Except for one question Holmes asked me, the rest of our trip was made in silence. He asked me what the distance was between Woking and Cheltenham. One of the maps I carry showed a distance of exactly 20 miles. Holmes directed me to recheck the distance and I found it on another map, which also said 20 miles. There was no doubt about it, the distance between Woking and Cheltenham was 20 miles. When I told Holmes this he gave a little grimace, and said nothing, but I could see the news displeased him, and left him agitated.
The driver did his best to follow Holmes’s order, and made haste over so many pot holes and ruts in the road, that when we finally arrived at Cheltenham jail, it was none too soon for me; my rear end was sore from the bouncings it had received.
Cheltenham jail was a gloomy old place, dark and foreboding, lit on the outside by a single lantern whose feeble rays, obscured by the dirty glass, gave only a weak, crepuscular light. We entered and identified ourselves to the single jailer on duty, who seemed an eager enough to please fellow, and then asked to speak with Mr. Albert Fletcher. The jailer surprised me by saying, “happy to oblige you, governor, but you can’t speak with him.” Holmes immediately said sharply, “what do you mean?”
To which the turnkey replied in a regretful voice, “I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t speak with the prisoner, because he’s not able. He’s dead.”
Holmes’s face showed nothing of the disappointment he felt, and he spoke at once.
“Well then, we must see the body. My associate is a physician.”
The turnkey led us to the small cell, and after lighting a candle for us, he unlocked and opened the cell door.
Holmes asked but one question.
“When was his death discovered?”
“About a quarter of an hour ago,” was the jailer’s reply. “If you need something just call out,” and as he was leaving said a local physician would be notified. Then he was gone.
“So recent!” said Holmes. “If only we had arrived a little earlier.”
I searched carefully for a pulse, but found none. I put my ear to his bared chest above the heart, and heard nothing. When the small mirror I always carry was held close to his open mouth, there was no sign of condensation on it. Evidently his heart had stopped beating, and he was not breathing. No doubt about it, he was dead.
My investigation of Mr. Albert Fletcher’s body showed a middle-aged, somewhat corpulent man. His face showed no sign of grog blossoms, and when at Holmes’s request I removed his clothing and examined the body, I saw no alcoholic petechiae. Evidently Mr. Fletcher had not been in the habit of imbibing to excess. I saw no wounds, no blood, or any other signs of foul play. The cause of death was unknown.
“Examine his sexual parts carefully, Watson. No doubt you are much more familiar with their anatomy than I am.”
I brought the candle close and made an inspection. All appeared normal; there was no sign of disease. On more careful inspection I did see something not normally present, several small scratch marks, Holmes examined them carefully, but said nothing. Then he stood up.
“Time of death, Watson?”
“Within the last hour, I should think. Post mortem lividity is not yet evident, the limbs are still supple, and most important, the body is still warm. Yes, death occurred quite recently.”
“And the cause, Watson?”
“There’s a mystery,” I replied. “No marks on the body, no evidence of foul play. Too young for a heart attack or stroke, though they are always possible. I simply cannot say. Perhaps the autopsy will shed light on this question”
“Yes,” said Holmes, “the autopsy. I don’t think it will be very helpful, but we will see the results. No stone can be left unturned in our investigation, which now includes Mr. Albert Fletcher’s death. No doubt Miss Hotchkiss will be pained to learn of it. Yet his death will put an end to this matter, there will be no further publicity, and therefore no scandal.”
An end to the matter? It had hardly begun. I was indignant, Holmes’s statement baffled me, but I said nothing. Two days later, when Holmes explained how the man died, and the reason for his death, I understood that the publicity, having nothing further to feed on, would soon end. And so it did.
Holmes made arrangements for the dead man’s statement to be copied, and the copy delivered to us. Then it was back to the coach, and after another long, but not so fast and bumpy ride, for which I was very grateful, to bed. It had been a long and difficult night. Strange unknown things, all silvery, disturbed my sleep.
Next morning I woke tired, but eager to assist Holmes. He asked me to look into a matter related to the case, to verify the times involved. To do this I was required to visit both Woking and Cheltenham, and this took the entire day and part of the evening. After conveying my information to Holmes by messenger, I went to sleep, and this time slept soundly.
The next day I awoke refreshed, and over scrambled eggs and bacon I asked Holmes what progress, if any, had been made on the case. I was especially interested in the cause of death, and specifically asked about it. For a man not yet old, and in good health, to die under those circumstances- the jail cell bars that kept him in, also served to keep danger out. Foul play was unlikely, and we had found no sign of it. Death due to a natural cause was also unlikely. On careful examination nothing unusual had been found. The cause of death was extremely puzzling.
Imagine my surprise when Holmes said this in reply to my question regarding the cause of death.
“I have it here, Watson. Here is the cause of death,” And Holmes handed me a little glassine envelope. Inside was a wet mass of dark brown shredded material.
“Well, what do you make of it, old man?” Holmes asked cheerily, and then looked at me expectantly. I studied the material intently, but for the life of me could not make it out. Holmes said nothing. Finally it came to me that it looked like seaweed, and I said so.
Holmes was pleased by my answer.
“Bravo, old fellow, not bad,” he said. “You are not so far off. This material is of vegetable origin, but it has never seen the sea, though it is quite wet, as you observe. Wet with fresh, not salt water. A simple test on it with silver nitrate for chloride being negative, we can conclude it is wet with fresh, not salt water, for salt water is rich in sodium chloride, the chemical name for salt.”
“So,” I said, “it is of vegetable origin and wet with fresh water. That leaves only a million possibilities. What the devil is it?”
“Observe, Watson, I tease out a few pieces and show them to you. What do you see?”
I said I saw little thin shreds, much longer than wide, somewhat uniform in size. This again pleased Holmes, and he again responded enthusiastically.
“Capital, Watson, capital. What we have here are fine uniform thin shreds of vegetable matter soaked in fresh water. Microscopic examination shows they came from leaves. The leaves were dried before shredding. The drying employed a wood fire. “
This last was a little too much. I asked Holmes how he could tell the drying was by fire, and a wood fire at that, rather than say by gas heat or air?
“Watson, where there is a wood fire, there is always smoke. Smoke deposits characteristic black particles. They are not very numerous, but more than enough are present to tell the story.”
“So” I said, “before being wet with water it was dried by a wood fire, and then finely shredded. The purpose of this process eludes me. I haven’t the foggiest. Holmes, what is it all about”
“Think, Watson, think about it. Why was the leaf shredded so fine? The drying process was obviously to make the fine shredding possible. You cannot finely shred fresh leaf, try to do so and a gummy mass results. Why the fine shredding?”