3 Gregson Solves the Case!

Chapter 3 GregsonSolvestheCase! Holmes placed an announcement in the evening newspapers: A plain gold wedding ring was found on Brixton Road this morning in the roadway outside the White Hart Tavern. Apply Dr. Watson, 221B, Baker Street. "Sorry for using your name," he said. "Mine's too well known." "That's fine. But I don't have a ring." "Yes, you do," said Holmes, handing me one. "It's almost identical to the one we found on the victim." "And who do you expect will answer this advertisement?" "Why, the man in the brown coat—our cigar-smoking friend with the square toes." As Holmes spoke, the bell rang and a clear voice asked: "Does Dr. Watson live here?" Surprise passed over Holmes's face at the sound of limping footsteps on the stairs and the feeble tap at the door.

cab. The height of a man can be calculated from the length of his stride, and also from the height of the writing on the wall." "What about the long fingernails and the cigar?" I asked. "The writing on the wall was done by a man's forefinger dipped in blood. The plaster was scratched, which wouldn't have happened if his fingernails had been clipped. As for the cigar, I gathered some ash from the floor and recognized it as coming from a type of Indian cigar known as Trichy. "I further deduced from a study of the footprints in the mud and dust that the two men arrived in the same cab and were best of friends at that stage, but square-toes gradually worked himself up into a fury."

Instead of the tall man we expected, an old woman hobbled in. She drew out an evening paper and pointed at our advertisement. "It's this that brought me, gentlemen," she said. "The ring belongs to my daughter Sally. Her husband won't be pleased to find her without it." "Is this it?" I asked, showing her the one Holmes had given me. "The Lord be thanked!" cried the woman. "Yes, that's it. Sally will be a happy woman tonight." At a sign from Holmes, I handed her the ring. With many mumbled blessings and murmurs of gratitude, she pocketed it and shuffled off down the stairs. As soon as she was gone, Holmes grabbed his coat. "She must be an accomplice. If I follow her, she'll lead me to him." I watched him dash away. It was almost midnight when he returned, and I saw from his face that he hadn't been successful. "She hailed a passing cab and gave an address in Houndsditch," Holmes

explained. "Houndsditch is a long way from Brixton, so this was starting to look suspicious. I perched myself behind the cab, then hopped down when we were approaching the destination, following the rest of the way on foot. I watched the driver open the door—and no one came out! He searched the cab, cursing to find his passenger had disappeared." "But how could that old woman get out of the cab while it was moving?" I cried. "Old woman? I think it was a young man in disguise. He saw he was being followed and managed to give me the slip. Clearly, old square-toes has a wily accomplice."

The next day, the newspapers were full of the "Brixton Mystery," as they called it. There was plenty of speculation about who committed the crime, and some new information. The victim, an American named Enoch Drebber, had been living in London for some weeks with his private secretary Joseph Stangerson, staying at the boarding house of Madame Charpentier in Camberwell. On March 4th, they bid farewell to their landlady, saying they planned to go to Euston Station to catch a train to Liverpool and then a steamship back to America. They were later spotted together on the platform at Euston. Nothing more was seen of them until Drebber's body was found in an empty Brixton house, many miles from Euston. How he got there or met his fate was a mystery, as was the whereabouts of Stangerson. We were reading all this in the papers when I suddenly heard the pattering of many feet outside in the hall. "Ah, it's the Baker Street Irregulars!" said Holmes, and as he

spoke, in rushed six of the dirtiest and most ragged street children I've ever seen. "Attention!" cried Holmes, and they all lined up in tight military formation. "Have you found it, Wiggins?" asked Holmes. "No, sir, we ain't," said the tallest of the youths. "Well, keep looking." He handed them each a shilling. "Now, off you go and come back with a better report next time." He waved his hand, and they scampered away. "Is this about the Brixton case?" I asked. "Yes, there's something I need to find out. It's only a matter of time." The bell rang once again, and this time our visitor was Tobias Gregson, who seemed very pleased with himself. "Congratulate me, Holmes!" he beamed as he came in. "I've solved the case."