‘Precisely, Watson!’ Holmes continued. ‘No cuts, no bruises, no broken bones? How can it be? Why not a brutal slash across the throat to divide the carotid artery?’
I waited in impatient silence while he exchanged the cigarette case in turn for a favourite pipe. He resumed, ‘What then, I ask again, what of our cadaver at Scotney Castle? There was no report of any such disfigurement. Did that not arouse your suspicion? Siviter and his cohorts made a serious blunder in prompting Fusey to declare it was a vagabond who killed himself or took a bath in the wagon pond and drowned. That it was a suicide or a chance drowning was not impossible. It was impossible it was the suicide or chance drowning of a tramp.’
He looked at me, the grey eyes narrowing. ‘What should that have told you, Watson?’
‘I confess I have no answer to your question, Holmes.’
‘It proves the act of murder was not long in the soak. Where a crime is coolly planned, then the means of covering it up are coolly premeditated too. Rather than passing it off as a suicide or accidental drowning, they would have thrown me off the scent if they had made it clear it was murder. Siviter should have employed that cut-throat Venucci from Saffron Hill or a murder-gang, or a Smithfields garrotter - or even after the heart ceased beating a bludgeonman with a vigorous arm to crush in the face with three heavy blows of a sand-bag. The Boche should have been deposited in the wagon pond ill-kempt, a half-quartern of gin neat in his pocket, his body covered with contusions or the head horribly mutilated - have I made my point? - why, I might not have given the report a second glance, even with the dark glasses held up from the water like Excalibur.’
‘So their scheme was endangered because...’
‘They were too fastidious? Perhaps.’
‘Or?’
‘Or they had reached the limit of their ingenuity.’
He paused. ‘Then there was the peculiar matter of Dudeney’s response.’
‘The peculiar matter of Dudeney’s response!’ I parroted. ‘What of Dudeney? His response to what?’
‘Cast your mind back to our journey to Crick’s End in the Lanchester. Do you recall informing him you had read Siviter’s cat-and-rat fable?’
‘I did tell him that, what of it?’
‘Just when we came through Etchingham and entered the Straight Mile?’
‘It was about then I spoke those words, yes.’
‘And that you looked forward to viewing Crick’s End’s electricity at work?’
‘That was what I told him, yes.’
‘And he responded with?’
‘He said the mill-pond was low, too low to generate sufficient electricity until replenished by the leat.’ I stared across at Holmes with a perplexed smile. ‘You considered that to be important?’
‘Exceedingly so,’ he replied. ‘The very fact he informed you of this - did you not find that of curious interest, my considerable friend?’
‘Telling me of the level of the water in the mill-pond? Not especially, no. Surely that was entirely inconsequential?’
‘Possibly - if he had left it at that.’
‘By which you mean...?’
‘This conversation struck me as odd. Why did he feel obliged to offer such detail? Even so, my interest and curiosity were subsiding until some minutes later he aroused them once again.’
‘By?’
‘Did he not tell you the reason the water-level was so low?’
‘As I recall, he did,’ I replied. ‘And?’
‘Which was?’ Holmes pursued.
‘Village children at play had emptied it - by opening the sluice.’
‘Yes, Watson, those were indeed his words. And you made nothing of them?’
‘Nothing. Neither then nor now. Why should I?’
‘If you remember, he proffered this explanation after returning from the cart which shed its load of hay... which was where?
‘At the other end of the Straight Mile. So?’
‘Some five minutes later. Why did he not give this explanation at once?’
‘You have lost me, Holmes,’ I replied. ‘What bearing does the mill-pond at Crick’s End have on the discovery of a corpse at Scotney Castle? What does it matter if the mill-pond was low or if a chauffeur should wish to bring the reason for this to our attention - or when he did so?’
‘Not so much the pond was low but the reason Dudeney gave for it being so - village children had opened up the sluice. Why then, hardly one hour later, did our host offer a completely different reason? Twice Siviter told us this same pond was low through the extra demand of visitors. Why did his explanation so oppose the one Dudeney had on offer - unless both were hasty inventions?’
‘Then I ask again, Holmes, what of it if the pond was low - or the reason for it?’
‘Because, my considerable friend, a case can be put together from such tiny inconsistencies. Where there is a want of consistency we must suspect deception. I repeat, why were we were offered two distinct and contradictory reasons? It can only be each was deliberate, each intended to mislead us, what else? It was indeed surprising the mill-pond was so drained despite the recent rains and the open leat. Lack of electric lighting left Crick’s End deprived of much evening comfort. Yet if we suppose neither children at play nor the extra needs of guests caused this condition, what other explanation might there be? Why was the mill-pond so empty?’
‘If neither Siviter’s nor Dudeney’s explanation was true... I am sorry, Holmes, I must leave it to you.’
‘I believe the method was connected to Siviter’s great love, that turbine-generator. I suggest its infernal mechanics were rigged to let the water flow at excessive speed, more gallons a minute than we can ever guess, far above the norm. It spun the wheel so fast the current passing through the victim’s head or chest was raised to deadly heights. The local constable judged it suicide or accidental death by drowning. I would wager my whole fee from the case of the Third French Republic there was not a drop of wagon pond water in the Boche’s lungs. Water killed him, but not by filling up his lungs. The fellow died from electrocution.’
Once more the Holmes I knew of old unfurled his wares before me.
‘Watson,’ he went on, ‘you suggest it was no bad thing they murdered him, a Prussian emissary issuing violent threats of war, daring to board a packet-boat to Newhaven to beard the British lion in his very den. Was that the true purpose of his mission? I confess I am undermined by doubts gnawing at me like lionesses disembowelling a buck. Why kill him? An assassination involves grave risk. I ask myself again, for what profit did the Sungazers go to such lengths, at such danger to their far-flung enterprise?’
‘That is indeed a point of curious interest,’ I interjected. ‘Knowing you held it to be murder I too have pondered on it many times.’
‘To which conclusion, may I ask?’ Holmes enquired in a friendly tone, eyes twinkling.
‘Alas, none, Holmes. It has proved quite beyond my ability. Such an assassination was without doubt a risky throw even for such a high and mighty League. How do you explain it?’
‘An act of desperation, given the stakes for failure. Planned as the clock struck midnight, judging by the late commission of the second painting.’
He stopped, then recommenced. ‘Yes, Watson, it remains the most puzzling question of them all - why murder? Why not a clip across the ear and send him on his way?’
‘I await your answer, Holmes. I have no solution to that most baffling question.’
‘Unless...’
He paused.
‘Unless?’ I prompted.
‘What if...’ he repeated slowly.
‘Holmes,’ I laughed. ‘What if what! I demand you cease this teasing!’
‘I can assure you, teasing is far from my intent. Watson, consider this. Until this very moment we have taken it for granted Count von Hofmeyer arrived at Crick’s End with threats in mind.’