Holmes had gathered everyone in Glassford’s study. There was the minister himself his wife, and all the servants, nanny, cook, housemaids, and the butler, Hogan. The Great Detective was looking pleased as punch with himself, and Gallagher reported that the spectacle was repulsive in the extreme.
“The case was simple,” exclaimed Holmes in his usual pedantic style. “I drew your attention to the bruising and puncture mark over the vein in the cardinal’s neck. To most people who have dealt with the administration of narcotics, the puncture mark was the sign of a hypodermic syringe. Usually, this is the method by which a medication or drugs is introduced under the skin of the patient by means — “
“I think we know the method, Holmes,” muttered Gallagher. “Dr. Thomson did not agree with you. Indeed, he conducted tests which showed no sign of any foreign substance, let alone narcotics or poison, being introduced into the body of the cardinal which would cause death.”
“There was no need to introduce such foreign matter,” Holmes went on, looking like a cat that has devoured cream. “The hypodermic contained no substance whatsoever.”
“But how — ?” began Sir Gibson.
“It contained nothing but air,” went on Holmes. “It caused an air embolism-a bubble of air-to be introduced into the bloodstream. That was fatal. Cardinal Tosca was murdered.”
Gallagher sighed deeply.
“We already suspected that…,” he protested.
“I have now demonstrated your suspicion to be a fact,” replied Holmes scornfully. “Now that we know the method, the next question is how was the body transported here?”
“You have been at pains to prove your theory that there is a passage through the underground sewers from Soho Square to here,” muttered Gallagher.
Holmes smiled condescendingly. “As you have now observed, it is no theory. It was obvious that the body had to be removed from Soho Square to Gayfere Street. Hardly through the streets in full view, I think, eh, Watson?” Holmes chuckled at his own humor. “It was clear to me that the body had been removed through a dank, smelly sewer. A tunnel where the clothes the body was being transported in, in this case, his nightshirt, had come into contact with the excretions running from the walls. The odors were still apparent after some days in police storage. There was no odor on the cardinal’s other clothing. Those transporting the body had carried them wrapped separately in a bag or some other casing, which protected them. The only question was-through what manner of tunneling was this achieved?”
He paused, presumably to bask in their admiration of his logic. He met only bemusement.
“The body was transported not through the sewers, as it happened, Gallagher. In 1861 the Pneumatic Dispatch Company built an underground rail system. The plan was to transport only mail. However, two years later the Post Office opened its own system and this, coupled with the fact that the pneumatic system had begun to develop mechanical faults and air leakage, caused the plans to extend it to be shelved. Ten years ago, that entire system was abandoned and was also forgotten.”
Holmes paused, waiting like a conjuror about to pull a rabbit from a hat.
“Except by Mr. Small,” pointed out Gallagher, not wishing Holmes to claim the approbation.
“And by the group of people intent on mischief. The body of the cardinal was carried, with his clothing, from his bedroom in the presbytery down to the cellar. In spite of assurances that the door had not been opened in ten years, I observed scuff marks showing that it had been opened recently. The body was removed into the new crypt where workmen had, in their excavations, made contact with the old pneumatic tunnel. The tunnel came directly toward Westminster. In preparation for this ghastly event, which had been well planned, a tunnel had been excavated in advance into the cellar of Sir Gibson’s house. I was alerted by the complaints that had been made to the local sewerage company by the old lady opposite who had been disturbed by it. I subsequently found out that, being elderly, she had removed her bedroom to a lower floor, near ground level. That was how she had been disturbed in the night. I found it curious that her concerns were not shared by anyone in this house.”
“But I have already told you that only the butler lives on the lower floor,” pointed out Sir Gibson, “and Hogan has not complained of any such noises. Have you, Hogan?”
The man shook his head morosely.
“Well,” went on Holmes obliviously, “our conspirators, for that is what they are, had enticed their victim from France on the pretense that he was wanted to mediate in some negotiations between this government and members of the Irish Republican Brotherhood. The idea appealed to Cardinal Tosca’s vanity, and he came here obeying the conspirators’ exhortation not to tell anyone else. He was killed and the body brought through this underground system.”
“But for what purpose?” demanded Glassford. “Why was he killed and placed in my house?”
“The purpose was to achieve exactly what this has nearly achieved. An attempt to discredit you as a member of government, and to stir up antagonism against any movement by the Irish Tarty to press forward again with its political campaign in parliament.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What group of people would best benefit by discrediting both a government pledged to the Unionist cause and to those who seek only Home Rule within the United Kingdom? Both those objectives would receive an irrevocable blow by the involvement of a Tory Minister in the murder of a cardinal and the suspicion of some conspiracy between them. Where would sympathy go to?”
“I presume the more extreme Irish Nationalists — the Republicans.”
“Watson, your revolver!” cried Holmes suddenly.
It was too late. Hogan had pulled his own revolver. “Everyone stay where they are!” he shouted.
“Don’t be a fool, Hogan,” snapped Gallagher, moving forward, but Hogan waved his weapon threateningly.
“I am not a fool,” the butler cried. “I can see where this is leading, and I shall not suffer alone.”
“You’ll not escape,” cried Holmes. “The police have already surrounded this place.”
Hogan simply ignored them.
He stepped swiftly back, removing the key from the lock of the study door. Then he slammed the door shut, turned the key, and they heard him exiting the house.
When Gallagher threw his weight against the door, Holmes ordered him to desist.
“He’ll not get far.”
In fact, Hogan hardly reached the corner of the street before members of the Special Branch called him to stop and surrender. When he opened fire, he was shot and died immediately. Which was, from my viewpoint, my dear “Wolf Shield,”just as well.