possess," I told him.

"You were fairly clear on what she intended an hour after the event," he said. "Why couldn't you have rushed out here before?"

"I don't know," I told him. "Until you told me what she had said to you, it didn't strike me-"

"It didn't strike you!"

"You spoke to her yourself," I said, "and yet you guessed nothing."