The bright eyes were studying him in return. “I daresay you’ve had your own share of successes, sir.”
“More than I can count.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Quincannon and his partner are well known locally,” the doctor said. “Several of their investigations involving seemingly impossible crimes have gained notoriety. If I remember correctly, there was the rainmaker shot to death in a locked room, the strange disappearance on board the Desert Limited, the rather amazing murder of a bogus medium.…”
Holmes said, “I would be most interested to know the methods you and your partner employ.”
“Methods?”
“In solving your cases. Aside from the use of weapons, fisticuffs, and such surveillance techniques as you employed tonight.”
“What happened tonight was not my fault,” Quincannon said testily. “As to our methods … whatever the situation calls for. Guile, wit, attention to detail, and deduction, among others.”
“Capital! My methods are likewise based on observation, in particular observation of trifles, and on deductive reasoning-the construction of a series of inferences, each dependent upon its predecessor. An exact knowledge of all facets of crime and its history is invaluable as well, as I’m sure you know.”
Bumptious, as well as a candidate for the bughouse. Quincannon managed not to sneer.
“For instance,” Holmes said, smiling, “I should say that you are unmarried, smoke a well-seasoned briar, prefer shag-cut Virginia tobacco, spent part of today in a tonsorial parlor and another part engaged in a game of straight pool, dined on chicken croquettes before proceeding to the Truesdale property, waited for your burglar in a shrub of Syringa persica, and … oh, yes, under your rather gruff exterior, I perceive that you are well read and of a rather sensitive and sentimental nature.”
Quincannon gaped at him. “How the devil can you know all that?”
“There is a loose button and loose thread on your vest, and your shirt collar is slightly frayed-telltale indications of our shared state of bachelorhood. When I stood close behind you in the garden, I detected the scent of your tobacco; and once in here, I noted a small spot of ash on the sleeve of your coat, which confirmed the mixture and the fact that it was smoked in a well-aged briar. It happens, you see, that I once wrote a little monograph on the ashes of one hundred forty different types of cigar, pipe, and cigarette tobacco and am considered an authority on the subject.
“Your beard has been recently and neatly trimmed, as has your hair, which retains a faint scent of bay rum, hence your visit to the tonsorial parlor. Under the nail of your left thumb is dust of the type of chalk commonly used on the tips of pool cues, and while billiards is often played in America, straight pool has a larger following and strikes me as more to your taste. On the handkerchief you used a moment ago to mop your forehead is a small, fresh stain the color and texture of which identifies it to the trained eye as having come from a dish of chicken croquettes. Another scent which clings faintly to your coat is that of Syringa persica, or Persian lilac, indicating that you have recently been in close proximity to such a flowering shrub; and inasmuch as there are no lilac bushes in Dr. Axminster’s garden, Mr. Truesdale’s property is the obvious deduction.
“And, finally, I perceive that you are well read from the slim volume entitled Poems tucked into the pocket of your coat, and that you have a sensitive and sentimental nature from the identity of the volume’s author. Emily Dickinson’s poems, I am given to understand, are famous for those qualities.”
There was a moment of silence. Quincannon, for once in his life, was at a loss for words.
Axminster clapped his hands, and exclaimed, “Amazing!”
“Elementary,” Holmes said.
Horse apples, Quincannon thought.
Penelope Costain yawned. “Mr. Holmes has been regaling us with his powers of observation and ratiocination all evening. Frankly I found his prowess with the violin of greater amusement.”
Her husband was likewise unimpressed. He had refilled his glass from a sideboard nearby and now emptied it again in a swallow; his face was flushed, his eyes slightly glazed. “Mental gymnastics are all well and good,” he said with some asperity, “but we’ve stayed well away from the issue here. Which is that my name is on that list of potential burglary victims.”
“I wouldn’t be concerned, Andrew,” Axminster said. “After tonight’s escapade, that fellow wouldn’t dare attempt another burglary.”
Quincannon said, “Not immediately, perhaps. He may well suspect that I know his identity.”
“You recognized him?”
“After a fashion.”
“Then why don’t you go find him and have him arrested?” Costain demanded.
“All in good time. He won’t do any more breaking and entering tonight, that I can guarantee.”
Mrs. Costain asked, “Did you also guarantee catching him red-handed at the Truesdales’ home?”
Quincannon had had enough of this company; much more of it and he might well say something he would regret. He made a small show of consulting his stem-winder. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said then, “I’ll be on my way.”
“To request police assistance?”
“To determine the extent of the Truesdales’ loss.”
Dr. Axminster showed him to the front door. The Costains remained in the parlor, and the counterfeit Sherlock Holmes tagged along. At the front door the fellow said, “I regret my intervention in the garden, Mr. Quincannon, well-intentioned though it was, but I must say I found the interlude stimulating. It isn’t often I have the pleasure of meeting a distinguished colleague while a game’s afoot.”
Quincannon reluctantly accepted a proffered hand, clasped the doctor’s just as briefly, and took his leave. Nurturing as he went the dark thought of a different game, one involving his foot, that he would have admired to play with the Axminsters’ addled guest.
6
SABINA
Before leaving her Russian Hill flat on Wednesday morning, Sabina set out a bowl of milk for the young cat she’d recently adopted, Adam-so named because he was the first in what she hoped would be a long succession of pets-and opened the bedroom window a few inches so he could come and go as he pleased. She had never sheltered an animal before, but Adam provided companionship and comfort against the cold of the night.
“Don’t stray too far,” she told him as he brushed against her ankles. “You’re much safer here, with a nice soft featherbed to sleep on.”
I must be daft, she thought, speaking this way to a creature that can’t possibly understand me. Yet she felt that the cat, in its own way, seemed to understand her moods, especially that of loneliness. And she was lonely often of late, even more so than usual since Stephen’s death, for reasons that were not quite clear to her. Perhaps she ought to accept one of John’s frequent invitations to dinner and a performance at the opera house.…
She’d contemplate the notion later. At the moment there was business to attend to.
As usual she was the first to arrive at the agency office. John came in a short while later. Sabina had a sharp eye for his moods; one long look at his gloomy visage prompted her to say, “I take it your surveillance at the Truesdale home last night was unproductive.”
“Oh, the yegg came skulking, right enough.”
“But you weren’t able to nab him?”
“It wasn’t my fault that I didn’t.” Her partner shed his Chesterfield and derby, hung them on the clothes tree, and retreated behind his desk where he tamped his pipe full of tobacco and set fire to it with a lucifer. “Unique scent,” he muttered. “Monograph on a hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash. Faugh!”