Steampunk Holmes: Legacy of the Nautilus Read Online Free PDF Page B

window.
    “See here, Watson,” he said, as I approached, “these shutters do not quite meet. It is possible for a person over 5 feet 8 inches to peer into this office, when the blinds are up. Dear me, what is the good of iron bars on shutters that can be pried apart with a common jemmy?”
    Lestrade coughed gently. “No shutters had been tampered with, Mr Holmes; Johnson the head clerk was certain of that.”
    “All the same, Lestrade, it is at least possible that someone may have peeped through this very crack and seen the thief at work in the strong-room, which happens to be immediately in the line of vision.”
    “Possible, no doubt,” scoffed Lestrade, “but highly unlikely. You're asking me to believe that someone just happened to creep through the fog, unseen by any of the guards, to that very window, at the very time that Cadbury was taking the cards. Well, that's fine. Who was this person then? What was his motive for looking through the window? Where is that person now? Why did he not immediately report to the guards? Facts, Mr. Holmes; give me the concrete facts, and the case is quickly solved. Wild speculations and fanciful theories are all right when sitting in an easy chair, but the harsh reality of crime demands that frivolous fancies must be dispensed with, and only hard facts taken into account. I recommend that thought to you, Mr. Holmes. If you'll excuse me now, gentlemen, I must continue about my business.” Holmes watched the inspector's dignified departure with twitching lips, and presently burst into hearty, silent laughter.
    “We must give him some credit, Watson; he is meticulous in his pursuit of trivial facts, and though he very seldom draws correct conclusions in any save the most childishly straightforward cases, at least he saves us the trouble of having to gather every scrap of trivia for ourselves. Occasionally he has stumbled upon some vital shred of information, to which he himself attributed little or no importance, but which served to unlock an entire case for me. Yes, our dear Lestrade has his uses now and again. But come, Watson, you shall be wanting your lunch shortly, and as I have seen all there is to see here, and there are one or two matters I should like to attend to, I propose that you and I return to Baker Street by the next train.”
    Mycroft Holmes' reply to her brother's telegram awaited us in our rooms at Baker Street. Holmes tossed it to me to read aloud while he rummaged about among the jungle of papers that adorned our sitting room for a mislaid stack of varied maps of London. Mycroft's message ran thus:
    “ There are numerous small fry, but few would handle so great an affair. Possible men to consider are Adolphus Meyer, of 13 Great George Street, Westminster; Louis La Rothiere, Campden Mansions, Notting Hill, and Peter von Oberon, of 19 Caulfield Gardens, Kensington. Latter is reported to have left London for Stockholm this morning.”
    Holmes, having located his assortment of maps, spread them across the table just as Mrs. Hudson entered with our luncheon.
    “My dear Mrs. Hudson, you really are dreadfully in the way,” snorted Holmes irritably as our housekeeper, disregarding the state of the table, proceeded to set our places with the experience borne of long years' resignation to her tenant's irregular habits. When at last the table was set and our plates served, Holmes' maps occupied the surfaces of the crockery, and he studied them with great concentration as we ate. His animation grew as his research continued; the color crept into his pale cheeks, and his display of impatience when Mrs Hudson once again upset the arrangement of his papers as she removed our dishes was altogether more human than his habitually dispassionate nature allowed, to my great, though concealed, amusement.
    At last, after a quarter-hour's earnest research, Holmes gave forth a triumphant cry, and disappearing into his room, presently emerged in the attire of a professional loafer